Almost almighty wizard

Jonathan didn't want to interrupt a meeting between estranged old friends, one who hadn't seen each other for years. But, unfortunately for the aforementioned acquaintances, they were currently involved in devising a plan to destroy a huge horde of Grimm. So, when there was an awkward pause in the air between Summer and Raven's confrontation – Jonathan had to get their attention. And perhaps Qrow was just trying to make it obvious how busy he was right now studying the map spread out on the table, to pay attention to the woman's confrontation. "Ahem!"

Clearing his throat loudly enough to make Summer and Raven look away from each other, Jonathan looked side-eyed at the two women. "Excuse me, but… I believe we have something much more important to be doing?"

Those words were enough for Summer and Raven to break away from their silent confrontation of glances before moving toward the table. Though, it didn't escape Jonathan's notice how Raven and Summer both tried to move through the small archway while keeping their distance between them. Not out of anger or any negative emotion, though he supposes what they felt counted. Fear is still a negative emotion, isn't it?

Though perhaps fear is too strong a word to describe it, more like… awkwardness and nervousness? Jonathan had never been in a situation like this in his life, but it wasn't hard to read the emotions of the two women. Even if he couldn't read their emotions, that is, he could at least read their body language.

However, Summer and Raven's awkwardness was the least of Jonathan's problems right now. Destroying the horde in Vacuo, though, to be honest, also wasn't Jonathan's biggest issue– but it was still an issue that required decisive and swift action.

Regarding Ozpin and the situation Jantahn had found himself in, he can speculate later. But, for the moment, all he could do was unobtrusively correct the huge map lying on the table with numerous markings to draw the attention of all present to the map. "So, at the moment, the horde is gathered in about the red area, stretching for about four kilometers… "

Four kilometers was a small enough area to cover – an artilleryman with the right intelligence and the right skills could hit a cluster of Grimm from across the horizon. And if you deploy a couple of infantry squads to protect the artillery – they would have time to fire a couple dozen rounds before the bulk of the wounded and surviving Grimm got too close for comfort.

The problem here was that it wasn't 'just' a large horde of Grimm, but a Super-horde created through the leadership of one powerful, and quite clever – Grimm. It was likely that after the first salvo, the leader of the Grimm would order the horde to disperse – and soon enough a simple fire mission would turn into a full-blown battle.

Jonathan could do far more damage than any artilleryman, and hit any target at any range, but even he had only one chance to take out as many and as strong a Grimm as possible.

"Judging by the concentration of the Grimm, it is likely that the strongest of them probably moves at the beginning of the column. Though whether the leader of the pack would be in the same position is up to chance." Jonathan pointed to the approximate location of the 'head' of the horde. "Perhaps, fearing an attack, a smart enough Grimm could use subterfuge and instead hide in the 'tail' where the weaker of the Grimm are. But here I better hear your suggestions – I do not have much knowledge in this field, as in the management of Grimm, so I am willing to listen to what other people say."

In an ideal situation, should Jonathan have destroyed the central Grimm, then, for lack of another word, the remnants of the Grimm horde would have been 'demoralized' and lose their current cohesion, starting to scatter.

While at that point calling the threat culled would be calling too early, such an option would have been easier than the others. Given that Jonathan planned to inflict serious damage on the horde with his first strike, if Jonathan could strike the leader, perhaps after that Summer, Qrow, Raven and Raven's squads would only be left to deal with the scattering horde.

At Jonathan's words, Raven frowned a little, "In that case, if the enemy is indeed cunning – as cunning as the ancient Grimm can be – he would be in the middle of the horde, the last place you'd ordinarily want to strike, with the Grimm moving ahead as a decoy, set up to be confronted by such a powerful weapon as your ability… At least, I would do so – but who knows if a Grimm can think of such complex ideas…"

"And yet, if it was Salem herself who has interfered in the creation of this horde… wouldn't it be safer to just hit both positions?" Qrow, judging by the look he threw at Raven, couldn't help but enjoy the fact that his sister, who had once fled from Ozpin because of the threat of confronting Salem, was now forced to engage her anyway.

Jonathan in turn shook his head. "I will only have one opportunity for a really powerful blow – at least one powerful enough to punch through the horde, and we should make the most of that one. I might be able to prepare enough for a second strike – but it will take me quite a while to prepare them again. By the time they are prepared again, I probably won't be able to use them without risking hurting myself."

"Speaking of which…" Qrow, the man with whom Jonathan had the least contact so far, chose this point to speak out, "I have received some information from Ozpin, but… I have not received specific information about your fighting abilities. And since we happen to be on the same mission now…" Qrow glanced at Jonathan, who was leaning on his walking stick and not at all looking like he could destroy more than one Grimm, even less a Horde of them,

"I at least want to know how you're going to go about your plan…"

Jonathan didn't even need to look at the others present to know, without a mistake, that right now Summer was looking at him with the same question in her mind. And even Raven, who was trying to pretend otherwise to be not interested in Jonathan's abilities at all, glanced at him.

After all, the information about his abilities that people knew was quite… conflicting.

Even Cinder, the one closest to his understanding of magic, was not fully aware of exactly how his magic worked – and therefore not fully aware of exactly what Jonathan could do.

Naturally, in that case, even Ozpin, who had his own magic, but built on different principles from his, was not able to clearly assess Jonathan's abilities.

They know that he could summon meteorites – which was his official semblance, that he could create miracle cures – which was officially attributed to the achievements of the scientists under him, and could teleport – which was kept secret altogether.

And, frankly, perhaps Jonathan would have preferred to keep it that way – but in the current situation, Jonathan needed to share the information – at least to rule out any surprises on his part compromising the mission. "Well, in that case…"

As it was easy to assume, the Grimm had no names.

Primarily due to the fact that the Grimm was not intelligent – in the full sense of the word and in the popular sense of the term. A particularly old Grimm might have the rudimentary intelligence of a wild animal, but understandably, this was not enough to make them 'intelligent'. And thus, the Grimm needed no names.

And, of course, there was no need for Salem to give names to the Grimm – especially given all the hundreds of thousands of Grimm that were born continuously, every day, near her chambers.

Granted, humans occasionally gave some infamous or particularly powerful Grimm names – more like nicknames – but the Grimm themselves were understandably unaware of this, nor would they use it. Even the oldest and most powerful, the most cunning of the Grimm, who had lived not tens, but hundreds of years, even if they understood the concept of names, did not use this, due to the obvious unnecessariness of it.

And yet, the slow-walking Grimm in the very middle of the advancing super-horde had a name.

At least, it once did.

The Grimm had once been a scorpion Faunus named Tyrian Callows – to be honest, he wasn't entirely sure if his current name was still applicable to his new form.

His Goddess – the white-skinned demiurge of darkness itself – had not granted him a new name, so Tyrian was in limbo regarding his name.

Could the destruction of Vacuo by his current forces be considered a test of his loyalty, of his strength – and only by the results of this test would he be granted a name? Quite possibly, but just as an ant was not granted the ability to understand the mind of a human – so was he not granted the ability to understand the mind of his beautiful mistress.

And so all Tyrian could do, was his job.

After all, he was tasked with directing his horde to destroy Vacuo. But, as much as Tyrian himself might not want to give the order to his new brothers and sisters joining the unstructured ranks of the moving wave of darkness – Tyrian's order was not actually to 'destroy Vacuo at all costs'.

No, on the contrary, it was even the less preferable option.

Instead of destroying Vacuo outright, Tyrian's best option was to strike just hard enough to cripple Vacuo – but to let the horde lose in the end. Not only would he then have achieved the destruction of Vacuo – a couple of years later perhaps, as the broken Kingdom would not have been able to repair the damage done, barring a miracle. But he would also have been able to shift the attention of his Goddess' enemies to the ruined desert city for that time. Forcing his Goddess' enemy to waste their strength in trying to save the dying city.

At least, that was what his Goddess had commanded him to do and what would happen next.

Truly, there was nothing more astonishing than the observations of his Goddess' brilliant mind at work!

But alas, even in this endeavor, Tyrian's mission was simply as an observer and not as a combatant. Firstly because Tyrian's involvement would most likely have been able to ensure the destruction of Vacuo – his Goddess had worked so hard on his powers, that it was hard to imagine any Hunter being able to match him. But secondly, also because his Goddess was more interested in the information that Tyrian could obtain rather than the assured destruction of one piddly Human settlement.

Yes, Tyrian's main mission – higher in priority even to destroying Vacuo, was to observe the reactions of an opponent even more dangerous than Ozpin himself – Jonathan Goodman.

His Goddess was confident that Jonathan would act, even if indirectly, behind the backs of all those involved in the current conflict. And the Goddess was quite interested in his actions and any other information that Tyrian might have managed to extract, even if simply how he reacted to the attack on Vacuo.

That's why Tyrian didn't stay at the front of the moving horde, inspiring his newfound brothers and sisters, as well as generally within the main mass of the horde. Instead, he was moving outside the main horde for the sake of fooling any outside observer as to his importance.

After all, judging from a recon ship's altitude or observation range, he looked like nothing more than a normal deathstalker, and not even one that big. So, the chance of him getting killed was greatly reduced.

Oh no, he certainly wouldn't even think to downplay the achievements of his Goddess in turning him into a killing machine. But the power and destructive potential of a couple of dozen concentrated hits from heavy artillery shells or aerial bombs wasn't going to be downplayed either.

Perhaps – that was what saved him from dying instantly.

The first sign of something awry happening was a slight prick in Tyrian's head. Humans, and even Grimm, did not possess the ability to foresee the future. Except for some rare mages, the rarest of artifacts, and a few very specific semblances, there's no way to foresee the future. And so, what they called intuition, was most often than not, not something magical in origins, but merely the inner unconscious reflection of a person's personality, like any reflection built on the previous experiences.

Tyrian's experience dealing with all sorts of dangers was quite extensive, and so he was used to trusting his intuition.

And right now, his intuition was screaming at him that he was in danger.

"SCATTER!" Tyrian's voice echoed through the horde, but not even the swiftest of Grimm would be able to dodge what's coming in time.

And so, even as he tried to dodge whatever it is that had his instinct screaming in terror, Tyrian's Goddess-enhanced gaze, could only flick upwards to catch the suddenly appearing dot in the sky heading straight to him.

Jonathan Goodman never parted with his cane – even when he slept he put his cane beside his bed, and there was little surprise in that. After all, Jonathan Goodman was a cripple, unable to walk without the help of his cane – it was only logical that he kept a close eye on his only movement tool.

Also, since Jonathan's cane was essential to his mobility – it was quite logical that his cane was lightweight.

It was, however, difficult to explain his ability to unscrew the pommel of his cane – only his family and Aisa – knew about the latter fact besides Jonathan. And they knew how to keep a secret.

Creating enchanted rings, brooches, earrings, tattoos, clogs, trousers, cloaks, and a host of other things was not difficult for Jonathan. But, for some things, Jonathan Goodman preferred to do with his appropriate discretion.

Creating super weapons would fit that description, for example.

Jonathan needed a great amount of concentration creating seals and symbols, with the conduit for such things in turn were the writings and drawings stored on paper, or, when it came to creating powerful weapons, parchment.

Such parchment had to be procured from Mistral in secret. Though it was not a 'purchase' per se but more like compensated theft. At some point in time, great reams of specialized parchment from the warehouses of a small company whose specialty is in paper making, had vanished, replaced with Lien enough to pay for the item with some premium.

Without question, teleportation was and still is Jonathan's favorite and easiest of tricks.

The parchment, a meter by twelve, was fully scrawled with symbols and mottled with writing. But in essence, it was essentially just a long roll of paper that was to move at Jonathan's command to the right place at the right moment. And then to burn from the magic that was released.

But what exactly was stored in that paper?

Jonathan Goodman was not the most powerful battle mage in the world, well past world, there weren't that many mages in Remnant. He did not possess the living mind of the many other members of the Hermes Order, nor was he dedicated to the study of Ars Essentiae – the Sphere of Force. And so all this scroll contained, was simply a sealed portal.

Not exactly an ordinary portal, though.

After all, a portal, in Jonathan's conception and execution, was the meeting point of two coordinates of reality – a passageway through which people, objects, and energy could move…

Jonathan's scroll in this case became one such point of contact – an entrance gateway, if you will.

But if this was to be Jonathan's super weapon – then where was the second point of the portal being?

To this, Jonathan could only smirk slyly.

After all, it was hard enough for people to imagine what would happen if a small, only a few hundred meters in radius, portal leading into the core of the Sun were opened on Earth.

A ludicrous, if not unlimited, amount of energy burst free in an instant from the hole in the sky opened by Jonathan. Even just one glare from the Sun, even at the distance they're in, was enough to make the watching Summer's skin redden like from a sunstroke, she could not imagine what it is like at the epicenter of it all. And if not for the dark, virtually light-blocking glasses she had worn beforehand as recommended by Jonathan, her vision would only have returned in a few hours at best – the chance of losing it forever was not nil either.

It was like watching the budding of a star in miniature, as far as a kilometer-long flash of deadly ray of light could be considered miniature. Obeying the law of physics, the ray of light then bloomed in all directions, as if the Sun had descended on Remnant…

Well, in a sense it had.

It seemed as if the resulting flash, which had not taken a moment to engulf most of the horde, would go further, if just a second or two, and all Remnant would be engulfed.

At that moment, neither the Grimm hordes, nor the armies of the Kingdoms, nor Ozpin, nor Salem, nothing mattered.

Perhaps it was even a fitting start for a swift and merciful end to the world, a moment that should have ended everything.

And indeed, had the hole in reality connecting Remnant to the core of the Sun remained… Well, calling Remnant, 'Remnant' wouldn't be appropriate, Ashes might be the more appropriate name.

But Jonathan had prepared for such a possibility in the simplest of ways, he had not given any protection to the parchment itself on which the spell was written.

And so the outburst had lasted just that moment, the moment it took for the Sun's fury to burn the parchment, turning it to ashes that halted the portal's connection.

However, even that which only escaped for a thousandth of a second was enough.

The Grimm were not just incinerated, they were gone, with not even ashes remaining – just as there was nothing left of the desert or even air within a kilometer radius of the instantaneous flash, the vacuum creating buffeting wind.

The sand had turned into glass, only to have the glass itself melt instantly into glowing steam that then evaporated into nothingness.

To the Sun, such a thing was not even a trifle – the star hovering in the sky did not even notice what was happening. It could have swallowed Remnant whole, and it would barely notice the added mass.

However, while the Sun's momentary touch on Remnant turned the desert to nothingness, the resulting heat and plasma wreathed the desert like a newborn sun.

Roman Torchwick shuddered as the sound of the explosion sent shivers down the windows, rippling down the concrete floor he was standing on. Yet, at the same time, he could instantly appreciate the fact that he was one of the lucky ones.

The glass of the houses in the street shattered into tiny shards, crumbling into jagged pieces, while the entire world seemed to become silent in the explosion's passing. And just as the deafening silence passed, in the next instant it was answered by thousands of erupting shouts of panic – of passers-by and housemates. The cacophony of sounds is echoed back by the howl of cars, and the electric voice that sounded from speakers lined throughout Vacuo for emergency broadcasts. "Ladies. And. Gentlemen. Please. Move. To. The. Nearest. Shelter. Incoming. Grimm. Horde. Danger. Class. Eight…"

A huge column of black smoke rising in the sky, slowly curving outwards as if trying to mimic some strange kind of mushroom, served as a perfect background to these familiar words in Torchwick's opinion…

Maybe he should stop getting near large cities? He seems to have the devil's luck in having it being attacked by Hordes of Grimm in distressing regularity.

Only by driving her blade into the ground up to the hilt was Summer able to keep herself from being blown away by the blast wave. She was afraid to even imagine what would have happened to her if not for her Aura. Which, as she noted with no small amount of fear, had depleted by at least half. Even the best noise-cancelling headphones Jonathan could get still couldn't fully block out the sound.

And she was a kilometer away from the blast!

'Jonathan… Wasn't lying.' Summer's voice almost sounded shrill, even when she was just thinking and not saying it out loud. The shock was simply that… shocking. 'He really… Could destroy the horde, if not the world…'

Regarding the latter, incidentally, Summer was not wrong either. While it would almost a hundred percent guarantee that Jonathan himself would die in the process, destroying a small planet was for him a matter of days, at most months, of preparation and a few seconds of action. That is, of course, if he decided to pull the trigger when he was still standing on the planet he planned to destroy.

However, putting such scary images aside – the impossible to miss explosion meant that Jonathan had struck his blow, which meant that Raven – or rather her squad – would soon act.

However, as Summer could see, attacking was the furthest thing from Raven's seemingly willing subordinates' mind – not that anyone could blame them for it. Even the Grimm – those that hadn't been completely disintegrated in an instant and those that hadn't been smeared a little later by the shockwave – had stopped moving.

The horde, seemingly staring at the blinding light as if they were mindless moths, enchanted by the light.

But still, their paralysis soon passed with the first explosions and shockwaves – not as impressive after witnessing such a second sun appearing in the sky. Summer pulled off her black glasses, momentarily squinting against the bright desert light. As she also removed her headphones, a moment later, she could hear the periodic staccato retort of artillery.

She couldn't get into position to get a complete look at the entire horde, but there was no doubt that most of the Grimm had already been wiped out, if with a few thousand lucky stragglers in the back. Given that the way forward was now closed to them because of the still blazing hot crater – they were virtually surrounded, the artillery strikes left them with little chance of anything but panicked flight in all directions.

In this case, Qrow had the responsibility of sweeping up the faster Grimm, who was too difficult to catch with a volley of artillery as he could catch up with any Grimm, thanks to his transformation ability.

On Summer's shoulders, however, was the task of eliminating the more powerful Grimm, who couldn't even be defeated by artillery for one reason or another. That is if any such Grimm remained.

And so a moment later, still blinking in the bright desert sun, she pulled out her binoculars.

Tyrian was… Fascinated.

Spellbound, even.

How could one not be mesmerized as one watched such a feast of destruction? Such an act of wanton destruction, so incredible, such a stunning dance in the name of hatred and death? How could any living creature not be enraptured by this fury, which seems to pierce the very fabric of reality before bursting out in a deafening roar?

Whoever was not delighted by such a picture had no right to call themselves sane!

And yet the flicker of light, unmercifully digging into his eyes, scorching them, was replaced a moment later by a deafening thump bursting Tyrian's eardrums, lifting him as if he were a toy in the hands of a mindless child. The pressure on his back cracked his vertebrae, before shattering like a plate that had fallen into the ground. And yet, as if not satisfied, the force of the blow lifted him up again, again and again – breaking his legs, and his teeth crumbling into dust…

Before at last, after a dozen blows, Tyrian – his mutilated body – finally crumbled into a heap in place, lying in a mountain of shredded, steaming meat.

For a moment it seemed as if the explosion had done its job, that Tyrian had been destroyed. That the battle in Vacuo had been ended by the power of only one powerful mage, as if in an ancient legend of a mighty hero…

But after a moment, as if the darkness covering the Grimm's fractured body were alive, the black goop shuddered finely moving up and down Tyrian's broken body, towards the broken legs, the torn spine, the severed arms. Before beginning to slowly consume them.

Where the black substance seemed to engulf flesh – moments later it receded, revealing new limbs and flesh in its place. Slowly, shuddering, the monster's fractured and seemingly dead body rose to its limbs and the human body, towering above its scorpion's half, grinned a smile full of sharp needle-like teeth.

His Goddess had indeed granted him incredible strength.

Summer Rose was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield.

The seemingly frail figure of a girl wielding an ordinary blade – so unsophisticated that she didn't even seem to be a Hunter – was in fact a murder-blender. The girl, wielding a weapon that looked like the first weapon that came her way – looked comical standing next to the looming Goliath. A Goliath, whose body was sliced and burned in half by a blow of incredible power – but which remained a dangerous opponent even in its mutilated state.

Even for field artillery, felling creatures of the Goliath's level was no easy task – but the flickering blade seemed to playfully slice through the flesh of the mighty Grimm. Before, in the next instant, the frail-looking girl was on the other side of the beast's body.

The Grimm probably didn't even have time to realize the moment of his death. The huge beast's head had only just begun to move downwards, under the force of gravity, separated from his body, but Summer was nowhere to be seen.

Dozens of meters away from the disappearing body of the Goliath, Summer had already drawn her blade over a Deathstalker, which in its surprise only had time to bring its jagged tail up to defend itself.

Useless.

Summer's blade didn't even notice the additional obstacle in its path, ripping through the bone armor and flesh before crashing into the huge scorpion's head.

But by the time the Grimm's lifeless body fell to the ground – Summer was gone.

Goliath? Deathstalker? Manticore?

Don't care!

Summer's blade gleaned as it ripped through Grimm after Grimm, stripping them of life with methodical precision and incomparable force.

The huge beasts only had time to raise its head from the sand before it was cut down with ease.

No use!

Summer's blade sliced through the flesh, meeting no resistance in its path.

If a huge Grimm survived the first blow? Don't care!

The next blow sliced the creature's head off as the blade continued its path, slamming into the second Grimm.

Before the blade could reach it, the Grimm lunged. DON'T CARE!

The blade sliced off arms and legs, and Summer…

Felt joy returning to her face.

Any difficult thoughts or worries, about so many unfortunate people, about Raven, about Jonathan – receded.

In combat, you don't have to worry and think – in combat, you kill the Grimm.

You cut them.

You crush them.

You burn them.

You tear them apart with your bare hands.

Punch, shoot, explode them… Explosions?

DON'T CARE!

Summer didn't know where she was, she only knows that she had a blade in her hands, and that there was Grimm in front of her.

Which meant that she only had one thing to do.

She had to kill GRIMM!

Explosions, screams, howls… the sounds seem to merge in her head.

One, ten, a hundred… She doesn't know how many she had killed.

Ursa, Beowulf, Creep, Deathstalker. DON'T CARE!

KILL THEM ALL! KILL THEM ALL!

Summer Rose always went out on a mission.

Because she was an idealist.

And because she LOVED to kill Grimm!

Shuddering as he took his first steps on his newly regenerated feet, Tyrian rose, his gaze closely watching his surroundings – but not enough to notice the appearance of a new figure in front of him.

Tyrian's gaze shifted to the girl, a short girl with black hair and silver eyes, the one his Goddess had warned him about… and he smiled.

"Summer Rose." The body, his human part, smiled. "Glad to meet you…"

"A Grimm, speaking?" Summer's grin and attention, instantly focused on Tyrian, did not waver – and Tyrian could only applaud the girl's incredible stamina as he noticed the horde had become even smaller after the second sun bloomed. And the only one responsible, could only be the girl in front of him.

Truly, in the current circumstances…

"DON'T CARE!" The wild beast's roar rippled through Tyrian's newly restored eardrums, causing him to concentrate his gaze on the girl – only to discover… that she wasn't there anymore.

Summer's blade slammed into Tyrian's body – and only through his honed reflexes could he save his head – preventing him from instantly dying, instead Summer's blow had sliced through his neck, causing black, viscous blood to spray from it.

Oh no, it wasn't a fatal blow for Tyrian at all – but the moment and close distance had allowed him to fully turn his attention to the girl and…

In the girl's eyes, he saw it.

Madness.

Madness, rage, amusement…

Just like his madness. His rage. His fun.

No…

A madness that was bigger than his.

He saw… A calling.

A desire.

A need.

And a moment later, Summer's blade collided with the claw of Tyrian's scorpion body…

And his claw – proof of his Goddess' strength and prowess – was sundered. The blade slammed into the shell, and Tyrian felt the claw break under the force of the blow.

Luckily for Tyrian, he has two of those. His riposte with his other claw, forcing Summer to retreat before she could press her advantage and finishing the fight.

A smirk appeared on his lips, absent from his current body.

He saw it in her actions, in the girl's eyes, the thirst for violence, and…

What kind of gentleman would he be if he didn't respond to a lady's invitation?