So. Here we are finally. The last chapter of volume 3. I can't believe we have finally reached here.

Chaos is the Prize Chapter 77

"That's the price of dealing with Chaos. You never have the upper hand, even when you think you do."

...

"That's why it's a tragedy. He was deceived. All Chaos characters are, and the Daemon Primarchs most of all. They can't see it. Even most of their followers can't see it. But we can."

-Aaron Dembski-Bowden

"I do not want this. I have served with loyalty and honor... Throw... my ashes into the void. Do... not... entomb me..."

-Malcharion of the Night Lords

I was not there. I was not there, the day the witch slew Nox.

Sangur was sitting in the dark, his weapons lying by his side. His slightly hunched shoulders directed his face and eyes to stare at nothingness. He just sat there thinking, immobile but for the occasional twitch caused by the nails, and the only accompanying sound his own breathing and heartbeat.

Nox was dead. Nox was dead. He was alone.

Sangur had already vented out his physical frustration by slaughtering Grimm above the Terran catacombs, and he had smashed apart plenty of inanimate objects as well after their return. Now all that was left was the quiet pain, one that no violence could sate.

Sangur did not know how long he had been sitting in the dim and empty chamber, but at the end his solitude was broken by the door of the chamber opening. Sangur lifted his gaze to focus on the Venatore that entered.

"Are you coming out yet?" Orchid asked as he stepped into the room and stopped a good distance from Sangur.

Samgur let out a silent grunt and reached for his weapons. He slowly stood up from his seat and flexed his arms. His fingers moved to the triggers of his axes, ready to gun them should the intention of Orchid turn out to be to settle their scores once and for all, like the two of them had talked that night in the docks a long time ago. Orchid however kept his sword from his hands.

"If you are done sulking, maybe we can talk about what comes next," The Legionnaire of the foul IIIrd Legion spoke with a calm tone.

"Comes next?" Sangur asked. "Comes next?!" he repeated with some agitation and frustration. "Nox is dead. Azuhrius is dead. What is there to do for us?"

"Yes, exactly," Orchid said with a nod. "They are dead. The blood of our squad has been spilled…" Orchid tilted his head and took a slow step closer. "Tell me, Sangur...what do we do to those who spill our blood? What do we do in such situation?" Sangur had no reply, so Orchid continued. "We retaliate…"

Sangur felt like something had started to move in his head again. Like the disorder of the situation was giving way to something new, like there was a motion forward. He could feel a sense of purpose flooding him again, little by little.

"Yes…" Sangur said. "Of course." What had he been thinking? Now that Orchid had said it out loud, it was the obvious thing. It was the obvious course of action. Vengeance.

The two of them looked at each other. An understanding was formed in their locked gazes.

"I don't… I don't know who…" Sangur said after a while.

"Perhaps our prisoner in the dungeons can help with a name," Orchid suggested. "At least point you in the direction of the answer."

"Yes. Yes." Sangur said. He took a step forward with restored purpose and headed for the door behind Orchid. It felt good to have been given a direction again. Sangur stepped out and headed towards the dungeons, a feeling of vengeance burning in his reignited heart.

The main Apothecarium was full, and so were many of the secondary chambers as well. Beds and more makeshift resting places were filling that space, and on those beds rested the new blood of the Legions. The chambers were echoing with the sounds of many young boys. Some were crying, some were screaming in pain. Others were quiet, some temporarily, some permanently.

None of them liked it there. None of them had chosen to be there. There were so many of them, more than in any batch in ages. The Hydra operatives had managed to capture 218 children during the Vale operation. Some of them would not survive the implantation as always, but even with that taken into consideration, the numbers were exceptionally great.

The genseed had been implanted to most already. The blood of the Primarchs, that incredible venom, was flowing in their veins now and working to elevate them. In a couple of months, there would be a huge load of stable Neophytes. In 7 years, there would be ranks of battle-ready Venatore Legionnaires.

Chief Apothecary Ceruleon stood looking over his realm of Apothecarium. Once, such a sight would have left him beyond pleased. Now, the success of their victory was burdened by the loss to him and his Legion had suffered.

My visions lied.

The notion had become an unrelenting burden to Ceruleon ever since he had seen the corpse of his brother. Now when he slept, he thought he could feel the demonic laughter at the edges of his dreams. He had been led to do something he could never make up for. It would hunt him for the rest of his life. He had only seen one vision after their return to Terra, one last vision that had shown him the moment it had all gone astray, and he would never try to see another vision again. Never again.

Ceruleon watched as slaves and Hydra Network operatives walked among the children. Kaltrina was nowhere to be seen. Miusta was there. His loyal Miusta. She would look after things in the coming months.

As Ceruleon looked at the great medical process taking place before him, as he watched the children getting torn down and being built up as something new and powerful, he was reminded of something. Something that had been said by a melancholic Apothecary who had mentored Ceruleon during the implantation of the last batch. "Break them. Break them as you have been broken."

The door of the Apothecary opened. Ceruleon could hear footsteps from behind him, but he did not turn around. The steps stopped right behind Ceruleon, and still, he did not turn. A voice called out to his back.

"I see things seem to be going well with the implantation," the voice of Smurfus spoke.

Ceruleon said nothing. He did not turn around, nor did he reply. He would have remained still even if Smurfus had come to take care of him. He would have accepted it if Smurfus now were to aim the barrel of his weapon at Ceruleon to blow open the back of his skull. If Smurfus wanted him gone, he did not really have a fighting chance, now that the Ultramarine had been gifted an unexpected and undeserved victory over Azuhrius without having to lift a finger.

"How many do we have?" Smurfus asked. "How many new recruits? I hear it was a lot but not the exact number,"

"We brought 198 with us from Vale," Ceruleon gave as an answer. "That is the number without early fatalities yet counted in."

"Whoah, that is indeed a lot," Smurfus said with satisfaction evident in his voice. That makes… almost ten per Legion. The God dedicated Legions can sort out who gets the short end among themselves." Smurfus paused, and Ceruleon could feel the Venatore's axe touch his shoulder guard as he slightly adjusted position. "You… you are not Azuhrius, are you?" Smurfus asked after a moment.

Ceruleon could not stop a bitter smile from forming on his face. "No, I am not. Sorry to disappoint you, but there is no such scheme, there is no such trick. No great deception. Azuhrius is dead."

"...Alright," Smurfus said with a satisfied tone after a while. "Well, keep up the good work with the implantation, Chief Apothecary…"

"I will," Ceruleon replied emotionlessly. Smurfus turned and left the Apothecarium the same way he had come. Ceruleon kept on looking over the Legionnaires in the making a while longer. After some time he received a writing pad from one of the slaves. After going over the notes he gave out some instructions and visited a couple of the boys on the beds to check on them. When that was all done, he put aside those new recruits from his mind for a while and headed for a secluded corner of the chamber where a corridor opened up. He had a certain matter to attend to.

A Neophyte waited for Ceruleon behind several locked doors. A young warrior of the Legions, but not of the batch currently under knives, nor of the previous one. This young Alpha Legionnaire was a special case, one that had been worked on by Ceruleon in secret, carefully behind the backs of other Legions.

The Neophyte rose up to meet Cerulean when the Apothecary entered the chamber. He had been reading in the corner of the room, where he had a makeshift bed. The Neophyte had not left this room since Ceruleon had brought the boy from Vale in the summer. He could not risk other Legionnaires noticing that the Alpha Legion Neophytes had suddenly grown in numbers by one. The Neophyte stood before Ceruleon, waiting for the older Venatore to speak.

For a moment, Ceruleon wondered if he should pull out his pistol and put a bullet through the Neophyte's head. It was his visions, those visions that had just proven to be deceitful, that had resulted in him seeking out the boy and elevating him into the Legion. Now he wondered if he should eliminate this Neophyte, for he wished never to be manipulated by the Warp as he had been with the Vale operation. Maybe he should not take the risk.

In the end, Ceruleon did not pull out his weapon.

"I have told about you to your Neophyte brothers," Ceruleon spoke. "They will come and get you when the time is right when you will be able to slip into the ranks of the recruits currently under implantation. It will be like you were created in this batch, just like we planned. Your older brothers will look after you from now on."

"It sounds like… you are speaking like you are going to leave?" the Neophyte spoke. "Are you leaving this place, brother?"

"Yes. I am," Ceruleon said with an emotionless voice. "I have something... I need to do. I don't know when I am coming back. Do not count on my return for any future plans."

"I… see." the Neophyte replied.

Ceruleon stood there watching the young Neophyte for a moment longer. Then he turned around. "That is all. I am leaving soon. We might not see each other anymore." Cerulean walked out of the door and turned to lock it. "Hydra Dominatus."

"Hydra Dominatus," the Neophyte repeated before the door closed.

Ceruleon left the Neophyte behind. After a moment of putting some things in order regarding the implantations, he found himself by a sink in the corner of the Apothecarium, staring at the cracked mirror on the wall above it.

"There is something I need to do…" he repeated quietly to himself. The scene flashed in his mind again. The one from his vision. His last vision, that he had seen after his return to Terra. Of Azuhrius raising his hand towards his assailant, of him speaking words Cerulean could not hear. He saw Azuhrius's hand move to his equipment belt, and in a last move of desperation pull out something important, something irreplaceable. A vial of blood. Azuhrius had never managed to put that vial to use before his assailant struck him down. And as he laid there dying, Ceruleon could clearly see the silver-haired boy pick up the scroll from Azuhrius. As well as the blood vial.

Why the boy who had killed Azuhrius had taken the vial, Cerulean could only guess, but it did not matter. The only thing that mattered was that the boy had taken the vial. That priceless vial. Cerulean latched on to that idea, of the blood container being taken. He coiled around the notion like a serpent, hanging onto it like it was the only thing that mattered anymore. Maybe he had a need to think like that.

Ceruleon opened his mouth. In the reflection of the mirror, he could see his own inverted face. He opened his mouth and could clearly see the bluish-gray tongue that sneaked from beyond his teeth, long and forked like that of a serpent. He looked at his mutated tongue for a couple of seconds, allowing it to hang from his mouth before he pulled it back and closed his mouth and turned away from the mirror.

He still had something to do. He would get that blood back.

A bright light blinded him when he woke up. He squinted his eyes and tried to turn from the light. He tried to bring his arm to cover his eyes. But he could not. Only thing he could manage was a faint movement of his neck.

"Where… where am I?" Tsagaan asked with a dry voice.

"Terra," came the reply from somewhere near. Tsagaan could hear metallic sounds as somethings were moved. He tried to move his head, but he could not manage to turn towards the voice. He found he was laying on a bed of some sort, and that he had been tied to it. Not that he could have moved even if he had wanted. He could not feel his legs. He could not feel his arms. He could not move. His broken body did not answer him at all.

"You were paralyzed from the neck down," came the same voice, and Chromos of the Iron Warrior moved to Tsagaan's view, holding some tools in his arms. Tsagaan made a note of one of the Neophyte's arms was no longer flesh and bone, but a bulky metallic augmetic arm. With hazard stripes at one part nonetheless. "Ceruleon examined you. There is nothing to be done about it."

"I see…" Tsagaan said. The reality of the situation started to slowly become clear to him. He had been wounded in Vale. They had broken his body. He was done. He was at the end of the line. His wars were over. The pain and sadness of it all crushed his spirit. A single tear fell down from the corner of his eye. "So… that was it, then. It's over for me…"

"It may not be all lost yet," Chromos spoke from the edges of Tsagaan's vision where he was working with something. "Ceruleon gave me one of the stolen Atlesian Paladins. I am currently running some heavy modifications on it. There is still much work to do, and I have many issues I need to solve, but I think I can get it to work. I can make it so we can implant one of our sarcophaguses in it and make it function."

"What?" Tsagaan asked.

"Yes. I hope to make it so that a warrior who is no longer able to fight, one broken in the body beyond repair, could pilot the war machine. Someone like you. It's not what we had back in the days, but it should do. So don't give up yet, Tsagaan. I might get this to work for you yet. And if I get this to work with you, I might be able to make it work with others!" Tasgaan could tell the last point was more important t Chromos than Tsagaan's survival.

A bolt of fear suddenly struck through Tsagaan; a brief moment of absolute terror at the sound of those words. Chromos was suggesting… entombing him on such a machine of war.

"You… you would cage me inside such a tormenting prison of cold metal?" Tsagaan said with fear crackling in his voice. "You would… seal me inside such a hollow soulless machine vessel… away from freedom and all things that make life worth living? Anchor my spirit to this world inside a body not of good and honest flesh and blood, but a body that is a spiritless and crude creation of man?"

"Well way to be overdramatic about it," Chromos replied. "But yes. You would live thanks to me and my machine. You should be thankful."

"Why would I?" Tsagaan said. He closed his eyes and pulled himself together as much as he could. "No…"

"What?" Chromos asked as he spun around.

"No." Tsagaan repeated. "I don't want such a miserable shadow of a life. I am not so desperate to escape my fate as to resort to that. To me, to my legion… such a fate is worse than death…" Tsagaan opened his eyes and locked them with Chromos. "So… my choice… is no. Do not do such a thing to me. Let me die."

"You…" Chromos said with confusion. "You would… rather die than live on? Are you not… do you not care what happens to you once the Warp takes you?"

"Of course I do…" Tsagaan replied. "And I choose it anyway. Please. Let me die..."

Chromos stood immobile for a long while, as he if could not comprehend such a choice. But if he had been able to comprehend, he would not have been an Iron Warrior. "As you wish…" he finally said. He moved to next to Tsagaan's bed and handled some medical items there.

Soon Tsagaan could feel his conscience grow sluggish. The world darkened around him. His heavy eyelids fell shut. He took one more half measured breath, and then he welcomed the dark.

Orchid entered the hall of the fallen. As he walked forward, his eyes took in thousands of plates on the walls, each marked with a fallen son of the Legions. There were so many of them. And more were being added right that moment.

Siena was sitting halfway across the long hall. The slave had a basked next to her with some metal plates, and her eyes were using tools to etch letters into them. Orchid could already see the spot behind the old woman, the empty space on the wall where new plates could be raised to.

Orchid stepped in front of the woman. Siena looked up at him and then bowed her head again with respect. "Lord Orchid. As you can see I am in the middle of adding the names of the recent fallen among the old ones."

"I see," Orchid said with a slightly uncaring voice. The slave lowered her head and kept on working on the plate in her hands. Orchid noticed a single finished plate next to the woman. The name of the dead Legionnaire was written at the top of the plate. Nox Deimos, it read. And under it, there were a miserable few lines about what he had accomplished in life. So few lines.

Orchid moved his gaze to the plate in the woman's hands. "Is that the plate of Azuhrius?" Orchid asked the woman. She lifted her head again. Orchid could clearly see half of the name already written on the plate. "Yes, it is, lord."

Orchid crouched down before the woman and reached out his hand. "Give it to me," he said, surprising the woman. Orchid grabbed a tool from the woman's side. "I will craft it."

"Give me the name," Sangur told her.

She looked up from where she was sprawled against the wall. The chains holding her were weighing her down, and she felt weak, so unbelievably weak. Worst feeling was the back of her was constantly aching from the spot where a rune decorated chain had been somehow fused to the back of her skull. It drained her. It made her worn and withered.

"Sangur…" she whispered with a weak voice. "Please…" she pleaded once again.

Sangur's face was uncaring. "Name!"

She reached out to the tied together pile of papers Sangur had brought her. With weak fingers she started going over them, looking at the printed pictures of people and their names. She knew some of them. She had seen many of them during the tournament. Just like she had seen her.

She kept going through the pages, flipping them over once she had scanned the pictures. Sangur loomed over her, his hands resting over his chest expectantly. Finally, after many faces, she found the face she was looking for. She found the new Fall Maiden.

"Her," she let out and looked up to Sangur. She pointed at the picture on the page, and the name under it. "It's her. Cinder Fall."

Sangur roughly picked up the page from her hands, discarding all other pages carelessly to the ground. "Cinder Fall…" Sangur growled. She could see his eyes flare with a flash of anger. "You are sure? She killed him?"

"I am sure…" she replied.

Sangur nodded and turned around. As he started walking away, she lifted her hand to reach after him. "Sangur… please… please…" she was crying now. This place was horrible. She hated it here. She wanted to go home. "Please…"

Sangur glanced over his shoulder as he reached the door at the far side of the large dungeon chamber. "You had the chance to die in battle," he said to her coldly. "You did not, and thus you are now at the mercy of those who reign here. Such is the fate of the vanquished."

Sangur walked through the door, leaving chained Pyrrha Nikos to cry alone in the dark.

Sangur entered the cockpit of the Night Reaver. He had not been on board in a long while; ever since they had returned from Vale. Now, however, the time had come to put the aircraft to use again. Soon they would move out again. They had an objective. They had a purpose. He had a purpose.

Sangur looked over the controls, and then he looked over some other parts of the cockpit. Eventually, his hand found its way to a small, almost unnoticeable compartment. When he opened, he found it contained a device of some sort. With mild curiosity, he pulled the device so he could observe it. It looked like a camera of some sort.

After a moment of curious tinkering, Sangur managed to turn the device on, and then to play a file that had been recorded on it. The screen was broken, but the sound worked perfectly.

"-They come," came the voice of Venatore. A Venatore Sangur knew was dead.

"-There are only few of them. Another half a minute and they are right where we want them, completely at our mercy," another familiar voice, another dead voice.

"-Not that we have any of that for them. Our knives will work their flesh sooooon…."

"-What are you doing with that? Put that thing away, we kill soon. We will fight till their wills are broken." A voice Sangur did not expect to hear ever again. Nox's voice. Echoing from beyond the grave to Sangur.

"-Blood for the Blood God!"

"-Oh shit, he is charging already! Our cover is gone, engage engage!"

The recording came to an end. Sangur sat silently in the cockpit, wallowing in the moment left behind by those voices of the dead. Then he replayd the the record.

"-They come."

Tsagaan opened his eyes. He was feeling strange all over. His eyes… his eyes did not seem to work properly, he was seeing strangely. He tried to move, but he could not. His paralyzed body remained totally still. He could vaguely tell that his head was restrained very firmly. He felt cold. He felt claustrophobic. He felt unnatural. He felt wrong. Extremely wrong.

"What…?" he spoke. The sound that echoed out had a mechanic tone to it. Like it was processed through a vox caster. "What?" he asked again. He could sense information. His brain was getting strange input. He tried to focus, tried to make sense of what was going on. Was he not dead? How was he alive? What was going on? Chromos?

He tried to move again. This time as he put more purpose to it, he received strange feedback from something, as if something had clicked into place. And now he could move. He did not understand how, but he was moving.

Tsagaan was standing, he realized. He was standing in a chamber. A forge chamber of some sort it seemed. There were machines and tools around, both intact and broken. He moved again. He took a step. He could feel the weight of it. He took another. Then a third. Then he moved his arms. He brought them before him and beheld them.

What he saw through a machine transferred image was two huge arms of cold metal. He twisted his fingers, and then cycled his wrists.

"What…" Tsagaan said with a crackling voice. "Why...?" then it all started to come together for him. The realization flooded his broken body, and with it came the absolute horror. The despair. The anger. Then fury.

"No…" the large Paladin walker that was Tsagaan spoke through its vox. "NO!" he cried out in outrage. "NO! CHROMOS! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!? CHROMOS! CHROMOOOOOOS!"

Tsagaan's new metal body started stomping around clumsily. His arms flailed and spasmed with the pain of the situation filling him. "I… I told you to let me die… I TOLD YOU TO LET ME DIE! I SAID IT CLEARLY! I TOLD YOU TO KILL ME! YOU SHOULD HAVE KILLED ME!"

Tsagaan's cold and inhuman tomb of a body started rampaging around the chamber. He crushed workstations and smashed machines to wreckage. He punched and clawed at the walls, and he roared his miserable machine cries. He took out his fury on his surroundings, and soon the chamber was little more than a ruined mess.

"I WILL KILL YOU CHROMOS!" Tsagaan howled with hate and pain from the top of his lungs and vox speakers. "I WILL YOU KILL YOU! YOU WILL DIE! DIE... LIKE I SHOULD HAVE!"

The loading of the airship was done. Sangur watched Ceruleon walked up the ramp into the craft and head for the cockpit to run pre-takeoff checks. Orchid was still loitering on the other end of the area they used as an airship dock. Sangur turned his gaze and looked at the setting sun that was coating the ruins of Terra in burning orange light. Hopefully next time, if there was a next time for Sangur seeing this view, it would be after Nox had been avenged.

Someone came up the stairs leading down behind Sangur, and he turned at the sound of the footsteps. Smurfus Gladius was striding up the stairs, and he stopped across from Sangur, his ever-present axe loosely held on his shoulder.

"So it's true then?" Smurfus asked with a hint of surprise in his voice. "You three are leaving."

"That's right," Sangur replied with a grunt.

"But… why? We have so much to do around Terra. Recruits and equipment manufacturing and stuff. Why leave now?" Smurfus tried.

"The blood of our squad has been spilled," Sangur gave as an answer. "And we are going out to return the favour.."

"So it's for some bloody vendetta?"

"Exactly," Sangur replied.

Orchid walked from where he had been loitering and proceeded to ascend the ramp of the aircraft. Ceruleon started the engine, and the thrusters came alive.

"But… there is so much more you could do here," Smurfus said, but Sangur was not particularly interested in his offers anymore than he had been the last time. "You have Legion recruits coming along. New brothers for your Legion. You could stay behind to raise them, to train them, to lead them. You would be the leader, they would all look up to you and you could in time lead them to war."

The way Smurfus said it all did not leave much doubt that he was hoping to have good relations with those up and coming World Eaters. He hoped wield their power through Sangur. "So would it not be a good idea to stay and watch over those new brethren of yours?"

"I had a brother," Sangur said as he turned his back to Smurfus and headed for the ramp of the Night Reaver. "His name was Nox Deimos."

"Religion and gods and beliefs - for me, it all comes down to your brother. And your brother might be the brother in your family, or it might be the guy next to you in the foxhole - it's about human connections."

-Eric Kripke

And that's it. That is the end of Volume 3. The ending songs for this volume are "My Funeral" by Dope, "Failure" by Breaking Benjamin and "This Venom" by Disturbed.

Due to recent reviews, this story is now 4th most reviewed RWBYx40k story on this site. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story, it means a lot to me.

Now then, this means this story is going to go on a hiatus. Since I think there is only one more volume for this story, (The time in RWBY volumes after V3 can be done in a single Volume of Chaos is the Prize, we are likely to finish around 100 chapters) and I would really like tie the end of this story a bit with the canon series, I need to see more where the main series is going before I can finish this story. Though if the volumes are going at the pace they are, that might take a long time. We might be looking at more than 3 Volumes of RWBY in the future. I will have to follow the situation. You can expect that this story won't continue at least until RWBY volume 8 finishes. (pls don't abandon me despite the long wait)

In the meantime, I see if I will work on something else. I have been reading a lot of Hunger Games SYOT fanfics lately. Do tell me, would any of you be interested if I wrote a Hunger Games SYOT story? SYOT stands for a Send You Original Tributes, meaning the tributes who fight to the death in the hunger games would be OC characters submitted by readers. I am giving some serious thought to this idea, though I have not decided yet, so tell me if you would be interested in reading and submitting to such a story.

Leave a review, and have a nice day.