AN: I'm now wondering if it would've been appropriate to put this in the crossover section. Screw it, too late. Also, violence warning. Also also, fuck FFN for not allowing images to be uploaded within a story; I had an art piece commissioned that inspired this story. Head over to AO3 or Wattpad to see it in a couple of days, under StoutShako42Refined (AO3) and StrangeFryingPan (Wattpad). Okay, enough wasting your time. Enjoy!
RIIINNNGG!
"Coming!" Helen yelled as she picked up the phone in the living room of her house. The young tournament fighter was looking forward to having the night all to herself, especially with her family out of town for the weekend.
"Hello?" Helen's voice broke the otherwise empty silence of her home. Her tone was somewhat hurried and annoyed; she'd really rather get back to watching TV, she is exhausted after today's matchups.
"Hello?" the voice on the other end, clearly male, answered.
"Yes? Can I help you?"
"Who is this?" the caller asked.
"I don't know, who are you trying to reach?" Helen asked, impatiently tapping her foot.
"I'm not sure." the man's voice was an almost creepy, even monotone.
"Look, I think you have the wrong number," she said, eager to end the conversation.
"Do I, now?"
Helen sighed. "It happens. Have a good night." she then hung up, and sank into her couch, turning the TV on.
The flickering glow of the TV lit up Helen's living room with a dim light. It was the news channel, right in the middle of telling the latest story. The anchor's voice was grim and serious, as opposed to his usual upbeat and positive tone.
"...and in breaking news, another body has been discovered in the Mistral district, marking the sixth murder this month. Police are still searching for leads in what they now believe to be the work of a serial killer."
Helen's breath caught in her throat, her earlier annoyance at the strange phone call forgotten. The anchor's face was replaced by grainy footage of a crime scene, yellow police tape surrounding the area while officers worked to gather clues.
"The victim, a young woman in her early twenties, was found in her home by a neighbor. Sources close to the investigation say the murder bears striking similarities to the previous five, including..."
The anchor's voice faded into the background as Helen's mind raced. A chill ran down her spine, and she found herself glancing nervously at the darkened windows.
"...urge all residents, especially young men and women living alone, to exercise extreme caution. Keep your doors locked and report any suspicious activity to the authorities immediately."
RIIINNNGG!
"GAH!" Helen jumped, nearly falling off the couch. She glanced at the phone, which had started ringing again. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the receiver.
"It's probably just a wrong number again," she muttered, trying to convince herself.
With trembling fingers, she picked up the phone. "H-hello?"
"Hi," It was the same caller from earlier. "It appears I have dialed the wrong number."
"So why did you dialed it again?" Helen asked, trying to conceal the shakiness in her voice.
"To apologize."
"Alright, you're forgiven. Bye now." Helen snapped as she prepared to hang up again.
"Wait, wait! Don't hang up yet!" the caller requested, his voice showing the slightest bit of urgency. "I want to talk to you for a second."
Helen froze, her finger hovering over the button to end the call. Every instinct screamed at her to hang up, but a morbid curiosity kept her on the line. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I just want to chat," the man replied, his tone unnervingly casual. "Have you seen the news? Six dead in half as many weeks. Scary times, ain't it? The world sure is in turmoil nowadays."
Helen walked over and sunk deep into her couch, exhaling for a long time. "You don't say, mysterious caller. There's a serial killer on the loose, the White Fang is more violent than ever, and the crime rate in Vale is higher than it's been in decades."
The man chuckled softly. "You're certainly well read, m'am. It makes me break into cold sweat thinking what the future holds. It's like something out of a horror movie. Do you like scary movies, miss?"
Helen's blood ran cold at the familiar question. She'd heard it before, in countless slasher films - always preceding something terrible.
"I... I don't really watch many movies," she lied, her eyes darting to the locked front door. Was it locked?
"Oh, come on, everyone got to have a favorite!" the caller responded, like he's arguing with a close friend as opposed to speaking with a complete stranger. "There's so many good ones. How about Stab? Or Nightmare on Grimm Street. Perhaps Atlas Chainsaw Massacre?"
Helen swallowed hard, her own palms growing clammy as she gripped the phone. "Look, I really need to go," she said, her voice trembling.
"So soon?" The man's tone shifted, a hint of menace creeping in. "But we're just getting to know each other. Tell me, are you alone tonight?"
A floorboard creaked somewhere in the house, and Helen nearly dropped the phone. Her eyes widened as she scanned the hallway, searching for any sign of movement.
"I... I have to go," she whispered, her finger hovering over the end call button.
"Don't hang up," the man warned, his voice suddenly cold and sharp. "You really don't want to do that, Helen."
Helen's heart nearly stopped. "How do you know my name?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"I know a lot of things, Helen," the man replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. "I know you're a tournament fighter. I know your family is out of town. And I know you're all alone in that big house of yours."
"What do you want?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
"To play a game," the man answered. "It's simple, really. I ask you some questions. You get it right, you live. You get it wrong, and I'm coming for you."
"Now let the games begin." the man whispered. "Who is the killer in Atlas Chainsaw Massacre?"
Helen's mind raced, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew the answer, but should she play along? Her eyes darted to the window, searching for any sign of movement outside.
"Leatherface," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Very good," the man purred. "You might survive this yet. Next question: was the killer in Friday the 13th human, or faunus?"
"Faunus." Helen replied. "Jason was faunus, and got bullied for it."
"Tsk, tsk." the man clicked his tongue. "Wrong answer, Helen. The killer in Friday the 13th was human. Her son Jason only became the killer in the sequels!"
A floorboard creaked behind her, and Helen whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat.
"Last chance." the man's voice dripped with sadism. "Where am I in your house right now?"
Helen dropped the phone, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She stumbled to her feet, scanning the room for anything she could use as a weapon. Bingo! Sitting right next to the TV was her trusty spear.
The spear felt cold and heavy in Helen's hands as she gripped it tightly, her eyes darting frantically around the dimly lit room.
The silence that followed was deafening. A shadow flickered in the hallway, and Helen's breath caught in her throat. She raised the spear, her training kicking in despite her terror.
"Come out!" she shouted, her voice cracking. "I'm armed!"
"Oh, Helen," the voice purred, no longer confined to the phone. It seemed to come from everywhere at once. "So am I, don't you know?"
Helen pressed her back against the wall, spear pointed outwards as her eyes strained to see in the darkness.
"Oh yeah?" she taunted, "A spear is a far better weapon than the knife you stole from my kitchen. I'm trained, too. I can hold my own against a crazy thug like you."
A low, menacing chuckle echoed off the walls. "Shouldn't you of all people be aware that it's not the weapon, but how you use it? There are a number of Hunters and Huntresses that use nothing but their fists."
The sound of heavy footsteps approached from the hallway. Helen's grip on her spear tightened, her palms slick with sweat. She steadied her breathing, though her heart continued to pound.
The footsteps stopped. For a moment, there was only silence.
A whisper, right next to her ear: "Found you."
Helen whirled around, pivoting on her heel as she turned to face her right. Time slowed down as her eyes focused on the figure before her.
The intruder was tall, dressed in black robes that seemed to sparkle slightly in the dim light. Long, square arm tatters with pointed frills at the bottom hung from their sleeves. The figure was also wearing black gloves and boots, which made them nearly invisible if not for the mask adorning their face.
The white plastic mask contrasted the blackness of the rest of their attire. Its eyes were long and curved upwards, with the base being slightly wider than the top, giving the mask an almost sad expression. Its unnaturally elongated mouth was wide agape in a perpetual, silent scream, as if frozen in a moment of absolute terror
In the figure's hand glinted a hunting knife, its wicked sharp edge catching what little light was in the room. The figure's arm was already reared back, ready to thrust.
Time snapped back into motion. The knife shot forward, stabbing Helen right in the gut, with only her aura managing to stop it from piercing her skin, though it still forced her to stumbled backwards. Groaning in a mix of anger and fear, Helen swiped her spear in a wide arc in front of her, forcing the masked intruder to jump back to avoid the strike.
"Hmm, not bad." the figure said, like a combat instructor observing a student. "You managed to get your aura up in time, to be expected of a fighter of your experience."
Helen gritted her teeth, ignoring the throbbing pain in her abdomen. Her mind raced, trying to formulate a plan. The living room was too cramped for her to effectively wield her spear. She needed space.
"Who are you?" she demanded, slowly backing towards the kitchen. "What do you want?"
The masked figure tilted its head, the grotesque frozen scream seeming to mock her. "To see what your insides look like."
With lightning speed, the intruder lunged forward again. Helen barely managed to deflect the knife with the shaft of her spear, sending sparks flying into the air. She stumbled backwards into the kitchen, her back hitting the counter.
"Fine," Helen spat, her eyes darting around for anything she could use to her advantage. "Let's play."
The figure chuckled, a sound that sent chills down Helen's spine. "That's the spirit. But remember, in this game, there are no second chances."
Helen's hand closed around a heavy cast iron pan on the stove. In one fluid motion, she hurled it at her attacker's head. The masked figure ducked, but the momentary distraction was all Helen needed. She thrust her spear forward, aiming for the intruder's chest.
However, to her shock, her spear veered wildly off target, missing the figure's entire form by inches. What? How is this possible? She trained with spears for her entire life, there is no way she could miss at this range. Could it be her fear and the earlier hit she took messing with her concentration? Or did the darkness throw off her aim?
Helen had little time to think of excuses, as the figure immediately recovered and delivered a swift and powerful roundhouse kick, catching Helen right in the cheek.
The force of the kick sent Helen reeling, her vision blurring as she stumbled backward. Her aura flickered, already weakened from the earlier knife strike. Helen accidentally bit down on the inside of her own cheek in the chaos, causing her to taste blood.
"Come on now, Helen." the intruder taunted. "I expected more from a tournament fighter who managed to last more than 10 seconds against Pyrrha Nikos. Perhaps she held back in your fights? I heard she does that to make her opponents feel better."
Helen's grip tightened on her spear, anger flaring in her chest. She spat blood onto the kitchen floor. "You haven't seen anything yet, creep."
With a primal yell, Helen lunged forward, thrusting her spear in rapid succession. The masked figure dodged and weaved, the spear's tip whistling past their head by mere inches.
'Dammit, this bastard must have some sort of training! My strikes were meant to kill!' Helen thought, clenching her teeth hard. 'I need to switch things up!'
Helen's mind raced, her instincts screaming for a new approach. In a flash of inspiration, she feinted left, then pivoted right, swinging her spear's shaft in a low arc. The polished wood connected with the intruder's ankles, sending them crashing to the cold tile floor with a thud.
Time seemed to slow as Helen seized her moment. The spear plunged downward with deadly precision. Helen's heart thundered in her chest, a primal cry of triumph escaping her lips as she felt the weapon connect.
But instead of the sickening squelch of pierced flesh, there came a brilliant flash of light. The spear's point skittered and slid across an invisible barrier, throwing off sparks that danced in the air. An aura had materialized to protect the masked figure.
Helen's eyes widened in shock, her mind reeling at the implications. This was no ordinary killer – this was someone with their aura unlocked, someone trained.
In that split second of hesitation, the tables turned. The masked figure's hand shot out, fingers curling around Helen's ankle with vice-like strength. With a powerful yank, they pulled her off balance, sending Helen onto the hard, wooden floor, spear clattering out of her hands.
Faster than a Beowolf, the figure pounced upon her, knife raised high in the air. Pain exploded in Helen's chest as the knife found its mark, slipping past her weakened aura. She tried to scream, but instead found herself choking on her own blood that has now begun pooling in her mouth.
"I'll give you that, Helen." the figure's voice dripped with mock respect. "No one has come this close to actually hurting me. If I were just a normal human, you probably would've killed me."
Helen's vision blurred as she gasped for air, her body wracked with pain.
"Why..." Helen choked out, blood bubbling from her lips. "Why me?"
The figure tilted their head, considering the question. "Why not you?" they replied, their voice devoid of emotion. "You were alone. Vulnerable. Perfect for my little game."
With a cruel twist, they yanked the knife from Helen's chest. She cried out weakly, her strength fading rapidly.
"Don't worry," the killer whispered, leaning in close, pressing the knife against Helen's neck. "As a reward for being my most entertaining victim this month, I'll make this quick."
Helen's eyes widened in terror as the cold steel pressed against her throat. In that moment, a surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins. With her last ounce of strength, she thrust her hand upward, fingers clawing desperately at the mask.
To her surprise, it came away easily, revealing the face beneath.
Helen gasped, her blood running cold. "You... it can't be..."
The face staring down at her was one she knew well - a fellow tournament fighter, someone she had considered a friend. When they spoke, it was not the voice of the man on the phone, but a voice Helen would've easily trusted with her life.
"Why?" Helen choked out, her voice barely a whisper.
The killer's grin widened, a maniacal glint in their eyes. "Because it's fun, Helen. Because I can. And because no one would ever suspect me."
With a swift, practiced motion, the killer dragged the blade across Helen's throat. Her eyes bulged, a gurgling sound escaping her lips as she desperately tried to stop the flow of blood with her hands.
The killer stood, watching with detached fascination as Helen's life ebbed away. "Ah, another successful kill." they mused, wiping the bloody knife with their hand. "And this one actually managed to put up a fight. This will satiate me for a while."
They removed the mask from Helen's cold, dead hands and fastened it to their hip.
"I could really use a drink."
The killer strode to the kitchen, their boots leaving bloody footprints on the floor. They yanked open the refrigerator door, bathing the darkened room in a yellow glow.
Their eyes settled on a glass bottle of soda, licking their parched lips. With a casual disregard for the grotesque, they plucked Helen's lifeless head from the floor, prying open her jaw. The killer positioned the bottle cap between her still-warm teeth, applying pressure until the metal gave way with a sharp hiss.
Foam bubbled over the rim as they took a long, greedy swig. They sighed with relief before wiping their mouth with the sleeve of their robes. Their gaze drifted to the living room, where a collection of DVDs sat neatly arranged in a shelf.
The killer sauntered over, soda in hand, and crouched before the shelves. Their fingers trailed along the covers, a look of disdain creeping across their face. "Really, Helen?" they muttered, pulling out a sit-com with a grimace. "I expected better taste from you."
As they continued to rummage through the disks, suddenly, there was the sound of a scroll buzzing.
"Aw shucks." the killer groaned, setting the soda down and reaching into their pocket and fished out the vibrating device.
"Hello?" they answered, doing their best to hide their disdain.
"Hello, this is Glynda Goodwitch calling from Beacon Academy," the caller responded. "I do apologize for calling at this time, I am hoping I did not interrupt something important?"
The killer's eyes widened momentarily before they regained their composure. "Not at all, Professor Goodwitch. In fact, I was just finishing up all of my errands. To what do I owe the pleasure of this late-night call?"
As Glynda began to speak, the killer slowly made their way towards the large bay windows at the front of Helen's living room.
"I want to discuss the matter of your application to Beacon Academy," Glynda's voice crackled through the scroll. "I am glad to inform you that your application was accepted. Without much hesitation from me or any of the staff."
The killer's lips curled into a smirk as they gazed out at the twinkling lights of Mistral in the distance. Neon lights and skyscrapers flickered in the downtown area, while the more subtle glow of streatlamps lined the roads leading away from the city and into the suburbs.
The shattered moon hung low in the sky, its pale light filtering through the window, illuminating the killer's features.
Vibrant red hair, the color of freshly spilled blood, were tied back in a neat ponytail. Emerald green eyes shone like bright little gemstones as they stared at the city in the distance.
Pyrrha Nikos smiled as she gazed at her faint reflection in the window. "I'm honored to be accepted into such a prestigious academy," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "When do classes begin?"
"Orientation starts in two weeks," Glynda replied. "We are certain you'll make an excellent huntress. Your combat prowess is already legendary."
"Do not worry, all further information such as schedules and required materials will be sent to your email in 2 business days," Glynda continued. "We sincerely look forward to seeing you there."
Pyrrha cradled the scroll between her ear and shoulder. Her hands, now free, reached for the knife that lay on the windowsill. She spun it in her hands before pinching and rubbing the sharp tip with her fingers, taking care not to prick herself.
The blade flashed as she flipped it, catching it by the handle. She brought it to her lips, her tongue darting out to taste the lingering metallic tang of blood. A shiver of pleasure ran down her spine.
"Of course, Professor," she purred, her voice low and velvety. "The feeling is most mutual."
Pyrrha ended the call, the satisfied smirk never leaving her lips. She turned back to survey the living room, her eyes gleaming in the darkness.
"Well, Helen," she mused, nudging the corpse with her boot, "it seems I bid you farewell now. But don't worry, I'll make sure you won't be too lonely in the afterlife."
Rising to her feet, Pyrrha undid the waistband of her robes and took them off with practiced efficiency, revealing her casual garb of a white t-shirt and blue jeans. She folded the costume with great care and set it gently on the ground.
Taking the mask, Pyrrha traced its features with a smile on her lips before stuffing it in a plastic bag.
Both articles of clothing, along with her knife, were shoved into a black backpack waiting by the door. Zipping it shut, Pyrrha slung the backpack onto her shoulders and retrieved her abandoned soda from the windowsill, taking another long, satisfying swig.
Pyrrha strolled toward the front door, humming softly to herself. Easing the door open, she paused to breath in the cool night air and feel the breeze against her skin.
The Invincible Girl walked down the quiet street, her footsteps barely audible on the pavement, disappearing into the night.
AN: Please feel free to leave a review (if you do not mind, I can respond to some through DM). I do have a prequel of sorts in mind, so let me know if any of y'all are interested. If anyone wants to continue where I left off, feel free to as presently I have no plans to continue into Beacon. Just please let me know beforehand, because I'd love to read it.