"Untie Ozpin!"
"He isn't waking up!"
"Dead."
"What do we do?!"
More and more Grimm continue to appear through the cracks as we try and make sense of the situation and decide that to do. The room tilts around me as I fight to stay focused, firing blindly into the shadows to keep whatever's lurking just out of sight from closing the gap. Chaos slams into us like a brick wall.
"Protect Ozpin!" I scream, getting a hold of myself. "Leave Port to me!"
I throw one of my tomahawks into the advancing horde, the gleaming trail of silver slicing through the air. In the same breath, I teleport to that flying point, falling into the tower's lower level. My [Nightvision Shades] snap into place just as I land on something soft and disgusting. The splash beneath my boots confirms the first kill.
My satisfaction lasts exactly until I realize just how many Grimm I have gathered around me. How many? All of them, every single one of them.
No time to think.
Small, dog-sized nightmares skitter toward me, faster than their bloated, swollen bodies should allow. Their limbs are a chaotic mess of spindly legs and bulbous joints, mandibles clicking in hungry anticipation.
I cut one in half mid-leap, its insides splattering across my wooden armor, and immediately swing wide, catching another and sending its shattered remains crashing into two of its brothers. The floor turns dark beneath my boots as black goo pools around me, each step a brutal stomp that crushes another Grimm.
It's almost… satisfying. Watching them burst with every stomp sends a rush of adrenaline straight to my head. But for every Grimm I obliterate, three more claw their way up to take its place. My arms burn, cuts and scrapes littering my skin like whispers of how close they've come.
And I'm still surrounded.
A deafening explosion roars above me, shaking loose debris from the ceiling.
"Back to back, Babyboy," Maroon sings, landing with a roll before rushing to my side. Her grin is a flash of madness, and she moves like she's drunk on the chaos.
She yanks a small flask from her belt, takes a swig, and spits a stream of violet liquid into the masses.
"What the fuck are you—"
Before I can finish, she sends her weapon into the stone floor. Sparks ignite the trail of purple, and the flames roar to life, eating through the Grimm like napalm. The air is a hot, acrid mess, forcing me to step back, but Maroon grabs me by the armor and pulls me forward through the opening she's carved in their ranks.
"You said that shit wasn't flammable!" I yell over the roar of the fire.
"Oh, c'mon! Sometimes a girl's just gotta spit and make a little mess! Hawk—"
Yeah, no, not unpacking that one.
The larger beast finally comes into view. Its grotesque, malformed body looms over the smaller Grimm as it hurries away. I draw [The Contender] and let it sing.
The first shot rips through the corridor like a pale specter, tearing apart anything unlucky enough to stand in its path. The second shot slams into the beast's back leg, shattering it and leaving a frosted sheen of destruction in its wake.
The creature stumbles, hissing as it turns to face us. Peeling flesh reveals a bare, grinning skull beneath, jagged teeth snapping in furious hunger. It's still holding Professor Port in its jaws, his legs limp and swinging like a ragdoll.
I fire again. The Grimm twists unnaturally, dodging as its bony legs collapse, letting it fall to the floor. It leaps at me with a sudden burst of speed. Before I can react, Maroon pulls me out of the way, throwing down another cloud of thick smoke to obscure us.
The haze bites at my throat—but then I feel it. A shift. Maroon's Semblance wraps around my thoughts, narrowing them to a singular point, getting rid of anything but this singular moment. I close my eyes, listen, and fire.
The third shot slams into the creature's side, its carapace bursting in a violent spray that paints the walls. I fire again, but the hollow click of my empty chamber answers silently.
The Grimm thrashes wildly, flinging Port's limp form across the hall before inflating grotesquely, goo dripping from its open maw. Panic rushes across my brain as its swollen body begins to shake, preparing to expel its contents.
If I fire now, I have just enough time to save myself.
Maroon? She's close. Close enough? I don't know.
The arachnid releases a wave of caustic acid, a tidal wall of burning death pressing into us.
And then—
It stops.
The liquid falls, sizzling as it devours the stone floor with a deafening hiss, but before it can reach us, a translucent barrier of green light snaps into existence. It curls like a serpent, enclosing the Grimm in a glowing orb, trapping it within its own malice.
"Mr. Port," a calm, measured voice cuts through the chaos. "Would you please regain control of the Crawling Horror?"
I turn toward the source, and there he is—Ozpin. Descending slowly, green hexagons appearing if front of him, illuminating his deliberate steps to the sound of his clicking cane.
After a moment, Professor Port does get up, although holding his head from what clearly was a heavy hit. "O-Of course. Just a moment, please."
"V-Vesper…" Maroon's strained voice pulls me back. I glance down and see my hand latched onto her arm like a claw. Her face twists with pain, and I realize I've been holding on to her,
I release her quickly, taking a step back. My fingers twitch at my sides, still locked in the phantom grip. A million unfinished thoughts are still going through my mind, each one louder than the last—choices I could've made, steps I should've taken, whether there was any way to get us through without taking any damage. Truth is, I'm not sure.
"I would like to apologize," Ozpin continues calmly.
"Mr. Port's Semblance is typically more than sufficient to keep these creatures in check. However, it is evident I underestimated the scale of your efforts—and the significant damage you would able to inflict upon them."
I blink, struggling to focus. "Rain? Pyrrha?"
"They're okay. The test is over. They should be with us shortly."
Just as Ozpin said, ten minutes later, we're all gathered back at the top of the tower. Port has taken a moment to slip away, presumably to calm the lingering swarm of Grimm that remain restless without their leader's clear presence. The air still carries a faint tension, despite the battle being over.
Ozpin stands before us, his posture as composed as ever, his cane resting lightly in his hand. "First of all, let me ask you all a question," he begins, his tone probing. "How would you qualify your own performance?"
A brief silence falls as we glance at each other, weighing the question. Before anyone else can say anything, Rain speaks with confidence.
"Incredible," the Faunus says, folding her arms. "Very good. Not a problem at all."
Ozpin arches a brow, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He shakes his head, letting out a soft chuckle. "I suspect some of your teammates might disagree with you, Miss Zvereva. However," he adds, "today, it is my assessment that matters, and I won't dispute your confidence."
"Wait!" Pyrrha interjects, taking a step forward. Her expression is a mix of confusion and determination. "What about what just happened? Wouldn't it have been better for us to rescue the objective and retreat? How did we not fail in our assignment?"
"That," Ozpin replies, his voice even, "is for you to decide. Success and failure often lie in how you define them."
His gaze sharpens as it lands on me. "Mr. Bolt," he says, "why did you decide to recklessly dive into danger instead of attempting to follow the orders set for your team?"
The question takes me by surprise.
"Well…" I begin, trying my best to make sense. "What would be the point, then? We're here to kill Grimm and save people. It doesn't matter if this is a test or not. We can't just leave someone behind as soon as things get dangerous. It's supposed to be dangerous. It's not our job to determine if we are adequate for this objective, that was decided for us. We can only do our best."
Ozpin's expression remains unreadable, though his glance suggests I could've chosen my words more carefully.
After a beat of silence, he nods. "As you say. Beacon exists for those willing to place themselves in harm's way to protect others. That said, abandoning your objective wouldn't necessarily have resulted in your disqualification. But I do find it difficult to pass anyone who can turn their back on a human life with too much ease."
"So, what's it gonna be, party boy?" Maroon cuts in, swaying slightly as her voice lights with drunken playfulness. "You said move, we move. You say bark, we bark. Then everybody already knows who let the dogs out."
I blink. What?
I wave a hand at Rain, who steps in and puts a hand over Maroon's mouth, pulling her away silently.
"She'll… be back to normal eventually," I mutter.
Ozpin takes a breath, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his face as he leans more heavily on his cane. "Since we could say one of you wasn't entirely in their right mind during the exercise," he says dryly, "I'll ask you again, Mr. Bolt. What would have happened down there if this wasn't an exercise? If I hadn't been here to save you?"
I pause. The memory of the fight flashes through my mind—the chaos, the teeth, and claws and acid. For a moment, doubt threatens to creep in, but I push it aside and meet his gaze.
"We would've been fine."
Ozpin arches a brow, his expression neutral but somehow still challenging. "And what, exactly, makes you so certain?"
I shrug slightly, trying to maintain my composure. "Because I was there. And I'm not planning on dying anytime soon."
"That's… quite a bold gamble," he observes, his tone laced with skepticism.
"I'm not saying it would've been easy," I admit. "And I'm not pretending we could've taken that Grimm down on our own. But if you hadn't been there? I know Rain or Pyrrha would've come for us." I pause, my gaze hardening. "Honestly, I just can't imagine a reality where the Crawling Horror defeats all of us. Maybe it would've cost me a leg or an arm to buy some time, but at the end of the day? All I needed to do was survive, and as I said—Survive I would."
Ozpin studies me, and the silence stretches just long enough to make me shift slightly. Then, with a faint nod, Ozpin starts walking away. "May your companions never betray your faith, Mr. Bolt."
As we exit the tower, stepping into the fresh air, the tension from the battle begins to dissipate. Despite the fatigue, a sense of relief settles over the group. We passed. The weight of the test is behind us.
The airship is waiting close by the entrance now, its engines humming softly, but before we can board, Professor Port steps into view, standing tall and cheerful as ever. He greets us with a wide grin, his enthusiasm at the front.
"Well, young lads," he says, his voice booming, "am I to assume everything has gone as wonderfully as it could have been expected?"
It's hard not to notice the state of his clothing—burnt edges and ragged tears where the Grimm's teeth clearly had their way. I do my best not to stare.
I hesitate, then speak, "I'm… sorry about your pet, Mr. Port?"
"Oh! Don't be, child," Port replies, waving the thought away. "As much as I might wish otherwise, it's good to remember that Grimm are still fearsome foes and powerful beasts! Were I not the brave Huntsman I am, they would turn their backs on me and devour me in an instant!"
"Like pork?" Rain adds, her head tilted.
"Exactly, my dear!" Port declares, a hearty laugh escaping his lips. He pauses, composing himself as he clears his throat with a loud cough into his fist. "Anyway…"
"As the actual teacher in charge of this test, I just wanted to congratulate all of you. Today, you've shown both mindfulness and bravery. You acted with enough care to keep your team safe, but not so much as to discredit the protection of others." He looks at each of us in turn, his gaze steady and proud. "I think that a wonderful thing, and it'll be my pleasure to see you next week—and in the years to come—under my protection at Beacon Academy."
"Thank you, professor," she says earnestly. "And I must say, I was very surprised to face someone with a Semblance like yours. Will you be accompanying us back?"
"Oh no, dear, I'm only waiting for my own transport. Regrettably, not all teachers at Beacon are as… field-capable as myself, so I must make my presence felt elsewhere." He glances off into the distance dramatically, as if pondering some great responsibility. "And on that note, if you would pardon me…"
Without further explanation, the man marches into the open field, his arms extended wide like airplane wings. The sight is so absurd we can only watch, but before we can even question his intentions, the air erupts with a gust of wind as the massive Nevermore descends from the sky, talons outstretched. It scoops Port up effortlessly, carrying him into the distance.
"AND REMEMBER! A GOOD HUNTSMAN SHOULD ALWAYS—"
His voice fades into the distance, swallowed by the rush of wind.
Maroon, arms crossed, is the first to break the ridiculous silence. "A thousand lien says he's fallin' off that thing and breakin' his head."
"Five thousand," Rain adds.
"Ten thousand he outlives all of us somehow."
"Guys, please!" Pyrrha cries as she ushers us toward the waiting ship.
In the end, we're all just glad to know the day's over, taking a deep breath as we'll no longer need to worry about the near future.
It's a weird feeling. For them, the next three years hold nothing but peace and silly adventures at Beacon Academy. I'm the only one who could even expect the chaos that will soon reach us, the only one that can prepare for the storm looming on the horizon.
I cannot forget my purpose.