Note: Hello. Few notes this time. One: There is one chapter left in this arc, and we are determined to get it out before the end of the new year. We hope the next arc won't take another nine months. Two, we entirely rewrote this chapter from the ground up yesterday, so we apologize if it's not up to standard. We've mentally had two rough weeks and we just really want to get some work uploaded. Three: AO3 users might notice our covers are gone. Those covers were generated using AI, and while we thought it wasn't a big deal at the time, given the more recent backlash against AI-created art, we decided it would be inappropriate to continue using those pieces (even if we think they look really cool). We don't want to promote something unethical, even if we don't think anyone in our audience would really care. If anyone knows how to draw and wants to make other cover art for us, offers are always open.

And fourth... it's interesting that no one seemed to notice who showed up a few chapters ago. Ah well. I'm sure that won't be important at all. Enjoy.

Ruby followed Blake's instructions to the letter. Ozpin's office was on the third floor in Weston Wing, a wide, open-floored space laying not too far from the arenas. It was maybe the nicest spot in the school, save for Ironwood's office. Partitioned from the rest of the hall by large, glass walls, it was filled with various office spaces and lined with deep blue carpet marked with the school's insignia. Cameras were nestled in every corner, but the ceilings were high enough that Ruby could easily skirt over them without too much effort. The wing was empty, save for desks and chairs and the numerous portraits of former Atlas Academy headmasters that seemed to cover every square inch of wall space. Ruby tried not to focus on that. Instead, she kept her eyes peeled for any stragglers; secretaries, unforeseen guards, or snooping press. Without any in sight, she calmly stayed on her path. Ozpin's office specifically was hidden in the back of the wing, past a narrow corridor and tucked in an isolated section of the wing. Why wouldn't the headmaster want to be as far away from his students as possible?

She hoped Blake was all right. Goodwitch was insanely powerful. She knew Blake could hold her own, and Goodwitch probably wouldn't kill her, but she couldn't know for certain. Goodwitch was a wildcard, and if she felt like sacrificing her career for petty revenge, Blake wouldn't be able to stop her. Worse than that, Ruby was worried about her dad. She trusted Ironwood when he said he would punish their families for disobedience. She knew he likely wouldn't act until the press was gone, but what if he acted sooner? What if her father was already dead? No. Can't think like that. Focus. Complete the mission. Trust in Weiss. Everything will work out.

Please.

"Hey, Coco?"

"Yeah?"

"Is Goodwitch… supposed to be going this hard?"

"I don't know… but I am loving it."

The students watched unsurely as the war waged in front of them. Well, could it be called a war at this point? No one was sure. But it was certainly… something.

Blake was so tired. Holy fuck was she tired. She couldn't get a moment to breathe. Dodge, deflect, deflect, dodge, deflect, roll, counter, feint, roll, deflect—fuck, deflect to the left! Ow. Four Goodwitches were on top of her, taking joyful turns battering her around. At some point, they switched from sharp swords to blunt hammers and were cracking her in the sides and limbs. She did her best to mitigate the damage, but her Aura was running low, and with every attack that she absorbed through it, she became more and more winded. In the chaos of the assault, a hammer slipped by her defenses and struck her in the chest. She flew, down the length of the now-decayed battlefield, sliding to a halt near the boundary. She rolled onto her back, trying desperately to catch her breath. Her eyes rolled toward the clock near the viewing room.

5:02

She wheezed. "Holy… fuck…"

Others in the crowd had similar reactions. Though Coco's views were tainted by her disdain for the combative Faunus, her other team members were more worried. They were at a loss for how to interpret the battle in front of them. Comeuppance, maybe? Blake was a bad person who claimed to do bad things, but it was obvious to anyone that Goodwitch was the one acting out of line. Maybe a bit like how Team RWBY described her earlier, as ridiculous as it sounded.

That was what Pyrrha thought to herself, though she tried not to. She was sitting on her hands, trying to focus on her upcoming battle against Ironwood's mechanized soldiers. There was no room for her to question anything. Her teammates, on the other hand, were doing a lot of soul-searching. Jaune was appalled by the violence altogether, while Nora and Ren came to terms with Goodwitch's awesome power. As the only pair that liked Team RWBY, seeing one of them get brutalized deepened their suspicions that they were telling something of the truth. Like, if Blake really blew up Beacon, and Goodwitch was injured in the attack… that would make sense, right? It actually made too much sense, and if Pyrrha wasn't trying so hard to avoid obvious conclusions, she would see it, too.

And Yang… well, Yang was having a heart attack.

"Oh my god, she's getting killed," she muttered under her breath.

"She'll be fine… right?" Weiss asked nervously. Despite their past, she didn't feel any better watching Blake get slapped around. She wasn't as nervous as Yang, who was clutching her seat so hard the metal dented beneath her fingers.

"I should go now," Yang stated.

"Ruby's not ready. Wait another few minutes."

"Blake isn't going to last another few minutes."

"Give her time," Weiss pleaded. Yang gritted her teeth, watching helplessly. At the very least, Blake was doing her job correctly. And, judging by Weiss's steady hand, she was doing hers as well.

Goodwitch's multiple clones casually made their way toward each other, and within seconds, they merged back into a single, despicable woman. The now-reformed Goodwitch stretched her arms over her head, feeling her joints crack in her elbows. She was smiling, which Blake took as one more sign that she was in a bad way.

"Ahh, much better," Goodwitch sighed. "I have to say, Blake, kicking your ass is really helping me move on from my trauma."

Blake sat up, pawing at her face. Her cheek was bleeding. Her forehead was bleeding. She was pretty sure all of her organs had exploded. How did she beat this woman the first time? Oh, that's right. Shooting when her guard was down. Impossible circumstances to recreate. Still, she thought she would do better than five minutes. She lazily pointed her gun at Goodwitch and pulled the trigger, firing a stream of bullets that Goodwitch easily deflected with a shield.

"Ooh. Bullets. That's the trick. Keep doing that. I'm sure it will work out eventually."

Blake's arm drooped, and she struggled to keep the air in her lungs.

"How… how the fuck are you so strong?"

Goodwitch shrugged. She eyed the clock. Plenty of time. Now that her dominance was established, she didn't mind playing with her food. "Oh, I was always strong. Ever since I was a child, my powers eclipsed everyone else's. It was the one privilege I had. To let you in a little secret—this wand does more to hold me back than it does to set me free."

Blake felt something tug on her ankle, and suddenly she was being dragged across the floor by an invisible force, pulled toward her pernicious professor. Her leg was lifted above her head, and Blake soon found herself dangling upside-down, face-to-face with Goodwitch. The professor approached her callously, holding up her palm, and Blake's limp body was unable to defend itself.

"One hand, right?"

Goodwitch backhanded Blake hard across the face. Droplets of her blood splattered against the ground. Her cheek stung like the devil. But Goodwitch slapped her again, harder.

"This is how they used to discipline people back in the day," Goodwitch stated. Slap. Slap. Slap. "But maybe you were used to this thing growing up… animal."

Blake growled. The slur sent a shot of energy through her. She took a wild swing at Goodwitch's head, but the professor stepped calmly out of the way. Whatever invisible force held Blake aloft quickly vanished, and Blake fell three feet onto her upper shoulders. She flopped to the ground, pawing at the floor. She was still technically in the fight, but despite nearly four minutes remaining on the clock, the victor was clear.

"Hmmm. Touch a nerve?" Goodwitch mocked her. "It's what I'd expect from someone like you."

Blake rolled onto her stomach, unwilling to surrender. "You don't know shit about me."

"Oh, but I do," Goodwitch said, casually approaching her wounded opponent. "Growing up poor with no opportunities, feeling like you're a misunderstood genius nobody else appreciates, constantly needing to prove your superiority to people who are supposed to be your friends. I was that once. But the difference between you and me, Blake, is that I learned discipline. I learned when to keep my mouth shut and where to show my strength. I learned that authority is something to respect, whether it's from your superiors or exerting your own. You? Well… you just blow shit up. You're a rebellious little twat who just likes setting things on fire and pretending that the world looks better when it's burnt. It's a damn shame. You actually could amount to something, but you are unwilling to listen to those who know better than you. What a goddamn travesty."

Blake still struggled to catch her breath when Goodwitch stood over her, crossing her arms and tapping her foot like a disappointed parent. Blake couldn't look up at her—both out of unwillingness and the fact that her neck was killing her. However, she could feel Goodwitch's gaze stabbing her. She admittedly didn't know much of the professor's past, but hearing that explanation triggered something in her. She felt it rising up through her chest and spilling out of her throat before she could stop herself. Goodwitch wanted her to beg.

Instead, Blake laughed. Somehow, despite everything, she laughed.

"Are… are you fucking serious?" Blake wiped the blood from her forehead as Goodwitch's smile slowly faded into a scowl. "The only reason I'm here is because I listen to people who know better than me: my team. I haven't spent a day in my life where I haven't regretted all the shit, I've done to people. Hell, I even regret what I did to you… kinda. I mean, I have made a lot of people's lives worse. But I'm trying to fix that. And yeah, I suck at it, but I'm trying."

"Trying?" Goodwitch chastised her. "Getting in petty fistfights with your professor is trying?"

Blake shook her head. "Oh my god, you dumb bitch… have you ever considered that I'm not as egotistical as you are? What do you think I'm trying to do here?"

"Well, I know what you are failing to do."

Blake shook her head. Her time was dwindling. Her laughing face was hidden, sheltered from the cameras by blood, and hair. Her words would be for Goodwitch and Goodwitch alone. "Did you think I was ever planning on winning this? Or that you'd actually uphold your end of any bargain? Come on. If I really wanted revenge on you, do you think I would give you a chance to fight back? I agreed to get my ass kicked for ten minutes by someone I genuinely hate. If that's not a sign of repentance, I don't know what is. Nah, I don't need to learn discipline. You do."

Goodwitch instinctively kicked Blake in the gut, but as the young Huntress fell to the floor, she kept laughing at Goodwitch's expense.

"Yeah! See?" Blake smeared her palm across her face, wiping up as much blood as she could, and she defiantly held it up in the air. "Did you really think it was disciplined to do this to one of your own students? I'm a fucking national hero, and you just beat the shit out of me in front of all these cameras. What did you think that would do for your reputation, huh? Me, I'm the underdog. Everyone's gonna feel bad for me. All you've done is justify everything we've been saying about Atlas and the Huntsmen."

Goodwitch rolled her eyes. Was this idiot actually explaining her master plan to her? It was actually embarrassing at this point. The poor bloody thing must have been delusional from the repeated blows to the head. Goodwitch couldn't help but humor her.

"Oh, is that you're plan?" Goodwitch stated calmly. "So, you offered yourself to me on a silver platter so you can martyr yourself. Small problem: the footage isn't live. They will only show what we want them to show. That's why Ozpin let me do this, obviously. He knows he can cover his tracks. It's called editing, Blake."

"Editing, huh?" Blake snickered.

"I mean, you're assuming they'll even show the footage at all," Goodwitch explained. "Twenty Lien says news of this battle doesn't escape this room. If it does, it will be only rumors, and something tells me that by tomorrow, you will have far bigger concerns to worry about. Face it… you threw your life away in a futile attempt to slander me. You are absolutely pathetic."

Blake just shrugged. She glanced up at the clock. Yeah, she probably gave Ruby enough time. "Oh, I knew the press wouldn't spill shit," she admitted. "But, you know… that's why we've been live-streaming the whole fight."

And that—that was the straw that broke through Goodwitch.

The Professor turned toward the audience, scanning desperately for the other girls in Team RWBY. Blake was bullshitting. Obviously. They wouldn't. And yet, her eyes found Weiss sitting alone in the audience, her Scroll carefully concealed in her hands. How long had she been filming their battle? Because it was one thing to act this way within the Atlasian structure. If others saw her…

Worse, she saw Yang. The blonde dynamo had pushed her way through the crowd and jumped over the railing. She sprinted her way past security guards, and before Goodwitch knew it, Yang had run onto the battlefield, waving her arms and screaming as loud and pained as she could.

"Stop! Please, stop this!"

Were there tears streaming down Yang's face? She wasn't that good of an actor, but she was trying. It was enough that anyone watching the Livestream would get the impression. Goodwitch was frozen in shock as Yang pushed past her, throwing herself dramatically on top of Blake, shielding her from any further harm.

"She gives up!" Yang cried. She snapped back at Goodwitch with rage and frustration. "What the hell is wrong with you? You're supposed to be sparring!"

"I… I…" Goodwitch was suddenly at a loss for words. Realizing the eyes of the entire world were now on her, she felt her façade crumbling. She screamed toward the audience as a buzzer sounded and the fight was officially ruled a no contest over the loudspeakers. "Wait a second! I didn't—"

"Seriously, you okay?" Yang whispered. Blake huddled close to Yang's chest, burying her face.

"I'll live. Probably. Hey, was it obvious that I was laughing?"

"No," Yang informed her. "It's pretty hard to read faces from over there. I don't think that's the biggest concern."

"Hey, I'm putting on a show here. Also, sorry for making your coat bloody."

"I can literally get a hundred more."

While Yang and Blake exchanged words, Goodwitch only became more startled. The faces of the students. Were they always so appalled? She had to be imagining that. People couldn't hate her. They understood. This was just a training exercise. People got hurt in training exercises all the time, right? That was the spin. Obviously, that made sense. People got slapped around and mocked and flipped off and stomped on and taunted and almost killed and fuck this looked incredibly bad. The members of the press looked disgusted. Most of her own students were in a state of shock. It was impossible to see Blake as anything other than a bloody mess of her own creation. And that mess of a woman, knowing that she won, knowing she delivered a wound more damning than any physical blow, peered up from under Yang's grasp, and flashed a sadistic, toothy grin—just for her.

"Looks like you got played, you stupid cunt."

Goodwitch's arms fell to her sides. Her mind became consumed with doubt. And Blake's smile—that awful, cocky, immature, ungrateful, pitiful smile—it stained her vision and filled her with an unending, indescribable hatred. Blake made her look bad in front of her bosses, in front of the world, and she would use that underdog image to become even more famous. Something had to be done.

And that was when Goodwitch had an epiphany. It happened all in a very short span of time, where her confusion and desperation turned to clarity and vision. The full weight of the consequences fell down on her at once, but she found herself still standing. Her career as a teacher might well be over. Ozpin would be forced to discipline her, at bear minimum place her on administrative leave. She would be hounded by the press wherever she went, public enemy number one. She would be forced to watch Blake Belladonna give talk show interviews where she badmouthed her and spoke of Atlas's ills, and every gullible idiot who followed her would swoon like perfect little sheep. Even if Ironwood followed through on his threats, it wouldn't affect her—hell, they could even place her as a scapegoat if word of the assassinations ever got out. The bruised teacher out for revenge against her student. Even with her mother's death, Blake would find a way to beat her via spite. That was the future Goodwitch saw for herself.

And that future sucked.

Which meant that, really, it couldn't get any worse.

And since she was already here… and her reputation couldn't get worse anyway… and Blake was right there with her…

Yes. That made sense. She should do that.

Blake's smile vanished as Goodwitch's face turned blank. The professor shot out her wand, and a sword reformed itself, its violet glow reflecting off the blood on her face. Goodwitch raised the sword high above her head, and the scream couldn't even escape Blake's lips before Goodwitch brought it down on top of her.

Yang fired on instinct. A sixth sense told her to react, and she did faster than she knew she could. She pulled free from Blake, and like a rocket her fist flew out, smashing into Goodwitch's chest before her sword could land. The impact sent Goodwitch sailing backward, sliding against the floor. Yang stood her ground, nervous but determined, and she put up her fists as she waited for Goodwitch to react.

"You wanna go?" Yang shouted. "Come on! Rematch. You want her, you go through me."

Goodwitch growled, face tainted with fury. That bitch landed a hit on her. A good hit. Fuck, where did she learn to hit so hard? And of course, now she looked good to the audience by standing up for her friend. Fine. She would kill them both. The schizo and the animal. If they wanted to turn her life into a spectacle, she'd give the world a goddamn spectacle by carving out their fucking eyes on live television. She would use both hands if she had to. Goodwitch stood up, ready to tear them to pieces, her wand at the ready. Yang wasn't prepared to fight a fully-armed Glynda Goodwitch, but it looked like she didn't have a choice. The whole world was watching. Blake was counting on her. She may not have been medically cleared, but now was the time to put herself to the test.

Yang took a step forward—and immediately, she was swarmed by Atlasian security guards.

"Hey, what the—"

"Hands in the air!"

They barked orders at her, at least a dozen of them.

"What are you—"

"I said hands in the air!"

Yang didn't put up heavy resistance. Neither did Blake, who was hoisted off the ground by two guards and quickly carried away without so much as a flailing kick. The guards grabbed Yang's hands and pushed them behind her back, escorting her out of the arena. At first, she thought that they were the same ones chasing her from before. However, she soon realized the same guards were swarming Weiss in the audience, grabbing onto her and pulling her away from the other students. A few even swarmed Goodwitch; though they did not touch her, they held her back before she could do anything else she would regret. Yang's protests fell on deaf ears as the guards guided her out the nearest exit to the arena, rushing her past the perplexed gazes of her fellow students. It was only then that Yang noticed the missing variable, and unfortunately, it clicked. The timer had run out on them. Ruby was still nowhere to be seen.

Something had gone terribly wrong.

Ruby navigated the office space like a playground. It was simple, sliding past obstacles and ducking out of view where needed. Ruby rounded the bend, and offices quickly dwindled in number. The portraits became more and more gaudy, aging as she flew back in Atlas's history. She was doing so well. Dodge camera four. Camera five. And then that was the last until the office. Cameras six, seven, and eight. She was so close. Just get around those cameras, then distract the guards, then—

"Whoa!"

Ruby skidded to a halt, bursting out of her rose form and slamming on the brakes. She stopped herself just before she turned into the final hallway. Something was blocking her path. She was always anticipating there would be a complication. What she wasn't expecting to see was this: a security camera, detached from its perch and laying broken on the ground in front of her.

She stared at it for a long while. A camera? Why? Her camera? She looked over her shoulder. Yes, those cameras were still there. Was this a trap? A misdirect? She knelt down in front of the camera, gazing into its lens. She immediately stopped herself and backed away. No, don't do that. That was stupid. Why did she do that? It probably wasn't on. Right? She pulled out her scythe and gently prodded it with the blunt end. It seemed… off. Probably safe. But why the hell was it here? Unable to get a clear answer, Ruby pressed herself up against the wall and peered around the corner, hoping to find her answers there. What she saw instead made her heart stop.

Ozpin's office stood alone at the end of the corridor. The two other cameras that were once perched above it had been knocked off and were lying equally broken on the ground—as were two guards, barely moving at the end of the hall. The door to Ozpin's office was ajar. It took a moment for it to all click together. Ruby tightened her grip on her weapon.

Someone else was here.

Ruby checked her surroundings. With no other guards around and no alarm triggered, Ruby kept her head low and hurriedly ran up to the office. Her heartbeat increased violently with each step. Her fear was only matched by her confusion. It looked like someone had broken into Ozpin's office, but that couldn't be true. Who would do such a thing? How could they? Ruby ran straight up to the office door, but she stopped just before she entered. The guards on the floor weren't dead. Or unconscious. They were shuddering, twitching, like being shocked with small zaps of electricity. They didn't seem to have any idea she was there. Should she help them? No, that would expose her. She couldn't stop now. She had a time limit. But what was wrong with them? Her gaze lingered on them for long enough to see their mouths moving, and she heard them mutter things under their breath.

"No… get away from me."

"Everywhere… they're everywhere."

Ruby heard something else, coming from just behind the open door. Typing. Fast typing.

Ruby creaked the door open slightly, trying to remain silent. She peeked into Ozpin's office, not knowing what she would see. The office was somehow plainer and more boring than his space back in Beacon, but she had a clear line of sight to his desk where his computer was. To Ruby's shock, there was a woman huddled over Ozpin's computer; not a guard or another student, but a somewhat familiar face. Yeah, Ruby remembered her: the reporter. Red eyes. Green hair. Thin lips. Darker complexion. Ayana Mirage, she called herself. She had asked about Team RWBY's participation in the Vytal Festival. What the hell was she doing here?

"Come on, come on," she growled, furiously tapping her fingers against the desk. "Hurry up..." Her eyes nervously danced across the screen. A USB drive stuck out of Ozpin's monitor, not dissimilar from hers. Ruby didn't understand. What was a reporter stealing from Professor Ozpin? Ruby debated whether or not to confront her. Her intrinsic sense of right and wrong told her to stop, but… she didn't have a dog in this fight. She didn't know why she could care. She was curious, mortified, and fascinated that she was beaten to the punch by another woman with an agenda of her own. She simply had to understand…

Unfortunately, Ruby didn't realize she was pressing against the door. The door slipped open even further, and this time, it did not keep quiet. The loud creak shocked the reporter out of her task, and suddenly, those red eyes were staring deep into Ruby's silver ones.

The reporter froze, terrified—then, like two beautiful flowers, her eyes blossomed.

Ruby opened her mouth. "Who are you—"

And Ruby screamed as her world melted, and she fell into a nightmare.