Chương 130: Chapter 123: The Faith of the Broken Scorpion

The subterranean levels of the Atlas military maximum-security prison were a masterpiece of cold, unforgiving engineering. The long, sterile hallway was bathed in stark, clinical white light, the walls lined with impenetrable reinforced steel and humming energy barriers. It was a place designed to crush the human spirit, burying the most dangerous threats to the Kingdom deep beneath the permafrost of Solitas. The heavy, rhythmic clanking of military boots and sliding iron chains echoed through the quiet corridor.

A squad of six heavily armed, elite Atlesian soldiers marched in a tight, defensive formation. In the center of their perimeter walked Tyrian Callows. The psychotic serial killer was heavily restrained. Thick, Aura-suppressing tungsten cuffs bound his wrists together, attached by a short, heavy chain to a reinforced collar around his neck. His legs were tightly shackled, forcing him to shuffle feebly across the polished floorboards. But the most grievous wound was not the heavy chains.

Beneath his thick prison uniform, heavily bandaged and numbed by high-grade Atlesian painkillers, was the agonizing, bleeding ruin of his lower spine. He no longer possessed his chitinous, venomous scorpion tail. The phantom pain of the severed appendage flared with every agonizing step, shooting hot needles of raw agony through his nervous system. He endured it in rigid silence, his teeth grinding together. Tyrian's scarred face was twisted into a dark, murderous scowl.

His physical agony paled in comparison to the psychological torment ravaging his mind. He had failed. He had not only failed his killing spree at Robyn Hill's rally, but he felt he had profoundly, unforgivably failed his Goddess. He had allowed himself to be crippled and captured. And it was all because of that completely unknown, infuriatingly blank-faced man in the white trench coat and bowler hat. I will kill him. Tyrian's fractured mind chanted continuously, his yellow eyes burning with unadulterated hatred.

I will carve that bowler hat bastard into pieces.

"Keep moving. No sudden stops," the lead soldier barked, shoving Tyrian forward with the barrel of his rifle. They marched past several glowing, heavily shielded holding cells. As they approached one of the maximum-security containment units, a figure huddled in the shadows near the bulletproof glass slowly lifted his head. It was a disgraced, broken man. His golden mane was matted and graying, his posture slumped in a state of absolute, pathetic misery.

Former Headmaster Leonardo Lionheart sat on the floor of his cell, drowning in the ocean of his own regrets. He regretted betraying Ozpin. He regretted failing to please Salem. He regretted failing to escape the wrath of both sides. He was a coward, trapped in the dark. As Tyrian shuffled past, Lionheart's eyes widened in sheer, trembling shock. He scrambled closer to the glass, his hands pressing against the thick pane.

"T-Tyrian...?" Lionheart gasped, entirely unable to believe that one of Salem's most lethal, terrifying agents had actually been captured and mutilated. Tyrian paused his shuffling just long enough to turn his head. He looked at the trembling Faunus through the reinforced glass. Despite his agonizing injuries, Tyrian's face split into a wide, deeply psychopathic chuckle.

"Well, well..." Tyrian rasped, his voice dripping with sadistic glee.

"Look at this. The cowardly lion is finally exactly where he is always supposed to be. In a cage." Lionheart flinched violently, shrinking back into the shadows of his cell as the soldiers aggressively shoved Tyrian forward again, forcing him down the hall.

Finally, the squad arrived at the deepest, most secure containment unit in the entire facility. The heavy steel door hissed, sliding open.

"Inside. Now," the Sergeant ordered. Two soldiers grabbed Tyrian by the shoulders and roughly threw him into the cell. Tyrian stumbled, crashing heavily onto the cold metal floor. Behind him, the door slammed shut, the heavy, mechanical locks engaging with a definitive, inescapable finality. Tyrian groaned, slowly pushing himself up from the floor. His restraints clinked loudly in the small, empty room. He turned around, facing the thick, bulletproof glass wall at the front of the cell.

Outside the glass was a solid steel blast shutter, completely blocking his view of the corridor. Suddenly, the heavy machinery whirred to life. The steel wall outside the glass automatically hissed and retracted upward, sliding into the ceiling. Standing on the other side of the glass, bathed in the dim light of the observation corridor, were three figures. General James Ironwood, Qrow Branwen, and Ozpin (borrowing Oscar Pine's body) stood shoulder-to-shoulder.

Their expressions were incredibly dark, serious, and unyielding as they stared directly at the captured killer. Tyrian straightened his posture, ignoring the searing pain in his back. He tilted his head, giving the three leaders his usual, maniacal, psychopathic smile.

"Oh, look who it is," Tyrian giggled, his yellow eyes practically glowing with madness.

"The paranoid general and his little friends. Come to read me my final rites?" Ironwood stepped closer to the glass, his massive frame radiating an oppressive, military authority.

"Tyrian Callows," General Ironwood stated, his voice a cold, immovable rumble.

"We know exactly who you are. And we know who you work for." Tyrian simply chuckled, a wet, rattling sound in the back of his throat.

"You were a highly dangerous, prolific serial killer operating across the continent of Anima for years," Ironwood continued, reciting the grim dossier with clinical precision.

"A madman who evaded every Huntsman sent after you, until you simply vanished into the shadows. We know she found you. We know Salem recruited you." Tyrian's smile merely widened, his eyes unblinking. Qrow Branwen stepped up beside the General, his crimson eyes burning with a fierce, localized hatred. He remembered the blood on the floors of Haven. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

"You slaughtered dozens of Huntsmen and Huntresses across Mistral," Qrow growled, his hand resting aggressively on the hilt of Harbinger.

"Good people. Protectors. You bled Haven Academy dry for her. And then you came here, to Mantle, and started butchering innocent civilians and soldiers in the dark just to spark a political riot. Does that make you feel powerful? Slaughtering people who can't even fight back?" Qrow tried to press the moral weight of the atrocities, attempting to guilt-trip the Faunus to find a crack in his psychological armor. But Tyrian just smiled. It wasn't a defensive smile.

It was a look of pure, unadulterated, euphoric nostalgia.

"I enjoy doing all of it," Tyrian purred, leaning his forehead against the cold glass.

"Every scream. Every drop of blood. It is a symphony, and I am merely the conductor playing her beautiful music." Ozpin felt a heavy, profound sadness. Ironwood and Qrow's expressions hardened into stone. They found absolutely zero remorse in the scorpion Faunus. Tyrian was a complete, irredeemable monster. Ironwood narrowed his cybernetic eye, abandoning the psychological profiling.

"I don't care about your sick amusements," Ironwood demanded, his voice echoing through the cell's internal speakers.

"I want a name. I want the identity of the hacker who compromised Mantle's heating grid and rigged the Council election polls. Who is operating the cyber-incursions?" Tyrian giggled, tracing a finger across the glass.

"The gears turn, the cold bites, and the blind men stumble in the dark. The shadows are everywhere, General. You just don't know how to look." Ironwood's jaw clenched. Without breaking eye contact, the General reached out and slammed his hand onto a large, glowing red button on the observation console. BZZZZZT! A blinding, violent arc of raw Lightning Dust erupted from the floor and walls of the maximum-security cell. The high-voltage energy coursed directly through Tyrian's restraints and into his nervous system.

"GAAAAAAAH!" Tyrian screamed in absolute, visceral agony, his body seizing and convulsing violently under the electrocution. The Lightning Dust torture system cut off after three agonizing seconds. Tyrian collapsed heavily to his knees, his shackles clattering against the floor. He panted heavily, smoke rising faintly from his prison uniform as his muscles twitched. Outside the glass, Qrow grimaced slightly, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

He was a hardened Huntsman, but watching a prisoner be actively electrocuted unsettled him. However, he quickly hardened his resolve, remembering the innocent blood staining the Faunus's hands. Ozpin, having lived through millennia of brutal, unforgiving wars, watched the scene with a heavy, unfazed stoicism. He despised torture, but he understood the desperate, terrifying reality of the information they needed. Qrow leaned toward the microphone, trying a different angle.

"Let's start with a simple one, Tyrian," Qrow suggested coldly.

"Where are Cinder Fall and her lackeys? We know she's in Atlas." For a long moment, there was no answer. Tyrian knelt on the floor, his head bowed, his breath coming in ragged, painful gasps. But slowly, the panting shifted. It morphed into a soft, quiet chuckle.

"Ha... haha..." The chuckle bubbled up from his chest, growing louder, more unhinged, until Tyrian threw his head back and let out a full, psychotic, maniacal roar of laughter that echoed horrifyingly through the containment block.

"HAHAHAHA!" Qrow and Ironwood exchanged deeply unsettled glances.

"Cinder Fall?" Tyrian laughed, his yellow eyes wide and feverish as he looked up at Qrow.

"That arrogant, petulant child? You think I care about her?! She is nothing! She does not matter! Her pathetic ambitions are completely meaningless compared to the divine will of my Goddess!" Tyrian spat blood onto the floor, refusing to spill the identity of the hacker, the rigged election, or Cinder's hideout, entirely unfazed by the pain. Ozpin slowly stepped forward, closing the distance until he was standing mere inches from the bulletproof glass.

The millennia old headmaster stared down at the kneeling killer with eyes that had seen empires rise and fall, eyes that carried the crushing, eternal weight of his unending war with Salem. Tyrian's laughter slowly died. He looked at the young boy standing before him. He saw the ancient, profound depth in those hazel eyes, recognizing the soul residing within the vessel. Tyrian's manic grin widened.

"Ah... The old wizard." Tyrian pushed himself up onto his shackled feet, leaning close to the glass until he was face-to-face with Ozpin.

"My Goddess sends her regards," Tyrian whispered, a sickening reverence in his voice. Ozpin narrowed his eyes, a look of profound, tragic pity washing over his features.

"I question your blind dedication, Tyrian," Ozpin spoke, his voice resonating with centuries of weary wisdom.

"You speak of her as a deity, but Salem sees you as absolutely nothing but a tool. A disposable pawn on a board she intends to flip. The moment you cease to be useful, she will discard you without a second thought. You are wasting your life for nothing." Ozpin leaned slightly closer, his voice unwavering.

"Salem is deluded into thinking that everything she does is worth the suffering she causes. And so are you, for blindly following her into the fire." The playful, maniacal joy instantly vanished from Tyrian's face. His yellow eyes dilated into massive, terrifying pools of pure, unadulterated rage.

"DO NOT LOOK DOWN ON MY GODDESS!" Tyrian screamed with such raw, explosive ferocity that Qrow and Ironwood instinctively took a half-step back from the glass. Ozpin, however, remained perfectly still, completely unfazed by the madman's outburst. Tyrian breathed heavily, his chest heaving as he stared at the reincarnating Headmaster. Slowly, the lunatic smile crawled its way back onto his scarred face.

"You know nothing," Tyrian gloated, his voice dropping into a fanatic, breathless whisper.

"My encounter with her was the ultimate blessing. I was chosen. She saw the beauty in my chaos! You fragile, pathetic fools do not understand the magnificent beauty of her grand design! When she unmakes this wretched world, it will be glorious!" Tyrian began to pace the small cell, his chains rattling as he mocked the three leaders standing in the observation corridor.

"Look at you," Tyrian chuckled, shaking his head.

"A bunch of fragile, self-righteous hypocrites! You stand there, keeping your little secrets from each other, keeping your secrets from the sheep outside, thinking you are on the right side of history! You cling to your pathetic ideas of justice and peace, while your entire Kingdom burns from the inside out!" Ironwood's cybernetic fist clenched so tightly the metal joints whined. His patience had entirely evaporated.

"You keep saying that I am a monster..." Tyrian laughed, stopping his pacing to turn toward the glass. His yellow eyes locked directly onto General Ironwood, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

"Seems like you haven't looked in the mirror yet." Ironwood completely lost control. He lunged forward, violently slamming his heavy, cybernetic fist against the bulletproof glass with a deafening, echoing CRACK that shook the entire cell block.

"WHO IS THE HACKER?!" Ironwood roared, his face flushed with absolute, unyielding fury.

"WHERE ARE THEY?!" Tyrian threw his head back, laughing maniacally at the General's loss of composure.

"The shadow falls where the light is brightest, James! The strings are already cut, and the puppets are dancing!" Ironwood slammed his hand onto the control console. BZZZZZZT! The Lightning Dust system activated with double the intensity. Tyrian screamed in pure, unadulterated agony as the high-voltage electricity tore through his body, violently shocking him until the system finally automatically disengaged.

Tyrian crashed heavily onto his knees, his entire body trembling violently, smoke rising thickly from his singed uniform. He panted, his breath ragged and weak. But almost immediately, his shoulders began to shake. He looked up through his messy, sweat-soaked hair, and let out a full, roaring, lunatic laugh.

"YOU THINK, BY CAPTURING ME, YOU ARE WINNING?!" Tyrian screamed through the lingering pain, his voice echoing with absolute fanaticism.

"YOU THINK, BY HAVING THE SO-CALLED INVINCIBLE 'HERO OF VALE' ON YOUR LEASH, YOU CAN WIN AGAINST MY QUEEN?! MY GODDESS?!" Ironwood, Ozpin, and Qrow watched him, deeply unsettled by the sheer, unbreakable madness of his devotion. Ironwood was breathing heavily, his chest heaving with anger, causing Ozpin and Qrow to exchange worried glances, terrified that the General was actively losing his humanity to the psychopath's taunts.

"YOU HAVE NOTHING!" Tyrian roared, fighting against his shackles to stand up.

"NOTHING TO THREATEN ME WITH! YOU ARE ALL STUPID TO THINK THAT YOU HAVE A CHANCE TO DEFEAT MY GODDESS, TO THINK THAT HE CAN DEFEAT HER! SHE IS MUCH MORE POWERFUL, MORE DIVINE THAN YOU CAN EVER IMAGINE!" With a terrifying burst of adrenaline, Tyrian threw himself violently forward, crashing his body against the bulletproof glass of his cell. He pressed his bleeding, scarred face against the pane, glaring maniacally at the three leaders.

"I am getting out of here, one way or another. And when I do... I'll rip all your guts out and present them to my Goddess!!" Tyrian promised, his voice a dark, venomous hiss that left a trail of blood on the glass.

"But before that, I'll pay a personal visit to that bowler hat bastard for what he did to me!!" Qrow and Ironwood glared back at the serial killer, their eyes burning with intense, unapologetic hatred. Ozpin simply closed his eyes, letting out a long, weary sigh.

"We will try again later," Ozpin said softly, turning away from the glass. Having entirely failed to extract a single piece of tactical information from the psychotic prisoner, Qrow and Ironwood felt the bitter, heavy sting of defeat. Both men nodded silently in agreement, turning their backs on the madman.

"YOUR FATES ARE ALREADY SEALED IN MY GODDESS' HAND!" Tyrian screamed after them, his voice echoing down the corridor.

"YOUR DOOM IS INEVITABLE! HAHAHAHAHA!" As Ozpin, Ironwood, and Qrow walked away, leaving the serial killer in his isolation, the heavy machinery whirred to life once more. The thick steel wall slid back down from the ceiling, sealing over the bulletproof glass and plunging Tyrian Callows back into the dark, his maniacal laughter abruptly cut off by the heavy, impenetrable slam of Atlesian steel.