They were doomed... and a full on retreat would be their only chance for survival.

Pyrrha may not have been a master tactician, but she was sharp enough to know when they were outnumbered. At first, there was a mix of confusion and panic. This wasn't an ordinary panic though. Stirred on by both blame, exasperation, and a rush to get a genuine assault underway; nobody had prepared for the potential of failure. Their first response, after the beginning wave of pows faulted, was to toss out their second set. Sure, they were told to wait fifteen minutes, but the first lot had been practically ignored, and at the rate the horde was moving, they'd be overwhelmed in ten.

Unlike the initial firing, these ones thankfully seemed to work as the Grimm were temporarily halted in their advance. However they quickly recovered, and what was once a wall of still red eyes bobbing to and fro, very quickly became a frenzy as Grimm of all sorts had to actually look for their prey.

This provided a few benefits in masking some of their soldiers, but little else.

Pyrrha leapt back, skidding across the ground and digging her blade into a thick slab of hide, drawing up wayward dust as a makeshift smokescreen for whatever advantage it could give her. Unlike most of their forces, the Grimm had glowing red eyes which pierced even the densest of clouds, meaning not once were the Grimm ever truly out of sight. On the other end, the Grimm had nothing but their secondary senses to rely upon now that they'd lost their negativity radar. This did not make everyone immune, however, as once the Grimm had a clear shot, they were just as deadly as ever.

Bracing herself, Pyrrha dashed to the right, sliding low and drawing up more smoky gravel. Coming to a standstill midway through, she remained crouched, listening to her current opponent as it whipped around rapidly. The second its eyes vanished entirely she knew it had turned around, and knowing she was dealing with an alpha, Pyrrha spared no consideration in which strategy she'd use to take it down.

Zooming through the gray darkness, she melted into the airborne dust and let it carry her above, and when the target that was its nape came into sight, her weapon shifted into its second state and she hurled the tip of her javelin towards it. There were many places to strike on Beowolves, but few of them were more critical than the neck. While there wasn't much in the way of physical proof that most Grimm biology functioned similarly to other animals, rigorous tests and battles had confirmed that the same weaknesses for ordinary animals and living creatures were indeed shared by the Grimm.

Case and point: breaking and injuring the neck could paralyze the beast, and it had.

Grimm didn't need to breathe, but with control of the body essentially cut off by the spear skewering its neck, the monster had no choice other than to accept its fate and fall. It hit the ground hard, and within a new cloud of dirt to cover her position, Pyrrha landed just a step past the head. Turning around, she reached over and took the hilt in hand, yanking her weapon away with a gut-wrenching crunch as the spine inside cracked and restoring it to its sword form. Its jaw did its best to bite at her shins, but she stood just a blade of grass or two away from its snout. Pyrrha ignored the sorry sight of the creature, raising her blade high and driving it through the skull.

The Beowolf faded fast, with the bony skull stuck to her sword being the last to go, but as she turned around, Pyrrha was forced to admit to the truth that they had lost. They couldn't even begin to count how many marched on, but that too was irrelevant in the end. For every ten killed, another hundred rose up from beyond. There was no stopping this, not now.

At first, everything had seemed relatively okay. While shocking, the fact that the second set of pows had fulfilled their duty gave everyone at least a little ray of hope, and with a few enticing words from their squad commander, the defenders of Atlas were ready to fight. There weren't that many at first, and with some of the soldiers in the crowd consisting of students from the academy, fully trained hunters, it seemed like they might have had a real chance.

And so they fought tirelessly, fearless to stand against their heartless adversary.

The Grimm may have outnumbered them, but in the beginning individual students and even some soldiers were able to handle upwards of six or seven targets from afar; especially skilled hunters racking up scores of twenty to thirty Grimm a piece. The darkness slogging against them lacked discipline, critical thinking, and most of all, a leader. Sure, Salem was supposedly out there, but she either sucked incredibly at war tactics, or she wasn't even paying attention.

Soon enough though, Pyrrha knew why the latter was most likely true, and realized with full clarity why tactics were irrelevant when it came to the Grimm.

Many of the Grimm killed adhered to the usual: dissolving into smoke and being whisked away with the winds. Ordinarily, the miasma would dissipate completely in the air, whisked off to who knows where to do who knows what. Well... they'd gotten an answer to one of the age old questions in one of the worst ways possible. All that smog, that black misty wind, soon condensed above...

And the black rain began.

It pelted everyone like globs of slop, but other than the rancid texture it possessed as it slid down exposed skin, there was nothing outright dangerous about it. Or so it seemed at first, as for every Grimm killed, more fog was added to the clouds, and the light shower twisted rapidly into a raging storm. But no matter the ferocity of the rain, it still never did damage to anyone's aura or equipment. That was, until puddles began reaching up to their shins. And from these puddles, their nightmares were born.

From the dead water, more Grimm arose.

Kill. Evaporate. Rain. Rebirth. Kill. Evaporate. Rain. Rebirth. A never ending, self-fueling cycle now resurrected an endless plague of constantly evolving terrors. Nobody could tell if the same Grimm who fell were the ones rising from the puddles, but one thing was for certain; they couldn't keep this up. That alone sentenced them to their deaths, but as if that weren't enough for the poor heroes who put their lives on the line to defend their fellow citizens and loved ones, the necromancy of the newly born swamp hadn't been the only shackle to bind them.

The messy water became like glue, clinging to them and weighing down everyone who stepped into the mud.

Little puddles were fine, but once enough of the water clumped together, it was as though it had come alive and desperately sought to drag them into their graves. Coupled with the never ending Grimm this clingy slime had already caused the deaths of several soldiers alone, keeping the poor warriors stuck in it from being able to avoid the claws and jaws of their enemy. Still, even this could have been doable. Pyrrha and the rest of team JNPR had already adapted, and seeing this, all of the other students had as well. Deciding to take the initiative, the active fighters engaged in close quarters melee, leaving the regular soldiers to pick off squads of Grimm from behind.

No no no, that would have given them a chance, and fate, it seemed, was determined to finally kill her off.

Pyrrha wasn't sure how she knew, but every fiber of her being whispered death into her heart, and no matter how much said heart would deny it, their pleas were beating their dire rhythm into it. The phantom had confirmed her death would come soon, and even if it would hurt, she knew it wasn't the total end of her life. When things inevitably changed, all of their souls would once again be called, and they would be remade in the same old Remnant, albeit one altered to keep up a lie.

To put on the clothes of yesterday in an attempt to begin again.

Dashing ahead, Pyrrha made it a point to spearhead the initiative, diving from target to target in her endless advance, circling around the outer edge of the battlefield to try and thin the herd. Unlike everyone else, the Grimm hesitated when it came to Pyrrha. A part of her mind wondered if this was due to Salem's influence or order, but a more rational idea took the stage and thumped that fantasy back down. The Grimm had lost their ability to sense negativity, and thus relied on other forms of identification. Considering this, one had to wonder how the Grimm could tell themselves apart from everything else.

Oh, sure, it may sound like a stupid idea at first, but with the multitude of Grimm species of all shapes and sizes, it had to be asked why they would bother attacking things like Atlesian Paladins and tanks or whatnot. For Humans and Faunus, it was easy to attribute the distinct scent of negativity, but when that internal radar was stolen away, how did a creature running on animalistic instinct tell any one such prey apart?

In nature, the Grimm - of all kinds - treated other animals how said animals would them; territorial and defensive.

The Grimm did not ravenously seek out and kill squirrels or deer like they did Humans and Faunus, meaning there was a specific tick which made the sentient races distinct. Theories proposed this 'tell' as the negativity uniquely produced due to their higher intellect. Sure, animals could feel sympathy, curiosity, and remorse, but never on the same level as a person. Even now, the Grimm raged with the same ire as they had any other battle, meaning they treated everyone present as Humans; both man, and machine.

But not Pyrrha herself.

This quirk which differentiated the Grimm themselves, shared between their own and never once popping up in any other species on the planet, had to be their color scheme. As weird and simple as the idea sounded, even to Pyrrha, it was the only rational explanation besides Salem's mercy, and there was no mercy to be found here in this accursed war. She looked so similar to them, sharing their veins and the pale complexion of Salem herself, that Pyrrha had to assume they'd mistaken her as one of theirs.

This benefit, no matter how advantageous, meant nothing in the end.

The other students began slowing in pace, and with all the fighting, it at first seemed understandable. Sluggish dodges soon turned to taking hits, and in under a minute everyone was walking right into the claws and jaws of the Grimm. It didn't make sense, and shocked Pyrrha so suddenly that she'd missed a landing. Tumbling across the ground, she quickly righted herself, but as distant Grimm marched around her, one caught sight of her eyes and lunged.

Her unnatural camo was good, but the white of her eyes still stood out enough to break the illusion.

Well, it wasn't so much white now as it was gray; over time they began to darken, slowly, and almost in perfect tune with her acceptance of her new life. But stone gray was far from pitch black, and Salem's hollow sclera sucked even the brightest of fires from those who opposed her - in her darker dreams, she'd seen Salem from time to time, back before she even knew who the woman was, and had written those off as pure nightmares, never accepting them for the memories that they were.

With dodging being second nature, Pyrrha rolled aside, sending her blade through the charging Beringel. But the gorilla of a beast just shrugged it off, quickly grabbing her with two arms. It pulled her in, apparently intending to crush her. She should have been able to wiggle out easily, but her body refused to act. No, it wasn't that it refused: it simply couldn't. She recognised this fatigue now, it was the same as pushing herself to her absolute limits, until she couldn't physically take another step.

Her energy had been entirely drained, and the ear-piercing screech to go along with her shattering aura via her enemy's strangling grip suddenly told her why.

The Apathy: the slowest and weakest Grimm. In physical fights, they're dispatched rather fluidly, being more akin to living skeletons than the burly threats of the other species. However, Apathy had the distinct trait to sap away a person's willpower and energy, leaving them defenseless and in worse cases completely immobile. Even still, the speed at which everyone's spirit was sucked up didn't make sense...

At least, until she reared her head.

Her aura broke at that same time, and V's gift to her showed one final benefit as her skin and muscles failed to immediately succumb to the Beringel's power. Instead, she had time to finally understand just how screwed everyone was. It kind of reminded her of old apocalypse movies, where a city's worth of zombies would march across the fields towards the survivors' base as they anxiously awaited an airship evacuation to arrive and save them. Sadly, they wouldn't be getting that evac, and their stumbling murderers trodden ever closer towards the army whose guns now ceased their fire.

One of her ribs cracked, puncturing a lung and causing her to choke up a bit of blood.

It hurt terribly, but her own pain was irrelevant. The black rain continued to fall, now covering the ground entirely with tar. Grimm continued to sprout from the new seedbed, within the Atlesian army's defensive formations and feasting on their prey. Grimm didn't need to eat, but the act was not uncommon; a quirk that even current studies had yet to reveal the purpose behind.

Pyrrha always thought it was to strike terror into onlookers. Besides, what could be more traumatizing than watching your family and friends be consumed, sometimes while still alive? Breathing got harder, and she could barely see due to how fuzzy her vision became. That didn't stop her from shooting her eyes between her friends, using the last of her energy to witness them die.

Nora's hammer, in the past always able to tear down the largest of obstacles in their path, laid halfway sunken in the oily field, with Nora herself face down in the muck. Her head was turned just enough to let a single eye stay above the goo, and its fleeting movements from here to there were the only thing showing she was still alive. She'd drown in another minute or so if she didn't lift her head.

Ren, tragically, found himself unable to stand. The way his leg crooked at an odd angle made it clear he wasn't going anywhere quickly. He sat with his back leaning against a rock; one arm raised and firing until the clip in his gun was empty. Ejecting it, he raised it again and fired. With his eyes completely covered in black and unblinking, Pyrrha knew he was simply shooting into nothing, blind, and merely hoping his shots hit something.

Out of all of them, Jaune was the best off. Still having some spirit, he continued to charge into the fray in a bid to pull off any save he could. Had she still a voice, Pyrrha would have warned him of the Lancer flying high behind, but the giant wasp's stinger was already shot. Jaune Arc, the man with the semblance capable of enhancing those of others, possessed a near endless pool of aura. But the pools of black were higher, and his aura, after having stood tall for the short but bloody battle, finally gave way.

Shooting through his heart, Jaune tumbled, and the end of the bony lance dug into the flooded ground, holding him upright at an angle. He drew breath for a few more seconds, but then it left. He wasn't dead though, as his body barely continued to strain itself to breathe. The attack destroyed his heart, but lodged itself in place, preventing a large loss of blood. Aura could never heal that, but it wasn't an instant kill either, like it would have been with a headshot.

Jaune would have to suffer more, and Pyrrha could do nothing but watch.

Destiny is... cruel...

Relentless in getting what it wants and lacking all mercy; the inhumanity of it proudly displayed here and now had been the final straw. Once upon a time Pyrrha Nikos believed in destiny, throwing her hopes and dreams in with it. Being told she was special, Pyrrha let destiny do as it pleased with her, bringing her fame and fortune, but at the cost of love and acceptance. It was a lonely life, but one she believed in, because destiny had chosen this life for her, did it not?

It did, but that didn't make it right.

Unworthy...

Fate did not deserve any cheers, or prayers, or love. The same force she'd leant her life to had dictated that her friends had to not only die, but also suffer all throughout their deaths as well. It could have killed them painlessly, but it refused. Why? Why make them sit there and feel every agonizing twitch and impossible breath? The stinger could have hit Jaune anywhere, but it chose the place where he'd suffer the most. Why did Nora need to drown when a Grimm could have just ripped her head off? Ren was down for the count, with a broken leg and bleeding out; did he really need to die blinded and anxious as well? What was the point of torturing her friends?

There was no point; destiny probably just thought it was funny.

Worthless...

All those years of thinking she had a purpose, only to learn she was meant to die far earlier than ever. Pyrrha Nikos, the infallible invincible girl, was nothing more than a used tissue in fate's eyes, to be discarded whenever and wherever. But even so, that fact, despite being infuriating, only lit a new fire in her gut as she realized the final quirk of fate, and as she rounded her head back around and looked her soon-to-be killer in the eyes, she seethed and spoke the final trait through a glare with all the hatred she could muster.

Flawed...

Fate was imperfect, mistaken, and prone to corruption and breakage. As such, and lacking any benevolence or kindness, this seemingly unbeatable element of Remnant deserved no adoration or respect. It was, as many things were to Humans and Faunus, an enemy. Had she the strength, Pyrrha would have tried leaning in and biting the wretch crushing her, if only to put up some show of defiance: her defiance against destiny.

"You see it now, how heartless it is."

Pyrrha paused, stunned; this only made it easier for the Grimm to squeeze her tighter, but she didn't care. In a couple of minutes, Pyrrha Nikos would draw her last breath, and in her short time remaining, instead of fighting hatefully, she found herself intrigued.

"Ruby..."

"Not quite, but somewhat."

It didn't make sense, and maybe Pyrrha's brain had finally begun to hallucinate, but she immediately became enthralled by the soothingly cold voice. In contrast to the goosebumps it erected across her skin, the voice carried within it the same caring empathy Ruby always showed. Of a similar vein to the last messenger, but most certainly different: this was a new speaker, wholly different to the one who had initially told her about the coming end.

"Even when told of your fate, you kept on going. You're strong... stronger than even most of our friends." A short pause, and then a quieter telling followed after. "You'll die, but you already knew that, didn't you. As much as I want to, I can't save you, or them... but that doesn't have to be the end. I can give you one final handful of dirt for you to toss into destiny's eyes. Would you like that?"

"Yes..." It didn't even have to ask; she'd do anything to go out spitting in fate's face. Ruby's voice chuckled, which felt weird, but in a good way. Pyrrha did have one final question though, and seeing as she was dying, there was no harm in asking. "Who... and... how?"

"When V injected his essence into you, he'd not only infected you with his darkness, but also his light too. As for me... well, let's just say I'm an old memory long forgotten, who decided to take a stab with what little consciousness it can convince itself it has."

A soft, fluffy warmth began to spread across her skin, and Pyrrha felt as though she was melting into the monster holding her.

"When V puts some of himself into others, he isn't just giving them his power; he's offering a chunk of his own soul as well, and in your case, a piece of me. However, an added effect of this is that it begins awakening the souls of those 'touched' by him too, like you. Your souls begin to 'wake up' and 'remember' what they've experienced in your previous lives. Consequently, you begin tapping into some of our memories as well, both mine and his."

"Dreams..." Pyrrha couldn't breathe at all anymore, but for some reason, that didn't bother her. Seems that feeling of melting wasn't far off from the truth, as her eyes were nearly level with the beast's fur.

"That's right: those dreams you were having were mostly my memories. I may not be attached to my soul anymore, but I still carry within me the memories of each and every life I've ever lived, as well as a few of his. I am a part of me, and a part of him. Everyone he's 'touched' shares a connection with him now, and through this connection we are united in him: in darkness."

Sight returned to her in full, but it wasn't through her own eyes that Pyrrha Nikos saw. No, instead she viewed the world through the lens of her killer, but within these new eyes burned an invincible light, and the Beringel ceased its march.

"But even as a forgotten shadow, I still have some light to spare. After all, the silver eyes themselves are not the cause of light, they are merely a sign that there is light trapped within a person's soul. You don't outright need silver eyes to expel this particular light..."

From the outside looking in, if anyone on the field was still alive, they would have seen the crimson rings of a certain Beringel glow a bright, unbearable white, and circling their core was a ring of unmistakable silver.

"So, shall we allow our light to wipe away the darkness?"

Deep within her soul, Pyrrha said yes, and all sense of vision died then and there. But that wasn't the end of her, for soon she opened her eyes, to find herself outside, laying in the grass of Beacon's garden. Sitting upright, and standing after, she looked out at the various people milling around, only to hear Jaune's voice from behind.

"You okay, Pyrrha?" He looked so innocent and carefree; back to being that boy she remembered slowly falling for over and over again.

She didn't answer immediately, instead getting back down on her knees and reaching over to touch his cheek. It felt so real and... fleshy. Warm, with a bit of fuzz to go along with it. He curled a brow, about to speak, when Nora cut him off.

"It's happening, Renny!" She squealed from behind, and Pyrrha could imagine the face of raw excitement to go along with it. "She's making her move!"

Ren's chuckles and sigh of dismissal relaxed Pyrrha's heart in a way she didn't know she needed.

"I guess she is. But still, that doesn't mean you're allowed to interrupt them."

Nora's following groan only added to the homely feel. Was all of this real? Hadn't she died? After a bit of thought, and observing the look on Jaune's embarrassed - but expectant - face, she came to her conclusion. Everything before was too vivid to be a dream.

Meaning she had indeed died.

"It's okay." Ruby's voice was accompanied by a ghost this time, sitting down on Jaune's other side, but drawing no eyes. On her face sat a simple, but faintly sorrowful smile. "Our light infected everyone and everything within the rain's touch. They died peacefully and painlessly; as good as it gets for heroes."

"Pyrrha?" Jaune asked, looking puzzled. Pyrrha didn't address him though, more focused on the spirit who remained invisible to seemingly all but her. Ruby, in turn, looked over at Jaune.

"Don't worry: this is the real Jaune." Ruby's head directed itself beyond her. "And they are the real Ren and Nora as well. They all followed you here... but they won't remember; the dead rarely do."

"Why me?" Pyrrha didn't understand, and while her weird response got the rest of her friends talking in a blur she continued to miss, the ghastly older looking Ruby sighed.

"I'm not a real soul... not like you or the rest. I'm just a manifestation of the last shard of memories, those locked within my half of V's soul that he gave you. I am Ruby in a sense that I was born of her soul, but nothing more. As for why you can see me, well..." She passed her arms out, already beginning to fade. "My energy is still intertwined with your own soul, but as you can see I'm slipping away. I'm beginning to fade as your spirit settles into this afterlife."

"I'm sorry..." Pyrrha didn't know what else to say, and ignored the growing display of concern from her friends. "I couldn't change things."

"Don't be." Even if she wasn't the real Ruby, the illusion's smile still felt as caring and real as her true counterpart. "This whole endeavor was born of our love for you and the others. If even one of you were to die, Ruby would consider it a loss and try again. Really, I should be thanking you."

"Why?" Pyrrha didn't believe she deserved thanks, but even so, Ruby's image looked and sounded genuinely at ease as she passed into nothingness.

"For being my friend, duh?" Even while dying and not technically real, it looked like every form of Ruby had it in her to be childishly kind. "If I hadn't met you or the others, I don't think I would have had the courage or strength to challenge the world's rules."

"Pyrrha, please!" Jaune was shaking her, eyes full of worry. "Tell me what's wro-mmph!?"

Finally~

For the first time in forever, she got to press her lips into his. So what if she was dead and this was the afterlife? They may just be a collection of passing souls now, but for a world free of tangible reality, the sloppy response she got from the staggering star of her eyes felt satisfyingly real. Her skin held its original hue, Jaune stumbled just as she always knew he had, and Ren and Nora were by their side. Tragically fostered or not, this place was a paradise in her eyes.

The expectant squeal of Nora could have shattered glass, let alone her eardrums, but knowing this dream was theirs to share, Pyrrha simply smiled, letting happy illusionary tears flow freely down her cheeks.

"Nothing, Jaune." She smiled the widest she ever had, cuddling up to him and planting them back down on the grass, content to enjoy her newfound reward until her soul was called back into Remnant to fight once again.

And when that day came, Pyrrha would face it with every ounce of courage and love her friends had offered her. Her mind would forget, but the soul never did; it was simply a matter of awakening that dormant determination, and having the strength to see it through. And she would see it through, no matter how many times it took.

"P-Pyrrha...?" Her name tumbled loosely from his lips, but just hearing it caused her heart to skip a beat. Even if it wasn't real, it still felt real, and Pyrrha was sure she'd be using that to her advantage for as long as she could.

"I'm fine, Jaune." She smiled, stealing a quick peck one more time. "I just felt a weight leave my shoulders is all."

"Um... yeah, c-cool..." His stammering was so cute; just how she remembered it. "So, uh... does this mean we're a thing?"

"Yes." She grinned, cuddling into his armored sweater, knowing of the cute little bunny hidden underneath. "This does mean we're a thing."

Apparently, the world could throw you a bone every now and then.

Author's note

...

We're approaching the endgame soon, very soon.

Yeah, that's right: I've killed off JNPR. Honestly, it was a long time coming, but it was still an eventuality. Pyrrha has known of her death for a while now, but I bet some of you didn't expect it to be here. The hardest part was making it feel worthwhile; after all, they can't just be killed off like chumps to standard Grimm. They had to go down in style, against a foe nobody could reasonably stand a chance against.

But even so, it seems they struck a win in the end, as you'll come to see.

By the way, in case you didn't quite catch it: Pyrrha is so far the only character to learn nearly the whole truth of what's going on. Now, you didn't get it all yourselves, but that's because the missing info will come up later in other crucial moments. Hopefully the info Ruby's ghost thing offered will suffice.

Anyway, that's it for this one.

Until next time.

IMPORTANT:

First off, sorry for cutting it close. I don't know why, but the site wouldn't let me upload anything until now - kept saying my file wasn't supported, and then changed tune and called it an empty document; not even copy-paste seemed to work.

To top that off, uploading has been scuffing the past few chapters - even this one. So, if you see any strangeness with italics or bold sections, then that's why. For some unfathomable reason, at a random spot, everything below becomes either italic, bold, or at points both. I rolled low and got all three for this chapter, so I had to manually tweak the whole thing. So, forgive any places I may have missed.

Here's to hoping it turned out okay.