[RWBY] RWBY Shorts

[JerkRyanShadowWanker]

Who Hazel Really is

Click to shrink...

Don't insult Jigsaw like that, Jigsaw's motivation was coherent even if he wasn't sane. Hazel just stupid.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

A few prompts:

-Childhood Friends of Jaune Ideas: Velvet, Coco, Sun, Mercury, Roman and Neo.

-Jaune Arc, Single Father ideas:

>Jaune dyes his hair due to losing a bet and Mia hates it.

>The girls decide they will compete for Jaune's attention at the dance.

>Pyrrha asks Arslan, her old rival, for help in being more assertive with Jaune. Alas, now Arslan is interested in him.

>Mia learns Faunus history from Arslan and Velvet and now she's mad with Blake.

>Blake asks her mother for advice on getting Jaune's attention.

>Raven pops in to watch Yang and Ruby... And Mia stumbles upon her.

-Based on Final Fantasy 16, Jaune has the Alexander (Holy Element) Summon sealed inside of him as a child... But it doesn't come out until Initiation. This is why Isabel wanted him to have a peaceful life.

Ruby though is very happy! She also has a Summon sealed inside her. Which one would fit her?

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The Star Maiden Garden was quiet and overgrown, full of crumbling stone ruins and wildflowers. It was technically off-limits for unaccompanied children, but Mia had wandered just far enough during recess to end up there, staying within bounds.



She wasn't going to wander out to get eaten by a Grimm... But those pretty purple flowers were so neat!



She was crouched beside a patch of the pretty purple flowers when a soft rustle made her look up.



A tall woman with long black hair and striking red eyes stepped out from behind a ruined pillar. Raven Branwen froze the moment she saw the small blonde Faunus girl staring at her with wide, curious eyes.



Mia tilted her head. "You look like Auntie Yang. Are you her mom?"



Raven was silent for a long moment. Then she gave one stiff nod.



Mia's ears perked up. "Why aren't you around? Auntie Yang misses you."



Raven crossed her arms. "I have important work to do."



"What kind of work?"



"I'm not telling you."



"Why?"



"It's a secret."



Mia crossed her arms right back, frowning. "That's dumb."



Raven's eyes narrowed. "You're lucky I don't feed you to the Grimm, brat."



Mia's lower lip wobbled instantly. Tears welled up, and she started crying in earnest.



Raven's tough exterior cracked almost immediately.



"Hey— wait, I didn't mean it. Stop crying."



Mia sniffled, looking up at her with big, watery eyes. "Do you mean it?"



Raven sighed, rubbing her temple. "…No. Just stop crying."



Mia wiped her eyes and smiled again. "Your sword is really cool."



Raven glanced down at her blade. "It was my father's."



"My papa has a cool sword too! I want one when I get older!"



Raven snorted. "Good for you."



Mia tilted her head. "Why don't you get Auntie Yang a sword? So she knows you care."



Raven paused. "I show I care in other ways."



"Like what?"



Raven sighed, looking almost tired. "By protecting her. And Ruby."



Mia frowned. "Why not hug them? Or be with them?"



Raven smirked faintly. "You're a wordy little brat, aren't you?"



Mia stuck her tongue out. "I wanna know! I really love Auntie Yang and want her to be my mom!"



Raven's expression flickered. She opened her mouth to respond when Yang's voice rang out from the path.



"Mia!"



Yang, Ruby, Weiss, and Blake came storming up, looking equal parts worried and annoyed.



"Mia, you can't keep wandering off like this!" Yang scolded, scooping her up.



Ruby nodded. "We were so worried!"



Weiss crossed her arms. "This is the second time this week!"



Blake sighed. "You promised you'd stay with the group."



Mia pointed over her shoulder. "Sorry! I was talking to Auntie Yang's mom! She can tell you all about it! I was super safe with her!"



They all turned.



A large black raven sat on a ruined wall, tilting its head before letting out a loud caw and flying off into the trees.



Yang sighed, hugging Mia tighter. "That's just a regular raven, kiddo."



Mia frowned. "No, it was her! I promise! She must have turned into the bird!"



Ruby smiled gently. "Come on, let's get you back to the others."



As they walked away, Mia scowled at the spot where the bird had been.



The raven circled once overhead before disappearing into the forest.



"Meanie bird Mom," Mia muttered.



She would get even with her!

 

[ThunderBasilisk]

She would get even with her!

Click to shrink...

Que her show convincing her to seduce her papa for whatever reason.

 

[ExFelineServer3]

…I'm afraid of what could possibly transpire next.

 

[Bommel]

-Jaune Arc, Single Father ideas:

>Jaune dyes his hair due to losing a bet and Mia hates it.

Click to shrink...

Or Mia dyes her own hair with hairchalk (the kind specifically meant for kids),
My 5 year old niece got some with her pocket money and all the other kids in her class were absolutely entranced.
She also ran around happily with her 4 to 6 pink-ish streaks in her hair, showing everyone how pretty it looked.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

"The King Still Breathes"

- - -

The training mission had turned into hell.

The Nevermore's screech tore through the canopy like a blade as it flew down upon them. Jaune's team—his new team—was scattered across three different ledges after the cliffside collapsed. Ruby was pinned under a fallen tree with her scythe jammed. Weiss was trying to glyph herself free while a pack of Beowolves closed in. Blake had already used her last Dust round. Yang's gauntlets were sparking, one barrel cracked. Nora and Ren were fighting frantically against a veritable herd of Boarbatusk, while Pyrrha was fighting valiantly against several Ursa.

And Jaune? Jaune was on his knees in the mud, one hand clutching the old leather satchel he'd smuggled from the Arc farmhouse. Inside were a few smooth, fist-sized spheres of black crystal veined with glowing gold. Grandpa Shirou had called them "the old man's last mistakes." Grandma Arturia had only ever said, "They are not toys, Jaune. They are older than kingdoms."

He'd never been able to make them do anything. Yet he couldn't get rid of them.

A Beowolf lunged for Ruby.

Jaune's hand closed around one of the spheres without thinking.

"Please," he whispered, voice cracking. "I don't care if it kills me. Just—give me something. Anything. I can't— I can't lose them. I can't be useless again—"

The sphere flared.

Not with Aura. Not with Dust. Something older. The air itself seemed to burn. A single vertical slit of molten gold opened inside the crystal—an eye the in his mind seemed the size of a cathedral window—and looked straight through him.

It saw every insecure thought. Every time he'd lied on his transcripts. Every time he'd swung Crocea Mors and felt like a child playing with his father's sword. Every night he'd cried in the bathroom at Beacon because he was terrified he was the weak link that would get his team killed.

The eye considered.

Hm… You'll do.

The words weren't heard. They were felt—a voice like mountains cracking and oceans boiling, ancient and amused and terrible... Yet kind.

The sphere detonated into pure light.

A roar shook the entire forest. Trees exploded outward in a perfect circle. The Nevermore that had been diving for the kill banked hard, wings beating in sudden animal panic.

From the pillar of golden fire rose Bahamut.

Not a Grimm. Not an airship. A dragon the size of a small mountain, scales like living sapphire and gold, wings that blotted out the rising sun. His eyes were the same burning vertical slits that had judged Jaune's soul. When he opened his jaws, the air itself ignited.

The Beowolves didn't even have time to scream.

A single breath from the dragon turned the entire pack into glowing ash, along with the rest of the Grimm closing on them.

The Nevermore tried to flee. Bahamut's tail flicked once. The giant bird detonated mid-air in a rain of burning feathers.

Then the King of Dragons looked down at the tiny, muddy, shaking boy still clutching the cracked remains of the sphere.

The great head lowered until one burning eye was level with Jaune's face. For a moment the entire forest was silent except for the crackle of burning wood and the distant sound of Ruby whispering, "What the hell—"

Bahamut's voice rolled through Jaune's bones like thunder wrapped in velvet.

"You are no hero yet, little king. But you carry the blood and heart of kings. That is enough. For now."

The dragon's form dissolved into rivers of golden light that poured back into the sphere—now warm and pulsing in Jaune's hand like a second heartbeat. The other two spheres in the satchel answered, glowing in sympathy.

Then he was just Jaune again. Kneeling in the mud. Covered in ash. Surrounded by his teammates and friends, staring at him like he'd grown a second head.

Ruby's silver eyes were the size of dinner plates. "Jaune… did you just… summon a dragon?!"

Weiss looked like she was experiencing every emotion at once and had settled on "deeply offended that the universe had not informed her of this earlier."

Pyrrha stepped toward him slowly, Miló still in hand.

"Jaune… what was that? Are you hurt?"

Nora was practically vibrating, Magnhild slung over one shoulder, pink eyes sparkling with manic glee.

"JAUNE YOU SUMMONED A DRAGON! A REAL ONE! IT BREATHED FIRE AND HAD A VOICE AND IT CALLED YOU LITTLE KING AND THEN IT JUST POOFED BACK INTO THE ROCK AND— CAN WE DO IT AGAIN?! PLEASE SAY WE CAN DO IT AGAIN!!"

Ren stood a little apart, StormFlower lowered, his usual calm expression cracked by the faintest widening of his eyes. He studied the sphere in Jaune's hand with quiet intensity.

Blake's ears were flat against her head. Yang was grinning like it was her birthday and someone had delivered her a tank.

Jaune stared at the sphere in his hand. It was cool again. Silent. But he could still feel it—them—watching. Waiting.

He swallowed.

"I… think I just became the world's most overqualified battery."

 

[Gur40]

Don't insult Jigsaw like that, Jigsaw's motivation was coherent even if he wasn't sane. Hazel just stupid.

Click to shrink...

ya Hazel more like Jigsaws failed students level of hypocrite

---

Ever After Map

Spoiler: why combs

buy seriously why not just circles?

---

Weiss reviewing her Merch

Spoiler: Fan made vs Official

How Gave her the grumpy plush?

---

Nora would have died if any other Dust type was used here

Spoiler: insta death

also learning how lighting just ohko aura uses if your not Nora[semblance] or Jaune[amount]

 

[Chermo]

You are no hero yet, little king. But you carry the blood and heart of kings. That is enough. For now."

Click to shrink...

Okay, from what particular final fantasy is this Bahamut from? I'm thinking FF 15? Is he a Lucis Caelum?!

Then again the crystals are round like materia

 

[Sliverhero]

The Judgment of Alexander

Fall of Beacon: Courtyard Ruins

The sky over Beacon burned orange and red.

Cardin Winchester's shoulder slammed against the crumbled wall of the courtyard, his breath coming in ragged pulls. Behind him, Velvet Scarlatina pressed her back against the stone, one arm cradled against her chest, blood seeping through the torn fabric of her uniform. Beside her, Coco Adel sat propped up on debris, her sunglasses cracked and hanging off one ear, a gash across her forehead painting half her face in red.

"Coco.." Cardin started. "Save it," Coco rasped. Her Minigun lay in pieces twenty feet away, scattered by a Paladin's strike that had sent her flying. "Velvet needs attention more than me."

Velvet let out a pained sound, her aura flickering weakly around her. Her camera had been shattered in the initial assault. Her boxes of copied weapons had been trampled under the feet of fleeing students. She had nothing left.
"I'm fine," Velvet lied, teeth clenched. None of them were fine.

Through the smoke and dust, Cardin could see them assembling. A squad of hacked Atlesian Knights marched in rigid formation through the breach in the courtyard wall, their red optics scanning. Behind them, White Fang soldiers fanned out with rifles raised, their masks catching the firelight like grinning skulls. And above them, circling, waiting were a pack of Nevermores and Griffons rode the thermal currents, their eyes burning with malice.

A White Fang lieutenant stepped forward, his sword drawn. "Three more huntsmen-in-training," he called back to his squad with a laugh. "Looks half-dead already. Finish them."
The Knights raised their rifles in unison.

Cardin's hand moved on instinct, not to his mace, which had been lost somewhere in the chaos, but to his chest. To the necklace beneath his armor. The one his grandfather had given him before he'd died. The one Cardin had always dismissed as some old family trinket.

A simple iron chain. A red orb the size of a walnut, pulsing faintly with warmth. You'll know when the time comes, boy. You'll know. Cardin had laughed it off. Called it sentimental nonsense. He wasn't laughing now.

"Cardin, what are you..." Velvet started. He closed his fingers around the orb. The first volley of gunfire erupted from the Knights.
And Cardin prayed. Not to any god he knew. Not to any name he could put to words. He just poured everything he had into that single desperate thought, please, please, PLEASE!!!!

The orb ignited. The gunfire stopped mid-flight.
Every round, every single bullet, froze in the air like it had struck an invisible wall. The White Fang soldiers stumbled to a halt. The Grimm shrieked and veered away. Even the hacked Knights stuttered in their programming, servos whining in protest.

Coco's cracked sunglasses slid off her face entirely. "…What the hell?" The red orb in Cardin's hand blazed like a captured star. Light poured out of it in waves, not red anymore but holy, blinding, searing, white-gold radiance that pushed back the smoke and made the fires dim to candles. The light moved up, streaking into the sky like a pillar, punching through the cloud cover, splitting the burning sky open.

And then the ground trembled. Not like an earthquake. Not like a Paladin's footsteps. This was deep, a resonant, mechanical thrum that Cardin felt in his molars, in his sternum, in the marrow of his bones. It was the sound of something ancient turning on. Something that had been sleeping in that little red orb for longer than Remnant had a name.

The clouds parted. Velvet looked up and her breath left her entirely. It descended from the hole in the sky like a city falling from heaven.

Somehow she knows its name Alexander.
The Summon was enormous easily larger than any airship in the Atlesian fleet. It was a fortress given form, a cathedral of holy metal and divine machinery, all angular walls and concentric rings and towering spires that glowed with internal light. Its central body was a massive armored core shaped like a stylized face, serene, unmoving, judging. Concentric rings rotated slowly around it, each one inscribed with glyphs that burned white-gold. Wings, if you could call them that spread from its flanks, not feathered but layered, hundreds of interlocking plates that shifted and rearranged like living architecture.

The entire structure hummed with power. Not Dust. Not aura. Something else. Something older. The White Fang lieutenant took one step back. Then another. His sword shook in his grip. "What… what is that...?"

Alexander's core glowed brighter.

The rings around Alexander's body began to spin, faster and faster, the glyphs blurring into lines of solid light. Energy gathered in the fortress's core, building, constantly building, the air itself began to distort, heat and light and force compressing into a single point.

The Grimm felt it first. The Nevermores screamed, not their usual bone-rattling cry, but something different. Something afraid. They broke formation immediately, turning to flee, but it was too late. The Griffons followed, beating their wings desperately against the pressure that was building in the air. Even the Grimm on the ground, the Beowolves that had been creeping closer, froze, their red eyes widening with something no one had ever seen in a Grimm before. Fear just pure fear.

Because whatever was building in Alexander's core was the absolute antithesis of everything the Grimm were. It was light. It was order. It was holy not in the religious sense, but in the fundamental sense. The very force that rejected darkness on a molecular level. The White Fang soldiers started running.

The Atlesian Knights tried to retreat, their hacked programming screaming at them to flee, but their legs wouldn't move fast enough.

Cardin stood in the eye of it all, the necklace still burning in his hand, his eyes wide and streaming with tears from the light. He could feel Alexander's presence in his mind, vast, mechanical, righteous. It wasn't a person. It wasn't a creature. It was a principle. A weapon built by hands that had long since turned to dust, on a world that might not even be Remnant at all.

And it had chosen to answer him. "Judgment," Alexander's voice resonated, not through the air, but through Cardin's very bones. "Rendered."

The beam fired. It came from Alexander's core, a column of pure white-gold energy wider than the courtyard itself, descending like the finger of an angry god. It struck the ground with absolute silence.

For one second, nothing happened. Then the world erupted. The holy light expanded outward in a massive shockwave, and everything it touched was simply gone. The hacked Atlesian Knights didn't explode, they unraveled, their metal frames dissolving into particles of light as the sacred energy overloaded every circuit and shattered every bolt. The Paladin that had been stomping toward them let out a distorted mechanical shriek and came apart like a model hit by a sledgehammer, its armor plating peeling away in sheets before disintegrating.

The White Fang soldiers who hadn't fled far enough were hit by the shockwave's edge and sent flying, not killed, but purged. The darkness in their hearts, the malice, the bloodlust, the holy energy seared it out of them like a cauterizing iron. They collapsed, unconscious, their weapons crumbling to ash in their hands.

But the Grimm...The Grimm burned. Holy damage was not like Dust damage. It was not elemental. It was fundamental. The same way that Grimm were creatures of pure darkness given form, Alexander's judgment was pure light given wrath. The Nevermores that had been fleeing ignited in midair, their shadowy forms catching fire like paper held over a furnace. They didn't get a chance to scream. One moment they were there, the next they were unmade, their bodies breaking apart into black vapor that the holy light immediately consumed.

The Griffons fared no better. The shockwave caught them and they detonated, their bodies unable to contain the contradiction of pure light burning inside pure darkness. They popped like black balloons filled with starlight.

The Beowolves on the ground didn't even get that much. The beam's epicenter touched them and they simply ceased, no bodies left behind, no ash, no vapor. Just empty ground where they had been standing, as if they had never existed at all.

The shockwave expanded for a quarter mile in every direction, clearing the courtyard, the breach, the adjacent buildings, the forest edge where more Grimm had been gathering. Every shadow was banished. Every dark thing was purged. The very ground where the beam had struck glowed white-hot, a perfect circle of purified earth that would remain warm for days.

Then, slowly, the light faded. Alexander's rings slowed. The glyphs dimmed. The great fortress-summon rose back into the sky, its work done, its judgment delivered. It ascended through the clouds without a sound, and the pillar of light that had split the sky closed behind it like a wound healing.

The red orb in Cardin's hand went dark. He dropped to his knees.

Silence.

Absolute, ringing silence.

Cardin stared at the ground in front of him. Where a squad of Atlesian Knights had stood, there was nothing but scorched stone and a few lingering motes of white light drifting upward like fireflies. Where the White Fang had been, there were only unconscious bodies and scattered, rusted weapons. Where the Grimm had circled, there was empty air.

The entire courtyard, the entire section of the academy, had been cleared. Not a single Grimm remained. Not a single hostile machine. Not a single White Fang soldier still standing. "Cardin."
He looked up. Coco was staring at him, her mouth open, blood forgotten on her face. Her expression was one he had never seen on her before, not in class, not in training, not in the tournament.

Complete and utter shock. "Cardin," she said again, quieter this time. "What the fuck was that?" He looked down at the necklace in his hand. The red orb was dull now, just a plain little stone on an iron chain. But it was warm. Still warm. Like a heartbeat. "I…" His voice cracked. "I don't know."

Velvet let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. She was crying, her good hand pressed over her mouth, her ears flat against her head. "You saved us," she whispered. "Cardin, you saved us." He wanted to feel triumphant. He wanted to feel like the hero.

All he felt was tired. He tucked the necklace back under his armor and looked at the two of them, wounded, broken, barely standing. But alive. Because of whatever the hell that thing had been.

"Can you walk?" he asked. Coco blinked. Then she let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Did you really just ask if we can walk after you called down God's own artillery?"

"Can you walk or not?" "Yeah," Coco muttered, pushing herself up with a wince. "Yeah, I can walk." Cardin moved to Velvet and carefully pulled her arm over his shoulder, lifting her to her feet. She leaned into him, light as a bird, her breath hitching with pain.

"We need to find the others," he said, starting to move toward the academy's interior. "The evacuation point...." "Cardin." Velvet's voice was small. He stopped. "Your necklace," she said quietly. "It's glowing again." He looked down. Beneath his armor, the red orb pulsed once, soft and warm, like a heartbeat. Like it was listening.

Evernight Castle: That Same Moment

Salem had not felt pain in a very long time. Not true pain. Not the kind that reached past her immortal flesh and dug into something deeper. The curses that kept her alive, the Gods' twisted gifts had long since numbed her to such things. She could walk through fire, endure the bite of any weapon, suffer wounds that would kill a huntsman a hundred times over and feel nothing more than a mild pressure, like a finger pressed lightly against skin.

Pain was for mortals. Pain was for the small and the finite and the breakable. So when the sensation hit her, a white-hot spike of wrongness that lanced through her chest like a lightning bolt made of broken glass, she actually stumbled.

Her hand shot out and caught the armrest of her throne. Her black nails dug into the stone, leaving gouges. Her lips peeled back from her teeth. "What..." she hissed. It came again. Worse.

The connection she shared with the Grimm was not a leash. It was not a spell or a command structure or a network in any way that a human would understand it. It was biology. She was the source. The wellspring. Every Grimm that existed was, in some fundamental way, an extension of her, a fragment of her darkness given form and purpose and hunger. She felt them when they were created. She felt them when they fed. She felt them when they died, though she had long since learned to treat those sensations like background noise, like the ticking of a clock in a distant room.

But this was not background noise. This was screaming. Every Grimm in the vicinity of Beacon, every single one had been unmade at exactly the same moment, and the feedback slammed into Salem's consciousness like a tidal wave made of razors. She felt the Nevermores ignite. She felt the Griffons detonate. She felt the Beowolves cease not die, not perish to be be respawn later , but simply stop existing forever, as if they had been edited out of reality.

And threaded through that agony, woven into the destruction like a poisoned needle in silk, was something else. Light. Not the light of a semblance. Not the light of Dust. This was something alien, something that did not belong to Remnant, something that operated on rules her world had never catalogued. It was holy in a way that made the Brothers' light look like a candle held up to the sun. It was judgmental. It looked at the darkness inside her, the ancient, bottomless, God-cursed darkness and it rejected it.

Not fought it. Not clashed with it. Rejected it. As if the darkness had no right to exist in its presence. Salem screamed. The Grimm in the halls of Evernight Castle went mad.

The Apathy that lurked in the shadows began to shriek, a sound no Apathy had ever made, a sound that sent the Grimm-human servants fleeing in terror. The Sphinxes in the outer courtyards thrashed and wailed, smashing their own bodies against the walls. The Leviathans in the deep lakes surrounding the castle dove to the bottom and buried themselves in mud, trying to escape a pressure that came from everywhere and nowhere.

In her throne room, Salem fell to her knees.
The darkness inside her, the curse, the corruption, the thing that the God of Darkness had poured into her soul when she had jumped into the Pool of Grimm recoiled. It pulled back from the edges of her being like a tide retreating from shore, driven away by the holy resonance that still echoed through the Grimm network, still rang in the space where a hundred Grimm had just been erased.

And in the space that the darkness left behind,
Salem's eyes snapped wide. For the first time in a long while, she has Clarity. . The word didn't begin to cover it. It was like surfacing from deep water after holding her breath for millennia. Like removing a blindfold she had forgotten she was wearing. Like waking up from a dream so long and so all-consuming that she had forgotten what it meant to be awake.

She could think.

Not the slow, grinding, obsidian-heavy thoughts that had become her normal existence, thoughts that always curved back to destruction, to revenge, to the Relics, to the Brothers, to the same endless loop of rage and grief that had defined her for longer than most civilizations had existed. No. These thoughts were fast. They were sharp. They connected to each other in ways she hadn't experienced since Since before.

Since Ozma. Since she had been human. "Oh," she breathed. And then the memories came, not corrupted, not filtered through the lens of ancient rage, but clear. She remembered jumping into the Pool of Grimm. She remembered why. She remembered the grief, yes, but she could see it now for what it was grief. Not justification. Not fuel. Just grief. Raw and awful and human.

She remembered the God of Light's rejection. She remembered the God of Darkness's twisted gift. She remembered the first time she realized she couldn't die, and the terror of that realization, not the cold indifference she had worn like armor for ten thousand years, but the actual, bone-deep fear of a woman who just wanted to see her daughters again and had been told she never, ever could.

"I..." Her voice cracked. "I was so..." She looked at her hands. Black, clawed, inhuman. The hands of a monster. And she saw them. Really saw them. Not as tools. Not as weapons. As her hands, transformed and twisted and wrong.

"I was so angry," she whispered, and the words came out shaking. "I was so angry and I... I never stopped, I just .... I never stopped..." Tears.
She was crying. Salem, the Queen of the Grimm, the immortal terror of Remnant, the being that had brought kingdoms to ruin and ground the God of Light's plans to dust over and over and over again, was crying. Black tears that leaked from red eyes, running down pale cheeks, dripping onto the stone floor of her own throne room.

She didn't wipe them away. For the first time in ten thousand years, she didn't want to. "I killed them," she said, and her voice was small, human small. "I killed so many people. I... Ozma tried to help me and I ... I used him, I..."

The name hit her like a physical blow. Ozma.
Not the enemy. Not the obstacle. Not the cosmic joke she had spent millennia tormenting. Ozma. Her husband. Her partner. The man who had loved her and she had..

"I destroyed everything," she whispered. "Everything he built. Everything he .... every life, every ... oh Gods, what did I..." She pressed her hands to her face and wept. The Grimm in the castle went still. Not calm, confused. Their mistress was emitting something they had never felt from her before. Something that didn't compute. Something that had no place in the biology of darkness.

Grief...Pure, undiluted, uncorrupted grief. It lasted perhaps ninety seconds. Ninety seconds of clarity. Ninety seconds of sobbing. Ninety seconds of a woman who had been lost for ten thousand years finally, finally seeing the path she had wandered down and understanding, with the full, devastating weight of a clear mind, exactly how far she had gone.

Then the darkness came back. It started at the edges. A familiar heaviness in her fingertips. A slow creep of cold up her spine. The tears began to slow, not because the grief was fading, but because the capacity for it was being smothered. Like ash falling over a fire. Like a hand closing over a candle. "No," Salem gasped. She clutched her head. "No, no, no..."

But it was like trying to hold back the ocean with her bare hands. The curse was part of her now, woven into her soul so thoroughly that removing it would be like removing her own heartbeat. The holy resonance had driven it back temporarily, had created a space where the real Salem could breathe, but the curse was patient. It had waited ten thousand years. It could wait a few more minutes.

The clarity dulled. The sharp edges of her thoughts began to soften and blur. The grief, that beautiful, awful, human grief was swallowed by the returning tide of ancient rage.
But not all of it. That was the cruelest part. Not all of it.

Salem felt the darkness settle back into place like a familiar coat. She felt her thoughts slow down, felt the rage reassert itself, felt the cold indifference crawl back over her emotions like frost over a window. The transformation was nearly complete. Nearly. Because deep inside her, buried under ten thousand years of curse and corruption and spite, there was still a crack. A hairline fracture in the darkness where the light had touched her. And in that crack, something survived.

Not the full clarity. Not the weeping, repentant woman who had knelt on her throne room floor. Just a spark. A memory of what it had felt like to be her. To think clearly. To feel remorse. To understand, even for a moment, the monstrous scale of what she had become.

A splinter of light in an infinite darkness. Salem rose to her feet. Her face was blank. Her eyes were red. The tears had dried to black tracks on her cheeks that she did not bother to wipe away.
She stood in the silence of her throne room, surrounded by the stillness of her confused Grimm, and she remembered being sorry.

And then she didn't. And then she did. And then she.. She closed her eyes.."What," she said quietly, to no one, to everything, "was that?"
The darkness purred in her chest, secure once more, confident and ancient and absolute.
But it did not answer. Because for the first time in ten thousand years, the darkness was not the only thing living in Salem's soul. And it knew.

Beacon Academy : Courtyard Ruins : Moments Later

Cardin stopped walking. Velvet stirred against his shoulder. "Cardin? What's wrong?" He didn't answer. His eyes had gone distant, unfocused, like someone watching a screen that no one else could see. The red orb beneath his armor had begun to pulse, not with light, not with heat, but with information. Data. Knowledge. Something was pouring into his mind in a language he shouldn't be able to understand but somehow could, like reading a book written in a script he'd never learned but inherently knew.

Coco noticed it first. His eyes. The way they moved behind his eyelids, tracking invisible lines of text. "Cardin? Hey. Cardin." He didn't hear her.

He was reading. The report didn't have words, not exactly. It was more like a structure, a framework of pure understanding that assembled itself in his consciousness like a building rising from blueprints. Categories. Designations. Assessments. All of it crystal clear, all of it terrifying, all of it branded into his mind with the same white-gold intensity of the beam that had just saved his life.

He saw the battle. Not from his own perspective, from above. From Alexander's perspective. He watched the holy light expand and consume and he understood, with clinical precision, exactly what it had done to every target it touched.

He saw the Knights unravel. He understood why, sacred energy overwriting corrupted programming at the base code level, reducing complex machines to their constituent particles. He saw the White Fang fall and understood the mechanism, non-lethal purge, the darkness extracted from living souls without killing the vessel. He saw the Grimm cease to exist and understood the fundamental truth: holy damage didn't kill Grimm. It negated them. Erased the darkness that gave them form. Returned them to the nothing they had come from.

And then the report shifted and them Cardin saw her. A throne room. Black stone. Ancient. A woman on her knees, pale, black-veined, terrifyingly beautiful in a wrong and broken way. And she was crying. Sobbing. Weeping with a grief so raw and so human that it made Cardin's chest ache despite everything he knew about what she was. He didn't know her name. The report didn't give him one. But it gave him a designation:

SOURCE ENTITY.

And it gave him a timeline of what had happened in that throne room, displayed not in words but in understanding, in pure comprehension that slotted into his brain like a key into a lock:

Holy resonance transmitted through Grimm network upon mass erasure. Feedback loop reached source entity in approximately 0.3 seconds. Dark corruption, the curse binding the source entity, experienced forced recoil. Estimated 12-15% of total dark mass temporarily displaced from soul structure. Source entity achieved approximate 90 seconds of uncorrupted cognitive function before dark mass reasserted dominance.

Residual effect: Micro-fracture detected in dark binding. Permanent. Non-repairable by source entity's inherent regeneration.

Assessment: The darkness can be pulled back. It has been proven. The immortal is not invulnerable. She is not unchangeable.

She is just very, very patient. So is the light.Cardin gasped, his knees buckled. He would have fallen if Velvet hadn't been there to steady his shoulder, and in the end, they both went down together, sliding against a broken wall, Coco lunging to catch them.

"Cardin! Cardin!" Coco grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. His eyes were wild, wide and white and shaking. "What's happening? Talk to me!" He stared at her. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "I saw her," he whispered.
" Saw who? " "I don't know." His voice was barely audible. "The one who makes them. The Grimm. I saw,she felt it, Coco. She felt what I did. And for a minute... just a minute... she was..."

He couldn't finish the sentence. Because he'd felt it too. Through the report, through the data, through whatever bond the orb had forged with him in that moment of summoning, he'd felt a ghost of what Salem had felt in those ninety seconds.

The grief. The horror. The remorse. The unbearable, crushing weight of ten thousand years of murder remembered all at once by a mind finally clear enough to understand it. "She was sorry," Cardin said, and his own voice broke on the word. "For ninety seconds, she was sorry."

Coco and Velvet stared at him.
Neither of them knew what to say.

Beneath Cardin's armor, the red orb pulsed one final time, a slow, steady beat, warm and patient against his chest. And then, in the back of his mind, in that same wordless language of pure understanding, the report concluded itself. Not as text. Not as sound. As a single, absolute certainty that settled into his bones like marrow:

Summon Log : Alexander :First Summon: Complete.

Bond Established. Summoner Compatibility: Winchester Bloodline :Awakened.

Side Effect: Resonance Feedback through Grimm Network :Target: Source Entity : Result: Temporary Purge of Dark Corruption, 90 seconds. Residual Effect: Micro-fracture in Dark Binding : PERMANENT.

Assessment: The darkness can be pulled back. It has been proven.

The immortal is not invulnerable. She is not unchangeable.

She is just very, very patient.

So is the light.

Next Summon Available.

Awaiting Input.

The presence receded. The warmth remained. Cardin pressed his hand against the orb beneath his armor and felt it pulse back against his palm, once, twice like a heartbeat answering a heartbeat.

In the silence that followed, Beacon burned around them. Somewhere in the distance, Grimm howled and airships crashed and people screamed. The Fall of Beacon was still happening. Nothing had been saved, not really. Not the academy. Not the kingdom. Not the world.

But a crack had been made.

Not in the walls. Not in the sky.

In ten thousand years of darkness.

And the thing that had made it was a boy no one believed in, holding a necklace he'd never understood, standing in a ruined courtyard with two wounded girls at his side and something vast and patient sleeping against his chest.

Cardin Winchester pulled himself to his feet.
He lifted Velvet up again. Nodded to Coco.
"We need to move," he said. His voice was steady. His hand was shaking. But beneath his armor, the orb was warm. And waiting.

 

[Dragon Bob]

If Ozma finds out about this he's going to break. He's spent centuries wondering how he went wrong, what he did to drive his wife mad, thinking of all the ways he could have saved her, the words he should have said. And now he knows that his wife isn't evil, she's possessed and for a brief moment, 90 seconds, she was free and she wept.

The Knight would go forth to the Maiden locked in the Tower of Darkness and he would fight to free her once more. If Light is needed to pierce the Darkness suffocating her, he will burn brighter than a million suns.
Ozma has spent centuries if not millennia fighting an endless war against a foe he cannot harm. One who he loves. That would break anyone. Now he has a new foe, one who can be harmed, and a new goal that can be achieved.

 

[Sliverhero]

If Ozma finds out about this he's going to break. He's spent centuries wondering how he went wrong, what he did to drive his wife mad, thinking of all the ways he could have saved her, the words he should have said. And now he knows that his wife isn't evil, she's possessed and for a brief moment, 90 seconds, she was free and she wept.

The Knight would go forth to the Maiden locked in the Tower of Darkness and he would fight to free her once more. If Light is needed to pierce the Darkness suffocating her, he will burn brighter than a million suns.
Ozma has spent centuries if not millennia fighting an endless war against a foe he cannot harm. One who he loves. That would break anyone. Now he has a new foe, one who can be harmed, and a new goal that can be achieved.

Click to shrink...

For this cardin would be going on his own adventure under the urging of Alexander trying to free the the princess trapped in the tower of that darkness that is her curse.

On a different note who other would fit the various summons of final fantasy