"Why am I not surprised?" His study smelled of stale coffee and worn paper, signs of a Headmaster who'd sacrificed many a sleepless night to his work. He and his trusted associate had landed near Beacon Tower with the hope of some time to decompress. However, the scruffy man stuffed in a pristine uniform showed no signs of allowing such pleasentries.

"Good evening, General. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Ozpin sighed, moving closer to his desk, where the immovable General Ironwood stood with arms crossed. He growled deeply, like he always would when frustrated or disappointed, which was probably why he made such odd vocalizations so often.

"You owe me an explanation. I thought we were in agreement, Ozpin. I thought you'd be the one to listen to reason. Then, low and behold, I find you and Miss Goodwitch going against my requests on your own little diplomatic mission to a foreign military power. Why would you put so much at risk... everything we've done, everything we've built..." Ironwood's fists clenched. Ozpin raised a hand before the General could finish exploding, saying,

"Hold on, James. I don't remember agreeing to anything specific, and I certainly never signed one of your contracts. I conducted myself as I always have: in a manner that will ensure the best chance of survival, for us and the rest of Remnant as a whole. A quiet meeting between those with cooler heads was far more productive than a clash of military leaders and their insufferable egos could ever have been." Ironwood raised a hand to his forehead as Ozpin found some comfort in his high backed office chair. It was clear to the Headmaster that his old friend was more tense than he'd seen him in some years. His face was unkempt, with little black strands of hair poking out of his chin and neck. His normally energetic eyes were dark and sunken. Ozpin knew that it would take diplomatic tact on par with his performance in the Empire to calm him down.

He rubbed his eyes and continued, saying, "I value your insight more than most, James. I merely could not risk soured relations with a foreign entity of such great military power. Please understand." Ironwood shook his head, placing his hands on the edge of Ozpin's desk.

"No, I can't understand. Who do you think you are, Professor? What kind of authority do you, Headmaster of a school for children, possess? Who appointed you as chief diplomat? Not Vale's leaders, not the other Headmasters, and certainly not me. We're supposed to work together in times of crisis, not set off on our own whimsical adventures." The General sealed his rant with a rapped fist against the desk, knocking a cup of Ozpin's favorite pens to the ground. The Headmaster nodded, looking straight into the fuming man's tired eyes.

"You're right. I've overstepped my bounds. However, it's not the first time I've taken advantage of my limited autonomy, and you know as well as I do that it won't be the last. Like you, I do whatever it takes to accomplish the mission at hand." Ozpin finished with another sigh, desperate for some relief in the form of a caffeinated beverage. He shot a glance over to his associate. Glydna, for her part, seemed to be biting at the bit for an opportunity to provide her own two-cents on the matter. Ozpin made a slight gesture with his head, and Glydna stepped forward to face the furious General.

Hands on her hips, she proclaimed, "This pissing contest has gone on for long enough. Do you think the enemy cares about who's right and who's wrong? Right now, forces of Grimm are laying waste to an Empire with a population far exceeding both Vale and Atlas's combined. What do you think they'll do if and when they believe all is lost?" Ozpin leaned back in his chair, any semblance of pride erased. Ironwood took a precarious step back, and his expression softened. For a taut moment, silence reigned in the Headmaster's study, only interrupted by the occasional ticking of mechanical machinations strewn about. Taking advantage of his opening, Ozpin began quietly,

"Glynda's assessment of the situation is accurate. Human beings, like any animal, have two main instinctual reactions when it comes to dealing with threats. If they have the means, they will fight the opposing force. However, should they exhaust their means or be overcome by fear, they will flee. In this occasion, James, where do you think those people and their armies will run?" Ironwood turned his chin to the floor and scowled.

"That is why I took responsibility for diplomatic relations. Promising to send trained Huntsmen and Huntresses as aid will elicit far less of a fear response than if you were to waltz in with your army in tow. It's not that I don't appreciate your assistance. Should Salem gain the upper hand in this war, I fear that it will become absolutely vital." Ozpin concluded with a wave of his hand, eyeing the General closely.

"Who's to say she doesn't already have it?" The trio snapped their heads towards the source of the question, and the raggedy man leaning against a support column who'd asked it. Qrow Bronwen retrieved a steel flask from his side, taking a deep swig of the potent contents.

"What? Am I not allowed a spot in this pleasant debate?" He said, leaving the flask in one hand as he approached his colleagues. Ironwood's nose wrinkled at the sharp twang of strong spirits permeating Qrow's entire person.

"Listen," he began, switching his gaze between the two of them. "the way I see it, both of you are in the wrong, and neither of you fully understand just what is at stake here. This ain't got nothin' to do with if Salem's got the upper hand, but how she intends to capitalize on her advantage. This right here, this pointless bickering, is exactly what she needs to do just that." Qrow brought the lip of the flask to his mouth again, finding only hot air and spare droplets, much to his chagrin. He grunted as he set the empty container upon Ozpin's desk, earning a raised eyebrow from the Headmaster.

"And what do you think she intends to do with this advantage, Mr. Branwen?" Ozpin asked with a lowered voice. Qrow nodded his head,

"Glad you asked. Think about it, Ozpin. I'm sure you remember your old friend... I sure as hell can't recall his name though. Big dude, brown hair, nasty attitude…"

Ozpin frowned as he finished Qrow's line of thought, "Hazel?" Qrow snapped his fingers, eyes widening.

"Yeah, that piece of work. Anyway, after you two had your falling out, I recall that he was quick to join up with her, almost too quick. I don't think he went out his way to find her. Either of you catching my drift?" James' expression steeled.

"I can't say I am, Branwen. Get to the point." Ironwood said, earning a sigh from the Huntsman. He placed a hand on his forehead and wished for another flask to materialize in his hand.

"The point is that Salem's not afraid of making alliances when it suits her. She'll do whatever it takes to secure victory, even if it means hiring or otherwise coercing those she believes to be inferior to her side." Ozpin's eyes widened. He retrieved his cane as he rose from the chair, striding closer to his old compatriot. He frowned as he began,

"I believe I understand what you're getting at, Qrow. Truthfully, the idea has been trapped in my head ever since we first met with their leaders. I'd merely been afraid of entertaining it anymore than necessary, but circumstances are growing dire." Ozpin turned to face the old General, whose face was still locked in a semi-perplexed expression.

"Tell me, James, what would be a better action for Salem to undertake? Continue to fight an open war with a nation a hostile magic-users, or perhaps take a more... diplomatic approach?" Ironwood's visage drained of color as his eyes widened. He placed a hand to his rough chin and turned away.

"You can't be insinuating what I think you are. That's impossible." Ozpin rounded on the General, forcing the tired man to look back into his eyes.

"I am quite serious. There is no time left to argue over petty nonsense. If my Huntsmen can make a notable difference in this war, then the tragedy that knocks on our door will be avoided." He sighed and turned towards the exit of his study, eyes heavy. He'd thought years of learning how to deal with stress would help him now, but he found his heart beating and brain screaming as if he was actively fighting Salem herself. In a way, he supposed, he was. This millennia long conflict had always been his responsibility and his alone.

The tired man waited in the stillness of his old study for a few moments, trying to gather what remained of his scattered thoughts. From behind, an equally exhausted voice pierced through his ears. "In a way, you are right, Ozpin. There is no time left for weakness. If we are to survive, we must continue to be strong, and our enemies must feel that strength." General Ironwood passed Ozpin as he moved for the elevator, eyes forward. The Headmaster's blood ran cold.

"Now who's the one being reckless, James? Have you been so blinded by hubris as to think that your armies will be any more successful against the Grimm than the Empire's?" Ozpin yelled, a fist balling together and eyes alight with indignation. Ironwood halted in front of the elevator, placing a hand against the control panel. He turned his head back.

Those eyes, Ozpin thought, are all too familiar.

"No. For the first time, I can see clearly the depth of hypocrisy permeating every word that oozes out of your mouth. You expect me to uphold your simple-minded standards of transparency and non-intervention while you go behind my back and forge alliances with snakes?" Ironwood stepped into the elevator, leaving his back turned to the silent Huntsmen and Huntress.

"You've gone too far this time, Ozpin." The doors slammed shut.

All too familiar, indeed.

"Why the fuck is it so cold?" The black sky overhead provided no light. Obscured by thick clouds, the steadfast image of the moon could give no comfort to the tired soldier, his post only lilluminated by the dim, artificial orange glow of a nearby lamppost. His orders were simple: guard one of the gates leading into the pavilion that contained the Empire's Strategic Headquarters. He'd did his job without incedent for some months since his transfer from the Eastern Front. In truth, the guard counted his blessings for that. Better here, standing idly beside a gate nobody really used than being ripped to shreds by the demons just to the north.

Still, it was fucking cold, with tiny white puffs of snow descending upon his head every now and again.

"Couldn't tell ya, Sarge. Bet it has somethin' to do with the monsters showin' up, and all that. Me mum says that it's God judgement for the world's sins, but that don't make much sense. I just confessed last week, after all." The soldier's subordinate said, accent thick with an old country drawl.

"Well, you mind praying and asking God to cut it out? I can't feel my damn fingers." The Sergeant said, flexing his hands in a vain attempt to get some blood flowing. The Private shook his head.

"Don't think it works that way, Sarge." The Sergeant harrumphed, turning back to face down the cobblestone path. He squinted as a silhouette turned the corner, rounding about a scraggly tree. Hidden underneath a black cloak as they were, the soldier could make out little details, aside from a peculiar hunch protruding from their backside. The figure's meandering approach gave the pair enough time to ready their firearms across their chest, prepared to escalate their posture further should the stranger do the same. Even so, the figure did not appear swayed. Gulping, the Sergeant raised a free hand to them.

"Halt. Show identification, please." He commanded. The figure took one last step before coming to a stop, facial features obscured underneath a hood. They revealed empty hands to the two soldiers and said,

"Friends, friends, I mean you no harm. I am merely searching for someone whom my superior regards as... important. Perhaps you could lend some assistance?" The Sergeant shot a glance at his companion. The Private tightened his grip on his rifle and swallowed.

"I'm afraid this isn't the entrance for the Guest Center. You may have missed it. First left after you pass the bank, big signs pointing the way in. Ring any bells?" The Sergeant said, putting on a smile that didn't reach his eyes. The stranger chuckled as he rubbed his palms together.

"No, I'm afraid you misunderstand. Or perhaps the onus is on me for failing to convey my meaning properly. Hm, a question for another day, for another day." The Sergeant blinked. By the time his eyelids reopened, the figure had lurched forward, the protrusion on its backside suddenly growing larger. His response was automatic. He moved to train his sights on the hostile, but the distance was closed far too quickly. As something glossy and elongated revealed from under their coat, the Sergeant's heart dropped. His reaction was too robotic, he'd gone for his rifle without considering how close the enemy was. Now, no time remained to draw either his sidearm or his combat knife.

"I'm fucked."

A shout exploded to the Sergeant's left. He watched as the stranger tossed their cloak in that direction, revealing a mangled husk of what appeared to be a man. The Sergeant couldn't help but gaze at the man's strange tail-like appendage even as it was pointed at his skull. If he had decided to finish his strike, the Sergeant was sure he'd be another corpse buried under the cold soil. The enemy's attention, however, was preoccupied with his subordinate.

"What the hell?" The Private yelled, finger pulling back on the trigger of his rifle. The stranger was nimble, however, and dashed underneath its barrel in the blink of an eye. With a smile, he jabbed an open palm at the underside of the muzzle, causing the weapon to jerk up and out of the Private's grip. As the rifle spun to the earth, unfired, the man chuckled. The unadulterated madness dancing in his eyes froze the young man in place. Even as the Sergeant pulled his sidearm from its leather holster, the half-man half-monster placed the curved tip of its alien tail to the Private's throat.

"Oh, there's no need for that. I'm sure we can come to a more peaceful resolution. What's the word my Mistress used... ah, negotiation, that's it." The stranger said, pressing its tail further into the Private's exposed neck. The young man swallowed a fearful glob of bile and recoiled at the stabbing pain. The Sergeant held his sights on the enemy's head. He breathed in once, then exhaled. A salty droplet of sweat stung his eye, but he remained as still as a statue. His training, his reflexes, his orders... all of them shouted within his mind at once, all of them urging him to perform the action he was supposed to in unison. His index finger twitched against the cold iron of the handgun's firing system. He knew what he had to do. He narrowed his eyes.

Yet, there was something else. Which voice was this?

His grip relaxed. "Release him. Then we'll talk." The stranger chuckled and clasped his hands together. He stared into the Sergeant's eyes as if prodding for something. Another chuckle.

"Hm, my friend, I'm afraid I can't do that. The moment I let your little buddy off the hook, I'll be fed a mouthful of lead. How about we, negotiate, on our current terms?" The Sergeant glanced to his subordinate without thinking. His eyes gazed back, the raw terror of imminent death oozing from his expression. The Sergeant grimaced.

"Fine." The stranger bounced and laughed like a school child who'd been offered a candy bar.

"Excellent! Now, I believe I mentioned that I was searching for someone of a rather specific description. She is a solider of great consequence to your nation's current survival, but more importantly, to my Queen's intentions. Most interestingly, she is but a young child, perhaps no older than twelve. Dearest me, not even the most desperate of militaries or nefarious organizations would recruit such an innocent youth!"

The Sergeant's mind flashed to the image of a blonde child, one he'd saluted at this very gate on more than one occasion. His eyes fell dark. If only he'd never known her. If only he hadn't been posted at this damn gate.

The stranger's mouth curled upwards. "I see we have a winner. So, then, how about we conclude with negotiations?"

Tanya sat upon the rough cushion of an wooden chair far beyond its prime, a hand clutching a hot porcelain cup. Steam wafted from the black liquid and into her nose, the pleasant aroma of her preferred brand sending a small pulse of relief through her worn shoulders. How long had it been since she'd poured herself a cup of this most vital stimulant? It had been long enough that even a small sip felt to her like finding a jug of water in the desert or a blanket in a freezing winter's forest. She allowed herself to lean back slightly, or as much as the worn, awkward furniture underneath her would let her. She'd earned it; after all, who could say they'd been to Hell and back over a long weekend?

She found her eyes falling upon the prone image of her Lieutenant. She'd been asleep for more than eighteen hours now, and from what the doctors concluded, rest would be the most effective medicine towards ensuring a safe recovery. Lieutenant Weiss had been adamant on the Battalion taking shifts to keep a constant watch over her, as the nurses were far too understaffed and overworked to do so. Logically speaking, there was little more they could contribute to Lieutenant Visha's recovery by merely spectating, and much needed rest to be lost by her men. She'd moved to shut the plan down, but a glance into her men's anxious eyes caused her to hesitate for a moment. The asset Lieutenant Visha represented went beyond her combat skills. Her ability to lift the spirits of any disheartened soldier earned her the trust of almost every Mage within her Company, if not the whole Battalion.

Their sentimentalism was understandable, if not illogical, and Tanya concluded that her men would lose far more sleep if the Lieutenant was left uncared for. So, to her troops' wide-eyed gawking, she'd volunteered to take first shift, a watch that was now nearing its end with no incidents. She yawned despite the caffeine coursing through her system, watching as the blanket draped over the Lieutenant rose and fall with each steady breath. Morbid as the thought felt, Tanya found it borderline impossible for her Lieutenant to have fared as well against that overpowered attack as she did. As much as it tore her gut apart to admit, it was only due to Being X's... assistance, that her entire Battalion wasn't reduced to a smoldering mound of ashes in the first place.

She'd failed. The thought didn't bring pain, as she assumed did for most other humans. Throughout her short tenure as a child soldier, she'd calculated each and every action she took, bent the orders of her often incompetent superiors to move one step closer towards her goals. Despite insurmountable odds and a game rigged against her by a megalomaniacal self-proclaimed god, she produced results as she always had, in this life or the previous. Failure was something those beneath her were acquainted with.

Not her.

Or perhaps I've always had something to blame. Whether it be the shortsightedness of my superiors or the interventions of that damned Being, I've always blamed something else. Never myself.

She shook her head. Such nonsensical thoughts led to nowhere. She was only in this apocalyptic situation in the first place because of Being X's whimsies. Perhaps she really was more tired than she thought.

Draining the remaining dregs of her now lukewarm drink, she sighed as she set her mind on more important matters. Recent reports indicated that the beasts were well beyond the Empire's initially established defensive lines. Vital armories were reduced to ruins, along with the towns and small cities around them. Casualty estimates were inconclusive, but likely well exceeding eight thousand, with civilian casualties exponentially higher. Immediate retaliatory action needed to be taken. Her plan to reengage the enemy in total force was still under the review of High Command, but with the situation as dire as it was, it seemed likely they'd give it the go-ahead.

Her Battalion wouldn't be at full strength, but there simply wasn't enough time left. Every inch of ground given to the storm of beasts was additional time allotted for Salem to enact a greater strategy. Given her immense power and the inherent unknowns therein, any counter-attack would have to be all-out. A swift and decisive victory was all that would be able to be secured, with or without the assistance of the wild-card local known as Professor Ozpin.

It was better for the Empire to secure victory without foreign aid, a sentiment she'd expressly included in her report to High Command. The Empire could not allow itself to become indebted to any outside power, much less an alien Kingdom with unknown intentions. Despite their seeming technological superiority, the Kingdom of Vale could not be allowed to interfere in this matter, even if it was personal, as Ozpin had indicated.

Before anything was done, however, additional information was still required. Too many variables remained, such as this strange new magic that crazed lunatic had discovered within her. She held out an open palm and concentrated. A familiar warmness spread across her hand and danced into each finger, coating the entire appendage in a golden glow. The mad scientist was hesitant to call it magic, as it manifested separate from the power Tanya was familiar with. For the time being, he'd suggested her to "play around" with what he called "Type-Two Manifestation" and see if it provided any positive abilities.

From what I can tell, though, it appears to only be effective as a second body shield, perhaps imbued with limited regenerative abilities. Helpful, but not a second Type-95. She thought. She resolved to experiment further, but for the time being, much needed sleep was on the horizon.

A light knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced at the wooden aperture. Sergeant Grantz had volunteered for next shift, and Tanya was more than happy to allow him to take over and for her to take to her bed. "Enter," She said in a lowered tone. The heavy door creaked open, and a shadowed figure stood against the darkness behind them and the soft glow of Tanya's small candle in front.

Not the correct height

Tanya's hand curled around her sidearm as she pulled her arm forward. Before a breath passed between them, she stared down the sights of her handgun at the figure's hidden face.

"Identify yourself immediately or I will open fire." She commanded, trigger half-pulled. She exhaled as the moment elapsed, the unknown person before her remaining silent. Then, as Tanya applied more force to her handgun's trigger, the figure chuckled, the soft glow of the candle illuminating a wide row of teeth.

"Ah, there you are. I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever find you. You wouldn't believe how many people I had to ask to get here. Hm, perhaps ask isn't the right word, but nevertheless-" Tanya interrupted the madman's speech as she leapt to her feet, never moving her sights from their head.

"Perhaps you didn't hear me. I will discharge a round into your skull if you fail to state your name and rank within the next five seconds." The figure held up his hands and shook his head.

"Very well, then. My name is Tyrian, and I mean you no harm, truly. I come bearing a message from my Queen, someone you should already be somewhat acquainted with." Tanya growled, the name coming into focus within her tired mind.

"Salem." She spat. The man calling himself Tyrian nodded.

"Precisely. Oh, but I don't think here is a very good place for discussion. Wouldn't want to wake her up too, after all." The man chuckled again, the sound much like chalk grating against a board in her ears.

Perhaps if I was more awake, he would already be a bloody corpse. As it is, I am still in need of information. Killing him can come after.

"Very well. I will hear your message in the courtyard. Make a wrong move, and I will not hesitate to kill you. Am I understood?" Tanya said as she moved between Tyrian and the still unconscious Lieutenant. She gestured with her firearm, and Tyrian turned around, hands still raised.

"I do believe so. Oh, what fun indeed!" The half-man, half-monster laughed, and Tanya could only stare with eyes wide open at the scorpion-like tail curled around his back.

Murphey's Law, how I loathe you.