The End of RWBY

Evernight Castle

3:42 PM — Friday, 16th October, 2015

The metallic cylinder clicks between your fingers, a sharp, rhythmic snap breaking the heavy silence of the North Tower corridor. With each click, a tiny, burning red dot of light dances across the polished obsidian floorboards.

Bella plunges after it instantly.

She scrambles frantically on all fours, her pale thighs and bare hips flashing in the dim torchlight as her sleek, black cat tail swishes with erratic, feline focus. Her dark cat ears pin flat against her hair, her vacant amber eyes dilated into massive black discs as she pants, completely consumed by the chase. You flick your wrist, sending the crimson dot zig-zagging through the open double doors of the parlor suite. Bella lets out a sharp, playful mewl and leaps through the threshold in a ****, sprawling pounce, landing heavily on the plush rug right at the feet of her former teammates.

You step into the parlor a second later, pocketing the pointer.

Ruby and Yang stand near the grand mahogany table, utterly frozen. Ruby’s jaw hangs slack, her breath hitching as she stares down at the hollow shell of Blake Belladonna, who is currently rolling onto her back on the rug, batting mindlessly at the floorboards where the red light had just been.

You don't offer a grand speech. You simply look at the two remaining sisters, your tone smooth and entirely casual. "I don't need to explain what I want, or what happens if you refuse, do I?"

Ruby’s throat locks. She shudders, her silver eyes darting between the naked creature purring on the floor and your imposing figure, completely incapable of processing how to respond.

She doesn't get the chance.

Yang steps violently in front of her little sister. Her athletic, voluptuous frame is wound tight like a spring, but she isn't cowering.

Instead, she looks you dead in the eye, her lips peeling back into a hollow, artificial smile.

"Is that all you've got?" she asks. A brittle bravado is woven into every syllable, but the illusion slips the moment your eyes drift lower; her hands tremble so hard her knuckles are white. Still, she takes another deliberate step forward, her stance widening, her broad shoulders completely obscuring Ruby from your sight. "You put on a pretty show with the sky and you think we’re just supposed to drop to our knees?"

"I am God—"

"You. Are. Pathetic," the mortal has the absolute nerve to cut you off.

A sharp, dangerous heat flares in your chest at the interruption. Her lips curl into a jagged imitation of a smirk as she steps even closer, invading your personal space. Her chest heaves under her tank top as she deliberately tilts her chin up, exposing the ****, pulsing line of her throat. She is practically offering it to you.

"Tell me, your grace," she says, spitting the title like a mouthful of venom. "Have you ever actually been in a fight?"

Your eyes narrow, the room’s temperature dropping instantly. "Did you forget how you got here?"

"That wasn't a fight," Yang scoffs, her voice rising, dripping with disdain. "That was just you being a little bitch and hiding behind your powers. You've never trained a day in your life, have you? Never risked anything. You didn't work for a single ounce of your strength. It was just handed to you."

"Yang, stop!" Ruby gasps from behind her, her voice fracturing with raw panic. She reaches out, her small hands frantically clawing at the fabric of Yang’s jacket, trying to drag her sister backward. "Don't do this! Just look at Blake! Please, Yang, shut up!"

Yang doesn't even blink. She shoves Ruby’s hands away without breaking eye contact with you, her smirk widening as she watches the dark aura of your anger begin to saturate the air.

"Look at him, Ruby. He’s terrified. Look at how he's shaking," Yang says, her eyes locking onto yours with a manic intensity. "If you weren't stronger than me by default, if you weren't faster, if you were actually matched to my level and couldn't just no-sell all my attacks... I'd beat you like the bitch you are. But you don't have the spine for a match like that, do you? Or do you honestly think you could take me in a fair fight, your grace?"

The air in the room turns suffocating. Your jaw tightens, a violent fury coiling in your veins as this insignificant speck continues to soil your presence with her tongue. You are a deity, and she is speaking to you like a dog in an alley.

Before you can speak her execution into existence, the bitch has the ultimate gall to move.

Her shoulder dips, and she hurls a brutal, **** cross straight at your face. The impact cracks through the quiet parlor. Your face doesn't move an inch—your passive, divine barrier absorbing the kinetic **** instantly—but Yang's smirk doesn't fade either. In fact, her eyes flash with a sick, triumphant satisfaction.

"See? You're such a coward," Yang taunts, her knuckles still pressed uselessly against the invisible space an inch from your cheek. She is practically vibrating, her breathing shallow and frantic as she stares into the face of your mounting, explosive rage. "Is there even a single second of the day you don't have your bullshit shield up?"

Your hand moves faster than mortal thought.

You don't flash into motion; you simply occupy the space where her throat is, your fingers wrapping around her neck with bone-crushing strength. You lift her straight off her feet, her boots dangling inches above the plush rug.

Yang chokes, her gloved hands instantly flying to your wrist, her short nails clawing uselessly against your skin as she tries to pry herself free from your iron grip. Her face begins to flush a deep, suffocating crimson, the veins along her temples bulging as her oxygen cuts off. Yet, the sick, manic triumph in her eyes doesn't die. If anything, it burns brighter. She stares down at you through swelling lids, her teeth bared in a bloody, strangled grin.

"No! Please, stop!"

Ruby throws herself forward, her small hands frantically grabbing at your fingers, futilely trying to pry your crushing grip open. She is sobbing, her voice entirely broken as she looks up at you with absolute terror. "Please! She's sorry! She didn't mean it! We submit! We'll do whatever you want! Tell him, Yang! Just tell him we submit!"

You ignore the younger sister entirely, keeping your gaze locked onto the brawler dangling in your grasp. You expect to see the primal, base terror of an animal realizing it is about to be slaughtered. But as you watch her, you catch a fleeting flicker of grief in Yang's eyes as she looks down at Ruby—followed immediately by a tired, hollow triumph. And then... peace.

Why would she be feeling peace?

Your brow furrows. The anomalies make you hesitate. You let go of the mental attack you were currently prepping—the crushing psychic hammer meant to shatter her mind into a million pieces and reduce her to a drooling, vacant shell who would never remember her own name, let alone her pride.

Instead, you launch a sharp, exploratory probe straight into the core of her consciousness, tearing through her mind like a hot blade through wax.

What you find brings your divine fury to an absolute, blistering peak.

Yang was weaponizing your pride, deliberately trying to drive you into an instantaneous, explosive rage so that you would execute her mind on the spot. She thought being a bimbo—happy, giggly, living only for pleasure—was a far better fate than what Weiss had selected: being awake and conscious to witness and suffer through all you had done and would do. And so she—a mere mortal, an insect crawling in the dirt—was trying to manipulate you into granting it. She was trying to control a God.

"YOU, MORTAL, DARE TRY TO TRICK ME?"

The words don't just leave your mouth; they crash through the room like a physical shockwave, shattering the glass panes of the high windows into a million glittering shards.

The tired glee in Yang's eyes dies instantly as she realizes she has been caught. The peaceful smirk vanishes from her lips, replaced by a sudden, frantic horror. Realizing her gamble has failed catastrophically, she begins to violently thrash in your grip, kicking her boots against your chest and pounding her fists against your arm in a ****, wild panic.

It is far, far too late.

The sheer audacity of her deceit snaps any restraint you had. You stop holding back. You stop pretending to occupy a fragile, human-shaped vessel.

The room violently implodes with a deafening, thunderous roar as you let your divine form bleed into reality.

The illusion of flesh shatters. Your silhouette expands, tearing at the geometry of the room as your true majesty erupts outward. The air turns to ozone, burning with a blinding, celestial luminescence that casts long, terrifying shadows against the obsidian walls. Your eyes cease to be human, transforming into twin, burning supernovas of pure cosmic wrath that bleed white-hot light into the room. A crushing gravity drops over the parlor, cracking the mahogany table in half and forcing Ruby flat onto her stomach, pinning her to the floorboards under the sheer weight of your presence. Even Bella stops playing, flattening herself against the rug and letting out a low, terrified whimper as the room vibrates with the power of a Deity.

Yang’s screams are completely swallowed by the ambient roar of your power. She can only stare into the blinding, cosmic abyss of your true face, her entire body trembling as the agonizing reality of her failure sinks in. She wanted a quick ****. She wanted to escape.

Instead, she has provoked the full, unbridled fury of God.

"YOU WANT TO SLEEP?" your voice echoes, a multi-layered choir of absolute authority that vibrates through the marrow of her bones. "YOU WANT TO LOSE YOURSELF IN BLISSFUL, VACANT OBLIVION? THEN HEAR THE JUDGEMENT OF THE LORD, YOUR GOD: YOU SHALL NEVER SLUMBER NOR REST. YOU SHALL BEAR WITNESS TO ALL YOUR BODY DOES AT MY COMMAND, AND YOU WILL FEEL EVERYTHING. SO SAYETH I, YOUR GOD."

You flex your reality-warping will, targeting the fundamental architecture of her mind.

With a merciless, invisible slash, you cleave her consciousness into two permanent, isolated halves. The real, authentic Yang is violently slammed backward, ripped from the helm of her own nervous system and chained in the dark, silent void at the back of her mind. She is completely paralyzed, stripped of every ounce of motor control—a silent spectator locked behind a psychological glass wall.

But you do not dim her awareness. Instead, you reach into the core of her sensory matrix, seizing the nerve endings of her soul and twisting them. You heighten her sense of touch to a supernatural degree. Suddenly, the friction of her clothing feels like a coarse rasp, the brush of the stagnant parlor air bites like winter frost, and the heavy, rhythmic thud of her own heartbeat reverberates through her consciousness with excruciating clarity. You leave her fully awake, a hyper-sensitive prisoner buried alive within her own flesh.

Then, from the fractured, raw space left behind in her frontal lobe, you manifest the new driver. The frantic, **** thrashing to get out of your grip stops instantly. When her eyes snap open, the **** terror of Yang Xiao Long is entirely gone, replaced by a stare swimming with fanatical devotion.

You release your grip, dropping her to the floorboards.

She doesn’t collapse. She slides seamlessly to her knees, her hands gliding reverently across the wood until they catch the edge of your boots. With a trembling sigh, she leans forward, pressing a kiss against the leather.

"Oh, Master..." she purrs, her voice settling into a sultry rasp. A flush spreads across her cheeks as she tilts her face up to gaze into your burning silhouette. Her expression is thick with lust, her full lips parting as her breath comes in shallow, eager gasps. "Thank you... thank you for purging that ungrateful, screeching brat from this mouth. I can feel your greatness vibrating all the way through my bones. Please... tell your High Priestess how to worship you."

You turn your burning gaze towards Ruby.

The younger sister is still pinned to the rug, hyperventilating, her tear-streaked face as pale as ash. Her throat clicks as she lets out small, pathetic whimpers, her silver eyes darting frantically from your imposing figure to the kneeling, flushed form of the High Priestess prostrated at your feet.

"You tried to save her," you say, your voice slowly drifting back to its mortal register but still carrying an edge of cosmic thunder. "You tried to undermine my judgment."

"P-Please..." Ruby chokes out. "Wh-what did you do to her...?"

Your temper flares again. "You dare ignore me? Like your sister, I see. Just as impertinent."

"Shall I punish her?" Your high priestess asks, still prostrated before you.

"Yes."

The persona inhabiting Yang's body rises smoothly from the floor, turning her violet eyes toward her little sister. Her lips curl into a sneer that looks grotesque on Yang's face. You flex your will. A golden shimmer ripples across Yang's skin as her Aura reignites as a roaring, supercharged furnace fed directly by your divine power. Her muscles tense, her chest heaving beneath her tight tank top, and her fists clench with a crackling, audible energy.

Ruby scrambles backward, her boots slipping on the polished floor. "Yang! Yang, it's me! It's Ruby! Please, you don't have to—"

The first blow catches Ruby square in the ribs.

The impact lifts her off the ground entirely, hurling her sideways into the mahogany table with a splintering crash. Ruby lets out a strangled, airless wheeze, curling instinctively around the point of impact. With her own aura suppressed, the strike must have broken at least a few bones.

Yang advances without mercy. She grabs a fistful of Ruby's cloak, yanking her upright before driving a brutal knee into her stomach. Ruby doubles over, a thin line of saliva streaming from her open mouth as the air is completely evacuated from her lungs.

"Yang—" Ruby chokes, reaching up with one trembling hand to cup her sister's cheek. "Please... it's me..."

The High Priestess pauses, tilting her head with clinical detachment. "I know," she says. Then she brings her fist down hard across Ruby's back, driving her flat onto the floorboards with a meaty, resonant crack.

Deep inside the prison of her own skull, behind the unyielding glass wall of her severed consciousness, the real Yang Xiao Long is screaming. Every amplified nerve ending in her body registers the impact of her own fists against her baby sister's flesh. She feels the give of Ruby's ribs beneath her knuckles, feels the warmth of Ruby's tears splashing against her fingers. But she can't close her eyes. She can't look away. She can only experience, in hyper-sensitized, excruciating clarity, exactly what her body is doing.

After three more devastating body blows—each one carefully placed to avoid Ruby's face, leaving her torso a map of deep, swelling bruises—you raise your hand.

"Enough. Hold her down."

The High Priestess instantly obeys. She drops to one knee, seizing both of Ruby's wrists in one powerful hand and pinning them above her head. Her other hand presses flat between Ruby's shoulder blades, forcing the smaller girl's chest against the cold obsidian floor. Ruby is sobbing openly now, her body trembling and broken, her silver eyes clenched shut.

You kneel behind Ruby's prone, pinned form. Your hands find the waistband of her combat skirt, and you tear the fabric away with a single, effortless pull.

Her pale thighs are already mottled with fresh bruises from her sister's ****. You spread her legs apart, positioning yourself between them, your rigid, aching length pressing against the tight, untouched heat of her entrance.

"Open your eyes, Ruby," you command.

She does. Through a veil of tears, she looks up—directly into the face of her sister, who stares back down at her with nothing but cold, zealous devotion to you.

"Yang..." Ruby whispers brokenly.

You drive forward.

Ruby's scream is raw and guttural as you bottom out inside her in a single, merciless thrust. The tight, virginal resistance of her body gives way with a sharp, tearing heat that draws a choked, animal wail from her chest. Her fingers claw uselessly against the obsidian floor, her nails scraping white lines across the polished stone as her hips try instinctively to buck away from the intrusion.

You don't allow it. Your hands lock onto her narrow waist, your fingers pressing deep into the fresh bruises your High Priestess left on her skin, and you drag her backward onto your length with a wet, heavy slap of flesh. The sensation is exquisite—impossibly tight, a scalding, gripping friction that clenches around you with every involuntary spasm of her body.

"She's crying, Master," the High Priestess observes from above, her voice flat with contempt. She still has Ruby's wrists pinned above her head, her supercharged grip leaving angry red welts on the smaller girl's pale skin. "Ungrateful little thing."

"Correct her," you grunt, establishing a punishing rhythm, your hips slamming forward with enough **** to drive Ruby's chest against the cold stone with each stroke.

The High Priestess releases one of Ruby's wrists and reaches beneath her prone body, finding the soft, modest swell of her breast. She seizes the nipple between thumb and forefinger and twists—hard. Ruby shrieks, her spine arching violently, which only drives her hips back against your pelvis with greater ****, sliding her deeper onto your cock.

"You should be thanking him," the High Priestess hisses, her voice dripping with disgust. She releases the abused nipple only to bring her open palm cracking across Ruby's left breast, the sharp slap ringing through the chamber. "A God is choosing to fill you with his divine seed, and you repay him with tears?"

Ruby's sobs fracture into broken, hiccupping gasps. "P-please... it hurts... Yang, please stop..."

The name earns her another vicious slap, this time across the cheek. Ruby's head snaps to the side, a bright red handprint blooming across her wet face. "You want it to stop?" Yang snarls, grabbing Ruby's jaw and forcing her to look up. "Say 'thank you, Master.' Say it."

Ruby's silver eyes, streaming and bloodshot, drift past the Priestess's face and find yours over her own shoulder. The raw, broken devastation in them is absolute. Her lips tremble, her chest heaving with ragged, sobbing breaths as you continue to pound into her with an unrelenting, brutal cadence. The slick, wet sounds of your cock splitting her open fill the silence between her cries.

"Th-thank... you..." Ruby chokes out, her voice barely a whisper.

The Priestess twists her other nipple viciously. "Louder."

"Thank you, Master!" Ruby screams, her voice cracking into a raw, **** shriek that dissolves immediately into fresh, heaving sobs.

You reward her obedience by driving deeper, tilting her hips to a steeper angle that lets you feel the very limit of her depth. The pressure building at the base of your spine surges with each stroke, the incredible tightness of her virgin body milking you toward completion with every frantic, involuntary clench.

Your hands dig into the soft flesh of her hips as your pace becomes savage, shallow, urgent. The Priestess holds Ruby's face pressed sideways against the stone, one hand tangled in her dark hair, the other delivering alternating pinches and slaps to her reddened, swollen breasts.

With a final, deep thrust that buries you to the hilt, you release. The hot, flooding rush of your seed pours directly into her womb, filling her with a massive, pulsing torrent that has nowhere to go but in her small frame. Ruby lets out a long, keening wail—not of pain anymore, but of utter defeat. Her body goes completely limp beneath you, her eyes staring at nothing, her mouth hanging slack as the warmth of your release pools deep inside her.

You pull out of Ruby with a slow, deliberate drag that draws a weak, shuddering gasp from her limp form. A thick, pearlescent ribbon of your seed follows, spilling from between her bruised thighs and pooling on the cold obsidian beneath her. She doesn't move. Her silver eyes are open but vacant, staring at nothing, her chest rising and falling in shallow, mechanical breaths.

You lean back on your heels, admiring the mess. Then you snap your fingers. The sound is crisp and final as a headsman's axe.

Two Beringels materialize from the corridor—massive, ape-like Grimm with white-glowing eyes and hands broad enough to encircle Ruby's entire torso. They move with silent, reverent purpose, crossing the chamber in four long strides. The High Priestess steps back without being asked, her glassy purple eyes tracking the Grimm with detached approval as they reach down and lift Ruby's limp body from the floor.

Ruby doesn't resist. She hangs between them like a broken marionette, her dark hair trailing, her silver eyes unfocused and glazed. A thin stream of your seed still leaks down the inside of her thigh, mingling with the drying blood. Her lips move soundlessly—a prayer to a God that isn't you. Another sin for you to punish her for.

"Take her to the throne room," you command the Beringels.

The Grimm obey without hesitation. They carry Ruby through the darkened corridors, descending the central staircase toward the obsidian throne room below. You follow at a leisurely pace, Yang following you silently, always exactly three steps behind. Never more, never less.

The throne room is exactly as you left it. Salem hangs suspended on the right side of the throne, her pale form writhing in slow, involuntary undulations as thick Grimm tendrils pulse rhythmically through every orifice. Her blindfold is soaked with old tears. Her gagged screams have long since faded to wet, muffled whimpers.

You gesture, and heavy iron links erupt from the obsidian floor on the throne’s opposite flank, their cold clanking echoing off the high stone vaults.

Ruby’s glazed silver eyes focus on the rattling black metal, then drift toward the right side of the dais. You can see the exact moment the realization she is going to share Salem's fate hits her. Ruby's chest heaves in a panic as she begins to thrash weakly against the massive, unyielding palms of your Beringels.

"No... no, please!" she gasps, her voice a fragile, broken reed. Her small boots scrape uselessly against the stone as the ape-like Grimm easily **** her onto her knees. "Don't do this... please! I said thank you! I'll obey! Please!"

"With anyone else, I might have reconsidered," you say, sliding your arm around your High Priestess's waist and pulling her voluptuous frame flush against your side.

As her hip bumps yours, you project your voice straight past the fanatical driver in her frontal lobe, hammering it directly into the real Yang locked in the dark void behind the glass wall: But this isn't really her punishment, now is it? It's yours. She is suffering because you defied me. Every inch of pain she goes through from this moment on is entirely your fault.

Inside her mind-space, you see the real Yang. She is on her knees, screaming and sobbing out a frantic stream of apologies while begging you to tear her apart instead of her sister. It is delicious.

You press a slow, possessive kiss to the side of Yang's neck. Beneath your lips, her body reacts instantly, her supercharged Aura flaring a warm, pulsing gold as a beautifully serene smile spreads across her flushed face. At the same moment, the iron cuffs snap shut around Ruby's wrists and ankles with a heavy, clinical clank, pinning her into a submissive, kneeling posture that perfectly mirrors Salem's.

"What do you think of her punishment?" you murmur against your priestess's skin as you conjure Ruby's blindfold. The seamless black silk wraps tightly around her face, sealing against her pale skin and stripping away her sight. Before she can even gasp at the sudden dark, you manifest the dense obsidian ear-plugs, shoving them deep into her canals and smothering her in suffocating silence. Deprived of every sense, Ruby's head thrashes wildly, her lips parting to beg for a mercy you have no intention of granting.

"She deserves this and worse for trying to oppose you, Master," Yang says, her violet eyes gleaming with zealous satisfaction.

The first tentacle strikes. Thick, warm, and dripping with viscous black fluid, it slides right between Ruby’s parted, begging lips. It drives deep down her throat, stretching her jaw to its absolute limit. Her torso violently convulses as her gag reflex kicks in, but the parasitic tendril ignores her biology, pulsing past the restriction with mechanical insistence until it seats itself fully, reducing her frantic pleas to wet, muffled ****.

"I'm glad we agree," you murmur, your hand sliding down from her waist to cup the heavy, athletic curve of her ass—firmer than the bimbos and fuller than Weiss. "Defiance merits punishment. But service... service deserves a reward. And you have served me beautifully today. What would you like?"

Your fingers dig into her flesh, making your intentions entirely clear. Your priestess picks up on the cue seamlessly, her breath hitching as her voice drops into a sultry, needy rasp. "Nothing but the chance to serve you more, Master. In whatever way you want."

You turn and take your seat on the grand obsidian throne, freeing your rigid, aching length from your trousers. With a single flick of your mind, you obliterate Yang's huntress clothes, leaving her stunning, athletic body completely bare before you.

As you pull her on to your lap, the remaining tendrils rise from the dark pools at the base of the dais. The second tentacle finds the tight, splayed entrance between Ruby's thighs, still dripping with the sticky warmth of your seed, and stabs inside with a wet, squelching thrust.

Yang strands herself over your thighs, her thick, tone legs gripping your waist as she aligns her slick, panting core with your upturned tip. Just as she sinks down, burying your supernatural thickness to the hilt with a loud, breathless gasp, the third and final tentacle emerges from the dark. It forces its way past the tight, untouched ring of Ruby's ass with a slow, inexorable pressure.

Chained directly beside your throne, Ruby's entire frame goes utterly rigid. Her fingers claw blindly at the air, every muscle locking in a ****, agonizing sensory overload as she is split open from three different directions.

You grip Yang’s hips, anchoring her down as she throws her head back, her golden mane cascading over her shoulders. She begins to ride you with a savage, **** rhythm, her full hips rolling heavily against yours as she tries to please her God.

The wet, heavy slaps of her frantic friction echo through the vault, competing only with her worshipful, breathless whimpers and the low, rhythmic humming of the parasites expanding inside Ruby and Salem.

Gradually, the synchronized pulsing of the hive claims the little sister's biology. Ruby's fingers go limp against the stone, her resistance completely draining away into a helpless, shuddering acceptance.

You lean back into the obsidian throne, your left hand buried in Yang's moving waist to guide her brutal cadence, while your right hand rests casually on the dark, sweat-damp hair of the broken girl chained at your side.