There he stood, in Forever Fall, Jaune paced from something or other, probably saving himself from the embarrassment of failing to get Weiss on just that one date. 'Confidence is the key' his father's voice echoed in his mind, it was a scary thought to think of how he has kept a wife and have seven daughters and one son. Jaune himself was at the stage in life wherein was turning into an adult but still held onto foolish notions of trying to 'get the girl', imagining that if he had a girlfriend his life will straighten out, that he'll become a beloved and legendary hunter, that he'll die with a loving wife and a plethora of children that would reciprocate his feelings of undying love. In the back of his mind, he realised that there was a chance that this may not even happen, yet he still maintained his optimist mindset, betraying his feelings.
That had always been the case with Jaune, however. He focused on the pretty side of life, focusing his life goals to ultimately reach happiness, rather than finding purpose. And that was something Jaune always lacked: purpose, something to strive for, something to achieve. He wished to say, not only to himself but, to the rest of the world as though in defiance, roaring in victory to the non-believers, the nihilists, the sceptics: I am good enough. Yet to do such a thing required numerous things, it required skills, experience, virtuousness but to Jaune, the one that piqued his interest the most, and fortunately the one of least work and resistance, Lady Luck. But however, not only was Jaune lousy with members of the opposite sex, but he severely lacked luck.
Unfortunately for Jaune, he was restricted down to a path of work that will ultimately lead to his dreams, but Jaune was disadvantaged on this path. He simply joined too late.
The first indicator that he was behind on this figurative path was the fact that he had no previous combat training and that he forged his transcripts to enter Beacon. So, to Jaune it was less of a path and more of a slack tightrope, threatening to bend to wrong way, causing Jaune and his dream to be lost.
The one thing that Jaune could do wonderfully was daydream. During his stroll through the forest, he created many stories of saving innocent and defenceless women and children from the evil clutches of Grimm ranging from nevermores to beowolves. Saving a trapped Weiss atop a majestic steed. Even the occasional one about an effeminate Cardin pining over Jaune's unrivalled strength, Jaune sniggered at that once more.
To Jaune, this was the repertoire of his skills, daydreaming. The price for this awe-inspiring skill was, however, losing track of time and stupidly losing his way. A way that he must quickly find.
A ray of light caught itself against Jaune's eye, who instinctively raised it and squeezed his opposing eye shut. A myriad of colours from a dusking sun danced among the trees, pulling emphasis onto a beautiful array of falling leaves from the spruce trees, an ensemble of reds, oranges, and yellows falling seemingly in synchronisation, blending with the rays of a falling sun. Jaune raised his head, squinting his eyes to peer through the upper canopy of the host of trees, making out some forms of the sun's rays glimmering through a contrasting yet pleasant gradient of an orange and rich blue. A gentle creaking of the trees under the weight of soft wind. All of these were tell-tale signs of a draining day. Upon seeing this, Jaune made a move to return to Beacon, Vale or any other sign of civilisation.
After taking one step, Jaune stopped himself and pulled out his scroll, not being surprised by a lack of signal. This is going to be while. A collection of curses following suit in response to his stupidity of not realising his predicament earlier.
Jaune began to make way, keeping his eyes peeled for anything resembling humanity, or at least nothing of a grim variety, but even Jaune's optimism couldn't prevent him from putting his dominant hand on the pommel of his sword, being ready to draw. Seconds turned into minutes and in Jaune's mind felt like hours, but in all honesty, he had started his return less than thirty minutes ago.
Despite his need to watch for anything that would positively or negatively affect his journey he always found himself looking at the scenes around him, looking at sprawling trees and beautiful series of leaves. Silence strangely radiated in this area, ignoring the fact that a forest of such scale should be teeming with life. This thought was hidden away ultimately by the soothing movements of the trees, a gentle creaking providing serenity. This obviously brought him to think of nature, to the moving painting in front of him. Something that would influence literary geniuses just by seeing it, but what made it all wonderful was the peace, how there were some moments of tranquillity that can be found unintentionally in a labyrinth of undeniable evil. To Jaune, this somewhat existential train of thought would be something that he would never typically think of; as it didn't match Jaune's speed, not that Jaune was above more, philosophical dilemmas in life. However, as Jaune was a more 'happy-go-lucky' kind of teenager; he couldn't spend a lifetime pondering over the technicalities of morality or the world or whatever else would define as existentialism.
He was sure that Weiss would be the kind of girl that would think of these things. After all, she's so intelligent, so mentally together with so much class and so versed in the way of etiquette. He did often look at her in their joint classes, he'd just look at her, put his head in his hands and take her radiance. The way in which she looked at the teachers in class was adorable, the way of how her eyes would have an edge to them, a focus and whenever she was writing a lot down, her small nose would scrunch up. He tried to aspire to her level of dedication, but he couldn't, much to his partner's chagrin.
It seemed as though some people were born with this focus. Weiss obviously had it, both in and outside of classes, holding herself in such a way that demanded respect. He would be stupid not to recognise the intelligence of others, rather than Weiss, but it was hard to not think of her when the trait of intelligence graced his mind. He held her in reverence, believing her to be an angelic figure from the heavens, and he cared little for her scar or her body, as lithe it was when compared to people like Yang. Yang was too much of a party animal for him. Weiss wasn't though, she was someone more his speed; quieter and more reserved, despite Jaune's inherently loud attitude sometimes. He closed his eyes while he thought of her, of her regal beauty. Her cute yet stern pointed face, the way of how her dress compliments her small body. Gods, she was wonderful.
With eyes closed, he reached both arms above his head and to his upper back, a yawn pushing itself out of his widened mouth leaving tearful eyes in its wake. He pulled his arms back in place but not without giving both eyes an accompanying rub and wipe down with his sleeve. His eyes opened, a light red taking his vision as his eyes returned to normal, little specks of somethings dancing along his sight in response to the rubbing they received. He glanced toward the sun, trying to spot its outline in the maze of trees, taking in a heavy breath as he saw its radiating colours become harsher as it races behind the horizon, that gentle creaking of the trees now laughing at him.
Shit. He gave a soft stomp to the forest floor in tantrum to the sun's setting. The warmth of the forest that previously flew to him in a gentle wind turned cold as the creaking grew harsher. He thought ill of trying to travel tired while in the night. So, he planned to camp then make good progress when morning came. He spent ten minutes wandering aimlessly until he came upon a good group of trees with branches intermingling as though in a group hug or giving themselves a pep talk to ward off the unfortunate boredom of the forest.
He spent twenty minutes looking for sticks and stones for fire and spending ten minutes rubbing a large branch against Crocea Mors' blade for shavings before spending twenty minutes rubbing a stick into a bed of leaves and wood shavings in the middle of the fire pit to produce enough friction to light the little bastards up. Quite pathetically, his arms hurt from the movement and he was more than ready for sleep as he rested against a tree.
Sleep came quickly in spite of the cold that surrounded his form. A kind of sleep that all men, women, and children craved, the kind that felt as though your being was floating amongst a gentle and warm cloud.
The heat of the fire died in the gentle winds, the sky danced under the moon, as if praising its broken beauty. The reminiscent creaking of the wood played in the inky environment. The stars burned a wondrous light, in unorganised constellations that created every shape, acting as beacons in the nothingness of space.
Yet, these stars disappeared, burning out as if some ethereal being did all but blow, their seemingly immortal glow ruined. The winds blew like a tempest, forcing a cacophony of wood clashing with wood to emerge. The subtle mannerisms of the sky became active attempts to avoid the moon.
With this, it wouldn't be hard to awake. Jaune did so, his eyelids pulling apart with some resistance as sleep crust attempted to bind them together. Jaune's answer to this was to rub it away, with it consequently resulting in the inner corners of his eyes to become bloodshot under the irritation. After pushing arms up and behind his back, he gave a quick yawn; being a testament to his still tired countenance.
A twisted sound penetrated his ears, forcing his already half-lidded eyes to widen and his hand placing itself onto the pommel of his family blade. The sound was horrid, clearly one of agony, especially due to how it sadistically attacked his brain. The creaking made it worse, as it provided an irregular metronome to its abhorrent singing.
This interested him, in some perverted part of his conscience he moved toward.
The walk took some time, the loud screams betraying its actual distance, Gods above it sounded so terrible.
With this line of thought, these Gods rewarded him with it increasing in volume as he moved closer, as some points where the sound reached certain pitches, he instinctively moved his hands to his ears.
He reached a small group of trees and a large collection of foliage, all of which, covered a deer, which was collapsed and seemingly broken on its side on the forest floor.
It turned its head to him. Whether it heard him or saw him, it mattered not, as it quieted down. Jaune could not kid himself in thanking in its silence.
It alternated between straining its neck and thrashing its head around. Doing this with shallow cries as nothing happened, it seemed as though the poor thing was paralysed, a conclusion that became more and more obvious with how, as he got closer, its thrashing got worse. Its cries near turning back into screams. To prevent this, Jaune moved his arms away from his torso slowly, turning his palms toward the animal in a sign of peace. It moved less in return, its cries turning into sombre moans of disapproval to its predicament.
Jaune moved to his knees and shuffled toward its stomach, taking notice of there being no wounds on the lower half of the animal. Once happy of its docile nature, he moved closer again, finally seeing the cause of the problems.
Its back was… indescribable, yet Jaune strained to make an effort to describe it in his mind. Its short tail and lower spine looked as normal he supposed it would.
But the middle section of its back was a maw of blood and exposed bones. No wonder the thing couldn't move; it was missing several vertebrae. An unclean bite, about as wide as the length of his lower arm, circled around the split spine; worms, flies and other unwanted insects were digging into a what they saw as a dying meal.
Jaune felt vomit rise past and slightly burn his oesophagus, fearing it would erupt in large volumes. However, he was granted some mercy as it was smaller than the average phlegm-sized spit that one could expect during illness.
He quickly swirled it in his mouth, a stupid attempt to ignore what was in front of him, face twisting in the awful permeating taste and spat it out to his side.
He gave the disgusting display another look, seeing how the flesh was becoming black under necrosis. He also saw the insects invade the layer between the muscle and skin, twirling in their precious bounty. What could've done this?
Eyes widened in realisation that the what of this situation was of little importance. The location of the perpetrator was of far greater precedence. Why would a predator leave prey? And when did this happen? It must of have recently as he would have heard it before going to sleep. Jaune twisted his head in all possible directions, straining ears in an attempt to hear this barbarous hunter.
The animal picked up on his worry and fear, replicating it with moans increasing in pitch and terror. He again showed his palms toward the creature, trying to show no intention to harm. He placed his right hand on the deer's neck, while keeping his left on the pommel of Crocea Mors, the tips of his fingers feeling its short and ruffled fur. It thankfully quieted down.
He would have to leave, move while the predator was busy with the decaying body of this poor being. If he left it alive, its probable screaming would attract whatever harmed it, provide him with the distraction to walk away or even run. But could he leave it to what would most certainly be a putrid end?
No, of course not. He chastised himself for the idea. After all, huntsmen are not selfish people.
This raised a difficult question; how could he kill it? He had never actually killed anything, apart from that ursa, but Grimm were different, soulless. He scoured his mind, looking to find how to quickly and painlessly kill it. The idea was horrid, but it would have to be done. He thought back to his father and his attempts to teach Jaune how to hunt, yet these lessons often ended with Jaune crying at the idea of harming another creature.
He tried to regain some memories of how to do it, after a small number of seconds, he couldn't remember anything about larger animals like deer, but he could remember how smaller animals would be dealt with; a quick snap of their necks. But Jaune could not do that to a creature of this scale.
After some further thinking, he concluded to sever the brainstem. If he did that, it should - no, it would die immediately.
He grounded his hands into the ground as he stood, shifting his right hand onto the grip of the hilt, the blade scraping with the scabbard. He tried to bend the grip on his sword to point toward the back of the deer's skull, believing it to be the weakest part he could use, yet he knew that the angle would work against him. In his worry, Jaune placed more pressure onto the deer's nasal, thrashing once more in amplifying pain.
Tears finally started to sting in his eyes, somewhat blinding him to his task. "Please," the voice weak and worthless, "please just stop, I'm doing this for you."
The deer could not disagree more as it looked prepared to start screaming in terror.
Jaune quick wiped his eyes to the back of his hand, blade shaking. He moved his left hand to the pommel, trying to steady it. The damned deer just wouldn't stop.
The lower half of his face twisted as he lifted one boot and planted it gently on the animal's nose, applying some pressure as it continued in its spasms, but the skull finally stopped.
He planted the tip of the blade a couple of inches above where its skull and neck met, the blade moving in irregular patterns.
Jaune closed his eyes tightly and took a few shaking breathes in through his nose and out of his mouth. He pushed down.
While he still had his eyes closed, he could feel as the flesh split easily under the blade, the pressure of the tight skin unwound in welcome to the cold steel. Jaune continued, the thrashing getting worse under his boot and the squeals being too obvious to ignore. Tears falling as he reached an impasse, the bone. The blade raised slightly in preparation and fell back down, unfortunately being deflected by the vertebrae and wedging itself in the tightness of the animal's throat. Realising the mistake, blue eyes opened in terror as the wail hurt his ears. He had failed and to Jaune, what was little more than a pressurised spray, appeared to be an eruption of blood from the neck, an unhealthy spray that coated and stained Jaune's jean leg.
In fear, he tried to pull his blade out, some resistance becoming apparent as the blade's poor angle somehow wedged the blade into the muscle. He pulled once, twice and thrice until the bloodied blade finally came out, the momentum forcing Jaune to the ground, the gash in the neck now only worse as Jaune's bout with the sword forced more and more blood to come out.
This time, vomit erupted from his mouth.