The silence was suffocating.
From the walls of Vacuo, they stood.
Team RWBY.
Jaune, Nora, and Ren.
Professor Theodore.
Oscar.
And beyond them, stretching endlessly across the horizon, was the sea of black death. Grimm numbering in millions.
The desert of Vacuo was gone, swallowed beneath the churning black tide of creatures writhing, slithering, shrieking in an eerie, unified hunger.
It wasn't an army. It wasn't a battle formation.
It was a storm. A living, breathing disaster. The sheer magnitude of which none of them had ever seen before.
Everyone felt their stomach turn.
"Mother of—"
Jaune couldn't even finish.
Because there were no words for this.
Oscar exhaled slowly, his expression tight with dread.
"She must have used the Staff," he said finally, his voice quieter than usual.
Theodore, standing with his arms crossed, let out a sharp breath. "No shit, Oz. But how did we miss this?"
Oscar clenched his jaw, thinking fast.
"She… must have used the power of the Staff to conceal it." He paused, then added bitterly, "In the hands of a Witch, of a powerful Sorceress like her, an artifact like the Staff could grant her power even without waking the spirit inside."
Theodore sucked in a breath through his teeth. "So she's been playing us from the start. That it?"
A creeping, slow horror settled in the pit of Pyrrha's stomach.
She… wasn't sure how to react.
This wasn't just a battle. This wasn't even a war.
This was the end.
She felt… afraid.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair.
She had been sent here.
And now she was going to die here?
It wasn't fair.
A distant wind howled across the dunes, carrying the distant shrieks of the Grimm, the guttural snarls of beowolves, the keening wails of banshees.
No one spoke.
Because no one knew what to say.
Then—
Wings.
Two black birds soared through the sky. They swooped low before landing on the wall, shifting instantly into human forms.
Qrow and Raven.
They barely took a moment to gather themselves before Qrow frowned at the stunned silence.
"So… I take it the whole 'this-is-our-last-stand' thing just got a lot more literal?"
No one laughed.
Raven's red eyes flickered over the scene. "What's the game plan?"
Nobody answered.
Not even Oscar.
Professor Theodore, standing rigid, exhaled sharply through his nose. "How many Huntsmen still have the spirit to fight?"
Qrow hesitated.
That was never a good sign.
Most of the time, when he hesitated, it meant the answer wasn't good.
"…Most of the populace is already talking about surrendering the Relic," he admitted grimly. "They think Salem will spare them."
Oscar visibly shook.
"No, she won't," he said urgently. "She plans to call the Brothers. And that will only mean—"
"Destruction," Raven finished coldly.
Qrow ran a hand down his face. "Great."
A few moments of silence passed before Qrow sighed, then asked the inevitable question.
"…What do we do?"
Oscar straightened, inhaling deeply, his green eyes flickering in determination.
"We fight."
Theodore arched a brow. "Until when?"
Oscar's answer was quiet.
"…Until the bitter end."
The Grimm didn't move.
They howled, they shrieked, they scratched at the edges of the city, but they did not attack.
Salem was waiting.
Pyrrha stood among them, feeling the tension in the air, the heavy silence of a battlefield that had yet to begin. She glanced at the others. Jaune, Ruby, Weiss, Blake, Yang, Ren, and Nora. They didn't show fear, but she could see it, resting in the weight of their shoulders, in the way they lingered close to one another.
Blake and Yang held hands, their fingers tightly intertwined, as if grounding each other. Ren and Nora matched each other's pace, their movements synchronized without thought as if hoping to spend some time before it all goes away. Ruby stood at the front, staring out at the endless tide of Grimm, her silver eyes unreadable.
Then there was Jaune.
He wasn't looking at the Grimm.
His gaze was cast downward, toward the city below, toward the people who looked up at them with desperation in their eyes. He was worried. Afraid. Not for himself, but for them.
Weiss stood beside him, her arms crossed, watching the Grimm with calm, cold calculation. They were standing close — too close for just teammates.
Pyrrha felt something ache inside her.
She was about to look away when someone approached her from behind.
"Miss Nikos."
She turned. It was Oscar.
He held something in his hands — a small data drive.
"What is it?" Pyrrha asked, wary.
Oscar held it out to her. "Everything we know about Salem. Her forces, her history, her plans. Everything."
Pyrrha stared at it. "…And what do you expect me to do with this?"
Oscar's expression didn't waver. "You must bring it to Ozpin if you find yourself back home. He'll understand."
Pyrrha felt a tight knot form in her stomach. She let out a sharp breath. "I'd like to, but I don't exactly have a way home. And with this—" she gestured toward the endless Grimm, "—I doubt I'll have the time to figure one out."
Oscar didn't argue.
Instead, he simply said, "Destiny can be a fickle mistress."
Pyrrha flinched at the word.
Destiny.
"I don't know why you were sent here," Oscar continued. "Or what purpose it serves. But something brought you here. Maybe it was for a reason." He paused. "Even if we fall here… maybe you're meant to remember us."
Pyrrha bit the inside of her cheek, her frustration bubbling beneath her skin.
"I hate this," she admitted, voice raw. "Being thrown into a war that isn't mine. Knowing I can't help you the way you need. It's… hateful."
Oscar nodded in understanding.
"Sometimes, all of us, don't get a choice."
His words sat heavy on her shoulders.
He took a step back, adjusting the straps of his coat. "I hope you find your way home, Miss Nikos."
Before she could respond, he left, moving to join the others.
She exhaled, trying to steady herself.
Then—
"Pyrrha."
Jaune. She turned to face him, watching as he hesitated, then took a few steps closer.
"I'll find a way to send you back," he said firmly.
She frowned. "How? You don't have time."
"I have to."
There was no hesitation in his voice.
Pyrrha clenched her hands into fists. "Jaune, I'm not her. I'm not the Pyrrha Nikos of this world."
Jaune's expression didn't change.
"It doesn't matter."
She blinked.
"I want you to go home," Jaune continued, his voice quieter now. "Where you belong."
Something cracked inside her.
Her face crumpled, emotions clawing their way up her throat.
Jaune sighed at the sight of her face, rubbing the back of his neck. "Seems like destiny's got a habit of messing with us, huh?"
Pyrrha swallowed hard.
He hesitated again, then let out a small breath.
"You know," Jaune murmured, "a long time ago, our Pyrrha asked me if I believed in destiny."
Pyrrha inhaled sharply.
"…And what did you say?"
Jaune tilted his head slightly, as if remembering.
"I told her… I always thought destiny depended on how you looked at it." He exhaled. "She told me that, to her, destiny wasn't a predetermined fate you couldn't escape… but rather, some sort of final goal. Something you worked toward your entire life."
Pyrrha felt her hands tremble.
"She asked me, 'What would you do if something came along that you never expected? Something that had the potential to stand between you and your destiny? If you could fulfill your destiny in an instant… but at the cost of who you were?'"
Pyrrha's breath caught in her throat.
"…What did you answer?"
Jaune looked at her—really looked at her.
"I said that the Pyrrha Nikos I knew would never back down from a challenge." His voice was so soft now. "And if she truly believed it was her destiny to save the world… she wouldn't let anything stand in her way."
Pyrrha scoffed. "That's the wrong answer."
Jaune chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah. I've… thought about that a lot."
There was a heavy silence between them. Pyrrha exhaled slowly.
"Jaune."
He glanced at her.
"Did you love her?"
Jaune stiffened. His expression darkened—not in anger, but in something heavier.
"…I don't know." His voice was quiet, almost pained. "And even if I did… I can't remember."
Pyrrha's heart clenched.
Jaune let out a slow, shaky breath. "I was the Rusted Knight for most of my life. I only became young again recently. But it doesn't change that, inside, I'm still an old man. I've lived long enough to think things through."
Pyrrha looked away.
"…I see."
Jaune hesitated.
"…Do you think your Jaune is like me?"
She thought about it.
"No," she admitted. "But I do think the Master he spoke of… was just another version of you." She paused, giving him a tiny, sad smile. "I can see you training yourself. Wanting to make yourself into a 'badass.'"
Jaune laughed lightly. "Yeah… that sounds like me."
Pyrrha took a breath, then asked, "Do you think I'll ever get home?"
Jaune didn't answer immediately.
He held her gaze for a long moment.
"…Yes."
She wanted to believe him.
But he didn't explain.
And somehow, that scared her more than anything.
The people of Vacuo stood at the edge of despair.
Salem's words had been a poison, seeping into their hearts and minds. Her presence in the sky, looming like an untouchable goddess, had shaken them to their core. The Grimm howled outside the city, waiting for the moment to strike.
Vacuo was surrounded.
But they weren't broken.
Not yet.
Professor Theodore stood atop a makeshift platform, his wiry frame seeming far more imposing than usual. He looked down at the people gathered before him—civilians, Huntsmen, refugees from other fallen Kingdoms. They were afraid, uncertain.
And it was his job to remind them why they still had a reason to fight.
He took a deep breath and raised his voice.
"Look around you!" Theodore shouted, his deep voice carrying through the streets of Vacuo. "Look at what we have built, what we protect! You have all lost so much—your homes, your families, your lives as you knew them. Salem's words were meant to divide us, to break our spirits before the battle has even begun! She wants us to believe there is no hope. That there is no fight to be had. That if we hand over the last relic, we will be spared."
He paused, letting that thought sink in before continuing.
"But we all know the truth, don't we?" Theodore's voice grew sharper, cutting through the hushed murmurs of doubt. "We have seen her destruction. We know what she has done. She did not come here to negotiate. She did not offer us a chance at survival. No, my friends. She came here to erase us. She wants us to make it for her!"
The air grew tense.
"She will not spare us," Theodore pressed on. "She will never stop until she has wiped us all from existence.."
The crowd murmured, shifting uneasily.
"She wants us to be afraid," Theodore declared. "And I'll admit it — I am afraid. We are all afraid. But that fear? That fear means we are still alive!"
He slammed a fist against his chest.
"She thinks we will bow before her. That we will cower and give her what she wants. That we will break." He bared his teeth in a sharp, defiant grin. "But she has forgotten something very important about cornered animals."
His eyes glinted with fire.
"When an animal has nowhere left to run, when it is pushed into a corner with nothing left to lose — what does it do?"
Silence.
Then someone from the crowd answered.
"…It fights."
Theodore grinned.
"Damn right," he said. "And it fights with everything it has."
A ripple of energy passed through the people.
"She has cornered us, my friends. We have no escape. No reinforcements. No second chances." Theodore gestured broadly to the people before him. "But in doing so, she has also given us something else."
He pointed to them, his voice lowering into something powerful, something undeniable.
"She has given us resolve."
The murmurs in the crowd turned into something more—determination.
Theodore's voice thundered over them all.
"We may die. That is a real possibility." His tone grew harder. "We may fail. That is also a reality. But we do not fight because we expect to win." He shook his head. "We fight because it is the only thing we can do. Because to surrender is to accept death, to accept annihilation."
He raised his hand in a fist.
"We fight because even if there is only a one percent chance that we can win—" He roared the words, his voice shaking the air. "THEN THAT ONE PERCENT IS WORTH THE GAMBLE!"
The crowd erupted.
A battle cry.
A howl of defiance.
They weren't broken.
They would not break.
Theodore smiled fiercely, then stepped aside as another figure stepped up.
Ruby Rose.
She didn't hesitate as she grabbed the microphone and spoke.
"I know some of you don't think we can win," Ruby admitted. "And maybe you're right. Maybe we're fighting an enemy too strong, too powerful. Maybe this is impossible."
She took a deep breath.
"But impossible things happen all the time."
Silence fell over the crowd again.
Ruby stepped forward, her silver eyes gleaming like twin stars.
"I grew up hearing stories of great Huntsmen," she said. "Of warriors who stood against the darkness, who faced down monsters and demons and never gave up. They fought because it was right."
She looked over the people before her.
"They fought for people who couldn't fight for themselves."
Her hands clenched into fists.
"I know Salem is powerful. I know that we're outnumbered. And I know that some of you are scared. But if we back down now—if we let that fear decide our future—then we lose before the battle has even begun!"
She slammed her foot against the platform.
"Salem wants us to believe we're already dead. That it's over before it's even started. But we're still here! We're still breathing! We still have weapons in our hands and people beside us who are willing to fight!"
Her voice rose in intensity.
"She wants us divided! She wants us weak! She wants us to give up!"
Ruby lifted Crescent Rose and pointed it at the horde of Grimm waiting outside the city walls.
"But we won't!"
The people shouted in agreement.
Ruby turned back to the crowd.
"She wants us to feel hopeless, to feel powerless. But I'm not powerless. We're not powerless!"
She raised her free hand and clenched it into a fist.
"We are strong!" she shouted.
The people mirrored her, raising their fists.
"We are huntsmen!"
The voices grew louder.
"We are Vacuo!"
The city roared.
And in that moment, Salem's words were drowned out.
Ruby's silver eyes gleamed, a fire burning inside them.
"She thinks she can take this city," Ruby declared. "She thinks she can break us." She shook her head. "But she's wrong."
She turned to face the Grimm again.
"Because this is our world. And we are going to fight for it."
The cheers were deafening.
Huntsmen and civilians alike, their spirits reforged in the fires of defiance.
Salem had tried to crush them under the weight of inevitability.
But all she had done was give them something to fight for.
A single chance.
A one percent chance.
Jaune walked through the dimly lit corridors of Vacuo's inner sanctum, his boots echoing off the stone floors. The weight of what he was about to do pressed against his chest, but his expression remained unreadable, calm, collected.
Beside him, Oscar matched his pace, though his brows were drawn in concern. "You haven't told me why you need the Relic of Destruction."
Jaune didn't answer at first. He exhaled slowly, his gauntleted fingers flexing at his sides before finally responding.
"I'm willing to pay the price," Jaune said simply.
Oscar's steps faltered. He turned to Jaune fully, eyes wide with disbelief. "Do you even know what you're saying?"
Jaune stopped as well, meeting Oscar's gaze with a quiet intensity. "I do."
Oscar's heart pounded in his chest. He had spent enough time with Jaune to recognize the grim resolve in his eyes. It was the same look he had seen in Ruby when they were on the brink of losing Atlas — the same look in Ironwood's eyes before he descended into desperation.
The same look of a man who had already accepted death.
"Jaune…" Oscar swallowed thickly. "The price of using the Relic of Destruction isn't just some minor consequence. It will take something from you. It could take your life."
Jaune smiled softly, as if the idea didn't bother him in the slightest. "I know."
Oscar felt something bitter rise in his throat. His hands curled into fists. "Then why are you—"
"Because it has to be done."
Jaune's voice was steady, unwavering. There was no hesitation, no doubt.
Oscar shook his head, unable to comprehend the sheer certainty in Jaune's words. "You don't have to do this. We can find another way—"
"There is no other way, Oscar." Jaune's tone wasn't harsh, but it was firm. "Salem has us cornered. We don't have the luxury of time." He exhaled, running a hand through his golden hair before giving Oscar a knowing look. "I know you understand."
Oscar hesitated.
Because Jaune was right.
The Grimm surrounded them like an unrelenting tide. Their defenses wouldn't hold forever. And now, with Salem wielding the Staff of Creation, the scales had tipped dangerously out of their favor.
Jaune stepped forward, his voice quieter now. "I need you to trust me."
Oscar clenched his jaw. He wanted to argue, to tell Jaune that there was another path, but deep down, he knew there wasn't.
And the worst part?
Jaune knew that Oscar knew.
After a long silence, Oscar finally nodded. "…Alright."
Jaune's smile didn't reach his eyes.
They continued their walk, descending deeper into the vault.
The further they went, the heavier the air became. It was as if the very walls could sense what was about to happen.
At the end of the hall, an ancient door stood tall, intricate carvings of destruction and rebirth etched into its surface. Standing beside it was a woman.
The Summer Maiden.
Her presence alone was solemn, but her expression was cool and unreadable. She regarded Jaune and Oscar carefully before speaking. "I assume you're ready."
Jaune nodded. "I am."
The Summer Maiden turned to Oscar. "And you?"
Oscar hesitated, then sighed. "…I am."
With that, the Maiden extended her hands, and the vault door trembled. Light traced the carvings, illuminating the chamber as ancient mechanisms groaned to life. The doors slowly parted, revealing a chamber bathed in ethereal golden light.
And there, at the center of the room, floating above a stone pedestal—
The Relic of Destruction.
It was a sword. Unlike any blade Jaune had ever seen before.
It radiated an overwhelming presence, something ancient, something wrong.
Jaune stepped forward, his breath steady.
He reached for the blade.
The moment his armored fingers brushed against the hilt, a shockwave of energy pulsed through the chamber, sending a gust of wind in all directions. Oscar flinched. Even the Summer Maiden narrowed her eyes as the temperature in the room seemed to plummet.
Jaune's vision blurred.
Darkness.
Fire.
Memories that weren't his clawed at the edges of his mind — wars fought long before his time, civilizations crumbling, entire continents wiped from existence. The sword had seen it all. Had caused it all.
Jaune inhaled sharply, steeling himself against the overwhelming tide of destruction.
Then, he gripped the hilt fully.
His armor pulsed with light.
His aura flared violently, straining under the sheer weight of the power now surging through him.
But he didn't falter.
Slowly, he lifted the sword, feeling its immense weight settle into his grip. It was heavier than Crocea Mors. Heavier than anything he had ever carried before.
Jaune let out a breath.
Then, he turned back to Oscar and the Summer Maiden.
Oscar looked… tired.
"You're really going through with this," Oscar murmured. It wasn't a question.
Jaune nodded. "Yes."
Oscar studied him for a long moment, then sighed, rubbing his temples. "You're an idiot."
Jaune chuckled softly. "Probably."
Oscar exhaled, shaking his head. "Just… promise me one thing."
Jaune tilted his head. "What?"
"If you start losing yourself to it—" Oscar hesitated. "—make sure to point it at Salem."
Jaune's smile was sad. "I'll do my best."
Oscar didn't look reassured.
Jaune turned to the Summer Maiden, who was watching him with quiet curiosity.
"…Thank you," Jaune said.
The Maiden merely nodded.
Jaune exhaled one last time, then—
He lifted the sword fully.
The glow intensified, wrapping around his form like a living entity. His visored bascinet's opening gleamed under the ethereal light as he took a single step forward.
The air hummed.
Oscar shook his head, his expression bitter as he murmured under his breath.
"…Oum help us all."
The city of Vacuo stood on the precipice of annihilation. The vibrant, yet unruly city, known for its resilience and lawlessness, had been transformed into a fortress. The walls were manned by Huntsmen, refugees, and soldiers alike, each gripping their weapons with white-knuckled determination.
Above, airships hovered like silent guardians, their laser cannons primed and ready. The ancient structure of Amity Arena, repurposed into a floating fortress, cast its long shadow over the battlefield, its massive artillery now aimed at the incoming horde. The desert stretched before them, swallowed by an unrelenting tide of black.
The Grimm.
An army unlike any before it, a living, writhing mass of nightmares, their shrieks and growls forming a symphony of terror.
Pyrrha stood on the battlements, her emerald eyes surveying the preparations. Ren and Nora stood nearby, checking their weapons. They had donned additional armor, knowing full well that today, there would be no retreat.
Team RWBY was similarly prepared. Yang adjusted her gauntlets, her golden hair tied back, flames burning behind her eyes. Blake stood poised, Gambol Shroud already drawn, ready to strike. Weiss had her rapier leveled, forming glyphs in the air for rapid deployment. Ruby, standing at the forefront, her silver eyes glowing faintly, adjusted Crescent Rose.
Pyrrha turned, about to ask where Jaune was when he emerged.
He stepped forward, his presence commanding, yet eerily silent. He was clad in armor, a full plate covering his frame, and for the first time since she had known him, he wore a helm that concealed his face.
There was something unnerving about him now.
"Where have you been?" Ren asked.
Jaune didn't answer immediately. He flexed his fingers over the hilt of his sword, a weapon that was not Crocea Mors.
"I had to make my preparations." His voice was calm, almost distant.
Pyrrha narrowed her eyes, feeling something off about him. But before she could ask, the sky darkened further.
A presence heavier than the weight of the Grimm itself settled over them.
Salem had arrived.
She did not descend from the heavens like an avenging angel, nor did she charge into battle like a warlord. Instead, she simply appeared, her form floating above the battlefield like an omen of death.
She was flanked by her most loyal followers.
Cinder Fall stood at her right, her maiden eyes filled with burning hatred. Tyrian Callows crouched beside her, his manic grin stretching too wide, his scorpion tail twitching with excitement.
Salem's voice rang across the battlefield, soft yet echoing with an unearthly presence.
"People of Vacuo, I ask you once more—lay down your arms. Surrender the Relic. Give yourselves to me, and I shall grant you mercy."
Her words were coated with false kindness, her voice dripping with the promise of an end to suffering. But no one was fooled.
Professor Theodore, who had led Vacuo's defense, took a single step forward, his hands in his pockets. His face was weathered but unbowed, his expression unimpressed.
"Lady, we don't take kindly to guests that overstay their welcome," he said flatly. Then, he spat on the ground. "And we sure as hell don't surrender."
Salem sighed, as though she pitied them. Then, with a single, delicate motion of her hand—
The Grimm charged.
Like a black tide, they surged forward.
The ground quaked beneath their sheer numbers. The sky blotted out by winged monstrosities.
From the walls, the airships, from Amity Arena itself — Remnant answered.
Gunfire erupted. Explosions blossomed across the battlefield as laser batteries, missiles, and Dust-enhanced weaponry unleashed hell. The walls shook as Huntsmen and soldiers fired down upon the horde.
Professor Theodore shouted, "Hold the line! Don't let those freaks get close!"
Pyrrha gritted her teeth, nodding to Jaune before launching herself into battle.
Team RWBY took to the western wall, while Pyrrha, Jaune, Ren, and Nora defended the east.
Jaune moved first, his new sword cleaving through the Grimm like a scythe through wheat. He cut a Beowolf clean in half before twisting to drive his blade into a charging Beringel, its roar cut short as he ripped through its torso.
Pyrrha moved alongside him, her shield intercepting a lunging Deathstalker before she spun, Milo piercing its underbelly and letting Jaune cleaved it in half.
Nora slammed Magnhild down, shattering the skulls of a dozen Creeps.
Ren weaved between their attacks, his strikes precise, aura-infused palms sending shockwaves through the creatures, imploding their cores.
Above, the battle raged as Mantas dogfight against the winged horrors.
And then a new presence entered the fray.
A streak of fire descended from the heavens, a meteor crashing down upon the eastern wall. Huntsmen were flung from their posts, their bodies falling to their deaths.
From the inferno, a figure emerged.
Cinder Fall.
Pyrrha's breath hitched.
Cinder's eyes locked onto her, wide with surprise, then narrowed in unfiltered rage.
"No," Cinder whispered. Then, louder, "No!"
Pyrrha readied herself.
Cinder's body blazed with fury. "I killed you! I killed you!"
She launched forward, fire licking at her fingertips.
Before she could close the distance, four figures intercepted her.
Ruby. Weiss. Blake. Yang.
Ruby's silver eyes flashed. Cinder screamed as her Grimm-infested arm began to turn to stone.
Blake and Yang moved as one, striking her from both sides, their aura-infused attacks shattering her defenses.
Cinder stumbled, gasping, as Weiss stepped forward.
Cold. Unforgiving.
The ground beneath Cinder froze, trapping her feet in place.
Winter Schnee landed beside Weiss, her gaze icy.
"Sorry, we don't have time for you."
Cinder's eyes darted wildly. "No. No, no, no—"
Jaune stepped forward.
His sword gleamed.
Cinder saw him and froze.
That sword…
It was not Crocea Mors.
It was the Relic of Destruction.
Jaune moved.
The blade sang as it cleaved through the air and impaled Cinder through the chest.
Her breath caught, eyes wide.
Weiss followed through, her rapier stabbing through Cinder's spine.
For the first time in a long, long time — Cinder Fall knew fear.
Jaune exhaled, then ripped his sword upward.
The blade tore through her body, splitting her apart.
Cinder Fall was no more.
The battlefield was a cacophony of war, but in that moment, there was a pause.
Ruby stood over the remains of the woman who had tormented them for so long, a mixture of relief and exhaustion in her silver eyes.
Weiss, blade still dripping, turned to Jaune.
Jaune did not look at them.
He merely stepped over Cinder's remains and turned to the rest of the Grimm.
On the other end of the city, Qrow and Raven moved in unison, their strikes swift and brutal as they clashed against Tyrian. The scorpion Faunus cackled, his eyes wild with delight even as he barely dodged the siblings' relentless attacks.
"Ohhh, this is fun!" Tyrian shrieked, twirling his weapon with reckless abandon. "Such a shame it has to end!"
Qrow growled, shifting Harbinger into its greatsword form and slamming it against Tyrian's defenses. The sheer force sent the madman skidding across the blood-soaked sand, but he merely grinned wider, relishing the pain.
"I'll carve smiles into your corpses, oh yes I will!"
But before he could make another move, Raven vanished in a flurry of red and black, appearing behind him with her blade already slicing through the air.
Tyrian barely had time to register what had happened before his head was severed clean from his body.
A moment of silence.
Then his body collapsed to the ground, lifeless.
Qrow exhaled sharply. No witty remark. No smug satisfaction. Just exhaustion. He glanced at Raven, who had already turned away, her focus on the larger battle.
"Come on," she muttered, her voice colder than ever. "No time to waste."
Qrow agreed. Eliminate the heavy hitters first.
Across the battlefield, the fight raged on.
Pyrrha fought like a whirlwind of steel and fire, her red hair flashing between strikes as she weaved through the endless tide of Grimm. Block, thrust, parry, counter. Every movement was precise, controlled. She used Akuo to bash aside a charging Beowolf before spinning and driving Milo straight through the head of a Beringel.
No matter how many she cut down, there were always more.
But she kept moving.
Kept fighting.
And in the distance, through the madness, her eyes caught sight of him.
Jaune Arc stood amidst the chaos, calm and unwavering.
He did not hesitate. Did not falter.
His blade carved through Grimm as if they were mere whispers of the void, his strikes imbued with the raw force of his amplified aura. Each movement was efficient, making it more like an execution rather than a battle.
Above them, the sky darkened further as Oscar, no, Ozma, clashed against Salem.
The two immortals battled with a ferocity unlike anything Pyrrha had ever seen. Ozma wielded his staff with mastery, striking at Salem with blows powerful enough to shatter mountains. But she did not fall.
She barely even flinched.
Salem looked almost bored.
Then, with a mere wave of her hand, the battlefield shifted.
Darkness erupted from her fingertips, forming massive, writhing shadowy hands that surged toward the Huntsmen, seeking to bind them in place.
Ren, Nora, Ruby, Weiss, Blake, and Yang narrowly evaded, dodging and weaving through the cursed tendrils. Pyrrha leapt onto a crumbling pillar, narrowly avoiding a grasping claw.
And then Salem raised the Staff of Creation.
The air hummed with power, the sheer weight of its presence making Pyrrha's very soul tremble.
A single moment.
That was all it took.
Jaune vanished.
One second, he was in the midst of the fight.
The next, he was behind Salem.
The new sword he held, pulsed with his amplified aura, a blinding golden glow radiating off the blade as he brought it down in a devastating arc.
SLASH!
The sound of steel meeting flesh echoed across the battlefield.
Salem's hand, the one holding the Staff, was cleaved clean off.
For the first time in centuries, Salem let out a true scream.
Jaune didn't stop.
Before she could react, before she could recover, he twisted his grip and with one smooth motion—
He beheaded her.
The battlefield fell silent.
And in that instant, Jaune grabbed the Staff of Creation.
Time seemed to freeze.
And then...The Grimm screamed.
Like a chorus of dying creatures, they wailed in agony, their master momentarily severed from them.
"JAUNE!"
Oscar, no, Ozma, saw what was happening and acted immediately. He slammed the Long Memory into Salem's decapitated body, sending a shockwave through the battlefield. The force sent her tumbling backward, buying them seconds seconds that Jaune took advantage of.
He bolted.
Bulldozing his way through the battlefield, his new sword cleaving through anything in his way, the Staff held tightly in his grip.
He ran straight for Pyrrha.
Jaune skidded to a stop in front of her, his golden aura still flaring wildly around him. His chest heaved, sweat and blood dripping down his face.
Pyrrha barely had time to process what had just happened when he spoke.
"It's time to go home."
She blinked.
"What?"
Jaune exhaled sharply, shifting the Staff of Creation in his grip.
"We're sending you back."
Pyrrha hesitated. "Jaune, I—"
"No time," Jaune cut her off, his voice urgent. "You weren't meant to be here. You have a whole world waiting for you. A world that needs you."
"But what about you? What about this world?"
Jaune's expression was unreadable.
"We have to see this through ourselves," he admitted. "We all do."
He reached out, gripping her shoulder. His touch was warm, grounding.
"But you don't belong here, Pyrrha. You have to go back."
She wanted to argue.
She wanted to stay.
But deep down, she knew he was right.
This wasn't her fight.
Not anymore.
Pyrrha looked at Jaune, then at the others still battling, at the war unfolding before her eyes.
She clenched her fists.
Then nodded.
"…Okay."
Jaune gave her a small smile, filled with something that almost looked like relief.
Then, gripping the Staff of Creation, he took a deep breath.
And with all the strength he had, willed a portal to open.
Pyrrha gave them a sad distraught look before she left.
Jaune stood at the edge of the battlements, watching as she disappeared, her crimson hair whipping in the wind.
The portal closed.
Nora leaned against the stone wall, sighing as she wiped at her eyes, taking a deep breathe, taking cover from the Grimm for a moment. "I can't believe she's really gone… again."
Ren stood beside her, reloading StormFlower, his face unreadable. "She wasn't our Pyrrha," he admitted. "But still… it was good to see her."
Jaune nodded, staring at the distant horizon. "Yeah," he murmured. "It was."
He closed his eyes briefly. At least she got to go home.
Then he turned his attention back to the battlefield.
The Grimm stretched as far as the eye could see. A living, writhing ocean of shadows, blotting out the desert sand. Above, the sky had turned black, with winged monstrosities circling like vultures. The battle was nowhere near over.
Jaune took a breath.
Slowly, he stepped onto the ledge of the battlements, raising his sword high.
It wasn't Crocea Mors.
The blade hummed with unnatural power, a relic of unfathomable destruction. A sword that demanded sacrifice.
Jaune's voice carried across the city, amplified by his aura, carried on the wind.
"I AM THE RUSTED KNIGHT," he roared, his voice shaking the heavens as he stared at the Salem who just regenerated again. "AND I FIGHT WITH YOU!"
The people of Vacuo, Huntsmen, soldiers, refugees, looked up.
Not to her.
But to him.
Then the cheer rose.
A cry of defiance.
A call to war.
The people roared with him, weapons raised, ready to die for their home.
Jaune exhaled.
Then he jumped.
From the walls of Vacuo, he plummeted into the sea of Grimm.
The moment he landed, the earth shattered. A shockwave of aura-infused energy rippled outward, sending Beowolves and Beringels flying. Jaune moved, his blade a streak of gold, cutting through Grimm like wheat before a scythe.
The Sword of Destruction pulsed in his grip, drinking deep of the battlefield, feeding on his will. Every swing sent out shockwaves, obliterating creatures in the hundreds.
He had never felt stronger.
Yet, as he fought, something gnawed at him.
The blade was powerful, but there was a cost.
It whispered to him. A voice in the back of his mind, cold and unrelenting.
More.
Jaune cut through a dozen Grimm with one swing. The ground cracked beneath his feet.
More.
He crushed a Deathstalker's skull with a downward strike, its body breaking apart into mist.
More.
He fought. He killed. His golden aura burned bright, mixing with the red glow of the sword.
But he felt it.
His heart was racing. His breaths came short and ragged. His aura, though bolstered, was burning too fast.
The sword was taking from him.
And he let it.
Because this was the only way.
Because Vacuo needed him.
Because this was what heroes did right?
He fought without hesitation. Without pause. He cut a path through the Grimm like a storm.
Above, the defenses of Vacuo roared. Airships fired into the endless waves. Huntsmen stood on the walls, launching Dust-powered projectiles into the horde.
But Jaune was in the thick of it, and he was unstoppable.
At least… that's what he told himself.
Somewhere deep down, he knew.
He knew the sword was eating away at him.
He knew he wouldn't be able to keep this up forever.
Like he was burning in a stake, waiting to be completely burnt up.
But that was fine.
At least she got to go home.
Pyrrha would live.
That was enough for him.
His hands were numb now. The weight of the sword was growing heavier.
He didn't stop.
He couldn't.
If he can buy them time, then it's worth it.
More Grimm came. An unending tide.
Jaune smiled underneath his helm, though it was small.
One last charge.
One last fight.
And he ran headfirst into the abyss.