We Meet Again-My Old Foe

CLAK

…

KLACK.

SLIDE SLIDE

KLACK

…

CLAK

"Glynda...is this-"

CLACK

"Nessessary?"

CLACK.

"But of course.", she grabbed the chair by the backrest again, sliding it across a long step. "How else would we get to my office?"

The restrained headmaster gave her a very stern look. "The elevator is right there!"

"Ohhhhh.", she said not stopping as she slid the chair all the way to the edge of the step.

"Are we going to use-"

"Nope.", she said popping the P.

"You're enjoying this aren't you.", the chair suddenly stopped.

"Professor Ozpin, in my many years teaching at this establishment, I have always had the utmost trust and respect in both you, and your station.", Ozpin looked relieved, she could see a small smile creeping onto the elder gentleman's face.

"-Just not today.", she smiled, poking him in the chest with her riding crop.

It was only half way through the tilt that he realized there were quite a number of steps between him and the next landing. Quite a lot of steps...un-carpeted...solid marble...steps...

"Glynda you won't da-!"

Much clattering was heard in the halls of beacon that day. Such that it would later become known as the day they shall all remember, as the day to remember never to remind Goodwich or Ozpin of-EVER.

However that date event naming would have to wait, as a second contender for the annual event holiday naming was coming to pass not too far away. A day of hypocrisy...and romance...and...general...derping, if that can be accepted as a word.

"GET BACK HERE JAUNE ARC!", Jaune, the genius that he is, choose not to heed her demands, and instead opted for a brisk sprint in the opposite direction. Seeing as she was waving Myrtenaster around like bat, chucking freeze dust everywhere like it was no one's business. Well, lets be real here, it was her business.

"Weiss- Snow Angel we can talk about this!", a jagged shard of ice sliced through the air impaling a defenseless cactus, nailing it to the far wall. And the running continues.

"Weiss! Jaune! Running in the halls is against the rules!", Ruby shook her fist as she dashed after them.

"We really don't need to hear that coming from you Rubes.", following Ruby as they dashed after the White Knight and Ice Queen.

"Dang, Loverboy seems to be pretty good at this.", Yang was honestly impressed, in a strange, horrified way- seeing Jaune avoiding likely very lethal shards intended on skewering him alive.

"Where's Blake and everyone else?", Ruby said.

"Uhhh", she glanced back at the empty silent hallway. A tumbleweed casually strolling across the isle. "No idea."

"Weiss I know your upset-!", an icicle shot up from the floor just missed his groin.

"Keep talking Arc. It will make it all more satisfying when I use your frozen corpse for a coffee table!"

"That would be weird...wouldn't it? I mean, if we had a coffee table, and it was Jaune, where would we put it?", Ruby mused.

"Ruby. No.", she shuddered at the thought, on top of things, if it were in the dorm, they'd have to change in front of it...and the train of thought stopped there. There will be no furniture of Jaune, or any other person, allowed in their room. Thus spoketh Xiao- Long. "Just...No."

Shiiinggggggg

"Okay. This may be bad." they skidded to a halt. Jaune had almost made it too, she had caught him right at the double doors into the courtyard.

Jaune lay a single leg encased in ice, the frozen queen looming over her catch like some demented velociraptor.

"AHAHAHAHA", she cackled, running her palms over her hands villainously. "In me power"

Ooooolalalalalalala

"We have to-",The door to the courtyard, exploded open, the hinges screeching in protest as they were forced apart by strong hooves.

A war horse barged forwared., it kneigh'd as it reared up, a mighty display of its strength, and astride it were two riders.

Weiss froze, a look of befuddlement crossed her features, as if in askance of why, as she stared onto the black beauty that-

"-Llalalalala-", came the war cry and the thundering of hooves.

Plink.

-and she promptly flew into Ruby's arms.

"-and to Weiss we bequeath a skillet to the head!", said the queen of the castle.

"Is that Phyrra? Nora?", cradling the unconscious Weiss that had fallen into her arms.

"That's a pony!", Yang noted, walking over to pet the steed.

They dismounted, stroking the mighty war-steed's mane.

"My thanks friend, we shall remember your well!", Phyrra stroked his mane. As if in understanding, the war horse reared up with a mighty kneeigh, and galloped back beyond the large wooden doors. Much to Yang's displeasure..

"Awh...he got away...", she slumped in mock defeat.

"I'm sure you can find him in the stables later.", Phyrra said.

"We have...stables?!", Yang brightened.

"Little help, please."

Jaune looked rather miffed. Being stuck on the floor, one leg encased in ice from the knee down. Of course, this gave him the optimal view angle to peer into the delights which house themselves beneath the satin fold of both Phyrra, Weiss and Ruby's combat equipment-Not that Phyrra minded-but being the gentleman that he was was turning his attention to the far end of the hall... She of course could not speak for Ruby, who was backing off rather slowly along with a snoozing Weiss.

Then the light began to dim, and a low rumble steadily grew louder.

[=]

The duty of a King is to one's people. Therefore the King stands alone.

Whether it is a dispute between nobles, or the slaughter of an entire village to purge infection from the lands. The mantle of responsibility shouldered by those who are worthy of the distinction of King do not allow them the luxury of human feelings.

"You are worried.",the words of a King is akin to truth.

Dainty fingers traced the line of his cheek, trailing down across his collarbone, and to the collar of the gleaming appendage that had taken the place of his lost arm.

Then a loud groaning emanated from her innards, prompting them both to look down at her stomach.

"and you require sustenance", she nodded, a light reddening tinging her cheeks.

He lifted her into a bridal carry, the fabric of her unarmored battledress pressed flush to his chiseled physique; as they rose from the golden throne.

He had never needed another friend. Enkidu had brought him joy beyond imagining, and his passing had brought him grief beyond despair. He would never again need another friend. He only needed Enkidu, the one that had tried to stop him, from bedding another's bride. Equals, he could not say for sure. Not now, not anymore. He began to walk with every intention to satisfy his bride, the one treasure he could not posses, and for that reason amongst others, was his most prized acquisition.

Her fingertips were cool. A testament to the efficiency of the Vimmana's new Arcadian construction. She traced the lines of red that arranged themselves over his chest-his divine heritage- and then the long scar that streaked across his torso-proof of his mortality- the rough scar tissue grating against the pads of her fingers. Shirou.

"Laid low, have been the warriors of old.", she said wistfully. Letting her hand linger over his heart.

"Humbled by mere mortals...", he frowned.

He was certain there was nothing "mere" about the mortal that had bested him. However, he was certain that it was the will of the world that the boy carried with him. In all his hypocrisy and all of his faults. The flagrant excess that had filled the garden. The filth that had accumulated in his absence. The purposeless masses that dotted the globe. He could lament all he liked, but the world had irrevocably changed, and he, and the heroes that came after him, no longer had a place in it. Saddening still was that this world was little different.

"This world has no shortage of Heroes.", he said. "and has little need of Kings."

She nodded but said nothing.

The peoples of this world had purpose, potential, and willingness- but these admirable traits came at the cost of their civilizations, past, and lives present.

Magecraft, had died.

To be more precise. It had never lived here as it had in the other worlds. The power to create mysteries, phantasms of the highest caliber existed within each individual. This aura fueled the internalized world's of each individual's semblance. Granting them the power to impose their will upon the world-this Remnant. The specifics were alien to him. Even he dared not to understand further the workings of this new system, lest he lament the old and scorn the new further.

It was as though the Age of Gods had never ended, but he knew, that if such a time had ever passed in this world whatever divinities lived and carved their etchings into this land, they had long been forgotten. He could not hear them, nor did he feel his prayers reach them, yet the essence of divinity saturated the very air they breathed.

This was an Age of Heroes.

It is no wonder that the throne is so empty.

A low table rose from the golden floor to meet them. It was not made of gold-rather, it was made from a fine ebony wood found in the deserts native to their new lands. The skirt it wore was a deep burgundy- a kotatsu befitting kings.

He set her down upon a cushion.

"So, what troubles the King?", Arturia said.

"It troubles me that you must ask.", he said, giving her a small smile.

"Then the boy...", she said.

"Ye wayward son.", the air hummed. Gold shimmered as glorious treasures emerged forth from the vault.

"Do not ridicule the way my people spoke.", she pouted. "I felt it would sound more...kingly."

"The letter was engraved onto solid gold tablets cast in the original casting clay of Babylon.", he raised a brow. "How much more 'kingly' did you intend to make it?"

"Just because it is made of gold does not immediately make it kingly!", she protested.

"Your holy blade, is laden with gold, and glows in a brilliant gold as it annihilates those foolish enough to incur your wrath.", he countered. "You are also a king. Therefore. Gold is Kingly."

The words of a King are Law.

She flicked his forehead.

His head lolled back into its usual position, a light red mark between his eyes.

"There are many 'kingly' colors, of which gold is but one.", she liked her blues too.

Rubbing his injury, the former King of Heroes, current CEO of Golden Rule, willed forth the contents of his treasury.

With practiced grace the Original Golden Teapot of Babylon descended forth onto a small decorative mat, steam wafting forth from its spout.

Without uttering a word she passed him a pair of chopsticks, and he poured a generous amount of water into the golden containers-up until the fill line.

The sealed the lids, leaving the chopsticks at the edge of the golden cups to hold down the tab.

"Thank you for the meal.", they spoke aloud.

They broke their chopsticks, opened the instant noodles, and then everything faded to white as the Vimmana exploded.

[=]

Ozpin continued to stare at the ceiling with a blank expression. He considered changing the lamps that hung over the archways once, and now regretted not going through with it sooner. He had lost count of how many flights of stairs he had slid down. The novel fear it had initially elicited having lost its effect.

Suddenly the chair slid to a halt. He craned his head to the side to note that they were before the single door of Glynda's office- a small nameplate with her name and title in imposing font were present at eye level. The windows that cradled the doorway a were simple rectangles, with the opaque plastic blinds drawn up.

"Finally!", Glynda sounded relieved. "Now to end this madness. Honestly, headmaster, all of our problems would be solved, if we just calmly go about our business with a cool head and clear goals.

She fumbled about, sheathing her riding crop on her boot. Left pocket, right pocket, nope. Right boot strap...Cleavage...nope.

"Where did I put those blasted keys?", amidst her fumbling, Ozpin noted something peculiar. Namely the dimming of the room. A shadow began to creep up the blind left of the door. He noted that the opposite blind was also assailed by a growing shadow.

"Ah, Glynda…, he shook his binds, noting that, despite being rearranged for his rather unsavory transport, were now slightly tighter than he remembered.

"Good thing I keep a spare key in one of the potted plants.", she reached over to the potted plant just beneath the window.

"Glynda I really think you should untie me", before he could say more, she had retrieved the key.

"There's no rush professor, after all this is punishment as well.", she paid him no heed. "Honestly I don't understand how you manage without me. I know we've been friends since our academy days, but...you could have at least asked me out to a cup of coffee."

"You hate coffee! And where is this coming from all of a sudden?!", he could hear the soft rumble of burning wreckage.

"All I'm saying is that I wouldn't have been opposed to some 'fostering of workplace relations' coming from you.", Ozpin would later swear it was a hallucination, but at that precise moment he could barely make out a slightest tinge of pink of the otherwise placid goodwitch's features. Were it not for the loud pops in the distance he probably could have committed more of that image to memory.

"Honestly, one coffee soaked blouse later and I end up as the headmistress.", she finally put the key into the door.

Plaster and drywall exploded everywhere, the windows shattered, and all manner of priceless vials flew through the now empty window frames.

"Glynda.", before he could say another word, she opened the door. Shut the door, found an upturned, serviceable chair, set it by the potted plant, and plopped down into the seat-sending more dust into the room.

She reached into the potted plant and brought out a bottle of strawberry brandy. Plunging her office key into the cork, she opened the bottle.

"I don-", she shushed him with her riding crop.

"No words. I need this now.", without a word, she dumped the coffee out of his mug, and sloshed a generous portion of the red liquid into the container- much to his dismay.

With a flick of her magical riding crop, the liquids chilled. Ozpin could feel ice crystals forming in his mug, While it could be enjoyed deiced, Glynda much preferred it better this way.

"This is going to be a long day.", Glynda didn't reply to that, she merely took longer sips.

[=]

Amongst the fire and golden wreckage they stood...befuddled. In the face of Beacon tower, from the looks of things roughly around the area of Goodwitch's office, a burning GOLDEN airship was nose deep into the tower's innards.

"Well...that's a thing.", Yang noted.

Then anguished wails echoed through the halls of Beacon.

A/N: I'ts been a while. I'm sorry.