She ran. One thin, feather-light leg in front of the other, talons scraping the various textures of cellar flagstone (tcktcktcktck) and cellar wood (krkrkrkrk) as she sprinted.

'It is the heart of the Second that we do preserve, that golden heart of our Arch. In our love, in our passion, in our camaraderie, we are like that Arch most generous. And some of us… well, we have our own ways. Folks, turn your eyes here— Mister Rose, you ready?'

'If you are, sir.'

'Go'on'n' bring—bring yourselves on out here then! Folks, folks, my hearts in congregation, all you here today look on up at these two. See, see, Mister Rose here—'

'Please, Father Verron, just Carmin.'

'Oh! Oho, see—see, folks, Mister Rose here ain't your traditional Second! He ain't a Second at all, folks! Our friend here's a disciple of the First Archivist, so he don't know I'm just 'Pastor' or 'Verron' or 'That Squawkin' Jay Up There.'

'Er— I apolo—'

'No! No, Mister Rose, I'm yankin' yer chain, poking yer sides— a tickle for the folks, see?'

'Yes. Right.'

'Smile, friend, we're all kinfolk here! Say, why'ont'cha introduce the little lady here?'

'This is my daughter, Summer.'

'Summer. Ain't that the prettiest name, folks? And you said her mother…'

'Lily's a Second.'

'Well hopefully we'll see her soon! Let your missus know—'

'She's sick.'

'Oh. Well let her know we're carvin' our hearts for her.'

'Thank you, Father. P-Pastor, I mean."

She did a show for the church, then— a kata of sorts that she did with her grandfather's farming scythe. Dad wasn't a farmer, nor was mom, but such was Second tradition to pass down your tools regardless. Mom hadn't taken good care of it, but she'd given it the maintenance it needed to be presentable herself.

Dad never had used a scythe himself— barely anyone did— but he learned, just so he could teach her. Once he saw her martial aptitude, he'd obsessed over training her like a First. He would make her study the scythe Codex any time she wasn't actively practicing. He punished her for doing homework at home, forcing her to get it done at school. He never coddled her. He pushed and pushed and pushed. He made her strong. He made her fast. Most importantly, however, he made her sharp.

She killed her first Grimm at 8. She soloed her first Hunt at 9. By age 10, she was soloing Hunts every weekend, all under her dad's license. It was illegal, very illegal, but it made her strong. It made her ready.

Dad let her dye her hair at 11. She dyed it blonde, to look more like Belaflor. Dad really liked that, but his paintings kept her original Mantle colors, so she let the dye fade over time.

When she graduated from her first combat school, she was offered full rides from every Academy except Beacon. Dad had tried to talk to Ozpin personally, but Ozpin had wanted to talk to her instead.

'Did you know your father's abusing you?'

If abuse made her strong, then it was good.

'Did you know that your mother was cheating on him?'

That was why she got sick. Retribution.

'I'm worried he will hold you back.'

'Whether he realizes it or not.'

'You could be better.'

'The best.'

'Just like he wants.'

'But he'd never let you go like that.'

'He'll be jealous.'

'He'll want you back where he can have you.'

'He'd be doing you a subconscious disservice.'

'Whether he realizes it or not, the only thing holding you down is him.'

'I want you here, Summer.'

'More than anything.'

'But I need to have all of you, to make you the greatest.'

'I just can't see you in Beacon while your father is muddling the waters.'

'Do you understand what I'm saying?'

More than anything, she'd understood.

'Sometimes, the things we think will help are actually the most harmful.'

'Sometimes, the things we think are harmful will be the most helpful.'

A good Second helped others, to make the world better.

'Here. Take my card. If you find a way to fix this, give me a call. I will do anything to help you.'

'On my Arch, I swear.'

Dad didn't even know he was holding her back, but it was better to let him be ignorant while he lived. She didn't want to hurt him in his last moments. He'd done everything he could for her, he had earned that much comfort.

'You did?'

'I'm sending someone to help.'

'Congratulations, Miss Rose. Welcome to Beacon.'

She would be the greatest. No matter what. Her only limit, now, was this body. It was frail. Her scythe was a burden to it, even if she channeled perfectly.

But it was a tool like any other— one that Ruby simply hadn't utilized right. She didn't listen to the right things. She didn't connect the dots, she didn't care. She just wanted to fuck her skinny Fourth girlfriend. She just wanted to be a dumb animal, never thinking outside of what she was told to do. Selfish, stupid girl.

She didn't intuitively get who Ironwood claimed he was, what he was. She hadn't cared to learn. For everything Summer had taught her, she couldn't make the girl think on her own. She couldn't teach ambition, couldn't give her the drive of her own genes. She had assumed Raven's headstrong nature was congenital.

Summer Rose found Ironwood easily, after chasing the sound of ritual chanting for what felt like days. He turned to her with genuine shock, aiming his revolver at her head.

"Put that goddamn thing down," Summer commanded with her child's awful voice. "I'm not Ruby. I get it— I understand what you're doing. I want to help. What do I have to do."

He stared. He blinked. He turned to the ritual before him, to the Faunus all strewn out in rows, laying on their backs with glowing white eyes. He turned back to her. His own eye glowed for a moment.

"Bell," moaned the stupid ginger robot. "You're all torn up. Did you fight someone without me?"

"Bell," tickled in her throat a million times, and she had to take a moment to actually chase it before it would settle. "I am not Ruby," she repeated, marching towards Ironwood. "I will help you. What do I need to do."

Winter stood between them before she could get much closer, but Ironwood nudged her aside to let Summer approach.

Are they coming?

Summer nodded. Ironwood hummed.

Then I'll have to hurry— it's a good thing you came, sister. Just keep them at bay.

Summer bowed her head. "Only if you give me—"

Of course. You're a better match, anyways.

Summer sighed. She turned to the way she came. The six— those chasing her— did not take much longer to arrive.

The amalgam abomination of her daughter arrived in the best state, the other members of her team being close seconds in terms of a use:injury ratio, since the little boy with them would be the least injured as a whole. Raven was limping, Qrow was dragging her scythe behind him.

It was like a team of half-dead dogs had come to challenge her.

"H-hey," panted the skinny half-and-half thing, doubled over and clutching its knees with exhaustion. "I— bested thee— fair 'n— square."

The stupid ginger robot gawked. "You were cheating on me!"

Summer snorted. "As if some bucket of bolts could ever prove any of our equals."

The thing with Ruby's soul stepped forward, wiggling her sword around, her pitifully skinny scythe hanging at her side. "Return to me my corpus, we had a deal!"

Summer snorted. "I don't care."

The thing narrowed its gaze, eyes scanning over Summer, Penny, and Winter. "Hey, wait a minute, where's—"

A wave of fire erupted from the ceiling, where nobody had expected to see that fire lady hanging from. The group of idiots scattered. Penny took that as her cue to enter the fray. Winter followed. Summer waited.

She watched Penny engage with the amalgam-girl and instantly get hooked with the scythe, stabbed through the chest, and chucked into a wall, a spurt of black fluid splattering out with the impact. Her face upon recovery was one of abject shame, and she looked nearly suicidal when the two-part girl turned to engage the fire woman without hesitation. But Summer waited, recovering her Aura and hoping the bloodless feeling would subside.

Winter, having some brains, moved towards Qrow first. Yang and Blake tried to get in her way, but she moved like water, weaving around the former's punches as she completely ignored the latter's shitty clones. When she reached the old, wounded man, she kicked him in the side of the knee, yanked the giant scythe out of his hands, and chucked it to Summer.

Summer caught it. She sighed.

They didn't understand what they were looking at.

Faunus— so many they couldn't be counted in short order— lay out side-by-side, face up, their eyes glowing, with Ironwood doing some chant from a dais before them. There wasn't time to question it. Nor time to figure things out. Summer was, for some godforsaken reason, on his side, and whatever Summer was doing was definitely bad.

They'd caught and thrown Penny like she was nothing, which really, she wasn't. The robot never really had been hot shit. Getting any kind of dub on Ruby was purely because the Faunus had been fighting with a wrench.

Cindy, however— the lady with the fire and the anger issues— wasn't as much of an instant cinch. She had at least half a brain, and having half a brain was enough to be a challenge when you were exhausted, injured, and really fucking tired of all this goddamn fighting.

Tired Of Fighting? Who Knew The Day Would Come.

Weiss and Ruby fighting each other was different. More fulfilling. Right— as if their combat was ordained by the universe itself. It was a performance art, even (especially) when they were rolling on the floor, punching each other's teeth out. They were born to be nemeses, after all.

But the fighting now was desperate. It was a survival instinct that propelled their sword to Cinder's hands, it was a fear of death that had them ducking back from a gout of flame. The art wasn't there. The love was gone. It was all just… hate. It invoked memories of fighting Grimm to Ruby's last drop of blood, of the recovery, never worth the pain that caused it.

They slotted the sword in its sheath and swept with Roseaster, forcing Cinder to blast herself back with miniature explosions that burst from her palms. They chased, flicking out with a coating of gravity dust over their sword. Cinder wasn't prepared for the weightless speed of each strike, and her Aura immediately started to wane under the numerous hits. Even if they were weakened, and Cinder wasn't terrible, being a perfect unity of two souls wasn't really in her league.

Except, Weiss' body suddenly flew back, their Aura slammed and shattered by a force like three semi trucks. They rolled so hard that their sword fell out of their hands, and only stopped when another body cushioned them from the wall. The person behind them groaned.

"Sister," the person moaned. "Did you gain weight?"

They turned, meeting the young face of one Whitley Schnee. He had a little trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, but he wasn't dead yet. "You okay?" they asked.

Whitley coughed blood— not great, not terrible. They coughed blood all the time. "I've been better. You, uh… lost your sword."

They looked towards their sword, which lay between the shuffling mass of feet that was Summer, Winter, and Cinder against Qrow, Yang, Blake, and mom. "Fuck," they mumbled, clutching their scythe.

The body behind her jostled. "Wait, wait," Whitley bade, then showed his hand in the corner of their remaining eye. "That girl— uh, you— left this in the—" he coughed. "The cellar."

He presented the wires.

"Whitley, if not for a myriad of reasons, we'd kiss you."

Whitley visibly vomited in his mouth. "Oh my god," he said, sickened and hacking after he gulped down the acid. "Ew."

They took the gauntlet and slipped it onto their right hand, ignoring how weird it felt without a thumb. They observed the battle near them, the veritable clash between their two souls' families along with Blake and that Cindy rando. They turned the opposite way.

Everyone was, after all, here because of one guy. And he was all alone. Saying loud words.

Not looking.

Ironwood turned as soon as they dropped out of their Semblance, revolver darting up, but they simply looped their wires around his wrist and pulled, guillotining his tendons to the point that his fingers couldn't hold the gun. It cracked to the floor like a plate shattered in a crowded restaurant, making everyone go perilously still. They weaved around the wheelchair-bound boy, holding him hostage with wires at his neck.

And yet, Director Ironwood didn't stiffen. His fucked hand just dropped into his lap like it was nothing at all.

"You know what's funny?" said the boy, normally, like a real 17-year-old boy.

"Thy face."

He actually looked a little hurt at that, but shook it off quickly. "No. It's something else."

"What."

"You seriously haven't…" He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "You're dumb as hell, you know that?"

They reddened. "We are not."

"No, not you both. Just the animal." He tipped his head around, making lacerations in his neck that he ignored. "I mean, yeah. I guess both."

"Cut to the part where thou'rt done making a joke of thyself."

He snorted. "You're right. Jokes are never as funny when you explain them."

"Quit thy babbling and—"

"Watch this."

"What? Thou'st accomplished nary a thing!"

Eyes, silvered and glowing again, turned to meet blazing, stellar blue. Weiss looked down at her hands. Her brow furrowed.

"Mother of fuck—"

The revolver let out a calamitous ring, blowing her white-haired head to chunky red paste as the wires fell limp from her hands. Ruby turned. Penny stood with the gun, a triumphant look across her fucked-up robot face.

Another cry drew her gaze across the room, where Whitley was staring at his hands. "What the fuck!" cried his voice, modulated with a strangely— infuriatingly— familiar pitch. "You put me in this fucking loser? I thought we had a deal!"

Ironwood, flopping his mulched-up wrist nonchalantly, shrugged. "Yeah, I've literally never trusted somebody less in my entire life."

Whitley, who might have had Summer fucking Rose crammed against his own soul, made whiny and incoherent baby-noises. Ironwood breathed a deep sigh of triumphant relief.

"Alright," he said easily. "Say, any of you guys have a word of the day app?"

Penny raised a hand. "I—"

He waved her off, disregarding. "You're a robot, Penny, I'm asking the real people."

The robot slumped forward with genuine hurt across her black-bleeding features. Slowly, Cinder and Raven— of all fucking people— raised their hands.

"Tai made me," Raven excused.

"I like big words," Cinder excused, far more lamely.

Ironwood smiled. "Remember last Tuesday's?"

Belaflor Reaps Greatest Of The Lands Most Sullied slumped out of Ruby's hands. Not because she had figured it out or made some shocking revelation; it was just really heavy, and clunked hugely against the floor.

Ironwood chuckled like a villain— which, by all standards, he pretty much was— at the response of dumbfounded silence. "Seriously? It was a good one."

Nobody miraculously realized the answer. The boy sighed with a smile.

"Dumbasses all," he mumbled, then raised both chin and voice. He lifted his arms, and his wheelchair creaked as, on shaky legs, he drew up to his full height, exaltation glowing on his features just as brightly as the cobalt blue of his eyes.

He announced to the unenlightened masses, his face young, jubilant, and so, so triumphant:

Apotheosis!