The atmosphere in the headmaster's office was stifling, the constant, rhythmic grinding of the clockwork gears above creating a sense of impending destiny. Pyrrha Nikos sat in the high-backed chair across from Professor Ozpin, her posture perfect, though her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.
Ozpin leaned back, a small, weary smile playing on his lips. "Well, Pyrrha, it comes as no surprise to any of us that you have been chosen you to move into the final round of the tournament. Your performance has been nothing short of exemplary."
"Thank you, Professor Ozpin," Pyrrha replied, her voice humble as always. "But I would never have made it this far without my teammates. Team JNPR is the reason I stand here."
"Personally, I think it's the other way around," a rough voice chimed in from the shadows.
Pyrrha turned in her chair, startled by the presence she hadn't fully sensed. She stood up, her hand instinctively moving toward where her weapon would be, and looked at the man leaning casually against the wall. "I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've been introduced."
"Names Qrow," he said coolly, taking a swig from his flask without breaking eye contact.
"Qrow is a trusted colleague of mine, Pyrrha. You can speak freely in his presence," Ozpin assured her.
Pyrrha took a breath, trying to shake the feeling of being watched. "Professor, if you don't mind me asking... why have you called me here? This feels like more than a congratulatory meeting."
"Please, take a seat," Ozpin said, gesturing to the chair. Once she was settled, he leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "Tell me, Pyrrha... what is your favorite fairy tale?"
Pyrrha blinked, completely caught off guard. "I'm... sorry? Fairy tales?"
"Stories from your childhood," Ozpin clarified, his voice soft yet demanding. "Surely you must remember some of them. The legends that shaped the way you see the world."
"Well..." Pyrrha started, searching her memory. "There's the Tale of the Two Brothers... the Shallow Sea... the Girl in the Tower..." She listed them off, her voice trailing until she hit the one that seemed to make the air in the room grow still. "And the Stories of the Seasons."
"Ah, yes," Ozpin murmured. "That one has always been my favorite."
Pyrrha nodded, a small, nostalgic smile gracing her lips as she began to recount the legend. She spoke of the old hermit and the four sisters who visited him, bringing him kindness and joy. "In return for their kindness," Pyrrha continued, "the old man grants the maidens incredible powers, so that they may continue to help others all over the world. They graciously accept, and promise to share their gifts with the people of Remnant until the End of Days."
She finished with a soft exhale. "Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall; the Four Maidens. My mother used to love telling me that story before bed."
"Would you believe me if I told you that one's been around since I was a boy?" Ozpin asked.
Pyrrha let out a small, polite laugh. "You're not that old, Professor."
"Well," Ozpin's tone shifted, becoming unnervingly grave. "Would you believe me if I told you it was true?"
The smile vanished from Pyrrha's face. "I beg your pardon?"
"What if I were to tell you that there are four maidens existing in this world right now? Women who can wield tremendous, elemental power without the use of Dust or a weapon?"
Pyrrha took a long minute to process the impossibility of his words. "You mean... like a Semblance? A very powerful one?"
Ozpin leaned in, the light from the window casting half his face in shadow. "Like magic."
"I—" Pyrrha started, her mind reeling.
Qrow interrupted her, his smirk gone. "Yeah. First time hearing it is pretty crazy. Takes a while for the 'logic' part of your brain to stop screaming."
"You're serious?" Pyrrha asked, looking between the two men. "Magic? Like in the stories?"
"Do I look like I'm joking, Miss Nikos?" Ozpin asked seriously.
The room went deathly silent. The only sound was the ticking of the gears, which now felt like a countdown.
"...No," Pyrrha whispered. "But... why? Why are you telling me this now?"
"We're telling you, Pyrrha Nikos, because the current Fall Maiden has been attacked. Her power is fading, and we believe that you are next in line to receive the Fall Maiden's powers."
Pyrrha's eyes went wide, her breath hitching. "We?"
Just then, the elevator behind her chimed and slid open. General Ironwood and Glynda stepped out, their expressions grim and professional.
"Sorry we're late," Ironwood said, his heavy boots thudding against the floor.
"Wait, what is this? Who are you?" Pyrrha asked, her voice tinged with worry as she stood up, feeling surrounded by the most powerful people in the Kingdom.
"You know who we are, Pyrrha," Glynda said kindly, though her eyes were sharp. "We're still the same teachers and headmasters you met when you arrived at Beacon."
"Except we've got a little part-time job," Qrow added, pushing off the wall.
"We are the protectors of this world," Ironwood stated, his metallic hand glinting in the light.
Pyrrha looked back at Ozpin, who remained seated, looking older than she had ever seen him. "And we need your help, Pyrrha," he said. "The world is changing, and we need a guardian who is ready to change with it."
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The silence within the elevator was absolute, broken only by the low, mechanical hum of the descent. It was a heavy, pressurized quiet that felt as though the very air was thick with the secrets Ozpin had just revealed. Pyrrha stood at the center of the small space, surrounded by the most powerful figures in Remnant. To her left, General Ironwood stood at stiff attention, his eyes fixed forward; to her right, Glynda held her riding crop tightly, her expression a mask of professional stoicism. Behind her, Qrow leaned against the back wall, his arms crossed, looking more sober than he had all day.
As the floor indicator on the wall flickered past the lowest basement levels known to the student body, the elevator didn't slow down. It continued to plunge deeper into the bedrock of the academy, far below the classrooms, the dining hall, and the dorms where her friends were likely laughing and relaxing, oblivious to the world shifting beneath their feet.
Pyrrha's hands were clasped in front of her, her fingers twisting nervously. She looked at the back of Ozpin's head as he stood nearest to the doors, his cane tapping a rhythmic, silent beat against the metal floor.
"Where are we going?" Pyrrha asked, her voice barely a whisper. The question seemed to echo in the confined space, sounding smaller than she intended. She had lived at Beacon for months, yet she realized now she hadn't known the school at all.
Ozpin didn't turn around immediately. He waited until the elevator finally began to decelerate, a soft, pressurized hiss filling the cabin. He then turned his head slightly, his spectacles catching the dim overhead light.
"We are heading to the Vault," Ozpin replied, his voice calm yet carrying an ancient, somber weight. "It is a sanctuary built directly beneath the heart of the school—a place designed to hold what the rest of the world has forgotten. And it is where the future of the Fall Maiden currently resides."
The elevator came to a smooth, definitive stop. With a heavy, metallic groan, the doors slid open to reveal a vast, cavernous chamber of stone and glowing green light, far older and more mysterious than anything Pyrrha had ever imagined.
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The elevator doors retracted with a heavy, pressurized hiss, revealing a subterranean vista that defied every law of modern architecture. As Pyrrha stepped out onto the cold stone floor, the others followed in a somber procession. They were no longer in the school; they were in a cathedral of secrets, a long, arched corridor carved directly into the ancient bedrock of the cliffside.
Pyrrha walked with hesitant steps, her head tilted back in sheer amazement. The walls were lined with strange, glowing runes that cast a soft, emerald hue across the chamber, and the air smelled of ozone and damp earth.
Glynda Goodwitch slowed her pace until she was walking alongside the young champion. "I'm sure you must have questions, Pyrrha. A thousand of them, if I had to guess."
Pyrrha looked down, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sash. "Maybe one... or two," she replied shyly, the weight of the situation making her feel smaller than she ever had in the arena.
The group continued their march deeper into the shadows. "I still don't quite understand," Pyrrha began, her voice echoing. "You said I was 'next in line' to receive the Maiden's power. What exactly did you mean by that? How can a legend be a line of succession?"
"The Maidens have existed for over a thousand years," Glynda explained, her tone academic yet tinged with a strange reverence. "But, much like in nature, the seasons must change. No two summers are ever identical. When a Maiden's life comes to an end, her power leaves her physical vessel and seeks out a new host. It is a cycle that ensures the seasons are never lost to time, and that no single individual can hoard that much power forever."
"So... how does the power choose where to go?" Pyrrha asked, her brow furrowing. "Is it destiny? Or random?"
"It chooses through a series of incredibly stupid and convoluted rules," Qrow barked from the back of the group, his footsteps heavy.
Glynda snapped her head back, her eyes flashing with irritation. "Qrow! Now is not the time for your cynicism."
"Hey, don't get mad at me just because I'm the only one willing to say it's a mess," Qrow countered, taking a swig from his flask.
Glynda turned back to Pyrrha, smoothing her cape. "At first, the only certainty was that the power passed exclusively into young women. However, as our predecessors studied the phenomenon over the centuries, it was discovered that the selection process was much more... intimate."
"Intimate?" Pyrrha repeated, the word sounding heavy in the cold air.
"As we understand it now, when a Maiden dies, the person who was in her final thoughts—her last moment of consciousness—becomes the primary candidate to inherit her power," Glynda stated.
"Unless that person is a dude or some old hag," Qrow added unhelpfully. "Then the power just zips off to someone random in the world, and our jobs get a lot harder and a lot more expensive."
Pyrrha stopped walking for a moment, the implications of such a burden sinking in. "Why tell me all this now? If this is so important, why not wait until I've graduated? Until I'm a licensed Huntress?"
"Honestly? Because we've run out of time," Qrow said, his voice losing its edge and becoming dangerously serious. "I don't know if you've noticed while you were winning trophies, kid, but things are getting a lot scarier out there. Tensions are rising between the Kingdoms. The Grimm are growing stronger, more prevalent, and smarter. It's not gonna be much longer before this 'peace' we've all been enjoying so much goes right out the window."
Pyrrha's eyes widened. "You're... you're talking about war?"
"Not a war between nations," General Ironwood interjected, his voice like iron. "Something much older. Something much worse."
"We can fill you in on the specific details once we know you're truly with us," Qrow said. "For now, all you need to know is that one of the Maidens was recently attacked. And for the first time in recorded history, part of her power was stolen. It didn't transfer—it was ripped away."
The corridor finally opened up into a massive, circular chamber. At its center stood a towering piece of machinery, a complex web of glass tubes and glowing cables that hummed with a low-frequency vibration. Attached to the machine were two life-support pods.
Pyrrha gasped as she realized the pod on the right was occupied. She drifted toward it, her breath fogging the glass. Inside lay a young woman with dark hair, her skin unnaturally pale and her breathing shallow, assisted by a rhythmic hiss from the machine.
"Is that...?" Pyrrha whispered.
Ozpin sighed, leaning heavily on his cane. "The current Fall Maiden. Amber."
"She's... she's still alive," Pyrrha noted, her voice trembling with pity.
"For now," Ironwood said, stepping up beside her. "We're using state-of-the-art Atlas medical technology to keep her stable and her soul anchored to her body. But there is a great deal about this situation that is... unprecedented."
"What do you mean?" Pyrrha asked, turning to the General.
Ironwood let out a weary sigh. "We don't know what will happen if—or when—she finally passes. The natural cycle has been compromised."
"But... won't her power just transfer to the next host, like you said?" Pyrrha asked.
"Look who's been listening," Qrow announced with a ghost of a smirk. He leaned over to Ozpin, whispering just loud enough for Pyrrha to hear. "She's smart, Oz. You picked a winner."
"Under normal circumstances, yes," Ironwood continued, ignoring Qrow. "But this is a delicate, broken situation. It's not uncommon for the last thoughts of the slain to be that of their attacker. And since no one has ever seen the Maiden's power split in half like this... for all we know, the remaining power in Amber will seek out its other half upon her death."
"Her assailant..." Pyrrha said grimly, her eyes darting back to the comatose girl.
"And that," Ozpin added, his voice low, "would not bode well for any of us. It would create a monster with the power of a god and the heart of a killer."
Pyrrha placed a hand on the cold glass of the pod. "If all of this is true, why keep it a secret? If this girl is so important, if we're truly on the brink of a war that involves magic, why not tell the world? Why not ask for everyone's help?"
Glynda stepped forward, her shadow long against the stone floor. "From what we understand, it used to be common knowledge, centuries ago."
"Excuse me?" Pyrrha asked, stunned.
"How do you think legends and fairy tales get started, kid?" Qrow asked, taking another drink. "Even the craziest stories come from somewhere. They're just history that people decided was too scary to keep real."
"Our brotherhood was founded to protect both mankind and the Maidens," Glynda explained. "In the old days, those hungry for power hunted the Maidens like animals, hoping to be in their final thoughts and inherit their strength."
"And as you can imagine," Qrow added, "the people who succeeded in hunting a Maiden weren't exactly the kind of people you'd want having unimaginable power. They were warlords. Tyrants."
"And so, the brotherhood chose to remove the Maidens from the public eye," Ironwood said. "We allowed their existence to fade into myth, thinking they would be safer as legends than as targets."
"The things we are telling you tonight go against hundreds of years of human history, science, and religion," Glynda said solemnly.
"No one would believe us. It would cause an uproar," Ironwood insisted.
"It would cause panic," Ozpin concluded. "And we all know what panic brings crawling to our Kingdom's walls. Mass hysteria would be a dinner bell for the Grimm. Which is why we would like to—"
"I'll do it," Pyrrha interrupted, her voice suddenly clear and resonant, cutting through the shadows of the vault. She stood tall, her eyes burning with the resolve that had made her a champion. "If you truly believe this will help humanity, if it will prevent this war, then I will become your Fall Maiden."
The room went silent, the only sound being the rhythmic hiss of Amber's life support. Ozpin stepped forward, his expression not one of triumph, but of deep, paternal concern.
"Miss Nikos... before you accept this task, you must understand the gravity of what we are asking. You need to consider everything you hold dear. Your friends, your team, your future as a Huntress. If you take this on, you will be a target for the rest of your life. You will be in constant, shifting danger. Please... take your time. Go back to your dorm, speak to those you trust, and think this through."
Pyrrha stared at him, the weight of the "Invincible" title finally feeling real. She nodded slowly, a heavy sigh escaping her. She began to back away toward the elevator, her eyes never leaving the girl in the pod. She left her teachers behind in the green glow of the vault, her mind already a storm of faces—Jessica, Nora, Ren... and the terrifying realization that her life would never be her own again.
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The Amity Colosseum was a sea of roaring fans, the air thick with anticipation as the tournament reached its fever pitch. High in the executive stands, Cinder Fall sat with the poise of a queen, a dark, knowing smirk playing on her lips. She looked down at the arena not as a spectator, but as a puppeteer watching the stage being set.
A shadow fell over her, and a figure draped in a dark cloak approached. "May I sit?"
Cinder didn't even turn her head; the voice was unmistakable. Her smile deepened. "Alex..." she whispered, her voice like silk. "By all means. You know I enjoy the company."
Alex nodded stiffly and took the seat next to her, the very same spot she had occupied at the start of the festival. There was a cold tension between them, a silence that felt heavy with things left unsaid.
"Where have you been lately?" Cinder asked, her amber eyes flicking toward the girl. "You've been... elusive."
Alex just shrugged, her gaze fixed on the arena floor below where the eight finalists stood like statues under the spotlight. "Been around," she replied shortly.
Before Cinder could probe further, the speakers crackled to life, and Professor Port's booming voice filled the stadium. "Now, for the moment you've all been waiting for! The one-on-one finals!"
The crowd erupted into a deafening cheer. Down in the ring, the eight champions stood tall, but one stood out to them, in the stands. Yang Xiao Long looked ready to tear the stadium down.
"Porty, why don't you explain the rules for our final contenders?" Port said, nudging Dr. Oobleck.
"It's quite simple, Peter!" Oobleck chirped, his glasses glinting. "Instead of a traditional bracket, each round will be randomly decided by our lottery system mere moments before the match begins. Just like a real hunt, there will be zero time to prepare! A true test of a Huntsman's adaptability!"
The holographic boards began to spin, the faces of the eight finalists blurring into a chaotic wheel of fortune. The crowd held its breath. With a final, digital chime, the faces locked into place.
YANG XIAO LONG VS. MERCURY BLACK
The roar from the audience was like a physical wave. Cinder stood up slowly, her eyes gleaming. "Ah... it seems I've forgotten something," she said to Alex, her tone light but mocking. "I'll need to take my leave for a bit. Enjoy the show, Alex. I have a feeling it will be... unforgettable."
Alex narrowed her eyes, her hands gripping the armrests of her seat until the metal groaned. She watched Cinder disappear into the shadows of the hallway. Down in the arena, the other six contestants filed out, leaving Yang and Mercury alone on the rising stone platform.
The stage ascended, locking into place with a heavy thud.
"You better not go easy on me just because of the cameras, Mercury," Yang said, slamming her fists together. Her golden gauntlets, Ember Celica, let out a sharp, metallic click as they primed.
Mercury smirked, shifting his weight onto his prosthetic legs. "Heh. You wish, Blondie."
They exploded into motion. Yang lunged forward with a heavy straight, but Mercury didn't block—he spun. Using the momentum of his mechanical heels, he delivered a spinning hook kick that collided with Yang's forearm. The impact sent a shockwave through the air.
Yang didn't back down. She ducked a second kick and unleashed a flurry of rapid-fire punches. Mercury moved like a breakdancer, dropping to his hands and using his legs to parry her strikes with rhythmic precision. Every time his boots hit her gauntlets, a small blast of wind-dust erupted, pushing them both back.
Yang fired a shell to close the distance, but Mercury anticipated the move. He flipped over her head, his boots firing a volley of projectiles into the ground to create a smokescreen.
Up in the stands, Alex couldn't focus on the fight. Her eyes kept darting toward the exit where Cinder had vanished. The beast inside her—the same dark energy that haunted Ruby. But her beast was a bit different..calmer..more calculated then the one eating away at Ruby's humanity—was pacing in her mind, sensing a trap. Without a word to the spectators around her, Alex stood up and slipped into the shadows, following Cinder out of the Colosseum.
Down in the ring, the fight had turned into a brutal dance. Mercury lunged with a high kick aimed at Yang's temple. She rolled under it, sweeping his leg, but Mercury used his boot-thrusters to hover for a split second, retaliating with a double-kick to her chest.
Yang snarled, her Aura shimmering. She caught one of his legs mid-air and heaved, throwing him toward the edge of the ring. Mercury soared over the boundary, but at the last second, he fired a concentrated blast of Dust from his heels, the recoil catapulting him back into the center of the stage.
He landed in a low crouch and immediately unleashed a "cyclone" of projectiles. Dozens of small, orange orbs of energy swirled around Yang, closing in.
BOOM.
A massive explosion of smoke and dust engulfed the center of the ring. Mercury stood up, dusting off his gray jacket with a smug expression. He turned his back, starting to walk away as if the match was already over.
But then, the smoke began to glow.
A pillar of golden fire erupted from the center of the ring. Yang sat up, her hair burning with incandescent light. Her eyes weren't lilac anymore—they were a murderous, glowing red. Her Semblance had fully ignited, fueled by every hit Mercury had landed.
Mercury rolled his eyes, turning back around. "Oh, look. The hair thing. Real original."
Yang didn't talk. She roared. She charged across the ring, her speed doubled. Mercury tried to intercept her with a flurry of kicks, but Yang simply tanked the hits, her Aura absorbing the kinetic energy and feeding her fire. She caught Mercury's boot and delivered a devastating uppercut that sent him reeling, followed by a relentless barrage of punches that broke through his defenses.
With a final, two-handed slam, she sent Mercury crashing into the floor. The buzzer blared.
"What a way to kick off the finals!" Port screamed. "Yang Xiao Long wins!"
The stadium erupted. Yang stood over Mercury, her breathing heavy as her hair stopped smoking and her eyes faded back to lilac. She raised a fist in triumph, the sheer joy of the victory washing over her.
"Better luck next time, Merc," she said with a cheeky smirk, turning to walk toward the exit.
Mercury grunted, pushing himself up. His face twisted into a mask of feigned desperation. "There's not gonna be a next time, Blondie!"
He let out a guttural yell and lunged at her back, his leg extended for a lethal drop-kick. Instinct and the remnants of her Semblance took over. Yang spun around, her fist already cocked back. "Oh no you don't!"
She unleashed a full-power punch directly into Mercury's incoming shin.
CRACK.
The sound of shattering bone echoed through the silent stadium. Mercury let out a blood-curdling scream and collapsed, clutching his mangled leg.
The cheers died instantly. In their place came a wave of horrified gasps. On the giant screens above, the footage played back—but it wasn't what Yang had seen. To the world, it looked like Mercury had simply been standing there, and Yang had turned and broken his leg in cold blood.
"What... what are you doing!?" Yang yelled, looking at the screens in confusion.
Suddenly, a dozen Atlesian Knights and heavily armed guards swarmed the ring, their rifles raised and aimed directly at her.
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Deep within the untamed wilds of the Emerald Forest, far beyond the reach of the Kingdom's protective walls and the joyful echoes of the festival, the atmosphere had undergone a sudden, sickening shift. The air, once filled with the natural sounds of the wilderness, grew deathly still, as if the forest itself were holding its breath in anticipation of a coming slaughter.
Rising above the ancient, gnarled canopy like living mountains of shadow, a herd of Goliaths slowed their thunderous march. Their massive, ivory tusks glinted like bone in the dim light, and their eyes—burning pits of malevolent crimson—slowly turned upward toward the horizon. They stood as silent sentinels, their ancient, wicked intelligence picking up on a frequency that no human ear could detect.
At their feet, a pack of Beowulfs emerged from the underbrush, their claws digging deep into the loamy earth. They didn't growl or snap at one another as they usually did; instead, they stood in eerie unison, their snouts twitching as they caught the scent of the wind.
What they sensed was a sudden, violent eruption of negative energy pouring out from the floating Amity Colosseum. It was a concentrated wave of fear, confusion, and collective outrage—a buffet of darkness that acted as a beacon for every creature of Grimm within a hundred-mile radius. To the Grimm, the distant arena was no longer a symbol of peace; it was a dinner bell.
The Goliaths let out a low, sub-sonic rumble that vibrated through the very roots of the trees, a signal that resonated with the burgeoning swarm. In the shadows of the forest, thousands of red eyes began to blink open. The peace of the Vytal Festival was a fragile glass dome, and the darkness in the woods was finally ready to shatter it.
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The atmosphere inside the Amity Colosseum had curdled from the electric high of competition into a stagnant, suffocating pool of dread. Yang stood in the center of the ring, her hands raised instinctively, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She looked at the Atlesian Knights, their mechanical eyes glowing with a cold, red targeting light, and then back at the soldiers whose rifles were leveled uncomfortably close to her chest.
"What are you doing?" Yang shouted, her voice cracking with a mixture of confusion and burgeoning panic. "He attacked me! I was defending myself!"
She spun around, seeking the ultimate witness: the massive holographic screens suspended above the arena. Her heart sank into the pit of her stomach as the footage looped. In the high-definition replay, there was no desperate lunging kick from Mercury. There was no provocation. The video showed Yang simply stopping, turning with a cold, calculated deliberateness, and shattering the leg of a boy who was just standing there, catching his breath.
The disconnect between her memory and the reality on the screen was a sickening chasm. She felt a wave of vertigo wash over her. I saw it, she told herself, her breath hitching. I felt the wind of his kick. I heard him speak. But the world was telling her she was a liar.
Down on the stone tiles, Mercury was putting on the performance of a lifetime. He was curled into a ball, his face contorted in a mask of agonizing pain as he clutched his knee. "Why?" he choked out, his voice amplified by the stadium's sensitive microphones. "Why did she do it? The fight was over! I... I gave up!" He let out a ragged, fake sob that echoed through the silent stands, the sound of a victim broken by a senseless act of violence.
Emerald sprinted into the ring, her face a picture of frantic concern. She dropped to her knees beside Mercury, cradling his head while throwing a look of pure, unadulterated venom toward Yang. "You monster!" she hissed, her voice carrying a weight of accusation that seemed to solidify the crowd's mounting hatred.
Yang looked away from the scene, her eyes searching the stands for the only people who mattered. She found them.
Weiss was ghost-pale, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and a deep, growing fear that she didn't truly know her partner. Blake looked even worse; she was trembling, her ears flattened against her head, her golden eyes filled with the haunting shadows of her past. To Blake, the sight of a teammate committing a sudden, unprovoked act of brutality was a nightmare she had lived through before—the ghost of Adam Taurus looming over Yang's silhouette.
Ruby, however, stood apart.
While her teammates were paralyzed by what they saw, Ruby's silver eyes narrowed into sharp, dangerous slits. She didn't look at the screen, and she didn't look at Mercury's theatrical display. She looked at the air itself.
Inside her, the beast didn't just growl; it began to howl in a frequency that resonated with the black veins under her skin. The corruption in her blood began to pulse with a rhythmic, heavy thud—thump-thump, thump-thump—sounding like a war drum in her ears. Her instincts, sharpened by Merlot's twisted science and the darkness now dwelling within her, told her that the world was lying. The smell of the air was wrong. The emotions coming from Emerald were a jagged, artificial spike of malice, not grief.
Something was fundamentally broken in the reality of this moment, and the beast in Ruby's blood recognized the scent of a predator in the tall grass.