As Arty stood with Timbre and Sepia at the edge of the large circular pit, he couldn't help but think about how chaotic the night before was. After Arty had asked what was wrong with Roland, his partner jumped out of his bed and shoved past him and Sepia. As they turned to follow him, they found a wall of books preventing them from leaving the room. By the time the books unfixed themselves from their places, Roland was long gone, and nobody had seen him since.

"Mr. Umber!" a gruff voice echoed across the room. In front of the group of students stood Professor Victor McGouran. His appearance didn't match his voice, as the gravely tone came from a thin man with dusty blond hair that didn't look too much older than the teens that stood before him. He wore an unkempt brown vest over a long-sleeve white shirt and rust-colored slacks. Perched on top of his head was a pair of bronze and gold goggles with greasy black lenses. He looked down at Arty with a skeptical look, "Are you going to turn in your essay, Mr. Umber?" The smile he gave him seemed friendly, but the tone of voice made Arty somewhat uncomfortable.

Arty remembered the bundle of papers in his hand. "Oh, right," he held them out to his teacher, "Here…"

Victor looked over him with judgemental, beady eyes, "Mr. Umber… is there any reason that you're turning in ten pages of… drawings?..."

Arty shrugged, "It was the only way I could think of to get my point across…"

"Mr. Umber…" Victor pinched the bridge of his nose between tight leather gloves, "your team seems to have had… trouble understanding the requirements for this assignment. Aside from your… doodles, Ms. Forté turned in song lyrics she wrote, Ms. Hughes turned in a film that she made, and Mr. Wells…" he paused, "Well, he hasn't even shown up today."

He held his arm out, gesturing to the rest of the first year students behind them, "No matter, I'll have something that might help your grade. You can go stand with your classmates now." As soon as the three members of ARTS took their spots with the others, McGouran slammed his hands on his desk, "For those of you that don't feel like your essays were your best work," he pulled a lever next to the desk.

From the ceiling of the domed room that acted as the Grimm Studies classroom descended large black metal cages on chains, each of a different size, but all quite sizable. The students gasped at the writhing black masses inside the cages. Ol' Mad McGouran had Grimm in backstock for just such an occasion.

"You were each assigned to write about the weaknesses, tendencies, and special traits of one particular kind of Grimm as well as how to deal with them. As you can see, I have here some specimens of the Grimm that each of you wrote about in your essays. I'm giving you all the opportunity to put your research to the test," he gave a devious smile, "Your teams may sign up to fight these Grimm at any time today, but all of your team must show up. You will be fighting the subject of your essay using the knowledge that you obtained in your research, and the grade that you make on the fight will replace your grade from the essay… if it's better, that is," Victor McGouran explained, "I have the sign-up sheet here for whomever wishes to take this opportunity. Otherwise, class is dismissed so that you all may review your notes before the fights, or not if you are comfortable with your essay."

Though Beacon wasn't what was considered 'normal' by the average people's standards, extra credit meant extra credit. After some split-second deliberation, all of the team leaders rushed forward to sign up their teams for a time slot. Arty, in the scramble, ended up in the back of the line.

"Arty…" Timbre tapped his shoulder to get his attention, "hold on," she raised her hand, "Professor McGouran! What if… our whole team can't make it here?"

"Then you receive your grades from the essays. I suggest that you get Mr. Wells to tag along by any means necessary if you want a better grade," Victor began packing his bags to return to his office.

Arty hesitantly went up to the sign in sheet. Of course, Team ANTE were signed up in the very first slot. Frost signed Team FREZ up for later in the afternoon, and gave Rime and Zero a long winded explanation on how important it was to have experience fighting the Grimm that they had read about. Arty went ahead and signed up for the absolute last slot for later in the evening. That should give Roland time to actually show up, he thought to himself. He pulled out his scroll as he walked back over to the girls, "I messaged Roland our time, hopefully he-" a loud ding interrupted him.

Roland Wells: Fine.

"Guess that answers it then…" Timbre said halfheartedly.

"Okay…" Arty shoved his scroll back into his pocket as they left the room, "guess we should head to the library to get in some last minute-"

"Where's your Faunus friend, Umba?" a familiar snarky voice rang out from behind them.

"Oh no…" Arty turned to find Team ANTE standing at the edge of the pit as the monsters growled and flailed in their cages. "Not now, Alice."

Alice faked being offended, "Now, Umba, that's not very nice. Is that any way ta treat a girl who's had it pretty rough the past couple of weeks?"

"I said not now, Alice!" the rage in Arty's voice pierced through even her hateful haze.

Alice took a step back in surprise, "Geez, Painta-Boy… what's gotten Team FARTS in such a tizzy?" the smirk on her face showed she was enjoying the newly formed fissure within one of her rival teams, but quickly faded.

Turf stepped up next to her, Timbre couldn't help but notice his beanie was still missing. "Not now, Alice. Please. We have Grimm to fight."

Alice scowled at him, "I don't have ta listen ta you, Turf, but I guess you make a point." She turned on her heels, causing her dress to spin as she walked off. She gave a dainty wave, "Ta-ta losers!"

Timbre and Sepia followed Arty as he stormed out of the room.

"Why is it that when Team ANTE has problems, she doesn't care unless the world is unfair to her? Why is it that when Team ARTS has problems…" he stopped in his tracks, "there's nothing I can do to help…?"

"Arty, whatever is happening isn't your fault. Roland's just finally gone off the deep end. This is his fault, not yours," Timbre walked beside Arty. She placed a hand on his shoulder, "You're a great leader. It isn't your fault that you got paired with a maniac."

Shortly after Timbre finished, both her and Arty's scrolls dinged.

Sepia Hughes: He isn't a maniac. He's hurting. A lot. You guys haven't seen him when he's happy. When he would take me out, he actually vented and talked about the problems that he was having. He hasn't told me what is going on, but he has everything else. He's scared.

"I understand he's been through some stuff, Sepia, but that doesn't give him the right to discount everyone else's problems," Arty gestured to Timbre as he continued leading the girls to the library. Getting Sepia upset with him wasn't going to help matters.

As they neared the library, he found the words, "Everyone copes differently. I get that. But I don't think telling other people to just 'deal with it' is anyway to go about it."

Timbre took a deep breath, "When I talked to Frost about what happened to me, it helped me feel better. When I told you guys everything… it helped even more because, well, Frost is cool and all, but you two are actually my friends. Does that make sense?..."

The two agreed.

"Maybe he needs to do the same and talk to somebody else before coming to us. I mean, I'd like to believe that Roland considers us his friends and trusts us enough to talk about stuff with… but after yesterday…"

Arty held the towering library door open, "I don't know either, Timbre. If you ask me, I think we should just do what we always do and let him rant and fume until he tuckers himself out."

"But what if that isn't enough, Arty?" Timbre took a seat at a nearby table, "He's really mad this time… What are we going to do if one member of the team just refuses to talk to the other three? We can't do that for four years."

Arty didn't know how to answer. As he sat down with his sketchbook and flipped through the original drafts he had made for his 'essay', he tried to run through the different scenarios in his head. Each ended pretty badly. He wished he could ask Team GLXY for advice, but they were away on a mission. "Well, let's study up and get through the fights tonight. We'll have the whole weekend to figure it out once we're done with that."

He began to focus his Semblance on the book, the first time he'd used his Semblance since the Beast-Yamuna fiasco. Each sketch quivered before popping into existence as miniature versions of their bigger, more dangerous counterparts. They began to run around Arty's open sketchbook. Arty cursed to himself before quickly taking a pen from his backpack and drawing a rectangle around the entire spread. A quick and crude wall sprouted from the ink. "You okay with that plan?"

Timbre nodded as she watched the graphite constructs scurry about the paper, occasionally bumping into the barrier, "Yeah... we'll see…"

Boots clacked against the tile floors as the purple menace paced back and forth in front of the door to Professor McGouran's room. Roland was ready to fight his target. Writer's Block was cleaned and already had a small piece of paper trailing off of it.

Hey mom, I'm writing to tell you that I'm… I'm really mad again. I need to talk to my team about what happened, but I just… can't.

He stopped typing and stared at the words for a moment. For once, his weapon was living up to its name. A groan passed his lips as he slid down the wall. More words forced themselves out.

Why is it always like this, huh? Why did I go and screw it all up even worse? The moment I see them, I'm just going to screw it up even more. I can't even look at my team without seeing red.

His fingers curled on the keys in hesitation, but he had to ask a question that he hadn't yet.

Why did you have to die, mom? You were so strong, and someone managed to kill you. How is that possible? How am I supposed to take out the person that took you out, mom? That's what I'm scared of. I'm scared of them. I'm scared of what their actions are turning me into. I can't stop. I can't control this. I… I've failed you before I've even had a chance to start making things right.

"I'm sorry, mom…" he finally said out loud. After staring at the words for a few moments, he finally finished the letter off.

I love you, mom. I love you so much. I miss you every day, and I will come visit you as soon as I can. Please don't be there when I do, though. Please call me from an airship heading to Beacon and tell me that it was all fake. Tell me that you aren't gone. Come here and tell me that you're going to stay here with me. Tell me that I can do this. Tell me that I'm worth something. I'm sorry that I couldn't be better for you like I promised you before. I'm sorry that I'm still just as useless as that night. I can't take this. I can't bear this pain alo

Three sets of footsteps could be heard from down the hall. It was his team, no doubt, so he ripped the unfinished note off of his weapon, folded it, and tucked it into his vest. When they came into view, he crossed his arms and faced the door.

"Took you long enough," Roland growled without so much as looking at his team.

Arty didn't respond and just led Timbre and Sepia into the room.

"Well, if it isn't Team ARTS!" Professor McGouran yelled across the colosseum of a room happily, "I was almost afraid you wouldn't show up, but I'm glad you did!" The room was eerily quieter than earlier now that most of the cages overhead were now empty.

Team ARTS slowly descended the stairs, except for Roland, who took a seat in a chair next to the door.

"The other fights went well for the most part," he continued, "So I have no doubt you'll end up in the same boat. But I have to say, your choices of Grimm are… interesting…" he smiled as he looked over the papers on his desk. He snapped his neck up to grin at them, "This is going to be fun," He shot a finger towards the group, "So, who would like to go first?"

Before anyone else could respond, Timbre stepped forward. Seeing Roland again not only made her upset, but also gave her the insatiable urge to beat him to a pulp. If she didn't get it out now, she would end up making more trouble for her team. "I will, Professor."

McGouran smiled and rubbed his hands together, "Ah, Ms. Forté, thank you for being so brave. Not many people would be so willing to go up against a Raach, especially one of the… larger variety. Considering how common a fear of spiders is and all." He held his arm out like a doorman, "If you would please, enter the arena."

Timbre looked down the sloped bowl of a pit that took up most of McGouran's classroom. She looked to Arty and Sepia, who both gave semi-enthusiastic smiles and thumbs-ups. She didn't bother looking to Roland before sliding her way down the wall to the dirt circle below.

"Ready for me to release the Raach?" Victor called from his desk, which was full of buttons and levers. These served to release the Grimm from their cages, presumably.

"I am," Timbre released lengths of wire in preparation for her fight.

A lever was yanked back at the desk, and a cage descended from the ceiling. It slammed down into the dirt and opened out to reveal a hulking black, white, and red mass within the confines of the black box.

Four of its eight monstrous legs unfolded outwards and clawed at the dirt. White spurs of bone formed ridge lines along the ebony hair covered legs. Its face was covered by a flat mask of bone with eight fiery eyes of varying sizes glowing like molten iron. The abdomen was covered in the same black hair as the legs, and bone spikes formed five ridges going down the length of the bulbous mass on its hind side. The fangs dripped with a bright yellow and blood red fluid, and were surrounded by an extra pair of feelers made completely out of bone.

"Now tell me, Ms. Forté, what must one never do when first confronted by a Raach?" Professor McGouran quizzed as he watched the girl and monster square off.

"Don't break eye contact until you know how to strike it."

"Good, good. Now, do you know how you're going to start the battle? Where are the Raach's weak points?"

Timbre kept her eyes focused on the burning orbs in the center of the Grimm spider's face as it growled and hissed at her. She knew the joints of the legs could break easily, weakening the Raach's mobility, but the joints holding the leg to the body were the priority. The less legs the Grimm had, the less dangerous it was.

She looked over its body, but apparently moved her eyes just enough to allow the monster to lunge.

The horror launched itself at Timbre, who just managed to roll out of the way. Had she been even a second slower to react, it could have clamped right around her waist and begun spinning her into a ball of tarry silk.

She wanted to swing her wires as she turned back to face the monster, but she was surprised by a splash of glowing magma. Her wires spun in circles in front of her in order to deflect it, but the metal soon began to break down and drip to the dirt.

McGouran winced, "Ooh, Ms. Forté, you seemed to have forgotten the Raach's main form of ranged offense. The venomous substance that pours from its mouth can-"

"Burn through near anything it comes into contact with," she reeled out more wire and fixed her eye contact with the beast, "including steel, bone, and concrete. That makes it not only a threat to people directly, but also structures such as houses, where smaller Raach tend to make their homes."

McGouran nodded in approval, "You definitely know the right material Ms. Forté. I just wish you could have put it into an essay form rather than metaphorical song lyrics. The one thing that this professor believes equals an essay, is combat. So, if you would, show me how a true Huntress-in-training finishes off this arachnid Grimm."

"With pleasure," all of the anger pent up inside of Timbre came out as she whipped her cables at the spider, which only jumped out of the way with each attack.

"Stop moving!" Timbre yelled as she swung her arms towards each other, sending the wires flying at the Grimm from either side.

The spider's legs folded inwards as Klavier's thick metal cords closed around it. The force snapped the bone frames at the base of each appendage. With a loud thud, the creature fell to the ground as a writhing ball of black and white. Without its legs, it couldn't escape.

Timbre calmly walked up to it and looked down at it with disgust. She lifted a boot to crush its bone-plated skull.

The monster shrieked and in one last ditch effort to kill sprayed more magma at her, coating her fully-exposed leg.

Timbre shrieked and stumbled back. Through the pain, she had the sense of mind to bring down her other foot to finish off the beast before it could attack again. It faded away into black smoke as she fell to the ground holding her leg. Smoke curled off of her shin as she tried to pat out the liquid coating her leg.

Arty and Sepia shouted and jumped into the pit while Roland sat back unfazed.

"Timbre! Are you okay?!" Arty ran to help her and held Timbre's arms back when he saw the Raach's venom coating her hands.

"Ms. Forté!" Professor McGouran ran up with a bunch of towels and a bucket of water and knelt down next to her. "It's okay, it's okay. You're lucky you killed it when you did, or else you could've gotten hit by more than that little defensive spray." He pressed a wet towel against her leg, which sizzled from the heat, causing her to whine in pain. "Just hold on and let me get the rest off of you." Professor McGouran finished wiping the rest of the glowing substance off of Timbre's leg and hands. After he was done, there was no sign the burning magma was ever on her. "Now, Mr. Umber, I'd like you to observe Ms. Forté's aura levels."

Arty complied and pulled out his scroll. His eyes widened when he saw Timbre's readings. "Her aura's... over halfway gone. But sir, she didn't get hit and that acid was only on her for a minute or so."

Professor McGouran looked to Timbre, "Fascinating creatures, Raach are. Care to explain Ms. Forté? Why, other than its high temperature, is the Raach's venom so dangerous?"

Timbre stood up and reached down to rub her now sore calf. "Despite not being able to be hurt by extreme temperatures, those with aura can still feel them. The Raach's venom can reach such a high heat that it can literally burn away aura… meaning that someone completely coated in the substance could lose their only shield against it and quickly be taken out…"

McGouran nodded and patted Timbre on the back. "Good! Good! While your use of the information was a bit… lackluster, your overall knowledge was very impressive. Does a B- make up for getting sprayed with spider magma?"

Timbre nodded appreciatively, "Yes, sir. It does."

"Good. So who's next?" he looked to Arty and Sepia before turning his head up to the rim of the bowl-shaped stadium. "Perhaps, Mr. Wells would like to take his turn?" He yelled up so Roland could hear.

"No," Roland tipped his hat down and leaned back in his seat for a nap.

"Alright then, how about Mr. Umber or Ms. Hughes?" McGouran looked between the students.

Arty began to stand, "I'll g-"

Sepia shot up and slid down into the battlefield. She held her guns up at the ready.

At this, Roland actually pulled his hat out of his eyes and leaned forward a bit.

"Of course he's actually interested in her fight…" Timbre grumbled to Arty as they ascended the arena's side.

Arty sat back down in his seat, "Give him at least a little slack. Sepia hasn't left him over this… temper tantrum," he whispered back.

Sepia, wanting to be able to brighten her teammate's mood at least a little, blew a kiss up to her partner, or, rather, romantic partner.

Nothing happened for a few moments, but then Roland lifted up his fingers and curled them into a fist as if he were catching something. The motion was miniscule and hardly noticeable if Arty and Timbre hadn't followed Sepia's gesture.

"Are you ready, Ms. Hughes?" McGouran asked.

Sepia raised her guns to say that she was ready.

"Great. You will be fighting the Scuttlepod. Due to your... condition, I will take the answers to my questions from the film that you made for the most part, and score you on your combat performance and tack it onto your essay grade. You are sitting at a 49 right now. You may make up to thirty-five points bonus on the assignment, making the maximum grade that you can make an 84,"

She lifted her thumb to the air to say that they had an agreement that sounded fair. She braced herself for the cage to come rocketing down from the ceiling.

The barred cage door swung open. Unlike the Raach, the Scuttlepod wasn't one to make a show of its entrance. It shimmied out of its cell and raised the front half of its body to examine its opponent. It was about as large as the average SUV, and just looked like a black centipede for the most part. What did set it apart was the flat bone plates that covered the top half of its body, one for each of its twenty-two segments. Red fissures glowed between the plates, and made trails across the bone. Each leg was flat and pointed with a spike, but the most frightening part of the monster was its ends. On its hind was a set of pincers with enough crushing force to shear straight through steel, and on its head was a second set of pincers, though smaller, covering a pulsating mass of fragments that served as its mouth. The molten eyes were set on either side of the head, and two eight-foot-long antenna felt around the air.

"As you know, the Scuttlepod is normally found in the deserts of Vacuo. They are nocturnal, which means that this one is ready to fight. You made it clear that their weak points lie between the segments, similar to most insectoid Grimm. Just watch out. It's quick," McGouran spouted off and leaned over his desk to get a better view.

Sepia stared down the Grimm while reaching for her bustle. Her eyes didn't leave the massive bug as she pulled out a plastic bag from her bustle.

"What is that?" Timbre looked at the bag. From the distance that they were, she couldn't make out its contents too well.

Arty almost asked the same question, but then it dawned on him. Sepia stopped for a snack at a vending machine on the way to these fights. After she emptied most of it into a plastic bag, she ate only a few pieces for herself. It was the beef jerky from their pit stop earlier, "That jerky…"

"Grimm have been shown to eat out of sheer boredom… and Sepia's so small that it might not see her as a threat…" Timbre thought out loud.

The bag was hoisted into the air for the Scuttlepod to see. It was open, allowing the stench of dried beef to waft out across the battlefield. When Sepia knew that it had the Grimm's attention, she lobbed the bag far to her left.

A few moments were taken by the Scuttlepod to contemplate the pursuit of the food. It must have decided that the jerky would make a better snack than Sepia, because it then shimmied over to the bag of meat and began ripping it to shreds.

This opportunity was not wasted. Sepia sprinted towards the Grimm and lunged onto its back. For a few moments, it didn't even notice her. It gave her enough time to get up to the fifth segment from its head. When it realized what she was doing, it began to squirm in a wild attempt to get her off.

Its clawed tail whipped up and stabbed into the bone plate where Sepia was. Sparks flew as its pincers bounced against its back plate, narrowly missing Sepia. A second stab at the third plate, but she was already on the second one. It let out a shrill cry when Sepia began unloading a few dozen bullets into the nape of its neck, between the segments. It didn't do much but anger the monster further, and she knew this well.

A final strike was given by the tail in an attempt to take Sepia out. The pincers were spread wide to catch her, but they only fell on the space between its head and its first segment. Sepia was left hanging from one of its antenna, using its involuntary movements to mask her use of it as a swinging vine. The pincers closed around the neck with a similar involuntary flexing, letting out a disgusting crack as they closed. The Scuttlepod's head rolled to the ground, severed by its own body.

Sepia landed right when the Grimm began to fade into black smoke and took a bow. She looked up to McGouran to receive her grade.

McGouran blinked a few times to process what he had just witness. It wasn't a display of power on Sepia's part, nor agility. She beat the Scuttlepod by exploiting its biggest flaws, "Well, I have to say that I didn't think that I could be surprised when you four came in, but you have definitely proven me wrong! In only two fights! Very well done," he made a mark in his gradebook, "Your aura levels are still completely full. The only loss is a little bit of your rations. B- it is Ms. Hughes. Well done."

Sepia jumped up and down with joy. She sprinted up the curved walls of the arena and jumped to Arty and Timbre.

"That was awesome! Good going, Seps!" Arty high-fived her.

"Kicking butt, ARTS style!" Timbre pat her on the shoulder.

'Thanks!' she looked over to Roland, who still sat by himself. He didn't show much of anything on his face, but she knew that she caught a small smile from him while she climbed the Scuttlepod, 'I'm going to sit with Roland. I think he needs someone to give him a little love.' she signed.

Before Arty and Timbre could protest, Sepia bolted over to Roland and slid onto the bench. She leaned up against him and examined his face for a few moments. He wasn't pushing her away or lashing out, which was a starting point.

'You haven't shaved. You're getting scruffy,' she signed.

'Forgot my razor in the bathroom,' he signed back nearly instantly.

'I noticed,' she leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. No reaction, but no negative reaction was enough to tell her that he was at least a little better.

.

"Two down, two to go," Professor McGouran proclaimed as he made some notes in his gradebook, "So, which of the ARTS boys wants to go next?"

Arty decided to give Roland the opportunity to speak up, but he didn't budge. "I guess that'll be me." Arty stepped forward and drew Palette out of his backpack before sliding down the sloped side of the arena to the battlefield below.

The teacher pulled another lever. As the cage descended he began to ask his first question. "So, Mr. Umber, you decided to write about the Camolurker," he let out a small chuckle, "That's very fitting, given your artistic background. Now, tell me Mr. Umber, how does the Camolurker first launch its attacks against its prey?"

Arty watched as the cage lowered. The lack of movement worried him. He just imagined the monster within rearing back, ready to kill once its cage opened.

The black metal slammed into the ground and kicked up a cloud of dust.

Arty stared into the empty cage as the door swung open. He hesitantly answered Professor McGouran's question as he looked around warily, "It turns invisible and stalks its prey, circling it until it finds an opening," He heard something scrape against the dirt behind him, "Usually from behind while their prey looks where it was last seen." Arty spun around, swinging his leg sideways as he turned. His boot connected with something. The invisible creature suddenly materialized as it stumbled into the inclined extent of the battlefield.

"Well deflected, Mr. Umber!" McGouran clapped, "You cut it a little close, but good job surprising the surpriser!"

Arty wasn't able to revel in his return attack as he turned to face the beast. The Camolurker resembled a huge black chameleon and was the largest Grimm of the three so far. The skull plate fixed itself between two black orbs, each rotating independently of one another, causing the burning lights of its eyes to shift and look everywhere, occasionally fixating on Arty. Like all other Grimm, bony plates and spikes littered the surface of its inky black body. Its curled tail twitched and unbound itself occasionally. He took careful aim and held his paintball gun out at the monster's face.

Before Arty could pull the trigger, the beast opened its mouth. Arty felt Palette fly out of his hand as the beast's thick glowing yellow tongue yanked the orange paintball gun towards itself. The weapon flew to the other side of the field. The Camolurker effectively separated Arty from his one guaranteed chance at victory.

"Dang it…" Arty stepped back from the monster as it shrieked at him. He watched as the beast seemed to shimmer out of existence. Arty's eyes darted around as he looked for his enemy, but the whole field looked empty, with his gun on the opposite side of the dirt circle.

"Mr. Umber, now that the Camolurker has become invisible again, what do you do now?"

Arty scanned the field, being sure to stand perfectly still. "I…", he took a deep breath and tried to listen, "keep watch on the surrounding area. Watch and listen for movement," he reached for one of the tubes of paintballs hooked to his belt, the one full of bright orange spheres, "But if you can help increase the odds of making it reveal itself…" Arty dumped the contents of the vial into his hand. One by one, he threw the paintballs around the field, making sure that the scatter of orange paint was pretty equally spread amongst the dirt field as well as the slanted walls. He knew that, since the Grimm lacked an aura, it wouldn't activate the Dust paint like it would for another person, but he still watched the field to see if any of the large blotches smeared or moved. Even with the field set, he knew that if the trap didn't work he'd be in trouble. He needed more defense. He needed Palette.

Arty whipped his head to the left as one of the paint blotches on the wall next to him smeared. A three-toed footprint marked the wall nearby. Right above it, he could see the air shimmer when over an oven or concrete on a hot day. He knew it wasn't the heat from the Magma Dust. The Camolurker was right next to him.

In a mad dash, Arty ran for his gun.

Timbre gasped as she saw the chameleon-like Grimm reappear and begin to chase after Arty

He leaped around as he made his way to Palette, sidestepping the orange Dust-paint splatters to make sure he didn't activate the trap prematurely. He dived for his gun, but felt something catch his arm. He turned back to see that the Camolurker had managed to wrap his arm in a vice grip with its glowing tongue, and he was being dragged towards the gaping mouth ringed with thousands of tiny, razor-sharp teeth. No matter how much he pulled away, he couldn't break free from the Grimm's sticky tongue. His paintball gun was his only chance. He reached as hard as he could. He strained and struggled as he felt his arm about to be pulled out of the socket. His finger touched the edge of the barrel, but his finger only grazed it as the Camolurker reeled its head back.

"No… you… don't!" Arty's hand finally gripped the silver barrel of the gun. With a quick tap on the ground, the parts pivoted and shifted until the gun transformed into a baseball bat. Arty leapt up. With his feet no longer grounding him, he flew towards the Grimm's gaping maw.

"Arty!" Timbre yelled.

Sepia leaned forwards in her seat, but Roland barely budged.

Right as Arty would have been dragged down the deep red abyss, he swung his weapon, hitting the monster right between its bulbous eyes. The Grimm's top jaw came slamming down, effectively severing its tongue. Arty was able to free himself, pulling the glowing appendage from his arm. Gross, he thought to himself as he watched the Camolurker reel back, writhing in pain.

It didn't take long for it to regain itself and focus both eyes on Arty. From his research, Arty knew that if both eyes focused on someone, it would stop at nothing to kill them. The monster lunged.

Arty heard Timbre yell out again, but he had a plan. He grabbed the handle of the bat with both hands and lifted it above his head. He brought it down on the orange splotch in front of him. The weapon channeled his aura into the Dust. Fire exploded across the arena.

Timbre covered her eyes from the intense light and heat. "Arty!"

Just as quick as the fire came, a forceful gust of wind blew the fire to embers and eventually ash sifted down through the air, leaving Arty as the only thing left in the arena.

Timbre jumped into the pit and tackled him in a hug, but not without punching him in the arm first. "You idiot! How did you even survive that?!"

Arty gave his toothy grin and held out a handful of bright white paintballs.

Timbre couldn't help but laugh, "You and your damn Dust paint, Umber."

"I try," he replied with a cocky grin.

Professor McGouran let out a sigh of relief, "Wow… I'm glad that my classroom was made to withstand Dust attacks now…" he chuckled, "Unlike Carmen's." He clapped and slid down the wall to congratulate Arty.

"Well done, Mr. Umber. A little more… chaotic than I would've hoped, but you not only used the battleground to your advantage, but you actually changed the battlefield to make it even easier to find the Camolurker! While you did get hit a couple of times, your demonstration of the information was impressive. I'll give you a B- as well for your effort."

Arty held his arms up, "I am perfectly okay with that." He turned and gave Timbre a high-five before returning to their places at the benches.

"Good, good," Professor McGouran pointed to the cowboy in the back of the room, "Mr. Wells? You're the only one left. Come on down, or else your team won't get to keep the grades they received for their efforts."

Roland grunted, not removing his hat from over his face.

"After all that…" Timbre muttered angrily, "he better not screw us over…"

"He wouldn't have bothered to show up if he was planning to do that," Arty replied, but he didn't sound so sure of himself.

Of course, Roland had planned on getting his fight over with, but he didn't want to lose it on the battlefield. Even if it were against a Grimm, he was already having troubles holding in his emotions. He was still furious with them, most of them at least, but he couldn't just let down his entire team. That wouldn't help anyone.

"I will fight the Venice," he said flatly and slid down to the arena. He hadn't typed out any paper to use as a weapon, and he didn't need to. He just wanted to get this over with.

"So I hope that you understand that the Venice is a deer-like Grimm that has a very special ability, bein-"

"Get on with it, McGouran," Roland glared up at his instructor.

"If you don't answer my questions, then I cannot give you the full points, Mr. Well-"

"I said bring down the Venice, Professor McGouran. Please. I am fully aware of the situation with my grade," Roland informed him. Fury flashed in his eyes. He was sick of waiting for an outlet.

McGouran pulled a lever, sending a cage slamming into the dirt in front of Roland. "So be it," he said with nearly total apathy.

The cage opened, and out stepped a pitch black deer. It looked the most normal out of all of the Grimm that they had fought, though it was notably bigger than the average deer. It was roughly one and a half times bigger than a really large buck, but it still looked like one for the most part. It had the same bone mask as all Grimm, molten eyes, bone protrusions on its back and legs, and a massive pair of antlers that made a semicircle above its head like a broken halo. If one didn't know it was a Grimm, it would have been a serene sight to behold.

One truly notable thing about the beast was the human-like ribcage on its chest that seemed to be split by a red fracture across the breastbone. When it got its bearings and saw the cowboy that was set to kill in front of it, it reared up and took a stance on its hind legs.

Arty and Timbre watched on in horror and disgust as the Grimm began to transform.

Its neck contorted so that it could look down on its opponent. Lips parted to reveal rows of scraggly, horrific fangs. The ribcage popped open with an audible crack, allowing the chest to spread out wide so that it could effectively balance on its hind legs. The front hooves cracked and contorted into elongated hands with three clawed fingers each. The back hooves split to become wider, forming better platforms on which to stand.

"Another name for the Venice is the Wendigo, which you might know had you written your essay, Mr. Wells," McGouran had no clue as to why Roland would pick such a dangerous Grimm to fight. He watched as his student barely moved a muscle. On closer inspection, he saw that Roland's eyes were trained on the Grimm in a suicidal staring match. The student's eyes weren't lifeless like the Grimm's, though. They were burning beacons of violet fire. They were the eyes of death, "Mr. Wells, is everything alright…?"

Memories of the Nevermore flashed through Roland's mind. It too had dared to strut its stuff before attacking him. How dare such a monster act as though it were greater than he. This could not be tolerated. An insult like that could not be turned a blind eye.

In one fluid motion, Roland yanked off a grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, and lobbed it between the antlers of the Venice. It exploded into a cloud of ink, but that cloud condensed into a cat's cradle of ink between the points of the Grimm's rack of antlers. The Venice-turned-Wendigo gazed at him in horror as the antlers caved in on themselves into a mound of bone and ink atop its head. It let out an almost human-sounding scream as the top half of its bone mask crunched.

"I," Roland threw down a fist, sending the Wendigo in a back breaking arc towards the floor. The impact shattered whatever parts might have been inside a Grimm, as well as the front teeth of the creature, "hate," the fist came back up, then rocketing back down. The mask shattered in various places, and the Grimm let out another ear-piercing cry of pain, "you."

He began bashing its face into the dirt over and over, "I hate all of you," faster, "I HATE THAT YOU EXIST!" faster still, "I'LL KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!" the Grimm already began to fade, but hadn't enough to fall out of Roland's inky grasp, "YOU'RE ALL WORTHLESS!"

McGouran watched in horror as his student went into a berserker's rage on the Grimm. For the first time in his entire career, he almost felt sorry for one of the Creatures of Grimm, "Mr. Wells! That is enough!"

Roland threw a hand out, still bashing the shattered antlers against the ground. These were the only things that hadn't faded, "BRING HER-" he stopped mid sentence and stared at the empty wad of ink that he was still throwing against the dirt, "back…" he whispered low enough so that his team wouldn't hear, and then released his hold on the ink. It formed a black puddle where the Grimm had been.

Sepia looked wide-eyed at him. Even she had never seen him like that before. Sure, he went off on Timbre, but he walked away from that before things could get violent. It almost seemed like that Venice was Timbre, or someone else that he was even angrier at. The thought of facing him like that chilled her to the core.

"He is a monster…" Timbre whispered. She shook from head to toe like she had the day before. Had she not known Roland's violent tendencies, she would've seen the fight as an entertaining show of power and skill. But she knew Roland. She knew that that anger wasn't aimed solely at the Grimm. Seeing that rage come out again wasn't on her bucket list, nor was seeing it acted upon.

Unlike his team, Arty actually began to have a thread of understanding. Timbre was right, but so was Sepia in saying that there was more to Roland's actions than just rage. Whatever was going on in his head was from the darkest depths of the imagination, and he needed help. He needed help bad, but that still didn't excuse his actions. He couldn't receive help if he wouldn't accept it.

"I apologize, Mr. Wells, but I cannot give you full credit for your fight. It did not last long enough for me to ask you about the Venice, nor did you allow me to," Professor McGouran cautiously slid down to the arena, "I am only able to give you a D-."

"Will you accept late work?" Roland asked quietly. He kept his head down, not wanting to meet anyone's eyes just yet. He felt embarrassed and ashamed. She would've frowned upon his violent tantrum.

"Well… I suppose that I could in this circumstance. You would still be turning in an essay on the day that it was due," McGouran examined the student for a moment, "Do you have your essay with you?"

Roland held up a hand towards where Sepia sat. A book bound in coffee-colored leather shot out from under the seat and into his hand. On the front it read 'Venice: A Brief History and Understanding of the Wendigo Grimm' in gold leaf, and underneath was printed 'Roland Solferino Wells' as well as the class information and due date. He watched as his instructor flipped through the pages in wonder.

"My father supplies a bookbinding company here in Vale, so I sent off the manuscript of my essay for them to bind. They were kind enough give me a discounted price. I went over the entire history of human and Faunus interaction with the Venice, habitats, temperament, and about everything else that I have read about them. The later fifth of the book is a full annotated bibliography complete with even the sources for the photographs and graphs that I used throughout the text," he paused, taking in the instructor's reaction. This was his normal essay format, even back in Sanctum. A few of the instructors even taught from his 'essays' from time to time, and he had even sent them revised editions of those 'essays' to make sure that the information stayed relevant. After all, textbooks written by Huntsmen and Huntresses really sucked, "Will this suffice?"

"This is… how long did this take you to…"

"Four hours with breaks. Without breaks, two hours. Sepia kept distracting me," Roland managed to smile just a little. It made him proud that someone was so impressed with his writing.

"This is everything that I had in the rubric and more. This will certainly suffice. Thank you, Mr. Wells," McGouran looked up at the rest of Team ARTS, "Now, I hope that all of you have learned your lesson about your essays. I trust that this will not happen again."

"We will try our best, sir. Have a good night," Arty shouldered his bag. He began heading towards the door with Timbre at his side.

"Wait," Roland climbed up the side of the arena and caught up with Arty and Timbre.

Timbre shrunk back, seemingly in fear, "Look we can talk things out la-"

"I'm sleeping in my own bed tonight. I won't bother any of you. I won't say a word. Just leave me and my part of the room alone and we will all be fine," he stepped into the hallway. Time was what he needed. He could manage if only he had more of that, but he was scared it was already running out.

"Roland, you can't just make demands like that and not explain what's going on," Arty stared down his partner. If Roland thought that he could come back around just to continue being a brooding jerk, then he had another thing coming.

"Stay out of my business and we won't have a problem," Roland matched his leader's gaze, but it wasn't filled with fury like it was with the Venice. It was filled to the brim with pain, "I'm not ready to talk about things, alright? Timbre, you didn't want to talk about Koruss, right?" he asked the girl in green.

"That's different-" she began to retort, but Roland moved on.

"Sepia only told me about the stage accident after Mikado," he further pointed out.

Sepia stood in the doorway of the classroom and kept close eye on him.

"Arty, you still don't want everyone knowing what you did at Atlas," he clenched his fists.

"None of us got so violent, Roland. None of us disappeared because you did something that we didn't like. None of us put a burden on this team like you do because of our problems," Arty fired back. "When the time came, we told each other what happened before we came to Beacon and it's starting to look like that time's coming for you, too."

"Just leave it alone and everything will be fine!" Now Roland was beginning to get angry again. Just when he had decided that things might have a chance at getting better, his hopes were dashed. He wasn't getting the time that he needed.

Arty instinctively took a step back. After a long pause, he finally decided that he couldn't prevent his partner from sleeping in their dorm either way. He wasn't Alice. He wasn't going to do that to him. "Fine, will you please just talk to us in the morn-"

A fist collided with Arty's cheek. He stumbled into a nearby seat, but managed to catch himself before he could fall. He looked up at Roland, whose fist was still curled up into a ball.

"Arty!" Timbre shouted and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Screw off," he growled at his leader, "I'm sleeping in my bed tonight. I'm reading my books. I will eat my meals by myself, and I will sit away from you guys in class," he turned and began walking towards the dorms without so much as looking back.

"Bastard…" Arty straightened up with the help of Timbre. He rubbed his jaw, "I've had enough. We're talking to Professor Alabaster tomorrow. I don't know what else to do..."

Anything that might have been sympathy for his partner was dampened in Arty's mind as pain seeped in. He couldn't grab hold of Roland's reigns anymore, no matter how hard he tried. The dread Team ARTS being over before it even really started filled his heart, but as of now, it seemed to be the only possible result.