Precision.
The incisive first stroke. It is required for many professions. A Huntsman being just one more. Anywhere you look; no matter their style, weapon, semblance, race, sex, ideology, sexual orientation, and any other conceivable difference you could imagine; their differences do not belie one fact. They all have a certain grace, a total and complete trust in their movements, a distinct belief that their abilities and acts will be accurate in their execution and function; That their motions will succeed in their desires and reward them with their coveted outcome. Any trained Huntsman or Huntress has already gained this self-security through hard work, training, and perhaps just a dash of natural skill by the time they reach a finishing school such as Beacon.
I didn't have it the first time I went to Beacon. I stumbled through by sheer luck, and I required many friends to carry my dead weight. My only saving grace was a great preponderance of Aura and luck. It wasn't until Cinder had stormed the castle, literally considering how big beacon was and it's type of architecture, with Atlas robots under her command thus causing the demoralizing fall of the Amity colosseum along with a horde of Grimm and an army of white fang at her beck and call. It was only then that I finally gained that precious ability. For me, Jaune Arc, to be adequate and gain that sharp edge all Huntsmen and Huntresses had. That ability in this line of work that was absolute must and an attribute required to function as a Huntsman, well, it had only cost me everything around me.
Over a period of ninety days or so the war for Beacon was fought. Three months of war, death, bloodshed, and complete annihilation. I watched student and teacher fall one by one, each and every death gruesome, tear-jerking, and a painful stab through my heart. Every inch of Beacon was a battle and to gain any ground a blood sacrifice was required. The goal of Cinder was the maiden's power deep in a vault beneath beacon I would later learn. Before Cinder could claim her prize, Pyrrha, my partner in Beacon, was transferred the power by a machine. In Cinder's rage she set forth the siege.
For Pyrrha, the woman who unlocked my aura and showed me how to properly swing a sword, well she could decisively be the first casualty that truly etched sorrow into my soul during the ensuing fights. The first person who without fail believed I could actually be a Huntsman on seemingly faith alone. Yes, she was the first to go; immolated by a fire arrow from Cinder herself. Nora and Ren? The iconic duo on my team and a source of strength for both myself and Pyrrha. The second half of Team JNPR. With the high-octane energy of the redhead offset by Ren's coolheadedness, their abilities and input had helped many a-situation for team JNPR. They were both beheaded brutally by Atlas anti-nevermore rounds from a Paladin. Just two shots of dust propelled metal and their heads caved like watermelons beneath a sledgehammer.
Then there was Ruby's team, team RWBY.
My first friend at beacon was Ruby. The awkward, short doofus who wielded a beast of a scythe-sniper combo. I watched as the White Fang took her scythe and in morbid irony cut her in twain as she screamed for help, for her sister, for anyone. My own name was brought forth. Yet I was powerless as I could do nothing except for defend myself from the two White Fang members who were attacking me. Even when I had killed one, a spray of blood dashing my face, the help Ruby so desperately needed was far from each as more faunus filled the fallen one's ranks. The help that would never come; for I was locked in another death struggle as a new slew of members of the terrorist group made their way onto our area of the battlefield like an endless flow.
Next to go was Weiss. A massive razorsharp nevermore feather through the throat, her body arched in agony as red rivers ran down the furrows of the feather and rippled in her white clothes. The fact that she was a singer was not remiss upon me and the morbid irony in her manner of death was just another blade into my soul. She was not the last to fall however.
Blake had been hung by Adam Taurus himself, using her own weapon's ribbon, when it was clear she would not come back to the Fang. The bulging veins on her throat and her blue face showed that her death was not quick, but by slow strangulation. Aura in this case didn't help but to make the death slower, longer, more painful. The blades plunged into her broken body and left lackadaisical in random spots of her sundered flesh was the proverbial salt on the wound.
Yang was last to fall; The blond's strength was commendable and her combat ability nearly unparalleled. The deaths of her team had only strengthened her resolve to kill every last enemy in Beacon. She was crushed from the top up by the dragon-like grimm Cinder had summoned. The bottom half had been devoured by the dragon Grimm whole.
Like the way I entered Beacon, I was to leave it: alone. After nearly a month's worth of nightmarish days where I wasn't sure if anyone was left, whether I knew them or not. Each Grimm I fell, each white fang I ended, three more filled their ranks. I fought until exhaustion, surviving by collapsing in the dark corners of beacon: in broom closets or in unused classrooms to rest after hours of heartbreak and battle. Each time I woke alive and thusly each time was rewarded with the task of simply picking myself up and forcing myself to look for anyone: friend or foe. One to save and one to kill. Water from the fountains or sinks left working was my only saving grace. Any food was long gone, yet it was my current goal having not ate for a whole week. The human body could only go so long without food however and with the amount of energy I was outputting to survive, I was burning away what little strength I had remaining. I was now headed for the teacher's lounge in hope that perhaps a vending machine had survived the fighting. To these means, I had decided to take a shortcut through the main hall.
It was in the midst of these walls where Ozpin gave his welcoming speech so long ago where I finally felt realization set in about the state of the war. The silence was the tell; a simple truth divined from the lack of sound. There was no one left. No Grimm, no White Fang, students, teachers, no one to be seen. No sounds of combat in the distance, no screams of agony as another loved one fell, nor was there the sounds of Grimm devouring the corpse of a human. It was an empty school except for the dead. Well, the dead and dying. This was proven true and false in this hall. That there were only two beings left. There, in a shattered state, layed Ozpin. Currents of blood from other students, white fang, and even now a few dissolving Grimm trailed towards the broken man. The broken ground beneath him a natural spot for the liquids to attempt to drain due to the now uneven floor beneath the man's broken body. Well, at least the part of his body not crushed by fallen rock.
Ozpin rested half-crushed, his left side of his body beneath the fallen masonry. The still warm bodies surrounding him spoke of a final stand I had missed. It seemed to be a stalemate where each side fought until the death. Complete death for all but one. A half-crushed headmaster who for all purposes was supposed to have died in the first attack by Cinder as she took her goal was here. The body of his was devastated yet somehow he still lived. His state was no more sorry than mine own, I supposed, introspect. The prolonged battle had taken its own tole on me physically and mentally. My shield was gone. My right arm was broken with bone poking through in spots. My clothes were torn, blood soaking through my remaining worn-bare threads. We were two peas in a pod. An angry, damaged, half-dead pod of bleeding and bruised peas.
I limped towards the injured headmaster. I had nothing left to do but to take stock of the situation. The room only had two entrances, the one I had entered and one back behind the stage. The roof was unstable and liable to crash downwards any second. No hostiles, alive ones at least, were in sight nor sound. My assets were few in the case of a fight. In my remaining hand I clutched Crocea Mors. The silver hue of the blade was stained a dark crimson, dried blood still flaking off. Bruised fingers maintained their grip unwillingly. A trapped and broken man was my only ally. Better odds I have not had in at least thirteen hours. As I neared the older man I knelt, perhaps by my own effort, but more likely due to the exhaustion.
"Hello..." a harsh cough expels from the ashen man; blood littered the huntsman's chin, old and new, and even more was added from the trite act of speaking, "...Mr. Arc." I stared towards the man blankly. What was there to say, talking seemed like a waste of valuable energy. Distantly I heard a small murmur. "Hello professor." I blinked slowly, languidly, in slight shock realizing it was my voice that had spoken in response. Why had I done so, what was the point? We were dead anyway.
"This . . . isn't the ideal meeting I imagined, Mr. Arc. I had a plan, one that would have at least promised us another day. But these white fang, one must of had advanced tracking abilities. Perhaps a heightened sense of smell. Regardless, we were found out, myself and the few remaining students in my care. No matter I suppose. There is no one else to protect now except for yourself and I. I do have but one thing to say though, and a...parting gift. Perhaps you could call it an old man's last will. It is fitting that you were the one to enter, otherwise I might have not been able to stop this bloodshed from continuing. To protect the city and the other countries"
Ozpin shuddered, the words drawing a great deal of his remaining strength. I finally dropped to my bottom, unable to keep my kneel aloft. My hand never strayed from Crocea.
"Take my hand, Mr. Arc. It is a gift passed through shared Aura."
I reluctantly draped my family's blade across my lap. My one good hand reached out to grasp the wiry's man's corded grip. I don't know why I did as he said. A gift from Aura? I had nothing to lose however. Whatever he meant by ending this bloodshed was just foolish thoughts. There was no one left. From the fires in the distance, Vale was being destroyed as we spoke. Everything now was pointless, yet still I took the man's hand and an intense grip grabbed hold of my palm.
"What is this 'gift', professor?" I asked tentatively.
"Have you heard of the Four Maidens, Mr. Arc?"
I nod slowly. A story my mother had told me long ago. Pyrrha had said they were real, and that the man before me had fused the last half of one into her. Only for the girl to die. A useless endeavor obviously. She must have been mad, the stress from the dieing student body getting to the girl's mind. Or...I didn't know what else could have caused her belief but the idea that some old man had given mystical and powerful abilities to some girls for no other reason than some simple company spent together was ridiculous. To then try to empower my teammate even more ridiculous.
"Good. It is an old fairy tale. Not exactly popular much these days. Did you . . ." a harsh cough cuts into his question, ". . . did you ever wonder what happened to the old man?" Ozpin queried.
I actually had never given thought to it. Four maidens imbued with magical powers related to seasons by a lonely and jaded old man because they brought joy to his life for a limited time. Even when I believed in fairy tales, I had just assumed the old man had died of old age soon after the events of the story.
"No, professor," I responded meekly.
A slow glow from Ozpin began to form around his body. The light trickling across the battered form of the older huntsman was like a wave in slow motion. The black glow inched around my own hand and then my own Aura lit up as well, a white fire to his onyx flame. I looked away from the rising power back to Ozpin as he spoke.
"The Old man had bestowed gifts of great power upon the four maidens. The ability to controls the powers of the seasons. But there was a price to pay for his hubris. For all actions there is an equal, equivalent reaction. The Old man, his reaction, of course was just as great to match his gift. He lost most of his abilities and strength in the mystical arts. His semblance was locked away, and his aura reduced to levels low enough to make him vulnerable to the world, and more importantly, to the Grimm. But that was not all. He was then cursed, cursed to never die and from the backlash of his own power no less he was expelled from his original body. To not be able to die and have no body seems a paradox hmm? In but moments later the old man would unwillingly have his soul fused like a leech with a new soul, forced to watch the world change and the maidens he had gifted die, their powers then settle into new hosts, and then for those new maidens to die as well, and so on to have the power move forever more throughout time immemorial. Forever a watcher of his 'gift', a curse of death and jealousy."
I felt a dropping sensation in my stomach at Ozpin's words. A sneaking suspicion closing in on my mind, of what was coming. A wriggling doubt strong enough for me to voice it. A crazy thought, one that fought any rational thought. I spoke.
"You're the Old Man."
Ozpin grinned, blood stained teeth scarring his visage. Broken glasses moved and made a crackling noise as they shifted on his face as his eyes did their best to gleam. He then spoke once more.
"I knew you were here for a reason, Mr. Arc. Letting in a boy with fake transcripts was highly unusual, and Ms. Goodwitch had a great deal of input on that, but I had my suspicions and reasonings on your integrity and ability. But to the point, past my rambling, it is true. For my supreme belief in my ability to mold the world as I wished, I had believed there would be no ill effects due to my ministrations. Yet now both I and the maidens remain, forever punished. Our…no, my act of hubris giving birth to Salem and the Grimm tide. But I had finally found a solution, well of sorts. For if Salem falls, the Grimm will have no creator. No new Grimm ever. It is true the world is overran currently but it would be a finite amount. A killable amount, . To this means, I needed a weapon beyond the maidens who could be the sword to end Salem once and for all. The semblance of a forged transcript student, as of yet not unlocked or at least believed so would be the key. So I say to you, Mr. Arc: By my power, my aura, my blood, the blood of ancients, the blood of innocents, the dark Grimm life and blood of foes, I Ozpin grant thee by my life force unleashed, my soul torn adrift in penance, lend you my strength in passing so that we may grasp immortality!"
The glow about us intensified to an unholy sheen. The blood beneath us coalesced into globes and floated around us, our Aura infused into them. The orbs, now aura infused swirled into two magatamas clasped together, a harmony symbol. One side white, one side black. All except two spots which rested parallel to one another. Two circles of blood red represented what should be a piece of the opposite auras entwined. The iridescent balls whirred around us at various speeds. A light show before my own eyes as the orbs then began to change color, flashing through a rainbow faster than I could understand. I hissed as pain invaded my body and I unconsciously tried to recoil. Ozpin's hand which held mine, something I had forgotten once the story of the man's past was being told, held tight. The powerful grip kept me in place, even as the pain intensified to a crescendo. Then it passed abruptly into a lingering sensation, no longer at the forefront of my mind. Just like a switch had been flipped, every orb that was circling zeroed in on the two of us. The aura infused globes slammed into my chest and Ozpin's; equally. The balls didn't explode on us, but seemed to fuse into us. Almost as if they had never been there. Like the pain from before, they were gone, just a ghost sensation. I looked to Ozpin for answers. Instead I was treated to the view of the glow fading as Ozpin let go my hand. I looked into his glazed eyes, the irises having gone murky. Harsh breath jerked itself from the headmaster.
"Jaune, I trust in you this power, this ability of mine, for I believe in you like your friends had and I believe that you are the key to ending this. When you see me again you must say, 'The Old man has had his curse broken.' Promise me."
I sat still, stunned by what had occurred and the pain from before. What had Ozpin done to me. The pain even now still rippled through my body as ghost pains, or perhaps my previous wounds were now reminding me of their presence. Every word he had spoken was confusing, what had he done to me?
"Promise me, Arc! Promise me!" Ozpin growled.
I snapped to look at his face and was treated to sweat pouring down the injured head of the once powerful huntsman.
"Did you . . . did you just unlock my semblance?" I wondered towards the ailing headmaster.
The man gasped in pain before speaking again, "I said . . . Arc! Promise me!"
"I promise! But...but what did you do to me?"
"No, Mr. Arc."
I blinked in confusion.
"What?"
"I answered your question. I did not unlock your semblance. It is not mine to do so, and besides that fact, I believe it is already unlocked. No, I gave you another semblance."
"Really? I feel no different."
"Mr. Arc, I have had many lives. I have infused with many souls. Souls with varied and powerful semblances. I have simply given you one that I think would suit you and coincides with your own semblance. Do not worry, just because you don't 'feel it' doesn't mean it is not there. I have had practice gifting powers not mine to give."
"My own? Like I said, I haven't unlocked mine yet, I don't know what it is!" I yelled, at a lost. "Sir, I don't understand. What's happening, what did you give me?"
"This is where you are mistaken, Mr. Arc. You have had your semblance unlocked since birth. I know it."The man groaned then in pain before speaking quietly to himself. "At least I hope I do." He pulled forth a book, small and black, seemingly inconspicuous. "Read this. It should answer some pertinent questions.
Ozpin smiled then, as if he held a secret that only he knew. The kind of secret that doesn't really hurt anyone but makes you feel special knowing. I made to speak again but was interrupted by a light exhale. I blinked for what felt like the millionth time in my lack of understanding. I looked to Ozpin's face, his eyes had glassed over, and his chest had stilled. Ozpin's death had been the calmest I had seen all day, or even all week.
I quickly tore through the book he had given me. Notes on who were the maidens. Notes on the allies of Cinder, her master Salem. Every little bit of knowledge the headmaster held on the situation. Then there was more. Information on relics of some type, their uses he gave no description. Just their locations. Who was protecting them. Then following it all was short memoirs. Little paragraphs written to note new information or information that contradicted older knowledge. I tossed the book onto Ozpin's still chest after finishing.
I choked out a laugh. A harsh, guttural thing. A dry hiccup-like grunt mixed with a dog's bark. The chuckle peeled off into the silence that filled the hall. That was it; Ozpin's feverish rambles and a bit of pain from some weird aura exchange. I still had no clue what Ozpin had done. To give another a semblance was madness. I was more the fool to believe anything he said, even Pyrrha who had tried to tell me about the maidens were real had to have been just another lie. I would like to believe in it. That there was four ultra powerful women out there who were there to try to save the day. No way it was true. Ozpin had probably just tried to steal my remaining Aura to bolster his own and heal his wounds. A desperate last act of a dying man. I would not fault him for trying, I might have done the same if I had anything to live for.
I looked upwards then, perhaps on a whimsy, or maybe my body sensed danger, and was left staring at the sky peeking through the fractured ceiling. Dark blues and blacks with pinpricks of light adrift across the night time canvas. A soft cloud whispered by now and then. I tried to rise and collapsed back onto my back. I tried to ignore the cracks inching along the roof as I tried to rise again. Somewhere deep in me a sea of panic was rising. A miniscule wish to not die. Centuries old stone finally losing to gravity was not how I pictured my death to be. I had imagined being an old man, my wife and children and their children surrounding my bed as I regaled them with just how much I loved them. I would turn to my wife and smile as hard as I could and ask for one last glimpse of her beautiful smile. Then I would pass and they wouldn't be sad. They would just remember the good times. I closed my eyes and smiled at that wondrous thought, ignorant of the several tons of granite and marble that finally broke free, fully under gravity's auspices once more.
Then only a crippling pain and nothing more . . .
You…..Are Not….Finished.
You…..Are Not…..Done.
You Never Truly can be Young Arc...Can You?
Young Arc….It Is Time.
Return.