Free Guy is a really fun movie, def recommend. The new Candyman is pretty cool too. Also hype for the new Spider Man after that trailer, looks sick.

Bishop sprinted right past Jaune without sparing him a glance. He stopped just before the corpse Jaune had just mangled. The head was not even recognizable as human anymore, so much as just a puddle of gore. Still, the powerfist, the height and build… Bishop knew what he saw.

Jaune had never considered that this side of Bishop might exist; the side that cared for something, that side that might get emotional, the side that could go over the edge.

"No!" Bishop yelled in horror. "NO!"

He looked back and forth from Arthur's body to Jaune himself, eyes wide with shock and disbelief (or a refusal to believe). He settled his gaze on his old companion's corpse. He shook his head.

"No…"

Jaune stepped back.

Bishop's bloodshot glare switched to Jaune, who met him in the eyes; he had never seen such concentrated, murderous fury. Horror, sadness and shock were all painfully morphing into raw anger, like a maggot reforming into a putrid fly—such was always the course of Bishop's emotions.

He narrowed his eyes. He breathed in and held it.

Bishop suddenly rocketed forward, and Jaune barely had time to raise his sword and block his savage swing.

Rubra Mors smashed into Crocea Mors with force that would put a jackhammer to shame; the two swords clashed, brother against brother, fulfilling their destiny.

Jaune's arms shuddered down to the bone as he desperately held back the attack's initial shock. Pressing in, Bishop stepped forward and threw Jaune back. Stumbling away, Jaune threw Crocea Mors up in time to deflect another slash.

"Rah!" Bishop kicked Jaune in the gut while his defense was off, hurling him away.

Jaune tumbled to the ground while his enemy still pursued. Bishop leapt into the air, flicking Rubra Mors's switch while he did so. The sword burst into flame and swept down like a fiery meteor.

Jaune rolled to the side, barely dodging the blade as it impacted the ground. This, however, did not spare him from harm. All the fire dust in Rubra Mors discharged and swept out in the form of vicious and angry flame. It flowed around Bishop's own fireproof suit, but it swept over Jaune and bit into his aura.

Clinging to his clothes and even some patches of his skin, the fire raged at him. It, however, was the last of Jaune's concerns. Bishop stood above him with his scalding hot blade in his hands and murder in his eyes. Eyes that were almost completely red, through which he squinted down at his mortal enemy.

Jaune threw himself backwards and rolled along the grass, putting some of the fire and stopping with his back on the ground. Just in time, he brought Crocea Mors above him in both hands and blocked Bishop's cut down.

Their swords clanged together, and Jaune's arms crumpled. Only because his elbows braced against the ground did he manage to halt Bishop's attack. Rubra Mors's razor-sharp blade stopped mere inches from his face.

Jaune jerked and threw his leg up into Bishop ribs, forcing just enough room to scramble away again. He was on the defensive, except much worse than before. Perhaps he and Arthur were close in strength, but that was not the case with Bishop. Not at all. Jaune could literally not hope to ever be as physically powerful as Bishop was. Again, he would have to rely on something else if he were to survive.

He took advantage of Bishop's emotions. His enemy bared his teeth in hatred and attacked with wild, monstrous eyes. Each strike had more force behind it then necessary, was sloppier than normal. Jaune was able to time and work his deflection such that he could get thrown around or back by each one—not ideal, but better than being chopped to pieces.

Bishop snarled. He flicked Rubra Mors's switch and used the very last of the fire dust in his sword to cut wildly and send a solid slash of flame straight for Jaune's head.

Jaune feel back and on his ass rather than take a blast of fire to the face.

The sweep of flame continued through the air until it hit a target. The cherry blossom tree.

The fire struck the trunk and tore into several of the branches. Excellent tinder. The fire swept across the dry bark, eating into it as greedily and quickly as a swarm of locusts eats a field. The pretty little pink petals each were consumed, becoming nothing more than black flakes of ash in an instant.

Jaune scrambled to his feet. No time to mourn for his favorite tree. Very soon, many might be mourning him.

Bishop slashed down again, and he deflect the attack, wheeling to the side and falling back again. He glanced to the side and saw the box lying amidst the ruined flowers.

Again, however, Bishop would never give him the time he needed to take and prepare the bombs. The only other—and more realistic option—was to wait for help to arrive.

Bishop stabbed out for Jaune's neck. He jerked himself to the side to avoid the skewering, but the blade's edge scraped by his aura. Only by the barest margins was he avoiding death. Only one mistake was required to die.

So simply waiting was simply asking for Bishop to kill him.

Jaune's mind raced to come up with a plan typical of the Lone Wanderer's dreaded craftiness. It was near impossible, though, to think coherently when simply staying alive took so much of his attention.

He tried to glance around at his environment; Bishop forced his attention right back with a flurry of attacks.

He tried to step to the side and set up for a kick; Bishop forced him to step back with a hearty swing that nearly broke Jaune's guard.

He tried to step in and make an attack of his own; Bishop immediately repulsed it.

He tried to get his footing; Bishop crashed a boot into his chest with a fearsome kick.

Jaune flew back and fell into a bed of crumpled roses. He rolled out of the way as Bishop leapt into the air and brought his sword down in a stab that embedded his weapon hilt-deep into the earth.

Jaune grabbed a fist-sized rock partially embedded in the earth just as Bishop stood up and wrenched his whole sword from the dirt. Jaune pulled the trigger on Crocea Mors, held up the rock and brought his chainsword's edge down onto the stone, making sure to hit it with the side that was running the chain out toward Bishop.

Instantly, Crocea Mors gouged into the stone and shot out a steady stream of wicked little pebbles directly into Bishop's face. His foe scrunched up his eyes and mouth and halted, dazed for just a moment.

Using the meager seconds he had bought himself, Jaune scrambled back up to his feet. Breathing heavy, this brief respite gave him enough time to realize just how exhausted he was. His chest heaved, sweat coated his face and his own sword felt heavy in his cramped arms.

Bishop brushed the pebbles from his face, opened his eyes again and glared at Jaune. As Jaune met that glare, he was hit by just how pained Bishop's eyes looked. And not in a metaphorical sense. No, tears streamed out the corners of his eyes, and he squinted as if a sharp light was shining directly into his face. So red were they that it looked as if someone had taken a scalpel to Bishop's corneas and sliced open the veins there, spilling blood and staining both the white and even the piercing, crystalline blue.

Bishop raised Rubra Mors. He breathed in deep. He held that breath. He narrowed his glare.

Jaune raised Crocea Mors. He breathed in deep. He held that breath. He narrowed his glare.

Both combatants prepared themselves for the next clash. For just a moment—just a sliver of a second—the world for each seemed quiet and still as they stared.

Bishop made the first move. Jaune brought his own sword down in kind.

Bishop was faster and stronger.

Crocea Mors went flying out of Jaune's hands as Bishop savagely struck it with all his power. The chainsword flipped through the air and thumped down into a bed of flowers. Bishop dragged his own sword back up and slicked across Jaune's entire chest.

His aura caved in, and Rubra Mors's edge sliced through his skin and scraped against his ribcage. He flew backwards, splattered with blood and riddled with pain.

When Jaune collapsed onto the ground, his mind was vacant, filled only with a screaming agony burning from the foot-long cut across his chest. Without aura, he would have been cut in half. Even with it, he felt his own hot blood flow out and slip across his skin and drench his shirt. Laying haphazardly on Crimson Arc, still strapped to his back, Jaune was powerless. Utterly powerless.

He barely mustered the strength to raise his head and look at his foe.

Bishop stood triumphant, blood dripping from his sword. He glared at Jaune. There was none of the usual cockiness, none of the egotistical satisfaction that he so often presented. There was only pure fury and pain, the kind of vicious, animalistic mix of feelings that infects a person like rabies infects a dog; it cursed Bishop with the need to destroy.

He looked down to Crocea Mors, which had fallen into a patch of daffodils. Bishop stomped over to it, crushing flowers with every heavy footstep. His march was slowed when he tripped not once but twice.

He leaned forward and fumbled for the chainsword, squinting and not getting a good grip of it for several seconds. When he got his hand around the it—ignoring the razor-sharp teeth that scratched at his aura—he hoisted it up.

Stabbing his own sword into the ground, he gripped Crocea Mors in two hands: one held the hilt, the other the end of the chainsaw.

"Raaahhh!" He yelled incoherently and tried to bend Crocea Mors.

The chainsword shivered and put up a terrible fight. Like the bones of prey stuck in a predator's jaw, it struggled. It would not end like this. Its internal framework was titanium strong enough to form the hull of a space shuttle. Its engine was fueled by a small nuclear core. Its blueprints had been constructed by the finest military engineers before the bombs fell. It was created as part of a series at the order of the very man who now tried to destroy it. It was a proud weapon, a violent weapon, it would never—

The metal gave out with a final, high-pitched shriek. Screws went flying. Crocea Mors twisted and bent into a right angle. The chain popped out of its fastenings and dangled limply. The casing for the nuclear-powered motor cracked open and the engineering inside was hopelessly crushed.

Bishop threw the sword on the ground in front of his own. Rubra Mors stood triumphant over its ruined and defeated brother, proud to have taken part in the fratricide.

And just as he had broken his sword, Bishop was about to break Jaune.

Ruby stopped, panting hard. She stumbled and nearly tripped over tree roots until she managed to get to the tree itself. There, she planted a hand against its rough bark and used it to prop herself up on her wobbly legs.

She looked back behind her. Beacon's garden was barely in sight at this point. She had run away across campus, blasting off in whatever random direction her desperate feet would take her. Now she finally stopped to gather herself. Looking around, she noticed she was near the open outdoor fields where students trained and played sports. There were no Grimm or people out here on the dark plains of grass. This lone tree normally provided shade for the weary students exercising, but now it was all that kept Ruby standing.

She leaned against it. All she heard was her own heart beating in her chest, thumping louder and more quickly than it ever had before. Her eyes were wide open, but the thing she kept seeing was not there in front of her. It was what had just happened.

The memory of Jaune brutalizing his opponent. The horrifying savagery with which he had cut open his head and stomped it into the ground—

Ruby bent over and puked. The acid stung her throat and filled her mouth with an awful taste.

"Yeah, I even killed a couple kids!"

That was what Jaune had said. Perhaps a part of Ruby had known for a while that he had done nasty things in the past. But she had never expected that… never.

She wiped her mouth and leaned back against the tree, panting and shivering. Tears flowed down across her cheeks.

Bishop pulled Rubra Mors out of the ground and approached. He raised the sword and pointed it directly at Jaune, who lay bleeding on the ground. Bishop did not need to say a word. The raw hate on his face said everything. Fury filled his eyes… eyes now grotesquely stained with the color of blood, so much so that they were even nastier than Jaune's own burned eye.

Bishop pressed in, intent to kill.

But then he stopped after not more than a couple steps. Bishop's eyes twitched, and he brought up a hand to rub out whatever had gotten into them. But he kept rubbing. And rubbing.

"Ah…" Bishop groaned and covered his eyes with his hand, which shook with pain. He stumbled back. "What…?" Confused, he barely got out a word before groaning in pain again. He grit his teeth and tried to step forward.

He tripped over himself and fell to his knees.

"Gah!"

Bishop dropped Rubra Mors and brought both hands to cover his face, his eyes. "What!?" He yelled. "Gah! Ahhhh!" Bishop howled in pain and thrashed his head side to side.

Adrenaline managed to numb Jaune enough that he barely felt the gash in his chest. That did not mean he could think straight. The only desperate thought on his mind was how not to die. Even in the most dire moments, he would never idly accept death. And whatever was happening right now to his foe, it gave him the chance he needed.

His hands shook terribly and he groaned in pain as he pulled open his jacket. In a breast pocket he kept both of his stimpaks. Each would be needed now if he didn't want to bleed to death.

Bishop fell forward into the dirt, writhing in pain. He pounded one hand again the ground and cursed, barely able to cope with whatever was causing his agony. "Gah!"

Jaune pulled out the stimpaks. One in each hand, the old life savers shone in the light of the cherry blossom's fire. Their needles were covered in plastic sheaths, which Jaune quickly pulled off with his teeth.

He plunged the stimpaks straight down into his chest, on either side of the bleeding gash. He jammed his thumbs down onto the plungers and sent all the stimpaks' contents into his blood and flesh. The effect was near immediate.

Jaune tensed and shook uncontrollably as the serum penetrated and spread through his body. Blood began to coagulate, cells came together, pain was numbed and even his own aura sensed this miraculous recovery and worked in overdrive.

Blood flowing from his wound stemmed and stopped all together. Some of the weariness in his muscles and bones receded. His uncontrollable shaking slowed, and the agony in his chest and in his blood soothed.

Jaune grunted and bit back the pain as he forced himself to sit up. Only then did he see his foe again.

Bishop was also recovering from whatever had laid him low. He no longer screamed or yelled, but he still shook and gripped his head in his hands. He reached out one hand and patted the ground near him, looking for his sword.

Jaune brought himself up to his knees. His first instinct was to draw Crocea Mors. He glanced back behind Bishop, where the sword that had been his companion for a year lay utterly broken.

"Useless thing…" he muttered.

The only other weapons he had on him were the Mysterious Magnum and Crimson Arc; both were out of ammo.

That left one option.

Shakily, Jaune brought himself to his feet. When he tried to straighten his posture, he wheezed and almost collapsed again as his chest wound open slightly. He grit his teeth so hard it felt like they were about to crack. But if he was to survive, then no amount of pain could stop him.

Bishop found the hilt of his sword, and then he also began to rise. He drove Rubra Mors's point into the ground and used it to stand up. With his other hand, he kept covering his eyes. Only when he managed to find his footing and keep his balance did Bishop slowly uncover his face.

What Jaune saw then made him grimace.

Blood streamed out of Bishop's eyes like tears. While dealing with that pain, he must have bit down on his tongue or cheek, for now he spat out blood which flowed freely from his mouth. Bishop gargled and coughed out even more blood, splattering it on the ground before him.

The two combatants, in sorry and bloody states, squared off again.

Bishop squinted and looked blearily through blood-soaked eyes. He raised the tip of Rubra Mors once again, ready to impale his prey.

But he didn't point it at Jaune.

He was pointing his sword several feet to Jaune side. He took one tentative step, gliding his foot across the ground hesitantly. That was when Jaune realized it.

Bishop was blind—at least for now.

He blinked desperately and slowly looked around. He passed by Jaune without even stopping to squint.

"Where…" Bishop mumbled between heavy breaths.

He awkwardly stepped forward, advancing in Jaune's general direction, swinging his sword back and forth in wild chops. Jaune eyed that black, blood-soaked blade wearily. His aura was now paper thin, he had lost a good amount of blood and what adrenaline he had left was dwindling. Despite his foe's blindness, a single cut was still all it would take now to end him.

And he was still unarmed. For now.

Jaune carefully stepped across the grass as Bishop came near him. He covered his own mouth to stop the sound of heavy breathing and gasps of pain. Bishop advanced, waving his sword wildly.

Jaune crept down to all fours and crawled as quietly as he could. Bishop grunted and swung Rubra Mors while stumbling forward—one of those swings passed right over Jaune as Bishop came within arm's reach of him before passing by.

Jaune stood up again and looked for the mini-nukes. He quickly spied their box back where he had first come into the garden.

He looked back at Bishop and frowned. His enemy had stopped advancing and swinging. Instead, Bishop now took deep breaths, calming himself down. He also had his head cocked to the side with his hand cupped around his ear. Listening.

Jaune tried to take a step, only for his knee to almost give out. Each muscle from head to toe ached and begged for rest. His own shaky legs barely kept him upright. From loss of blood and sheer exhaustion, his body barely managed to function properly.

Jaune drew the Mysterious Magnum from its holster as Bishop blearily stumbled in a circle. He looked down at the pistol. It had been given to him by a man who had placed a lot of faith in him. He could get come back and get it later.

He chucked it up over Bishop's head, almost falling face-first into the ground as he did; even that act nearly dragged him down. Jaune slumped to one knee as the revolver spun and landed on the brick-paved path with a noisy clatter.

Bishop whipped around. "Die!" he screamed. Wantonly swinging Rubra Mors, he charged straight for where the pistol had fallen, only to sprint right over it—

And trip into the cherry blossom pool.

For a moment, Bishop flailed with all the grace of a fish out of water. "Bastard!" he screamed, wildly thrashing and cursing in the knee-deep water.

When he managed to somewhat find his bearing and at least haul himself up, preserving some dignity after vainly convulsing. Desperate to alleviate his continuing pain and blindness, Bishop scooped up as much water as he could and repeatedly splashed himself in the face and rubbed out his eyes.

It helped to at least wash out some of the blood. He could slightly open his eyes once more, only to wince at the bright burning tree before him. Sloshing through the water, he turned around and reached out for the wall. When he got his hand on the bricks, he drew himself up over the wall.

He stepped back onto dry land, sopping wet. Rubbing his eyes clear of blood, he managed to pry them open again, despite how sensitive they were now. Even then, his vision was extremely bleary, as if he looked at the world through foggy glasses.

He heard something clatter on the ground before him.

This time, Bishop pounced back while both wiping his eyes with his left hand and swinging his sword haphazardly in front of him with his right. He tore his hand away from his face and peered blearily down at the object just feet before him. He blinked a few times and squinted. Then he realized what it was—with horror. He jumped back and turned to run away.

Too little, too late.

The mini-nukes detonated, consuming Bishop in fire.

Jaune had turned away, covered his ears and pressed himself flat to the ground just before the blast. The shockwave and smoke rolled over him, driving out the breath from his lungs as it smashed him further into the earth. The shrapnel tore at his clothes and scratched his skin raw where it was exposed. The thunderous and immediate boom of the explosives rung and echoed louder than any grimm could roar. A miniature mushroom cloud stretched up into the night sky, haughtily and monstrously proclaiming itself in this new world.

As quickly as it happened, however, so it was over. Eerie silence and a tinny ring settled in Jaune's ears. For a few seconds that felt like an eternity all he could do was move his head to the side and gasp for air. Even that was a challenge as he coughed away dust and dirt.

He dragged himself onto his side, groaning in sheer pain as he did so. Every muscle and bone in his body protested his commands; but he could not let that stop him. He needed to see it this time. He needed to be sure.

Jaune pulled his head up and peered into the smoke still swirling and falling. The cherry blossom tree, ripped apart by the shockwave, still smoldered and flickered with fire in a few places. The pool's wall was thoroughly demolished, leading to a miniature flood across the garden and into the nuclear crater. Jaune saw nothing alive in the smoke.

He let go of a deep and sad breath. Relief washed over like him cool water on scorching desert sands. It was all over—

A painfully bright spotlight shone down onto the garden and pierced through the smoke. The roar of a bullhead's engines battered down the silence. Those same engines blew away much of the smoke and dust as the aircraft lowered. Jaune was unsure whether to be hopeful or worried.

Glancing to the side, he saw new figures entering the garden. At this point, he was too exhausted to process the dread he should have felt at seeing several more Enclave soldiers.

The point-man to the new squad held a human head in his hand—somebody with short red hair. He stepped forward and looked into the wild smoke. Suddenly, he jerked back in surprise from what he saw.

Jaune looked back as well, and his stomach dropped.

A lone figure struggled to their feet. Although he could still barely see through whipping winds and dust, Jaune was under no illusion as to who it was. Using Rubra Mors as a cane, Bishop stood again.

"Commander!" the soldier shouted, throwing the head aside and sprinting for Bishop. As the dust settled, Jaune realized why his voice held panic.

Bishop shambled like an emaciated feral ghoul; he had all the strength of a scorched piece of paper. He held Rubra Mors in his right hand, and in his left he held nothing; for he no longer had a left hand. Or a left arm. The spotlight and receding smoke gave Jaune a glimpse of his enemy, now covered in jarring burns. The raw bone in his skull was visible where flesh had been stripped away. Blood leaked from charred skin. He looked like a corpse.

Bishop fell into his soldier's arms. More Enclave troops came into the garden as rope ladders fell from the bullhead's side.

Jaune closed his eyes and played dead.

"Hey, who's that?" one of the soldiers said.

Perhaps they were not talking about Jaune.

He heard heavy footsteps coming right for him.

This was not good—

With a sound like shattering glass, things changed.

Oh my, whatever could happen now? Well, this is the end of the Battle of Beacon. New direction for the story from here on out, hope it'll be different enough to inspire me to keep writing more. It's been quite a while since I've really felt a big inspiration to work on this story. Sort of feel sometimes like I'm writing it out of an obligation to finish. Maybe I'll try to get back on that weekly Sunday schedule I had going for a while at first.