Pre-written during the week

Cover Art: GWBrex

Chapter 7

"Oh, you sweet boy, thinking of an old lady at a time like this." Old Martha greeted him in the doorway to her home, a cream shawl drawn up over her thin, grey hair. The woman wore a charmingly crooked smile, old age and one lazy eye making her toothy smile look practically gummy. "Come in. Come in. You must be freezing half to death out there. I have a fire going, come warm yourself by it while I get you something to drink."

"Thank you, Martha." Jaune stepped inside, closed the door and carefully removed his now wet and frost-coated cloak, setting it on a wooden hook where it could dry. "Is there somewhere I should put this venison?"

"On the counter here, boy." She petted a wooden crate with an assortment of boxes marked with little sketch drawings of various herbs. "I'll cook it myself come the morrow. Hunt this one yourself, did you?"

"I did."

"Competent one, aren't ya. Oh, if I was sixty years younger." The old crone giggled teasingly. "The girls here are missing out. I always told those fools you weren't no Dark Lord. But of course, fools like Tulle will wag their tongues and children believe what they're told."

Jaune smiled and set the wrapped-up meat down, making sure it was far enough away from any damp. Martha's home was small and cramped, clean but busy in the way of a woman too old to take as much time cleaning as she used to. He knew a few people in Ansel helped her out. The woman was practically a grandmother to half the village, at least unofficially. She actually was the grandmother of four different families.

"I have proof now from those huntresses," Jaune said, wishing the lie were true. "But I have to ask, what made you so sure? Everyone else was willing to write me off."

"You don't act like them."

"Act-? Wait," he whispered, "You've met one?"

"I have." Martha smiled toothily and offered him a steaming mug of mead. The smell of honey wafted off it in the steam and warmed his cold bones. "Was a long time ago now – a very long time. Two Dark Lords back, I think. The last one to really wage war on the Eternity Queen. The last one to actually take a crack at the whole world domination thing."

Curiosity burned hotter than the mead he sipped. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help but for more. "What was he like?"

"Hm. If I had to put it to one word I'd say he was charismatic."

"Charismatic!?" Jaune blurted the word out. It didn't fit in his head. "How? He's the Dark Lord – he tried to bring the entire world down, kill everyone. How could someone like that be charismatic?"

Martha chuckled dryly and poked at the fire with an iron spike. The embers sprung up and a fresh wave of heat rolled over the cosy living area, illuminating her face in bright orange. The woman rolled her tongue, poking at the holes between her teeth as she sought the words.

"T'was different at the time," she said eventually. Slowly, as if testing each and every word. "There was a lot of ill-talk of the church and the Goddess was nigh-on absent when we needed her." Martha made the sign of Salem against her chest as if to apologise for the blasphemous words even as they crossed her lips. "Vale was struggling wherever you looked, with whole towns starving and yet more under attack by the Grimm. To make matters worse, the Huntresses were nowhere to be seen. Held back for whatever reason. It felt as though the whole kingdom was about to boil over, and then he arrived, speaking of change, of freedom, of fighting for our future."

"Aye, he was the Dark Lord," she admitted, "But wasn't no one that believed it at the time. He was sensible, pragmatic, and he talked people around with words and actions. He was handsome, too," she admitted. "Many a young maiden was smitten with the man. How could we not be when he was so driven and passionate? He attacked Vale not at the head of an army of darkness, but an army of people who's hearts and minds he'd won."

"It didn't work, though. Did it?"

"Nay, it did not. Turns out the Huntresses were all summoned to Vale to counter him. A massacre, it was. I can still remember the anger. There they were, the Chosen who were supposed to protect us from the Grimm, killing good men and women. Aye, they were defending the city and their queen, but if they were all there in the first place then why didn't they defend us when we needed 'em? Why let whole villages be swallowed up by Grimm?"

It was a good question and the voices in Jaune's head replied with a deluge of answers, a barrage of sentiment that drowned one another out and came as nothing but a wall of noise and feeling. Jaune grunted and cupped his face as it pulsed behind his eyes like the world's worst migraine. If the previous Dark Lords had been trying to communicate, it was like they'd all done so at once. He couldn't make anything out.

"Things are better now." Martha said. "Maybe they learned valuable lessons. Huntresses come out on demand, and they know better than to ignore distant towns and villages lest they take up arms again. In a way, the Dark Lord delivered on everything he promised. Things changed. Just not in the way any of us back then expected."

"Isn't that just someone preying on your misery?" Jaune asked.

"Eh. Who can say?" Martha shrugged. "Not I, that's for sure. Just remember not to believe everything people say. Ansel is a good, goddess-fearing village. Such blasphemous words have left my lips might get an old woman in trouble with some." Quietly, she cackled. "But I doubt you of all people will be telling on me, hm?"

"Of course not. I know what it's like to be a target for them. Speaking of." He cleared his throat. "How is your houseguest doing? Has there been any improvement?"

"Not as of yet." The woman's smile fell. With a creak of bones, she stood, and Jaune offered an arm that she took with a smile. He helped her to the nearby room, where another fire was gently smouldering in a hearth. A mattress of wool with straw stuffed into it lay on the floor, and atop that a man whose skin was clammy and pale.

He was broad and strong looking with his jerkin and tunic removed to reveal powerful muscles and tanned skin. Bandages had been wrapped around his stomach and changed recently judging by the colour of them. Several rolls lay nearby, along with some bowls of water, some herbs and a burning stick of incense to ward away ill smells.

Taiyang didn't look any better. The miracle they were hoping for looked further and further away at this point. Juniper had said his fate was with the goddess, but it was obvious the goddess wasn't going to do anything here.

"I can watch him for a while if you want to get some sleep, Martha."

"Hmm. Are you sure?"

"I've nothing else to do. You shouldn't have to stay up all night."

"Aye, well, these old bones do need their rest." The woman petted his arm gently. "You really are a gentleman. I'll accept your offer, then. Be sure to change his bandages if they get too wet and dab his brow with cool water every now and then. If he wakes for whatever reason, come fetch me. No excuses."

"Don't worry, I've looked after my sisters before when they've been sick."

"I'm sure you have. I'm sure you have." The old woman made her way to the door and out, yawning against her arm. It really was too cold a night for someone so old to be spending awake tending to an injured man. Jaune waited for her to go to bed and close her door, and then another few minutes to make sure she was asleep.

He waited longer still, listening to the sound of the storm outside and the snow lightly thumping against the wooden walls. The crackle of the fire, the distant howl of wolves and the closer sound of merriment from the tavern. The occasional drunken villagers passing by laughing or talking loudly to be heard over the wind as they made their way home as fast as their legs could take them. The sounds of Ansel wrapped in winter, and the sounds of Ruby's father breathing laboriously on his mattress.

It was hard to tell how much time passed before he dared move forward, scooting on his knees right up to the man's side. "Alright," he whispered to himself. "If you really can do good, if Martha was right and you're not just some evil demon, now's the time to prove it. I have aura and you know how to use it. Help save this man."

Nothing. In truth, he wasn't sure what he expected. Would his hands move against his will? Would a dark cackle sound and a spirit take over his body? Nothing of the sort occurred, and Jaune knelt by Ruby's father in silence. There were no voices instructing him in his head, no images or visions or anything he might use.

What do I do? At least tell me how to use my aura on him.

It occurred to him suddenly that nothing could be done even by a spirit without seeing the wound. Jaune clicked his tongue and leaned forward to gently take the edge of the bandages, wet with Taiyang's sweat, and peel them back. The wounds across his stomach had been cleaned as best they were able, and little flecks of herbs stuck to the insides of the bandages told him a compress had been applied. Even so, he hissed at the sight of the ugly tears through skin, not because they were deep or profusely bleeding – they had been stitched shut – but because the edges of his skin around it were a dark, sore red and festering.

"Infected," he whispered. "I knew it."

Everyone else was hoping he would be strong enough to pull through on his own, and that was all most people could do when a young child or adult grew ill. You could buoy their spirits with hot broth and good food – a healthy meal befit a healthy body after all – but unless you knew what had made them ill and had an herbal antidote, it was up to their body to fight the infection. Not here. Taiyang's body was weak from the long journey, the cold and more, and this wasn't going to go away anytime soon.

The stitches and twine, expertly applied, were probably making it worse. Jaune picked them apart, teasing the thread back and letting the wound breathe once more. Blood oozed out, thick and dark. He took a sponge and the hot water nearby and quickly cleaned that away until the blood ran a lighter colour, then dipped his fingers into the bowl of water and used them to probe at the edges of the cut.

If the Dark Lord – or Lords – wouldn't help him heal this man with aura, he'd have to do it the old-fashioned way. He scrubbed at the infected skin until any pus was removed, then took a needle in one hand and twine between his teeth. Sewing a man back together was little different from sewing a piece of cloth, or so his mom had said when his father came back with his arm cut open. It was just a matter of sealing the flaps shut.

Jaune worked silently, pausing occasionally to dip the needle into some fresh, hot water he had set to boiling on the nearby fire. Soon, the wound was once again sewed shut, this time with freshly cleaned. He moved quickly into the kitchen and rummaged around until he found what he needed. Mean implied honey, and sure enough old Martha had a few cones of it wrapped in animal skin and twine.

He quietly carried it back to Taiyang's side, knelt and rubbed the oozing amber fluid over the wound, smoothing it about with his fingers to make sure it was in as much contact with the infected area as possible. When he was done, dipped some fresh bandage into the boiling water, wrung it out and then smothered more honey onto the inside of that, along with some choice herbs, before pressing that section to the wound and wrapping the rest tightly around Taiyang's muscular body, making sure to gently roll him onto his side so he could get the bandage around his back and tie it tightly.

"There," Jaune said, washing his hands in some cold water immediately after. "Now he has a little more to help him than just the goddess."

The honey would offer its antibacterial properties to fight the infected flesh and give it time to heal. None of his skin had begun necrotising, which was fortunate because he wasn't sure where he'd find maggots this late in winter. Plus, Taiyang might not be strong enough to withstand them eating his flesh away. This would have to do, and he'd seen men recover from worse.

Had he…?

When…?

Jaune froze, hands pausing as he dried them on a scrap of cloth. He looked back to Taiyang, panic rising in his chest and his pulse quickening. The worse hurts he'd ever seen were the scrapes and cuts his family picked up hunting, simple things that Nicholas or Juniper would wash, treat and, in rare cases, stitch shut. He'd been taught the bare basics of medicine as required to get himself to safety – cleaning a wound, wrapping it, even the theory of cauterising it, though he'd never had to and hoped he never would.

Nothing about stitching a wound shut, nothing about suture or what herbs would good or bad, or how to use maggots to eat skin away. Even thinking that, he asked how that could be a good thing at all, only to instantly realise – as if he'd always known – that diseased and necrotised flesh had to be removed, and that maggots were a safe way to do that as long as you watched and made sure it was only the bad flesh they took. After, they could be removed, and the wound could be treated. Important for heavier injuries sustained after a battle, arrow wounds, slashes and great, grievous cuts that left men split open.

The kinds of injuries he'd never seen and had no reason to know anything about. Shaking, Jaune looked down at his hands. They were his – young, large, callused from using a bow and all his time hunting with his family, but only from that. He'd swung a wooden stick as a sword with his sisters when he was younger, and he trained with the spear, but his hands weren't nearly as worn as his father's. He curled his fingers just to see if he could, to see if they wouldn't move and someone else had control of his body. They closed, opened and then he clenched them into a fist just to make sure.

He was in control. Even back then, he'd been the one doing all those things. Only, he'd not been drawing from his experiences and knowledge. They hadn't been his memories.

Did I just heal someone by using a past life the Dark Lord took over…?

It wasn't hard to imagine that one of his many hosts over the years had been a healer. He'd existed as long as the goddess Salem had, which was further back than their history travelled. Only Salem and Ozma knew how long it truly was. Thousands of years, probably. That meant a lot of hosts over the Dark Lord's time, some more qualified and experienced than others.

It had worked, then. He hadn't used aura like he expected, but he'd used something that wasn't his to try and help Ruby's father. It was good enough proof. The last nail in an otherwise finished coffin.

He was the next host. He was the Dark Lord.

/-/

The news came out the next day that Ruby's father had recovered much during the night. Ruby was off the walls with excitement and had been taken by Jade and Hazel to visit him. He wasn't awake yet and might not wake for days, but Martha, Cobbin and Nicholas all agreed he looked much healthier. They'd checked the wounds the next morning and much of the infection had begun to recede.

They hadn't noticed a thing from him. Or at least his father and Mayor Cobbin hadn't. Jaune had no idea if Old Martha suspected, and her toothy grin gave nothing of the sort away. He'd kept his head down, exhausted and on the verge of tears until Nicholas noticed, assumed he was nearing a breakdown and sent him home to rest.

"It was good of you to come over and lessen Martha's burden, son, but have a care for yourself as well. You're spent."

"I… yes." Jaune nodded weakly. He hadn't slept at all, and it was as good an excuse as any. "I'll go home. You're going out hunting for the Grimm today, aren't you?"

"Not hunting. Scouting. There's a key difference as well you know." Nicholas looked over to Saphron, Coral and Sable, all of whom had come with leathers, bows and spears. "The moment we have sign of his existence, we're coming back. We're not going out there to find the thing."

He said it loud enough for the three girls to hear, which Jaune was sure they had. They rolled their eyes, and he imagined this was the third or fourth time today they'd heard it. "Okay. I'll go get some rest then. Good luck and stay safe."

"We will." Nicholas buffeted his shoulder with a hearty smile. "Go get some shuteye before you collapse. Cobbin! A word!" He marched over to the mayor, who was busy answering questions from several other villagers.

He broke off and the villagers backed away so that Nicholas could speak to him. There was much nodding, several comments and eventually Cobbin agreed with whatever it was and walked toward the main gate with Nicholas. Saphron, Coral and Sable followed behind, waving to Jaune as they passed by.

I hope they stay safe. If the Grimm is really here then it might be looking for me. It'd be my fault if anything happened to them.

Maybe. It was hard to know for sure. At least he hadn't used any aura healing Taiyang, so the thing shouldn't have reason to be lingering too close to the village walls. Jaune trudged home through the morning snow, met by his mother at the front door. Juniper took one look at him, gave him a quick hug and got out the way so he could climb the ladder up to the second floor and crawl into his bedroom. He happily partook of the apple cinder that had been left by his bed along with a third of a loaf of bread, slipped off his jerkin and crawled under the sheets.

Comfortable as it was, sleep did not come easily.

Now that he knew he was the Dark Lord, with no room for doubt, he wasn't sure what to do. He didn't feel any desires to go out and wage war on the goddess, nor did he want to raise an army and conquer anything. Did that mean he could sit back and live a peaceful life? All the other Dark Lords had probably thought the same.

Pyrrha had said that the Dark Lords took over their hosts, drove them mad and forced them to action. The visions must have been that, and everyone had certainly thought him insane when he was younger. After seventeen years of nightmares, he was still himself, but they'd keep coming. Faster if the recent spate of visions were anything to go by. They'd been coming in the day now as well, and he'd almost lost himself back there at Martha's. He'd thought that medical knowledge his own.

Is that what's going to happen? One day I'll wake up and just be the Dark Lord, thinking and feeling like him even though I'm myself?

That would explain why they all waged war on the goddess sooner or later – it was the Dark Lord Ozma taking over their minds and bodies. If so, how much time did he have left and was there any way to stop it? Was it dangerous for him to stay in Ansel? If he went crazy here, he might harm his family. Hell, if he recognised his father as someone who once fought against him then he might kill him! Even if he didn't, the unlocking of his aura would only draw more Grimm. He was a danger to Ansel as much as it was to him. He was a slowly burning ember that might burst into life and burn the whole village down.

I don't wave to leave. Where would I even go? What would I do?

Maybe… Maybe he could make it on his own terms. It'd always been expected he'd have to move to another village if only to find a wife that didn't see him as cursed or insane. His parents had never brought it up and didn't seem in a rush to push him out, but they all knew it was necessary. There just weren't enough young women of age around here, and no villages close enough to try and form a match with.

He could tell them he wanted to go and try his luck elsewhere. It would hurt to leave them, especially to lie to them, but would it really be that? He wasn't about to go off and actually risk his life against the Goddess, was he? He could travel somewhere else instead, settle down and try to live a normal life. Maybe he could hold the Dark Lord back. Maybe he could refuse the call, defy the odds and keep the monster in check.

"I wonder how many other hosts thought those same words…"

Too many, his mind answered. He couldn't tell if it was his own cynical thoughts or an actual, clear answer from one or all of the former hosts that occupied his mind. Not every Dark Lord had gone on to try and take over the world. Some, like the one whose death he'd witnessed, had just tried to hide away in a cave near Ansel until he was burned alive inside. Choice or not, intent or no, he'd still be hunted down by the Huntresses, and they brought the risk of Grimm with them.

Whatever I decide, I can't stay here in Ansel. I'd be putting everyone at risk.

It hurt. It ate away at his soul. But come spring, come the first of the summer rays and the opening of the roads, he would have to put thought to leaving. To striking out on his own and leaving his comfortable life behind.

Sleep took him soon after that revelation, and it plagued his mind with nightmares – or memories – of former hosts leaving everything behind. Friends, family, loved ones, homes. To a one, they had all made the same decision as he, and not a one had lived a long enough life to be glad of it.

/-/

Bells were tolling, people were screaming and for once it wasn't one of his nightmares. Jaune's eyes snapped open on realising it, body rocketing off the bed as he heard the screaming outside. Panicked, afraid and spreading across the whole village. What the hell was going on? Rolling off the bed, he ran to the edge of the second floor and jumped down the ladder. Mom was nowhere to be seen – the house was empty. Slamming his feet into his boots, he yanked on a cloak and threw himself outdoors, feet hitting the snow at a run.

The alarm bells were still being rung and people were rushing about in panic. Most knew nothing, but he heard shouting from the main gate, saw the many people gathered there, and hurried over as fast as his legs could take him. Villagers crowded the snowy ground, while Mayor Cobbin was up on the walls with a host of the militia, pointing and shouting at the top of his lungs.

"What's going on?" Jaune gasped out. "What's- mom!?" His mother was stood with her hands over her mouth. Jaune ran over. "Mom, what's happening!?"

"Jaune? Oh Jaune!" she cried, tears streaming down her face. His heart froze into a solid block of ice. "Your father!" she cried. "He's out there with the girls – there are Grimm!"

No.

Jaune heard no more, breaking out her hold and running for the ladder to the walls. Someone tried to stop him, but he slammed his shoulder into them and knocked them flat. His hands and feet found the rungs and he hauled himself up, skidding briefly as he stood before rushing to the spiked palisade. He could just make them out – four figures fleeing back to the village from the nearby forests. They were all safe, all alive, but before relief could set in a dark shape exploded from the treeline at unnatural speeds and ran towards them.

Nicholas turned. Of course he did. He shouted for the girls to get back to the village, wheeled on his heel and fired one arrow off at the beast before throwing his bow away and drawing his spear. The arrow struck it in the left shoulder, but the huge, hulking wolf-like monster appeared not to feel it. The beast's mighty paws slammed into the snow, propelling it at incredible speeds.

"Open the gates!" Cobbin roared. "Get the girls in!"

"You damn fool!" someone down below shouted. "We open the gates, and those monsters will get in! It's too late for them now – the goddess be merciful, they'll be spared!"

The goddess? The goddess wouldn't intervene here – she wouldn't give a shit about them! Saphron, Coral and Sable reached the gates and began to pound on the wood. They shouted, begging to be let in at the top of their lungs. Juniper screamed as well, rushing for the gate only to be wrestled down by frightened villagers.

Mayor Cobbin shouted down, "Fools! Open the bloody gate, I order you!"

"Tis too dangerous!" a farmer shouted. Others, frightened villagers whose families weren't outside, joined in, shouting their agreement. They had their own to protect, their own families.

"There's more!" another militia member pointed. "Goddess forbid, there's another!"

Saphron was down on her knees now, with Coral and Sable standing atop her back and reaching up. One member of the militia reached over and managed to snag Sable's hand. He pulled, and another hurried up to help haul the girl up over the fence. They'd never be able to get the others in time. Nicholas rolled in the snow, dodging a strike and drove his spear into the Beowolf's face. It bit deep, but the weapon was torn from his hand when it reared back. The monster shattered the haft with its claw, leaving a foot of hard wood and iron spear tip in its throat.

Bereft of a weapon, Nicholas drew his hunting knife. A simple, sharpened knife not four inches long, meant for cutting meat and branches than protection. The monster's claws were almost as long as it. He stood his ground, defending his daughters with his life. The second Beowolf, however, had already sprinted past him, taking a wide berth and loping on all fours toward Saphron and Coral. The girls screamed, turning and presenting their spears as if they would do anything to save them.

"Arrows!" Cobbin screamed. "Shoot it! Bring it down!"

Bowstrings twanged and arrows pelted off the thing's thick fur. Some stuck, some missed, others bounced off and not a one slowed its charge. Juniper wailed in terror, down on hands and knees sobbing into the snow.

No…

Jaune moved. His hand snatched the spear form a stunned militia member's grip. He ran forward, planted one foot on the wall and flung himself off. His cloak sailed behind him as he flew over the heads of his two sisters, heedless of the screams behind him and the warnings. He landed crooked, rolling forward into the snow and coating himself in a thick dusting of white before coming to his feet several yards in front of the girls, only several before the lumbering monster.

"Help me here or I die. We die." Jaune whispered. "Help me now – save them – or you will never have a chance to fight the goddess." Something stirred. A hot rush of fear and anger that wasn't his own. Jaune grabbed onto it, encouraged it, fanning the flames. "Help me now or we can't kill Salem! You want that, don't you? To kill her, to end this. Well that won't happen if we die here! So come on!" he growled. "Show me what a Dark Lord can do!""

White light shimmered from his hands, wrapping about the spear's haft and spreading across it like fire. His hands gripped it tight, the warm, pulsing sensation spreading through him. The Grimm roared in joy, eyes locking onto Jaune's for the first time.

It had found its prey.

We're coming to a head at last. Jaune forced to act, forced to call on Ozma's power and use it or die. There will be no excusing this once it's done – no hiding it with so many watching.

Next Chapter: 13th March

P a treon . com (slash) Coeur