Streamer in the Omniverse

Devas is in Terraria on (P)(A)(T).

(P)(A)(T)/CalleumArtori

[...]---[...]

The moment Salem and the human vanished into the distance, the Grimm army began to move. The Beowolves and Beringels growled and tore at the ground with their claws, their bodies surging forward; the Boarbatusks grunted and began to roll like living wheels, while the King Taijitus hissed, slithering across the ground, tracing the earth.

Death Stalkers, Goliaths, Horse Grimms, Griffons, Nevermores, Ursas. It was as if someone — Salem — had taken all the horror stories parents told their children about the monsters outside the walls, the Grimm, and brought them, not to life, but to their doorstep: Vale, the place that, for the monsters, was an immense feast filled with negative emotions.

"Does anyone have anything to say before we begin?" Ozma ignored the rain falling from the sky, just as the Grimm running around did, who also ignored him, and focused on the four standing before him.

The biggest threat is Emerald. Her Semblance could make things difficult, — he thought absentmindedly. — Then Cinder. Her power as a Half-Maiden might be troublesome. Mercury is the easiest to handle. For his age, he's skilled, but that's about it…

Cinder opened her mouth; with Salem and the human gone, her confidence had returned. Ozma might be immortal, but, in her mind, he didn't compare to those two monsters. — I can take him easily.

She didn't even bother wondering why the Grimm were ignoring him, assuming it was an order from the witch. But before she could voice her questions, Hazel moved.

Like Cinder, Salem and the human's presence unnerved the man, the only thing restraining his hatred for Ozma and stopping him from attacking. With them gone, the only thing separating him from his revenge, or part of it, was the table between them.

The giant slammed his right hand on the black stone table and propelled himself forward, while the small mechanisms hidden within his clothes, crafted by Watts in exchange for a favor, injected Dust into his body. The man's Semblance, Numbing Agent, made him immune to pain, but even without that, the sheer rage he felt toward Ozma would drive him.

Hazel's veins glowed with the Dust coursing through his bloodstream. His muscles swelled and grew, tearing through his elegant clothes, and his already enormous body, standing at eight feet tall, became even larger.

He didn't even question why the Grimm around him weren't attacking Ozma, too consumed with rage and solely focused on killing the current incarnation of the man he believed was his older sister's murderer.

Ozma looked at the massive fist coming toward his face with a calm expression, as one might observe a garden on a peaceful afternoon, before lowering his gaze.

Perhaps out of fear, in Cinder's case, or rage in Hazel's, no one, except for Ozma, had noticed a simple fact…

"Ptuh!"

… When the human followed Salem, only his body left. His shadow had remained on the ground, beside Ozma.

Like a black wave filled with hundreds of eyes — blinking at each other, sometimes occupying the same space, some pale and blind, completely devoid of pupils, others red like those of the Grimm — the human's shadow twisted and expanded, enveloping Hazel completely, like a massive cocoon.

Before he could react or understand what was happening, an immense pain arose in his chest. A single pair of purple eyes stared at him in the almost complete darkness, where the only light came from the observers around him — eyes that seemed to mock his existence, graced and entertained by his pain and despair.

"Never again, in any life, dare to earn my lord's scorn," Tyrian whispered into Hazel's ear as he embraced him like a friend. His touch was strangely gentle. "And also, thank him for his mercy..."

Piercing through Hazel's chest was Tyrian's arm, covered not only in the red of blood but also in a purple aura — his Semblance: Aura Disruption. Without Aura, Hazel's muscles and skin were easily penetrated by the hand shaped like a scorpion's Nightmare spear.

Tyrian pulled his arm out of Hazel's chest, who looked at him in shock, his eyes wide with despair, and held half of his heart before his face, before casually tossing it aside.

"Thank my lord for his mercy..." Tyrian smiled with devotion, a smile caught between gentleness and insanity. "For he ordered me to take only your heart..."

Tyrian's crazed, joy-filled purple eyes were the last thing Hazel saw before his body slumped forward, dead, with despair, frustration, and disbelief etched into his face like stone.

"...I would have done much worse if permitted."

Cinder and Mercury were the only two to react in time to the events; Mercury leaped back, while Cinder flew into the sky the moment Hazel was swallowed. Emerald didn't stand a chance, as just like the human's shadow attacked Hazel, Ozma attacked her with the same speed, though without the same ferocity.

Ozma took a step forward and leapt gracefully, his feet barely touching the black stone table. He flicked his wrist, and with a light strike, the tip of The Long Memory hit Emerald's temple. She fell backward instantly, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

Even with her Aura protecting her, Ozma's precise strike, along with a small burst of magic, was enough for the small shockwaves from the impact to shake her brain, causing her to lose consciousness quickly. Emerald would wake up in less than ten seconds if given the chance, something she wouldn't have against the most experienced combatant — not just alive, but in all of Remnant's history.

Few Huntsmen and Huntresses had unconscious control of their Aura good enough to protect themselves even when knocked out; Emerald wasn't among them. With a quick touch to the back of Emerald's neck and a pulse of magic, Ozma disconnected her spinal nerves, effectively leaving her quadriplegic.

A mercy, as in the next moment, he threw her in the path of Cinder's attack — a fireball. The collision caused Emerald's body, and the fireball, to explode: the former into charred pieces, while the latter dissipated, superheating the air to the point it became blurry.

With that, the illusions were gone, — Ozma took two steps back, dodging two fire Dust arrows Cinder had shot from her bow. — I won't be able to reach Cinder in the sky easily; Mercury is a better target…

Ozma wasn't the only one to think that; Mercury had the same thought. Fighting the man who had barred Salem for all these millennia was something he would avoid at all costs if he could. He had his pride as a fighter and assassin, but he also knew he would be utterly destroyed in a fight against the Headmaster of Beacon.

Mercury turned to run but was forced to stop before taking the first step, leaping aside and barely avoiding a claw swipe from a... Grimm? — That's not a Grimm! Mercury instantly realized.

The creature resembled a Beowolf, at least at first glance. Mercury had killed enough Grimm and lived with them in Salem's castle long enough to notice the differences.

The non-Grimm creature didn't have the bones that usually covered a Grimm's body; its form was pitch black, so dark it seemed to absorb the little light around it. The only bone on its body was the mask covering its face, similar to the ones Grimm wore, but with a small difference: this mask was dark gray, not white.

Mercury also recognized the mask, identical to the one the human wore—the Deer Huntsman's mask, a stag's mask. He also recognized the crazed, milky eyes beneath that mask, the same eyes that had been in the shadow that swallowed Hazel.

"Cinder! The shadow!" he shouted, dodging another strike from the creature before retaliating with a kick that barely seemed to hurt it. "Burn the shadow!"

When he received no answer and was simultaneously attacked from behind and to his right by two more non-Grimm, Mercury realized it was too late. The second fireball Cinder threw at Ozma, interrupting his charge towards Mercury, also revealed that the darkness on the ground wasn't just due to the lack of light…

"Damn monster…" Mercury muttered in terrified disbelief. "He's worse than Salem…"

… It was because the entire ground was covered by a massive vortex of shadows, expanding more and more, filled with hundreds, thousands—tens of thousands—of eyes.

From every direction, rising from the ground, more and more non-Grimm emerged, as if the earth itself was a portal directly connected to the GrimmLands. They came in all shapes and sizes, resembling Grimm yet somehow different.

Their eyes weren't just red; one of them, if not both, was a milky white, devoid of life, overflowing with insanity in a way that unnerved Cinder and Mercury, sending chills down their spines. The other eye was blood-red, wild and crazed. Every single one of them, without exception, wore a stag mask.

… The same stag mask that, if they survived, would haunt their Nightmares for the rest of their lives.

Cinder and Mercury weren't the only ones to notice the presence of the Nightmares; the Grimm noticed them too, even before the pair did. Part of the army, which had already crossed more than half the distance to Vale's walls, was forced to stop when they were attacked from behind, from both the ground and the air.

So that's what he meant when he said, "She has more than I do," — Ozma thought, amused, taking advantage of Cinder's distraction—she was being attacked by a flying Nightmare—to strike at Mercury from behind. — You had an army in your shadow, Devas. Truly, you never cease to amaze.

Ozma aimed for Mercury's prosthetic legs, something he had known about for a long time. The lack of Aura caused the assassin's right leg to bend forward at a ninety-degree angle, the metal groaning from the impact of The Long Memory's tip.

Mercury reacted by spinning his body and kicking Beacon's headmaster with his intact leg. Before the blow could land, Ozma blocked it with his forearm and grabbed the metal leg with his other hand, throwing Mercury toward the ground, where he landed a few meters away, among a group of Nightmares.

The air was knocked out of Mercury's lungs as his back hit the ground. The shadows covering the ground had a muddy texture.

It's warm... Strangely comfortable — Mercury's thoughts wandered. He punched a Nightmare that resembled a centipede as he tried to get up, only for his hand to be bitten by an insect-like mouth.

The same happened to his intact left leg, which was torn off by another Nightmare. Then his right arm was pinned to the ground by a large claw, and his stomach by a stinger-like tail, before his head was taken into the massive jaws of a more beastly-looking creature.

He resisted as long as his Aura could hold out—not long—before it shattered like glass, and his body was torn apart moments later. His screams were drowned out by those of the Nightmares, who shrieked to the sky with his death, creating a cacophony of sharp, discordant sounds resembling an ancient, rusted instrument.

The noise barely affected Ozma, either because the human's energy willed it so or due to his mental resilience. Cinder, on the other hand, was the opposite; the woman, who had just incinerated three Nightmares resembling Nevermores but thinner, winced in pain, covering her ears, barely able to stay airborne.

Her body was thrown to the ground when a Nightmare, resembling a small Griffon, collided with her back, ripping off a good portion of her Aura in the process. The Half-Maiden spun in the air, barely stabilizing before reaching the ground and landing in a not-so-graceful manner. She barely had time to react before the tip of Ozma's staff was inches from her face.

Cinder barely dodged the first strike, tilting her head to the side. She pulled mana from within her and formed an ice spear, thrusting it toward the man's chest with her free hand, only for her counterattack to be deflected with a smooth flick of Ozma's wrist, tilting his arm to the side, causing the ice spear to hit nothing but air, freezing a few raindrops.

A kick to her left heel broke her high heel, and her foot was lifted from the ground, causing her to lose balance. Cinder's eyes widened, their edges glowing with magic as the wind behind her pushed her up, correcting her stance, before she twisted her body and aimed a kick at the center of Ozma's chest, which he blocked with the shaft of The Long Memory.

His defense has no openings — Cinder's thoughts raced. None of her strikes landed; she could barely gather her magic to defend herself. — The attacks seemed endless. One blow connected to the next; his feet never stopped moving. How does he do this?! How can he read me so well?!

She growled in frustration—or tried to—only to swallow the growl when she was forced to throw her head back, dodging a strike that would have driven the base of the man's palm into the bottom of her chin.

No matter what Cinder did, it simply had no effect. No matter how much she tried to improvise, innovate, Ozma reacted to her tricks as if he had seen them all before, thousands upon thousands of times, as if he had fought her thousands of times already.

Cinder tried to kick Ozma's leg, only for her own right leg to be kicked first. Her attempt to gather power in her left hand and form a fireball to burn the Beacon Headmaster to ashes was interrupted by two quick strikes from the tip of The Long Memory, one to her shoulder and another to the end of her left wrist.

She tried to create some distance, using the wind to push herself backward while forming ice spikes above Ozma's head, only for him to step forward and deliver an elbow to her chin, sending her mind reeling. Cinder barely dodged her own ice spikes, casting them away with a gust of wind after the old Wizard spun the two, switching their positions.

For every attack she made, Ozma had the perfect counter. For every counterattack Cinder attempted, he had a defense or an evasion, followed by another attack that never lost its rhythm. Over time, Cinder realized two things, both of which terrified her.

The first was: He's holding back… He's not even taking me seriously… — Her thoughts spiraled into a dark place.

Ozma was taking her seriously, but his calm expression, serene gaze, and steady breathing made it seem otherwise. He was using the bare minimum while Cinder's maximum barely allowed her to survive his barrage of blows. He was only exerting what was necessary, conserving his energy for reasons the Half-Maiden couldn't fully grasp.

The second, and perhaps most terrifying realization, was that she was surrounded. From the ground to the sky, everything around her was filled with Nightmares. There wasn't a single Grimm in sight; everything around her was a mass of darkness, teeming with crazed eyes that gazed at her with barely contained sadistic glee.

Hazel was dead, his body never seen again after being swallowed by the human's shadow. Emerald was dead, incapacitated by Ozma before being thrown into her own fireball. Mercury had been torn apart by the Nightmares.

~You're alone, Cinder~

A voice whispered in her ear. Feminine and childlike, Cinder could remember it as her own voice from childhood.

~Just as you've always been, small and lonely Cinder… Look up, do the thunderbolts remind you of something? We've been quite the bad girl lately… It's been a while since we've had a shock, hasn't it?~

Cinder's already erratic breathing quickened even more as she felt a familiar collar tighten around her neck. Her amber pupils narrowed to needlepoints as her mind was flooded with memories of a trauma she had fought with all her strength to forget. Trauma she thought she had overcome.

When she touched her neck with trembling fingers, there was nothing there. Her relieved sigh was swallowed when, as soon as she withdrew her hand, she felt something tighten around her throat again, this time even stronger. The shocks on her skin were faint but felt all too real…

The only thing keeping her together against Ozma's blows was her Aura, flickering weakly in an orange hue, barely held together thanks to her Half-Maiden powers. Her mind was clogged with whispers, barely allowing her to think, her few thoughts tainted by memories. Memories reminding her of how pathetic, weak, and fragile she was.

~Just a helpless little girl… We made quite the scene that day, remember? The day we met Rhodes in the main hall of the hotel… Mom punished us for hours in that dark room…~

The voice grew louder amid the cacophony of murmurs. Cinder felt the shocks on her neck intensify. Her vision blurred—memories, tears, and rain blending together. She could barely see Ozma, who, despite watching Cinder weep before him, remained stoic, not ceasing his attacks for even a second.

He had noticed Cinder's abnormality long ago but didn't care. Men less experienced, and not weaker but more soft-hearted, might have stopped their attacks or even spared Cinder. Ozma would admit: she was beautiful, after all, something that had been the downfall of many men before—an alluring woman.

… But he was old. Very old.

Not only had he lived long, seen too much, but he knew better. If Cinder's original plan had succeeded, not just Beacon but Vale itself would have been destroyed.

Cinder was like a flame, brilliant and captivating, drawing people toward her only for them to realize too late that they were being burned to cinder… Someone like that did not deserve mercy, let alone hesitation.

Ozma stepped forward, slightly leaning his upper body back as he gripped the base of The Long Memory with both hands, then struck the center of Cinder's chest with a fluid motion that shattered the woman's Aura, sending her crashing down onto the wet, muddy ground.

Cinder managed to lift her upper body with some effort, propping herself up on her elbows, glaring at Ozma—

~Look to your right, Mommy's come to visit!~

Her neck muscles ached from the speed at which she whipped her head around. Her breath caught in her throat, and her movements froze when she saw the woman whom Cinder was certain she had killed years ago, standing just a few meters to her right.

Madame stared back with a look of reproach and anger, her lips twisted into a disgusted scowl. She wore the same elegant clothes as always, her hair neatly done, and the control in her hand was exactly as Cinder remembered.

Madame didn't press any buttons, yet the collar around Cinder's neck tightened even more regardless. The shocks became more intense.

Cinder's heart pounded like a drum inside her chest, aching not just from Ozma's last strike but from the speed of its beating, which only continued to climb. Her throat constricted as she tried to breathe, feeling like it was made of sandpaper.

One of her pupils dilated as if searching for any light around—there was none—while the other shrank almost to nothing, as if trying to avoid looking at the scene before her. Cinder's scream escaped her throat as a choked gasp, not because of the rain, but because of the fear.

The combination of adrenaline from the fight, along with all the recent events—the deaths, the desperation, and the hallucination of both the shock collar around her neck and Madame's presence—resulted in only one outcome…

"Did she have a heart attack?" Ozma muttered to himself, somewhat incredulously. "Not just that, her pupils… A stroke?"

… Her body and mind couldn't take it anymore, shutting down forcibly.

Once Ozma was sure Cinder was, indeed, dead, he relaxed, even if only momentarily, massaging his left shoulder and neck with his right hand before repeating the motion on the other side.

"If this had happened ten years ago, it would've taken half, maybe a third of the time," he sighed. "This body is getting old… My joints hurt… Maybe it's the rain…"

Ozma looked around while muttering to himself. The Nightmares were watching him in silence, at least those nearby; the overwhelming majority were still fighting the Grimm army.

"Don't you lot have something better to do than watch me?" he said, and as if on cue, all the surrounding Nightmares turned and ran toward the nearest Grimm, returning to the slaughter with glee. Ozma took a few seconds to observe.

He was well-acquainted with the Grimm, having seen more of the creatures than anyone else in all his lives. It only took him a few seconds of study to notice the differences between the Nightmares and the Grimm.

The first thing he noticed was that the Grimm were far more numerous, almost five to one. But even with the numbers advantage, they were losing.

The second was that the Nightmares were stronger, faster, and smarter. They attacked in unison, much like the Grimm, but with more coordination. They targeted weak points and always exploited any openings in the Grimm's defenses.

The third was that the Nightmares regenerated… And not just that—they were growing stronger with every passing second.

Whenever a Grimm died and turned to dust, the Nightmares nearby absorbed that dust, healing part of their wounds, becoming more aggressive, faster, and stronger as they charged into battle with even greater ferocity. Some of the dust was also absorbed by the swirling shadow on the ground, which spun faster before slowing down, only to restart the process in an almost random cycle.

Not only that, but whenever a Nightmare died, it too dispersed into an illusory smoke that was absorbed by the surrounding Nightmares, healing and empowering them even more than when a Grimm perished...

"A perfect army to fight Grimm." Ozma spun his cane in his right hand before brushing the wet hair from his forehead and beginning to walk. "Was this planned, or was it an instinctive response your energy created against the Grimm?... How long did it take you to adapt to this world, Devas?"

He wore an impressed smile, even when attacked by an Ursa. That smile remained as the Grimm was killed with three precise strikes—two to its hind legs after a simple sidestep that brought it crashing down, and a third to its neck, severing its head from its body.

"It seems I'll have to put in more effort then, my friend." Ozma stepped to the side and slashed upwards, breaking the wing of a Nevermore that had tried to ambush him. The Grimm was quickly torn apart by two Nightmares. "These old bones still have strength. I can't let you carry all this weight alone…"

Ozma and the human had lied to everyone earlier, in the meeting room. Ozma more than the human. When Qrow asked why only the two of them were going, the answer wasn't entirely truthful.

Ozma did intend to die facing Salem's pawns, but not against Cinder, Hazel, or any other human or faunus.

The man knew his own capabilities, just as the human had a close estimate. Ozma alone could have handled Salem's four minions, not counting the army the human had left behind to help him, a fact Ozma had only realized minutes before.

His primary goal was never just to take down the Queen's pawns, but to eliminate as much of her army as possible…

Ozma paused and twirled The Long Memory in his hand again. The staff glowed with a green aura, emanating enough magic to make a Maiden's aura seem weak. The weapon trembled in his hand, the mana within roaring and surging for the first time in many, many years.

"...I am no longer a king, Vale is no longer my kingdom…" He closed his eyes and whispered the words softly, the mana in his voice repelling every raindrop nearby. "...But you, filthy creatures, think you can come and attack my people, my students? You are mistaken!"

He snarled, his face twisting into a furious scowl. The Grimm around him immediately turned to face him, while the Nightmares took hurried steps back, retreating from Ozma — The King — and rushing towards other prey…

… Prey that had already been claimed.

His aura ignited around his body, glowing in a green hue that lit up the surrounding darkness. When he opened his eyes, the brown of his irises was surrounded by a darker green flame than his aura, his magic pulsing within his gaze.

The King took a step forward…

'Timeless Breathing - Unique Form: Eternal Dance...'

… Then, the sound barrier broke, and in its wake, dozens of Grimm bodies began to disappear.

A breathing style with only one form, which always had, and always would have, only one form. Created from his many millennia of existence, powered not just by mana and spiritual energy like the human's breathing, but by mana and Aura.

A breathing style that required such fine and exquisite control of Aura that it intertwined with his mana within his veins in a way so subtle that only a being with millennia of existence and Aura training could even dream of creating.

A formless form, crafted to support a formless combat technique, perfected over thousands of past lives, whose memories barely seemed to have form.

A technique that, when compared to the human's Sun Breathing, would not fall short in any aspect, except for raw power, but shared one thing: its user would dance, the first forever, while the second…

"Come! Let's see how many thousands of you I can kill before my Aura breaks!" Ozma shouted, his Aura burning like a bright green flame, containing emotions from so many lives that it drew the Grimm like moths to a fire.

...Until his body was reduced to nothing but dust remnants.

"…And how many more, even after that."

[…]

Qrow swallowed hard. Even with all his experience and years as a Huntsman, seeing a black tide made of tens of thousands of Grimm coming his way was something nothing could have prepared him for.

"I sure hope Jimmy's plan works, or we're screwed," Taiyang grunted beside him.

The two of them, along with other trained Huntsmen and Huntresses, stood in a wavy line formation, just behind hundreds of Atlesian Paladins. The unmanned robots were arranged in a slightly different formation, forming what, from above, looked like triangular teeth.

Behind them, on the walls, at every level, were automatic guns, cannons, and anti-Grimm artillery, as well as any Huntsmen or Huntresses specialized in long-range combat.

"I highly doubt that plan's gonna work." Qrow took a swig from his flask, then stowed it away and grabbed Harbinger, currently in its sword form, in his hand. "Even with Jinn's help, no plan's really going to survive that thing out there."

No one around him disagreed. Kali and Ghira remained silent, their eyes narrowed at the Grimm tide, while their ears stood completely upright.

"…Funny, I didn't think I'd be in this situation again."

"About to be torn apart by Grimm?" Taiyang wasn't the only one who scoffed at Qrow's remark.

"No, fighting by your side. It's almost like the old days at Beacon…" he said with a nostalgic tone. "Though only the testosterone from team STRQ is left now."

"True, true." Qrow chuckled and spun his sword, leaning forward. "Summer would've loved seeing how the girls have grown. I'm sure she would've gotten along with Devas too."

"That's true. Ruby's almost a copy of her, and Yang has that same look when she's mad." Taiyang huffed in amusement, raising his fists, clad in golden gauntlets, in a fighting stance. "I don't even know how she got that. I don't think I ever saw Summer angry before."

The conversation continued for a few more seconds, both men, like everyone else, keeping their eyes on the Grimm charging towards them. Neither Qrow nor Taiyang mentioned Raven.

When the Grimm were less than two hundred meters from the walls, the Atlesian Paladins began marching forward, along with the Atlas ships flying overhead. They advanced and bombarded the Grimm with all their artillery, focusing on the flying ones.

As the Grimm clashed with the Atlesian Paladins, who had already been firing at the creatures the moment they entered range, the guns and snipers on the walls began shooting, prioritizing any flying Grimm that managed to slip past Atlas's aerial barrage. The ground-based Grimm were only secondary targets.

The Huntsmen and Huntresses on the ground charged the moment the main defensive line was partially breached, rushing toward the wounded Grimm that had broken through.

Qrow quickly dispatched an Ursa missing its right front leg and part of its mask with a swing of Harbinger. He then switched his weapon to scythe mode, aiming it at a horse-like Grimm, only to redirect the strike to a nearly dead Beowolf when Taiyang crushed his previous target with two punches.

The Belladonnas weren't far behind, moving in sync whenever they attacked, focusing on finishing off Grimm as quickly as possible before shifting to the next target. Neo giggled, vanishing between the Grimm and stabbing their eyes with her parasol whenever she got the chance. Roman grumbled to himself about how he'd let himself get dragged into this and how he'd cut Neo off from her ice cream if they survived this mess.

None of the Huntsmen retreated, and none of the Huntresses fled. Even when surrounded by Grimm, they only focused on the nearest one, trusting their backs to their comrades, even if they barely knew each other. Whether faunus or human, none of them turned their backs to the black tide.

They feared death, of course, but they'd been trained all their lives, conditioned to fight the Grimm, whether it was one or hundreds. They feared death, but many feared even more letting any Grimm break through, breach the defenses, and enter Vale's walls, where their families, their homes, lay.

Few things motivate a cornered animal more, and the humans and faunus of Remnant were no different. The last few minutes had been chaotic, though revealing, but everyone there was sure of one thing: they couldn't lose… not with the future of the world at stake.

Vale cannot fall! — That thought was shared by more than just a single individual.

A dark-skinned Huntsman wielding an axe cut down a Boarbatusk, ignoring the fact that a Nevermore was about to strike him, had the creature's wing not been severed by the sword of a Huntress with raccoon ears and striped white skin.

Penny saved a Huntress who was about to be attacked from behind by a Death Stalker's stinger before resuming her rampage against the Grimm with her blades, while a hail of bullets passed just meters above her, targeting a group of Griffons.

Qrow didn't even pay attention to his back, nor did Taiyang, both standing back-to-back, cutting down Grimm after Grimm without rest. The rain barely hindered them.

Kali stood crouched like a cat on Ghira's shoulders, shooting nonstop with a pistol in her right hand. When she needed to reload, she switched to the pistol in her left. This continued for ten seconds before she leaped from her husband's shoulders, spotting a Goliath charging toward them.

Ghira growled, tossing aside the mutilated corpse of a Beringel he'd killed with his own claws. His calm demeanor had long since vanished, and he rushed toward the massive elephant Grimm, colliding head-on and gripping its tusks, slowing the creature's momentum.

"Hrrrng!" the faunus grunted with the effort, his feet sliding on the wet ground. "A little help here!"

Before he could even finish the sentence, Kali was already firing at the Grimm's eyes. Not just her, but Roman as well, who shot at the creature's belly, along with everyone nearby and several machine guns on the wall behind them.

The Goliaths may have been one of the most dangerous and strongest species of Grimm, but being the target of so much firepower, the creature barely lasted ten seconds before collapsing to the ground, disintegrating into black dust, just like all the Grimm before it.

"The big guy's strong." Roman cast one last glance at the fallen Goliath and Ghira. No one around knew whom he was referring to.

When a large Griffon, burning and injured, flew toward the thief, Roman eyed it with mild concern. — That thing's big enough to swallow me whole — he thought, smoke escaping his mouth with each breath, even though he wasn't smoking.

Before the Grimm's claws could reach him, Roman activated his Semblance: Aromatic Smoke, a name he'd coined himself. His body, along with his clothes and weapon, turned into a deep red — roman red — smoke that surrounded the Grimm from all sides. Roman reappeared on the creature's back and fired several shots into its neck.

"I love my Semblance," he muttered to himself, only to see a few ice cream-colored words form in front of him.

"It stinks like a bad cigar, and it's a shit Semblance."

"Your opinion has been noted and discarded, Neo." The thief huffed before jumping off the now-dead Grimm and rejoining the fight. "I'm gonna demand a fortune from Atlas and Vale when this mess is over…"

Five minutes later, the first Nightmare entered the battle: a centipede-like creature coiling around a King Taijitu, its sharp legs digging into the Grimm's body as its pincer mouth tore chunks out with each bite.

The second Nightmare had a more animalistic and furry appearance, resembling a mix of a lion and tiger, as it leapt and tore apart a Beowolf with just a few strikes. The third looked like a bird, the fourth a snake, and the fifth resembled an Ursa.

All the Huntsmen and Huntresses were stunned to see 'Grimms' attacking other Grimms. Few failed to notice the difference between the creatures, especially the masks. Only one of them realized where these different Grimms were coming from, recalling the phrase the human had said before jumping off the walls with Ozma:

'The ones wearing deer masks, don't worry about them; they are allies.'

"Son of a bitch! He had his own Grimms?!" Qrow cursed, incredulous.

"He? Who the hell are you talking about? What the fuck are those things?!" Taiyang punched the belly of a Boarbatusk, its weak spot, killing the Grimm before turning to Qrow.

Taiyang wasn't the only one with this curiosity; everyone who had heard Qrow's words had the same question. Their communicators beeped, and before Qrow could explain, General Ironwood's voice sounded in everyone's ears on the battlefield.

"The creatures with the deer masks are called Nightmares, from what I've been told. They are allies and creations of the Deer Huntsman, Devas. Do not engage them, I repeat: they are allies and will not attack you; they are only here to fight the Grimms!"

Even in that situation, already abnormal by everyone's standards, the information they received directly into their ears was so insane and strange that it took a moment for their brains to process it.

"Who exactly do I need to thank for that guy being on our side?" Roman asked aloud, not stopping his fire with Melodic Cudgel.

"Red and a scythe ring a bell?" Letters in the colors of Neapolitan ice cream formed in front of him.

"Oh yeah… Little Red…" Roman nodded at the letters, before looking to the side, where his partner was stabbing a Grimm that was already dead. "Neo, remind me to buy a truckload of cookies later, actually, make it two. I really need to show how grateful I am, after all."

Neo's response was a thumbs-up in agreement before shrugging and leaping into the next Grimm.

The battle raged on… As did the deaths, on both sides...

The Grimms had no strategy, no intelligence, but they had numbers. For every thousand Grimms blocked by the Atlesian Paladins, a hundred broke through, and for every hundred that broke through, ten were relatively unharmed.

Monsters capable of tearing through steel and Aura with their claws, let alone flesh.

The Huntsmen and Huntresses had the stamina to keep fighting for hours on end, even with the constant wear of the endless waves of the black tide. The Atlas foot soldiers, however, did not...

Aside from the Huntsmen and Huntresses, who were the central focus of both the battlefield and the Grimms, Atlas soldiers also fought, both on the ground and in the air. The vast majority were responsible for commanding the bombardment ships, but the ground formation still stood...

Trained and with active Aura — not all of them — they were among the best of the Atlesian military, though not the elite, and nowhere near the level of a trained and experienced Huntsman or Huntress. The Atlas formation on the western flank held, as did the center, where the Hunters were stationed, but not without casualties, and certainly not easily.

No man or woman stopped firing, human or faunus, none of them retreated as the Grimms approached, riddled with injuries. The artillery never ceased its barrage, nor did the close combat fighters responsible for keeping the Grimms at bay.

When one soldier ran out of Aura and was torn apart by the monsters, two others would take their place, ripping apart the body of the one who had killed their comrade with even greater ferocity than the Grimms.

The wounds on their bodies were ignored by the adrenaline and the drugs in their veins, designed to keep them fighting for as long as possible. A cruel strategy. They were expendable, and everyone knew it, but none of them took a step back; none of them allowed the Grimms to gain, even if it was just a meter of territory.

For every injury, they killed ten Grimms; for every dismemberment, twenty; for every death, human or faunus, fifty, a hundred. As many as it took!

The western flank was weaker than the center of the defense. They had no Huntsmen or Huntresses, only soldiers and machines. The best, but not the best...

... The only way the defense would fall was when there were no living souls left to defend it!

The Grimms could tear through steel with their claws — Aura — they only had flesh to offer... And that was enough.

The battle continued...

[...]---[...]

Ozma is, by far, my favorite male character in RWBY. I was really PISSED off by how he was treated in the show. Even though he's old—though not that old, considering he's been in this body for about 50 years—he should have been able to wipe the floor with Cinder with immense ease. Maiden or Half-Maiden, it really doesn't matter; even if he was caught off guard, there's no way he should have been killed like that.

What I did here was simply bring forth what it means to have "Thousands of lives and tens of millions of battles." Except for Salem, due to her raw power, and Devas, because of what he is, Ozma is invincible in Remnant.

As for his breathing style: It's basically the culmination of what he represents, of what he has lived through. "Timeless Breathing" embodies Ozma; it is something that transcends time, a breath that wanders through a time that seems to have no meaning. That's why the breathing style has a unique form.

To give better context: Timeless Breathing is to Ozma what Sun Breathing is to Yoriichi Tsugikuni. Only Ozma can use it, just as only Yoriichi could use Sun Breathing. Of course, there's an exception, but that's perhaps something for the future.

Lastly: The war. I want to represent what I feel the Grimm would be like to the Huntsmen and Huntresses, for the soldiers and for the civilians. The POV of Devas may have muddled things a bit, given that he treats the Grimm as nothing, while for the overwhelming majority, they are monsters that haunt their nightmares.

I won't drag this out too much; I've already written too much here. Unfortunately, I can't give a date for the next chapter since it's massive, and I'm reworking the parts I didn't like, but it should be out soon.

Good night to everyone, and happy reading!

PS: I was just thinking... fighting against Devas is pretty fucking tough. Cinder went insane, and the guy wasn't even there.