EDIT: ate my line breaks. I think it's been fixed, and sorry to anybody who read before I changed it.
Chapter 9
He Who Hesitates IV
"Weiss!" Pyrrha screamed impotently, eyes transfixed on the bloody figure before her. This wasn't right, they'd been doing so well, they couldn't fail now, Weiss couldn't die-
Get ahold of yourself, Pyrrha. You're a champion! Act like one!
But her thoughts tumbled around in a chaotic, seething mass, evading her desperate grasps at coherency. This was her fault, she was supposed to be the best, her team had been relying on her, if only she'd provided a more capable distraction, if she'd moved a little faster she could have shielded Weiss, but she didn't and she hadn't and now it was too late-
She knew a thousand ways to control a match against a fellow human or faunus, how to maneuver, where to aim, timing, position, distance, semblance, scouting an opponent's semblance- but what use was that against death given form, the culmination of humanity's predatory for millennia? Meaningless, meaningless, all meaningless-
The nevermore dove for her, wings beating tangible blasts of air at her. She squinted against the gusts that whipped at her hair, red strands torn to and fro in a uncontrollable whirl, her hands perfectly still with despairing calm. She paused for one drawn out moment before firing one last defiant burst, eyes already closing in acceptance.
Right before gargantuan talons found her, she felt a sharp pressure coil around her midriff before yanking her backwards to safety. She tumbled roughly to the ground, choked, wheezing gasps forced out by the abuse. She lay flat on the ground for only a moment before narrowed golden eyes appeared only inches from her own. Blake said nothing, but as the cat Faunus tried and failed to struggle to her feet with a hiss of agony, Pyrrha's heart twisted in shame. What had she been doing?
The redhead rose smoothly, Blake's weapon falling in loose loops around her.
Regret later. For now, she had a bird to pin and three other lives to save. Pyrrha gave the other girl a weak smile.
"Thank you." The Faunus didn't answer, but Pyrrha was certain she received a minuscule nod in response.
She'd lost her head, for a moment. It wouldn't happen again. This nevermore was gargantuan, true, and she'd never dueled anything so large, but ultimately it didn't matter. Combat boiled down to the same few principles, after all, and you didn't become a champion without mastering the basics. When the nevermore dove again, she was ready.
The nevermore blazed towards her like a steel feathered lightning bolt, but as it drew closer the half forgotten voice of her coach echoed unexpectedly through her mind.
Move your feet, idiot girl, your feet! You call that movement? You would disgrace a slug! No, a brick! No, that's an insult to bricks! Your feet, curse you!
She darted forward into the bird's descent, before leaping upwards with a savage thrust of her spear towards its left wing. Caught off guard and unable to realign its girth, the nevermore drove itself onto the point, and even its natural defenses folded under the pressure of its own momentum. It's shriek of pain mingled with Pyrrha's shout of triumph in discordant cacophony, a piercing reverb that only intensified as it flailed at her helplessly.
What are you doing, you idiot girl! He has long reach and you do not, so why do you stand there and swing away like a drunken thug?!
No, not that close! Do you not see you have a spear? A spear, girl! With how you use it I may as well give you a club! Stay further away! Medium, medium, that is not medium what are you doing–
And move your feet!
She kept close to the nevermore's body, staying flush even as it twisted to strike at her. It stumbled awkwardly across the ground, trying to break away with animalistic desperation, but Pyrrha kept up her dogged pressure, even though her weapon merely skittered across the durable exterior. Their lethal deadlock dragged on, the grimm struggling to escape with its injured wing and her unable to wound it further.
A shrill, warbling shriek joined the din of her duel, and out of the corner of her eye she caught the yellow blur of Jaune sprinting headlong at the nevermore, sword grasped in a hamfistted double hand grip. Even with the barest attention, she could tell he was absolutely clueless – his footwork was a clumsy disaster, his white knuckled death grip on his weapon only served to display his naked terror – what was he doing?
She wanted to scream at him to stay back, he couldn't die, she didn't need another death at the hands of her ineptitude, didn't he understand? She was a champion. Champions fought duels and only duels; they were the ultimate paragons of single combat. Champions didn't need others alongside them; indeed, others were an unnecessary complication. The only thing he would do was get himself killed.
And yet despite his fear, despite his lack of skill, he still rushed to her aid. He could have hid, he could have watched. She didn't need him; she stood worlds apart from him. She was at the pinnacle of a mountain of combat prowess, and he still miles from even the base, and yet he ran forward regardless, arm outstretched towards her with what meagre offering he could provide.
A strong man could aid her, and it would be a credit to him. But for a weak man to do so, for no reason other than a tentative friendship?
That was a hero.
And at that moment she realized that there was no man as brave, loyal, and honest as Jaune Arc.
::-::-::
After only seconds of watching her, Jaune Arc was absolutely certain that Pyrrha Nikos would lose to the nevermore.
She was fluid, precise, and intelligent, and if it had been a human or faunus she was fighting he had little doubt that she would dismantle them handily. In fact, he wasn't entirely certain even he could best her, especially with the effect of her semblance.
But the Grimm didn't follow the same rules, and she was playing the wrong game.
She struck again and again for lethal blows, but the nevermore was simply too large and too fast for that to be effective. A spear point or gunshot to the eye could be deflected by only a slim twitch, and although she would find little trouble with mere beowolves or other similarly sized beasts, the exceptionally large ones required a little more work. Strike at their joints, limit their options, whittle them down slowly, and only when they were crippled was it possible to deliver the finishing blow.
A bodyguard knew this. Grimm were some of the most common threats to clients. A champion, evidently, did not. Deliberately attempting to cripple an opponent would be a despicable strategy in a match, after all. Wounding the nevermore's wing to partially ground it had been a good first step, but Jaune was beginning to suspect that it had been a coincidal opening.
And so he found himself in a dangerous conundrum. Pyrrha would lose without him, that much was certain, but involving himself presented a slew of risks. If he moved a little too fast, or struck a little too accurately, or reacted from experience he shouldn't have, he could easily trigger suspicion. Student Jaune needed to be lovable but ultimately harmless, if he was to most effectively investigate his classmates. Attention was acceptable, advantageous even. Scrutiny was not.
If he simply allowed the battle to run its course, however, he would eventually be forced into a situation where he need fight or else die to the rampaging grimm. At that point, concealing his full capabilities would be impossible, if indeed he was capable of victory at all.
He had little choice, then. He would just have to do his best to make their success seem like luck. A difficult task, but he was an Arc. They routinely achieved the impossible.
He surged forward with his best imitation of his youngest sister's scream, the sheer unnaturalness of it tearing his throat raw. Hopefully, it would detract attention from what he was about to do.
This was not what he expected from his first assignment.
::-::-::
When the unholy cacophony of cataclysmic screeching reached her, Blake's ears flattened against her skull in protest. She glared at the figure in front of her as he lurched and stumbled towards the nevermore. Miracle he wasn't dead. Too bad. Her ears would appreciate it.
She should probably feel bad about thinking that. She probably would, later.
She'd seen a lot of different fighters over the years. Bitter veterans. Fresh recruits. Disillusioned duelists. Young geniuses, old masters, and even some once in a generation prodigies. Adam had been one of those.
Even with her array of experience, she could say with absolute certainty that Jaune Arc was the worst she had ever witnessed. The sheer level of his incompetence was near comical. Absolutely nothing he did was remotely correct: not his movement, his approach, his strategy, his guard. It was simply not possible to be any more wrong.
How had someone so pathetic even make it into a school as prestigious as Beacon? Political favor? Or had someone mixed up his application with another? Actually, how could someone manage to be so perfectly inept?
She couldn't muster even the slightest shred of surprise when he tripped and practically face planted into the nevermore As he fell to the ground with all the grace of a sack of lead, his spastic flailing dragged Crocea Mors across the nevermore's uninjured wing. Blake stared in shock as it disintegrated under the force, the nevermore's steel feathers melting like butter under a hot knife. How…? Had the fool managed to, against all odds, randomly find a weak point?
Jaune Arc was impossibly lucky. There was simply no way-
Or had she made a mistake? Had she been unreasonably harsh on him?
The crippled nevermore teetered on feet ill-suited for flat ground. Nonetheless, it remained upright, leaving nothing vulnerable to the probing Pyrrha. Its beak snapped furiously at Jaune, who responded by cowering behind his shield.
"Somebody help?" He shouted. "I, uh, might not be able to handle this. At least not quickly. I mean, if you want to wait around I'll be more than happy to demonstrate that this glorious hunk of manliness–"
Blake ignored the rest.
We need to actually kill it.
A deft snap of her wrist sent Gambol Shroud twirling around a nearby pillar. She pulled it taut, grimacing as her wounds flared in protest.
I really want a better plan.
"Pyrrha!" she yelled. The champion needed only a glance before her eyes lit up in understanding. She sprinted directly at Blake, armored greaves beating a ruthless rhythm into the ground.
Then she jumped.
Gambol Shroud flexed underneath her weight, tearing at Blake's grip. The Faunus screamed as her wounds erupted into obliterating agony, but she held steady for tortured seconds as the ribbon stretched to slow Pyrrha's momentum. Right when Blake felt herself passing out, it snapped back into place, catapulting Pyrrha forward with a sharp crack.
Hurling a spear through a nevermore's eye while going fast enough to blur vision should have been nearly impossible.
Pyrrha hit it effortlessly.
Blake only saw the beginning of the grimm's disintegration before her world went completely black.
::-::-::
Glynda Goodwitch was absolutely furious.
She stalked down Beacon's halls, eyes narrowed in a severe glare, even by her standards. Students scrambled out of her path, but she didn't spare them a glance. Nobody complained. You did not mess with an angry Goodwitch.
As the great mahogany doors of the headmaster's office loomed before her, she lashed out at them, throwing them inwards with a ear throbbing boom. Ozpin looked up from his desk, face set in his usual solemn gaze.
"Explain yourself." Glynda hissed.
"About what?" If he was off put by her violent entrance, he showed no sign of it.
"Perhaps about why there was a class five deathstalker and class six nevermore present at initiation. What could you possibly be thinking?! Those grimm would have given full-fledged huntsmen trouble, let alone children!"
Ozpin stared at her in unblinking silence, one hand absently stirring a near-empty coffee mug. The movement drew Glynda's attention to his desk. Scattered papers lay strewn across its surface, some of them clearly damaged by fire, a few others torn to shreds. His scroll lay in plain sight, and Glynda knew that despite his unflappable demeanor, he had been watching initiation with the same rapt attention that she had.
"Initiation is dangerous, my dear." He finally said.
"That goes well beyond merely 'dangerous!'" Glynda growled. "Protocol demands initiation should never surpass class two. Last I checked, killing students was not part of our job description!"
The stirring stopped. "And yet allowing them to die is."
Glynda froze, her burning anger exhausted in the sudden rush of icy guilt. She and Ozpin both knew what he meant. Not everyone, after all, survived initiation.
"That – but we can't–" she sputtered. She had excuses. That the students had to be pressured to work together, that it revealed those who would make strong leaders, that real life was dangerous and ugly and they should get used to it–
The words sounded hollow even to herself.
"We could save them, Glynda," Ozpin corrected, eyes now focused on the dregs of coffee that he swirled around, and around, and around. "Those who fail initiation. The weak, the foolish, even the plain unlucky. We have the means. But we let them suffer the consequences, even if they die. Do you ever wonder why?"
She didn't respond. She had questioned, of course, agonized over it even, but never for long. The deaths of children she hardly knew was an inconsequential weight on her conscience compared to the many, many more who had died during or after her tutelage.
Faces you didn't know, after all, could not haunt you in the dead of sleepless nights.
"We do not save them because they must, at their core, understand that they will not be rescued. Huntsman are the final, ultimate line of defense, the light in the dark when all else has failed. They cannot expect aid. If they fail, there is no other hope. Those that cannot accept that should never hold the lives of others in their hands."
Better for them to die now than drag others with them later.
"Huntsmen don't stay children for long, Glynda."
"All the same," she murmured, "perhaps we are greater monsters than the Grimm."
"We do what we must. Even if they – and we – need suffer for it."
It was a harsh reminder. She'd been excited and idealistic, once, convinced that she could save the world by raising the next generation. She'd been partially right. A few of them had lived. "You still have not addressed the unusual strength of the grimm, sir."
"I simply felt it would be an appropriate challenge." Ozpin looked directly at her, eyes probing her own. "Besides, they seem to have handled it quite effectively. A mere eight students, against two grimm meant to handle a few dozen more. Unprecedented."
"It is rather… unexpected." Glynda hesitantly offered. On the one hand, they had expected this year's class of recruits to be exceptional purely based off of their prior achievements. Pyrrha Nikos, Yang XiaoLong and Weiss Schnee in particular could each have been top of their class at any combat school.
On the other hand… some of the other students had a fair bit more live experience.
"Is it indeed?" Ozpin mused. He stared at his mug once more. "I wonder."
How much does he know? Even worse, does he know something I don't?
"Come, my dear," Ozpin said. He rose to his feet before striding to the door. She hastened to follow him. "I believe we have some students to congratulate."
::-::-::
The nevermore was still a partially cohesive corpse when twin whines drove Jaune's gaze skyward. A pair of bullheads cut through the air on a direct beeline for him and his newfound teammates. His eyes narrowed as they hovered above him before continuing into a slow descent. This hadn't been part of the briefing, initiation was supposed to end once they recovered the relics, so why…?
His gaze fell on Weiss. Crumpled on the ground and stained crimson, she cut a pathetic figure on the unyielding stone. Could the Schnee family have pressured Beacon into guarding their child? Doubtful. Everybody knew the danger involved in training to become a huntsman. Besides, the academy was so prestigious it was practically invulnerable.
The bullheads landed with a rattling thump, and a team of medical staff rushed out with stretchers and some sophisticated looking equipment he wasn't familiar with. As they surrounded Weiss, Blake, and Ren, he stood by and watched, uncertain of what else to do. A soft hand on his arm announced the presence of Pyrrha at his side. Her face was ashen as she stared at their injured classmates, and he felt her hand shaking even through the cloth of his clothing.
"Do you think they'll be alright?" she whispered.
Blake and Ren, almost certainly. Weiss? Probably not. "I, uh, I hope so."
Her voice broke. "This is all my fault."
Her fault? Hardly. If anything, it was his fault, but that wasn't exactly something he would be losing sleep over. The Arc family honor did not demand that he save anybody who needed it, after all.
"Don't say that," he said, enveloping Pyrrha's hand with one of his own. "You were amazing! It's thanks to you we're alive at all. Not like me," he added with a tinge of bitterness he didn't feel.
"But I could have done so much more."
He had to agree. Given what he'd heard about her, Jaune Arc had expected more of Pyrrha Nikos. For all her skill against humans and faunus, she'd been nothing spectacular against the Grimm. Above average, to be sure, but not amazing.
He was saved from the need to respond by the clack of boots against stone. Professor Goodwitch approached them, green eyes hard. "Mister Arc. Miss Nikos," she said, with a nod at each of them respectively. He almost winced at the usage of his family name, but it would have been even stranger for her to address him informally. Pyrrha was unlikely to search for information on him, anyways.
"Congratulations on your success," Glynda continued. "I understand this is something of a breach in protocol, but get on the ships. We'll debrief back at Beacon."
"Ma'am," Pyrrha said. "I would like permission to stay with my partner. She was injured."
Glynda studied her carefully before giving a curt nod. "Granted, but stay out of the way."
"Understood. Thank you."
When the redhead had gone, Glynda turned back to Jaune. "And what about you, Mister Arc? Would you like to accompany your partner as well?"
He shook his head. "I'm not even sure where my partner is," he admitted with a rueful smile. "Is she, uh, okay?"
"Who is your partner?"
"Oh, sorry, it'd probably help to know that, huh? Ruby. Err, that's her name. Ruby Rose."
Glynda beckoned toward the further bullhead. "She's already on board that one." She cast a furtive glance around to make sure nobody was within earshot before leaning in. "Watch out for her. She eliminated a class six deathstalker with only minor assistance. I'll look into her records and notify you of anything I find."
"Thank you, professor," Jaune declared loudly, as if she had merely been relaying him normal orders. "I'll go see the headmaster once I'm back at Beacon."
He'd had his suspicions even before initiation. Somebody entering Beacon a full two years early was practically unheard of. Fortuitous, then, that he was in the perfect position to keep an eye on her.
::-::-::
Weiss Schnee awoke to the blinding white glare of an infirmary and piercing, burning pain that permeated her entire body.
Where was she? What had happened?
The facts, Weiss. Start with the facts.
She was alive. That was a good place to start. Her survival was nothing short of a miracle – the nevermore had punched multiple feathers clean through her. Immediate medical attention, aura, and luck would have all been needed to keep her alive. She was at Beacon, then, which meant that her classmates had won and they had cleared initiation.
Oum, everything hurt. Aura, unfortunately, did not help with pain.
"Hey there, Weiss-cream," said an irritatingly bright and cheery voice. "How you feelin?"
The heiress rolled her vision to the side. Yang sat in a chair next to her bed, but the blonde looked every bit as bad as Weiss felt – swathed in so many bandages that Weiss could only make out half her face. Perhaps if Yang wasn't so unbelievably irritating, she could muster up some sympathy.
"If you call me that ever again, I swear I will hurt you. Badly."
Yang gave no sign she had heard. "Actually, I doubt you can feel anything at all with the amount of painkillers they pumped into you. I told them there was no way you were three hundred pounds, but no one trusts me around here. I wonder why?"
She could feel plenty, thank you very much. If this was with painkillers, she couldn't even imagine how it would feel without –
Wait…
"Three – excuse me?!"
"I mean, you're not really that big."
"You are unquestionably the most insufferable person I've ever met." Actually, she knew Ruby. Maybe the second most insufferable, then. Must be a family thing.
"Anyways," Yang continued cheerily, "hope you get better, seeing as how we're partners and all. I can't really work that well with a corpse. Not that I've tried before. Ugh."
"Is monologuing to yourself a common pastime or am I simply exceptionally unlucky?"
"Oh, we beat the deathstalker, in case you couldn't tell," Yang continued. "Ruby and I. It was… well, I'll tell you later. You'll want the full story anyways.
Weiss's blood turned to ice. For only the two of them to kill a deathstalker, there was no way that Ruby had been holding back. Probably hadn't even occurred to her with how upset she had been about Yang. Understandably too.
It should have been obvious the younger girl was unstable, despite her claims to the contrary.
Oh, right, still had to respond to Yang.
"Yang XiaoLong demonstrating patience? That settles it. I'm dreaming." Which would also explain why the other girl was ignoring everything she said.
"Did better than you did against the nevermore though. How'd it feel being a human pincushion?"
Weiss couldn't stop the burning that flew to her cheeks. Her plan would have worked flawlessly against any normal nevermore, so it was hardly her fault that they'd gone up against an exceptional one! "That – that's hardly–"
"You should really hurry and wake up. Must be kinda boring just lying there," Yang mused. "I mean, I'm already going crazy and at least I can move around a little."
"I'm stuck in a nightmare where I am forced to listen to the rambling of a blathering idiot who is apparently unable to hear me. Some boredom sounds lovely," Weiss growled.
"Ouch. That's harsh, Weiss-cream," Yang mourned, one hand flying to her heart in dramatic mock offense. "I'm a delicate young maiden, you know."
"So you can hear me!" Weiss growled.
"Well duh," Yang said. "Just messing with you. How you feelin? Wait, I asked that already."
"I hate you."
::-::-::
Ruby fidgeted from side to side, silver eyes cast nervously upwards at the imposing door to the headmaster's office.
"We – we did well, right? We're not in trouble, are we?" she asked the blonde haired boy beside her.
Jaune glanced at her uncertainly. "I, uh, I think so? I mean, we won. And nobody died. So that's good?"
"But we didn't get any relics," Ruby protested. "And everyone else was injured." She played with the hem of her skirt, teeth worrying at her bottom lip, before whipping around to face Jaune fully. He took a step backward in surprise as she leaned towards him and peered up at him through her lashes, silver eyes wide. "Were we supposed to be injured as well? Do you think we're in trouble for that?"
"What? No!" Jaune exclaimed. "Why would they want us to be injured?"
She leaned even closer, so close that she rested against his chest like a soft, timid weight. "Then why are we the only two here? Why are we in trouble?"
"We're not in trouble!" Jaune declared, but his words were undermined by subsequent hesitation. "I think. Probably. Maybe."
The door swung open, revealing the stern countenance of headmaster Ozpin. His normally composed image was marred by bloodshot eyes, and he leaned on his cane with uncharacteristic weariness. He beckoned them to enter, and they obeyed reluctantly.
"Don't worry," he said, "you're not in trouble." His mouth quirked upwards in a half smile. "We generally try to encourage not-being-injured instead of punish it."
Jaune nudged Ruby, who glared at him indignantly. "Told ya we weren't in trouble," he said. She stuck her tongue out at him, but flushed pink when Ozpin chuckled.
"If anything, both of you have demonstrated exemplary performance on the battlefield. Your group of eight is among some of the most promising recruits in recent history."
Neither of them knew what to say.
"Oh," Ruby finally said, voice small. "Thanks. For the compliment, I mean. Not us being good. Although that's true. Wait, it was a compliment, right?"
"Indeed it was, Miss Rose," Ozpin said with another chuckle. "And that is why we are speaking right now. Normally, teams are selected through the drawing of matching relics, but given your exceptional capabilities I chose to assign yours. You two will join with Miss Blake Belladonna and Miss Pyrrha Nikos, under team leader Mister Jaune Arc."
"Me?!" Jaune squawked. "Wait, why me? Ruby's a way better fighter. Make her leader!"
"No! You can't do that!" Ruby blurted. "I'm the youngest. And the boy should lead!"
"What does that have to do with anything?!"
"It – it – I don't know! Something!"
"Although we may not share the same reasoning," Ozpin interrupted with a gentle smile, "I agree with Miss Rose. Combat ability is not the only criteria for a leader. Indeed, I often find that it has little influence at all." He reached out and grasped Jaune's shoulder, forcing the younger man to meet his gaze. "I stand by my decision. You will be team leader, Mister Arc."
"Yes sir." Jaune acquiesced with palpable reluctance. "I'll do my best."
"Not good enough, Mister Arc," Ozpin corrected. "You must succeed. If your best is not enough, surpass it."
"No pressure," Jaune grumbled.
"Congratulations, Jaune!" Ruby chirped. she wrapped him in an enthusiastic hug, silver eyes flashing with joy. "You'll do great!"
"This is a mistake," Jaune mourned. "A giant, whopping mistake."
::-::-::
If Ruby Rose was perfectly honest, she would have to admit she was a little disappointed. She'd gone after Jaune Arc with all her substantial charm, and he hadn't even been phased.
Innocent, cute, uncertain, naive – these images were weapons to be used, and she was more than familiar with all of them. People expected a menacing seductress like Cinder to be a threat. A dorky fifteen year old? Not so much.
It'd all been planned. Her whole conversation with Jaune in front of the headmaster's office. The looks, how she positioned her body, when and how to touch, all of it screamed look at me, I'm cute and scared, you should protect me.
She could make excuses for her behavior, of course. That charmed people were easy allies, for example, or that it was necessary to cement her school image and help counteract her slip up during initiation, but the truth was that it was simply fun. She wasn't smart like Weiss, couldn't plan ten or twenty steps ahead, but this? This was where she could outsmart even the best and the brightest.
But in any case, her reasons were meaningless. He either hadn't noticed or hadn't cared. Either way, she'd lost.
And Ruby Rose hated losing.
A/N:
Half the stuff that makes it into the story wasn't even planned. The whims of the characters are powerful indeed.
Since it's been awhile since I've done anything RWBY related, my lore knowledge is kinda rusty. Please call me out on any mistakes and I'll fix them ASAP. The ones that aren't changed by AU standing, anyways.
Thanks for the reviews. I'm glad to see people are enjoying the story. No four month break for this chapter either. Heh heh.
Now what was I planning again?