The screen jittered and shook wildly as a shaky voice burst again through the blaring static. "We're—we're live at the Nachri Mansion's southern gate, and it's chaos! Police and White Fang forces are—"
The camera zoomed in and out, struggling to focus. It took hold at last. A squad of police ducked behind a half-destroyed barricade, and their rifles lit up the night as they fired on advancing White Fang operatives. Muzzles flashed on both sides, filling the air with smoke, flashes, and screams. Dust clouded everything again, choking the camera's view.
"They're pushing back! *A resounding BOOM* Wait—no—White Fang's breaking through!" The reporter's voice cracked as the camera swung to the gate. Explosions rocked the ground, sending sparks and shrapnel flying. Smoke and ash rolled over the scene, turning figures into silhouettes against flashing lights. "It looks like—!"
Then it hit—a low and distant sonic boom.
"What was that?! Did you—did you hear—" The voice cut off as the screen rattled again. Something massive slammed into the ground just out of frame. A shockwave rippled through the smoke, scattering White Fang terrorists like ragdolls.
The camera swung, catching a blur of white, blue, and black as something tore through the dust, slamming into the thickest part of the White Fang's forces. Bodies flew. Weapons scattered. Blood splattered against the cobblestones.
"Wh-what is that?!" The reporter's voice cracked, panicked. The camera zoomed in, shaking violently and trying to keep up. The blur slowed for just a moment: a human shaped figure, glowing faintly in the flickering light, crushing a Faunus into the ground with a single blow. Dust kicked up, blinding the camera again as the figure vanished and bashed into another group, scattering the radicals like cones. "I..it—Fast!"
The feed crackled, static flickering as gunfire erupted again and louder. "They're—they're falling apart! The White Fang can't—" Her words cut off as another explosion shook the screen, throwing the view sideways. "They're down! They're all—wait, it's moving again—NO! DON'T—"
"Diiiiiiiie!!!!!!" The shrill scream of a woman's voice was the only warning before an RPG tore through the street, streaking toward the man like a comet.
A deafening explosion roared, juddering the feed. Flames and smoke swallowed the scene, the shockwave sending debris flying in every direction.
The live feed stuttered, static cutting in for a brief moment before the picture returned, shakier than before. The whole street was on fire.
Smoke filled the frame. Shadows darted in and out, screams piercing through the chaos. "Up! Up! Go up!" the voice behind the camera shouted as the lens jerked toward the sky. The camera operator panted, struggling to keep up as the white blur plowed into the remnants of the White Fang radicals.
The feed crackled, static flickering as bombs exploded and bullets erupted again.
The screen shook as static buzzed over the sounds of chaos. "We're—we're still alive! I mean live!—gunfire everywhere!" the reporter shouted, her voice barely audible over the deafening cracks of rifles and explosions. "He's in the sky!"
The camera swung, showing a Faunus with large, crow-like wings hovering in the air, a machine gun roaring in his hands. Bullets rained down in arcs, kicking up dust and ripping through the remains of the southern gate and try to hit the enemy below.
The huntsman—he had to be a huntsman— on the ground continued to carve through the battlefield like a battering ram. White Fang terrorists opened fire, but it didn't stop.
"That—he's—he's ripping through them!" the reporter cried. The blur smashed into a barricade, the metal folding like paper. A large burly White Fang member stepped forward with a large hammer, swinging it directly into the man.
The hit connected, and the shock spread across the broken asphalt. For a moment, the human slowed, momentum faltering. But then it retaliated, slamming into the Faunus with enough force to send him flying into the gate's remains.
The gunfire from the sky continued, slamming into the human below before he disappeared again with a loud boom. A moment later, a truck sailed through the air, bashing the flying Faunus into a nearby building. The human missile followed violently, tearing through the walls and making the entire building tilt.
The building groaned as its supports gave way. Smoke and debris filled the air, chunks of concrete raining down onto the street below. The camera caught glimpses of Faunus fleeing the wreckage.
Inside, the sounds of gunfire and explosions echoed for a moment before a blinding light flashed. Then, the building was torn apart by a massive bolt of lightning from within. From the ruins, a dark blur shot into the sky, a trail of darkness following it.
"Nue!" the man yelled, and the shadow took form— a massive bird with red feathers. Its size probably surpassed even that of the Nevermore they fought. It landed on a nearby building, its sheer weight causing it to creak. The bird tilted its skull mask, eerily similar to a Grimm's, and looked down.
It unfurled its wings and bent down, tendrils of electricity tearing through the ground below, turning the street into molten stone next to the feet of terrified and screaming terrorists. Close enough to make them feel the heat and power of its attack, but not cause any harm beyond superficial burns.
A warning shot.
"Your weapons or your heads—either will fall to the ground."
Even distorted by the blaring sirens and the flickering feed, the man's voice left no room for argument. Or else went unspoken, but the crackling arcs of lightning dancing across the massive summon's wings made the threat clear enough.
She wondered how much training, experience, and sheer power it would take to summon something like that, when she could barely summon mice.
"The choice is yours."
There was no hesitation, and the choice was unanimous.
Weapons clattered to the ground in unison.
She heard the Headmaster and the professor whisper to each other softly on the other side of the office, but she couldn't bring herself to listen to them.
He landed on the bird's head, finally still for the lens of the shaky camera to capture his figure.
She felt a jolt of shock and dread, her lungs heavy in her chest as if the air itself had thickened. Her head was spinning,g
White-haired and dressed in an uncharacteristically dark rather than the usual white or blue suit, but still made with the finest of threads ,and a long coat fluttering behind him.
His familiar and proud moustache was now paired with a stubbled beard, and his cold eyes bore down on the world, with the same disdain she came to be familiar with, as if the whole world was beneath him.
"None other than—" The reporter babbled, and she noticed that the tone had grown far more fond and sycophant. "Can you see that? Unbelievable… He's—he's like something from a legend… commanding that thing like it's nothing. And the power—it's insane! As expected of— "
Weiss didn't pay attention to her. She didn't need a stranger to prattle in her ear to identify the man on the screen.
The helicopter flew close to him, and those cold blue eyes locked onto the camera.
The reporter was still babbling, only this time directly to him.
From the screen, she saw those lips part, and without thinking, she stilled, holding her breath. Half a world away, her body tensed in anticipation, ready for the harsh dismissal, the familiar scolding. Not good enough, not fast enough, not articulate enough, not enough, notenough,neverenough—she could hear it in her mind already, the weight of his disappointment pressing down on her.
But the words that came next were... nothing like that.
"Are you hurt?" She heard his voice ask, far too soft and sincere, cutting off the woman speaking. Her breath hitched, and for a split second, it was like the world around her stopped. He wasn't speaking to her, not the way he ever had. It wasn't the cold, dismissive tone she remembered.
She didn't hear the woman's stammering reply; she was too focused on the way the hard, distant expression she had always known seemed to crack, replaced by something soft—something unsettlingly… human.
He smiled, and for some reason, she couldn't stop the self-loathing that surged in her chest. She hated the way that smile seemed so much more natural, so much more fitting on his face—hated that a part of her liked it.
"I'm glad. I was afraid you almost got caught in the last attack," he said, his voice too gentle, too caring, too....human—like someone she didn't recognize, someone who didn't belong in her memories. He said something else, but the feed flickered again as he pointed toward something in the distance.
She was too focused on his too-animated gestures, and too-bright grin—He wasn't supposed to know how to grin.. He wasn't supposed to know how to grin.
Why?
For a moment, she wasn't a grown lady—she was a little girl again, staring at the man who had never once softened, never once let his guard down for her.
But now—now he was something else. Smiling, speaking with kindness to... strangers, like he wasn't the same man who never showed her any of this.
The sight held her captive. Looking at it fueled her an unbearable mix of rage and something far uglier, clawing at her insides. The father she knew had never smiled like that—not at her.
It didn't feel real. It felt wrong. It felt... cruel.
But even so,...
"Rip those degenerate scoundrels to shreds, Father!" she shouted, grabbing the screen and shaking it while Ruby and Yang scrambled to pull her off. "Show those rapscallions the might of Atlas!!"
"You'll break it!" Ruby whined, desperately tugging at her arms.
Yang grunted, shoving against her. "How is she so strong?!"
Ugh, why did he look so cool?!
In her frenzied cheering, and with the sisters' desperate attempts to restrain her before Glynda's patience snapped like her riding crop over their heads, none of them noticed how the last member of their team had mentally vacated the premises entirely—staring blankly ahead, eyes devoid of life, as if seriously weighing the pros and cons of a head-first lunge through the nearest window.
Nor did they notice the enigmatic Headmaster subtly shifting to block said window, all while silently inhaling his thirteenth cup of hot chocolate mixed with rum in the past hour.
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For the nth time in the past three months, Willow cursed herself.
For failing as a mother, for letting all her children down while she drank herself into an early grave, for agreeing to the stupid, shitty death trap of a gala. Most of all, for letting her maids convince her to wear this ridiculous dress and heels, which made running a near-impossible ordeal. And for letting herself get so out of practice that she wasn't even sure if her Aura would hold in a fight.
But as much as she wanted to dwell on her mistakes, now wasn't the time. Complaining could wait until later, preferably over a strong drink while she ranted to Jacques' smug and perverted face. For now, she focused on holding her son close firmly and protectively while trying to not fall form how hard that cryptic bitch was clinging to her other side.
The sea of white hares—Jacques' summoned creations, because, of course, he had to get a summoning semblance—had lessened considerably. What started as a comforting cushion of fluff that dragged them away was now reduced to barely a tenth of their number as they turned into what felt like an ever-thinning barrier.
No longer being carried, they were left to run—fuck these heels—while the remaining rabbits worked to slow down the terrorists. The cute little bunnies worked tirelessly, creating smoke screens to blind their pursuers, deflecting the occasional stray bullet, and, much to Willow's delight, tearing apart anyone foolish enough to get too close or try to breach the crumbling security.
And those who made it past the rabbits?
With a roar, one of the terrorists burst through the sea of white, landing just ahead of them. "Your head is mine, Schnee bitch!" the rhino Faunus bellowed, hefting his axe as he charged.
Willow stumbled, catching herself just as her ankle twisted awkwardly in the ridiculous stilettos she'd been talked into wearing. A string of curses tumbled under her breath, but she didn't stop.
He made it barely a step before a giant wolf tore his head from his body in a single, brutal motion.
Schwarz, covered in blood, spared Willow a brief glance before jumping back into the fray, taking down more of the enemies outside.
"Damn it!" She heard Whitley curse behind her, at the act that one sneaked past his senses.
Losing their head wasn't an option—not when the so-called elites of Atlas were doing more than enough of that for everyone.
Behind her, their incessant whining grated on her nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
"Why aren't the guards handling this already?! Isn't that what they're paid for?!" shrieked the same countess who had been making googly eyes at Jacques earlier. Willow gritted her teeth at the memory, wishing she had "accidentally" spilled her drink on the woman while she'd had the chance.
"Where's the bastard Ironwood?! Isn't this exactly what he's supposed to prevent?!" another coward barked, practically tripping over his own feet as he tried to shove past the woman he came with.
"We're going to die! I didn't sign up for this—this is barbaric!" the fat ugly balding-how thefuck an someone be rich and balding- gasped, clutching his chest as though that would protect him from the chaos.
"Do you have any idea how much this dress costs?! It's ruined!"
"Ruined?! My cufflinks are missing!" a portly businessman wailed as if the loss of his overpriced accessories were the real tragedy unfolding here.
"I've lost my scroll!"
"My tie's crooked!"
"But my cufflinks—"
Willow turned back and snapped, "Shut up and run, you useless pieces of shit!"
Years had passed, but some things never changed. These so-called elites were just as cowardly as she remembered. For all his faults, at least Jacques had the nerve to curse back after she'd smashed that bottle over his head.
These grown men and women—supposedly powerful—were stumbling and crying like children. Meanwhile, Whitley, still just a boy, was handling this far better than any of them. Hell, he was the reason they hadn't all been blown to pieces yet.
"The group chasing us is being stalled by General Ironwood," Whitley said, focused as he scanned ahead. "We should keep going." His brows were furrowed in a cute and brave expression of concentration as he tried to sense things around the shitshow.
Willow gave him a quick nod. "Don't push yourself too hard," she advised him. She didn't care if these idiots dropped dead, but she wasn't about to let her son hurt himself for their sake.
Whitley gave a small nod and turned his attention back to the path ahead. "I'll be fine,"
Willow glanced at the group behind her and scowled. If they didn't start pulling their weight, she might just leave them to deal with the mess themselves.
"Someone do something!" another shrieked, her diamond-studded necklace flashing as she flailed her arms. "Why hasn't the ABC deployed their private security yet?! Isn't this their event?!"
The woman clinging to her like a damn koala smirked, and snorted elegantly "Oh, sure, let me just stop and pull another squad of guards out of my ass." The Nachri lady with her cryptic shit chuckled. "The lot of them can't even imagine the idea of not having someone do all their work for them. Truly pathetic, wouldn't you agree, Lady Schnee?"
Willow bit her tongue so hard she thought she might draw blood. she glared at the bitch. "You have some fucking nerve saying that while clinging onto me,"
Frieda, unfazed, chuckled softly. "I could let go, but then who would keep you on your toes?" she teased with a wink
Willow shot her a flat look before deliberately veering to the left, widening the distance between them.
"Willow! Wait!" Frieda's voice wavered, the edges of her carefully maintained calm starting to fray. She sped up, a brittle smile plastered on her face. "Don't just walk off! You don't want to do that—I mean, think about it!"
Her dutiful son spoke once again, likely something alerting his senses, "We should head to the left. There are fewer of them."
"Go to the left, you shitheads!" Willow barked to the clowns behind her and changed direction, taking her even farther away from the annoying hang-on.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Don't leave me alone!" Frieda's cool, femme fatale facade shattered instantly, and she stumbled after Willow with frantic desperation. Tears streamed down her face now, smudging whatever immaculate makeup she'd carefully applied for the night.
Willow growled and tried to push her way. "Let go y—"
Her words were cut off but a loud explosion that came a bit too close for comfort. She latched onto her boy's arm before he could fall to the ground.
"I mean it!" Frieda wailed, practically lunging to grab hold of Willow's arm, her fingers clutching with surprising strength. "I'll die out here! Willow! Forget the terrorists. Did you see the way these people look at me? They'd step on me like a bug if they could!" Her voice cracked pathetically, the words tumbling out in an embarrassing, breathless torrent. "I'm useless! I'm a fraud! And I'm their host! I didn't even want to throw this gala! I only did it because I thought it would be funny if I blackmailed them, made them turn against one another, and fed into their paranoia."
"You really are shameless," Willow said, whipping her head around to glare at her. "Do you honestly think I forgot about you running your mouth about me—to my face—and to my husband?"
"I wanted to make you mad, and seething, that's all. I swear I never meant any disrespect." Frieda didn't even flinch at the accusation. Instead, she sniffled loudly, her shamelessness on full display. "I know! I know! I'm a terrible person, okay?" Her grip tightened, and she gave Willow the most pitiful look she could muster, snot, tears, and all. But I'm a terrible person who's going to die if you leave me here! You're a nice person, you don't want that kind of guilt on your mind!"
Willow groaned, trying to pry her off. "You're being ridiculous."
A voice cried out from the back. "Someone go and offer the mongrels Nachri's head in return for letting us leave!"
"I'm not! You heard that! You definitely heard that!" Frieda sobbed, her grip tightening as if letting go would seal her doom. "They're just waiting for an excuse, and if you leave, I'm finished! I'll do whatever you want—grovel, fetch your drinks, anything! Just don't leave me, big sis!"
"Fine, just let go of me!" Willow pushed her away.
Before either of them could say more, the rabbits around them suddenly stirred, and then all rushed into one spot. Experience and old instincts flared within Willow, urging her to look to the side. Through the minuscule gaps between the hares, she saw a glimpse of it.
A Grimm, in the shape of a mole, bursts from the ground. As the hundreds of rabbits tried to pile over it, it reached with its massive hands inside its mouth and brought down two large crystals; fire and electricity Dust crystals, she realized.
Her eyes widened in surprise. This was how they'd done it.
"Take cover!" Willow barked, grabbing Frieda and Whitley. She pushed them behind her as her glyphs flickered into existence, forming a protective barrier around them.
The Grimm smashed the crystals, just as her Tajiitu summon coiled around them.
The Dust crystals shattered in a deafening explosion. The shockwave tore through the ground, shaking everything in its path. Her glyphs groaned under the force, barely holding together. The hares absorbed most of the blast, but the impact still sent a tremor through Willow's bones.
Willow held Whitley tight. She waited for the ringing in her ears to stop. Her summons collapsed. She looked around. Bodies lay on the ground, both human and terrorist, groaning, bitching, and very much alive. She looked at ground zero, where piles and piles of burned fur disintegrated slowly next to whatever was left of the mole Grimm. The hares had done their job. Jacques better be treating these cute bunnies well.
They had saved lives
A grimace appeared on her face. Even if some lives were best left to be snuffed out.
A cough here, a curse there, and the terrorists with Aura were getting back up. They were quick to recover.
The closest, some tusked animal bastard, aimed a rifle at Willow. Before he could shoot, Schwarz crashed into him from nowhere, sending the two into a pile of twisting limbs that ended with the wolf's fangs tearing his throat out. Schwarz then lunged at the rest. Most of their attention and weapons were now trained on the white-furred murder machine.
Most, but not all.
A bullet streaked toward them. Willow stepped in front of Whitley. The bullet ricocheted off her shoulder harshly, and she gasped in pain. "Gah!" she cried out.
"Mother!" Whitley shouted.
"I'm fine!" Willow said quickly. She raised her arm and summoned a glyph. It blocked the next wave of bullets from half a dozen additional guns. She held them off, the bullets bouncing harmlessly off her shield until the familiar click of empty magazines rang through the air. That's when she flared both arms, and dozens of Aura-constructed birds rushed toward the terrorists, slamming into them just as they tried to reload.
"Run!" she ordered Whitley, standing her ground to buy some time. Against these mooks, she was still strong enough to handle at least some brats.
"But—!" Whitley started.
Before he could finish, Frieda grabbed his arm and ran. "Now, now, be a dear and listen to Mommy!" she called as they fled. "I'm counting on you, Big Sis!"
Willow watched them go. Her heart hurt at the thought of leaving her son, but there was no time to think.
A breath of air, and she bolted. Meters vanished beneath her heels, which smashed into the first bastard's face with bone-crunching force. Blood spattered as his head snapped back, and he dropped with a guttural groan, clutching his shattered teeth. He collapsed, but the hit didn't knock him out.
The blue Boarbatusk from her glyph stomping on his head did, though.
A heavy club whooshed past her head. She twisted instinctively, her heel catching it mid-swing and pinning it to the ground. The fat bastard snarled in frustration. but the sound turned into a sharp groan when her other heel drove into his mutt ear. He reeled sideways, clutching his head and disoriented, giving her enough time to shatter his pathetic aura with a punch to his exposed jaw, and he dropped like a sack of shit.
'Fuckin.." she cursed shaking the pain out of her knuckles.
Pain lanced through her skull as a bullet struck her temple. Her Aura held, but the sudden pain had her ears ringing. She staggered before her eyes locked on the shooter—a wiry cat man with a crazed grin. "You're dead, bitch! I'll f—!" His threat was cut short as one of her summoned Boarbatusk barrelled into him from behind with a satisfying crunch of his spine, and it dissipated.
She barely ducked in time to avoid the blade of a hyena-dog-wolf-coyote-they looked the fucking same!-like Faunus lunging at her. His sword cut the air just above her head catching the pin that cost more money than the entire of whatever shithole village he crawled out from. "You slippery bitch!" he snarled, pivoting to strike again, but Willow danced to the side. Her heel slammed down on his foot, earning a howl of pain. "You little—!" His insult ended in a wet crunch as her elbow shattered his nose.
His grip on the sword faltered, and she grabbed his wrist, snapping it with a brutal twist. He screamed and spat curses as the weapon fell. Willow didn't waste a second. She snatched the sword from the ground and swung it hard into his temple. The clang of steel meeting bone was sickeningly satisfying as the Faunus dropped like a ragdoll.
"Who's next!?" She yelled and swirled with the broken sword in her grip. Fuck, she forgot how much beating people felt good.
"Aargh..." A whimper was the answer she received.
She turned to the last one. A boy, even young her son. His eyes were wide with fear, and his grip on his short sword shook. With a squeaky, pathetic yell, he lunged at her, shouting, "For freedom—!"
Willow didn't even flinch. She slapped the shit out of him. He went flying backward, crashing to the ground with a grunt. His weapon fell from his hand, and he lay there, dazed, clutching his cheek with tears in his eyes.
"Get the hell outta here, kid," Willow said.
The boy stayed on the ground for a moment, staring up at her. She glared down at him. A hiccup left him.
"Go!" She stomped hard. "Before I change my mind."
Her yell startled him, and after a second, he scrambled to his feet, still clutching his cheek. His weapon was forgotten. Hopefully, he doesn't get shot.
Willow let go of the bent weapon with a sigh.
A massive explosion echoed in the distance, and for a moment, Willow thought she heard her husband's laugh cutting through the chaos. There's no way she could hear him from all the way—
"cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunt..."
Huh, it really was Jacques.
At least he was having fun, she supposed. She turned her head just in time to see a streak of electricity flash across the sky, followed by another explosion.
With a sigh, Willow turned and ran back toward where her son and Nachri were. Along the way, she grabbed a few cowardly or unconscious assholes and dragged them along on the back of a Beowolf construct. It had taken embarrassingly long to summon and nearly depleted her reserves. She cursed herself under her breath. She was rusty.
A few minutes later, she spotted her son and Nachri running toward her. They were thankfully flanked by a team of Atlas soldiers or security personnel—maybe even a few good Samaritans in uniform. It didn't matter who they were. They were human, they had guns, and they were escorting her son. That was enough for her.
The group appeared to be regrouping near a small house. It was open and exposed, but it was something resembling a safe position.
As soon as Whitley saw her, he rushed forward, his face tight with worry. "Are you hurt?" he asked. His eyes darted over her, scanning for any sign of injury.
Willow winced as she dismissed the Beowolf and its battered cargo. The strain left her muscles screaming, her head pounding, and her throat dry as a bone. She'd also definitely pulled something in her shoulder during one of her earlier attacks, but the moment she saw her son's concern, all that faded into the background.
"I'm fine," she said, offering him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
"That's good," Whitley muttered. His voice was quiet, almost to himself. He looked away quickly, his face turning red. "I was worried, but You… " he said, barely above a whisper. "...were kind of cool."
Willow's chest tightened with affection. She reached down and took his hand. When he squeezed it in return, she felt a warmth that made all the pain and exhaustion worth it.
"It seems that we're out of the worst of it, Lady Schnee." Nachri's voice carried that same calm, unbothered tone that grated on Willow's nerves. Then, again, the woman's existence grated on Willow's nerves, and she'd only known her for an hour. Still, it was probably a good sign. If the shameless woman felt safe enough to pull her usual shenanigans, then things had to be looking better.
"Isn't that right, Lieutenant?" Nachri added, turning toward one of the uniformed soldiers.
The soldier gave a sharp nod. "Yes, ma'am. The main entrance has already been secured by General Ironwood's forces. Reports indicate the eastern entrances are also secure. There's still some fighting in the western sectors—" Another explosion echoed in the distance, cutting him off briefly. Once again, Jacques' distant laughter and a second explosion were quick to follow.
The security guard continued as though unfazed. "But it's dying down. Most of the terrorists have been neutralized. Casualties are relatively minimal, considering the circumstances."
He nodded toward Willow, a grateful smile on his lips. "Your Lord husband's involvement has been a blessing, Lady Schnee. We owe much of our progress to his efforts."
Whitley straightened up, his chest puffing out slightly as a proud smirk tugged at his lips. "Of course, Father's efforts are unparalleled," he said, his tone dripping with smugness. "It's only natural for him to excel in any situation. A true Schnee doesn't falter, no matter the odds."
Willow glanced at her son, arching a brow. "Really?"
Whitley nodded, utterly convinced. "Absolutely. He's probably the reason half the city isn't rubble by now."
Willow laughed, feeling both amused and exhausted. "Well, let's hope your father's flair for the dramatic doesn't take out the other half while he's at it." Another distant explosion punctuated her words, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Speaking of which, I think I'd like to survive this ordeal without my head splitting in two. Let's get inside before any more surpris—."
Willow froze, a cold chill running down her spine.
"What an odd thing to say." A voice whispered in her ear, low and mocking. "And here I thought your kind thrived on chaos, Lady Schnee."
The soldiers nearby had tensed, their weapons raised. In an instant, their Auras shattered, and their blood sprayed the air, splattering across her. Willow barely had time to process the sight before an arm slung casually over her shoulder, another draping over Whitley's.
Her body locked up, paralyzed by the absurd level of bloodlust radiating from the figure now standing between them. Her heart pounded wildly as she forced herself to glance sideways. A golden-eyed man was smiling at her, his expression deceptively gentle. His dark ponytail draped over her shoulder, brushing her arm as he leaned in closer.
Willow's fingers twitched, instinct screaming for her to act, but before she could move, the sharp point of a scorpion's stinger pressed beneath her chin.
A chilling laugh escaped the man's mouth, low and unhinged.
"Who…?" Willow tried to ask, her voice catching in her throat.
"Who might I be?" he finished for her, his tone playful yet laced with malice. He turned his head slightly to look at Whitley, who stood frozen, pale with terror. "What about you, young master? You know who I might be?"
Willow's jaw tightened, rage bubbling under her fear, but the stinger shifted slightly, its tip grazing her skin. A faint glow radiated from it, and she felt her Aura collapse completely. Not shatter. Collapse. The breath caught in her chest as the man tilted his head to glance at Nachri momentarily before his gaze settled back on her.
"My name's Tyrian," he said, his smile widening to an almost unnatural degree. "But I don't really matter, now do I?" His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, each word dripping with deranged excitement. "No, no, the only person we should all be asking about… is your lovely husband and his absolutely gorgeous Aura."
"A fan, huh," Willow spat lowly.
"You can say that. You see," Tyrian began, his tone light and airy, though his golden eyes gleamed with something far darker. "I wasn't supposed to stay here long." He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against her ear. "But then, I saw him." His voice dropped to a reverent whisper. "I was mesmerized."
Willow flinched, her fists clenching at her sides. Tyrian didn't seem to notice—or care.
"It was love at first sight, seeing him glare at those trash with such bloodlust" he said breathlessly, shuddering as though the memory was too much for him to bear. "So dark, so evil, so raw. It was filled with hatred!" His grin widened as he practically moaned the words. "I nearly soiled myself!"
He shuddered again, the movement making the stinger under Willow's chin press just a little harder. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, but she refused to show fear.
"But!" Tyrian's tone shifted abruptly, becoming accusatory. "It didn't last long!" He straightened, throwing his head back with a dramatic flourish. "He teased me!" His laughter echoed, high-pitched and unhinged, before his eyes snapped back to hers, his expression shifting to one of mock offense. "Do you know how cruel that is, Lady Schnee? To dangle such divinity before me and then snatch it away?"
Nachri gritted her teeth and managed a smile. "He does have a tendency to capture attention. But if you're so enthralled, luck's on your side. He told me he'd prefer a direct approach. You should just head straight to him instead."
Tyrian froze for a moment, his golden eyes narrowing as if weighing her words. Then he threw his head back and laughed, the sound high-pitched and unhinged. "Really? A man after my own heart!" He leaned forward slightly, his grip on Willow and Whitley tightening.
But then he stilled, trembling like he was caught in some internal struggle. "No, no, no! I can't go empty-handed. No, no, that would be rude." His laughter returned, jagged and manic, but it stopped just as abruptly as it started. His tone dropped into something softer, almost reverent.
"I want to see it," Tyrian whispered, his gaze far away. "I want him to look at me that way. That's why I'm here." He tilted his head, brushing his cheek against Whitley's cheek and his golden eyes bore into hers again.
"For the moment his gaze lands on me," Tyrian said softly, his voice trembling with anticipation. "For the moment his hatred burns into my soul." His lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "But first, I need a gift. Tell me, what kind of expression will he make when I bring him his wife and son's heads?"
" You bastard—"Willow's rage burned as she felt her son's breath hitch on the other side.
"I bet it will be magnificent!" Tyrian leaned closer, the scorpion stinger tracing a line down Willow's neck, stopping just above her collarbone.
Willow's glare could have melted steel. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of fear. "You think you're going to walk away from this?" she growled. Her son! She needed a way to release her son!
Tyrian's laugh bubbled up again, high and unsettling. "Walk away? Oh no, no, no, my dear Lady Schnee." His eyes gleamed with fervor. "I'll dance! Dance in his hatred, in his rage, in his loathing! Oh, it will be glorious!"
Whitley muttered ."You're insane..."
"Insane?" Tyrian echoed, his eyes gleaming with mock delight. "Oh, you flatter me, young master," he cooed, leaning closer to Whitley as his grin widened, stretching impossibly far. "Insane! That's right, I'm insane! But insanity, my dear boy, is a matter of perspective. What's more insane than this world we live in? Hm?"Everything's broken! Everything's twisted! And I, well, I'm just here to admire the chaos I'm helping to create!"
The scorpion stinger left Willow's neck with a sudden swish. It cracked the air with a sharp slap, landing heavily on the ground behind him, sending a cloud of dust into the air. He slapped it over and over again.
He threw his head back, the silence filled with the cackling of a madman. "Do you hear that?" he howled, his voice thick with glee. "That's the sound of freedom! Freedom from the dullness of sanity, from the chains of reason! That is the will of my Godde—Ack!"His voice suddenly choked off as glowing glyphs appeared around his throat, wrists, and the stinger of his tail, pinning him in place.
Before Willow could react, a blinding white blur shot out of nowhere and slammed into Tyrian's chest like a cannonball, knocking the breath out of him and sending him sprawling across the dirt.
Willow's knees buckled beneath her, instinctively grabbing her son protectively as she shielded him. "It's okay. It's okay, now." She whispered into his ear.
Jacques' white dog landed next to her, snarling, teeth bared, and eyes locked on Tyrian. Behind her, a massive Griffon construct took up a defensive stance. Its wings flared, and its talons scraped against the ground in warning.
In front of her, her daughter touched down gracefully, so different from the blade that shook in her grip with barely contained rage.
Tyrian pushed himself up from the dirt, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter, his grin stretched so wide it nearly split his face.
"Ohhh, you fascinate me," he purred, slinking in a slow, lazy circle, his tail twitching with something just shy of mania. Barely.
"Such a precious little family... I can't wait to see what noises you make when I start pulling you apart."