As of Monday this week, the 1st of October, this fanfic will be exactly 1 year old. It's so surreal to think of how much of my life has been dedicated to this story. Not just in writing either, but hours of proofreading, pages of planning, nights thinking about it, days talking about it, free moments spent playing out conversations and scenes in my head, dozens of glorious reviews read, and tips, critiques, compliments, queries and just generally uplifting things heard from you guys. It's even more crazy to think that it's almost done. It's been an incredible and unbelievably rewarding year, and it couldn't have happened without you guys. So here's a shoutout to all of you. Whether you started following this story since day one and convinced me that I could undertake such a huge thing, or whether you've only just seen it and your view has given me the motivation to write yet another chapter, I thank each and every one of you.

TLDR; happy birthday to Sergeant Arc, and thanks to everyone who reads this.

Ok, sappy talk over, let's get on with the chapter.

"It is such a paradox this war, which produces the worst in man, and also raises him to the summits of self-sacrifice, self-denial and altruism"

George Silverton

Chapter Twenty-Six—Confrontation

Cat didn't worry. She didn't fret. She certainly didn't wring her hands in anxiousness or pace up and down in a vain attempt to sate the butterflies in her stomach. And she didn't—god forbid—panic in the face of adversary. But that didn't stop one sentence from churning through her mind over and over, oozing into every other thought and contaminating her mind like a seething pile of shit.

She was going to kill them.

If they weren't dead, she was going to kill them.

Screw the logic of that, Jaune and the others should have arrived by now. Cat's bullhead—consisting of her, Aiden, Terrier and that caveman, Cardin—had landed over half an hour ago after outrunning—and more importantly, outgunning—those flying rodents. They'd hidden their ship as best they could under a rocky outcropping, then waited to see Jaune's ship come soaring over the horizon in all its underwhelming glory, having nonchalantly danced past death by the skin of their teeth yet again.

So they'd waited. And waited. And waited. Cat had gone from standing with her arms crossed, a jibe at Jaune's tardiness already on her lips, to sitting on a nearby rock and watching the sky patiently, to tapping her foot to the beat of her increased heartrate, to getting back up and scouring the horizon for any sign of them, patience shot to shreds and stomach taking up arms in its own civil war, one treacherous question chasing her mind endlessly.

Where the fuck were they?

"It's been too long?" fretted Terrier, ever one to state the bloody obvious. The pale kid had bitten his nails down to their very cuticles in worry. At least the others seemed to be holding themselves together somewhat better. Aiden was lying on his stomach on a nearby ridgeline, eye glued to his scope, scanning the barren desert around them. To a stranger, they would have sworn he was the epitome of calm and collected. But Cat knew better. She'd learnt how to read the tenseness in his shoulders, the stiffness of his wolf tail. He was worried alright.

Cardin, meanwhile, was resting on his mace, the bullish weapon acting as a prop for the armoured brute. Trust Cardin to pick the weapon that basically resembled a club. There was probably a metaphor somewhere in there, but Cat couldn't be arsed to find it.

Instead, she spent her time scouring the hellscape, raking her eyes over the terrain in a vain effort to spot even a glimmer of movement from her surroundings. Not that she was worried about them or anything, but just so she'd be able see when the others arrived. But despite her best efforts, she saw nothing. Nothing but the wind toying with the dusty ground. She could swear the bloodied horizon was mocking her with its emptiness.

It wasn't like their rendezvous was hard to see—it was bloody impossible to miss. Cat felt her eyes trailing to the side, to where Phil's coordinates had led them.

Dark, red bricks verging on brown, like spoilt wine. A large set of double doors that opened into some kind of hallway, beyond which lay the main body of the building, perched perilously on the edge of a cliff. Tall, winding towers, for what purpose Cat couldn't even begin to discern—though that didn't stop her mind from trying. Stained-glass windows, mercifully too dark to see the stories depicted in them, not dissimilar from a cathedral, as if the architecture were designed to make a mockery of what was considered holy among humanity.

A castle. A goddamned, freaking castle—and in the middle of hell itself! If that didn't set off the alarm bells—and it most certainly did for Cat—she didn't know what would. She had absolutely zero reservations about naming that the home of Salem.

"I swear to god, if you've gotten them lost, Arc," Cardin muttered.

"Shut up, Cardin," she snapped, jumping to the defence of Jaune—though not because she cared about him or anything. "This wouldn't have happened if we'd gone back for them like I'd said we should."

"Like you'd said?" scoffed Cardin. "As I remember it, you were glued to your seat and screaming like a four-year-old."

"Shut the fuck up, Cardin," snarled Cat, hands curling into claws at her sides.

"That's Field Sergeant Winchester to you," he growled right back.

Cat would have happily leapt at Cardin then, kicking and scratching with enough vigour to put a snow leopard to shame. Her skin felt like it had bugs crawling underneath it. She needed a release. But just at that moment, Aiden silenced them both. "I have found them!"

In an instant, Cardin was forgotten. Cat scrambled to Aiden's side. "Where?" she demanded. Aiden pointed, and Cat squinted at the ridgeline he indicated. There, just visible against the red sky and the red ground—damn, everything was red here—bobbed a mop of blue hair. Cat sagged in relief. Nuke was alive. That alone was almost enough to bring a smile to her face, though she quickly hid it.

"Something is wrong," said Aiden. Cat glanced at him, noticing the way his tail froze its gentle wag. A knot of something in her stomach—definitely not worry—clenched angrily.

"What?"

"I see Jaune," Aiden explained shakily. "But I only see two other people with him."

Two, when Jaune had left with four.

Heavy silence descended on the group. A dull, insistent thumping began in Cat's head. Thump. Thump. Thump. Eventually, it was Terrier who said, "We should go meet them. Find out what's happened."

No one objected to that, not even Cardin. The four of them scrambled down the rise they were on and scurried towards the other half of Beta section. The half that looked suspiciously small. Thump. Thump. Thump.

It wasn't long before the two sides met. Cat immediately found her way to Nuke's side, checking her for injuries. She had a bump on her head and a few minor cuts, but nothing too serious. What was more worrying was the look in her eyes. Eyes that wouldn't meet her own. Guilty eyes. Thump. Thump. Thump.

"Nuke…" she began.

"Arc, what happened?" Cardin demanded. Jaune's features were wide. Shocked. Disbelieving. "Arc, I need a debrief."

"Where are Finn and Bounty?" asked Aiden.

Silence. Thump. Thump. Thump.

"Where are they?" repeated Terrier.

Jaune's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He shook his head, unwilling or unable to speak. "Bounty hurt his leg." This came from Nuke, tears flowing down her cheeks; tears of sadness, yes, but also… shame. Thump. Thump. Thump. "The Grimm were chasing us." Thump. "We couldn't carry him fast enough." Thump. "He… he told us to leave him behind…"

The thumping stopped.

"What?"

Cat's voice was ten degrees colder than the iciest pit on Remnant. She took a step away from Naomi.

"We didn't have any other choice," pleaded Naomi, reaching for her. "Cat, please…"

Cat slipped out of Naomi's reach, staring at her. "You left him behind?"

"The Grimm were about to get us all," Lightning Phil leapt to the defence of Naomi. "We had to leave them."

"Them?" demanded Cat, eyes flaring. Lightning winced.

"Uh… Finn went back for Bounty. We were so busy running, we didn't even realise. It all happened so fast."

"We're going back," stated Cat, voice still scarily quiet.

"I'm sorry, Cat." Heterochromic eyes met brown as Cat's gaze locked onto Naomi. "They're dead."

The pounding in Cat's head was gone, and in its place, Cat heard only a crashing. The crashing of the waves on a sea wall, on the jagged rocks at the base of a cliff. A continuous, resounding rush and crush of the ocean, rising in volume, consuming her mind, gobbling down every other sense.

Finn and Bounty were dead. Killed at the hands of the Grimm, their bodies defied, mutilated, turned into chew toys for those demons. Cat tried to imagine what that must have been like—she couldn't. The gnashing teeth. The tearing claws and tusks and talons. It was too much. Her mind wanted to block it out, bury it, think of anything but that moment where the Grimm had fallen upon, that instant of pure, unimaginable terror, before the pain had started. Before the tearing, grinding, ripping, shredding, bleeding and screaming had begun. Had Bounty welcomed death? Had it been a relief, a welcomed caress by Death's hand before his suffering was no more? Had he died, thinking how the others had all abandoned him?

Except they hadn't, not all of them. Because Finn had gone back—he'd gone back because he hadn't wanted to abandon another team member. Because Cat had made him promise not to.

Cat's legs were jelly, and she felt sick, sick to her very core; her stomach heaved, but nothing came up. Finn had died, and it was her fault.

Her fault.

Her fault.

Her fault.

"Cat…" It was Naomi, approaching her like someone would an injured lion, wanting to help but fearing receiving a claw to the face for her efforts. Fear, anguish, sorrow, guilt and regret all warred in her eyes; those eyes, which had watched as Bounty had been left behind and had done nothing.

Cat blinked. What the hell? This was Naomi she was talking about—Nuke—her friend, her sister. Cat forced down those treacherous feelings inside her, the disgust she felt just by looking at her. Nuke would have done everything she could have to save them. But Cat hadn't. Cat had done nothing. Again.

"We need to keep moving," said Cardin. "If we stay here too long the Grimm will find us."

Jaune looked up at Cardin, seeming to shake off his trance-like disbelief. He nodded once, then nodded again, more firmly this time, as if settling his mind. "We'll break into the castle. Salem must be in there. Follow me."

He turned and rushed away, followed immediately by Terrier, though he shot Cat a worried glance over his shoulder, unsure whether to attempt to comfort her. After him went Lightning, then Cardin, choosing very wisely not to say anything to her. Aiden paused, looking torn between Cat and Jaune, but eventually he came over and gave Cat's arm a quick squeeze. "We will mourn them together when this is all over." Then he was gone.

Last to leave was Nuke. She came over to Cat, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, but Cat felt no warmth from it. Only that burning emptiness inside her. "We need to go, Cat," whispered Nuke, but Cat didn't move. Instead she looked to the horizon, back the way Nuke and the others had come.

"Did you see them?" she interrogated.

"What?"

"Their bodies. Did you see their dead bodies?"

"No, but… when we left them it sounded like every Grimm on Remnant was converging on their position. They would have died within minutes."

"But there's a chance they didn't?"

"What are you… even if they're not dead yet, it would take too long to get back to them. They'd be dead before you arrive."

"But there's a chance they're not dead yet?"

"I don't—"

"Answer me!"

"I… there might be."

Then that was all the confirmation Cat needed. They couldn't be dead, they couldn't—Cat wouldn't accept that they were. She'd never even gotten to say goodbye. They had to still be alive, and that meant Cat still had a chance to save them.

Nuke saw the look in her eyes—of course she did. She put a restraining hand on her arm. "Cat, you can't go back. Even if they're alive, that place will be crawling with Grimm."

There was that word again. Such a simple, five-letter word. And yet every time she heard it, she felt a spike of cold dread, a flash of black before her eyes. She saw a burning set of red eyes, grown to monstrous proportions by the mind of a child, devouring the world until only they remained—huge, dominating, terrible.

For a moment, Cat almost second-guessed herself. She couldn't do this. She couldn't face those eyes again. She couldn't bear that fear, feel that pain, hear that beep of the hospital machine as she clawed her way back to the light, to the sunshine and the laughter and the life.

But then she remembered Finn and Bounty—her friends. She remembered that they would be facing those terrors right now, fighting the universe to cling to life just like she had when she'd finally woken up in a hospital bed all those years ago. And she also remembered her other fear, the one she'd kept hidden for so long she hadn't even known she'd possessed it until recently.

The fear of losing someone she cared about.

"Buzz died because my fear made me do nothing," she told Nuke. Her eyes widened. "I won't make the same mistake twice."

Tears welled in Nuke's eyes. "But Cat… what if I lose you too?"

Cat took Nuke's hands in her own. "You're a fighter Nuke. You're strong. You'll make it through." The two girls turned their heads as Jaune called back up to them. They made eye contact one last time. "Make sure you kill Salem for me. Don't leave it to the men to screw it up."

"Was that a dangling preposition I heard there?" Nuke half smiled.

"Pretentious snob."

"Uneducated troglodyte."

Cat pulled Nuke in for one last hug, holding her so tightly that not even the entire world—and god knew it was trying—could have torn them apart. Then they finally broke away and split up. Cat didn't glance over her shoulder as she ran the opposite direction to Nuke: to do so would only imply they wouldn't see each other again. They would. And she'd have Finnegan and Bounty in tow when she did.

They would owe her big time when she saved their sorry arses.

Jaune had thought leaving Bounty would be the hardest thing he'd ever do. Then he was proved wrong when he'd discovered Finn wasn't with them. Every cell in his body, every inch of his soul, tore at him, trying to drag him back to those two men. But Jaune had resisted. Though it cost Jaune everything he was, he kept moving, kept running, never once looking back. Bounty had paid with his life to allow them a single shot at killing Salem; Jaune wouldn't let that go to waste.

But then Naomi had arrived, only for Jaune to realise he'd lost yet another section member.

"Cat did what?" he gasped.

"We've got our mission, and Cat's got hers," replied Naomi, head held high, unyieldingly.

"And what if she dies?"

"Then that was her decision. We have to respect that." Respect Cat's decision; as if Jaune had any choice but to. She had already run off to goodness knew where.

Jaune couldn't worry about this now. He couldn't worry about any of it. They were in the final stretch to completing their mission; all they had to do now was get inside the castle and kill Salem. It made it sound so simple. So easy. Jaune knew the approaching fight would be anything but. He needed to have his head sharp and his wits about him.

So even though it pained him to do it, he pushed Cat and Bounty and Finn out of his mind and turned back to the castle. But before he could go any further, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Cardin. "Jaune," he began, his voice gruff, "I just wanted to say… leaving some of your team behind… you made the right call. Not that it was… I mean, it wasn't fair that you had to do it, I just…" Cardin had a look of immense effort on his face, as if he were trying to spit something unpleasantly sticky out of his mouth. "I know what that's like," he finally said. "I know it couldn't have been easy." Jaune didn't reply. He'd already decided to stuff those feelings down into that dark place within him, that ever-growing pile of things he was too afraid to confront. Later, he told himself for the billionth time. He'd face it later.

Thankfully, Cardin didn't push the issue, and Jaune was able to continue moving. He needed to focus on the task at hand. Just focus on the now. The past would still be there when he was ready to confront it.

He approached the dark palace apprehensively, eyeing the brooding structure as one might a caged beast. He indicated the others to do the same, and soon what was left of his section plus Cardin were following him in one wary line.

When no monsters jumped out and no traps erupted beneath their feet to skewer them, they walked up to the front entrance; perhaps it wasn't the safest path to take, but Salem knew they were coming anyway: hiding their approach wouldn't do them any good. And besides, Naomi had reminded them that sometimes the obvious routes were the ones with the fewest obstacles.

Double doors made of a wood darker than any Jaune had ever seen groaned open as Cardin strained against them. A beam of sullied sunlight sliced into the newly-produced gap, illuminating what appeared to be a large foyer.

Jaune and the others stood on the threshold, peering into the gloom, hesitant of going any further. The inside was a similar shade of purply-brown as the exterior, lit by what appeared to be chandeliers made of intricate shards of glass. Pillars supported the vaulted roof, their bases formed from those mysterious, purple, dust crystals, so that it looked like trunks of dust sprouted from the ground, the poisoned plants reaching upwards with jagged branches to claim the ceiling. Jaune had seen several types of dust, but none looked like the ones that were littered throughout this land. An undiscovered one, perhaps? He doubted many people, if any, had come to this land, and if the dust only formed here, it wasn't too big of a stretch to assume it hadn't been documented before.

At the far end of the foyer, way, way back, loomed a second set of doors. These were made of a lighter wood than the entryway, a sort of greyish ash colour, crisscrossed with thick metal bars to strengthen it. Jaune was willing to bet lien that beyond that doorway was Salem.

Cardin whistled appreciatively. "Holy hell, you were actually telling the truth."

"Of course we were," snapped Terry. "Jaune wouldn't lie." Cardin snorted, but didn't respond.

Realising no one else was going to do it, Jaune took the first tentative step into the shadowy interior. Nothing happened. He took another step, his ears straining for a click that would signify a trap underneath him, yet still nothing but silence assaulted his ears.

He signalled the others to follow him, taking careful, measured strides into the enemy's domain. Still nothing attacked them. Somehow, that put Jaune more on edge than anything else.

Feeling as tense as a bowstring, but still seeing no direct threat, Jaune edged further inwards, forging his way deeper into his adversary's lair. The rest followed closely, their rifles clutched in bone-white fists. Even Cardin seemed on edge, his usual arrogant grin replaced by grim wariness.

He edged closer to Jaune. "This is too easy," he whispered, as if afraid to disturb the quiet.

"I know," replied Jaune.

"This is a trap."

"I know."

"And you're just going to walk into it?"

"What other choice do we have? Salem knows we're here. For now, we have to play by her rules."

Cardin's lip twisted downwards. Jaune couldn't blame him. He didn't like this any more than Cardin did, but there was no way their arrival hadn't been noticed by Salem or whatever sentries she had. She might have even been connected to the Griffons that attacked them, making stealth useless. They had to simply see where this road took them.

"Cardin," whispered Jaune. "If this is a trap, and we get attacked, I want you to take the others and break out. I'll keep whatever attacks us distracted until you're all safe."

Cardin stared at Jaune. Not even a day ago, Cardin would have scorned Jaune's foolhardy selflessness as the ramblings of a self-righteous child living a fairy-tale inside his head. Now though, he simply shook his head. "You really care about them," he said.

"I do," answered Jaune, though he knew it wasn't really a question.

Cardin was quiet for a moment, before he grunted, "You must have really hated me when I took your section away from you."

"I don't hate you Cardin."

"Why?" Cardin demanded. Jaune glanced at him, shocked to find him looking… angry. As if Jaune's indifference actually frustrated him. "I bullied you ever since you joined Beacon. I made you hurt your friends. I got you kicked out of your dream. You should despise me. How can you not?"

Jaune didn't answer immediately. Cardin's outburst stunned him, but more than that he wasn't entirely sure of the answer himself. Jaune should have hated Cardin for what he'd done to him. Maybe there had been a time when he had. But now…

Now he just didn't… care. No, that wasn't quite right. It did bother him that Cardin had bullied him. But after being forced to lead his section, watching friends die, seeing first-hand what war did to people, and staring down death more times than he could possibly keep track of… now everything that had happened before just felt so petty. So meaningless. Jaune Arc had seen entire villages razed to the ground and all their inhabitants incinerated. What was a petty grudge in the face of all that?

Cardin was racist, aggressive, and vindictive. But Jaune had seen true evil. And Cardin wasn't that. So what was the point of hating him when there were so many things that actually warranted his loathing.

"I don't hate you, Cardin, because what's the point? You're not my enemy. If we start turning on each other, we lose sight of the real enemy. If we do that, Salem's already won."

Cardin digested Jaune's words, going quiet for a while. Jaune continued to edge further down the hallway, getting closer and closer to the double doors at the end of the room. "God, you're insufferable," Cardin muttered. Jaune blinked. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be around you?" Cardin continued. "Every single minute you show everyone else up. Every second remind us all how much of a better human-being you are, just by being you. It's infuriating."

"You… you think I'm a better person?"

"It's like this holier-than-thou complex, but you genuinely don't even intend it to be that way, do you? You just go about your life, doing whatever heroic idea comes to mind first."

"I'm not a hero, Cardin."

"That's exactly what a hero would say."

Jaune huffed a laugh. Maybe Cardin was right on that one. "You could be a hero too, you know."

Cardin became very quiet. "No I can't," he grumbled. "I'm not one of the good guys, like you. I'm too angry, all the bloody time. I'm no hero."

"It's never too late to choose to change, Cardin," Jaune said. "'Hero' isn't a cloak you wear. It's not a badge or a rank slide or even a title. It's a choice. It's waking up every day and choosing to be better than you were before. That's what makes a hero. Not what he was. But the change he made to be what he is now." It was a lesson Jaune had fought and bled and killed to finally learn.

Sometimes, change was a decision you made one day. Sometimes your scenario compelled you to. But there was always a choice. Always a moment where you chose to be something more. Jaune had left Beacon with zero self-confidence, feeling feeble, weak and unwanted. Worse, he'd been self-obsessed, constantly thinking of what would make him a hero, what he would do as a Huntsman. But when Sergeant Cole had handed him that bloodied rank slide, he'd chosen to change, to become the leader his section needed: one who put their team first. Not the person he'd been. The only alternative to that had been to die, and Jaune hadn't been ready for that yet.

Cardin opened his mouth to say something in reply when a noise suddenly caused both men to spin around, hearts leaping into their throats. The silence that had pervaded and harrowed the band of humans was shattered by a bone-grating snigger. Immediately every rifle to hand was pointed towards the shadowy rafters of the foyer where the sound had emanated from.

A second giggle echoed through the room, this one coming from a completely different part of the ceiling. Jaune gripped Crocea Mors tightly, his teeth grating against each other as the laugh rang through the room a third time.

"Show yourself!" Cardin bellowed.

"Show yourself!" the voice mocked, before bursting into cackling all over again. The sound echoed off the walls, seemingly coming from all directions, wracking the humans with wave after wave of deranged laughter. Beta section instinctively huddled against each other, back-to-back, forming a ring of bodies watching every direction.

"Who are you?" Jaune shouted. His voice sounded weak and reedy to his ears, especially when he heard it echoing back at him.

"Who am I?" the voice asked. A snicker. "Where are my manners? I haven't even introduced myself."

A figure dropped out of the rafters, slamming into the ground in a crouch, cracking the floor underneath. Four rifles spun to track the stranger without hesitation, but the man didn't so much as blink. Instead he extended to his full height and bowed dramatically.

"Tyrian Callows, at your service."

Tyrian was short, wearing an open white shirt which revealed a scarred chest, with black buckles crisscrossing his torso. A series of bandages snaked up his arms, his white trousers tucked into knee-length, black boots, and he wore his hair in a French plait. On his wrists were his weapons, two curved blades that extended over either side of his forearm, and behind him was…

Jaune's breath caught in his throat. Behind him was a black scorpion tail.

"You are a Faunus," realised Aiden.

"Guilty as charged," giggled Tyrian. Despite the fact that it was only one man, Jaune didn't lower his guard for even a second. The scars on his chest proved that Tyrian was no stranger to fighting, and the look in his yellow eyes was just on the wrong side of crazy. This man had to be one of Salem's minions, and that made him dangerous.

"Why are you here?" Jaune asked in what he hoped was a steady voice.

"Why, to offer you a formal invitation of course," Tyrian replied. "My mistress has deemed you…" Tyrian pointed at Jaune, "…worthy of her attention. I am to escort you to her at once."

"And my section?" asked Jaune.

Tyrian looked at the others, as if seeing them for the first time, and his face took on a bored expression, dismissing them with a way of his hand. "Not invited. Looks like I'll have to kill them."

Jaune took a step in front of his section. "I won't let you do that."

Tyrian's eyes lit up hungrily, and Jaune knew he'd said the wrong thing. "Good."

Tyrian lunged for Jaune. Jaune was so startled by the sudden movement that he didn't even have time to raise his shield. In less than a heartbeat, Tyrian had closed the distance between them. Jaune only had time to widen his eyes as Tyrian's wrist blades swung for his head, prepared to slam into his temple and knock him out cold.

Clang!

The sound echoed around the chamber, reverberating through Jaune's skull, crumbling any half-formed thoughts he had into dust. Beside his head, Tyrian's weapons strained to get to him, their edges shining wickedly in the red lighting. Scorpion pincers, a tiny portion of his misfunctioning brain realised; they looked like scorpion pincers.

Besides him, Cardin grunted as he held Tyrian's attack back by the staff of his mace; Jaune hadn't even been able to bring his shield up.

Cardin roared and went to backhand Tyrian, but he wasn't there anymore. He ducked Cardin's attack and dashed past him, slashing at the back of his thigh. Cardin cried out and fell to a knee. Tyrian grinned. Planting one foot on the floor, he spun a full 360 degrees and flung his foot at Cardin's face.

The paralysing shock finally wore off Jaune. He leapt in between them, blocking Tyrian's foot with his shield. He swung his sword at Tyrian's other foot, hoping to get him onto the floor, but Tyrian neatly backflipped out the way, a foot flying up and connecting with Jaune's chin along the way.

Jaune's head snapped back. Star exploded before his eyes. The next instant he found himself on his knees besides Cardin, utterly at the mercy of the psychopath in front of him. Fortunately, the others snapped into action. With Jaune and Cardin out the way, Terry fired a burst at Tyrian, but somehow, he was able to twist to the side in time, throwing up his wrists to block the shots. Aiden sighted down his scope and blasted at Tyrian's exposed foot, exploding a chunk of marble out the floor; Tyrian wasn't there anymore.

How was this man so quick?

Jaune lurched unsteadily to his feet as Tyrian charged Beta section, laughing manically. Phil met him midway, swinging his yellow weapon around like a club. It hit empty air. Tyrian was besides Phil, swiping at his chest. Miraculously, Phil managed to twist his body out the way, bringing Aeron Wasp back around and hitting Tyrian's wrists, knocking his weapons out the way. Tyrian simply went with the motion, pirouetting in a way that had a kick throwing Phil aside like he was nothing.

Three more bursts of full auto fire flew at Tyrian, all of which he blocked easily. He looked like he was actually enjoying the fight, his eyes wide in delight, mouth open in uproarious laughter, as if getting shot at was the funniest thing on Remnant. He wrists clicked, and Jaune's stomach clenched angrily at the sound. That couldn't be good.

The next instant a torrent of bullets whizzed at Beta section, sending them diving for cover. Shards of rock flew up as Tyrian's shots erupted against the ground, peppering the battlefield with tiny daggers. His cackles rang over the gunfire, the demented melody accompanying the destruction he wrought as he laid waste to Jaune's section.

Jaune felt a presence at his side. Cardin. "You go high, I'll go low." For once, Cardin didn't argue with him.

The two men rushed Tyrian's blindside. Surely he wouldn't be able to take on two attackers at once?

Jaune should have known better than to hope.

Somehow, Tyrian heard them over the cacophony of bullets and laughter. He swung his head to them, like a praying mantis spotting its next meal. Cardin swung for his head. Jaune for his legs. Tyrian blocked both, his arms as immovable as mountains as his two attackers strained against him. Jaune bashed Tyrian in the face with his shield, realising Tyrian wouldn't be able to block such a close attack with his hands tied up. Jaune swore he actually heard a grunt of pain from the hit, but then he saw his face again and cursed.

Tyrian was seething, his eyes pinpricks of hateful yellow. A swift kick to the face had Cardin collapsing backwards, whilst the scorpion's tail rounded on Jaune. It snaked around his leg, yanking Jaune's support out from under him. He smashed his head directly onto the floor, biting his tongue. The coppery tang of blood flooded his mouth.

Don't stop. The thought had Jaune rolling to the side just as the stinger came down for a second strike, cracking the floor where Jaune had been and imbedding there, a monument for what might have been Jaune's corpse had he moved even a split-second later. Jaune came out of his roll and pushed himself into a kneeling position, his hands feeling something sharp. He glanced down, seeing that he was lying on the marble shrapnel Tyrian had shot out of the floor, the tiny shards of rock glinting in the light like a shattered mirror. An idea blossomed in Jaune's head.

Phil took that moment to throw himself back into the fight, firing on Tyrian to cover his approach at the same time that Naomi, Terry and Aiden spotted an opening, blasting the pinned Tyrian before he could free his tail. Yet even with his stinger stuck in the floor, Tyrian was too skilled for them. He blocked Phil's attack, then grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him over an outstretched foot, throwing him off balance. He would have slammed into the ground, except that Tyrian pulled him upright, in between himself and the humans trying to fire at him.

With Phil in the way, Beta section had no choice but to abandon their attack, scrambling back into cover as Tyrian opened fire on them once more.

Jaune gritted his teeth. Even one lucky shot from Tyrian on one of his friends would spell the end of them; without aura, they were little more than glass soldiers trying to put a dent in a tank.

Jaune's shield hand curled into fists, collecting as many shards of masonry as he could. He could feel them biting into his fingers, salivating for blood. Good.

Jaune made eye contact with Cardin, dragging himself to his feet. Cardin saw the rock fragments he had, nodding his understanding. Either Cardin had guessed what Jaune was doing, or he was about to improvise.

Tyrian hurled Phil towards the rest of Beta section, sending him sprawling, then threw back his head and howled with laughter. That was when Jaune moved.

He lunged upwards, slashing Crocea Mors at Tyrian's neck whilst his shield flew forwards, aiming for the scorpion Faunus' nose. A feint. Tyrian easily caught Jaune's sword on his armoured tail, whilst he yanked Jaune's shield out the way with his hands. As Jaune's shield rotated, revealing his clenched fist behind it, he opened his hand, hurling the shards of rock he'd held there. They rocketed into Tyrian's face, connecting with his exposed eyes. Tyrian cried out in pain and fury, fingers clawing at his face. Blocking his eyes.

Cardin took his chance, winding back his mace like a batter, dragging his club to the apex of its swing. There was a single moment of stillness that stretched on infinitely, and Jaune could swear the world was holding its breath, transfixed by the mace that hovered over Cardin's shoulder and the immense power it stored, like a nuclear-powered spring. The sounds of battle seemed to silence then, though Jaune knew that couldn't be true, the very air thrumming with anticipation as Cardin's eyes narrowed on his target, Tyrian still scrambling to clear his eyes of the rubble Jaune had thrown into them.

Then Cardin launched it at Tyrian's face and the world split apart with a bone-reverberating crack! The hundred-plus pounds of cast iron pounded into Tyrian's face with the force of a train. Tyrian went flying, his tail tearing out of the floor, his limp body hurling into the wall behind him. The stone shattered where he hit, a large section of the wall simply disintegrating from the impact. Say what you wanted about Cardin, but he could hit.

Jaune scrambled back to his section, checking the others for injuries. None so far, thank goodness. Cardin joined them, and not a second later, Tyrian punched his way free of the mound of rubble he'd created in his encounter with the wall. He emerged in all his dreadful glory, blades glinting, eyes flashing purple, stinger spitting venom at their feet.

"Playtime's over," he spat.

Jaune had no doubt he meant it, watching as his stinger snapped back and forth, wriggling in anticipation. Jaune had once read somewhere that scorpion's tails had a mind of their own; if that were the case, then Tyrian and his tail were in complete agreement at this present moment. They had to die. All of them.

They couldn't win this. Tyrian had danced around all six of them, and only a dirty trick had allowed them to get any significant hit on him. Jaune doubted he'd fall for that twice. He was just too fast, too strong. It didn't make any sense, but here was a being who mixed strength and speed perfectly, intertwining them together without ever sacrificing one or the other. The perfect predator. The perfect murderer.

If they kept going like this, he'd kill Jaune's section. One by one if he had to. Jaune couldn't let that happen. Salem had told Tyrian to bring Jaune in alive. He had to believe that. That meant he had a chance, however tiny, of surviving this. That meant he was the only one who held any sort of advantage over Tyrian.

"Cardin," whispered Jaune, his eyes still glued to Tyrian, "the plan." Cardin didn't move besides him. Jaune glanced at him. "Cardin, follow the plan. Take the others and run."

Still Cardin didn't budge. He seemed to be deep in thought, some unseen argument raging within his head. Then he stepped in front of him. Of everyone. "I outrank you, Arc, I give the orders," he growled. "Now get out of here."

What?

"Cardin, what are you doin—?"

"As your senior officer, I order you to take the section and kill Salem," he barked. "I'll keep this jokester busy."

"Jokester?" Tyrian hissed.

"Cardin, you can't beat him," Jaune pleaded.

"I know," he replied. "But neither can you. Salem's the real threat. Kill her, and we can end this bloody war."

"But he wants me alive, Cardin. I'm the only one who stands a chance of surviving this."

"He wants you alive, so Salem can kill you herself," Cardin dismissed. "Besides, you're a terrible fighter. I'll at least last longer than you against him."

"You'll die."

"That's war."

"What's this now?" asked Tyrian, eyes flaring up with twisted glee. "The noble sacrifice? The hero's last stand? Oh, how fun!"

Jaune glanced back at Cardin. "Cardin, I won't let you do thi—"

"Don't you dare take this away from me." Jaune's eyes widened in shock. Cardin hadn't been loud, but the sheer level of emotion behind his tone was enough to make him take a step backwards. "You've been a selfless idiot for god knows how long. Well now it's my turn. I chose to do this, and there isn't a damn thing you can do to stop me, so don't you even try." Then his voice softened, and his eyes flicked to Jaune's. "Please, let me do this."

Let him do this? Cardin was asking Jaune to let him die. To leave him at the mercy of a clinical psychopath. Why would Cardin do that? Why would he be so willing to throw his life away when he'd been so cynical of Jaune's selflessness earlier. Maybe it didn't have anything to do with Jaune. Maybe…

Maybe it was because this was something Cardin felt he needed to do for himself. To prove to himself that he could do it. That somewhere, buried deep within him, there was a good guy. Maybe, just maybe, Cardin wanted to see what it was like to be a hero.

Jaune didn't fully understand Cardin's motivation, but he'd made it clear he wanted Jaune's blessing, not his permission. And Jaune, despite how much it tore him apart to do so, gave it with a solemn nod.

"On my mark," Cardin hissed. He raised his mace and bellowed a war cry, barrelling towards Tyrian. The mad scorpion simply laughed in delight. Cardin thrust his mace forward, but that was only a feint. Just as Tyrian dodged to the side, Cardin charged him, plunging his shoulder into Tyrian's chest and taking him out in a tackle. The two men collided with the floor, both scrambling to bring their weapons up first. "Mark!" screamed Cardin.

"Go, go, go!" yelled Jaune, rushing past Tyrian and to the doors beyond.

"Where do you think you're going?" laughed Tyrian. He planted a foot in Cardin's face, using it as a push board to slip out from under him. He flipped to his feet and his tail arched back, stinger oozing venom. But just as he was about to launch it at Jaune, Cardin's massive fist came up and latched onto it. Tyrian hissed in fury, becoming a wild animal as he swiped at Cardin's face with his blades. Cardin grunted but refused to release Tyrian's tail, sacrificing his pain and pride to keep Tyrian pinned to him. He manhandled the scorpion Faunus out of Jaune's path, using his superior weight as a pivot. Jaune thudded past, his section hot on his heels. Cardin was buying them a window to escape. Jaune wouldn't waste it.

He flew past the two struggling combatants, head down and feet slapping against the smooth floor. He slammed into the doors just as Terry did, and together they heaved the massive slabs of wood apart. Naomi, Phil and Aiden rushed past them, Terry following them a moment later. Jaune took one more moment to throw a last, furtive glance back. Tyrian had freed his tail from Cardin's grasp, hissing and spitting as he attacked in a flurry of blows. Against such an opponent, Cardin wouldn't last long. Jaune had to make every second count.

He turned away at last and dove into the next room, slamming the doors shut with a resounding thud of wood on wood.

Inside, the silence was deafening. The doors muted the continuing battle outside, leaving the remaining humans to study their surroundings. They looked to be inside some sort of banquet hall, with a large table made of a dark, purply rock dominating the centre, surrounded by tall-backed ash chairs. The ceiling seemed to be held up by more of the purple dust crystals, giant, majestic pillars framing tinted-glass windows which stained the hellscape outside a vaguely rose colour. The ceiling itself boasted an intricate chandelier that looked to be part tree roots, part teardrop-shaped dust crystals. The room was dim, lit primarily by the soft glow of dozens of candles. In another scenario, it might have even looked romantic. But to Jaune, it just looked alien. Hostile.

"I was wondering when you would arrive," a voice said.

Jaune had his sword and shield up in an instant, scouring the room for the source of the voice. It didn't take long to find.

At the head of the table was a chair unlike the others, made of more of the purple crystals that seemed to be everywhere in this domain. No, it wasn't a chair, Jaune realised. It was a throne.

A throne of nightmares.

Because as the seat rotated around fully, it revealed the face that had haunted Jaune all the way across Remnant. The face of fear, of hopelessness, of a dead and desolate world. Salem's face.

Terry and Aiden gasped, and Jaune realised they'd never seen Salem before. Even he wanted to recoil at the sight of that hideously pale skin, those poisoned veins snaking across her cheeks, the pit-black eyes that seemed to swallow his soul. Even though the image of Salem had been burned into Jaune's mind ever since the dreaded day he'd intercepted her call on Watts' ship, seeing her for real, standing not ten meters away as those sick features twisted into a false approximation of a smile, Jaune wanted to turn and flee all the way back to Vale. Even if he won today, Jaune knew those burning black eyes would hunt him in his dreams until the day he died.

"Sergeant Arc," purred Salem, those unearthly eyes fixing him to the spot. "We meet at last. You have no idea how pleased I am to see you."

Tyrian put up a good fight, but alas, he was no match against his ultimate weakness: a hit to the face. If Qrow can do it, you bet Cardin can too. Rest in piece Tyrian's face.

I think fight scenes are my new favourite thing to write, but I'm always open to any critisim or pointers on how to do it better. If anyone's decent at writing fight scenes, I would love it if you could tell me how I'm doing, or what I could be doing to make them better. Even if you're not good at writing fights, just some general feedback on the feel of my fights (do they flow, are they exciting, is it easy to follow etc) would be much appreciated.

Anyway, I'll see all y'all in two weeks.