Chapter Text
The hunt begins.
You cannot wait.
Black bolts of energy crackle around your form and you breathe the poison in, deeper. They run through your veins, jumpstart your nerves, shroud your vision. Coiling, coiling, coiling. (Choking, choking, choking.)
Salem’s gift is a wondrous thing (a horrible thing) and you feel so alive (even while a part of you feels like it’s dying, wailing, screaming- screaming, so much screaming, they have to save you, they have to-). It’s intoxicating.
Your master has given you your targets.
“Destroy them,” she whispered, commanded. Gave you reason and purpose and existence. Destroy them, you shall. The sight of them approaching is making you nauseous, making something within your chest squirm, making pain blossom in your head in a spot you cannot reach.
The energy of the darkness powers you up, the withering rose petals that have greyed and lost most of their color hovering around your form as you crouch, ready and building up the tension. You are an arrow about to fly free and you aim for their hearts.
Destroy them, destroy them, destroy them.
(No, no! You can’t. You shouldn’t. Please, I love them- I love them! Don’t-)
(Salem huffs, curls her fingers, and the bolts grow ravenous and that little voice in your head finally shuts up.)
The tension gathers, tighter and tighter and tighter, until, at last, you’re free.
Through the stained glass of this unholy cathedral, you smash straight through, a few shards cutting at your face and exposed skin but your gear does its job to protect you. The stupid cloak you have- but can’t bear to take off for whatever reason- rips even more and it makes a part of you grin (while another part whimpers).
Stale air rushes by, sending your hair even more askew, the scent of dead rose petals worrisome and the chill of the shadows comforting. And the stench of blood. It’s becoming stronger the more you approach and it drives you closer and closer to a frenzy. So exciting.
The drake is in your way. Your greatest protector is now your most prominent wall and you hope Salem forgives you later as you grab your scythe, tearing straight through its back. You manage to aim for a place where they have taken off the armor and you can’t help but admit to yourself they did a fairly decent job. Perhaps a little longer and this monster would have fallen.
Either way, it’s in your way and you want it gone.
For a moment on your path, you are inside the drake, shooting through it. The black tar and darkness all around feel like home (it leaves you sick). At last, you meet the ground, the earth cratering from your collision and your aura sparking brightly to keep your legs from breaking.
The behemoth above you screeches in agony and you wince at the volume, scowling, and the large shadow it creates as it steps away to look at you. Dust lifts in the air with its movement, shielding you and making you choke, and you glare up at it in annoyance.
‘My turn’, you snarl in your head, lips pulling back and grip tightening on your weapon, ‘They’re mine!’
Most Grimm are unable to communicate with words to you. Salem has not allowed them that privilege, robbing them of their voice, save for their calls and cries and unintelligible sound.
The soulless beings communicate with their emotions and you never once thought that Grimm could have such things.
The drake registers you- your words and your presence- and the fear it radiates makes a tremble dance through your body. The shadows in your blood quiver in excitement and you breathe it all in, dust and dirt clinging to the roof of your mouth, thick as paste and blood, and you don’t bother coughing it away. (You want to choke because maybe you’ll suffocate to the point of passing out so you don’t have to do this. So you don’t have to watch.) The beast releases a terrified grumble and the ground quakes as it digs its way back beneath the earth.
You momentarily grin at its compliance (a foul thing) and turn in the direction where your prey is. The dust is beginning to clear and the sight of them is coming into view and…
...And there is a sharp tightening in your chest, stronger than anything else before, and it robs you of your air so quickly you panic in the suffocation. Your body trembles, not because of the resulting quakes of the retreating drake, but because you feel sick all over and something is pushing forward.
(You are in the presence of grand lights and you are frightened.)
You are just about to run back, back to the safety of your home in the shadows, back to Salem- but she must sense your distress because the wisps and ribbons coalesce around your form, comforting. A tight hug, (a suffocating embrace), and it fits the cracking pieces of you back together.
You are all too aware of the second that they notice you.
“Ruby…”
Weiss… Her voice makes you grit your teeth together, fingers curling harshly against Crescent Rose because you’ll willingly drop your weapon if you don’t hold it tight enough. Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous; she is dangerous.
(She’s the one who pushed you in, who held you down - no, no it wasn’t her. It wasn’t her, it wasn’t-
“It’s time to let go, Ruby,” that’s what she said to you and you believed her, foolish foolish foolish, “It’ll all be over soon. All you need to do is breathe.”)
You stare into (beautiful, beautiful, beautiful) blue eyes and hope you convey all the distrust you have towards her. You want to ask her what it felt like to push you to certain doom, to hold you captive beneath bubbling black water. Encouraging you to die. (You want to thank her for introducing you to the shadows.) (You want to run up and hold her and beg her to take you away from here. )
You draw in a deep breath and let your gaze wander to one of the others. Yang. Her arms drop to either side of her and there is such a stricken expression on her face it almost makes you laugh. It looks like she’s disassociating from her body, like she’s not even seeing you completely, and she just stands there. A perfect, unguarded target. (You want to yell at her to lift her arms and defend herself because there are dangers all around.)
Heartbreak is personified on her face and it’s such a wonderful expression. It feeds your anger, your animosity, and you glare at her in return to increase the tears that fall from her eyes. Some part of you doesn’t remember seeing your sister cry before and it’s rather alarming even while you revel in it.
“You’re too weak, Ruby. So needy, always having me do all the hard things for you.”
You want to tell her you’re strong now. The shadows have made you stronger, Salem has made you stronger. More than her.
You hope this is the hardest thing she’s ever had to do.
“ Mom would be disappointed in you .”
If that’s the case, she would be disappointed in Yang too. What’s more, why did it matter? You don’t care about someone long gone. A distant memory. Memories were twisted anyway. (You do, you do care- stop it, stop it, stop it.)
One, two-
Your third target is Blake. She stands there, blades held limply in her grasp, and it doesn’t even look like she’s breathing. So many emotions blaze in gold eyes but the one that stands out to you is the raw amount of guilt . Good. She should be guilty. They all should.
They are the reason you’re like this in the first place.
They are the reason you have fallen to darkness.
“You are such a child, Ruby… So worthless.”
You’re all grown up now. You’re worthy now. Does she see that? (Is that why she’s so sad?)
There’s another spasm that courses through you, confuses you, and your eyes linger on Blake for a time longer and-
“Your aura is centered here, yes?” You grimace, a stab exploding against your chest as though someone rammed their fist straight into it, over your heart. You’re burning from the inside and this strange voice is pushing to the forefront of your mind, a memory of a life gone forever. Twisted, twisted, twisted. (Lies, lies- truth.) “Well, you want it to go elsewhere, so you have to direct it. To here,” your hand aches where it curls around Crescent Rose, and you’re nearly distracted by it, “and once it’s there, it should also spill into whatever it is you’re holding.”
The way your aura flutters is out of your control. You’re used to that, not having control of anything, but this is different from Salem’s pull. The flare in your chest grows and grows and grows and you worry you’ll melt right then and there before you have a chance to fulfill your one and only duty. Dull crimson, stained with black, rushes far quicker than you want toward your hand, spilling into your weapon, crackling along the spine before meeting the blade and the shine it emits makes you wince with its brightness. The palm of your hand through your glove stings and it’s becoming too much to bear as well.
The energy remains there, crackling and wanting release, and you are mystified by it until it fizzles out.
(The light recedes and you’re not as sick. You can breathe and it’s not littered with toxins. For a split second, your head is clearer.
You have to get out of this, you have to help in any way you can- and if willingly burning yourself is the only way, so be it.
For them.
Anything for them.)
Being granted the darkness of Grimm, you gain some curious capabilities that they possess. Aside from having a link to every single one in the vicinity- the numbers have dropped significantly from the beginning and you want to sob at the loss of your brethren (but whether it’s the army or the monsters, you’re not quite sure)- you are also drawn to emotions. The waves of thick sorrow and guilt and anguish make you writhe with excitement, but none of it compares to the sudden surge of fury that catches your attention.
Your eyes are drawn back to Weiss, the source of the anger.
She’s not as shocked as before, perhaps taking it all in, and now, she’s mad . You can’t quite tell who or what she’s mad at, but her wrath makes a part of you whine and another part cheer. (You don’t know which part of you does what.)
Her eyes stray from you to the grand castle that has been your home since emerging from the cauldron, and blue gleam with such
hate
it leaves you conflicted- not knowing whether to breathe it all in or shy away from such violent anger. Weiss is… (
beautiful
) dangerous. You wince and resist the urge to smack the side of your head, questioning why Salem is taking so long to quiet that annoying little voice always there.
Now it makes sense to you.
Her anger, her wrath, her hate; it’s all directed at Salem. Not at you, surprisingly, but perhaps that’s all a smokescreen.
If she’s not looking at you, then you’ll make her look at you.
You have to protect Salem.
The surge of Weiss’s emotions cascades over the rest of your brethren and you can sense them shifting in agitation, impatience, excitement. The rest of the Grimm want to feed off of her anger too and all glowing red eyes turn to her. You stiffen.
Hunger , the Grimm are hungry and they are asking for permission to be allowed to feast.
You clench your jaw so hard you’re afraid it’ll break before you force your eyes away from addicting, beautiful hate and toward the nearest swath of Grimm. The shadows around your form tighten- choking, choking, choking- and you bare your teeth at the starving beasts, giving a sharp shake of your head.
‘She’s mine!’ You express to them and the Grimm, though craving the taste of your partner’s blood and essence, cower at your command. ‘They’re mine! Don’t touch them.”
They can have the others. Weiss and Blake and Yang are yours.
Though disappointed, the Grimm shout their understanding and the cacophony of noise they make is the best symphony you ever heard. The ground trembles as they begin charging ahead, working to separate your prey from the others and leave the battlefield all for you. Completely avoid them. (You sigh in relief, knowing they are safeguarded. For now, and for however long it takes for Salem to notice.)
Weiss and Blake react instinctively to the swarm, getting their weapons ready, and their confusion is tasteful. You want to applaud their readiness for a fight, to scowl at their sloppiness in the first place, (to beg for them to run while they had the chance).
Regardless, the onslaught has begun, and now it is your turn.
You take a step forward- (NO!)
And grimace, stopping at once. A needle- or a sniper’s bullet- pierces right through your brain with deadly accuracy and your entire body goes numb for a second that stretches to a minute and you start to freak out because the shadows drift away from your form, leaving you behind and all alone and…
You can’t do this... Why are you doing this?
You blink and your eyes meet beautiful blue and you are infinitely lighter, weightless. You hate the feeling of floating because it reminds you of sinking, but this is more like you’re flying, rising.
Why are you facing them again?
These people… are (dangerous) important. They’re special. They’re your friends. Family.
Blake, your best friend.
Yang, your sister.
Weiss, your partner.
Your teammates. Your everything.
You can’t fight them. They have to save you, you have to-
“ Ruby Rose ," you hear a sigh in your mind and the shadows latch back onto you. You inhale sharply and it feels like you’ve been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. You tilt your head to better listen to Salem’s voice. “ So persistent as always. How admirable… and ultimately futile. ”
The shadows turn from comforting to crushing and your body trembles at the raw might of the devil’s darkness, a thing you normally find so freeing. You're confused, you're so very confused now. Time is twisting, just like the memories, and you don’t know how long you’ve been standing here.
" I said ,” the poison digs into your blood, your bones, your body, and you exhale a ragged thing, “ Destroy them .”
Destroy them, destroy them, destroy them.
(Save them, save them, save-)
The confusion doesn’t leave, but your master has given you orders and you must listen. You ready your weapon and are afraid to walk forward again because that didn’t work last time, but the shadows are tugging you forward- forward, forward, forward- and your next step is simple. One step, two steps, three.
Nothing happens with each and you refocus on the task at hand, ignoring whatever the hell that was earlier.
(You’re trapped and whimpering and the chains tighten. Still, you struggle, you resist no matter how pointless Salem says it is- because you’re hesitating and you’re slow and maybe you can buy them time at least. It doesn’t work.)
You have to get rid of them. Salem told you to, and they are your greatest enemies. They are the ones who pushed you to this state, who left you to suffer and die, who made you weak .
Well, you’re not weak anymore, and you can’t wait to show them that.
Blake holds Gambol Shroud at the ready and Weiss prepares Myrtenaster with the most reluctance you’ve ever seen her move with. You don’t know how or why you remember the names of their weapons. It’s pointless information now.
They prepare themselves but they don’t move and they appear so conflicted they might as well have dropped their weapons entirely.
Or be like Yang.
Who doesn’t move at all.
( Yang, Yang, please, raise your arms! You have to protect yourself! You have to -)
One, two, three, four… For some reason, each step becomes harder and harder to take and the constant heat in your chest is starting to annoy you. The shadows can’t help anymore and it must be because this is the farthest you’ve been from Salem’s side. You want to race back to her because that’s where you are safest, strongest. Worthy.
The lovely sounds that come in the form of desperate shouts and death cries and Grimm shrieks fill the background and you’re starting to get irritated with it too. Your brethren must sense your disapproval since they try even harder to push the enemy forces back. The distance continues to grow and, soon enough, you’ll be alone with your prey and it’ll all be over.
At fifteen, you start to wonder if any of them are actually going to do anything. They only continue to stare at you and you don’t know what’s stopping you from charging straight to them right away. (It’s probably the same annoying thing that’s making each consecutive step that much harder.)
Twenty, and one of them finally makes a move.
It’s Blake. How fitting.
She was the first one who tried talking you down.
“So worthless.” Worthless, worthless, worthless.
You’ll show her who’s worthless.
She takes one step to counter your twenty and you prepare for the fight to start…
But it doesn’t. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Yang startle to attention, drawn out of her shell-shocked reverie by the movement of her partner, and she shakes her head sharply before suddenly walking forward.
Walking . Not charging, not running, not going in for an attack. Just walking.
It’s fucking terrifying.
She gets about three steps in and she doesn’t seem too keen on stopping. You have no idea what she’s planning. In reaction, your body falls into its stance, scythe heavy in your hands but you manage to carry it anyway, a warning flashing in your eyes to stay away and you’d form the words if you remembered how to use your tongue. You don’t know when was the last time you managed to speak out loud.
At this point, you’ve forgotten what language is.
(The shadows have stolen that from you too.)
Because Yang is moving, Blake pauses- but you only keep half of your attention on that one in case she tries to do something as well. If she moves, you will use the gift of the shadows along with your semblance to speed toward them and kill them before they can kill you (again).
The burst of all-consuming fear you sense from Blake is cold on your tastebuds and you quiver with the frost. Where it should be delicious, it only tastes wrong, worrisome.
“Just, wait!” And you are incredibly, incredibly surprised when Yang lifts a hand- not in your direction, but back to the other two. It’s… strange. Why is she trying to defend you?
What is she planning? ( Yang, save me. Please, stop me .)
You don’t know, but it makes you paranoid. Frightened. You reveal bared teeth at her and hope she gets the message. She doesn’t, takes yet another shaky step. And you want, want, want to charge in but that stupid burn in your chest is keeping you from moving once more and you’re frozen in place. Forced to listen, forced to watch her come closer.
(One of the brightest lights you know is drawing near and you can’t even run away from it.
You start to scald in her presence. The shadows coil towards your back, hiding from her, and- and why isn’t Salem doing anything? She’s watching it all, you can sense her, but why is she allowing this?
Does she not sense your struggle? Does she not care?)
(She doesn’t. But they do. They care, they love you.)
Yang’s other hand lifts in your direction, Ember Celica- ( Wh y do you remember their names?)- clicks with the way her arm shakes. Her palm is up, fingers open, beckoning you for her.
You want to run to her. (She’ll save you. It’s Yang. Yang always protects you.)
“Ruby...” Her voice shakes just as much as her arm and the sound of your name coming from her mouth knocks the wind out of you. (The chains loosen and you wiggle free. Just barely, but you’ll take what you can get.) You tilt your head, so very confused, and you’re unsure why your breath trembles along with her. You have to remind yourself of her harsh words, her scowling face, her blazing red eyes, all so you don’t fall for this trick.
But her voice… It’s so sweet and light and comforting and everything you haven’t heard in… How long now? You forget…
“I know… I know this looks bad, but- but we’re going to make it better, alright? Th-That’s what we do. We make things better. We… We’re gonna help you, Ruby.”
Help… Help?
They’ve helped enough already. You’re like this because of them - How much more can they possibly help you?
(You don’t notice her taking another cautious step. You don’t know why you’re listening.)
(Yes. They can help you. If anyone can help you, it’s them, you know it.)
“We can fix this. We can make this right. Let’s just… Let’s just get out of here, yeah? This place kinda sucks.”
She smiles at you, and though it’s nothing like you remember. (Remember? You don’t have memories of her smiling… Only snarling, scowling, angry and bitter and full of rage all directed at you.) You appreciate it anyway for some reason. Her words make bubbles pop and burst in your chest like missiles (and you want to laugh because you’ve missed her so much. So much you missed her stupid jokes).
“Come back with us.”
A part of you screams no while the other part, growing louder, screams yes .
You don’t want to go back. They made you weak, they betrayed you, they-
They love you.
They’re here to save you.
You have to go back. You have to. They’ll free you from this, they’ll-
(A huff in your head, and some of the shadows slip around your throat, tightening like a noose, and you grimace.)
She’s walking forward again, gradually closing the distance, but you’re already so drained from this constant push-pull in you that’s tearing you in half you hardly do anything about it.
“We’ve all missed you, Ruby.” And you believe her. Against all odds, you believe her and there are tears in her eyes that cannot be a lie. There’s a whimper in her words and you want to whimper as well just hearing her so close to breaking. (Confusing, confusing, confusing!)
“And we’re going to make it better. We’ll fix this. All of us.”
All of you. That includes you. And for the first time since arriving here, you meet her gaze and you know she sees you. You see her, too.
For the first time, you don’t see Yang- the one who ridiculed you, the one disappointed in you, the one who called you weak. You don’t see Yang with the “Mom would be disappointed in you.”
You just see her. Your sister. Wounded and tired and so very hopeful to reach for you. (“Mom loves you, Rubes.” Those words sound more accurate.)
“Together.”
Gods, you’ve missed them. They came all this way, fought so hard, faced so many obstacles- all for you. They care, they care.
Something bashes against your chest, trying to tear its way out, and the burn intensifies and the sound of something cracking fills your ears. (You can sense Salem beginning to worry, the shadows around your form stabbing at your skin, your clothes. Trying to tug you back to her.)
You’re exhausted. From the struggle against the darkness, from resisting so so hard, but it’s finally beginning to pay off. You don’t know how long it’s been… all you remember is darkness, darkness, darkness. (Chains, chains, chains.) Your body sways in place and Crescent Rose lurches from your grip, the tip lowering to the ground, and you force language back to your tongue and speak for the first time in months.
“...Ya...ng…”
You gasp and you are scorching from the inside as your light attempts to fight off the shadows that poison your blood, that shroud your heart, that corrupt your soul. It’s as weak as you are but it’s fighting with everything it has too and you’re not alone. For the first time in a long time, you’re not alone.
They are here and they will save you.
Your hand goes to your head, partially out of your control, fingers digging in to try and physically tear off the veins you feel pulsing beneath your skin, the source of your poison. You begin to panic as the ribbons of darkness succeed in dragging you back a step, back toward the castle, back toward Salem, but… but you don’t want to go back. You can’t go back!
Control is slipping from you again no matter how desperately you try to hold onto it and the black bolts of energy crackle within your skin; boiling your blood, tearing scratches into your bones, ripping at your organs to make you bleed from the inside, freezing your soul, ripping at your mind. Punishment.
It’s the most horrible experience in your entire life and this is what dying must be like.
It almost doesn’t feel worth it…
But Yang- the best sister in the whole world- must see your struggle, your resistance, and she helps in the only way she can right now without risking it all.
Her voice is so soft, so pacifying, so promising and it bolsters your defiance.
“It’s gonna be okay, Rubes,” you blink past the haze and can just barely see her blurry form taking another hesitant step. “I promise, we’re gonna help you. It’s all gonna be okay.”
When Yang promises to protect you, you know she’ll never break it.
And she seals her promises in the best way ever.
Her arms open toward you, asking for a hug, and it’s just like home. Home, home, home. “But for now, come and give your big sis a hug, 'cause it’s been too damn long.”
You don’t have to worry about the dark anymore- because Yang is the sun that illuminates your life and makes you want to be just as bright as her. In her embrace, you are safe and warm and nothing can ever harm you. Not Salem, not the Grimm, not the shadows.
The shadows are pushing, pushing, pushing, and you physically push back against them as well, your hand at your head digging into your scalp and keeping yourself at bay with the bite of your nails. Memories begin to unravel, correct themselves, and they’re so strange. They don’t fit as perfectly as they’re meant to, tainted by what Salem has forced you to believe, and it’s terrifying and frustrating all in one.
You can’t tell fiction from truth, truth from fiction.
(Is any of this for real… or not?)
You’re forced back another step- toward Salem, oblivion, salvation, freedom, power- and you panic.
No, no, no! The chains are returning, latching onto you, and you taste blood in your mouth. Salem might just kill you by accident with her punishment- because all of it just gets worse and worse and worse. You can feel cuts opening along your organs, scrapes carving against your bones, your soul chipping and cracking and growing dimmer. The light starts to retreat, wounded and tired from its valiant battle, back to the safety of your heart. Scared. You wish to join it.
But Yang… Yang is there. She waits patiently and you want to yell at her to come and grab you before it’s too late but you’ve forgotten what words are again.
It’s gone…
...Just like your resistance.
Salem was just toying with you, apparently. You can picture it so clearly, the way her hand balls into a fist, magic arcing around her pale skin to force you to succumb. In tandem, the ribbons around you tie knots and cut off circulation and you can finally, finally breathe again. Your head swims with dizziness and you taste blood on your tongue. When did that get there?
You stop shaking and you lower your hand, unsure of what you had been doing in the first place. The side of your head hurts and there are faint scratch marks there that sting against the open air.
You take in a deep breath of the stale, sweet air- slowly, heavily, savoringly- and it’s like coming up for oxygen for the first time. (You’re drowning again and you want to cry. You had been so close. So close, yet so far.)
You lift your eyes back to Yang and, for some reason, she holds her arms out toward you. So unguarded, so open and exposed. There’s an infinite amount of targets on her and you don’t quite know which one to hit first.
Salem is impatient as she spits, growing emotional now, and it worries you because you’ve never heard her so impatient with you, “ Destroy them .”
Right. That’s what you’re supposed to do. That’s why you’re here.
You listen, taking a step toward her, hesitant. She doesn’t lower her arms or throw up her guard and you want to laugh at her recklessness. Another, and another, and another.
You blink and the warmth of a tear surprises you, bewildered. You don’t remember the last time you’ve cried. ( Yang! Yang, please! Run away, run away! )
(She doesn’t listen to you. She can’t hear you.)
You don’t want to have fun toying with them anymore. Their presence is making weird things happen to you and you don’t like it.
So, you’ll get rid of them as fast as possible.
Your grip on the scythe tightens and she doesn’t notice. Another, and you grin when she doesn’t move (a wicked thing).
Wisps and petals surround you and you charge ahead, closing the distance in an instant. Anticipation (and fear) sit at the forefront of your mind and senses and you go faster, faster, faster. A bullet, a missile, a shooting star of devastating red.
You reach her...
And swing.
There’s a tremor of gold as your sister’s aura reacts, as shocked as her and unprepared to defend her as Crescent Rose tears up, leaving behind a groove in the ground and then a slash in Yang. Her blood arcs over you and it feels like victory, the surprised look on her face.
(You are horrified, and for a moment, you stop resisting. As shell-shocked as her.
No…
No, no, no !)
For a second, time stops in this picturesque moment and you thrive on the approval you sense from Salem. You thrive… even while it feels so inexplicably wrong and apologies sit on your tongue. It’s a good thing you don’t remember how to speak. They don’t deserve apologies.
It is your greatest achievement, the proof of your strength, that you can send her flying with that single hit alone when time wants to work again. Far, far away she goes, completely unprepared for your strike and not centering herself.
Her blood leaves a trail that you follow with your eyes and, and… and it should make you happy. You’re finally, finally, finally allowed to hunt again, after so long. You can’t recall the last time Salem allowed you to kill, not since learning about what is to come, and all the non-battle has made you antsy.
But you watch her collide with the ground a ways away, feel specks of her blood on your face and your lungs punish you, squeezing every last breath of air and rendering you immobile, stunned. There’s a tightening in your throat like something is physically choking you. At first, you think it’s the shadows, but it can’t be. They are encouraging you, patting you on the back, rustling your hair for a job well done.
(It must be the light’s turn to choke you. And choke you, it does.
You can’t breathe.)
A blast of absolute zero makes you shiver and your eyes tear away from what you’ve done (betrayal, betrayal, betrayal) and flick over to the source of such cold, raw fear.
Blake… And the way she screams her partner, your sister’s name…
Internally, you scream along with her, and you sob and you sob and you sob and she must hear you begging her to go to Yang since she starts sprinting. You need Blake to go because your sister isn’t moving. She isn’t moving! Yang lies face-down on the ground and you can see a puddle of alarming red forming beneath her and…
And though the ice in your veins from her level of fear makes you shudder and freeze in place, there is now a moving target. Trying to run.
Those are your favorite.
Salem hisses in your ear, imploring, motivating; “Destroy them, destroy them, destroy them… Kill, kill, kill.”
(You struggle again and it does nothing- it does nothing! You can hear Salem laughing at you, just like the shadows.)
Blake is running.
But she’s too slow.
You were always faster than them.
You’re moving before you can second-guess yourself, before anything can try and stop you again, re-adjusting your grip on your lovely, deadly scythe and falling into your semblance. You reach her in no time, blocking her path to Yang because you can’t allow her to help. You must keep them divided, fight them individually, because if they ban together…
You doubt you can actually win.
You have to take advantage of their hesitance. You’re strong, the shadows have made you strong, Salem has made you strong… but together, they may be even stronger. (When allied together, they were your greatest threat. So if you just pick them off one by one…)
So, you can’t let her get to Yang. You have to get rid of them now before they can snap out of their shock and reveal their true colors to you. Shapeshift like wolves upon the full moon and rip you to shreds.
You know they want you dead just as much as you do in return.
You will paint the earth with the color of their life, red on red on red. (You love that color.) You will craft spires and crowns out of their bones to forever be a monument of your victory, your greatest trophy. Their souls will be sucked into the pulsing, black crystals littering around, feeding the shadows. A grand meal.
The hunt has begun and blood will spill like wine at a feast.
You appear in front of her and go straight for her head, the curved blade singing a war song that echoes in your ears as it flies free and true and-
And you miss.
Oh, you narrow your eyes, this should be fun.
Blake is a coward adept at dodging, and this time is no different. She manages to reverse her momentum, throwing herself backward, just out of reach of you as you land in front of her, crouching slightly. You lift your eyes just in time to see her bare her teeth at you in return, tears prominent on her cheeks, and she’ll fit the role of a puppet of darkness just right too.
Maybe, instead of killing them, they can all join you. Blake has the expression down.
Despite her downright feral anger that chars your tongue, incinerating your taste buds- her flavor of fury is different than Weiss’s and it must be because it’s directed at you this time. You don’t like it- there remains a conflicted gleam in her eyes. It aggravates you, that fake love they have, and you use that irritation to twirl your scythe and unleash on her.
(The repetition of Yang, please get to Yang, please- you have to save her plays in a grueling cycle in your mind and it’s rather distracting from your attempts to break free. It takes you longer to realize you’ve stopped struggling and you try your best to snap out of it, but the sight of Yang on the ground makes you whimper and curl into yourself instead, spewing apology after apology after apology until the words have lost all meaning.)
You aim to rip into her stomach instead, to her side where you’ve seen her place a hand against her ribs. She must already have an injury there, and you target any sign of weakness along with their faux emotions, but you underestimate her.
For all your speed, Blake is incredibly agile, and it’s rather insulting to you that she hops up onto the flat side of your rending blade, and you don’t see the kick coming before it’s cracking into the side of your head. You stumble, off-balanced, and it’s the first time your prey has fought back.
(You hope she can keep it up long enough for you or anybody else to help and wish her the best of luck. Blake was always good at fending off her foes and coming out with the least amount of damage.)
Your head throbs and she has kicked you where the scratches are and they open up to longer cuts. Eyes of red and black snap up to frustrated gold and you hear her call you “ worthless ” once more, can swear you see her smirk at you, taunting, and you growl.
Worthless, worthless, worthless.
Your scythe spins around as you come down to rip into her shoulder, her chest, anywhere just to hurt her, and you press on the trigger. You’ve been sparing with those, not entirely knowing where to get more once you run out, but desperate times call for desperate measures and the desperation you have to get rid of them blinds you. The sound of the bullet cracks and echoes in the air and Crescent Rose is faster and surely she can’t dodge now and-
She fucking did it again.
You swear you tear into her, but as you drag your weapon through, the visage of her form wavers and vanishes. A clone. Solid only long enough to fool you, outsmart you. Right. You remember now. Their semblances.
Yang, with her penchant for taking damage and hitting back even harder. (You hope your one strike left her out of commission- because if not, you fear that you have definitely made her stronger than you are now.)
Blake, with her stupid stupid stupid clones. Always dodging, always just out of your reach, always running away .
And Weiss, with her multipurpose glyphs. You fear hers the most. So many capabilities, so many options. So many ways to kill you again. (So much light.)
You can’t let them win. You can’t let them win! Salem won’t allow it and you cannot let her down after everything she’s done for you.
Because you weren’t expecting to miss…
You’re not expecting her to attack.
But she does, and you have just enough time to see a crackle of voltaic, white-purple energy around Gambol Shroud. In that similar way you did earlier, except this time, Blake does something with it instead of letting it fizzle out. (She’s better than you, she’s better than you!)
(“So worthless.” Worthless, worthless, worthless.)
The energy, the light, collides into you and you let out a sharp cry. More fear than anything else, so terrified of the light you are. Your aura crackles, instinctively to go and defend you, and- and you force it to stop, force yourself to take this hit. Maybe if you fall unconscious, then they’ll have a better chance of getting you out of here.
(Maybe if you die, you won’t be able to hurt them anymore.)
Your aura refuses to heal you, so instead, the shadows stitch your skin together and it’s such a strange sensation- but comforting. Where the light has failed you, the darkness succeeds. With oblivion, you are safe.
You stumble, falling, unprepared as Yang had been for something to strike you. Look where that’s gotten her, bleeding out on the floor. You can’t make the same mistake. On your back, you catch Blake standing over you, anguish in the furrow of her brow but anger in her piercing gaze and that’s the only thing you take notice of.
Her fury- her frustration- toward you is beginning to melt your tongue off.
(It’s very distracting to the saltiness of sorrow, the cold frost of fear, the electric tang of agony. All you can sense is her anger.)
Destroy them, destroy them, destroy them- Get up!
You snarl, rolling to your feet and pausing just long enough to grab your scythe before shooting straight for her, knowing you’ll outspeed her for sure. At least, you had wanted to. The ripples of pain from her attack, though you can’t consciously feel it, are making you slower. Your body remembers what torture is like even though the poison keeps you from registering anything else but power.
She rolls to the side, and just as you’re about to overshoot her, bypass her entirely, Salem lends you a helping hand and you preen at her attention. The wisps pull you aside, changing course, just enough to intercept her. You are too close to effectively use your scythe, so you take a page out of her book and ram your knee into her stomach. Probably not as strong as you can make it, not entirely knowing how to use anything but Crescent Rose to fight, but it’s just enough to push her back.
Blake hisses, gasping, and you see her tighten her grip on her weapons. You want more than anything for her to fight back again. Partially to cement your purpose, that they are trying to kill you too, and partially because, because- because if she can take you down, then this will all be over.
(You deserve whatever she plans on throwing at you for what you’ve done to your sister.)
But as always, she hesitates.
You punish her for it. Intend to, at least. With Salem’s guiding hand, plucking at the strings to reposition you correctly, you dash as quickly as you’re able to, coming at her from all angles, surrounding her in a whirlwind of ribbons and roses. Every strike you make is a killing blow-
But every time, every time, she dodges.
She grows more and more hesitant, and in turn, you grow more and more desperate. Your scythe rends through the air, tears grooves in the ground, rips her clones to shreds, but she always emerges unscathed. Sometimes, she blocks your scythe, parrying it just enough for the blade to miss. She hardly retaliates, focused more on getting away from you than actually harming you, and you want to yell at her to fight back but the words don’t form.
Through it all, you meet her eyes, and her voice ripples in your head.
Worthless, worthless, worthless.
You scream and you yell to try and be louder than her, but her whisper is overpowering.
At last- At last!- the exchange comes to an end.
You had been steadily pushing her toward the cracks and crevices you have made into the ground in the hopes of making her stumble, just enough to be distracting, and it works. The both of you have danced around each other- a lovely game full of sharp blades and fury- and just over her shoulder, you can see your sister on the ground again. It almost makes you hesitate, but you don’t.
She loses her balance and the both of you realize it instantly that will be her undoing. You can see her aura writhing, flimsy and exhausted, and she can’t make another one of her stupid clones yet and the waves of defeat taste like victory on your tongue. (So bitter.)
You don’t hesitate any longer, swinging with all your might and fury and desperation rolled into one nice package, straight for the center of her chest.
(She just stands there and accepts it and you cry for her to move but she can’t hear you. None of them can.)
Like the coward she is, her eyes fall shut and it makes your lip curl and…
And for some reason, mid-swing, there’s something like guilt that begins to blossom at the pit of your stomach. A tiny seedling, but still there.
It doesn’t matter. This victory will be sweet and take away the sourness of that terrible emotion.
...A victory that never comes…
It’s a small flicker at first, an inch or two in front of Blake, a tiny spark of something that could have just been a blur in your vision. It’s no matter to you, your scythe will tear through whatever that is as well and-
And the burst of sudden radiance that appears before you sears your vision, a chiming song filling your ears and making you deaf (and it sounds like hope). You recoil, flinching, and your arms shake as Crescent Rose hits something incredibly sturdy and not the soft body of a living person. (You know what that's like and it is not this.)
You're forced back, vibrations pricking at your muscles and nearly making you drop your weapon entirely, and your vision returns to the sight of a glowing, white glyph. The shadows on your form hiss in your ears, trying to tug you back- away, away, away- because this light is terrifying. The familiar insignia makes you nauseous, your mind blurring, and you turn your head to the side.
Weiss. Her rapier and her free hand are pointed in your direction, tears on her face, and the sorrow you sense from her makes you want to drop to your knees.
She… She is the one who stopped you, and you are forever grateful. She… She is the one who denied you the kill and you hate her, you hate her, you hate her! A low growl rumbles through your chest and you didn’t know a human can make such a noise. You wonder if it’s the darkness taking on its monstrous shape within you now, seeking freedom.
You want to let it free, and the glyph blocking you is just another wall you have to break down.
The sound of Blake running, running to Yang’s side, is the sound of your impending defeat, your chances of winning slipping away from your fingers like sand and disregarded dreams. You can’t let them come together, you can’t let her get to your sister.
But Weiss isn’t dropping her glyph. Faint runes of forgotten language coil together to make an impenetrable wall and…
And it stirs Salem to attention. Caution. ( Fear .)
You glare distastefully toward the owner of such foul light, grip tightening on Crescent Rose. Your defeat is so close you can taste it on your tongue.
Salem will not allow you to lose. If you lose, then she loses- and you know better than anyone that she does not like to lose.
The shadows seep into your skin, pricking and prodding, just enough to physically urge you along. The poison runs deeper, and… and it seems to be dragging your aura to the surface, willingly dying just to bring out some of your light.
(You have a terrible feeling about this.)
" Oh? That’s cute ,” Salem’s voice echoes in your ears and you wonder if Weiss can hear her too through your eyes alone. It sends a shiver down your spine and you can see your master grinning, cruel and harsh. (She hates the glyphs as much as you do.) “ Good effort .”
( You have a terrible feeling about this!)
The shadows puppet you back, turning away from Weiss, and in your confusion, you simply follow through the motions. Your aura, forced to the surface, forced to obey- just like you- sparks, and your hands sting where they grip the spine of your scythe, the red and black-tainted energy crackling along it. Just like before, just like Blake had done, the blade glows with malevolent and violent energy.
(Weiss’s glyphs are indestructible… Right?)
Your face mimics the grin your master wears, and you raise your weapon high over your head, gaze locking onto Blake’s retreating back. Running away, as usual. She runs in a straight line for Yang and you question if she’ll take the hit just so it won't accidentally go to her instead. So self-sacrificing for your sister. Either way, they’re both fair targets.
Your blade comes down- no matter how much you try to stop it- and it is a guillotine on the rising hope.
You copy what Blake has done before and you are so proud of yourself that it works. A shockwave of ominous scarlet rushes forward, closer and closer and closer to the wall before you. It doesn’t take long for it to meet.
There is resistance for only a split second (because Weiss, no matter how much you hate it now, always, always lets you in).
A ripple strikes through your body like hundreds of thousands of lightning bolts and they are freezing as your feeble connection to your aura and shadows passes through the manifestation of Weiss’s soul.
(For only a moment, you are surrounded by all things Weiss and you wonder if she feels you too. The real you. It is chilling here, just like it always gets whenever she activates her semblance, but it is comforting and familiar and you breathe in relaxation.
Gods, you’ve missed her.)
Millimeter by agonizing millimeter, the cold sets your teeth on edge and you fear that you might just freeze to death right here and now. Behind you, Weiss lets out a tight, startled (tortured) gasp (and it sounds like victory and the greatest defeat). The shadows twining with your light push on and on and on until at last, you’ve broken through the barrier.
Cracks splinter out from the center gash, the runes missing letters, and the insignia of your partner fractures until it becomes too much.
It shatters like broken glass and lost hope.
(It is music to your ears, and Salem smiles, smug.)
You hardly care to see if your aura slash connects with Blake- it must, because you hear her scream in the purest form of suffering and it’s like a part of you is missing, clinging onto her now, but you can’t tell what- before you’re turning back toward Weiss.
She’s on her knees, Myrtenaster forgotten beside her, hands against her chest like something is choking her and she can’t pry it off.
You tremble from the lingering cold, breath misting…
And inhale deeply, wrenching free from the chains that have gone suspiciously slackened. Why have they gotten looser? You can breathe easier now, can feed energy to your light, can feel all the lovely aches on you that you revel in because that means sensation has returned and your body is yours.
You want to run right over to Weiss, to beg for forgiveness you don’t deserve at this point, and make sure she’s okay, but you fear control is only ever temporary.
So, as much as you want to rush to her, knowing she’ll keep you safe, you take a moment to concentrate. To come up with a plan to help them in any way you can.
Memories are unraveling and falsities are marring your sense of reason. You try not to mess with those, completely unprepared to face the duality of reality and fantasy. It’s too confusing and you don’t know what will happen if you get it wrong. If you piece a fake memory with a real one. (Will you forget something important? You can’t risk it.)
It takes you longer to realize, as distracting as Weiss is, that there are fewer shadows around you. At least for the moment. Salem is a distant pest who only now notices her loss of control and you know time is running out again.
It’s happened twice now… Twice your head has gotten clearer, twice the poison has receded, twice the shadows and chains have weakened.
But why, why-
(Salem catches you again, unamused and growing annoyed at your persistence, and you hope she senses the sheer hate you have for her through your connection.)
Why are you just standing here?
You blink and focus in to see Weiss looking toward you, reaching for her rapier on the ground, one hand over her chest in a protective manner. You’re wasting time, this is your final target.
A scowl peels at your lips and you hoist your weapon up, walking sluggishly toward Weiss and it’s as though there is ice in your joints and your bones are turning to stone. Her light is particularly dangerous to you. (
So enticing
.)
Weiss lets out a sharp exhale- how is it possible for her to still be so hurt by your desire to kill them? How is it possible that she hasn’t dropped the act yet and fought back?
Dangerous and manipulative, you can remember the sensation of her hands and the sound of her voice as she pushed you beneath the bubbling black water and told you to fall into the abyss.
You’re halfway to her when it’s your aura that moves without your permission, dull red and midnight black and steadily losing its true hue, and you nearly stutter to a stop in confusion. But if Salem enforced it last time, maybe this time it’s the same, so you don’t question her. You readjust your grip and swing, shadows and light unleashing from your curved blade toward Weiss.
It’s incredibly easy for her to dodge it and you grumble in annoyance, (your next breath is easier, and though you are back in your chains, back in the shadows, you piece together a plan anyway). You shake yourself out of whatever stupor you're in and rush forward, appearing directly above her, in front of her, with your scythe ready to rip her in half. Her (beautiful) eyes lift to meet yours and you hate how it makes you infinitely lighter.
Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous.
(“Don’t worry… It’ll all be over soon. All you need to do is breathe.”
You did. You listened to her as she killed you, you breathed- but it isn’t over, it isn’t over. She lied, she lied !)
You bare your teeth to her and you must be frightening enough to her that she jumps backward, just out of range as you come down, the earth cracking where Crescent Rose digs in. (A part of you did that on purpose, just to miss, and you snarl in frustration.)
She readies herself, wielding her weapon in such an achingly familiar way- and you internally beg her to do it, to attack. She can take you down and they can take you home (or she can free you from this forever).
But there is a running theme with them all, and Weiss is no different.
She hesitates.
Freezes in place and stares at you with a longing look. How have you gained so much power over them? So much that they can’t even bring themselves to attack you at times.
(Maybe you’ve always been stronger than them…)
You stare at her, halting from trying to pry your weapon free from its prison in the ground, and the twisted memories squeeze at your mind. You’ve been in a situation like this, a calmer setting. In a place you can’t quite remember, in a time so long ago it's useless now.
Weiss is your partner and though you don’t know her, you know her. The way she fights, the way she moves, how precise she is with everything. She’s a critical observer and incredibly patient to counteract your keen eye and reckless abandon.
(You fit together just right. Not perfect. Not by any means- and there’s an ache of struggle in your chest, remembering but not remembering- but it’s enough for you.)
You grunt, shaking away your thoughts, the wrong echoes of your first, weak life. You don’t know how well you succeed, but you shake it off anyway and tug your weapon free. She is dangerous, you have to get rid of her! You tighten your grip and swing, wild and full of reckless abandon.
(And she is your perfect counter, as always.)
But where Blake is adept at dodging, evasion- Weiss is the one with the greatest defense.
Her weapon, full of deadly dust to do her bidding, clicks and you see a faint shimmer in the air around her, and again- again- you’re met with a barrier. A forcefield surrounds her, if the ripples of energy say as much, and you grit your teeth and push against it with all your might. It doesn’t work.
She’s better than you.
Infuriated, you spin and come at a different angle, and when that doesn’t work, you shout your fury to the open air (and it sounds like a cry for help you hope she can understand) and bash the shield again and again and again. The reverberations make your arms ache and tremble and you’re a second from dropping Crescent Rose, fingers sore.
“Ruby!" she calls to you, her voice breaking and hoarse and it makes you shudder, nearly doubling over. Your chest burns, burns, burns and there is a tight constriction on your mind and the light wails just as much as she does. You almost stagger, almost stop, but you are pissed at all of these stupid emotions making you weak, and your efforts to break the barrier increase. “Please, stop!”
(You want to. Gods, you want to, but you’re weakening and you have to bide your time until the perfect opportunity presents itself.)
You yell right back at her, unintelligible words trying to form (and they suspiciously sound like “ help ”), and wish she gets the message to stop saying your name ! Every time they say it, the light struggles more and it makes all of this incredibly difficult.
(You wish that she keeps saying it. It’s been so long since you’ve heard her say it. Her, not a fake, not a dream, but the real her. You miss her, you miss her so much.)
Finally, after tiring yourself out more than anything else, you feel just enough wane from the shield and you take advantage of it. Your muscles strain, flexing to the point of ripping, and it’s like you’re trying to push the entire continents as you force your way through the light. It breaks without fanfare, not like the glyph with its musical sound of glass shattering, and Weiss hastily brings up her blade to provide yet another barrier between her vulnerable body and your wickedly curved scythe.
Her feet skid on the ground and you’re left panting, but she is without her walls for once and you have to take advantage of it while you can. Winded, drained, close to collapse, you mechanically move your weapon in a familiar dance as you rip into her. You manage just a few cuts, Weiss as great as parrying your large scythe as Blake was at dodging, but they don’t satisfy you.
And all at once, she steps forward, out of range of your weapon, and your heart squeezes as though about to pop.
Face-to-face for the first time since she killed you… since you were taken.
Ah.
Here you are.
Hello, Weiss.
It’s been a while, hasn’t it?
You think she understands you, she chokes on air, tears swimming in her eyes. You want to apologize to her.
But your time is fleeting-
And she grits her teeth and drops to a knee, blade stabbing into the ground, another ominous click of Myrtenaster. Wind explodes, thrown off its usual current, forced to listen to her, and you have no hope of trying to stand your ground before it blasts you away. You somehow maintain your hold on Crescent Rose, missing the top of her head by a small margin, and you skid across the ground.
You can’t remember the last time you had air in your lungs and you’re beginning to suffocate.
But you don’t stop.
You roll over yourself, positioning on one knee, holding your sniper steady as quick as you can and it (
scares you
) impresses you just how easy it is to aim directly at her and press the trigger. It’s as reminiscent as holding a gun to your own head and you grimace along with her as the bullet meets the middle of her abdomen, causing her to stumble back with a sharp and breathless gasp.
You’re killing yourself each time you press down on the trigger, throwing your aim off. Just enough for her to- impressively- deflect the next one with Myrtenaster and spin out of the way of the third. You’re running low on bullets.
But opportunities are aplenty when Weiss doesn’t have her glyphs to protect her. She hasn’t used a single one and it’s making this significantly easier.
You soar straight for her and the death tolls ring deep in your soul, appearing right in front of Weiss with your scythe held back and ready to behead her as you failed to do to Blake. She isn’t as agile as Blake is, so you know you’ll land this one.
At least, you thought you would.
Even without her glyphs, Weiss has ways of protecting herself, and you detect the chill in the air a second too late before a shielding wall of ice curves around her. You manage to get quite deep into it and it creaks in protest, but your momentum is halted and she is safe and you are pissed .
And tired.
You’re so fucking tired. (So fucking tired.)
Your struggle is two-fold. Against them and against the darkness. That annoying little light within you isn’t giving up and it is wearing you down just as much as everything else.
You wheeze for air and hold yourself there, watching as Weiss simply moves out of range of your scythe but remains across the ice. Her image is distorted, slightly blurry, but she is there. She is here for you.
You’re tired, tired… tired…
You want this to end. You’ve hurt your sister, you’ve hurt Blake, and you’re hurting Weiss right now.
Can they even forgive you after this is over? If they win and rescue you from here, how can they let this go?
There will be scars left behind and it will be your fault.
This is the worst thing Salem has done. Forget corrupting you- making you fight and hurt and try to kill the people you love… You want to applaud her cruelty.
You love them.
You love them so much, it physically hurts. Your love powers your light, after all, and with corruption making a nice home in your body, everything is beginning to catch the flames of suffering. Which one will give out first? There is a war in your being and it’s tearing you in half.
And Weiss…
You love her, you love her, you love her- and the light shines brighter and it brings tears to your eyes because it hurts and you didn’t know love could hurt this much. You want more than anything to hold her, to apologize, to hide in her embrace, and let her freeze out those wishing to tear you from her.
(You wonder if Salem is starting to feel sorry for you now. If it’s even something she’s capable of. Empathy cannot be found in a devil, but she was human once.
Does she enjoy watching you suffer?
Probably.)
You can sense her push against you, the shadows tightening, what little air you managed to gather forced from your lungs, and you hope Weiss knows the tear you shed is for her.
Your body doesn’t know pain, but just this once, Salem allows you to perceive it all. You’d scream if you were able to, but instead, you grimace and tuck your chin to your chest from her harsh reprimand, the slap to your face. Your eyes fall shut and you swear your master is in front of you now, fingers wrapped around your throat, stealing life from you.
It’s fine. Your life is hers to take. Wicked energy crackles beneath your skin, your aura wailing in response as more of its color is lost to black, the veins on your face and in your flesh digging ever deeper, expanding farther, and everything hurts .
“ Obey ,” Salem snarls at you, no longer the doting master, and you whimper in apology. You don’t intend to disobey her, it’s just happening. Everything is out of your control, has been since the moment you were reborn from the darkness.
You growl as best as you can with what air you manage to wrangle and turn your eyes back to Weiss, narrowing. She’s so heartbroken and her sorrow is no longer satisfying to you.
The ice is in your way and your muscles tense as you continue pushing. It groans, in protest, and you tighten your jaw and keep going. This needs to end soon and you know exactly how to do it (with Salem’s encouragement, of course). The wall breaks, the top half sliding off, and you stare at her for a second longer before clambering onto it.
You need to end this, you need to end this, you need to end this.
Finish it, finish it, finish it!
(No, no you can’t- no, no, no! Not Weiss- Not Weiss, please, please- PLEASE!)
You remember how to properly work your scythe, enough to make the blade unfold, spear-like in shape. You lunge for her, aiming straight for her heart, end it end it end it.
You’re not even going that fast, exhausted as you are. But Weiss is stunned for whatever reason and she moves without awareness, body attempting to get her out of the way but it’s not enough.
It’s not enough.
And though you expect satisfaction, watching your scythe dig into her shoulder, the red that immediately stains her clothes- such a pretty color on her- you…
You are revolted by the amount of horror that overtakes you instead. Blood blossoms in your mouth and you want to spit it out and, and, and your scythe is still embedding deeper and deeper and-
Oh Gods, oh Gods, what have you done? What have you done?
You can’t take it back. You don’t want to. (You do.) You don’t?
What have I done? What have I done?
You’re too focused on the blueness of her eyes to realize she doesn’t quite give in either. Her left arm raises, Myrtenaster unable to reach you in return, but you seem to have forgotten about one tidbit of information.
What makes Weiss so dangerous. Aside from her multipurpose glyphs.
Her expertise in dust.
You discern the flicker of heat before you see the ball of forming fire, right at your stomach. Your eyes glance down momentarily, and for all your speed, you won’t be able to escape it.
You brace yourself and so does she.
In her act of desperation, trying to get away from you, she is willing to take the damage too.
It explodes.
And you are incredibly grateful that the blight makes you immune to feeling the pain, but the detonation is incredibly loud and it makes your ears ring, the force of it sending you flying back. You expect your back to crack against the lingering wall of ice, but it vaporizes in an instant. Your scythe comes along with you, but you drop it midair and you hope it breaks on the collision. You don’t like Crescent Rose anymore.
Not after what it’s done to them.
Smoke fills your lungs and there are blisters at your stomach where your combat gear has scorched away, skin charred and reddened and angry. You collide with the ground and you’re back to having no air anyway, so you allow yourself to rest there. The veins on your face have retreated, recoiling from the sheer heat and light of the fire, and in its wake are burn marks against your jaw and cheek. Smoke lifts from your body like a signal and you wonder if anybody else will be able to see it. The smell of singed hair makes your stomach coil and you close your eyes, swimming in a world of darkness streaked with needles of light.
There’s been a fight inside of you indeed, soldiers of shadows and gleams of radiance littering the battlefield from within you, both sides taking heavy losses. Your aura punishes you, refusing to heal you, and the darkness is working on regathering itself so it doesn’t lose its hold on you completely.
You’re at a stalemate.
Fuck…
You’re tired.
Each blink becomes heavier and you’re completely numb, your body refusing to cooperate.
You feel… horrible…
(Everything hurts and you’re bleeding from a thousand wounds, skin raw from your struggle against all the chains that keep a hold on you. You’re frantic to the point of not caring about taking your own hands and limbs off just to escape them.
Weiss…
Blake…
Yang…
You’ve hurt them so much. Possibly even killed them, and the grief you have is ripping into your bones, tainting your flesh, poisoning your heart just as much as the corruption.
You want to die. If you were taken out of the picture, then maybe you wouldn’t hurt them- or at the very least, you wouldn’t have to witness it all.
“Ruby Rose,” the voice of the devil echoes around your corrupted world and you hang your head, panting and draining of life and running out of options. “Don’t you see? Resistance is pointless.”
“...Please…” You whimper, tired and woeful and frightened, the taste of blood forever on your tongue. You doubt it's ever going to go away. Permanently there for however long you have left to live. “Please, let them go.”
“And take away my fun?” she chuckles, the sound bashing against your skull, cracking against each bone of your spine. She knows she’s won and she’s reveling in it. “Now, why would I ever do that?”
“Please,” you beg, sob, give a weak struggle, “please. You’ve proven your point already. Don’t make me do this.”
Not to them. You have little doubt that Salem will push and push and push until each one of them is dead by your hand.
“I like you begging,” Salem wears a smirk in her voice, taunting, “Do it some more.”
“Salem,” your voice takes on a sharper tone, teeth gritting together with whatever feeble strength you have left. “I swear-”
“On what?” she sounds closer, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see her there. A brush of her hand against your back makes the chains coil tighter, more of your blood spilling, the light in the far distance retreating even more. Your vision dims, the world shrouding, eclipsing- and at this rate, with her here, the battle will be lost instantly. “I fully doubt you’re in any position to make threats or demands.”
“I will kill you,” you vow, and if the only reason you stay alive is to make that happen, then you’ll continue drawing breath, continue moving, continue fighting. “I will kill you.”
The distant light glistens, brighter, harsher. Burning, burning, burning. Hate scalds your tongue and fire flashes through your veins, going up in smoke at a rapid rate. Your head hurts in a warning but you don’t pay attention to it.
Hate will not kill her. You can’t bring yourself to have love for someone like her, and fear doesn’t work when there’s nowhere to run to. You were never taught what other emotions can benefit you, Maria hadn’t gotten that far in the short amount of time you had together.
You’re out of options.
But you’ll fucking find a way if it’s the last thing you do.
“So amusing,” she pulls away from your peripheral, her touch vanishing, and you are alone with just her voice echoing around you, “for you to believe you’ve ever stood a chance against me.”
“Don’t-”
“I’ve given you one order,” she grins, all fangs and malice and death.
Obey.)
By some force of will or darkness or unholiness…
You stand up.
Sensation returns to your body and the world spins as you push yourself up, but the shadows don’t let you fall and you’re forced to your feet. You want to cry, you’re so tired, but they’re not letting you rest.
No, not until after you’ve completed your mission.
Because your eyes lift, the world tilting and swaying, and it takes many blinks before you can focus on the three of them. They remain on the ground, wounded and tired- just like you- and they show no sign of getting back up. They’re not dead yet.
Yang gasps, finally awake, looking toward Blake and back toward you and there is a beg in her eyes that you can nearly hear. (Not quite.) Water and shadows swim in your ears and you can’t hear anything but the blood and corruption pulsing in your veins.
Blake remains curled on the ground, blood dripping from the horrible gash (that you caused- you did that), and she trembles all over, shoulders shaking with her muffled sobs. The sight of it makes you want to fall, stumbling, but you catch yourself and lift a (tired, tired, tired) hand to the side of your head in hopes of rubbing away the deep ache. It doesn’t help. Nothing helps.
You keep moving. Umbral wisps brush along your ankles, digging in and forcing you to take step after step.
Crescent Rose lays on the ground a few feet in front of you, but it is miles away and the trek toward it is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.
(You can’t allow yourself to get to the scythe. You can’t allow yourself to finish the job.
Gritting your teeth, you prepare for the incoming suffering and lurch against the chains, screaming out in the worst agony ever, and you are being ripped apart but it’s fine, it’s fine.
Anything for them.
Even death.)
You groan, pausing and clutching at your head with both hands. So much screaming, so much screaming. It never stops. What do you have to do to make it stop?
Salem continues to urge you on, impatient, and you cower against the might of your master in the hopes she’ll have some sympathy for you. It’s not your fault the light insists on fighting back. If it was up to you… you’d kill her.
You tremble at the thought and shake it away, stepping forward despite how much each one makes you want to collapse. Despite how each one is just like death.
You’ve died so many times tonight you’ve lost count. Step after step. One, two, three, four…
You reach Crescent Rose and it feels like victory and defeat all at once, bending down and groaning against the tenth death, the eleventh, the twelfth. Over and over and over and over. How many times can a person die in one night?
You only manage to clutch at the spine, the heavy blade remaining on the ground, but that’ll have to be enough for now. You’re in no rush. It’s not like they’re getting up anyway. You’re panting and blurred spots fill your vision and you think there're tears but you’re not quite sure.
Your eyes lift and startle upon meeting ever-familiar blue. Weiss.
She still has so much hope in her gaze. How can she still have so much hope for you?
Doesn’t she want you dead too?
(You sob and scream and heave, coughing up blood, and the chains loosen only because you believe Salem doesn’t want to lose you quite yet. A hint of mercy just to torture you more in the long run. Instead of using it to escape, you remain there, suspended and only being held up by the very same restraints you are trying to pry free from.
Your eyes meet Weiss and you start to hope too.)
Dangerous, confusing, manipulative. You hate how those words all sound like lies now. You don’t know what to believe anymore.
“What do you mean she’s gone?” Voices- manipulative, dangerous, confusing- anguished, loving, fearful- filter into your head, so distant and difficult to make out, and it sounds like Yang. Disbelieving, not wanting to admit the truth of your disappearance.
“ She’s gone! We have to save her, we have to- ” And it sounds like Weiss, in tears and breaking apart but oh so beautiful.
“ I know ,” And it sounds like Blake, determined and doing everything she can to not fall apart too, “ We’ll find her, I swear …”
You pause again, looking between the three, so incredibly sad. Biding your time and waiting for them to get back up, but they aren’t.
Well, you want to say to them, you’ve found me.
Just probably not in the way they wanted to.
What a sick joke this is. You’ve wanted them dead since the moment you were reborn from oblivion and now that the opportunity is here, their hesitancy is contagious and you are ill with it. There is no cure, nothing except for gritting your teeth and pushing through no matter how much you shake and cower and rip apart from the inside.
You don’t want to fight anymore. You just want this to be over.
Keep going, keep going, keep going.
End it, end it, end it .
You have to. You must. (You hope to join them in your final death.)
Crescent Rose leaves behind a deep groove in the ground as you walk toward them, fingers aching from where you grip your weapon, movement haggard, and it is only the pull and push of the shadows that keep you from falling over. Salem hovers over you, orchestrating this grand puppet show, and you are her favorite toy to mess with.
Thirteenth death, fourteenth death.
Fifteenth.
So much noise. The screaming doesn’t stop, the crying doesn’t stop, the internal strife doesn’t stop.
But you . You stop.
After the fifteenth death, you freeze.
At first, you think you hallucinate the steam that starts to coil off of Yang’s body, slow-rolling smoke. But then a faint, sizzling sound starts to filter in the air- and the screaming stops for once, curious and confused and hopeful - and it’s like watching a phoenix being reborn right before your very eyes. (Your chance to win has slipped from your grasp and a part of you isn’t even mad about it, stricken by the sight before you.)
Yang sighs, a puff of smoke rising now, and your body stiffens as you see her begin to move for the first time since waking. You don’t know how to process someone coming back from the dead, so you find yourself just staring at her as she slowly but surely gets to her feet.
She doesn’t even sway or stagger in place, and it’s as though she’s getting back up after tripping instead of standing after just dying . It’s entirely unfair and-
Oh.
Right.
Her semblance. (Your strike wasn’t enough to kill her and now… now, you’re scared .)
The hiss in the air continues, the only sound you can hear, and from this distance, you can see the wound you had been so proud to make steadily cauterizing itself. If you squint, you can just see the heated air around her form, like staring into the distance on a hot summer’s day. She is the sun and you are the epitome of darkness.
The sun burns the shadows.
Her eyes open, and where you expect dangerous red, you only see pleading purple. It takes your breath away. Well, if you had breath. How even in the middle of her anger, she is still begging you to stand down.
Ordering you.
She looks disappointed- and now she’s familiar with what you were told.
“ I knew you weren’t cut out for this, sis..."
“You’re too weak, Ruby…”
(You’re starting to believe her.)
You tighten your grip on your weapon- a surge of anger giving you strength- and the shadows help you lift your heavy scythe more securely, stance tightening. They surround you like the smoke that filters from her skin.
She sighs, so heartbroken. (It makes your stomach coil tightly.)
And you are mesmerized by the red that slowly fills her irises, swirling out of the center pupil like blood from an open wound, like the poison that runs through your veins. You don’t ever recall a time being able to see the change of color happen. Then again, you don’t recall anything else either.
(You shudder, smiling despite the hurt. That’s your sister. If she doesn’t hold back, you’ll for sure be knocked out and then they can take you away from here.
It’s almost over, you can taste it.)
(For some reason, it tastes like blood and defeat.)
Her next breath comes with a billowing cloud of steam, obscuring her face until the only thing you can see is the gleam of red and it sends fear shooting down your spine. Fear that only increases when the blaze erupts, embers flaking and dancing around her form like the wisps of darkness that float around you. She’s trying to copy you. (Or maybe you’re copying her?)
You grimace to yourself as, aside from the fire and the red glare, Yang is not quite done outshining you. Her skin gives off a subtle, golden-white glow. Like an angel coming down to punish you for your transgressions. (You’d deserve it.)
(You hope for it. Perhaps nothing short of divinity can save you now.)
Out of the corner of your eye, you can hardly register Blake struggling to her feet, suffering death of her own just to join her partner in all of this. How admirable. You want to knock her off her feet again, to ruin her progress, to strike her while she’s weak, but… but Yang’s sheer presence leaves you stock-still.
(You laugh, perhaps a little hysterical. The darkness is such a coward.
Salem is such a coward.)
You only manage to tear away when Yang does, drawn toward Blake as she finally finds the strength to walk to your sister’s side. You can see her shuddering, but whether it’s because she is now beneath Yang’s intense, unbearable gaze or because the pain is too much to withstand, you can’t quite tell. They share a look and something within you writhes with longing.
You’ve had something like that before with the girl on the ground.
You curl your lips, in disgust with yourself, and take advantage of them not paying attention to walk forward.
Attempt to, at least. You only manage about two or three steps- two or three more deaths- before whatever conversation they have is done and now they’re both looking at you. Blake narrows her eyes and it feels like a promise and Yang stares at you with frightening sympathy.
You hate it so much.
They part, Blake repositioning herself into a better place, and the hesitance you have read in their bodies this entire fight like words branded on their skin is starting to vanish. Now, there is only resolve. Sorrow, yes, but not the severe reluctance of before and-
And they’re banding together. You’ve foolishly allowed them to unite, to gather themselves up and ally up. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
You look between the two, not knowing who is the bigger threat at the moment. Yang, with her burning aura, or Blake, who is- despite all the discomfort she’s in- still ready to fight.
Your chances of winning have dropped dramatically-
And plummet to absolute nothingness as movement between the two draws your attention. Weiss is getting up too. Her left arm is terrible and you notice that she has transferred Myrtenaster to her right one, but the bleeding at her shoulder has slowed or stopped entirely and she’s as resolved as the other two.
(You exhale in relief, guilt squirming in your chest, but Weiss can stand, and if she can stand, then she’s okay. You know her.
It takes a lot to take her down. You admire that about her.
Gods, I love you so much .)
They’re standing again.
They’re standing again and they’re ready to fight and you know it, you can sense it.
You've lost .
Salem is not pleased. You can feel her disappointment, threatening to take her power and your life away, and you panic. Just another chance. All you need is one chance. Yes, they’ll fight, but you can beat them- you can beat them, you swear!
(Salem, though not one to hand out second chances, must really want to see this play out. Must have faith in you.
You’re so grateful.)
You will not fail. You refuse.
Scowling at them, you ready yourself and so do they. (And it’s frightening, so fucking terrifying to be facing all three at once.) (You wait for your opportunity to arise, breathing deeply, steadily. You are their leader and you are going to aid them through this. You hope they notice.)
There’s a familiar flicker beneath Weiss’s feet, a tiny spark, and it sputters for longer, as if it’s about to blink out entirely, but by her command, the glyph forms. Uh oh. That isn't good. She has her defenses again.
Cracked and weak, but a shield is a shield.
...But apparently, she doesn’t intend to use it as a shield. The cartridges in her revolver click into place and now you remember one purpose of the multipurpose glyphs. It changes color, from pure white to pale yellow, too far for you to make out the symbols on it, and a glow of the same strange color covers her form.
She lifts her injured hand, not even flinching, and twin beams of light shoot out from her palm and travel the short distance to Blake and Yang, landing beneath their feet. You get a terrible wave of growing dread as you see glyphs form underneath them as well, and within one blink to the next, the glow has overtaken their bodies too. (This far, you can barely hear the distant ticking of a clock.)
They share a look and you are too stunned to barrel on ahead, your determination wavering as they turn back to face you in unison and prepare themselves. Yang, this time, raises her fists, the fire raging brighter. Blake twirls her blade, experimentally rolling her shoulders to see just what she can get away with before the pain is too much. (Apparently, she can get away with a lot.) Weiss positions into her usual stance, flipped now that she had to switch hands, but wielding her rapier with familiarity.
You intend to take a step but hesitate- the light surges forward and you give just enough push to stop your body, baring your teeth at yourself, at the corruption, at Salem.
This is a team effort.
You are Team RWBY. You are their leader.
You will not let them down.
(Salem hums, eagerly awaiting for the show to start. You hate how she still has a smirk on her face. Like she knows something you don’t.)
You force air into your lungs for once, after so long, and it is revolting but you do it again. The world is at a standstill for half a second.
And like a gunshot signaling the start of the final race…
They charge.
(You want to point out how it’s a little unfair of them to gang up on you like this, but you suppose fair’s fair. You struck them when they weren’t expecting it.
Perhaps you should have been more merciful after all.)
Now, you pride yourself on your speed. The blight only enhances it even more.
But how quickly they move is not what you’re expecting. You blink once, twice, and suddenly, Yang is right there, directly in your face. You flinch, her light so blinding, so frightening, and you try to back away, lifting your weapon to attempt to block whatever she has to throw at you.
(It’s significantly heavier now, your weapon. Your arms feel like they’re filled with lead and the weight is alarming. It’s as though you’re trying to fight back against chains you cannot see.)
She doesn’t throw much, surprisingly. All she does is reach for you- and for whatever reason, you expect her to bring you into a hug- and her hands grip the collar of your cloak. Stupid, stupid, stupid cloak. It’s going to be the reason you fail now.
She twists around, throwing you in the direction she just came from, back to the others, and you try to resist the momentum but she is strong and you aren’t.
“You’re too weak, Ruby.”
No! No, you aren’t! Not anymore!
The denial is ripped from you the way a blade slashes at your back, the force behind it causes you to stumble forward- and they are just tossing you around like a bone between wolves. You wonder which one of them will get to keep you the longest, which one will torture you the longest. (Which one will break you first.)
Yang has returned, your vision spinning, and you have no time to do much of anything before her fingers are at the back of your head. Fire streams down from her hair to her hands, the embers around the air melting away your shadowy wisps, and you growl at the burning sensation. It’s so familiar to what you’ve been experiencing from inside this entire time, and the fact that it’s coming from an external force pisses you off.
You force your aura to obey and it does, to your surprise, willingly going to help you escape from this grasp with a burst of petals that turn to ash in the air. You have no time to question it, only grateful you’re out of it, but you’re surrounded and you need to fix that. You grip your weapon tighter and spin in a tight circle, faster with the help of your semblance and shadows, faster than they can (normally) keep up with.
(Your aura is beginning to run low and you don’t know what’ll happen when that happens, but you’re starting to make connections. Every time you unleash it, releasing it along with the shadows in short bursts, you are expelling the darkness. Marginally so, but any decrease is a godsend at this point. You just have to keep chipping away at it.)
(You think you know exactly how to do it.)
Yang grunts as Crescent Rose cuts into her again, the wound cauterizing as soon as it's formed, and behind you, you hear the clash of metal on metal and just barely catch a glimpse of Blake skidding away. Ah, so she was the one who hit you from behind. (Fair’s fair.) You stop to assess the predicament you’re in, surrounded as you are.
You can try to make them chase you, expel their energy. This speed enhancement they have going for them can only last so long (you hope) and from the pieces of what you remember of Yang’s semblance, you know for sure she’s on a timer. If you can just outlast her, then the others will fall like dominoes as well. She is your biggest threat.
That’s all you need to do now.
Outlast them.
(You don’t think you can, but it’s a much better chance than outright overpowering them. That’s impossible to do for sure.)
You catch sight of another glyph above Blake’s head right before Weiss is flying right for you, coming down from her ramp and striking. The cut opens along the skin that she blistered with her fire dust, leaving it even more raw and vulnerable, and you grimace. Great. The one who is capable of keeping you from running is now here.
You have to get rid of her.
Except, you meet her eyes in the space of the momentary pause between the two of you and shudder, remembering her frost. (You stare into hope-giving blue and it fills you with strength and you smile, tears rolling down your cheeks the same way blood spills from your many, many, many cuts. You think she can see you, can sense you, and she makes a promise to save you. You can’t wait.)
You snarl in your fear and she responds by caging you in with her. A dome of broken glyphs surrounds you and the corruption in your veins writhes ferally. Get away, get away, get away! The forgotten language is a threat you clearly understand and Salem orders you to run which is frightening because if even your master is scared, you should definitely be as well.
You search for an exit, but she is distracting and she is dangerous . She catapults toward you, slicing across you as she rushes by, and you hold onto Crescent Rose for dear life. If they manage to take it from you, it’s definitely all over. For all the power Salem has given you, there’s only so much she can do with a body that doesn’t know how to fight without a weapon.
More and more cuts open along your skin- reflecting how you really are- and Weiss is nothing but a blur you have a hard time keeping track of. It’s so new, being the slow one. You hate it. In your frustration, you swing where you predict her to be next and miss. You blink up to where she hangs by the wall of her dome, harsh resolve written on her face, and then she’s suddenly rocketing toward you while your weapon is indisposed.
You just manage to rip the scythe free from the ground as she meets you, the force of her speed sending you right into the wall at your back- and it burns and freezes all at once just touching it. Get away, get away, get away! The corruption thrashes and twists in its desperation to free you from this stupid semblance. Will it leave you just so it can get away from this? It’s selfish like that.
(The seconds' tick by and you feel Weiss, surrounding you, protecting you, and all along the ground of the void world around you, ice blooms like snowdrops and roses. Shining with a light of their own. Some of it crawls up the chains and they weaken, frail. You manage, for the first time ever, to break one of them- dissolving as soon as it loses its grip on you.)
A snarl rips free from your chest, partially out of your control, and you zoom straight for her as she had done to you. The shadows are wild and replace your petals more in your desperation to leave this prison of shining glyphs. You shoot straight for her, and just like before, she is too fast. She dodges, but to your greatest relief, her glyphs begin to fall away and there is an opening for you and you do not hesitate to take it.
You probably should have though.
Because Weiss isn’t alone here and you are.
You find yourself directly in the path of the next bright light as Yang lifts her leg to come down with a mighty kick.
Fucking hell . Can’t you just get a second to breathe ? (Evidently not. You haven’t been able to breathe in a while, not air at least. You take in shadows instead of oxygen and you’re drowning.)
It’s on something like instinct that you use the ricochet of the sniper’s bullet to change your trajectory, just enough to bend around Yang instead of coming right at her. It works. You hear the ground break behind you as her kick connects and you take a second to wonder if you would’ve broken as well.
You don’t want to find out.
You apparate right behind her, and because beheading hadn’t worked for Blake or Weiss, you’re interested in finding out if it’ll work on Yang. Third time’s a charm, isn’t it? Less a horizontal strike to her neck and more a vertical, downward slam, but at this point, you’ll take cutting straight down the middle of her.
The more hits she takes, the brighter her semblance burns, but the less time she has overall. You have to outlast her.
You swing and are denied the kill a third time and you want to scream. (You laugh and you think you’re starting to lose your mind. You don’t entirely care at the moment.)
A sudden jerk throws off your aim and your blade meets the ground instead, and it’s only as you peer at your weapon to figure out what went wrong that you realize Gambol Shroud is wrapped around the neck of it. You follow the ribbon to its master and hope to kill Blake with your glare alone.
She meets you head-on, running, and she doesn’t slow down even as she comes closer.
Instead, for the second time, she hops onto your weapon and uses it as a platform to attack you. How insulting.
...You only have a second to realize there’s a knee coming directly at your face.
And because the light leaves you frozen- (struggling, struggling, struggling)- you can do nothing more but take the hit. You imagine it would hurt if Salem let you feel it.
You don’t feel it- but you for sure feel the panic when the force of her hit sends you careening back.
Away from your weapon.
Despite how desperately you try to hold onto it, your grip has weakened in your surprise and this is all it takes to dislodge you from it. Your chances of winning are in the negatives now as you roll across the ground, head pounding with a headache you do not perceive, and you taste blood on your lips. Which isn’t new, you’ve been tasting that all night, but you feel it trickling down your nose.
You push yourself to your knees, sound ringing in your ears and voices muffled, and put a hand to your nose to attempt to stop the bleeding. It’s not worth using your aura to fix it.
Red and black eyes lift and glare at Blake as she stands between you and your weapon with everything that you have. Gods, you can’t wait to kill her. You just have to-
Your turn instinctively toward where your weapon remains and everything stutters to a halt seeing Yang pick it up. You don’t notice that the glow of whatever Weiss had done to them disappears, so focused you are.
She has my weapon, she has… Damn it, damn it, damn it !
Your one chance at victory.
In the enemy’s hand.
The impressive scythe collapses into its portable mode.
And you lose it.
“No!” The voice that rips from your mouth isn’t entirely yours. It’s the shadows'. It’s the corruption’s. It’s Salem’s. It leaves foulness in your mouth and your tongue is like coal, so vile. (Salem is having less fun now, and you don’t know what’s stopping her from coming to save you.)(To stop you.)
(The battle has started anew, your light returning to face off against the shadowy soldiers. The ice that lingers gives them an edge and you anticipate the moment it touches you.
Just one more push. All you need is one more push.)
You have to get it back. You can’t do anything if you don’t have your weapon. You have to get it back!
You get to your feet and charge, eyes only for Yang- who keeps victory away from you. Blake intercepts you, as always, and you’ve had enough of her. You rip a page from her book and let her cut into withered petals instead of you, re-shaping behind her, and you keep going.
Yang backs away, and for all her power and fire and light right now, she is suddenly scared of you. Good. She should be scared.
You’ll rip her to pieces with your hands if you must to get Crescent Rose back.
Weiss steps in the way next. Glyphs flicker behind her, stretching toward the sky and expanding far on either side, looming over you like a tidal wave about to swallow you whole, and you rush at her. If she wants you to drown again, then she’ll have to drown first.
You slam her directly into the wall she has made, one arm barred against her chest to keep her pinned, and the corruption snarls in her face. You’re being torn in so many different directions, so many things controlling you with an essence of their own- the corruption, Salem, the light- you don’t know what’s you anymore.
The action and the vehemence startle her, cold fear crashing against your tongue in a different taste beside the blood, and suddenly, you’re falling. Both of you are; she lands on her back and you land on top of her. Your knee digs into her stomach and you push yourself up, wanting to just keep rushing toward Yang, but…
(The ice dims, the shadows surging, and they focus on it. Your rising hope stutters and you furrow your brow. They’re targeting Weiss, they’re targeting Weiss.
Wait, wait, wait- )
The shadows seep into your skin and you move as though puppeted. The corruption wants her dead, Salem wants her dead, and you want her to suffer.
Your hands wrap around her throat and you squeeze and you squeeze and you squeeze .
(You’re so startled, so in disbelief at what’s happening, that you only watch for the first second. But you blink, the seconds keep going, Weiss begins to struggle, and you know this isn’t a nightmare.
This is real. This is real- and you’re strangling her.)
You’ve always been stronger than her, physically so. But… but you’re not supposed to hurt her- you’re not supposed to be hurting her. You’re only supposed to protect her, to use your strength to keep her safe.
You can’t lose her! Not her, not Weiss!
Someone, someone, please!
Stop me, stop me, stop me!
The chains tighten, choking you just like you are her, and you have no air to scream. You press against it and stop when that only makes your physical body press down even more on your partner.
Okay.
Okay- I’ll stop! Please, please don’t do this!
I’ll stop! I’ll stop! Please, I’ll stop!
(Salem doesn’t listen. She’s had enough of your games, and she pushes and pushes and pushes- and you push, push, push.)
They have to stop you, they have to-
Kill me, kill me, kill me.
Please-
All at once, you’re being wrenched away, you cry in relief- and your opportunity is gone again. They just love taking it from you, don’t they? You’re dragged backward and you hate being surrounded from behind. It reminds you of entering the cauldron for the first time, the way everything shrouded you. It pierced into your back first.
So, you struggle, you resist, you thrash and fight and your aura refuses to listen to you at the moment, punishing you for what you’ve done to Weiss, and you are about to scream and snarl.
But Blake snarls first.
“Fucking stop!” Her outrage disintegrates you and it is so frightening that you instinctively listen to her. You imagine it’s Salem, it’s so easy too with her level of danger. You remain limp in her grasp and she, unusually, holds you up, keeps you from falling. There are tears down your cheeks and your lungs are starving for air you cannot take in.
Your vision is blurry and you see Yang helping Weiss to her feet, dragging her back with one arm, keeping her protected. Your partner trembles where she stands, her wounded hand hovering by her throat with a grimace.
You can see bruises. Bruises in the shape of your hands. You caused them- you did this.
You want to cry your apologies for her, want to punish yourself for what you’ve done, want Blake to just choke the life out of you right now. But you have to focus, you have to! The darkness has tired itself out as well, and though the ice is gone now, the shadows are distracted and worn-out, just like you.
The fight is nearing its end.
All you need is a final push.
...And you are in the arms of the one person who can help you do it.
Blake, with her unique semblance… You know she’s the only one who has a chance of making this work. You don’t even know if your prediction will work: if releasing your aura and pushing it out of you takes not only the light but also the darkness.
If you can just push enough of it out of you, then maybe you’ll have a better chance of taking control for good. All you need to do is lessen this corruption, displace it somewhere else.
Crescent Rose will not be enough to do so. It will break, and then what?
You need something stronger.
Someone stronger.
Someone who will not break.
And you hate it- you hate it so fucking much- but these three are the only people close enough for you to do it. You’ve weighed your options. You’ve weighed the potential consequences.
Yang was your first choice. Instinctively. But time has been ticking for too long and you don’t know how much longer her semblance will last, and once that’s gone, the darkness you will push into her will be too much and she will be lost to it. She can burn it away, yes, but she’ll burn out before she even gets the chance.
Weiss always has tricks up her sleeves, but you don’t know if she has a way of destroying or escaping the darkness. Her glyphs are already broken, her semblance weakening. Maybe if you hadn’t broken them before, maybe she could’ve helped.
But Blake.
It’s risky. And you don’t know how much of it she can take, how much you can actually expel before Salem notices or before Blake escapes from you. It needs to be enough, just enough for you to break free.
It’s incredibly wrong. To use your best friend as a conduit toward freedom, but you are desperate. You know she can get away from this. You know it.
(You hope.)
You inhale sharply and begin to incinerate from the inside out. The light has had enough of you, so now it’s just trying to kill you. (Everyone is always trying to kill you.)
The corruption screams and so do you, so inhuman and haunting (and sad, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Blake), and the blaze in your system makes you want to run, run far. You have to escape it. If you don’t, you’re going to die.
You’re forced into your semblance (and you cough up blood, once, twice, five different times) and you don’t go as far as you initially plan, just behind Blake. To the open wound of her back, her white coat stained a grueling shade of red, and your hand is wrenching for it before you can register what’s going on. Your fingers wet with her blood and your aura pulses, brighter and angrier, and it rushes for your palm, for her.
I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Blake- I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
But I have to do this.
The world fades away and you’re back in the void, wrapped in your obsidian chains and surrounded by shadows… But…
Your next breath comes easier, a light in the distance, and you lift your gaze to the sight of the darkness retreating. It’s working. It’s working! You can feel the shadowy tendrils leaving your body, like blood spilling from a wound, and all around, the light is increasing. Brighter and brighter and brighter. It fills your peripherals, color returning to the world, and you’re sad to say you’ve forgotten the name of most of them.
The voices always around you, the laughter and screams and sobs of the shadows, begin to quiet, some of them fading away entirely. The obsidian tightens at first, desperate to keep its hold on you- but the speck of purple (you remember now) in the distance is much too enticing for a lot of them. Some release their hold on you, slithering across the ground like death-dealing snakes.
Warmth starts to surround you and you’ve forgotten what that's like too.
You’re lowered to the ground and you collapse immediately, the remaining weights dragging you flat to your stomach, but it’s fine. You’ve missed being on the ground, you hate weightlessness. You cough, a splash of scarlet staining your hands in front of you, and when you lift your head-
You swear you see eyes of gold staring back at you, like sunshine and promises and freedom, before they vanish out of existence. You smile, bloody and tired.
Just as you planned.
You stumble in place when Blake disappears from in front of you, disoriented and confused and so incredibly groggy you just about fall over. You hear a splash of something against the ground in front of you, and through your blurred vision, you see a puddle of familiar darkness right at your feet. (You instinctively move away from it.)
Something’s different.
You don’t feel like yourself… or maybe you feel more like yourself. (Confusing, confusing, confusing.)
The link you have to Salem and the shadows, so strong around your heart, has loosened, her grip on you slacking. Just enough for you to feel all of your pain now and it’s nearly enough to make you fall to the ground and break apart. Your head is killing you most, or maybe your chest is, and you sluggishly bring a hand to your face.
Aside from the broken nose, you run the pads of your fingers along it… and where you expect to touch the veins beneath your skin, they have now vanished. Or, not vanished, just receded. Instead of crawling across your cheek, your forehead, your jaw- they now remain at your hairline, just peeking out from beneath the neck of your gear.
It makes you breathe a deep sigh of relief before you can comprehend it.
You meet Blake’s gaze and nearly stagger back. The gold has returned, so familiar: sunshine and promises and freedom.
She leans heavily against Yang, who stares at her in return with incredible concern, but she only has eyes for you as well. She seems rather frazzled, twitchy, disoriented as well and so damn confused. There’s an odd pull toward her, your fingers twitching, and it’s as though she has stolen something from you.
You want it back.
You don’t feel right without it.
Or maybe you feel more right without it?
(You can’t get to your feet quite yet, but you manage to get on your hands and knees. You shrug off some of the chains and they fall without resistance, sliding off of you, and you draw in air greedily.
The warmth lingers, the colors remain. Your light is making a hasty rush at you while the persistent darkness that refused to leave you- or didn’t get the chance to- scrambles to make sense of what just happened. Your connection with Salem is faint and you want to laugh at the surprise she gives off, too shocked to do anything right away.
“There,” you smile to the open air and hope the witch hears you, “how’s that for obeying?”)
They regroup, and you know you should be charging at them right away, should try to lunge for Crescent Rose that sits pretty on the ground, but you are so terrified of getting close to them now. Weird things happen when you’re right beside them. All you want to do is run to Salem’s side right now, she’ll make it better. She’ll take your torment away.
She’ll make you strong.
But Salem is occupied with something else and you are lost without your master’s guidance.
You’ll just have to continue this without her.
They come to some sort of agreement; Yang backs up, reluctantly, from her partner and wanders to the dropped scythe, tapping the surface of it with a boot as if to taunt you. Come and get it, her stance reads, and your jaw sets at her cockiness. (She has a right to be cocky. You don’t know what else you can do right now.)
Regardless of not knowing how to win anymore, you roll your shoulders back- wincing- and prepare yourself.
This is it .
The end .
The end is here and you fear the outcome.
The three of them face you in a tense stand-off and you wonder if they can taste the impending end as well. What does it taste like for them? (Is it victory?)
Blake, dual-wielding now, is the first one to charge at you. It’s impressive just how much damage she can take and still keep going.
(She’s a survivor of many hardships, after all. She knows best how to react in the face of absolute misery.
You’re so proud of her.)
You scowl at her approach. This one has the audacity to run to you first after she stole something from you. As if she knows you won’t be able to take it back, won’t be able to even touch her.
You have no weapon, but the corruption is a beast of its own. Your fingers curl like claws and you rush at her, hoping the darkness is enough to show you the way to victory. You just have to get your scythe back- once you succeed that, then the tides will turn in your favor.
You force yourself to rose burst past her and it’s significantly harder to use your semblance now, so rebellious it is. You half-expect it not to work, but to your relief it does. You reform right behind her, blinking to reorientate yourself and-
And she’s right in front of you, and you remember a second too late her penchant for making clones to distract you.
The world slows as you meet her gaze- sunshine, promises, freedom- and there is nothing but the resolve of her last-ditch effort. There’s a spark of, of- purple (that’s the color) that crackles over her form and Gambol Shroud shines like a beacon over her head. It doesn’t fizzle violently… and the amount of pride you have for her brings tears to her ears.
Please, you beg her and wish that she hears you, do it.
Save me.
It’s not meant to be an order.
But Blake takes it as one. There is none of the hesitation from earlier before she’s slashing down, releasing the controlled aura with a yell, and you can do nothing but watch it approach. It rips through the ground, forming an ‘x’ along the way, and you remember a second too late that pain is now something you can feel.
And fuck does it hurt.
There’s a muffled explosion, but all you can focus on is the burning agony of it and you cry out, blood arcing from you. You fear it’ll be enough alone to make you bleed out. You recoil, the blast sending you skidding back, and you do your best to dig your heels in. It’s torture to move, but you’re used to being tortured just to move, so you have to do it anyway.
Except, they’re not giving you a chance to do much of anything anymore. They’ve reached the end of their patience with you. This is where their true colors shine (and it is full of nothing but shades of desperation and hues of hope to get you back. Beautiful).
Yang is suddenly in front of you, a streaking comet, and your fear of her doubles, triples, multiplies hundreds of thousands of times now that she’s here. Because now you can feel everything and you know, you know she is the heaviest hitter of them all. Especially at the stage she’s at, and you begin to worry she might just punch a hole straight through you, eviscerate you completely.
(Red and red meet and you feel the weight of her promise like you feel the weight of the chains.
I will save you, she vows and you sob in relief.
Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you! )
You didn’t even think it was possible, but her semblance somehow finds a way to burn brighter. The fire grows chaotic, out of her control, and you notice that it hurts her too. Her glove is reduced to ash in a matter of seconds as she clenches her fist tightly, rearing for an uppercut to send you to the heavens.
You hold her gaze and swear it turns white-gold: strength, protection, warmth.
She roars, the sound reverberating in your bones, scaring the corruption. Smoke escapes her mouth and you brace yourself.
But no amount of bracing will ever be able to withstand her attack.
The instant her fist connects to your abdomen, you get to feel the wonderful sensation of your ribs breaking, skin burning away even more from the previous damage already there. You can’t even scream, the smoke she produces is suffocating, and you choke on your own blood as you're sent flying into the air.
The world spins on its axis, heart pounding in your ears. Okay, you want to say, I give up, you win. Kill me already. You see Blake and Yang on the ground below you, getting smaller as you’re sent higher from the blast, and you wonder if you’ll crash into the shattered pieces of the moon at this rate.
Salem, you call for help, Where are you?
Wherever you are… (
help
) stay away.
She doesn’t hear you either.
The momentum reaches its end and you hear a familiar chime in the air before you see them. The glyphs. Fractured and cracking to pieces, but forming a trail with you at the end of it. Weiss is fast approaching and your eyes widen.
Her rapier shines with a snow-white light, engravings written across it, before there’s a glint in the air around her, and spectral armor forms around her arm. An ethereal blade, much larger than the thin one, appears.
She’s so devastatingly beautiful it takes your breath away.
Closer and closer, she comes and you can hear the song her blade sings. The runes are a language you can almost understand, but not quite.
There’s no ounce of hesitation in her as she strikes, the cut she creates is agonizing, but you take it. You take her pain, her anguish, her fear. You take her desperation and sorrow and anger.
You take her love, her hope, her forgiveness.
Everything. Everything she has is yours. She is yours. (And you are hers.)
Words filter in your head, musical and so different from the crude whispers of the shadows, and you blink to yourself, glancing down at your body. A thin line finds its home from one shoulder diagonal down to your hip, and the runes you had seen on the blade stream from the open wound in place of blood, like mist and steam and snow.
There are many, many you don’t know, and a few that somehow make sense to you.
There is Stay.
There is Mine.
And there is Love.
(Just for the corruption, there is Perish. There is Wither. There is Die. Some of it listens, obeys, and is incredibly frightened.)
You look back at her…
And smile.
I love you.
She smiles back.
I love you too.
The energy bursts, the song growing louder, a blinding radiance that sears your senses and leaves you numb. You hardly register the fact that you’re careening back down to the ground, spared of the pain that comes with colliding into the ground like a fallen star, an angel slipping from grace (or ascending to the heavens).
There are inexplicable words in your head, but they fade away eventually, so you think nothing of it. You hold your breath, count the seconds; one, two-
At three, your aura breaks. (You gasp harshly, the first stream of light pierces into you, and it burns.)
You lay there, body broken. Staring at the sky like it’ll fall apart too if you stare hard enough.
The sting of your defeat is… strangely relieving. You want to smile for some reason.
Because now, it’s all over. You can rest. You failed at your mission, but that’s okay. That just means you weren’t meant to win anyway.
Maybe this was how things were always supposed to be. You aren’t stronger than them, no matter how much you try to convince yourself you are, and that’s okay.
You’re stronger with them than against them.
Soon, you’ll be with them again. They’ll take you from here, keep you safe, won’t let Salem steal you again. They’ll help you get rid of the rest of this corruption, the rest of your chains, and you can finally be with them again.
Gods, you’ve missed them so much.
You can’t wait-
It happens too quickly. Much, much too quickly.
The whispers in your head turn to ear-bursting shrieks and you gasp, body arching, and…
Salem must have been playing with you all along.
Because the chains that are there are more than enough to punish you. They wrap tightly, to the point of slashing straight to bone, and yank you to your knees. One wraps around your throat and you seize, your fingers going to try and pry it off, but it doesn’t work. A nearby shadow lunges for you, piercing where the light previously had, and you scream and scream and scream.
You miss not being able to sense anything- because the sheer suffering you experience is worse than everything else you’ve felt so far. Worse than Blake’s blood-draining aura slash, worse than Yang’s body-breaking punch, worse than Weiss’s soul-splitting strike. It’s Salem’s turn now to give a final strike and you want to laugh at the difference. (Life-ending darkness.)
The three of them combined cannot compare.
You clutch your head, for fear that it might explode, and convulse, wailing, rolling to your knees. Body hunched over against the ground. You want to vomit the blood that fills your lungs, your chest, your organs. You don’t think anyone can get through this.
But even through the torment… you can sense your master. So disappointed in you-
And fast approaching to enact the punishment.
The realm is hers and she can appear wherever she likes and you know she’s going to pop up right beside you all and-
“No!” You scream, begging for another chance- a third chance. Salem hardly gives seconds, and never thirds. You then start to scream for her to, “Stay away! Stay-"
She doesn’t like you yelling at her, doesn’t like your whining, and it’s evident with the way black energy arcs over your body. The ribbons of shadows choke you, intending to tear right through each of your limbs, so much cackling. Just enough of them leave you for you to keep feeling this torture.
You have to warn them, you have to let them know what’s coming.
You have to sacrifice your one chance at freedom.
"Stay away!”
It’s not enough.
You don’t see it, so curled up you are, struggling to resist oblivion as it stabs you over and over in many different places. The shackles keep you from running, keep you from leaving, keep you keep you keep you. You are theirs.
The air becomes even thinner than before and the shadows that are normally laughing so close to your head are now everywhere . So many cackles, sobs, howls- the world is alive with noise and you’re terrified.
You’re back in the abyss but you’re on solid land this time; not sinking, not drowning. It surrounds you, shielding you, imprisoning you.
You, and them too.
The cries come quickly and you’ve grown familiar with their pain. First, Blake; a pulse reverberates at your sternum, and her agony is yours. Veins crawl up her chest, strangling her. Pulling her down, down, down.
Then, Yang. Your body arcs, twisting away from the stabbing sensation at your tailbone, the electricity that sets your teeth on edge as each bone of your spine- her spine- is struck by the night. You feel her being pushed, but she resists, stubborn as always, and they push and push and push. You want to yell at her to stop because it’s just making all of this even worse for you. Eventually, she’s too weak- (You’re too weak, Yang.)- and she falls as well.
And finally, Weiss. So injured and tired and frightened, but still fighting. She slices at the shadows and another cut opens up on your body in reflection. She pierces right through and it’s like she’s stabbing directly into your heart, and she activates her glyphs and the light is so cold it scalds. You wither and whine and it only grows colder and colder and colder-
And a second later, when the winter reaches its precipice, her arm breaks, your arm breaks. It’s blissful torture, horrible respite. She falls and you are vaguely aware that the shadows start to devour them whole. First Blake, then Yang. Weiss is well on her way.
“No, no, no,” you remain there, on your knees, stabbed and pinned down by multiple spears and chains and tendrils. In the far, far, far distance, only if you squint through the blood and the tears and the blurriness, you can see a gleam of purple, gold, blue. Their aura, their lifeline.
They start to dim… and dim… and dim…
Damn it. Damn it. This isn't how it's supposed to go! You want to strain and reach for them but you are immobile.
And you know Salem is here. You’re scared of pissing her off even more.
She’s flaunting her victory to them, you can sense her gaze on you, and though there is disappointment and disgust and anger… There is also a hint of alarm. She underestimated you and you take that victory for what it’s worth.
It’s probably not worth anything at this point.
Your connection to the shadows is indescribable, stronger with your master here.
And because of that…
You know , in the deepest parts of your heart and soul and everything else, that this darkness is not simply going to corrupt them as well. No, it’s too violent, too harmful, too frenzied.
It’s intending to rip them apart and devour their bones and blood and matter.
It’s going to kill them.
You want to convince Salem otherwise. She can just turn them too like she has done to you so you won’t be so alone anymore. But- But you’ve aggravated her too much. You are asking for toys of your own and she is slapping you on the wrist for disobeying.
She’s taking them away from you.
She’s killing them.
No, no, no! Purple dims the most, about to wink out- Blake- and your mind races for something to help. Gold- Yang- becomes fainter and it’s inspiring that it seems to fight back. That one is full of fire, literally and figuratively, and the darkness has a tough time dealing with the flames.
But Yang has reached past her limits and there’s not much else she can do. She’s only delaying the inevitable.
There’s a crack in your neck as the shadows force your head in their direction, forcing you to watch. Another punishment. For you to watch it all slip away. There are two shapeless forms covered by oblivion, but you instinctively know- can sense - who is who. Blake, the farthest from you, and Yang, turned toward her partner as if she had been trying to save her.
And Weiss…
She’s looking at you.
And there is no hate. No fear.
Only love.
Love, love, love .
And pain.
Pain, pain, pain .
You’ll never get to see them again. Never get to hear their voices, never get to watch them grow, never get to feel their warmth.
You’ll never get to tell Blake just how grateful you are to her for loving your sister, for staying- because that’s all Yang needs. Someone who won’t leave, and you wanted that to be you, but life had other decisions in mind. You’ll never get to read another book with her or help her plan surprises for your sister or give her your blessing.
You’ll never get to tell Yang just how much you appreciate everything she has done for you. All the sacrifices she’s had to make just to make you happy- and you’ll never get to return the favor. You’ll never get to be her Maid of Honor, you’ll never go on missions with her again, you’ll never get to find answers with her as to what happened with mom. You’ll never have her bone-crushing hugs, hear her silly jokes, see her smiles that could light up a room.
Weiss.
You’ll never get to tell Weiss you love her. Never get to see the soft expressions she only ever gives to you, never get to hold her close, never get to watch her grow into an even stronger, even more beautiful woman than she is now. You’ll never get to help her take back the SDC or spend your days wandering the world, never get to coax her awake on lazy mornings with gentle kisses, never get to hear the way she laughs in another one of your tickle wars. You’ll never get to see her eyes again. So blue, blue, blue.
You’ll never get to know the way she loves you.
Never, never, never.
She’s covered in death and you know everything you have worked so hard for, everything you’ve tried to protect, was all for naught. They’re on their way to the grave, on their way to eternal sleep, and here you will remain. A puppet under Salem’s control, the one who led them to their doom.
The one who killed them.
You can’t let them die.
You’ve made many mistakes tonight. Many mistakes in your life have brought you to this moment. But they will not be a casualty of your weakness. You refuse.
You force your eyes open, the blinking lights in the distance growing ever fainter. Purple is gone. Gold is about to join. Blue starts to fade. I’m sorry. They’re in this mess because of you.
It’s all your fault.
I’m so sorry.
You lean heavily against the chains, the only thing keeping you up, and tears roll down your cheeks. The sorrow and grief you carry are shattering and unbearable. It takes a life of its own within you and it’s tearing free, breaking your chest, your heart wailing and wailing and wailing where you don’t have the air to do so anymore.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-
A single droplet drips from your face, falling to the ground in front of your knees. A second joins, a third. It washes away the pools and pools of blood all around you…
...And shines.
It startles you, nearly shocking you out of your grief, and watches as tiny spots of light begin to form where your tears have made contact. They keep falling, keep evaporating the darkness and blood until there is a big enough puddle at your knees that you can faintly see your reflection.
You see more chains and shackles in the water, cutting across your form, shattering your image, but they are different. Glittering white instead of darkened obsidian. A different prison- but it looks like freedom.
You can’t let them die.
No matter the cost.
Your current chains tighten, perhaps sensing what you’re about to do, but you grit your teeth and reach with one hand down to the puddle, to the prison, to freedom. The shackles pull at you but you push against it and it’s as though your arm is a second away from severing. You continue anyway.
The tips of your fingers touch it and the puddle of light flickers once, a response, a nod, a warning. The reflection becomes even more distorted. Shattered, shattered, shattered. It’s as though it’s asking Are you sure?
In answer, you growl and push your hand in deeper, and at last, it bursts free, piercing you in a thousand different places as well. You can feel the poison churning within you. You strain against the shackles of your other arm, sensing Salem stagger for a second and turn to face you with a scowl, and you bare your teeth and reach for the light with your other arm, guiding it forward, closer.
It burns and burns and burns and you pull, pull, pull.
In the outside world, your body jerks in response and bends backward, head throwing skyward, silver light shining beneath your skin before it spills from your eyes and open mouth as you scream for all the world to hear. Tears continue falling…
And the world turns to white.
You are without sight, but you can still see everything going on. Your light, freed at last, strikes at the nearest wall of the shadow sphere, rending chunks of it like claws and-
And bringing it back to you.
A star glitters at your chest, silver and violent, at the center of your body, where your light is always shielded as though a beacon meant to invite it in. The darkness looms, devastating, and every hair on your body rises to attention. There is a maelstrom of chaos as your light continues spilling, you continue screaming, the surrounding shadows being torn apart and brought to you.
You feel the instant each swathe of oblivion enters you. The burning sensation engulfs you and you’re afraid you’ll be reduced to nothing but ash at this rate. But you don’t stop, you can’t.
Not until they’re safe.
So, despite the agony, despite the incineration, despite the death, (despite the cracks that threaten to form), you keep going. Heat and ice mix together in a grueling concoction and you are the victim of sun flares and winter storms. You can identify the shadows writhing inside of you, blacker and blacker, worming deep within your soul, your blood, your heart. Wrapping around each part of you and squeezing.
You take it all. All the blight, the vile magic, the wicked evil. Your light swirls around the three shapeless forms, tearing chunks off to reveal what’s underneath, and you take their pain as well. Blake’s panic, Yang’s guilt, Weiss’s sorrow. It’s overwhelming.
The sting of failure; Blake’s.
The harrowing feeling of weakness; Yang’s.
The aimlessness, the sense of the world losing all meaning; Weiss’s.
Streams of radiance reach for Salem and she throws her hands up, blocking herself from it, but they wrap around her arms- scalding- and for whatever reason, she’s impressed. A hint of a smile appears on her face, (as if she knows something you don’t). She gives up the fight quite easily, perhaps scared it would take her darkness away too, and the light swallows her whole in a matter of seconds. A black star rushes at you, nothing but the essence of the witch, and everything gets so much worse as it enters you.
It’s almost done.
Faces and memories, false and true, swirl in your mind. Times forgotten and remembered. It tries to target your heart, but it must be too protected. Your body is broken enough as it is, so you feel it crawling in your mind instead. Ripping, tearing. Shredding, devouring. Forget, forget, forget. Things are slipping and vanishing and you’re forgetting everything.
Everything but this pain, these emotions.
Why are you doing this again? It doesn’t seem worth it.
No. They are worth it. All of this and more. (But, who’s they?)
Some of your light lingers on one individual and it takes you so incredibly long to remember her name. Blake. She’s flat on her stomach, and the shine focuses on the open wound on her back. It seeps in and searches, ripping out bubbles of corruption, but it’s taking too long and it runs the risk of ripping her apart too. There is darkness there, it can sense it, you can sense it, but the light can’t remain. Not with her body too weak, so fragile.
Another time, then. You’ve helped as much as you can, regretful for putting her in that position in the first place.
At last…
It’s over.
The last of your light returns to you, a pulse and a tremor, and a shockwave of energy escapes from you. It travels miles and miles and miles. The Grimm in the far distance, bullying people into a portal to safety, don’t stand a chance and they screech simultaneously.
You stop screaming at the same time they do and collapse onto your back.
Your skin is reddened in some places, heated, and black in others, poisoned. Somehow, your body is enough to vessel it all, but you can feel it. The darkness. Just beneath your skin, and it’s trapped in a cage two, twelve, twenty sizes too small. Another war starts anew inside you, oblivion and hope, and you’re dimly aware that you won’t be able to survive this one.
Black crawls against your skin, like words and curses, tendrils swimming with corruption and poison. But equally, there is white there as well, strands of light like scars keeping it at bay.
You twitch and spasm and hiccup, convulsing from the toxins, burning from the light, gasping for air that you cannot take in. The sky is red. You miss the blue one.
Everything hurts. It’s such a strange sensation.
Feeling cracks forming on your body. As though you are made of glass and ice. It makes sense, you’re as fragile as it. Less than, even.
But you’ve done it. They’re safe, you saved them. It’s fine.
You’re still so sad.
So sad, because you’re starting to crack and the next time you blink, you see particles of red, specks of white like clear glass, drifting toward the sky. To the heavens. Like fireflies and little stars. The light has warned you and you ignored it and now…
Now, you’re leaving them. Again.
Tears roll free from the corner of your eyes, a few tainted with black and shadows and poison, some shining like diamonds of light. You don’t want to leave them. All you’ve ever wanted was to be with them.
But, you can’t.
So, if this is goodbye…
You have to see them one last time.
With the threat of breaking apart then and there, by some form of mercy or madness, you push yourself from the ground, off your back, only managing to hold yourself on your elbows because your arms are too weak to hold you up. Standing is not an option anymore, you turn your eyes to where they lay. Blake and Yang are on their bellies, Weiss on her back, all of them asleep.
You hope. You can’t tell from here if they’re breathing.
You need to know.
So, you do the only thing you can do right now and start to crawl toward them. Every movement brings you that much closer to breaking, the cracks on your form expanding, vision blurring and disappearing sometimes. The world teeters, more of your bones snap, but you continue.
Inch by inch, until you are right there. Within arm’s length. You hold yourself steady with one hand and reach for Weiss first, brushing the back of your fingers along her skin, down the scar on her eye. She’s exactly as you remember her. Breathtaking.
And breathing. You can see the slow rise and fall of her chest.
More cracks expand and you just about fall when your arm gives out. As much as you want to stay here with her, you need to check on the others.
Yang is next, and the endeavor it takes to roll her onto her back as well takes what single breath you have left. But you do it anyway. You sit back, running quivering fingers down her bangs, brushing them this way and that. She looks so peaceful. You want to curl up beside her, but you have to keep going. She’s alive, breaths strained but continuous.
You reach Blake last, frowning at the wound on her back. The wound you made and worsened. You reach for her and wrench your hand away when a spark of something sizzles between you two. Black energy crackling. There is corruption in her yet, but you hope you have taken enough for her to withstand. For her to defeat on her own. You’ve stemmed it from growing too volatile, too powerful, too expanding.
You are forced to tug her by the seams of her coat just so you don’t risk touching her body. You want to reach down and feel for her pulse but it’s too risky. Too risky, too risky, too risky. Looking will have to be enough, and you manage a whimper through the constriction in your throat when you see her chest moving with faint breath.
They’re alive.
They’re okay.
You remain on your knees above their heads, staring between them all. Blake. Yang. Weiss.
Your best friend.
Your sister.
Your partner.
More cracks, more numbness, more particles of your very essence leaving you. Leaving.
You hope they don’t blame themselves for this. It isn't their fault. It's Salem’s, and it's yours, but never in a million years can they be responsible for this horribleness. The tendrils of white and scars of black reach farther, eating at your skin, tearing you from within. Your soul shudders, weak and breaking. You keep crying, you can faintly feel the tears rolling down your cheeks.
Perhaps this doesn’t undo your mistakes. All the scars you leave behind.
But you hope it makes up for them.
These people are your everything. Your family. Your hope. Your strength.
You’ve forgotten what words are, but you force your jaw to work with the sound of bones creaking, force speech to your tongue, and you speak haltingly. Through the pain and the poison, the sorrow and the guilt. Like someone learning a new language.
Like someone saying their final words.
“I-I… lo-ve… you… s-so… much…”
The light is beginning to cover you, from your legs up, to the middle of your body. Your fingers and arms. You ignore it.
“Good… b… bye…”
It shrouds your vision, blinding, but you can still see them. Your family. Your everything.
“I’m… sorry…”
So sorry.
The world reduces to nothing.
It fades away.
(You shatter.)
And so do you...