RWBY: Moon Reflection-Chapter 109: The End Of The War

The portal opened, and Crimson stepped out onto the battlefield. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and burning debris. The screams of the wounded and dying filled the air, mingling with the roars of the Hydra-Grimm. Crimson's gaze immediately fell on Qrow, who was on a nearby rooftop, firing his weapon at the monstrous creature.

The Hydra-Grimm was still massive and terrifying, though the combined efforts of Atlas had whittled it down. A third of its heads remained, thrashing wildly and firing devastating beams of energy into the remnants of the Atlas forces. Crimson's sharp eyes scanned the battlefield, taking in the grim scene.

Less than half of the warships were still in the sky, their powerful engines struggling to maintain altitude after relentless attacks. On the ground, soldiers scrambled for cover, many firing futilely at the creature while others dragged their wounded comrades to safety. The streets were littered with the ruins of paladins, destroyed equipment, and the bodies of the fallen. In the distance, Winter fought valiantly, her strikes slower and less precise, exhaustion clearly weighing heavily on her.

Ironwood stood nearby, his usually stoic face etched with despair. His feed, like Crimson's, was being broadcast live to the world. The general's clenched fists trembled as he surveyed the heart-wrenching scene—his army, his people, being slaughtered mercilessly.

Raven emerged from the portal last, her crimson eyes narrowing as she took in the carnage. "We have to take it down. Every second that thing is alive, more people die."

Qrow, still firing, barked back, "If you've got an idea to kill it faster, you're welcome to share!"

Ironwood turned to Crimson, who stood unnervingly still. The young warrior's eyes were closed, his breathing slow and measured. The tremors that had wracked his body earlier were gone, replaced by an unnatural stillness.

Raven and Qrow both noticed the change. Raven frowned, stepping closer. "What's going on with him?"

Crimson's mind was elsewhere, far removed from the chaos around him. He recalled the time he had spent in limbo, the god of harmony domain, that strange, tranquil place between life and death. He remembered the peace he had felt there, the calm amidst the storm. He could almost feel himself back there now—no pain, no screams, only serenity. He remembered sparring with his brother, the lessons they had exchanged, and the pain of watching lives slip away. That pain, once a crushing weight, now felt like fuel.

The others stared in awe as Crimson's sword began to glow, its edge shifting to a brilliant, fiery red. A faint wave of heat radiated from him, causing the air around him to shimmer. Qrow's eyes widened, his voice sharp with concern. "Crimson, what the hell's going on? Are you okay?"

Crimson opened his eyes. They were calm, terrifyingly calm, like the eye of a storm. He looked past Qrow, his gaze locking onto the Hydra-Grimm.

Qrow took a step closer, uneasy. "What are you doing, Crimson?"

Crimson's voice was steady and quiet, yet it carried an unshakable resolve. "Sun Breathing."

Before anyone could respond, Crimson vanished. The ground beneath his feet cracked and splintered from the force of his takeoff. The group turned toward the Hydra-Grimm just in time to see one of its heads sliced clean off, a blazing trail of fire following the arc of Crimson's blade.

The battlefield fell silent for a moment as soldiers and the world alike watched in stunned disbelief. One by one, the remaining heads of the Hydra-Grimm fell, each strike precise and impossibly fast. Trails of fire lit the battlefield as Crimson moved like a force of nature, his every motion a blur of fiery destruction.

The last head fell, and the Hydra-Grimm let out a final, guttural roar before collapsing. Its massive body began to disintegrate, black smoke rising into the air as its remains crumbled to ash.

Crimson crashed to the ground near the creature's corpse, his body hitting the rubble with a sickening thud. Raven immediately opened a portal and rushed toward him, Ironwood and Qrow close behind. They stepped through the portal, finding Crimson lying motionless on the other side.

The sight was horrifying. Blood seeped from Crimson's eyes, nose, and ears, staining his pale face. His uniform was soaked in blood, and even his trousers were darkened, revealing that his legs were also bleeding profusely. His hands, which still clutched his swords, were trembling violently.

Qrow dropped to his knees beside him, panic evident in his voice. "Crimson! Speak to me! Say something!"

Crimson didn't respond. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the only sign that he was still alive.

Ironwood, his composure finally breaking, screamed into his comms. "Medics! I need medics now! Drop whatever you're doing and get to my location immediately!"

The world watched through Ironwood's live feed as the camera focused on Crimson. The young warrior lay broken, his body battered beyond recognition, yet his face was serene, almost peaceful.

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Raven knelt beside Crimson, her usually impassive face marred by rare, visible anguish. "You idiot," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why did you push yourself this far?"

Ironwood's voice roared over the comms again, desperation lacing his words. "Get me a medic! Now!"

The broadcast lingered on the scene, the world holding its breath as they watched the aftermath of Crimson's heroic stand. The Hydra-Grimm was gone. The battle was won. But the cost was written in blood, and Crimson's last stand would be remembered by all who saw it.

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A month had passed since the war ended, but the scars it left behind were still fresh. The people of Mantle and Atlas slowly trickled back into their cities, their hearts heavy with sorrow and shock. Their once-proud kingdom, a symbol of technological advancement and military might, now lay in ruins. Skyscrapers were reduced to skeletal remains of steel and concrete, homes lay shattered, and the streets were unrecognizable under the layers of rubble and ash.

Even worse, the harsh winter of Solitas was unforgiving. The heating systems, essential for survival in the frozen climate, were destroyed. The power grid that had once brought light and warmth to millions was gone, leaving the kingdom in a frigid darkness. Families huddled together in makeshift shelters, trying to fend off the biting cold with nothing more than blankets and small fires. Atlas, once the pinnacle of human achievement, had been crippled.

Yet, despite the unimaginable devastation, no one in Mantle or Atlas voiced complaints. The people were silent, not out of fear but out of respect. They had all witnessed the battle that had unfolded on their soil, broadcast to the world in real-time. They had seen the unrelenting fight of the Atlas military, soldiers who gave everything they had to protect their home. They had watched loved ones, friends, and neighbors perish or return broken from the frontlines.

There was a solemn understanding among the populace. Families that had lost sons, daughters, fathers, and mothers to the war grieved in silence. They mourned their dead but held their heads high, knowing their sacrifices had not been in vain. They had seen the enemy—Salem, Levianth class Grimm and the monstrous Hydra-Grimm that had been the embodiment of death and destruction—and they had seen it fall. Atlas had paid a heavy price, but they had emerged victorious.

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The Atlas army, though battered, worked tirelessly. Soldiers scrambled to reestablish their chain of command and carry out rescue operations. Medics and engineers worked around the clock to treat the wounded and restore basic infrastructure. The kingdom's forces, despite their losses, continued to serve the people with unwavering dedication.

The situation was hellish. Hospitals overflowed with the injured, many of whom would never walk again or live without pain. Food and water supplies were scarce, and the freezing temperatures made every task more arduous. Soldiers patrolled the streets, clearing rubble and setting up temporary shelters. Despite their exhaustion, they carried on, driven by duty and the knowledge that they were all that stood between survival and despair.

The rest of the world had watched the war live, and they understood the gravity of what Atlas had faced. Aid began pouring in from every corner of Remnant. Ships and aircraft carrying food, medical supplies, and engineers arrived daily, their crews determined to help rebuild the shattered kingdom.

For once, the world stood united. Atlas had borne the brunt of the war, fighting not just for themselves but for the survival of everyone. They had faced an enemy that had long sown discord between kingdoms and races in the shadows, and they had emerged victorious. The rest of the world recognized their sacrifice and agreed that Atlas deserved all the help they could provide.

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Among the many wounded who had fought bravely in the battle was Crimson Rose. He lay in one of Atlas's many overcrowded medical centers, his body heavily bandaged and still. Crimson had been in a coma since the end of the war, his body pushed far beyond its limits. His injuries were severe: burns covered his arms, his muscles were torn, and internal damage had pushed him to the brink of death. Despite the medical staff's best efforts, he had not woken.

Crimson's room became a place of quiet pilgrimage. Family, friends, and soldiers came to visit him, their faces marked with both hope and sorrow. His sister Ruby sat by his side every day, clutching his hand as if willing him to wake. Qrow often leaned against the wall, flask in hand, his face shadowed by guilt and worry. Ironwood, though busy leading the reconstruction efforts, made it a point to check in on Crimson whenever he could. Even Raven, who rarely showed emotion, had been seen lingering in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

Soldiers who had fought alongside Crimson often came to stand outside his room, offering quiet prayers or simply standing in silence. To them, he was more than a comrade. He was a symbol of hope, of courage in the face of overwhelming odds. His actions during the battle— Dealing with the Levianth-class grimm, capturing Salem, standing as bait to distract the Hydra-Grimm, deflecting beams to protect Ruby, and ultimately delivering the final, devastating blows—were etched into their memories.

The world hadn't forgotten him either. Crimson's last stand had been broadcast live, and the image of him standing bloodied and exhausted, wielding a glowing sword and cutting down the Hydra-Grimm, had become a symbol of humanity's resilience. His sacrifice was not just remembered—it was honored. Across Remnant, people lit candles and held vigils for him, praying for his recovery.

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Inside the quiet room, the only sounds were the steady beeping of the medical monitors and the faint hum of the machines keeping Crimson alive. Ruby sat beside him, her silver eyes filled with tears that refused to fall. She whispered softly, recounting memories of their childhood, of their mother, and of the dreams they had shared.

"You're a hero, Crimson," she said, her voice breaking. "You saved so many lives. You did more than anyone could have asked. But... you're my brother, and I need you to come back to me."

Her voice trailed off, and she tightened her grip on his hand.

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Outside, the snow began to fall, blanketing the ruins of Atlas in a fragile, fleeting beauty. The world watched and waited, holding its breath for the boy who had given everything to save it. Crimson Rose, the warrior who stood against the Hydra-Grimm when hope seemed lost, was now a symbol of unity and sacrifice.

Though his eyes remained closed, his legacy burned brightly in the hearts of all who knew him, and even in those who didn't. His actions, his courage, and his sacrifice would never be forgotten. As Atlas began the long, arduous journey of rebuilding, Crimson's name was a beacon of hope—a reminder of what humanity could achieve when they stood together.

The battle was over, but the war to rebuild was just beginning.