The Huntsman of Red V2

Chapter 68 What It Means to be a Hero: 7

The spark of magic crackled as Salem broke off the connection she had with the Grimm Shadow and focused her full attention on Ozpin. Archer had used the Grimm Shadow long enough to have an in-depth understanding of its mechanics, and she trusted his competence to the point that she felt that she didn't need to supervise him.

The two were collaborators, not subordinates of the other. That was the distinction.

With the entirety of her attention focused back on Ozpin, it wasn't long before there was a noticeable difference in their duel.

Bang!

Ozpin's brow twitched as fringes of his bangs were seared by a beam of magic energy he narrowly avoided.

Salem hovered under a platform of her magic while slowly pulling back the hand she'd used to aim an attack at Ozpin's head.

"I won't miss a second time, dear Ozma." Salem murmured with loathing.

Ozpin clicked his tongue and readjusted the grip he had on his sword. "Then work on your aim. We've had years to practice."

Salem sneered, but didn't rise to the jab as she noted Ozpin tensing his legs to narrow the distance between them.

She had always been the one better in the arts of sorcery and magic. Ozma had started a warrior, a gallant knight that had primarily used his magic to augment his sword and physical abilities.

Salem was the one who taught Ozma to be more adept in the arcane.

Memories flickered in both Salem and Ozpin's minds as they stood across from each other, knowing that they were the root of all problems Remnant faced to this date. It was their decisions and actions that had contributed to the misfortune of everyone.

And while Ozpin sought to rectify past mistakes, Salem wanted an end.

An end to this immortality, to this bastardization of the love and happy ending she'd always wanted, but was stripped of her.

She'd lived too long, grown too jaded, and most of all, she just couldn't let go of the past.

Salem balled her hands into fists.

She knew.

She knew it all along. The hatred within her, and the fury.

As much as she loathed Ozma for his past actions, much of that hate was also on herself. In her rage, she had killed both her husband and daughters without ever asking the reason for their betrayal.

The secrets and history both she and Ozma shared were many, as they were the closest to understanding the other's hardship, but one mistake between them led to another.

Ozma had already tried to tell her the reason of his betrayal, and if she were off sounder mind and reasoning, she may have been able to see and understand. Yet she couldn't.

Not when there was no longer any reason to listen.

Listening would not bring her daughters back.

"You haven't changed, Ozpin." Salem whispered, magic energy swelling around her in a manner that far outstripped her earlier output. "It was your mistake to divide your power by four. Even if you did it in their memory."

Ozpin hardened his resolve, knowing what was to come.

Raising his arm, he shielded his face from a torrent of buffeting wind as Salem condensed her magic energy around her. A thin film formed, hardening into a glass-like substance that constantly floated and revolved around her waist. Meanwhile, magic danced on the tips of her fingers, crackling and arcing like lightning.