RWBY: Moon Reflection-Chapter 106: No Price We Won’t Pay

Dust and black smoke enveloped the battlefield, reducing the world to an ominous haze. The remnants of destruction loomed as a testament to the chaos that had unfolded. Crimson stood near Raven, the faint glow of his sword barely piercing the suffocating darkness around them. He glanced at her, his expression calm despite the circumstances.

"Take your position," he said, his voice steady and resolute.

Raven nodded without a word, her eyes betraying a mix of concern and understanding. Without hesitation, Crimson began to move again, his pace quickening until he broke into a full sprint. His figure vanished into the smoke, heading directly toward the remnants of the Grimm whale with an unrelenting determination.

Above the chaos, General Ironwood's voice rang through the comms, cutting through the static.

"This isn't over," he announced, his tone commanding. "All soldiers, stay ready. Stage three of the attack begins now."

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Across the globe, people watched the broadcast in shock and disbelief. It had been mere minutes since the battle began, and yet two Leviathan-class Grimm—beasts of unimaginable size and destruction—had been destroyed. Most kingdoms in history perished under the presence of one of these creatures and very few could fight it off. But Atlas faced two at the same time, and emerged victorious in such a short time. But what left the world in awe was the sight of a single man charging into the fray. Crimson was the only one moving amid the destruction, his relentless attack broadcasted for all to see.

Atlas had always been a symbol of technological and military strength, but this display transcended anything the world had ever known. The silence of the spectators wasn't out of fear—it was reverence. For the first time in history, humanity's collective breath was held in anticipation of one man's actions.

As Crimson neared the site of the whale, the devastation became even more apparent. The front half of the leviathan's body was utterly destroyed, its grotesque flesh reduced to ash and rubble. The rear half, however, remained intact, billowing thick, black smoke into the air. The sky above was painted an ominous black, the swirling remnants of the octopus Grimm still visible, writhing as its body disintegrated.

Suddenly, the ground shook violently. From Mantle below, a dark column of Grimm erupted into the sky, striking the edge of Atlas. The impact sent shockwaves through the floating city, as another flood of Grimm poured forth to join the fray, trailing behind the remnants of the leviathan like a tide of darkness.

Crimson slowed for only a moment. "I'm in position," he reported calmly.

In response, a second red portal opened nearby, its swirling energy illuminating the gloom. From the portal emerged a device identical to the first—a bomb of unparalleled sophistication. This time, however, Crimson did not enter the portal. Instead, he broke into a sprint, heading directly toward the remains of the leviathan.

Beyond the smoke and debris, Salem stood, her piercing gaze filled with fury. She watched as Crimson approached, her expression dark and menacing. Crimson's pace didn't falter, and as he came closer, he offered her a smile that was equal parts defiance and amusement before moving to the top of the beast.

Salem's form dissolved into a cloud of smoke, and she surged toward him, her presence like a storm. Crimson continued his advance, unbothered, until he reached the very edge of the whale's tail. There, he stopped, turning to face her as the smoke coalesced into her figure.

Salem descended toward him, her glowing eyes locked onto his. Her voice carried the weight of centuries, laced with venom.

"In all my years of existence," she began, her tone cutting through the chaos, "no person has been as insolent as you."

Crimson's smirk grew wider. "Well, I will take that as a compliment," he replied casually, his voice tinged with mockery. "Considering you're an immortal from the age of the unmarred moon, it's quite an honor."

Her expression darkened further as she raised her hand, energy crackling in her palm with a malevolent glow. The air grew heavy with power, and just as she prepared to strike, another explosion rang out.

The bomb detonated.

The force of the blast tore through the remnants of the leviathans, sending chunks of the bodies and even sections of Atlas's floating rock plummeting toward Mantle below. The shockwave rippled outward, scattering Grimm and pushing them over the edge.

Crimson stood at the epicenter, his figure obscured by the chaos as he fell alongside the remnants of the battlefield. Salem descended as well, her form consumed by the cataclysm she had failed to stop. The Grimm flood, the leviathan's remains, and the very ground itself seemed to collapse in unison, creating a cascade of destruction that the world could only watch in stunned silence.

Crimson hurtled through the air, the wind roaring in his ears, the chaos of the battlefield now far above him. As the remnants of Atlas and the Grimm Leviathans fell toward Mantle, he focused, his sharp eyes scanning the chaos below. Pieces of flying rock, dislodged during the battle, floated downward sporadically. With practiced precision, Crimson used them as platforms, landing briefly before leaping again to propel himself away from the cascading destruction. His movements were fluid, calculated, each step carrying him further from the core of the devastation.

Finally, he reached one of Mantle's surviving buildings, landing on its roof with a thunderous crash. The impact jarred his entire body, and the floor beneath him cracked, sending shards of concrete scattering around him. For a moment, Crimson stood motionless, catching his breath as the dust settled.

The city below was unrecognizable. As Crimson walked to the edge of the building, the extent of the devastation unfolded before him. The streets were submerged in a flood of dark, viscous liquid—a horrifying mass that shimmered with an unnatural, sinister energy. The Grimm's corruption had consumed Mantle, transforming it into a twisted, surreal wasteland. Buildings leaned precariously or had collapsed entirely, and the flood of black liquid crept upward, claiming everything in its path.

Crimson's gaze was heavy, his expression unreadable as he silently surveyed the scene. But he wasn't the only one watching. The entire world, glued to their screens, saw the devastation through the broadcast. The silence of the onlookers was almost palpable, a shared horror and despair settling over all who bore witness.

A shift in the air behind him snapped Crimson's attention. His head turned slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing as smoke began to coalesce nearby. The swirling black mist took form, and within moments, Salem appeared, her feet hovering inches above the rooftop before she landed with a predatory grace. Her glowing red eyes burned with fury, her pale face twisted in anger.

"Your resistance is futile," Salem said, her voice cold yet unwavering. Her words carried the weight of centuries of dominance, an unshakable belief in her own inevitability. "All you've done is prolong your suffering."

Crimson turned fully to face her, his posture relaxed, almost casual. The faint smirk that played on his lips was in stark contrast to the devastation around them.

"You are wrong," he said evenly. "It's you who doesn't understand. Your attempts are futile, Salem."

His voice was calm yet carried an unyielding conviction that cut through the despair of the moment. As he spoke, Crimson began to walk toward her, his boots crunching against the fractured rooftop.

"People want to live," he continued, his tone growing sharper, each word striking like a hammer. "And today, victory is the only path toward that. There's no price we won't pay to achieve it."

Salem's expression twisted with disdain, her lips curling into a sneer. "Another martyr in a hopeless war," she said with a derisive snort. "Offering your life as the price... How predictable. You are just another fool."

Crimson chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You underestimate the lengths we are willing to go," he replied, his voice carrying a quiet, dangerous edge.

As if on cue, the sound of groaning metal echoed through the air. It began as a faint, distant noise, but it quickly grew louder—a cacophony of snapping chains and collapsing infrastructure. The enormous metal chains that anchored Atlas to Mantle began to give way, each one crashing to the ground with a deafening roar.

Salem's head whipped around at the sound, her glowing eyes widening in shock. She turned to look over her shoulder and then up at the sky above. What she saw froze her in place. Atlas—the grand, floating city, a symbol of human ingenuity and power—was descending. Its once-pristine structures were crumbling, its grand spires collapsing under its own weight as it plummeted toward Mantle, toward her.

Behind her, Crimson's voice rang out, low and ominous. "To win, we are willing to throw all of Atlas to its demise—right on your head."

Salem turned back to him, her face a mixture of shock and unbridled rage. The glow in her eyes flared brighter, and her entire body radiated an aura of pure fury.

"You—!" she hissed, her voice trembling with anger.

Crimson smiled again, his expression as calm and unshaken as ever. Without another word, he turned and sprinted toward the edge of the building. Salem let out a furious scream and took flight, chasing after him as Atlas descended with catastrophic force.

The ground beneath them shook violently as chunks of the floating city collided with Mantle, unleashing destruction on a scale the world had never seen. Buildings crumbled, explosions rang, the black flood churned wildly, and the air itself seemed to crackle with the energy of the apocalypse unfolding below.

The broadcast continued, capturing every moment in harrowing detail. The world watched in stunned silence as the impossible became reality. Atlas, the prized jewel of humanity's ingenuity and arrogance, was being sacrificed. The Atlasians, so often seen as aloof, oppressive, and self-serving, had made a decision that defied all expectations. They had chosen to destroy their own city, their symbol of power and pride, in a desperate bid to win the war.

For the people of Remnant, who had viewed Atlas with suspicion and resentment ever since Beacon fell, this act of self-sacrifice was a sobering moment. The sheer scale of the destruction, the enormity of the decision, left many feeling a deep, unsettling shame. Atlas, for all its faults, had demonstrated a resolve and willingness to protect humanity that no other kingdom could claim.

In the chaos, Crimson's figure disappeared into the haze, with Salem in relentless pursuit. The world continued to watch, their collective breath held, as the madness of the battle unfolded. The fall of Atlas was not just a physical event—it was a testament to the lengths humanity was willing to go to survive. The cost was unfathomable, the sacrifice unimaginable.

And yet, in the face of despair, there was also hope. For in Crimson's defiance, in Atlas's sacrifice, and in the resolve of those who fought, there was a reminder: humanity would not fall so easily. They would endure, no matter the price.