-(=RWBY=)-
Chapter 9
-(=RWBY=)-
With all his strength, Jaune brought Crocea Mors slashing down upon Hazel Rainart's incoming fist.
What happened next was something Jaune did not expect but ought to have, as Rainart's bare fist plowed right into the edge of the blade and knocked the whole sword aside, the steel blown away like a feather before a landslide.
Jaune managed to twist out of the way, but barely, his face mere inches from Rainart's left arm as it passed.
Rainart's fist smashed into the ground.
! ! !
The punch blew a hole into the earth, and created a web of fissures radiating outwards, shattering the cobblestone square in its entirety.
Jaune nearly lost his footing, but through a desperate repositioning of his left leg, he managed to keep his balance sufficiently to then lunge forward for a counterattack.
Rage and hate had pushed out all thought of tactics and of actually timing his attacks, but long years of training had ingrained in him enough force of habit that, on instinct, he went for the major weakness of physical dust infusion – the crystals. Though the powerful nimbus of electrical energy surrounding the user repelled even Anra steel, the crystals themselves were unprotected, and could be dislodged.
With a powerful downward stroke of his sword, Jaune struck the lightning dust crystal infused into Rainart's left arm –
– except the crystal did not budge, did not fall not to the ground, did not leave its user weakened and unprotected.
What?
Shock and dismay stunned Jaune long enough that he was unable dodge Rainart's retaliation.
The hulking man's meteor of a fist smashed Jaune right in the chest.
! ! !
Pain, intense and searing, exploded into being.
Every bone in his body felt broken, every muscle torn, every last nerve twisted and dipped in fire and set to burn.
Amidst the ruins of the house he had been blasted into, Jaune tried to stand, only to stumble, and fall onto his hands; he was injured, and badly so – that much he knew, from the pain in his chest not fading, and from his aura hovering near the point of breaking.
Rainart had him dead to rights. However, the man seemed in no rush to kill Jaune, instead walking closer at a slow and leisurely pace.
Sounding almost regretful, he said,
"Believe me, Jaune Arc, this was not my choice. Domremy wasn't, either."
Jaune was still struggling to get upright, and it was only through his two trembling hands on Crocea Mors and the use of his sword to stand, that he was even halfway to his feet.
The mention of his village, however, made him jerk his head up, and give an almost animalistic snarl. And even though his ribs burned and it hurt to even speak, Jaune hissed through gritted teeth –
"The Domremy Collapse was your doing."
It all made sense, now. The threat against his family, made to his father... and the village attacked, so soon after – that was no coincidence. Just as how Hazel Rainart had betrayed Rothenburg to the Grimm, by killing the village's huntsmen and opening the gates, he had to have somehow conspired to bring Domremy low.
Jaune didn't think it possible, but the hate he felt against the man only swelled.
As Jaune slowly and painfully, rose to his feet, he finally managed to look Hazel Rainart in the eyes.
The man grunted, confirming the accusation.
"Mmm. My Queen wasn't going to stand the Arcs opposing her any longer, and when your father rejected the peace she offered..."
Rainart trailed off, but the implications of what he was saying was clear.
Jaune was still trying to gather his strength; and between the need to buy time and the desire to know more, Jaune pushed down on his hate, and instead forced himself to make conversation with the murderer of his family, and the killer of his friends. With his abhorrence barely hidden, Jaune asked,
"And now? Are you here to finish what you started five years ago?"
Rainart had come to a stop some distance away.
"Yes. My Queen is not unmerciful. After Domremy, she made another offer, one your father accepted. If he did not unlock your aura, did not train you as a huntsmen, you two would be left in peace."
Jaune would have laughed, except his hate had left no space for humour.
Is there nothing this man has not done to deny me what I love?
Rainart was continuing.
"For years, your father upheld his end of the bargain. But then you went to Beacon anyway, and unlocked your aura the old-fashioned way."
The man shook his head.
"You should not have done that, boy. Now my Queen wants you dead."
Queen.
Jaune had been hearing that word far too much for his liking. With a voice laced with both anger and contempt, he asked,
"And who is this Queen?"
Rainart shook his head.
"You would not believe me if I told you."
The silence after Rainart's refusal to answer stretched.
The time for violence, Jaune sensed, was imminent once again.
He wasn't ready. He knew that. Even without his own injuries, his opponent was a class above him – Rainart was as powerful as any Champion, even if he lacked the title to go with it. Jaune had never heard of anyone sticking that much dust into themselves; by rights, the brute of a man ought to have been spasming and twitching on the floor – incapacitated, by the agony of that much energy running through his body. But for whatever reason, he seemed not to be suffering in the least, and the results spoke for themselves – virtual invulnerability, and strength to split the earth.
And of course, Jaune was injured – every breath he took was fire, every shift of his chest torture. He had barely any aura left; enough to sustain the basic level of superhuman strength and durability he would need in combat, perhaps, but if any attack got through, Jaune was dead – his aura couldn't take any more hits.
And the real kicker – his vaunted sword skills were of little use here, as Jaune had learnt. This very situation he had trained for – hit the crystal, remove the protective energy nimbus, go for the kill – but the technique just hadn't work. The giant man, Jaune suspected, was using sheer muscular might to squeeze the crystals tight and hold them in place – and with Jaune's inferior strength, there was nothing he could do to dislodge them.
"Are you ready to die? I promise it'll be quick and painless."
Hazel Rainart spoke, having finally decided to bring things to a close.
Jaune bared his teeth.
Is this it?
The countless dead of Domremy. His own family. Rothenburg's local huntsmen. Pyrrha and Blake, his friends.
Will they be unavenged?
Jaune's skill with the sword was unparalleled; one setback ought not mean death.
Is this the extent of your skill, and the limit of your will?
Rainart was not going to stop here. In terms of villages he was helping destroy, Domremy would not have been the first, nor Rothenburg the last. Whether he was a Grimm cultist, or some terrorist engaged in political intrigue, it was certain that more villages would fall, and more people would be murdered, to sate this man and the so-called Queen he served.
How many graves will be dug, how many orphans made, if you do not stop him today?
Jaune's grip around his sword tightened.
No. No more deaths. Whatever it takes, I'll beat this man.
His resolve hardened, as a rock might be crushed to diamond – the weight of the world itself squeezing out all flaws and leaving nothing but perfection.
Jaune raised Crocea Mors high, gathering his aura once more.
Where previously he had charged in, mindlessly, now Jaune had a plan in mind. Rainart was by far the stronger, and was all but invulnerable, but he wasn't any faster, nor did his skills seem anything special. Jaune could play a game of dodge-and-evade, until the man tired, and then perhaps an opportunity would emerge.
"Come, Rainart. Time to die."
The man obliged, blazing in without another word.
The passage of his fist parted the air where Jaune once stood, but Jaune was no longer there.
Pushing off with all his might, Jaune threw himself to the side, opening the space between him and Rainart to more than twenty yards.
Rainart's punch demolished what was left of the building, as the floor caved in and the remaining walls crumbled into nothing.
The massive man turned, to give chase to Jaune.
He leapt across the broken square, and closed the gap between in almost no time at all.
Jaune once more dived out of the way, his speed propelling him onto the main thoroughfare of the village even as Rainart's attack further fractured the already shattered square.
Keeping his knees bent and his upper body close to the ground, Jaune made a conscious effort to keep his centre of gravity low, all the better to accelerate in any given direction at a moment's notice.
Rainart was relentless; with another lunge forward, his fist closed in on Jaune's face.
With a shift of his body, Jaune kicked off once more, darting beyond reach down a narrow alleyway.
He was getting better at this – the trick, such as it were, was to go neither too early nor too late. Too early, and Jaune risked Rainart being able to adjust the direction of his own lunge – so as to smash right into Jaune while he was still midair and unable to dodge. Too late, and Jaune would – of course – be pulped into the ground.
It was a delicate act, and almost a dance – but one Rainart did not appreciate, if the annoyance on his face was any indication.
With a growl, the man came after Jaune once more.
The narrow alleyway Jaune was in allowed no clever dodges to the side, and Jaune disliked the thought of escaping in a straight line – he would either have to turn to run, and waste precious time in the process; or he would just have to push off in a leaping backstep, despite the biomechanical inefficiency inherent in such a movement.
So instead, Jaune went up.
A leap brought him up to the top of the building, where he gripped the edge of the eaves with his left hand to vault onto the sloping red-tiled roof – right before Rainart destroyed the alley below.
A grinding sound alerted Jaune to the fact that something was wrong; and indeed, in less time than he had expected, Rainart was already on the roof.
The man – or so Jaune's mind, working overtime, inferred – had stuck his hands into the ground to halt his own charge, thereby allowing him to change directions and jump upwards more rapidly than he otherwise could have.
Rainart leapt onto the roof, and Jaune was forced into a split second decision.
Given his location, there were limited areas Jaune could seek to dodge to. As in the alleyway, Jaune didn't think much of his chances if he attempted a linear retreat. At the same time, the sloping roof of the building he was on, and of the house next door, limited his movement to both the left and the right, and while he could always make a diagonal jump and take to the skies, that would put him on a steeper trajectory – one that would leave him hanging in the air long enough to make him vulnerable to another charge from Rainart.
That left only one course of action.
Bringing his sword across, and gripping the hilt with his right hand even as his left supported the blade by its flat side on the other end, Jaune braced himself. Marshalling all his will and all his determination, he forced the aura running through his body and his sword to a thrumming tenor, until flesh and steel alike were tough enough to resist a blow that could demolish buildings.
Rainart's right hand swung towards Jaune, his fist impacting Crocea Mors on the flat of its blade –
– and though it felt like a bus had rammed into his aura-less self, Jaune's defence held, with no real damage dealt beyond the pain momentarily felt.
Of course, Jaune was blasted off the roof all the same, and as he careened through the air, he had to flip and manoeuvre so that –
Jaune landed soundly on his feet on the roof of a building across the street.
Thank the gods.
He had been confident, but it was always hard to judge such things. As it turned out, his judgement was on point, and his strategy sound. His mastery of aura gave him sufficient durability to guard against the initial blow from Rainart, while the secondary danger – of being smashed, helplessly, into a building – was mitigated so long as the fight was on the rooftops.
Up here, there was nothing but space, and being sent flying was less a cost and more a benefit, in helping to keep a healthy distance with his powerful enemy.
The downside to all this, however, was that Rainart was given the chance to close in again. During the time that Jaune was taking his semi-controlled tumble through the air, Rainart had jumped down from the first building, bounded across the street, and leapt up to the roof Jaune was on.
His fist came rushing in once more, and Jaune was forced to block, once more.
Concentrating his aura upon defence, Jaune took the blow upon flat of his sword once more.
His arms and chest trembled from the effort, and his shoulders felt like they would break, but again he withstood the attack well enough to avoid injury.
Blown back, Jaune transitioned into a somersault, but –
He landed, awkwardly, his feet barely catching reaching the edge of the rooftop and letting him slide back, safe and unharmed; had Rainart's blow been any weaker, he would have been smashed into the eaves of the eaves and got his back broken.
I can't count on a roof landing.
He realized that much, but Rainart was on him once more, racing forward with fist raised.
Said fist was successfully blocked by Jaune's sword yet again, shoulder-splitting pain notwithstanding, and for the third time in short order, Jaune found himself violently sent flying.
Careful not to misjudge the distance, Jaune spun hid body round in time so –
Feet first, Jaune landed horizontally upon the side of wall, before gravity asserted itself, and pulled Jaune towards the ground, where he landed in a low crouch.
A irate Rainart, his massive chest and shoulders heaving with exertion, was bounding forward to meet him.
"Stand and fight, boy!"
That was, indeed, the plan.
The last few exchanges had made Jaune remember one very important fact – that for all a huntsman's extraordinary strength, they were only human, and didn't weigh very much at all. Even if force could not harm someone like Hazel Rainart, it could push him around, and even keep him off balance.
Raihart came in with a straight punch, and even as the sight of the man's fist began filling up Jaune's whole field of vision, he managed to dodge to the side – barely, and by inches.
Simultaneously, Jaune let go of the hilt of his sword, and instead began holding his weapon with both hands gripping the blade.
With his fingers pressed down tight on the flat of the blade – so that the sharp edge never touched his flesh – Jaune used his sword like a warhammer, with the crossguard as the weighted head.
With a short jump onto Rainart's back to give him a better angle of attack, Jaune swung both his hands around and down, to bring his makeshift warhammer crashing down on the back of Rainart's head.
"Ngh!"
The blow staggered the bigger man, and Jaune was quick to take advantage.
Dropping back down on the ground, Jaune went low, sweeping his weapon from left to right, and smashing Rainart in the side of his knee.
"Urgh!"
The man stumbled, and almost fell.
Twisting around, Jaune went three for three.
Crocea Mors swept upwards, to hit Rainart below his right armpit.
"Argh!"
The force of the blow, and Rainart's already uncertain footing, made the man topple.
For good measure, Jaune went for the crystal on his right arm, hoping to knock it loose.
Jaune thought the crystal might have shifted, just a bit, but it could easily have been his imagination. Meanwhile, any remaining euphoria from successfully knocking Rainart to the ground evaporated, as the man's anger boiled over.
"Enough!"
With a roar, the man stumbled back onto his feet, before bringing his arms up above his head.
Lightning crackled, which was all the warning Jaune got.
Rainart swung his colossal arms down and into the ground.
! ! !
Thunder boomed, as the street disintegrated under the raw force of Rainart's blow Jaune leapt back as fast as he could, but it was not quick enough to escape the flying fragments of rock, nor the dust cloud billowing out.
Aura protected him from the minor cuts that the rock splinters would otherwise have caused, but aura didn't protect against poison, and Jaune had to made a conscious effort not breathe in the toxic dust, as he beat a hasty retreat.
Soon enough, and with some relief, he escaped the expanding cloud, within which seeing was impossible and breathing was death.
However, an ominous cracking noise emanated from inside the cloud, even as the ground shook, and though Jaune could not see what Rainart was doing, he had some suspicions – which meant it was time to run.
Turning, Jaune raced down the street, to give himself distance and time for when –
Incoming.
His aura sense provided his first and only warning, and with a desperate dive to the right, Jaune saved himself in the nick of time, as a giant slab of concrete ripped by, passing through the very spot he occupied not a second ago.
He needed to get off this straight line of a road, where he was but a sitting duck.
Scrambling, he bolted down a narrow alleyway, so as to get to the next road and to put a line of houses between him and Rainart.
At the same time, pushing his senses to their limits, and beyond, Jaune fought to detect any fast-moving, aura-infused object launched in his direction.
That was the one advantage he had. Whenever Rainart was tearing things out of the ground to throw at him, the man needed to infuse the material with his aura, so as to enhance its durability and prevent it from disintegrating under his own strength. Otherwise, all he would be doing would be ripping finger-shaped holes in things.
However, that same infusion of aura meant the object was detectable by a sufficiently keen aura sense, thus allowing –
Jaune dodged once more, the street to his side exploding as a lamp post speared into it.
– evasion such as this.
Rainart was, Jaune could sense, currently on the roof of a nearby building, having used that as a vantage point from which to attempt to snipe Jaune.
And as Jaune dashed down yet another alleyway, to get back to the main thoroughfare, he felt Rainart following.
The man's aura was a raging, roiling thunderstorm, the dust crystals infused into his body providing an unmistakeable elemental temper to the outward manifestation to his soul.
It was apposite, in many ways, for in this game of cat and mouse, Jaune really did feel he was running more from a natural disaster than from a man.
Throwing himself to the side, Jaune let a whole, uprooted tree pass by. It showered leaves and dirt as it flew past, while a branch almost clipped him on the head.
Rainart was, like him, on the main thoroughfare now, and giving chase relentlessly.
Not wanting any more near misses like with that tree branch, Jaune decided to stick to this tree-free road. And while there were plenty of lamp posts for Rainart to rip out of the ground and launch at him, their sleek and narrow profile meant side-stepping them was far less complex a challenge.
The chase proceeded in this fashion – Jaune ran and Rainart pursued, with every second or so seeing another pillar of metal launched forward at murderous speeds.
There was no room for mistakes, no margin for error.
Duck, dodge. Evade, elude. Weave, whirl, twist, twirl.
Jaune moved like the wind, first here, then there; he was at once everywhere and nowhere, always moving, never stopping.
He danced at edge of life and death, and with every near miss came the increasingly certainty that he was never going to be hit.
Jaune's chest burnt, worse than ever, but he was lost in the flow of the chase, and the more he pushed his worn and damaged body, the more his exhaustion seemed to dissipate, and the less his pain seemed to even matter.
The chase took them down empty streets, the villagers having evacuated to the shelters at the village centre – a fact Jaune was grateful for, since Rainart's aim was not always true, and here and there walls caved in and buildings collapsed under the impact of the improvised steel javelins.
The chase eventually left the outskirts of the village, passing the very gym Jaune was just using earlier that evening – a time that felt like an eternity ago.
It was when they were about to reach the historic village centre, however, that Rainart's fury drove him to shout –
"Fight me like a man, Jaune Arc! Or the Grimm will return for yet another attack!"
That stopped Jaune short.
Sliding to a stop, he faced down his opponent.
Rainart was panting hard, not unlike Jaune himself.
The man was showing his age, and seeing one's ostensibly invincible enemy do something as unflatteringly human as struggle to draw breath – well, that gave Jaune hope.
He himself was in no great shape, of course, what with his shattered ribs, and the exhaustion incurred from having fought non-stop since the emergency sirens split the air earlier.
What really worried him, however, was –
"What do you mean, the Grimm will return?"
Shadows seemed to pool on Rainart's face, as he furrowed his brow; and with grave seriousness, he said,
"My Queen wants your head. If you refuse to fight me, then she will take matters into her own hands, and command the Grimm to destroy this village and everyone in it."
Rainart's words made Jaune's face twist with incredulity.
Impossible.
It was one thing to rile up the Grimm and lead them to a village, as Jaune suspected Rainhart had done – both to Domremy then, and Rothenburg now. It was another thing entirely, to command the Grimm outright – the idea of such a semblance existing...
Shaking his head, Jaune said,
"That's the most insane thing I've ever heard. No one controls the Grimm. Are you mad, or merely lying?"
Rainart looked impassive.
"Neither. My mistress is the immortal Queen of the Grimm. She is a thousand miles away, but even here, she is watching."
Jaune was unable to help himself. A scornful laugh escaped his lips, and he scoffed –
"Spare me your fantasies, Rainart."
The man did not look bothered by Jaune's disbelief, as he asked,
"How do you think I caused the attack on this village? Or on yours?"
Rainart mentioning those two instances of his perfidy caused Jaune's hate to surge back up. Even so, he answered –
"Riling up the Grimm and drawing them to the village? There are a dozen better explanations of how you did what you did, compared to thinking that there exists some goddess who controls the Grimm."
The big man shrugged his massive shoulders, and said,
"Fine. Let's say that then. If you refuse fight me, I'll go out and draw more Grimm to the village."
Upon hearing this, Jaune hissed. Unlike Rainart's earlier, fantastical pronouncements, this was a very real threat.
Jaune's reaction did not go unnoticed by Rainart, who went on to say,
"No one else needs to die today, Jaune Arc. Only you. Fight me, man to man, and I promise you I will spare the village. Whatever else you believe, know that I didn't want innocents to die needlessly."
That last sentence almost made Jaune choke from all the hypocrisy. Derision and detestation colouring his voice, Jaune sneered –
"Oh yes, and that's why you lured the Grimm to the village? Killed the local huntsmen? Murdered Pyrrha, skewered Blake?"
His voice rose to a roar towards the end, his anger no longer contained.
Rainart shook his head. He was melancholic, but not apologetic, as he replied,
"There was no way for me to kill you without first getting rid of those strong enough to interfere. And there was no way to do that without the Grimm attack distracting and isolating all of you. But now? The civilians need not die. Fight me, Arc, and this will be over, one way or the other."
Jaune spat on the ground – an uncharacteristic act of impoliteness brought on by the sheer hatred he felt for this man and his self-serving justifications.
"What are you even in this for, Rainart? All these machinations, and all this murder – and for what? How can you pretend to give a shit about the lives of others, if you're helping the Grimm destroy villages?"
His question was asked in fury, and Jaune didn't expect an answer; but answer Rainart did, anyway.
"Vengeance, boy, same as what you seek against me. When my Queen comes into her kingdom, I will spend every day, all day, killing Ozpin over and over again, until finally the blood debt is paid."
Ozpin?
That the ruthless headmaster had his enemies didn't surprise Jaune, but this talk of killing Ozpin repeatedly made no sense – which was par the course, Jaune supposed, for an apparent Grimm cultist who though the monsters ruled by some Queen.
And did not the Mistralians have a saying?
Before you embark on a journey for vengeance, first dig two graves.
Revenge was going to get Rainart killed one day, Jaune knew. It was the way of the world – others he hurt for the sake of slaking his hatred would seek vengeance in turn.
Jaune, of course, was amongst their number, and he was more than eager to help put Rainart six feet under.
The real question was whether he ought to continue out-manoeuvring Rainart to wear him down, or to fight him head on.
The former was the optimal strategy, but the latter seemed necessary. While Jaune did not believe the man's promise that he would leave the village alone if Jaune fought him head on, he took the man's threat to instigate a second Grimm attack seriously enough.
Direct confrontation it is.
Jaune brought Crocea Mors up, an act that made Rainart nod in approval and tense his own massive muscles, as the two began to size the other up.
Am I strong enough, to beat Rainart?
Jaune posed himself that question, and the blunt and honest answer was no.
So how do I get strong enough?
The trivial answer was that he needed a greater mastery of aura – so he could fight Rainart on even ground, and match strength with strength.
But how do I improve my aura mastery to the level of a Champion in the next few seconds, after a month and a half of training achieving no such thing?
Aura was the manifestation of the soul, and in its potency, it was dictated by strength of will and what a heart desired.
Some believed that revenge was the best motivator. Others valued the prideful hunger to become the greatest fighter. And yet others thought love and the desire to protect was the most powerful force in the world.
Hundreds of meters away, at the edge of Jaune's senses, he could feel an all too familiar aura signature start moving this way. Nonetheless, he ignored it.
Revenge?
It was a powerful motivation indeed, and Jaune wanted nothing more than to avenge his family and his friends. And yet –
– here was Hazel Rainart, standing before him, a living testament to the folly of drinking the devil's draught, and resorting to means so dark one became the monster you fought.
Jaune was not, in that moment, so lost to reason that he could give himself over, fully and unreservedly, to the cause of vengeance; indeed, he did that in the village square, and what did that achieve, except near-broken aura and pulverized ribs that even now made it hard to breathe?
Jaune twitched in discomfort, as the aura signature to his rear continuing moving towards where he and Rainart were. Still, he ignored it.
Pride? Hunger? The desire to be the world's greatest swordsman and fighter?
Jaune's fondest wish as a child had been to emulate his great-great-grandfather, and become a god of the sword with skill incomparable. And yet –
– could one really fight a battle to death for so shallow a reason, and for so selfish a motive?
The strength he sought now was for the sake of protecting others, and the idea that he could fight Rainart for glory was laughable; Jaune was not that sort of person, as the emptiness he felt after slaying the Necrovalock made evident.
The aura signature was closing in, and Jaune could ignore it no longer.
It was Weiss, her aura a brilliant wintry white, harsh and cold on the outside, but hiding a blazing warmth beneath.
She was done defeating whatever Grimm had been harassing the north side of the village, and was obviously making a beeline for him. And once she arrived, she would – without doubt – come to his aide.
She would help fight Rainart – and in so doing, she would lose her life.
A low, guttural sound escaped Jaune's throat.
I'll never let you die.
And there he had his answer.
With a titanic infusion of purpose, Jaune's will sharpened to a keening edge.
And so his soul ordered, and thus the world obeyed.
His aura flared, into a radiance beyond sun and celestial light.
Power as he had never felt entered his body – power enough to see this fairytale out to its rightful end; the monster slain, and the princess saved.
The smell of ozone was in the air – Rainart was making his move.
Jaune could feel it too; the lightning, as it flowed from the dust crystals into Rainart's arms and –
The man punched, and Jaune was already on the move, disappearing in a blur of speed to the side as a thunderbolt scoured the space where he once was standing.
The street behind him exploded, the sheer, surpassing power of the lightning melting concrete and blowing splinters of molten rock everywhere.
Rainart's left arm was outstretched, and sparks still trailed from his fist, a by-product of the powerful electrical discharge he had just unleashed.
The man was overextended, and in no place to dodge or make an immediate follow-up attack – and so Jaune lunged in, bringing his sword crashing down on the dust crystal embedded into the hulking man's left arm.
The crystal shuddered, but did not immediately fall –
– and there was no time for a second strike, as Rainart was twisting around, a roar on his lips, and roar erupting from his fist –
Thunder once more echoed in the empty village, and Jaune was forced to dive low and to his left.
Lightning tore through the position he vacated, and struck the building behind.
Doors were blown in, windows shattered, walls collapsed, and the roof set afire.
Ignoring the immense destruction, Jaune sprang up from his roll, and slashed at the dust crystal on Rainart's right arm.
Like its lateral counterpart, it shuddered, but did not instantly fall loose.
Again, Rainart gave no space for a follow-up, for the man pivoted about, his left fist rushing in –
Jaune darted down to the right and out of the way, as a third lightning bolt lit up the night sky.
The house on the other side of the street exploded, leaving only rubble and a spreading fire.
With a shout of exertion, Jaune brought Crocea Mors down with all the weight of his body behind it.
The slash knocked free the dust crystal embedded into Rainart's arm; and, crimson with blood, it fell to the ground.
Rainart roared – though not with pain, so much as rage. The wound on his arm, where the crystal had previously been stabbed, seemed to start healing at an impossible pace.
And right at the same time –
"Jaune!"
Weiss.
She had finally arrived, and the moment of truth was here.
Rainart, for all his brawn, was no fool, and his berserker's style of combat did not preclude low cunning or the ruthless exploitation of an opening.
He swung his right arm, lightning crackling all over it and promising destruction as never before seen.
With Weiss right behind and in the line of fire, Jaune could not dodge or dance away – as Rainart well knew.
With one hand on the blade and another holding the hilt, Jaune brought his sword up so the flat of the blade faced Rainart, ready to block any blow.
Jaune then braced himself, and bent his very being, his very soul, towards the singular objective of defending himself and the girl he had somehow come to like, to –
– to love.
Divine lightning burst forth from Rainart's fist, and mortal steel was there to meet it.
! ! !
The resulting thunderclap shattered every window on the street, just as the lightning's heat melted the road beneath their feet.
But –
– but the steel held true, and it was the lightning that had to yield.
The bolt was split in two, one stream of lightning arcing off to destroy the line of houses on the right, the other surging into the ground and obliterating what was left of the road.
With a roar, Jaune pushed the shocked man's hand away, and then smashed the remaining dust crystal off his right arm.
Like the life had gone out of it, the air itself seemed to stopped crackling, and with that Rainart's monstrous strength vanished in the wind.
He was human, at last.
And like any human, he would find it quite fatal to be stabbed in the heart.
Jaune Arc moved without hesitation, and without mercy, to thrust his blade between the bigger man's ribcage until it came out the other side.
His lips moving soundlessly, Hazel Rainart collapsed to his knees.
The sword thrummed in Jaune's hand, the organ it pierced making it quiver to its now-irregular beat – a beat that also began slowing almost immediately.
Rainart's aura seemed to fight frenetically to heal the grievous injury, but it wasn't enough – not with the blade still embedded within his heart. Blood flowed freely from the wound on his chest, pouring down in a cascade, and staining Jaune's sword and arms and indeed his whole body from torso to feet.
Hazel Rainart's eyes were unfocused, but when a spasm of his chest moved him to cough up blood, he seemed to regain some semblance of lucidity.
As he trained his eyes on Jaune's, the big man – his father's old friend – used what remained of his strength to say,
"You are... a fool... boy. Ozpin... will kill you... and the girl... too."
Even at a stage so close to death, the man didn't seem to be in pain; or at least, he didn't seem bothered by it. Even so, his once prodigious strength had leaked away, and he struggled to speak in complete his sentences.
"If you want... the truth... take... my scroll... look for... Watts – guh!"
Rainart gave a half-choke, half-gasp, before taking in a ragged intake of breath. Then, something seemed to draw his attention, for his eyes jerked upwards, to scan the empty sky above; and at the same time, his left hand moved, which compelled Jaune to glance down warily, for fear of an attack.
However, the dying man only raised his hand, to twitch one finger upwards.
"Salem... only salvation... do you not... feel... her presence?"
Jaune frowned.
"What are you talking –"
His words died on his tongue.
A small jellyfish-like creature had descended from the darkness above, to hover behind Rainart, just beyond the reach of Jaune's sword.
Seer.
He hadn't seen it, out there in the black of night, and somehow hadn't sensed it via his aura either – and even now, where the Grimm ought to have been an unmistakeable mass of pulsing darkness, all Jaune could feel from it was a void defined by utter nothingness.
And small though it was, the creature was dangerous. As best as humanity could tell, the Seer could communicate with other Grimm, and coordinate attacks in a manner utterly devastating.
He needed to kill it, that was for sure.
However, Jaune was left in a bind. Having seen Rainart's regenerative abilities, he didn't dare pull his sword out of the man's body until he was well and truly dead. The Grimm, therefore...
"Weiss! Some help here! Grimm, a Seer, twelve o'clock from me!"
Weiss had been circling around the spot where Jaune and Rainart were, to get a better line of attack on the bigger man were he to continue the fight; and thus far, she kept her silence, seemingly afraid of distracting Jaune at so delicate a moment.
However, with his shout, she sprang into action.
"Coming!"
But faster than Weiss could move, and faster even than Jaune could scream, the Seer struck, its tentacle snaking out to –
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Jaune was in the air. He was a Nevermore, wings outstretched, soaring through the sky, far above the pesky humans and their horrible emotions.
It was then, however, that a nuisance entered the range of his senses. A large bullhead roared through the air, racing for destinations unknown.
Hate, black and vicious as the pools of darkness from whence he was born, boiled up unprompted from within Jaune. Circling around, he used his keen avian eye to examine his potential prey. There was a strange star-shaped scar on the top of bullhead – a mark, that one of Jaune's brethren had once tried and failed to destroy this human craft.
That, and the powerful aura signature on board – a heady mix of apathy and despair and intoxication – made Jaune wary enough to wheel away.
Jaune watched it pass in peace, and –
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Jaune was drowning, before he was not. Gasping, he pulled himself out of these pools of darkness that were his mother's womb, and strode upon four legs out onto the world. He was a newborn Beowolf, and all around, his pack mates were doing the same as him – crawling out of the mud of creation and shaking themselves dry.
The land he found himself in was familiar, yet strange. All around, jagged rocks and promontories erupted from the ground, and crystals of gravity dust were omnipresent. The sky, meanwhile, was overcast with dark red clouds – here, it was never day, but ever the night.
To the north, a castle stood, tall and proud. A strange reverence took hold of Jaune, and he bowed. She lived there, he knew. She who was Mother, Queen, Goddess of the Grimm –
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
He was Jaune, just Jaune, and he was too confused to feel fear.
"Where am I?"
He wasn't in Rothenburg. He wasn't anywhere he recognized, whether Domremy or Vale or Beacon. He wasn't sure he was even on Remnant.
He was in a large, grand chamber, its tall windows to the sides allowing sight of a blood-red sky.
"You are in my castle, child."
Relieved to hear a fellow human voice, Jaune turned.
Then, he wished her hadn't.
Upon her violet throne, there sat a monster with skin and hair white as bone, and with a veins-laced face and eyes black as shadow.
Jaune's mouth moved, but speech was impossible.
His reason, unfortunately, was still working sufficiently that he could make the obvious logical connection.
"You're Hazel's mistress. The immortal Queen of the Grimm."
Accompanying that realization was a terror so absolute it was like the light had gone out of the world. It choked him; stabbed his stomach in phantom pain; made his hands tremble, and his legs quiver. And right then, it seemed like the darkness would be forever.
The monster – no, the woman, or so Jaune's brain insisted, if only to keen himself sane and to reality teetered – spoke,
"Indeed, child. We have little time to speak, so I shall be brief. If you ever find that service to Ozpin brings naught but grief, you are welcome to join me and mine."
Jaune's terror froze in place, so confused was he.
Almost as if she were reading his mind, Salem smiled, kindly and without deceit,
"I am not a monster, child, no matter how I might look. For all intents and purposes, I am human, same as you.
"And I want the same things you do.
"A world at peace, Jaune Arc; a world without suffering; a world without orphans, where every child has their parents, and parents, their children. Such a world is within reach, if you will but help me. Take my hand; and be the hero you were always meant to be."
She extended one pale white hand, and –
"ARGH!"
Jaune screamed, as pain and agony greeted his return to reality.
"Jaune!"
Weiss's voice was almost unrecognizable, what with his head feeling like red-hot spikes had been driven straight through his skull.
"Stand aside, Weiss!"
From his position on the ground, Jaune struggled to look up, and to look through the flowing blood and oozing black liquid covering his entire head. The latter he managed to recognize as the remnants of the Seer, even with pain addling his wits.
As he stumbled to his feet, and brought his arms up to flounder at and wipe away the muck on his face, he managed to catch a glimpse of who else was around.
There was a poorly-shaven man who smelt of booze, and some woman who looked like Weiss.
On account of the anguish burning up his head, it took Jaune slightly longer than usual to identify the newcomers.
Qrow Branwen and Winter Schnee, his mind supplied.
The former's aura signature was awfully, terrifyingly familiar, for a man he just met –
– but then Jaune put two and two together, when he saw what was behind Branwen and the elder Schnee.
A large bullhead had landed haphazard-wise on the road, the main thoroughfare of Rothenburg being wide enough to accommodate vehicles of that size.
I have to know.
High on pain, and drunk with terror, Jaune stumbled forward.
"Jaune! Calm down!"
Weiss's panicked words were left unheeded, as Jaune pushed forth.
Branwen stepped aside, his face unreadable. The elder Schnee took a step back too, but for her, the wariness was clear.
Jaune managed to get his act sufficiently together to walk without falling – which allowed him to stride, with increasing consternation, towards the bullhead.
It was a dream, right? Just some hallucination from the Seer?
Upon reaching the bullhead, Jaune stopped short.
His aura was broken, and his physical body too exhausted to do anything as onerous as scale the side of a bullhead.
Trying to shake away the pulsating pain hammering into his head again and again, he turned to Weiss.
"Weiss. I need a platform glyph, to bring me to the top of the bullhead. I need to see its roof. Please."
He knew he wasn't explaining himself well; he knew he wasn't explaining anything, at all.
Weiss complied all the same; she was humouring him, Jaune knew, as the worry and distress on her face made clear.
A shining Schnee glyph appeared before them, and Jaune stepped onto it –
– and almost falling, but for Weiss reaching out to steady him.
"Careful, Jaune..."
"... thank you."
She let him lean on her, even as she levitated the two of them up to the bullhead's roof.
The sight that greeted them was –
– a strange, star-shaped scar.
Jaune's legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees.
"Jaune!"
Weiss's voice did not reach him.
That scar was there.
The pain in the head was worse than ever, but it seemed hardly to bother him anymore.
His mind worked just fine, and with every act of logical reasoning performed, and with every inference to the best explanation made, he came one step closer to absolute despair.
The existence of Salem – this immortal Queen of the Grimm – explained why he had experienced what he experienced via the Seer, and saw her in that castle under the blood-red sky. If she didn't exist, he wouldn't have experienced what he did – after all, it couldn't have been a mere hallucination; the strange star-shaped scar on top of the bullhead proved he truly saw, as a Nevemore, Branwen's bullhead flying to Rothenburg and that, more broadly, what he saw through the Seer was very real indeed. The fact that he saw Salem, and heard her speak – it was proof she existed, no matter how much he wanted to deny it.
And other facts only corroborated this. Rainart's testimony, in particular – why would the man claim so mad a thing, unless he knew her, or even met her, as Jaune did?
Jaune's own memory from his youth, too, was another nail in the coffin – why else was his father and Rainart talking of this Queen, who could engineer Grimm attacks on the village, except that she truly existed?
All these, separately, might have been dismissed, and accounted for with alternative explanations. But together, the mass of evidence was undeniable – evil had a mistress, and an immortal Queen of the Grimm existed.
Jaune stopped fighting the exhaustion and the despair.
Letting darkness swallow him whole, he fell into a deep slumber.
In it, the Grimm attacked as an inexhaustible tide, in an endless nightmare from which even waking was no respite.
-(=RWBY=)-
A/N: This marks the end of the story's first arc. I'll be taking a few weeks off for real life stuff, and to plan out the next part of the story.