Two Wrongs Make a Right Ch.45 Revelations Part 1 (Patreon)

I'm standing in front of the red portal, arms crossed, staring at the swirling vortex that leads directly to the office of the director of Beacon Academy. 

Professor Ozpin, or more accurately, the ancient immortal known as Ozma himself.

I knew Nines would eventually catch Ozpin's attention through her presence at Beacon, or at the very least her team would draw his interest because of Ruby's silver eyes. He'd try to slowly ease them into his inner circle, gradually revealing bits of truth to recruit them into his never-ending war against Salem.

Not that Ozpin would contact Nines first. But Nines acted a little too fast, asking the exact question I'd prepared with her.

So now she's waiting in that office with Ozma himself, having already informed him that her "mysterious sponsor" would arrive shortly. Obviously, I had her meticulously scan every single inch of the room and the immediate vicinity of the tower before I agreed to this potentially dangerous meeting. Ozpin is an ancient being who has lived for probably millennia and is no longer truly human. To meet such a person unprepared would be foolish, and I couldn't afford to lower my guard.

Nines has also successfully hacked and taken control of all systems in the tower, microphones, or cameras hidden or noted and surrounding areas. After all, one couldn't be too careful.

Unlike my meeting with Hanzo, which carried its own risks but remained predictable, Ozpin represents too many unknown variables. He could differ greatly from what I know.

The headmaster wasn't expecting Adam Taurus to walk through that portal, that much is absolutely certain. Just some mysterious wealthy sponsor backing a talented student, perhaps a benefactor from one of the kingdoms' elite or maybe even one of the secret organizations that operate in the shadows. 

But I'm ready for this confrontation because I'm going to extract some honest answers from this wizard; how Remnant ended up this catastrophically fucked up. About why someone with his knowledge, power, and centuries of experience allowed things to deteriorate to this state.

And his fate depends entirely on those answers and how he justifies his failures.

I don't particularly care about the potential consequences of making such an important figure permanently disappear if it comes to that. Because a person who let things deteriorate to this point while having power to change it wouldn't deserve to continue living, anyway. 

Dead men tell no tales, after all.

I briefly considered wearing a mask or my usual helmet to maintain some degree of anonymity, but I quickly dismissed that idea. If the headmaster ends up permanently dead after this meeting, then my identity being exposed to him beforehand wouldn't ultimately matter. 

So I take a few deep, centering breaths.

Then I step forward and cross through the portal, reality shifting around me as I'm instantly transported to the circular office at the very top of Beacon's Tower.

Nines is there immediately beside the portal's exit point, offering a crisp military salute with perfect posture. "Commander."

I give her a slight nod of acknowledgment without taking my eyes off the rest of the room, then let my gaze sweep carefully across the office, taking in every detail.

The place is genuinely impressive, I'll give Ozma that much credit. The room is perfectly circular, dominated by massive rotating gears that serve as both striking aesthetic elements and functional mechanisms—the enormous clockwork that drives the tower's iconic clock face. Ornate stone columns support the upper mezzanine level, and there's a walkway above that circles the entire room's circumference, providing elevated observation points. In the center of it all sits a relatively simple wooden desk and leather chair. He has kept the classical style it seems.

But what catches my attention most is that all the windows; those massive openings that should offer a panoramic view of Beacon's grounds and Vale beyond, are completely sealed shut by heavy metal shutters.

Interesting feature to hide from the public. Ozpin clearly values his privacy.

"Adam Taurus… was that magic? No… it was not."

The voice echoes slightly in the enclosed space, measured and calm. I slowly shift my gaze from the sealed windows to focus on the man seated with perfect composure in his chair behind the simple desk, watching me with those eternally tired eyes behind round spectacles.

The legendary Wizard of Oz himself, studies me with patience.

"Who else could it be?" I reply with a slight, cold smirk. "Were you expecting someone less... controversial?"

Ozma takes a deep breath and exhales slowly through his nose, clearly gathering his thoughts. His fingers steeple together in front of him.

"I must admit with complete honesty, I am surprised that you of all people are the mysterious sponsor Miss Nines. When she spoke of someone interested in discussing... certain sensitive matters that required absolute privacy-" He gestures to the sealed windows. "-I imagined many possibilities. Wealthy patrons, secret benefactors, perhaps even a person of power from one of the kingdoms."

He pauses, his gaze never leaving mine. "But Adam Taurus, the terrorist leader that Atlas publicly claimed was destroyed for good, and who weren't particularly shy about broadcasting your rather... graphic demise to the world, if I might add. You must have gone to truly considerable lengths to remain so thoroughly hidden from the world stage and Atlas's intelligence networks."

So he doesn't know. Ironwood didn't share this with him, or more likely they're not as closely allied in this timeline as they might have been. 

His eyes flick briefly to Nines standing at attention, then back to me. "I must say, it definitely caught me somewhat off guard that you would work so closely with a human, Mr. Taurus. The reports and footage from your previous operations left quite the... unambiguous impression regarding your allegiances and your feelings toward—"

But I don't give him time to finish that sentence. I smoothly pull out my weapon in its shotgun form and aim it straight at the immortal's head, the barrel aligned perfectly with the space between his eyes.

"I'm not here for games, lectures, or your moral talks... Ozma." I reveal his true ancient name, causing the man's eyes to widen noticeably behind his glasses and his entire posture to go completely still. "I'm here for answers. Real answers, not the carefully crafted half-truths and deflections you're so famous for."

Hasty to pull the weapon so quickly?

Probably. 

But in reality, I want this to conclude as soon as possible. I have no interest in playing the long game of verbal chess with a man who has perfected over countless lifetimes. 

Either he provides the answers I need to understand this world's failures, or this meeting ends with a stamp.

Ozma slowly raises both hands in surrender, though his expression remains remarkably calm despite having a weapon aimed at his head.

"Bringing a loaded weapon to our very first meeting," he comments, maintaining that calm expression. "You certainly aren't helping the rather violent and radical image that the world has unfortunately given you, Mr. Taurus."

"The world wouldn't have cared or changed their opinions anyway," I reply coldly, my aim never wavering. "The label would have been stamped permanently on my forehead regardless of my actions, for the simple crime of being born different. I could have been a saint and they still would have called me a terrorist."

"That's regrettably true, and I understand your frustration more than you might think. Especially when Ghira worked so tirelessly to—"

I pull the trigger without hesitation.

The blast echoes deafeningly in the circular office as the shot impacts the wall mere inches to the right side of Ozpin's head. Bits of stone and plaster explode violently, scattering across his desk and showering him with debris.

"Don't you dare bring my father into this conversation to butter me up or create false sympathy, Ozma," I state with cold fury, my weapon already autoloading the next round. "I will not miss next time. Are we clear?"

To his credit, Ozma doesn't flinch at all, though his hands have lowered slightly and his expression hardened. "You've made your point more than abundantly clear, Mr. Taurus." He pauses for a moment. "Would you perhaps like to take a seat? This conversation might take a while."

"I would rather stand."

"Very well." He accepts this without further argument. "But before we proceed to your question; and I will answer them honestly, I assure you, would you be willing to satisfy a curiosity of mine first? I believe I've earned at least that much consideration."

"And what would that be?"

"How are you alive?" The question is direct. "The footage that Atlas broadcasted across every network was quite... conclusive and unnecessarily graphic. Yet here you stand before me, very much alive and apparently in excellent physical health without any visible scarring. How is that possible?"

I think carefully about how to answer this question. Then I decide on a response that's technically true while being deliberately misleading. "Let's just say that you and I share something in common, Ozma."

The wizard's eyes widen dramatically behind his spectacles, shock registering across his stern face. Then he slumps backward in his chair. "I see... So they grew tired of relying solely on me and my flawed judgment, another candidate for their task. And specifically choosing a Faunus for this burden..."

He trails off, his hands gripping the wooden armrests of his chair. "Then you should partially know about my failures."

Perfect. He completely misunderstood my intentionally vague statement. Now he thinks I must be another apostle or chosen champion of the Brother Gods, that I made some kind of pact or was granted a similar curse of reincarnation like his own.

I won't correct that convenient assumption. It might make him more forthcoming with answers.

Eventually, the ancient human lets out a hollow chuckle as he slowly gathers his composure, shaking his head. "Of course. Of course they would choose someone from the people I failed. A direct jab at me." He looks up at me with something approaching resigned acceptance. "It makes perfect sense in its own cruel, poetic way. They sure love their pointed lessons."

I've never lowered my weapon throughout this entire exchange, the barrel still trained to his head.

Better to go straight to the heart of the matter now.

"What happened to Remnant?" I demand. "Why did you let things deteriorate to this deplorable state? Massive corporations run completely rampant with no accountability whatsoever, exploiting people as disposable resources and literal property. Mass exploitation of resources. The kingdoms are more divided than ever. Criminal organizations and violent cells operating with complete impunity across the entire globe. Ancient abominations that shouldn’t roam freely. Institutionalized racism that has become so deeply embedded in society it's considered normal, just part of the natural social order that nobody questions."

I pause, letting each accusation land and sink in. "How is it even remotely possible that our civilization hasn't been swallowed by the Grimm at this point? With this much concentrated negativity, this much widespread suffering and division, this much anger and despair—we should have been overrun and destroyed centuries ago. The Grimm should have won decisively. So explain it to me, Ozma. Explain how someone with your vast power, your accumulated knowledge, your centuries of experience let it get this catastrophically bad."

Ozma rubs his chin thoughtfully with one hand, his expression pained. "Those are actually distinct questions rather than just one, Mr. Taurus. Multiple interconnected failures rather than a single catastrophe. But you're correct that they all share the same answer, the same root cause for all of this suffering."

"Then get to the point." 

"I wasn't there." His voice is barely above a whisper. 

"What?" 

Ozma takes a deep breath, and then slowly stands up from his chair with visible effort. He puts significant weight on his cane to support himself as he rises. He lets out a hollow laugh filled with bitter self-deprecation. "The perpetual guardian of humanity, sworn protector of Remnant, absent when it was needed the absolute most. When the Faunus needed a voice, when organizations began indiscriminately hoarding strength, I wasn't there. It's almost comedically tragic in its irony, isn't it?"

That seems to be enough to trigger a harsh, wracking coughing fit that violently shakes his entire body, and he has to brace himself heavily against his desk for support.

What is he trying to accomplish with this? Make me feel pity or sympathy for him? And why would he deliberately walk closer to someone currently pointing a loaded weapon at his head? He's either suicidal or trying to manipulate my emotions.

Well, I don't stop him from approaching, anyway. Let him play whatever game this is. I'm not afraid of an old man with a cane, aura or not.

Once his coughing subsides and he can breathe normally again, he straightens his posture as much as his body allows and looks at me with tired eyes. "Before I explain my failures in detail, I need to know something. Do you truly want to involve that young girl in this conversation? Once she hears what I'm about to reveal, there's no going back to innocence. She'll carry this knowledge for the rest of her life."

"Yes," 

She is very important, and I will need her for many other things.

"Very well," Ozma accepts with a slight, resigned nod. "Then let me tell you about the greatest failure of my unnaturally long existence."

'Record everything he says. Every word, every detail, every admission,' I command Nines silently through our open channel.

‘Understood, Commander.’ 

Ozma slowly walks away from me, turning his back and facing the sealed windows.

"Once upon a time, there was a princess locked away in a tower, isolated from the world and waiting desperately to be rescued..."

The tale unfolds from his lips; the two marry and him dying due illness and then Salem pleading with the God of Darkness to break the fundamental rules of life and death for her sake, the God of Light taking that away as a punishment for her defiance. Overwhelmed by grief and resentment, she led the first, primordial humanity in hopeless rebellion against their own creators. That led to complete extinction of everything—and only then, in the aftermath of total annihilation, was he given his impossible task by the very gods who had just destroyed an entire world out of pettiness.

"Yet how could any man fight or even dare to betray the love of his life?" Ozma's voice carries profound pain in his tone. "Maybe the Brothers knew from the beginning that I would inevitably fail this test. Maybe they didn't care about my success at all. Maybe it was designed specifically and deliberately to test my loyalty to their mission over the devotion of my heart, to see which I would choose when forced to decide."

He pauses, his shoulders sagging a little. "I went back to her arms, to finally live a new life together and start the family we couldn't have before. We had children. We built something beautiful from the ashes." He paused for a moment. "Then I closed my eyes... and opened new ones."

I let out a sigh, my patience wearing thin. "I don't want to hear about a romantic tragedy, Ozma. I want the real point where things went wrong. I already know the ancient history behind your curse and Salem's fall. Get to the point."

Ozma turns around slowly to face me directly, and sighs deeply, accepting my demand. "Very well. I'll skip ahead to what matters for your questions."

He gathers his thoughts, leaning heavily on his cane for support. "It was during the period when kingdoms began forming once again with the new humanity, long before the four current kingdoms existed. Many smaller kingdoms and city-states spawned across the globe, scattered but growing, establishing trade and tentative alliances. I alone, positioned as the warrior king of the strongest kingdom, could keep Salem contained within the Grimm Lands and manage most of the Grimm populations to prevent them from becoming an actual threat to the world."

His expression darkens considerably. "But then I was killed. I couldn't even remember how or exactly why it happened but I remember vividly the sensation of someone stabbing my throat from behind, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth, the icy darkness closing in. Maybe it was Salem's pawns. Maybe it was her directly, tired of my constant interference with her plans. Or maybe..." He pauses bitterly. "Maybe it was simple, mundane human politics and paranoia;  nobles worried about an absolutist king who might become an emperor and threaten their power."

He shakes his head. "To this day, I genuinely don't know and will probably never know the truth of who killed me that first time."

"So I closed my eyes in death..." He pauses significantly. "And opened new ones two hundred years later."

Two hundred years?

That's not how his reincarnation is supposed to work.

Ozma walks slowly to another side of the office as he continues. "In those two lost centuries I was absent, the organized kingdoms and city-states I had helped establish and guide fell to ruin and chaos. All my painstakingly built support bases, my hidden foundations of power, my precious network of allies and trained successors—completely lost to time itself, forgotten, or consumed by rampaging Grimm who escaped containment and somehow created new spawning pools across territories that should have been safe."

The old man rubs his neck. "That shouldn't have been possible. Even if society wasn't as technologically advanced as today, there were well-organized knight orders across the lands—the equivalents to our modern professional Huntsmen—trained warriors and defenders dedicated to protecting humanity from the darkness. But without me they became few against endless waves of monsters."

"Of course, I tried desperately to regain everything from the ground up when I finally returned," he continues, deep frustration bleeding into his tone. "Attempting to unite the scattered, traumatized remains of the fallen kingdoms and rebuild what was lost. It was extraordinarily difficult and politically complex since another kingdom had already established itself as the dominant regional powerhouse during my extended absence, and they weren't remotely interested in sharing power or accepting guidance from a mysterious stranger."

He pauses, gripping his cane. "But I still worked tirelessly. And worked. And worked without rest. Decades of exhausting effort to return even a semblance of stability and order to Remnant, to rebuild the foundations that had crumbled, to train new defenders and establish new institutions."

"And then I was killed again," he states flatly. "Poisoned by someone I trusted implicitly with my life. And another two hundred years passed in darkness while I was... absent from the world once more."

The Company. It has to be them. They messed with the fundamental mechanics of his reincarnation cycle, extending the time between lives. All so they could freely influence and shape the world according to my modifiers without his interference. No other explanation makes sense.

"When I finally opened my eyes in my next life and became aware of the world again," Ozma continues, his voice defeated, "half of the entire world was already permanently lost to the Grimm. Vast territories consumed by darkness, cities reduced to ruins, entire regions rendered uninhabitable wastelands. And Salem had somehow created the Behemoths during my absence—those ancient, incredibly powerful monsters of concentrated darkness that we still struggle to this day.."

He looks at me directly, his eyes haunted. "No Huntsman of that primitive era could ever hope to mount an effective defense against such creatures, much less entire armies of conventional soldiers. Many tried valiantly and heroically. I personally tried everything within my power, dedicating that entire life to slay as many Behemoths as I possibly could, especially those who could wield the elements and actively reshape the environment to their whims."

"But there were far too many Behemoths spread across the world, and far too few of us with the power to actually hurt them to make any real, lasting difference in the tide," he admits with crushing defeat in his voice.

Wait. Behemoths were as common as regular Beowolves back then? Roaming in massive numbers across the world? No wonder half the entire world fell so quickly.

"I spent that entire life fighting these new apex beasts," Ozma continues, his voice distant with old memories. "All to give humanity even the slimmest chance to survive the onslaught and eventually prosper if they could endure. Every single day was a constant battle. Every hard-won victory was temporary and immediately threatened. I barely slept, barely rested, always moving to the next crisis."

He takes a shuddering breath. "And eventually, due to the inevitable limitations of age and accumulated injuries that even Aura couldn't fully heal, I fell in honorable combat against one of those beasts. A massive horned primate of sorts that could generate and wield lightning. It might not have been the physically biggest Behemoth I'd faced, but it was unquestionably the strongest and most intelligent opponent I'd ever fought."

A horned primate that wields lightning? Recalling the encyclopedia of monsters, that description matches a Furious Rajang perfectly. 

Dammit, those creatures are extremely dangerous apex predators and highly invasive species according to the information. If those were roaming freely...

"And centuries passed yet again before I returned to consciousness in a new body," Ozma continues, his voice becoming even more distant. "And when I finally awakened and learned about the state of the world... Faunus were already walking among humans as a fact, though I don't know the exact circumstances of their creation—only the conflicting myths and legends that survived."

"The God of Animals," I comment flatly, referencing the most common creation myth.

Ozma nods slowly. "While I certainly don't doubt the existence of more gods or powerful beings beyond just the two Brothers, I cannot tell you with any certainty if this so-called 'God of Animals' was truly a divine being of equal power to the Brothers, or simply what ancient philosophers called a demiurge—a lesser creator who could only work with and change what was already there, building upon the existing creations of the Brother Gods rather than creating something truly new from nothing. Perhaps it experimented too extensively with humanity's fundamental form, and the Faunus came to be as an unintended result or deliberate variation, walking alongside humans as something new."

"And the very first thing that happened when you returned was humans trying to kill them all," I state coldly, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

"Correct," Ozma admits with regret. "It was something uniquely, tragically human, to fear the unknown, to attack and destroy what you don't understand. Just like the first primitive humans feared fire before learning to harness it.”

"There was an ongoing, racial war between segregated kingdoms when I finally returned." He continues heavily. "But at least there were no savage Behemoths actively threatening the remaining half of the world anymore, so I tried once again to rebuild my bases and support networks, to establish influence and put a stop to the senseless racial war that was tearing civilization apart."

The Behemoths are living beings unlike the Grimm and while still dangerous they aren’t a world ending threat, so with Ozma decimating the population of all apex monsters over his lifetime, he inadvertently led them to somehow stabilize the ecological situation so a proper food chain and natural ecosystem could form between them. Because the Behemoths hunt and consume other Behemoths along with normal grimm. So even if he felt his contributions were minimal and insufficient, he actually did tremendous work to bring balance to the new monster ecosystem.

"Because my divine task was always present in the back of my mind, always clear in its mandate: unite humanity," Ozma states firmly. "And even with all their surface differences, I KNOW—without any sliver of doubt whatsoever—that Faunus and humans are both fundamentally part of mankind. They are the same race at their core, just humans with variations. It's exactly like with animals: all are dogs or all are cats, and they will always be dogs and cats regardless of breed, but their specific breeds differ from each other in appearance and traits. Some are hairless, others much more hairy. Triangular ears or rounded ears. Different sizes and colors and temperaments. Yet they're all still the same at their core."

"Whatever that mysterious deity or force did, it created a new variation of humans, not a different species entirely. And I couldn't be there from the very beginning to guide them, to bring them under my protection and integration like I tried to do with the original humanity before everything fell apart." His voice becomes more passionate. 

Faunus and humans are the same? It's a classic phrase to chant and yell when fighting for equal rights, a rallying cry. But there are still some inherent, undeniable biological differences because it depends entirely on what animal the Faunus trait is inherited from.

An aquatic Faunus can remain underwater for hours, for example.

But then again, thinking about it more carefully... humans and Faunus can reproduce together with no issues. Faunus can unlock and use Aura just like humans. Grimm target both races equally with no preference. 

"So in that life, I tried using religion as a unifying force across both races," Ozma continues, his voice taking on a bitter, self-recriminating edge. "I attempted to create a spiritual framework and shared belief system that would bind both races together under common values and mutual understanding, to give them something bigger than their differences."

He pauses, and his voice becomes completely flat. "And I was killed for it."

Classic.

His hands clench into trembling fists, anger flashing across his eyes for the first time. "The only small mercy was that instead of centuries passing in the void, I woke up mere decades later; close to a century. But my carefully crafted religious message, my attempt at unity and brotherhood..."

He laughs bitterly; the sound carrying no humor whatsoever. "It became the primary uniting factor of humans... against the Faunus. My words twisted beyond recognition and weaponized. The proto-kingdoms I'd tried to unite fell to internal conflict, and the Faunus were scattered and forced into isolated tribal communities organized by similar animal families. It was no wonder they fell so quickly and were shackled under a racial supremacy rule, with my own religious teachings used to justify their oppression as the divine will."

Something inside me snaps.

My fist drives forward with all my strength and lands a direct, devastating punch to Ozma's face. The impact sends him flying backward through the air, his body crashing completely through his desk and shattering the wooden furniture into splinters and debris.

"BASTARD!" I roar, my voice echoing in the sealed office. "So you ARE the reason this world is so fucked up!"

"W-wait—" Ozma raises a trembling hand weakly from the wreckage, blood trickling from his split lip as his protective green Aura flickers desperately a few times. "Please, let me finish explaining the full context—"

"I will," I snarl viciously, my fists still clenched. My weapon was discarded. "But that doesn't change what you've admitted."

I move swiftly and grab Ozma by the collar with both hands, hauling him forcefully to his feet from the wreckage of his desk. Splinters and debris fall away as I pull him up.

"Keep talking," I demand. "Finish your story. All of it."

Ozma steadies himself as best he can, wincing slightly but nodding. "In that particular life, I was fortunate—if you can call it that—to wake up as someone who already possessed power and influence. I was the King of Vale, inheriting both the throne and the authority that came with it."

He meets my eyes despite the blood still trickling from his split lip. "I used that position to establish absolute power, even if that meant getting rid of competition. I did everything within my power to systematically suppress religion and reintroduce secular government structures, no matter the cost. And I used that critical opportunity to introduce and spread the revolutionary concept of equality between humans and Faunus. Thankfully, many progressive thinkers and compassionate people shared my vision, so we worked together tirelessly to spread these ideas across Vale, to let them take deep root in the culture for the new generations. Many loved me, many hated me."

He takes a labored breath. "Actual progress was being made, Taurus. It took decades of patient work, of changing minds one at a time, but it was working. We were moving diplomatically to convince other kingdoms to renounce faith-based governance and break the chains of esoteric beliefs for slavery and oppression."

His expression darkens considerably. "But not all kingdoms accepted these changes or this new vision. Tension grew and grew between the progressive and conservative factions. The original Kingdom of Mantle was the primary opponent, followed closely by Mistral's whose families were the real leaders by then feared losing their slave labor. And yes, Taurus—I wasn't present when the four kingdoms initially formed and consolidated their power. I simply arrived in the middle of their establishment, inheriting a world already shaped by forces I couldn't control or at least influence."

He pauses, grimacing. "And as you likely know from your history, that ideological conflict was one of the primary triggers that detonated into the Great War."

I feel my jaw clench.

"One incident was all it took for Faunus across the world to rise in desperate rebellion in the places where they were still enslaved, fighting for their freedom with everything they had," Ozma continues. "Vale joined their cause without hesitation, supporting the rebellion. Vacuo allied with us as well, though their motivation was primarily to fight back against Mantle's aggressive expansionism into their territories rather than pure ideological support for Faunus rights."

His voice becomes more strained. "I personally led armies into battle. I had friends and trusted allies who understood the stakes, who believed in the cause. But by that point in my cycle of reincarnations, I was no longer the great warrior king of legend. My own inherent strength had weakened too drastically over the centuries. I was just another Huntsman in the ranks, competent but not exceptional… I forgot to mention THAT earlier but with each successive reincarnation, my power became weaker for some reason. The magic I once wielded so easily became more difficult to access. I become more... human with each life."

"The war," he continues heavily, "I genuinely thought it would last a year at most. A quick, decisive conflict followed by necessary reconstruction and dismantlement of theology. But what I didn't anticipate was that one particular group from the Kingdom of Mantle had secretly taken possession of the Relic of Knowledge and were ruthlessly using its power to always gain the upper hand, to predict our moves and counter them perfectly. Overwhelming victory turned to pyrrhic victories or defeat."

His voice becomes hollow. "That turned my expected year of war into over a decade of continuous, grinding conflict that exhausted both sides completely. The only times of truce and cessation of hostilities were during major Grimm incursions that threatened everyone equally."

"And you died," I state flatly, already knowing where this is going.

"Correct," Ozma confirms without hesitation. "My aging body simply couldn't handle the strain anymore after years of constant warfare. My heart stopped on a battlefield, surrounded by the dying and the dead."

"And you woke up to this world," I continue.

"Correct once more," he acknowledges with profound bitterness. "When I finally returned to consciousness centuries later, I learned the horrifying truth of what had happened in my absence. The group that had possessed the Relic of Knowledge became the power now known as Atlas, completely taking over Mantle's theological government and transforming to a secular one. They developed advanced technology at an unprecedented rate, leading the world in scientific progress during the decades that the war continued with increasingly exhausted forces on all sides. And they ultimately won the war."

His hands clench. "They developed weapons and technology that shouldn't have existed, leveraging knowledge stolen from humanity's future. And while they advanced, the Faunus people's will was systematically shattered and broken no more under religious teaching but secular justification and banal reasoning such as superiority. They were enslaved once more, more thoroughly than ever before."

He looks at me directly. "These massive organizations, these exploitative corporations that you rightfully condemn—they propagated and spread like a disease during this period, using natural human greed in their favor, establishing systems of control that persist today. Initially, I thought they were Salem's new, sophisticated attempt to sow discord and destroy humanity from within through economic and social manipulation rather than Grimm attacks."

He shakes his head slowly. "But after extensive investigation ... she has absolutely nothing to do with this current situation. I know it might be extraordinarily hard to believe—it took me far too much time and evidence to accept this reality myself—but Salem had very little to actually do with the specific disgraces and injustices this world currently faces."

His voice becomes quieter. "The Faunus finally breaking their chains and establishing a new homeland called Menagerie is all relatively recent history, as you know already. And even that victory was tainted; Menagerie was originally a penal colony, a place sent to die off."

"So everything that happened," I say slowly, processing this, "All of this suffering it's because you took too long to wake up each time, leaving incomplete projects or worse."

"Regrettably, yes," Ozma admits. "My absences created power vacuums that were filled by the worst elements of humanity. My attempts to help were twisted in my absence. And I was never there when it mattered most."

I think for a long moment, taking a step back and releasing his collar. I don't know how or if I should believe him completely, but the tone he's maintained throughout has shown apparent sincerity—unless the man has perfected the art of deception over millennia. Either way, his explanation makes sense to a degree.

Because Ozma was never omnipotent or all-knowing despite his power and experience. He's fallible. He will commit mistakes and clearly has committed ones throughout history. And with company messing with history events also helps his credibility.

But something still doesn't add up in my mind.

"The Grimm," I state, turning back to face him. "They're monsters attracted to negativity, to suffering and fear. This world is practically overflowing with it, producing negativity in abundance. The Grimm should have completely swallowed us already. So why haven't they?"

Ozma shakes his head slowly. "You're absolutely right that the negative emotions should be overwhelming. But the majority, the brightest and most concentrated source, comes primarily from the Kingdom of Atlas itself. It's like a brilliant lamp that attracts Grimm from across the entire world toward a single point."

He straightens his posture as he rubs his jaw. "Countless Grimm die in Atlas's frozen lands every single day, but countless more keep coming, enduring the journey and attacking relentlessly."

His voice becomes more serious. "This might not be public knowledge that's widely disseminated, but Atlas has been under almost a century of continuous siege against the Grimm. They're fighting an endless Grimm tide along with Behemoths, fending them off day and night without rest."

I feel my eyes widen slightly at that revelation.

"Most of their military forces are engaged in combat at this very moment," Ozma continues. "The mightiest army in all of Remnant—approximately ten million active military members—with roughly seventy percent of that active force permanently stationed in Atlas itself, fighting the eternal siege. The remaining thirty percent are spread out across Remnant in garrison duties and ‘peacekeeping’ operations. And that isn't even considering their autonomous army, which numbers in the millions more."

"What?" I can't keep the shock from my voice. Ten million active soldiers? That's…

“Impossible?” Ozpin then continues after finishing my thoughts. "Atlas developed its territories very differently from the other kingdoms. They created the first true megacity structure and corresponding under-city to maximize living space and resource efficiency. Then they expanded outward systematically, either building on the land or increasing the radius of the crater where they first established their capital."

He gestures with his hands. "Their technology allowed them capabilities no other kingdom possesses. Currently, Atlas contains approximately sixty percent of Remnant's entire population. Mistral being the largest kingdom even is just propaganda allowed to spread and repeat. The new structures and buildings—these 'mega-blocks' as they call them—can house at least one hundred thousand individuals each in dense, efficient housing. And there are dozens of thousands of these mega-blocks across their territory."

"What?!"

My mind races with the implications. I've been working this entire time with the assumption that the population distribution was at least somewhat similar to what I vaguely remembered from the original timeline, with relatively balanced numbers across kingdoms.

But Ozpin is describing a population that should be at minimum two hundred million people concentrated in Atlas alone, possibly more. Then that explains why they can keep sending people to die without batting an eye.

And Menagerie's entire population is barely approaching one million...

I've been entirely wrong all this time…

That military machine Ozpin described is absolutely ridiculous, especially considering the staggering amount of resources it would require to maintain and supply… unless they had a strong foundation to get those resources, being the corporations who will do their absolute best and worst to maximize their output. But then again, it makes perfect sense why Ironwood wasn't the only general, or held very little political power, there are probably hundreds of other generals all who at least command a dozen divisions… Are those even divisions? What if each controlled armies? What if they don’t consider a division ten thousands but hundred thousands?

Dammit…

And we only encountered a single squadron from one miserable division back in Mistral during the fight against the Brachydios. With the intel we knew that Ironwood forces were too occupied with other fronts so he sent a small detachment and to test a new weapon, Penny, meaning the vast majority of his armies are tied up fighting Grimm somewhere else in Remmant...

I feel very, very small at this moment. They could have crushed us whenever they wanted, I knew that already, but to know how insignificant we actually are to them… No, they used us as scapegoats, political tools.

Fuck.

"The scale of Atlas's military power is something most people outside their kingdom don't fully comprehend or appreciate. They see the advanced technology and assume superiority, but they don't understand the sheer numbers behind it." Ozpin adds a quiet comment, as if he could somehow understand exactly what I'm thinking.

I walk away from Ozpin, my mind racing with so many thoughts as I try to process and make sense of the sheer, incomprehensible scale of everything he's just revealed. The numbers are ridiculous.

The White Fang's current active army, including all the new recruits we've recently trained and the garrison forces spread across Menagerie's territories, numbers maybe twelve thousand soldiers at most.

With Ghira at the head during the golden times, when we had broader international support and significantly better funding from sympathetic donors, we fielded perhaps twenty thousand soldiers spread across Remnant in various cells, safe houses, and operational bases. Even if I implemented a desperate mass draft of sorts, conscripting every single able-bodied Faunus willing and capable to fight, I might field thirty thousand soldiers and that would push it.

Thirty thousand versus ten million active soldiers.

The disparity is so vast, it's laughable.

And that's just Atlas's official standing military force. That doesn't account for reserves, retired veterans who could be recalled, or their autonomous legions.

A single corporation like the SDC can field their own private army of at least one hundred thousand professional soldiers—well-trained mercenaries with state-of-the-art equipment. And that number isn't even considering their simple personnel security forces at facilities, local militias they sponsor, or worse—the many, many private military companies they can hire and deploy at a moment's notice with essentially unlimited corporate funding.

Of course it was initially shocking to hear those numbers when Ozpin first spoke them, but now that I'm actually processing them, now that I'm running the calculations in my head, it makes so much terrible, crushing sense knowing the actual scales and population densities involved.

And...

And...

"We never stood a chance, did we?"

The words escape my lips hollow and broken, barely above a whisper, more breath than voice.

I suddenly realize with distant surprise that I've taken a seat in one of the few remaining intact chairs without even consciously deciding to do so. My legs just gave out under the overwhelming weight of this revelation, my body deciding my mind couldn't.

Ozpin was right about one thing.

This was definitely a conversation that needed to be seated for.

The immortal watches me quietly from where he stands among the wreckage of his destroyed desk, not saying anything, not offering platitudes or false comfort, just silently letting me process the crushing reality of what I've learned, letting the truth settle into my bones.

We're not David facing Goliath in some heroic underdog story.

We're an ant trying to fight against a descending boot.

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AN: This was a lot more difficult to write than anticipated, I knew what I wanted but it was difficult to put into words, so i had to cut it into 2 parts so as to not have you all waiting for too long.