The Voice of Salem
The Valish have sealed off the tunnels.
We cannot escape that way.
We have attempted to fortify the streets, but we cannot hold them for long. The grimm are too many – and too strong. The shadow we awakened approaches, and we have no way of withstanding it. On that, the huntsmen – those that yet live – all agree.
Even Professor Ozpin would stand little chance against it, they say, and he is not here.
If we remain, then we will die. Yes, the tunnel to Vale is sealed off, but it is not the only way to Vale. The journey will be difficult, and no doubt fraught with peril, but tomorrow, we will begin evacuating the population out through the emergency exits out of the tunnel. Those closest to Vale have been sealed already, but there are those further away. Once we are out, then we will march the remaining distance to Vale overland.
As I mentioned, it will be difficult and perilous, but it is the only choice we have.
To whomever reads this account, if you have found this and it is the last entry, then it means that I did not reach Vale.
If you have found this, then it means that we are gone.
Dead and gone.
Cinder guessed, from the fact that this account had been found in the ruins of Mountain Glenn’s underground, that Crozier and his band of survivors had not even gotten so far as to emerge, blinking, into the sunlight via the emergency exits. Evidently, the grimm had moved more swiftly than he had been expecting, had broken through the defences more easily than he had feared they would, laid him and his people to waste before they could make their escape.
And thus, the final damnation, the final nemesis for their act of grave hubris. For was it not ironic that he who had complained of the hubris of his superior had, in the end, been just as foolish in believing that the grimm would allow him to escape?
Cinder heard the shots, shattering the peace of this cold, dead place.
Speaking of acts of hubris: hello, Sunset, you’re… just a little early.
Cinder slammed the book shut, and deposited it on the bar upon which she had been sitting. She had read all that she cared to; she had no more need of it now. Perhaps, in days to come, if anyone else was ever bold enough to venture here, they too would find Crozier’s account.
She hoped that they got as much out of it as she had.
So much that she had not known about this city, so much that she had only dimly felt but not had explained to her. Why, without that journal, she might never have known about all the extraordinary grimm that she had at her disposal.
She was saving the best for last, of course; she would not waste the shadow that had brought down Mountain Glenn to delay SAPR and RSPT, not least because it might actually have killed them, and she didn’t want that.
No, that particular surprise was for Vale itself.
All the grimm were now for Vale itself.
Cinder strode out of her lair to find Emerald, Mercury, and Lightning Dust all awaiting her pleasure. Lightning was putting on her somewhat cumbersome dust delivery system; Mercury and Emerald, less encumbered, were already armed and looking well-prepared.
“It’s them,” Mercury said, “isn’t it?”
Cinder smiled at him. “It is. Just as planned, they have come. And we will go to meet them, to buy time until our preparations are complete.”
“Finally,” Lightning growled. “Some real action.”
“Don’t underestimate our enemies,” Cinder instructed them. As I have done once already, to my cost. “They are powerful, and what they lack in wit, they make up for in courage. But I have chosen you, all three of you, not only for your particular talents, but also for your spirits. You have it in your hearts to set this world ablaze and watch as the fire consumes all that has offered you nothing.
“What we do today will be the spark that will become a raging inferno that will devour Vale and spread to all the other kingdoms of the world.
“So come, quickly; destiny awaits us all.” Cinder smirked. “And besides, our dear friends have come such a very long way to see us again. It would be unforgivable to keep them waiting too long.”
Gilda landed heavily on the ground, tucking her wings in behind her. The gunfire had ceased, but the railway yard was awash with activity, even more than it had been before the shooting started. The faunus of the White Fang were running this way and that, moving like ants after the nest is kicked, swarming around the train, ducking beneath the paladins and dodging their heavy footsteps.
Adam stepped out in front of her, “They’ve arrived,” he said. “Blake and her… new friends. They’ve come down into the underworld.” He paused, his expression stern. “Does that please you?”
Gilda scowled. “What kind of a question is that?”
Adam snorted. “There are times when I wonder who’s side you're on, these days.”
“I’m on the side of our people,” Gilda said.
“There are times when I doubt that,” Adam growled. “I understand now why you sought to protect the humans, but the rest? Carping, complaining, spreading doubt to me and anyone else who’ll listen to you-”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if I could get you to doubt just a little bit!” Gilda shouted. “This whole crazy plan is going to get us all killed; why can’t you see that?”
“What makes you think I can’t?” Adam asked.
Gilda gasped. Her eyes widened. For a moment, she was robbed of all speech; all the words that she might have said flew wordlessly out of her mouth unvoiced, even as that mouth opened and closed in silent shocked dismay. “You… I… what the hell?”
Adam took a step back, which was a good thing, as she might have taken a swing at him otherwise. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” he asked as he turned away from her. “Do you think that I don’t know what’s waiting for us on the other end of that tunnel? Do you think that I don’t realise how many brave fighters are going to die when we enter the city?”
Gilda’s mouth was dry. Her hands were shaking. Her head was awhirl with dizziness; she felt as though she might collapse at any moment. Sweat had come from out of nowhere in this cold place to make her black outfit stick to her skin. Her body armour and her weapons felt heavier than usual. “If you know all this… then why are-?”
“Because our old tactics aren’t working,” Adam said. “They don’t accomplish anything, not on the scale we need. We need to be bigger, bolder-”
“We need to commit suicide?”
“Because Cinder has a plan,” Adam said. “A plan that will set all of Vale on fire, but first, it needs a spark. And yes, that spark will be our blood, but face it, Gilda: we could fight for twenty years and spend just as many lives over that time, and it still wouldn’t accomplish as much as Cinder’s plans for Vale. She’s going to change the world, and because of our assistance, there will be a place for our people in the new order. Isn’t that worth fighting for? Isn’t that worth dying for?”
“Only if it’s a choice,” Gilda said. “Does everyone know that they’re going to their deaths? I don’t think so.”
“All of them are ready to make the ultimate sacrifice to achieve victory,” Adam said. “The final victory and an end to our war.”
“And who will be left to celebrate the end of the war?” Gilda demanded. “If we sacrifice the whole Vale chapter to bring down Vale, then what? Will the Mistral chapter have to wipe itself out to destroy Mistral, then Atlas, then Vacuo? Are the only ones left going to be the ones smart enough to retire to Menagerie and sit the fighting out?”
“Of course not,” Adam said derisively. “When Vale falls – and it will fall – then a chain reaction will commence that will consume the world.”
“But-”
“Enough,” Adam said. “The time for discussion has passed. The enemy has come.”
Right, Gilda thought. She was glad that Adam hadn’t actually noticed – or hadn’t cared enough to point out – the fact that she hadn’t really answered his question about whether she was glad or not. She wasn’t glad, at least not in the sense that she wanted to face off against Rainbow Dash again. But, on the other hand, it was a way out for Applejack, and she… well, she was kind of glad about that.
I miss the days when we were the good guys. “What are we going to do?”
“Cinder agrees that we can’t wait any longer,” Adam said. “I’ve ordered Noah to get the train loaded up as it stands and begin the operation.”
“Cinder agrees, or Cinder told you?”
“Gilda!” Adam snapped. He looked at her over his shoulder. “Let me give you a piece of advice. When you command the Vale chapter, as you probably will, command it. Don’t take the amount of crap from others that you’ve given me.”
Gilda stared, eyes boggling a little as she tried to process just what he’d said to her. “When I… command?”
“There is no room on the martyr’s path for a coward,” Adam declared. “But there is room in the White Fang for someone who cares about the lives of our warriors. You’re not getting on the train, Gilda. Take Strongheart, and anyone and anything left after the train departs, and get them out of Mountain Glenn before Atlesian reinforcements arrive. And leave Applejack exactly where she is. Their human friends will come to collect them soon enough.”
Strongheart. She might not be able to save everyone, she wasn’t able to save half of the people she wanted to, but at least she would be able to save Strongheart. “Boss, I… thank you, for sparing the kid.”
Adam snorted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Oh, come on, I already know that you’ve got a heart. The ship sailed on me not realising that when you spared Fluttershy. “What about you, boss? Are you getting on the train?”
“No,” Adam said. “I’m going to give Noah as much time to prep and start the train as I can.”
“Alone?”
“Cinder’s people will be doing what they can; I’ll join them,” Adam said. “Our fighters have already demonstrated they’re no match for these huntresses, but I… I might stand a chance.” He drew his red sword, shining in the darkness. “And besides, I’m the only one who can set Blake free. After all that we’ve shared, I owe her that.”
If that’s what you call freedom, then no wonder you can order this mission so easily.
Blake, do you have any idea what a number you did on him by walking away like you did? Would you even care if you did know?
“You think that you’ll walk back after that?” Gilda asked quietly, though this was a question to which she thought she could guess the answer. Adam was their lord of war, the mightiest warrior the White Fang possessed, their champion in the field against all enemies, but the enemy had champions of their own, and it seemed like a few of them had come to Mountain Glenn. Yes, Adam had gotten stronger since his earlier battles against Blake’s new friends, but even so…
“So long as I free Blake and take another one or two of them with me,” Adam declared, “it doesn’t really matter if I come back or not.”
“The hell it doesn’t, we need you!” Gilda yelled. “You’re our captain, the Sword of our people! You can’t just throw that away because… we need you. Is Cinder getting on the train?” It was another question to which she thought that she could guess the answer.
Adam was silent for a moment. “We were never meant to be friends, Gilda, but I have always admired your passion, your zeal, your commitment to help our people. The things I thought I saw in Blake, but in you, I think that I am not deceived as I was then. Perhaps, in another life… we each have our parts to play, Gilda; we each have our duties to perform. We should give them our best. There can be no argument between us there, I hope.”
“N-no, boss,” Gilda murmured, suddenly at a loss for words. That was something which hadn’t happened recently, not when she was talking with Adam, anyway. She… she felt as though she ought to say something, to do something, let him know…
Adam was right; they hadn’t been friends. Most of the time, he scared her. Quite often recently, he had exasperated her. Honestly, Gilda had often wished that Sienna had named Blake to command the chapter, instead of yielding to the preference of the rank and file for Adam.
They hadn’t been friends, but he had been her captain, and he had been their inspiration.
Their light of hope, and now, that hope was about to go into the darkness, never to shine again.
And she didn’t know what to say.
And he was already walking away, his crimson blade like a lantern warding off the shadows of Mountain Glenn.
“Good luck,” Gilda said softly, though whether she was wishing him luck or Blake luck or something else altogether – she might even have been wishing Rainbow Dash luck – she really couldn’t have said.
Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t Blake have stuck around with Adam and helped him get back to being a better person, the way he was before? Why did she have to walk away? Why did Dashie have to be on the wrong side? Why couldn’t she see that the faunus would never be allowed to stand tall in more than token numbers unless they took the right by force? Why did Cinder have to show up and trouble them with her schemes in which the White Fang were merely playthings to be used and discarded?
Why couldn’t everything be the way she wanted it, huh? She would have been fine with fighting a hopeless guerrilla war provided she had her best friend by her side and a pair of leaders she could look up to.
The door at the base of the tower block on which Gilda and Strongheart had been standing when they heard Rainbow and Blake arrived opened as Strongheart – who, lacking wings, had been forced to take the long way down – emerged into the street. She looked left and right. Adam had already passed out of sight.
Probably passed out of sight for the last time.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Gilda didn’t reply. She gazed after Adam, even though she couldn’t see him anymore, she still gazed that way as though she might catch a distant glimpse of him, as though his semblance might suddenly light up the dark and reveal him in all his terrible glory, one last time.
It didn’t. She saw nothing. Nothing but the darkness.
“Gilda!” Strongheart cried, finally attracting Gilda’s attention. “What’s going on, is it-?”
“Yes,” Gilda replied. “Yes, it’s exactly what you think it is. Blake’s come for us, and she’s brought her friends with her.”
Strongheart’s eyes darkened with anger. “She shouldn’t have come. I’ll-”
“You’ll do nothing!” Gilda snapped. “Adam’s gone to take care of it himself.”
“Alone?” Strongheart said. “That’s-”
“His choice,” Gilda said. “The train is being prepped and loaded, Adam’s gone to make sure that there is time to complete that work before Blake can stop it; I’m to lead everyone who doesn’t have a place on the train and all of the remaining equipment out of Mountain Glenn. And you’re to come with me.”
The anger in Strongheart’s eyes was joined by and mixed with confusion tinged with sorrow. “I… I’m not joining the attack? But I thought that… why not? I can fight, I’m not just some kid!”
“But you are a kid,” Gilda said. “And so you’re coming with me, and we’re getting out of here.” Along with the rest of the lucky ones.
She was tempted, she was so very sorely tempted, to tell everybody that Adam had changed his mind, the attack was off, get off the train and out of Mountain Glenn, but… this had been Adam’s last command, it might even be said to be his dying wish, and as much as Gilda disagreed with it, as much as she hated it, she didn’t have it in her to countermand that.
Strongheart glared at her, and for a moment, Gilda was worried that she might defy her – after all, she had no proof of Adam’s orders now that he’d gone, only her word. But thankfully, Strongheart did not defy her. Though she still looked resentful, she nodded her head. “So what are we going to do?”
“What Adam told us to do,” Gilda said. “We’re going to save as much as we can. I want you to start spreading the word amongst the men: Adam has taken the glory road; I’m in command now. I’ll join you in just a moment.”
“Where are you-?” Strongheart stopped. Her face fell. “The Atlesian.”
“Adam told me to leave her where she was,” Gilda said. “And I’m not going to cut her loose to join her friends in fighting Adam. But she deserves to have her gun back, or at least put where she can get it.”
Strongheart stared up at her. “I don’t get you, sometimes.”
“You will, I hope,” Gilda replied. “Now go on, spread the word.”
Strongheart hesitated a moment before she nodded. “Alright, I will.”
As she darted off, joining the mass of White Fang running this way and that, Gilda had no fear that she would get on the train anyway. Strongheart might have been a little too keen on vengeance against any human she could get her hands on – who could blame her, really, when you considered what had happened to her? – but she was a good kid, overall. She wouldn’t say she was going to do one thing and then do another.
She had promised to obey Gilda, and she would.
Gilda turned away, moving quickly – she didn’t have very long – towards the house where Applejack was being held.
She forced open the door and strode quickly inside.
Applejack looked up at her. “Ah thought Ah heard shootin’ just then,” she said softly.
“You did,” Gilda replied. “Rainbow Dash and her friends have come to get you.”
Applejack watched her. She didn’t take her eyes off Gilda. They were wary eyes, like an animal caught in a snare. “Is that a fact,” she murmured. “And what are y’all gonna do to me before she gets here?”
“Nothing!” Gilda exclaimed. “Gods, don’t you trust me yet?”
“It ain’t you that I don’t trust,” Applejack muttered.
Gilda snorted. “Adam’s last instructions were to leave you here. Cinder didn’t bother to leave any instructions. It seems you’re just not worth caring about now that-”
“Now that Ah’ve served mah purpose and lured mah best friend here to die?” Applejack suggested acidly.
Gilda said nothing as she put Applejack’s rifle down by the door. “For what it’s worth,” she said. “I wouldn’t bet against Rainbow Dash.”
“Neither would I,” Applejack declared. “Doesn’t mean I much like bein’ in this position.”
“No, I suppose you don’t,” Gilda allowed. She paused. “Anyway, your gun is right there, and I’ve let your dog run free so… I don’t know, you can whistle for her or something. And for what it’s worth, I hope you make it out of here.” She turned to the door. “See you in hell, Atlas thug.”
Applejack snorted. “See you in hell, White Fang scum.”
The undercity was like a hive, a creation more befitting giant ants than men, a great burrow carved out of the rock and stone to dwell in. Sunset had expected… she wasn’t sure quite what she’d expected; the phrase ‘underground city’ conjured up all sorts of wild imaginings: a mine, a network of barren tunnel criss-crossing one another like the caverns under Canterlot where Sunset hadn’t been supposed to go; a functional place, a city but underground, a place where the ceiling was no higher than the highest roof; a place of struts and sturdy supports, a place of arches and halls, a place where even though the ceiling rose ever so high, you could never lose sight of what was holding it up.
None of those expectations did justice to the underground city, which, as they stood on the steps leading down from the Nightmarket, they could behold at last.
And 'behold' was the right word, for the darkness had less power here than Sunset had feared, less than might have been expected from the walk down the steps and across the concourse. For not only had Mountain Glenn been cavernously excavated, not only had the city been dug far deeper into the earth than necessary, not only was the ceiling set high above the tallest tower, with nary a single column or beam to be seen, not only all of that, but in the ceiling had been set starlight. It was probably dust, although what dust would still be giving off light after all this time, and how it was being charged, Sunset could not tell. Perhaps it was not dust, and something else dug from the earth that Sunset could not identify. Either way, they had set whatever it was in the dark ceiling like stars spread across the heavens, where the silver lights twinkled beautifully so far above them.
It was not daylight, to be sure, but it transformed what Sunset had feared would be a lightless hole into something reminiscent of a night sky.
And though it did not illuminate Mountain Glenn as greatly as might have been desired yet, it was beautiful. A night sky, brought down beneath the ground, lights not scattered at random but forming patterns by their placement. Sunset was sufficiently interested in astronomy that she could recognise some of the patterns: Monstra, the Sea Feilong, Cenitaur. Others were alien to her eyes, and it occurred to her that not all of these patterns of light need mirror the celestial lights above; who was to say they had not sought to make their own constellations here beneath the earth?
It was, to Sunset’s eyes, the most impressive thing about the whole endeavour, symbolic of the nature of Vale’s ambition: to make a whole new world beneath the surface.
Symbolic of the overweening ambition that had destroyed Mountain Glenn.
Yet it was beautiful, nevertheless.
“'When he shall die,'” Blake murmured, “'take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world shall be in love with night.'”
Sunset glanced at her and smiled, but as she smiled, she could not help but glance away from Blake and towards Pyrrha.
If anyone amongst us could make the face of heaven so fine… The way that Jaune was looking at Pyrrha suggested that he had had the same idea.
But she will not die today.
No one will die today.
Sunset did not want to tear her eyes away from the sky. She did not want to look from the majesty above them to the tomb of the dead that lay around them.
When she looked at the stars above, she could forget that this whole city was spun about with spiders’ webs and that Cinder sat the centre of it all, holding court, pulling the threads as she desired.
Sunset shook her head. No time to think about Cinder, the queen in the nest; no time to think about Adam, the beast who dwelt within this labyrinth. Just time to do what they came here to do: find the White Fang base, find out what they were doing, put a stop to it.
Put like that, it sounded simple enough.
Of course, it would not actually be that simple. Not with the enemies they faced. Cinder for one, but Cinder did not frighten Sunset the way that Adam did. That red sword. She felt that she could not cease to be afeared of that sword until she had it in her possession. Only then would she have triumphed over him.
Only then would he not terrify her.
Unbidden, Sunset’s hand began to stray towards her belly, towards the wound that he had given her upon the train.
Another hand caught hers before it could reach the hastily repaired hole in her cuirass that he had made. It was Blake’s hand.
“Whatever happens,” she said, “we’ll face him together, if we have to.”
Sunset’s brow furrowed. “How did you-?”
“I knew,” Blake said.
Sunset nodded. There was no point denying it, after all. “Are you sure? I mean, you two-”
“That’s why it has to be me,” Blake said. “I have to face him, after everything. And besides… I won’t let you face him alone.”
Sunset nodded. “Thank you.”
“We should move out,” Rainbow said. “I think it’s that way.”
Having emerged from the Nightmarket – and that name made a little more sense when you saw what was on the other side of it – they stood at the edge of a square plaza. The Nightmarket took up one side of the square, and the other was wholly occupied by a movie theatre, the fading posters advertising the blockbusters of twenty years ago. The way out of the plaza, directly ahead of them, had been barricaded up, and so, Rainbow had pointed towards the the police station on the far side of the plaza, a large and looming fortress-like structure with barred windows, the tattered remains of a Vale flag rotting away on a metal pole above the door, and what looked like neon lights that would, when lit, have spelled ‘Vale Police Department’ though now so many letters were missing that it was more like ‘V li e part t.’
Nevertheless, that was the direction in which Sunset led the way, the flashlight taped to her gun lit and her night vision spell showing her a little of the dark deserted square over which they ran. There had once been a fountain at the centre of it, from the looks of things, but it was smashed and still by now. It looked like there had also been a statue outside the police station, but that had been smashed as well, and Sunset wasn’t going to stop and look for the name on the plinth.
A couple of wrecked police cars rusting away in the dank, damp dark barred their way, but Sunset leapt over the bonnet of one of them easily, and the rest of the group followed her lead as she climbed the steps and pushed at the claw-marked door into the station house.
The door stuck. Something was wedged against it from the other side; it was barely moving. Sunset pushed again, and when it still didn’t move very much, Pyrrha jogged up the steps and put her shoulder to it.
“On three?” she suggested.
“Sure,” Sunset said. “One... two... three!”
They heaved against the door, pushing against it with all of the enhanced might that their aura lent them, and gradually, the door shifted backwards with a screeching sound from whatever was trapped against it and was blocking their access. It didn’t want to move, but Sunset and Pyrrha pushed against it so relentlessly that it had no choice but to move until the crack in the door was large enough for Sunset to slip through.
She swept her torch around the corridor in which she found herself and leapt back with a strangled cry as the beam alighted upon a body, a skeleton now, face framed in what Sunset could only interpret as a cry of horror mirroring her own. They were dressed in the remains of tactical or riot gear, with a dust-covered shotgun lying at their side and a half-empty box of shells, the cartridges spilling out across the floor, beside them too.
Judging by the state of their vest, whoever it was had been ripped apart.
“What is it?” Pyrrha asked anxiously as she slipped through the door. She soon saw what the light was shining on. “Oh. Oh my.”
Sunset shone the light somewhere else. “Just a little reminder of what happened to this place.”
It turned out that they still hadn’t opened the door quite enough to accommodate Jaune, who had the broadest shoulders out of all of them and the most bulky armour beside, but now that Sunset and Pyrrha were in, they were able to move the filing cabinets that had been blocking the door so that it opened completely.
“They must have barricaded themselves in here,” Pyrrha murmured.
“Or tried to,” Sunset replied. Obviously, it hadn’t worked too well.
“Last stand,” Rainbow muttered.
They found more skeletons as they traversed the station. Sunset was glad that they weren’t bodies, but the fleshless, browning skeletons with their gaping open mouths were bad enough. They lay on the floor, slumped over desks or fallen back into chairs, half-propped up against the walls. Some of them had weapons lying beside them or still gripped in one skeletal hand: shotguns, submachine guns, assault rifles, simple pistols. Some nightsticks or fire axes lay nearby, but some of the bodies had no weapons at all. Some of them were children. Sunset saw one pair of bodies that looked like a mother cradling a child in her arms.
“When the grimm started to pour in, these people must have fled here hoping that the police could protect them,” Pyrrha murmured.
Jaune turned and threw up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just…”
“We understand,” Pyrrha said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “This is difficult for all of us.”
“Professor,” Blake murmured. “Were all of these people left here to die when the grimm invaded the city? Did Vale even try to get them out?”
“They tried,” Professor Goodwitch said, in a voice laced with disapproval. “But they didn’t try hard enough.”
Rainbow sniffed. “In Atlas-”
“Vale asked Atlas for its assistance when the grimm overran the upper city, and Atlas refused,” Professor Goodwitch declared tartly. “The north has no right to lecture us, not about this.”
Rainbow was silent a moment. She glanced down at the floor with all its horrors. “I… I didn’t know that, Professor?”
“Why didn’t we help?” Penny asked. “I thought we were supposed to be the protectors of the world.”
“That… that is our… role,” Ciel murmured, sounding like she was trying to explain the death of a pet to a child. “But that role has… it has not always been… universally embraced. Politics… it is a fickle business, the masses do not always choose wisely, and General Ironwood was not at that time in command. Those to whom the decision fell… they were not worthy of Atlas.”
“That’s… a generous way of putting it,” Ruby remarked.
Ciel looked at her. “Do you have a less ‘generous’ way of putting it?”
“My uncle says it’s because there was nothing in it for you,” Ruby declared. “And you couldn’t be bothered.”
Ciel inhaled through her nostrils. “I was not aware that you had had such contempt for us all this time.”
“I don’t have contempt for you,” Ruby replied. “I just don’t think you’re our saviours either.”
“Ciel’s right,” Rainbow said. “Things are different now. The General is in command, and we have good people like Cadance on the Council. Atlas is better than it used to be. Whatever happened twenty years ago, we’re here now. This isn’t going to happen to Vale.”
“No, it won’t,” Ruby said, and her voice had lost all of its childishness, replaced with a settled determination. “We’ll stop them, no matter what it takes.”
“Of course we will,” Sunset said. “Penny: use it, remember? Chin up.”
Penny gave a broken nod. “Right.”
“We should keep moving,” Sunset said. “Staying here doesn’t get us anywhere. And I think we all want to be away from this as quickly as possible.” If I’d thought about what we were likely to find here, I’d have suggested we circle around the building instead of going through it.
She led the way, and they soon found how the grimm had gotten past the barricades on the doors: it looked like an especially large creep or something had simply smashed a hole through one of the walls, and no doubt smaller grimm hadn’t been far behind.
The police might have fought bravely, but without huntsman-tier weapons and training – without aura – they’d never stood a chance.
Keen as they all now were to get out of here as quickly as possible, Sunset headed straight for the hole in the wall and the others followed.
“Wait,” Professor Goodwitch ordered.
Sunset looked back. It was unusual for the professor to actually give a command like that. “Professor?”
“Something’s coming,” Professor Goodwitch said.
Sunset listened. She could hear it too. A clicking sound, something that she couldn’t place and hadn’t heard before, but definitely getting closer to them.
Nobody needed to be told what to do. In an instant, their weapons were out, unfolding with a variety of clicks and hydraulic hisses into their desired configurations: Gambol Shroud in pistol mode, Miló in rifle form, Crescent Rose fully extended with blade bared and barrel long. Distant Thunder unfolded itself, and Rainbow cocked Unfailing Loyalty as the blades of Floating Array – folded in half for laser fire – formed a halo around Penny’s head. Sunset raised Sol Invictus to her shoulder and was ready to activate the dust sewn into her jacket at the earliest need. Jaune drew Crocea Mors from its scabbard, unfurled his shield and held it before him. Professor Goodwitch stood a little behind the students, her riding crop at the ready. They stood in a rough semi-circle, a crescent facing the hole in the wall, listening to that sound, that unnatural clicking sound as it slowly, inexorably, drew closer and closer towards them.
Sunset licked her lips. Whatever this thing was, this clicking creature that she’d never heard nor heard of in Professor Port’s class – would it have killed him to have told a story about a rare and unusual kind of grimm before they met it? – it was taking its sweet time to get to them.
And yet, she had no doubt that it would get to them eventually, and not only because the sound was getting closer but because it was the only sound. It had to know that they were there. It had to be coming for them.
Sunset’s mouth twisted into a sneer. Let it come. They weren’t the cops. They did have huntsmen tier weapons and training. Whatever this clicking thing was, it wouldn’t find them such easy prey as the last denizens of Mountain Glenn.
“Please lower your weapons,” a voice declared, a voice that had all of the commanding presence of Celestia but – as far as Sunset could hear – none of the warmth, or even the potential for warmth, as a pair of red tentacles tipped with spear-tips of bone appeared from below the bottom of the hole, raised like hands in surrender. “I mean you no harm.”
Sunset glanced at her friends. What kind of grimm could speak? What kind of human had tentacles? A squid faunus? But a look at Blake showed that she was just as confused as they were, so clearly, she hadn’t seen – or heard – anything like this before either.
Nobody shot, but nobody lowered their weapons either.
“Who are you?” Sunset demanded. “What are you? Show yourself!”
“Of course. It would be very hard for us to speak otherwise.” The thing that emerged through the hole and into the precinct station house was a floating sphere, lightly encrusted with armour plating in the traditional bone-white of the creatures of grimm, with two rows of long, sharp fangs lining the bottom of the ball facing downwards. In addition to the two tentacles currently raised in a pacific gesture, there were six more of them still trailing along the ground, lifted up just enough so that they didn’t touch it but otherwise utterly still as the sphere advanced upon them.
A golden light glowed within the sphere, and within the light, Sunset could perceive the shape of a woman, a bleached nightmare of a woman with eyes as red as blood and veins standing out in sharp relief upon her face, like an undead monster from one of Jaune’s comics, but a woman nevertheless.
“Greetings, children,” she said as the sphere rose up into the air so that she within it was looking down upon them all. “I’ve heard so much about you. It really is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last.”
“Who…” Jaune gasped. “Who are-?”
She laughed. “Forgive me. Where are my manners? Of course, we haven’t been properly introduced. I do so hope that you overlook my discourtesy. My name is Salem. You may have heard of me.”
Sunset’s eyes widened. Salem? The Salem? The great enemy that Professor Ozpin had told them of, the queen in shadows, the brain that was guiding every evil hand, the hand that was tugging all the strings, the black king moving all her knights and pawns and queens… and she was right in front of them now. Or at least, a projection of her was. This was clearly magic of some sort. In spite of her shock – perhaps because of it, because it was easier to think about spells than the fact that the great enemy had shown herself to them – Sunset could deduce that this tentacled creature was clearly functioning very much like a seeing stone. She would be willing to bet lien that Salem was speaking into another such creature from wherever she actually was, the two linked together by a spell almost like the ones that had gone into making Sunset’s journal to Celestia. It was an impressive piece of magic, especially for this world, so she must-
Sunset’s thoughts were interrupted by a snarl of anger from Ruby as she raised Crescent Rose to aim squarely at the floating grimm. Her finger began to squeeze the trigger.
“STOP.”
Ruby’s eyes widened. A squeak escaped her lips. She did not fire. She did not move.
Nobody moved. Sunset found that she could not move. It was… no, it was not like a paralysis spell; it was more like… it was like her limbs were literally frozen with nerves. How could she move? How could she fire? How could she turn weapon or magic upon the Queen of Grimm? How could she even contemplate such madness? This was an enemy who could not be defeated, who would be here when the bones of Sunset Shimmer and all the rest had turned to dust. How could she even think of acting against her, of using violence against her? How could she dream of doing anything but stand... and listen?
“What…” Sunset found her tongue was yet her own. “What have you done?”
Salem did not respond to her. Rather, she looked down at Ruby with disappointment. “I am not here to fight. Much like your dear Professor Ozpin, I prefer to use others as my weapons. You cannot take my life, and I am not here to take yours. I only wish to speak with you.”
“Whatever you think you have to say, I can assure you that we are not interested,” Professor Goodwitch growled. Her whole body was shaking, as if she were trying to resist the enchantment that Salem had placed upon them all, though it seemed she had not broken it yet. “If you are not here to fight, then you may as well leave. We have nothing to discuss.”
“'Nothing'?” Salem asked. “Nothing, Glynda, nothing at all?”
“Nothing,” Glynda repeated. “What could you possibly offer me? Power? Prestige?”
“How about a life of less futility?” Salem suggested. “I was surprised to see you here, Glynda. Is this atonement? Have you come seeking the release of death, or do you simply hope to improve the average life expectancy of Ozpin’s puppets by a single mission?”
“'A single mission'?” Sunset repeated. “What do you-”
“You would need a cold heart indeed to be immune to what you do,” Salem went on, addressing Professor Goodwitch as though Sunset were not there. “Every year, the students come, ‘teach us, Professor Goodwitch, arm us with knowledge against the terrors of the world.’ They come to you, they put their trust in you, and what do you feed them? Lies and half-truths.”
“What I do,” Professor Goodwitch murmured. “What I say-”
“Is not enough,” Salem declared bluntly. “Have you ever wondered how many of those gallant young men and women who emerge from your care go on to die because you kept the truth from them, because you concealed from them what they were really up against? Do you really think a bowl of candy on your desk is enough to make up for keeping them in ignorance and leaving them wholly unprepared to face me and my malice?”
There were tears forming in Professor Goodwitch’s eyes. “No,” she confessed. “No, I do not.”
“No,” Salem agreed. “But then, perhaps the ignorant ones are also the fortunate ones. They don’t have to suffer the fates of your… your favourite students. How many boys and girls have you mentored, praised, encouraged, and then recruited? How many have joined this shadow war because they didn’t want to let down the noble Professor Goodwitch who’d been so very good to them?”
Professor Goodwitch did not respond. She bowed her head as the tears fell down it.
“You call me monster,” Salem said scornfully. “But I do not raise armies of the ignorant, filling the ranks with those who think they know all that they need to know and never dream they are deceived by those whom they trust most.”
The grimm turned, pivoting as it floated in the air, looking first this way and then that.
“It seems you were correct, Glynda,” Salem said. “You had nothing to say, after all. Very well, shall I speak next to one of the new generation, to Ozpin’s latest champions? Or perhaps I should begin with James’ prized protégés? I must admit, this is a new development, an Atlesian general inserting his own men into the game. Has James’ grown tired of following Ozpin’s lead? Or is it merely that he doesn’t trust anyone he can’t control?”
“Don’t talk about the General that way!” Rainbow snapped.
Salem looked at her, the grimm from which she could project herself rotating in place until Salem was facing the Atlesian team leader. “Rainbow hair,” she murmured. “In the north, they call that the aurora’s kiss, and those who possess it are thought to be blessed. Nonsense, of course.”
“Maybe,” Rainbow growled. “But General Ironwood-”
“Has you deceived,” Salem declared. “But then, James always had a gift for winning loyalty. His only true talent. That, and reciprocating, I admit. He is a better lord of men than Ozpin; he has some sense of how to treat his loyal servants. How else, after all, could he have convinced you that he is one of the great captains? A mediocre man who cannot even keep his own body safe, and yet, you believe that he can protect the world?”
“We’ll all protect the world,” Rainbow insisted. “Together, shoulder-”
“'Shoulder to shoulder, the strength of Atlas,'” Salem finished. “'Arise, arise, flowers of the north.' The only thing worse than vanity is vanity concealing weakness. Strip away your bombast and bravado, strip away the words learned by rote, take off the pride you wear like armour, and what remains?”
Rainbow did not reply. Her mouth opened, but no words flew forth. She shook her head, or tried to; it manifested in nothing but a tiny gesture, barely noticeable.
“F-friendship,” Penny said. “That… that’s what we have left. When everything else is gone, what we have left is one another.”
“And for how long?” Salem demanded. “How long do you have one another, when hope has failed and the night never ends? And what happens when your friends start to fall, as Atlas will fall? What happens when the screams of those you thought would fight beside start to mingle with the drying groans of those you swore to protect?”
“No!” Rainbow cried, her shotgun hitting the ground with a crash as she clutched at the side of her head. “Stop it! Stop it!”
Penny let out a mewling, piteous wail of pain and started to double up, hugging herself for comfort.
What in Celestia’s name is she doing to them?
Ciel glared furiously at Salem and her grimm as she began to murmur, “'Though I walk in darkness, thou art my light, for thy teachings-'”
“Did not save the Lady of the North from me,” Salem declared. “Does your faith teach you that, acolyte? Does your holy book teach you that in her pride, the Lady answered a challenge from my champion of the day, rode into darkness, and was never seen again?”
Ciel gritted her teeth. “The Lady stands between God-”
“I saw the Lady’s body burn,” Salem informed her. “Just as I see you before me now. She thought more of her pride than she did of me, just as you do now. And she paid for her arrogance, just as you will.”
“What a disappointing trio you are,” she said. “I don’t know why I expected more of James, but hopefully, Ozpin’s new recruits will prove to be made of sterner stuff.” Her grimm drifted like a cloud in Blake’s direction.
“You are not my enemy,” she said to Blake. “There is no reason we should come to blows. You were of the White Fang once, and the White Fang and I are friends and partners.”
“'Partners'?” Blake said. “Or slaves?”
“'Slaves'?” Salem repeated. “You speak of slaves, you who have abandoned your people to their chains, while you live in carefree luxury?”
“No!” Blake cried. “It isn’t like that-”
“Really?” Salem asked. “Then when was the last time that you did anything to help your people, those for whom you claim to speak and fight?”
Blake’s mouth worked furiously but silently. “Well… I…”
“You know what has been done to the faunus,” Salem crooned. “You know what they have suffered at the hands of men. And yet you fight for those same men, for those who speak so considerately and do nothing. What have Ozpin’s pieties done to help your kind in all these years? What are James’ self-proclaimed good intentions worth? What have you done, judged those taking a stand against true evil and helped to keep them down beneath the human boot?”
Blake flinched, turning away from Salem’s words, wrapping her arms around her body in a self-embrace. Her look was stricken, mouth open and eyes darting back and forth, her body tensed as though she might flee at any moment.
Salem paid her no further heed. She floated along the crescent they had formed, stopping in front of Pyrrha, descending towards the ground until Salem’s ghostly, desiccated face was level with Pyrrha’s fair features. “What say you, Theseus’ heir?” She chuckled. “I assure you, it takes more to make an empress than a touch of noble blood.”
“Then… then it is a good thing that I do not desire the throne,” Pyrrha declared.
“No?” Salem asked. “So easily said, but not so easily meant. Do you not desire what was stolen from your family?”
“No.”
“I could help you, you know,” Salem continued. “If you know anything about me, you will know that I am not without power. And I am not above using that power to benefit those who serve me well. I am not like Ozpin; I do not send my cohorts out to risk their lives for me, over and over again, without reward until I have hollowed them out and reduced them to empty shells or worse. I do not throw my servants into the fire repeatedly until they burn. A Nikos may once again sit on the throne of Mistral if you will have it so.”
“I do not!” Pyrrha cried. “That is not the destiny that I desire.”
“Then what is the destiny that you desire?”
Pyrrha looked their great enemy straight in the eyes. “To stand between you and those you would harm, as a huntress and a protector of the world. To be a shepherd of the people, as it was called of old.”
“'A huntress and a protector of the world,'” Salem repeated, though not without a touch of mockery in her voice. “How very nobly spoken, how regal in your turn of phrase, how… mistaken. That is not your destiny, Pyrrha Nikos. Death is your destiny, abject failure is your destiny, and if you seek to oppose me, then I shall be your destiny.” One of the grimm’s tentacles began to reach up, as though it meant to coil itself around Pyrrha’s throat. “All that you love shall turn to ashes.”
Pyrrha’s breathing was coming heavier now. Her hands had fallen to her sides, and it seemed that she was struggling to keep hold of Miló.
Sunset longed to speak, longed to cry out, long to unleash her magic, but her body, even her tongue, would not obey her. It was as though she was trapped inside her own mind, watching Salem menace her friend and yet be unable to do anything about it.
The temperature had dropped in the dead police station, in the cold Salem held them all frozen.
“You’re wrong!” Ruby cried, her voice like a trumpet sounding men to arms. “You act as though you’re all-powerful, as though you’re irresistible, but if you’re immortal, then the only thing that’s true is that you’ve been resisted! Generations of huntsmen and huntresses have held you at bay, in spite of the grimm and anything else that you could throw at them! They stood together and held to their bonds and trusted one another, and they stopped you. Just like we will stop you.”
Salem was silent for a moment, leaving Pyrrha behind to float across their ranks until she was above Ruby, looking down on her.
“Your mother said much the same, once upon a time,” Salem observed dispassionately.
Ruby’s silver eyes widened yet further. “My… mom?”
“She was very brave,” Salem acknowledged. “But ultimately quite mistaken.”
What happened next… Sunset had never seen anything like it, nor wished to see anything like it again. Ruby Rose, the bravest of the brave, began to sob in terror and regret, tears streaming down her face in an instant, cascading down her pale cheeks no matter how she wiped at her eyes, wiping and wiping, but there were always more tears to come.
More tears to fall from those silver eyes.
Ruby kept on sobbing, kept on weeping, and then she cried out in fear and alarm as a silver light sparked from her eyes, her orbs illuminating, seeming to turn for a moment into light itself, blinding light. A spark. A pause. Another spark, like a lightbulb that had been improperly wired or which was reaching the end of its lifespan. Ruby stumbled, swaying from side to side, until she collapsed onto her knees, clutching her face, sobbing into her hands.
Sunset found that she could move again, at least move enough to drop to her knees and put her arms around Ruby’s shoulders, holding her as she sobbed.
She looked down at Ruby, who seemed so small and frail there on the floor, and then glared up at Salem in her grimm sphere. “It’s magic, isn’t it?” she said. “Just like your showing yourself through that grimm is magic. There is no great force in your words to bend us to your will; it’s nothing but a magic spell.”
“Yet spells have power, don’t they, Sunset Shimmer?” Salem asked. “Else from where does your power arise?”
Sunset gritted her teeth. “I don’t-”
“Do not think me ignorant, young filly,” Salem said coldly. “I was there when the mirror was made. I know magic, and Equestrian magic what is more. I can smell it on you.”
“Or you’re plucking all you know right out of my head with some spell of your own,” Sunset declared. “You have gotten into their heads, you prefer to rummage around in mine.”
“Or perhaps your friends are so afflicted by my arguments because my words ring true,” Salem suggested. “You know it, do you not, my little exile so far from home? You understand that serving Ozpin will bring you only death.”
Sunset flinched. She could feel Salem’s magic working on her. She could hear noises, discordant noises, like the screams of dying creatures. The screams of dying people. Pyrrha’s scream, she could hear Pyrrha screaming in her head, and when she shut her eyes, she could see it: Pyrrha dying, her body pierced by an arrow.
“The mightiest warrior may be slain by a single arrow.”
Pyrrha clutched at the wound that had been dealt to her, her whole body shook as she struggled to breathe, her scream became hoarse as she began to choke on her own blood.
Sunset scowled and shook her head. “No,” she murmured. “No.”
Salem spoke over her, saying, “When I was a girl, so many years ago in an age of heroes and magic beside which the current age for all its advances pales in comparison, the lord was the ring giver. He fed his faithful companions in his hall and rewarded them with silver for their faithful service. He earned their devotion through his generosity as well as through his valour leading them in battle. And he never asked anything of his loyal servants that would compromise their honour, comprehending that their worth to him lay in more than their ability to wield swords or spears.
“But Ozpin… Ozpin is no true lord. How far he has fallen from those far-off, long ago ideals he once exemplified. He demands all from those who devote themselves to him, body and soul both together, and in return, he gives not even the smallest trifle of his appreciation. He hoards his power and his relics and all else that he can acquire, reckoning his loyal followers as nothing but bodies he can throw into this pointless struggle against me.
“I have lived so long. Longer than any of you can possibly comprehend. A thousand generations and more, I have walked upon the surface of the world, and in every generation, there has been a man like Ozpin, raising up his warriors to fight against me, staying behind safely in one high tower or the next while others die for him. In every generation, men have trusted Ozpin, and at his word, they have fought against me, and where are they now? Dead, dust and forgotten. Look at the fate of Team Stark, Ozpin’s last champions. They were as young as you, as talented as you, moreso. They were brave and bold and full of ideals. And where are they now? Summer is gone, the shattered dragon hides away in his log cabin, the Raven is fled… nothing remains but a dusty old Qrow with a broken heart and a broken soul.
“But that can change. You need not serve such a man as he is, such an unworthy master as he is. You need not be bound to him.”
Sunset closed her eyes. It was Jaune that she could see now, Jaune that she could hear crying out as the grimm dragged him by the feet to his inevitable death. “What is the alternative?” she demanded. “To serve you?”
“I flatter myself that I do better than he does by those who pledge themselves unto my service,” Salem declared. “Though few come, those who do make the journey to my side are men and women of quality, forged in the fires of hardship, inured to effort and to suffering. They come, the broken, the abandoned, and the rejected of the world, the least of these, those who are valued not by any other man, those who are not seen for what they truly are nor recognised for their worth; one by one, they come to me, and I raise them up and reward them as their worth and loyalty deserves. Power, riches, all they desire, I grant my faithful, whom I love as dearly as if they were my own children.
“I can grant your wishes,” she purred. “Whatever you desire, it shall be yours. I can be your good lord, your ring-giver, your angel, and all that I ask in return is that you grant me what I desire.
“Or you may choose the fate of all those who have followed Ozpin.”
Sunset’s breast heaved. “Death?”
“For some,” Salem agreed. “But not for you, I think. You shall be the dusty Qrow of your generation. You will watch your friends die all around you.”
Pyrrha fell before Sunset’s eyes, the light departing from her orbs of vibrant green, her fair skin stained with blood as red as the tattered remains of the sash that hung about her waist.
“No.”
“You will be powerless to help them.”
Jaune reached out in vain for Sunset as he was dragged out of sight beneath a mass of beowolves.
“I won’t let that happen.”
“They will be taken from you in an instant.”
One moment, Blake stood upon a frozen battlefield, the moonlight bright upon her, illuminating her like some ethereal creature; the next, the griffon’s maw had closed upon her, and she was gone, lost to mortal sight, lost to Sunset forever.
“This isn’t real.”
“One by one, they all shall fall,” Salem declared. “To darkness, and to me.”
Ruby sat with her back to a tree, the shattered remains of Crescent Rose upon her lap. Blood spilled from her mouth, and her body was ragged and torn, shredded by many claws that had torn her to pieces, sparing only her face so that Sunset might know her. Her face which was turned away from Sunset, frozen in a rictus of pain, the horror of her passing disfiguring that face meant for smiles.
“And you will wander Remnant alone, broken-”
“I will not.”
“-abandoned, forsaken by Ozpin, of no more use to him-”
“I care not.”
“You will cry out for those dear to you, but they will not return-”
“I said NO!” Sunset roared, and as she roared, she rose once more to her feet. Anger, hotter than a dragon’s flame, consumed her heart, and in its heat, the frost of fear that Salem had put on her melted away like morning dew. She might speak well and nobly, she might be possessed of magic, but Salem’s words could compel Sunset only by making her afraid.
And right now, her words had made her angry instead.
Sunset’s hands glowed green with power as she seized Salem’s grimm in the embrace of her telekinesis, gripping tight and squeezing upon it.
“Now you listen to me, O Mistress of the Grimm,” Sunset snarled. “Wiser princesses, more noble and more virtuous in all regards, have sought to dictate to me my fate, have sought to lay down in discourse what I may do and may not do, where I may go and may not go, what I may become and not become. I did not listen then, though I had great cause in my heart to listen; I am not minded now to listen instead to you who offer nothing but dire prophecies and the fears you reach into our heads to take!
“I will not suffer to embrace your vulgar plans for my misfortune. I will not suffer you to cut off the threads of my dear friends and take their lives before their time. I defy your maudlin predictions, and I deny you. All things that we desire, we shall have; all wishes we shall make come true out of our strength united. You demanded obedient service, well, my lady, I fear I choose defiance.” Sunset grinned. “And I hope this hurts.”
She squeezed; with the magic at her command, she squeezed the grimm until it shrieked in pain, until she could feel its tentacles trying to lash out wildly, to spasm like the kicking legs of a dying fly. She held it fast. She restrained every part of this thing, holding it in place as she squeezed it and squeezed it, until the glass sphere shattered and the myriad pieces of the broken grimm turned to ashes as they fell, slowly, down to the ground.