People always want to know what really happened to Atlas. The historians blame Salem. The survivors blame General Ironwood. The cynics say the kingdom was doomed from the moment it first took to the sky.
They're all wrong. Atlas didn't die in a single day. It rotted from the inside out. By the time Team RWBY finally came back, there was barely anything left to save.
Years ago, after the fall, Uncle Qrow had sent them to investigate a ghost signal echoing from the ruins. It spoke of a warlord known only as the Baron and horrors that defied description. This was the message they had intercepted:
“This is the Voice of Atlas, broadcasting on all emergency frequencies. We are under siege. We're being slaughtered. There are bodies in the Central Plaza... hundreds of them. Thousands more are trapped in the lower tiers. Every minute... more people die. Please. If anyone can hear this... record this message. Pass it on. People deserve the truth. This wasn't an accident. This wasn't the Grimm. This is murder. He built this nightmare. The Baron created these monsters and led us to the slaughter. His abominations are already loose. Please... someone... help us... Is… is there no one left?”
Now, a brutal blizzard howled across the frozen wasteland of the Atlas outskirts. Through the blinding sheets of snow, four silhouettes emerged. The ruined skyline of the floating kingdom loomed in the distance, a graveyard of shattered steel.
"Hey, guys," Yang called out over the wind. "I've got a situation."
Weiss let out a long, exhausted sigh. "What now, Yang?"
"Take a guess."
Weiss didn't even look at her. "Is it mission-critical?"
"Nope."
"Then take it up through the chain of command."
"Roger that." Yang turned her head. "Ruby?"
"Go ahead, Yang. What's up?"
"Why don't Grimm ever get lost?"
The wind howled. Nobody laughed.
"Yang..." Weiss warned.
"Because they always follow their killer instincts."
Dead silence. The only sound was the crunch of snow beneath their boots.
Weiss pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a reluctant, breathy chuckle. "Oh, would you please shut up?"
"Hey, that one was funny."
"Debatable," Blake deadpanned.
The banter faded as they crested the final ridge, and Atlas finally came into full view. Its once-gleaming towers were broken, jutting into the gray sky like shattered ribs. The streets were buried beneath drifts of snow and gray ash. There were no lights. No movement. Just a suffocating, heavy silence.
Ruby pulled her collar up against the cold. "Ladies... welcome back to Atlas."
"Yeah," Yang muttered, staring at the devastation. "Still dead."
"Let's not jump to conclusions," Blake said quietly. "We've only seen the outer ring."
Ruby tapped her earpiece. "Yang, can you still track the distress signal?"
Yang checked her scroll, the screen casting a pale glow on her face. "Yep. Pinging from about eight hundred yards inside the city limits."
Weiss crossed her arms. "Then we're eight hundred yards away from finding out if that transmission was real... or if someone out here tells worse jokes than Yang."
"Wow," Yang smirked, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "If I weren't a highly trained killing machine, that might've actually hurt."
Ruby smiled faintly at the exchange, but as she looked back toward the ruined city, her expression hardened into something much older and much colder.
"Stay sharp," Ruby said, drawing Crescent Rose. "If that broadcast was real... we're walking straight into hell."
Side by side, the team crossed the city limits. The massive, scorched gates of Atlas stood wide open, waiting to swallow them whole.
Дата на публикация: 31 октомври, 2026
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