Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, Faunuses and humans, bipedals and quadrupedals alike and whatever else is inbetween, I present to you the penultimate chapter of Sergeant Arc. This last year's stress levels have been shot through the roof because of this fic, I'm pretty sure I have permanent high blood pressure now thanks to you all, and I've lost count of all the hours lost to the abyss for this story.
I wouldn't change a single minute of it for all the world.
Enjoy.
"There are so many stories where some brave hero decides to give their life to save the day, and because of their sacrifice the good guys win, the survivors all cheer, and everybody lives happily ever after. But the hero never gets to see that ending.
They'll never know if their sacrifice actually made a difference. They'll never know if the day was really saved. In the end they just have to have faith.
Ain't that a bitch?"
Church, RvB
Chapter Twenty-Eight—Showdown
Jaune Arc had seen horrors. He'd seen death and illness and rot. But never before, in all his life had he witnessed all three at once.
Until today.
He realised now that he'd been wrong about Salem: she wasn't a human-Grimm hybrid; she was a disease. A sickness, corrupting what was good and pure and twisting it into the abomination that stood before him, smiling.
Salem's eyes skipped over his section, black eyes scrutinising Naomi, Phil, Terry and Aiden up and down. "So these are the societal rejects you call your section. I must say, I was expecting a lot more from the group that managed to outwit Watts himself. Yet nonetheless, I am so glad you could make it. I have been looking forward to this day for a very long time."
"Mind games," murmured Naomi, just loudly enough for Salem to hear. "Attaching pleasurable sensations to uncomfortable situations to put people off guard. Assert that you're in control. It's psychopathy 101."
Salem cocked her head, studying Naomi. "Well aren't you a clever girl? Good. Clever people make the funniest faces when I kill them." Naomi pursed her lips and didn't reply. Salem turned her attention back to Jaune. "I have to ask, Mr Arc, what exactly is it that you hope to achieve? Assuming of course that you even beat me in the first place."
"We'll end the war," answered Jaune.
Salem knocked back her head and laughed mockingly. "Is that what you think this is? Kill me and the war ends, that easily? You are a fool, Jaune Arc. Even as we speak Vale is being overrun by my creatures, and Atlas is positioning its fleet to level the city. You have come here on a fool's errand."
"The men of Atlas would never destroy another Kingdom so wantonly," argued Aiden.
"The men of Atlas will do whatever their precious general tells them to, and that general will do whatever his queen orders. Your precious city will be nothing but rubble within the hour. It is almost a shame that you won't be able to see it."
"We can beat you," declared Terry. "It's five against one."
Salem smiled, and the glint in her eyes, like the gleam at the edge of a knife, terrified Jaune. "If you think that," she purred, and around her the shadows seemed to thicken, deepen, becoming more corporal, more alive. They twirled around her form, playing with the ends of her cape, reaching for the candles around the room as they snuffed them out one by one, "…then you are an even bigger fool than I thought."
Naomi screamed. Jaune whirled to her, but the sound had already cut off. A dark form had wrapped itself around Naomi's head, cutting off her face from view. It was somewhere between dark smoke and black slime, and as Jaune watched, it began to pulse hungrily. Naomi stood stock-still, her lower half unmoving as the parasite latched onto her face.
Phil yelped and rushed for Naomi, only for another creature to pounce onto his head too. Phil made to rip it away when he froze, paralysis jerking his body to a complete stop.
Jaune stared, shock making him slow to react. They weren't Grimm, though they were just as black. Rather, they looked like hands. Inhuman, giant hands tipped with claws, that latched onto his friends, and began to throb, as if absorbing something from their hosts.
Jaune whirled, only to see Aiden and Terry already succumbing to their own dark forms. It was only then that Jaune noticed each shadowy being wasn't independent, but merely the end of a tentacle-like structure, as if each creature made up a thread of webbing, stretching back to the hideous spider at its centre. Jaune traced these lines back to where he knew they'd emerge. Salem. Her face was alighted in sick joy, relishing his reaction, as if he were mere entertainment for her. She took one final moment to savour the scene, before she smiled at Jaune. "Sweet dreams, Jaune Arc."
Jaune threw up his shield, but the parasite was faster, clasping over his lower face before his arm had even begun its motion. He tried to scream, but the sound was absorbed into the black mess engulfing his jaw. He fought to breath as the mucus-like sludge slowly trailed up his face, absorbing him into its folds. The last thing he saw was a triumphant Salem before darkness stole his sight.
Jaune Arc opened his eyes.
The first thing he saw was a blinding ray of daylight striking his retina. He shuttered one eye and moaned softly, squinting with the other to make out his surroundings. He was in his dormitory at Beacon. It was daytime, warm light streaming through the open windows, allowing a refreshing breeze to permeate the room. For some reason, the room was sideways. Jaune felt the ground underneath his cheek, but it wasn't hard. It was soft, warm, delightfully enveloping. He was on his bed.
Jaune's vision widened, taking in the other inhabitants of the room. Nora was jumping on her bed, making 'sloth' noises as she did so. Ren was standing not far from her, trying to suppress a smile. Pyrrha was sitting on her bed, cleaning Miló and Akoúo̱, laughter dancing in her eyes as she observed Nora's antics.
Jaune remembered this moment. Their team had just returned from training, and Jaune, utterly exhausted, had promptly collapsed onto his bed and blearily watched the others though a half-closed eye. It had been such a mundane moment, so like countless others, but it had been one where he'd been truly happy.
In the memory, as had happened in real life, Nora fell off her bed, the look of shock on her face absolutely priceless. Pyrrha giggled into a gloved hand. Ren sighed and went to help Nora up, but he smiled the whole time. Jaune laughed along with them, his voice muffled by the pillow that swallowed his face.
Jaune couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something, but he soon shoved those feelings aside. What was there to remember? He was with his team, his friends. He was happy. What could be wrong with that?
Pyrrha turned to him, that beautiful smile still on her face, and went to say something, probably asking if he was alright. Pyrrha was caring like that. Always putting others before herself. She was the best teammate anyone could ever have, and every day Jaune was reminded how lucky he was to have her as his partner. Pyrrha opened her mouth to say something—
—and vomited darkness.
Jaune cried out, trying to launch himself over the Pyrrha, but he found his arms and legs tied down to his bed. He twisted and pulled against the restraints, but they barely budged an inch.
He looked back. Pyrrha continued to puke the putrid black… whatever it was. Something between slime and mist, falling gloopily to the ground, then coiling around the floor and dispersing across the room, burning Jaune's throat as he inhaled and making his eyes bleed tears. As he watched, it began to change Pyrrha. Her flaming red hair became brittle and coarse, falling off her head in giant clumps. Her eyes became sunken and baggy. Her skin hung haggard off her bones, pale and wrinkly. In mere seconds, Pyrrha had aged into a centuries-old hag.
Jaune looked around the room desperately, and to his horror, he saw Ren and Nora befalling the same fate. Nora's body was convulsing violently, heaving against the vile mucus that flowed out her mouth, suffocating her, killing her. Ren was just standing there, clawing at his throat, his eyes locked on Jaune's, asking, pleading, begging Jaune to save him.
Jaune struggled with renewed desperation, but the hateful bonds seemed to feed off his anguish, scorching his skin as he fought to free himself. Within seconds, the pain in Jaune's wrists had become agony, but still he struggled. Still he was unable to save his friends.
And then Pyrrha spoke. "J… Jaune…"
Jaune froze. "Jaune…" Pyrrha croaked again.
Her voice, once so beautiful, was twisted and tortured, forcing its way around the thick gunk that clogged her throat. But she'd stopped struggling by then. "Why did you leave us, Jaune?"
"I didn't mean to hurt you," Jaune sobbed. "Oh god, Pyr—"
"You abandoned us," the husk of Pyrrha hissed, her eyes flaring even as the rest of her body decayed at a horrifying rate.
"No! I didn't abandon yo—"
"You left us to die. I hate you Jaune Arc. I will always hate you," rasped the shadow that had been Pyrrha. Jaune shuddered as his best friend rotted before his very eyes, every word a sledgehammer to his chest. She hated him. She hated him. Hated him, hated him, hated him.
The burning of his wrists had become secondary to the pain in his torso, the raging beast shredding his insides as he struggled and wept and gave in to the darkness all around. He'd left them. He'd left her. They would never forgive him for this. She would never forgive him for this.
Jaune's vision dulled, the scene losing clarity. He seemed to be losing consciousness, slipping into the dark abyss opening up inside of him. He couldn't fight it, not when Pyrrha looked at him that way. His mind flung back, whizzing through snippets of memories. The first time he'd met Pyrrha whilst flirting at Weiss. When she'd found him in that tree in initiation and they'd become partners. When he'd last spoken to her, on that phone call. Had she hated him all that time? Hated him all along?
His mind seemed to be fading. Like water dripping through his hands, he struggled to hold onto the memory of the last conversation he'd had with her, but still he funnelled through it, searching for a hint of the hatred she must have felt for him. She'd called him a bumbling buffoon. Had that been a spiteful name? He remembered that moment well, even as the rest of the conversation seemed to fade into dust in his mind. He remembered it because that had been the moment… that had been the moment…
The moment she'd forgiven him.
It hurt. It hurt worse than any instrument of torture could, but Jaune battle through the haze in his mind and forced himself to look at Pyrrha. Really look at her. Not at her violated body, but her eyes. Those piercing eyes. Those eyes that should have been the emerald green of spring grass, of youth and joy and hope. Instead they were an envy green, blazing with hatred. True, unadulterated, loathing.
Those eyes weren't Pyrrha's. That thing wasn't Pyrrha.
Because Pyrrha had forgiven him.
The realisation coursed through him, burning away the fog that clouded his mind. He remembered everything: the war, Salem, the black blob on his face. This was all a trick, an illusion of Salem's. His friends weren't dying. And his friends didn't hate him.
"You're… not… real," he ground out, staring into those baleful eyes. Those wrong eyes. "You're. Not. Her."
The thing imitating Pyrrha screamed, the black gunk expelling from her body at an exponential rate, but still Jaune forced himself to look, forced himself to watch, to prove to himself that this was nothing but an apparition, a twisted approximation of real life.
He felt his arms pinned to the bed—no, to his sides. Frozen there by the paralysis of the parasite on him. He knew, somehow, that breaking that paralysis was the key to escaping this nightmare.
Jaune collected every ounce of willpower he possessed, pulling it into himself, storing it, feeding it, letting it build and build. Then, with a scream of fury that echoed from the deepest recess of his soul, he ripped his arms upwards, shredding the restraints holding them down. His hands flew to his face, feeling something squishy and sludge-like. His hands tightened around the creature he couldn't see but knew was there and pulled.
The next moment he sucked in a gasp of air: real, tangible air. He was back in Salem's castle, the black mess writhing in his hands. He hurled it to the ground and crushed the loathsome creature beneath his boot. It died with a wet squelch.
Jaune fell to his knees, feeling his stomach churn inside him. What he'd seen, what he'd been forced to endure… he was going to be sick. Going to puke all over the floor right there and then.
A flash of blue appeared in his peripherals. He rotated his head, eyes falling upon Naomi's worried face next to his. He just about managed to swallow back his sick to beg, "What the hell was that?"
"I don't know exactly," answered Naomi. "One of Salem's tricks undoubtedly. It tapped into our minds, using whatever we feared most to keep us imprisoned."
Jaune looked at her, confused. "Then how did you get out?"
Naomi didn't meet his eye. "My worst fear already came true," she said quietly. "She can't hurt me anymore."
Jaune shut his mouth, not knowing what to say. In the end, he didn't have to say anything, for at that moment a cruel laugh echoed throughout the chamber. Jaune and Naomi's heads snapped to Salem, Jaune's hands tightening on his sword. "Well done," she mock congratulated. "It seems you have stronger wills than most. Shame the same cannot be said of your friends." Salem indicated with a bone-white finger to Aiden, Phil and Terry, all three of which still had the face-suckers stuck to their heads.
Jaune gritted his teeth. Salem was playing with them. That was the only explanation for why she hadn't killed them all when they'd been vulnerable. She wanted to extend this fight, make Jaune and the others bleed before she went for the kill. Maybe he could use that against her.
"Get the others free," whispered Jaune to Naomi, turning his shield back into a sheath and holding his sword in a two-hand grip. "I'll distract Salem." Before Naomi had a chance to contradict him, Jaune attacked. Despite knowing nothing about Salem before a few days ago, Jaune was beginning to understand her somewhat—in a way, she wasn't so unlike the bullies Jaune had been forced to put up with all his life. For one, she had a massive power-complex: she didn't just need to be in charge, she needed to prove it, assert her dominance over others. She was also vindictive. She didn't just want Jaune to die; she wanted him to suffer. She'd promised to kill everyone he loved just because he'd tried to trick her over the radio. Not only that, but she'd let him and his section directly into the heart of her domain, just so she could kill them herself. She was willing to risk everything just to get revenge. Maybe that was because she was arrogant, maybe because she knew Jaune and the others were no real threat to her. But one way or another, Jaune was banking on the fact that Salem didn't want to bless him with a quick death as he threw himself at her. She wouldn't want to kill him yet.
He hoped.
Jaune rushed her, aiming to close the distance between them enough to get a few hits in. Salem's smile only widened. A shadow detached itself from the floor, becoming fully corporal as it swung towards him. Jaune's eyes widened and he slid to the ground, narrowly dodging the attack. He swung upwards, slicing deep into the thick appendage. Salem didn't so much as grunt. So damaging the shadows didn't hurt her. Fantastic.
Jaune leapt back to his feet and jumped at Salem, swinging his sword in a two-handed overhead strike. Mistake. A shadow, this one shaped like a freaking battering-ram, shot towards him. With no way to correct his airborne motion, Jaune took the tree trunk straight to his chest. Pain exploded across his front as his aura flared. He flew backwards, barely keeping his grip on his sword. He landed and rolled, just like Phil had taught him to do when he fell. It was supposed to make the landing softer and make it harder for his opponent to follow up with their attack.
It didn't work.
Before he could even get back to his feet, two more tendrils of darkness snaked away from Salem and grabbed his torso, pinning both his arms to his sides. Jaune struggled against his imprisonment as he was lifted into the air, but it was no use. He sword arm was being crushed against his hip, Salem leaving him no room to angle it to cut himself free. His left arm was similarly pinned down, though he could wriggle it ever so slightly.
Salem brought him up to her face, smiling cruelly. "When will you learn, Arc?" she tutted, as if she were a disapproving grandmother chastising a child. "After our little conversation, I decided to partake in a bit of research. You must understand, I have eyes and ears everywhere. Your transcripts into Beacon are spotless. In fact, a little too spotless. No doubt that was why Ozpin saw fit to terminate your stay at Beacon. How heart-breaking it must have been to know you'd failed your only dream." Jaune stiffened. She knew about Beacon. How much else did she know about him?
Down at his side, Jaune's left arm began to move.
"Then, instead of seeing when you were beaten," Salem continued, "you decided to enlist with the Valesian military. A fool's hope to keep your dream alive. Yet nonetheless, you managed to make a mess of that as well. Tell me, how big was your section to start with? How small is it now?" That shark's smile. She knew. Damn her, she knew. Jaune's left hand continued to squirm, wriggling closer to its destination. Salem pulled him closer, eyes like a panther sizing up its prey before a meal. "When will you learn, that it is your destiny to fail?"
"Screw destiny," growled Jaune, hitting the button on his sheath. His shield extended in a heartbeat, forcing Salem's tendrils aside just enough for him to slip out. He squirmed free, landing on the ground and swinging his weapon, aiming for Salem's thigh.
She moved, faster than Jaune had thought was possible, an arm of darkness whipping around to parry his blade. The sword cut deep into the cylindrical mass of black, getting stuck about half way through. Yet just before the collision, for the briefest of moments, Jaune had felt an instant of resistance.
Jaune stared at the tip of his blade. So did Salem. Right at the end of Crocea Mors, so small it might have been mistaken for a spot of grease, was a smudge of something black. Although it was the wrong colour, it looked suspiciously like blood.
Jaune's eyes drifted up, seeing the tear on Salem's dress. His eyes pried further, spotting through the torn fabric the tiniest drip of black blood trailing down Salem's leg, stark against the white canvas it painted. His blade had nicked her on its way across. He'd cut her.
He'd made her bleed.
Jaune yanked up his shield as three shadows grew spikes and speared for his heart. Jaune shuddered under the blow, the attack almost enough to crush him into the floor. He yanked his sword free and swung at Salem a second time, but she was done playing games. A wall of darkness smashed into his shield, knocking him off his feet. He slammed onto his back, eyes wide as two more shadow spears drove downwards towards him. He rolled, dodging one, but the other collided with his back, knocking the air out of him.
He might have died right there and then, at the mercy of Salem, had it not been for a gunshot echoing across the chamber. Salem stumbled backwards, barely having brought a shadow in front to block the bullet. More shots rang out, peppering Salem's shadows with sparks of light. Naomi had freed the others! Salem hissed, then wrapped herself within a cocoon of darkness, blocking out the world.
Jaune took the moment's respite for what it was. He rolled away from Salem, coming to his feet along one side of the table. His friends stood on the other side, laying down covering fire on Salem. Jaune vaulted the table to join them.
"Those appendages can be cut," Jaune explained. "But bullets seem to be absorbed by them. We need to change strategy."
"We could try distracting her," suggested Terry, eyes still glued on Salem's position. "Maybe some of us could lay down cover fire whilst the others attack her?"
Jaune nodded. It was as sound a plan as any. "Aiden, Phil, you keep her occupied. Naomi and Terry, you've got your blades?" In answer, Naomi extended her wrist blade, the teardrop-shaped weapon they'd taken from the stores at the Valesian base before leaving. Terry gulped but did the same. "Then you're with me on attack."
"I still possess this," Naomi offered, holding up the belt of grenades Bounty had given her.
Jaune thought about it. "Maybe we can—"
"I grow tired of playing games," Salem's voice boomed through the room, somehow amplified by the wall of darkness between them. The cocoon began to spin, rotating faster and faster, shadows hunting the ones in front as they became a whirling tornado.
Suddenly, the shadows exploded outwards, soaring through the room. They latched onto the rifles, tearing them straight out of the humans' hands, then snapped them in mid-air as if they were toothpicks. They came for Phil's weapon too, but he was too quick. With reflexes refined by years at Beacon, Phil spun away and launched his adapted weapon into the air. Aeron Wasp's motor immediately whirred to life, mechanisms and rotors that Jaune couldn't even begin to understand keeping the crank gun airborne. It whizzed through the room, chased by Salem's tendrils, weaving in and out of reaching appendages as Phil mentally guided it through the maze of shadows.
Jaune spun to face Salem, now emerged from her cocoon like some sort of hellish insect. Gone was the anger she'd temporarily shown Jaune at having cut her. In its place was cool distain, even boredom. Yet Jaune didn't miss the way her eyes flickered as Aeron Wasp continued to snake by her grasp time and time again. She held up her hands and more shadows leapt into the air, joining the hunt. She was distracted.
This was as good a chance as they were going to get.
"New plan," Jaune said. "Phil, keep her busy. The rest of you, with me!"
He raced at the occupied Salem, praying Phil could keep her distracted just a few moments longer. Salem glanced out the corner of her eye and spotted him, lazily waving a hand his way. A tidal wave of black slammed into him, throwing him sideways. He slammed into a dust pillar on the opposite wall and collapsed, his back screaming in agony. Turned out this dust was just as painful when you hit it as any other type.
He raised his head to see Naomi, Aiden and Terry continuing their attack, charging their enemy fearlessly. For a moment, they were the bravest thing Jaune had ever seen, facing down the devil herself, unbowing, unbreakable. They moved as a team, hacking and slashing at the tentacles snaking towards them, covering each other instinctively, stepping in and out as one being, one heartbeat.
It still wasn't enough.
They were soldiers, not Huntsmen. None of them had ever fought with a blade before, and that showed. They broadcasted their moves openly, they wasted energy in attacks, they left themselves open to counters with each step forward they took. And Salem was patient, studying their moves, learning their rhythms, luring them closer and closer until they stood ensnared within her nest of gnashing shadows.
Then she struck.
Terry went down first, a shadow snatching his ankle and dragging it out from under him. Two more struck like adders, only to be cut down by Aiden, who moved to protect Terry's form. Salem was expecting that. A lasso of darkness coiled around her wrist for a second, before snapping towards Aiden. Naomi shouted out a warning, too late. Aiden took the blow full on the chest, following Terry as the second casualty to end up limp on the floor.
Only Naomi remained, snarling at Salem as she ducked under one shadow and leapt another. A third shot straight for her heart, but she cut it down with barely a flick of her wrist. Naomi advanced rapidly, zigzagging closer to the witch, drawing her attention away from the downed Terry and Aiden, the former of whom was dragging himself painfully back to his feet.
For the briefest of moments, Naomi's ire matched even Salem's. She moved as a woman on her mission, eyes burning bright with determination, pushing inexorably towards the watching Salem, who hadn't even retreated an inch in all the fighting.
A burst of automatic fire from Aeron Wasp forced Salem to raise a wall of darkness, temporarily blinding her. Naomi took her chance. She bulldozed forward, slipping past shadows that reached blindly for her. Salem's black screen parted, only for Naomi to burst through it, weapon gleaming. Salem threw out a dagger of darkness. Naomi leapt onto it, using it as a springboard to leap at Salem's still form. She threw her arm out, blade shrinking through the air towards Salem's empty heart. Salem merely stepped back and held out her hand.
Naomi gasped, then immediately choked on that gasp as Salem's fingers latched onto her throat, her lunge having taken her straight into Salem's grip. Her body jerked to a stop, her momentum crushing her windpipe against Salem's grasping hand as her eyes bulged and her fingers scrambled at Salem's wrist.
"No!" screamed Jaune, lurching to his feet, only to be slammed into the floor again as a tendril of darkness held him down. He strained against it, struggling to push himself up, but he might as well have been pushing against a building.
Terry lunged for Naomi, blade reaching to cut her free. Salem cracked a whip over his head, barely gracing him with even a glance. Terry went down. Hard. Blood seeped onto the ground from where he lay. He didn't get up.
Naomi's blade flashed in the half light, winding back to cut into Salem's hand, when a black vine snapped onto her wrist and held it back. Naomi strained, her blade arm shaking violently but gaining no ground on Salem.
"Naomi!" shrieked Phil. Aeron Wasp spun in the air, locking onto Salem as it spat a dozen electric rounds at her. Salem didn't even flinch, shadows moving to cover her and Naomi like black wings. Even hidden from view, Salem knew where Phil was, his shout having given him away. A shadow lanced for him, forcing him to dive under it and abort his attack.
The black wings folded back, once more revealing Salem and Naomi. Except now Salem had a black tendril, tipped with a vicious blade, pointed directly at Naomi's chest. Everyone froze. The sounds of battle died immediately.
Salem's eyes locked onto Jaune's. She wanted them to see this. She wanted him to see this. "You don't even have your aura unlocked," she noted dismissively as Naomi struggled, "yet you still fought me. Perhaps you're not as clever as I'd assumed." On the floor besides them, Terry stirred.
"My brother… died… because… of… you," Naomi hissed, her free hand prying at the fingers around her throat. Terry moved again, slowly regaining consciousness.
"I have killed many brothers," Salem informed her calmly. "And fathers, and mothers, and sisters." She looked at her trapped prey in her grasp. "What's one more?" Terry peered up blearily.
Just in time to see Naomi impaled by Salem.
Jaune Arc watched in slow motion as the shadow moved, reaching for Naomi's chest. It touched her torso, pausing for a nanosecond, though that felt like a million years to Jaune. Then it passed through her.
Or rather, into her.
Sound failed Jaune then. He was watching a silent movie, the thumping of blood in his ears drowning out every other noise, an endless tempo beating out the pace of the scene. Naomi's eyes went wide, as if in shock. Her mouth formed a perfect O. She looked down, seeing the way the tendril had burrowed into her chest. Then Salem dropped her.
Somehow, Jaune heard the thud as Naomi's body hit the ground. It was the loudest, most deafening, most world-wrenching sound he'd ever heard. That thud seemed to finally hit the play button on the universe, and all at once, sound flooded his ears, roaring down his ear canals and slamming into his brain. He might have been screaming. He didn't know. That sound was drowned out by Phil, screeching Naomi's name.
He snatched Aeron Wasp out of the air and launched himself at Salem, heedless to the danger. Jaune lost focus on him as Terry, ignoring the blood trickling from his temple, dragged himself to Naomi's motionless body and began pulling her away from Salem. She wasn't moving. Oh god she wasn't moving.
Aiden appeared in his view, cutting away the tentacle that crushed him into the ground. The part that Aiden had severed wriggled and writhed for a moment longer, before collapsing in a heap and decaying much like the Grimm did.
Jaune didn't even have time for thanks. He crawled towards Naomi's form, the stretch of floor between them stretching out into a million miles. Terry had dragged her under the table for cover and was desperately trying to apply pressure to her wound. That meant Naomi was still alive.
Jaune dragged himself the last few feet to Naomi's side. When he got there he almost couldn't bear to look. There was so much blood. Even despite Terry's efforts, it oozed out the wound in her chest, dyeing her combats crimson. Jaune desperately added his hands to Terry's, but it was no good. She was losing too much blood.
"The right side," Terry whimpered, eyes glistening with tears. "Salem went for the right side."
Jaune understood. Salem could have stabbed Naomi through her heart and killed her in an instant, but she'd intentionally allowed her to live for a few more precious seconds. Not out of compassion though.
Because she wanted to see him hurt.
Naomi looked up at him, large, brown eyes struggling to focus. Jaune was hit with a wave of Déjà vu, so strong it threatened to topple him over. Suddenly those eyes became Buzz's, staring into the sky as his life bled from him. Suddenly the wound became the bullet hole in Cole's chest, spurting blood at a rate that Jaune just couldn't stop.
Naomi coughed, blood spilling from the corner of her lips. Jaune panicked. He couldn't save her. Oh god he couldn't save her. It was happening again and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. He was about to lose another friend.
Aiden knelt beside him and held Naomi's hand in his own, but Jaune barely noticed. He furiously pressed his hands against Naomi's chest, as if that alone would staunch the torrent of blood. Tears burned his eyes, but he refused to remove his hands to wipe them away.
Naomi looked up at him. Her lips started moving, trying to form words. Jaune leaned in close, putting his ear to her mouth. "Tell… Cat… I'm sorry…" she whispered.
"Tell her yourself," Jaune wept. "You're going to be fine, just hold on."
Naomi smiled softly. They both knew it wasn't true. "I… I wi… wish…"
No. No. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. First Ash, then Cole, then Buzz, then Bounty and Finn, maybe even Cat. And now Naomi. Jaune had had to watch as he'd lost friend after friend after friend. Well no more. No. More.
Jaune pushed his hands against her wound—pushed himself against her wound. Deep inside of him, something stirred. Jaune latched onto it, refusing to let it escape him. He flooded that thing with everything he was, his fears, his frustrations, his sorrow and his hope, everything that made him Jaune Arc. It moved again, twisting deep within him. Slowly, it began to slither through him.
Jaune had no idea what he was doing, but it felt right, so he kept doing it. He grasped onto the being, dragging it up into his arms. It was slow, sluggish, fat with disuse, but Jaune forced it onwards. His hands began to tingle, like pins and needles.
Naomi closed her eyes, heavy eyelids slamming shut on the brown light within.
And Jaune pushed the presence into Naomi.
Naomi gasped, her eyelids fluttering open. Her chest was glowing, as were Jaune's arms. Aiden and Terry took an awed step back. "What is that?" Terry awed.
"I… I don't know," Jaune stammered.
"It is your semblance," Aiden realised. "You can heal people."
Jaune looked down at his hands, then at Naomi's wound. It was impossible to tell for sure in this light, but it seemed to be stitching itself back together, slowly closing up the torn flesh. The rush of blood had slowed to a trickle, almost coming to a complete stop. Deep within him, Jaune felt that being again, except it didn't feel like a solid object anymore. It felt like a river, flowing from his core through his hands and into Naomi's wound. A river that he could shape and direct. Except it didn't feel like a river of healing. More like…
"It's aura," Jaune breathed. He looked at the others. "I'm giving her my aura to heal her. That's what's happening."
"Can you turn hers on?" Terry asked excitedly. "Can you turn all ours on?"
Jaune tried. He focused his aura into Naomi's wound and beyond, searching for a second presence. He thought he felt something, like a well tunnelling down, down, down, quivering with some unseen energy. He reached for it but hit a wall. He tried again: nothing. He could sense it, but it was like pushing against a glass window. Naomi's aura was locked away, buried within the folds of her soul, and although Jaune could feel a part of it permeating outwards, he couldn't get to its source to open it up.
He shook his head. "I can't activate her aura."
"I would suggest focusing on healing her then," Aiden said.
"Go help Phil," Jaune ordered, "but don't get too close to Salem. I'll be fine here." Aiden and Terry nodded, extending their wrist blades and scrambling out from under the table. Jaune turned back to Naomi, only to see her eyes open, watching him.
"You saved me," she breathed.
"We're not out of the woods yet," Jaune replied, though he couldn't stop a smile from blossoming on his face. Naomi returned it. She was alive. That thought alone was enough to make Jaune sob with relief.
Jaune glanced over his shoulder, looking at the battle raging on without him. Phil was an absolute whirlwind; dodging and diving between shadows, using his weapon like a club to smash those he couldn't avoid out the way, spraying Salem with calculated bursts to force her to cover up and lose sight of him. Jaune almost couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away. It was easy to forget that Phil had been a Huntsman, at least temporarily, but the way he moved now was nothing short of incredible. Aiden and Terry helped as best they could, tearing through the smaller shadows that came too close but keeping their distance as per Jaune's orders.
"It's not enough," Naomi said. Jaune looked down at her. "None of this is working. Salem's too smart to be distracted and too quick to be killed. The only reason we're still alive is because she's toying with us."
"I know," Jaune whispered.
"Then what do we do, Sarge?"
Jaune scanned the room and the ongoing battle. He watched the blood from Terry's wound trickle down his head, gruesomely contrasting his pale complexion and dyeing his cheek a dark, dirty red; he watched as Aiden stumbled to the side of an attack, leaning on one leg more than the other, his tail limp, as if he didn't have the energy to support it anymore; watched as Phil ground his teeth together, chest heaving, sweat staining his skin in a thin sheen, gluing his combats to his figure as he went for yet another assault, this one slower than the last, more sluggish. They were about to reach the end of their abilities, about to hit that impassable wall of exhaustion that would leave them as little more than armed drunkards, lurching from side to side in a vain—and ultimately doomed—effort to evade death.
"We could run," Jaune murmured. Naomi glanced at him sharply. "You almost died, Naomi," Jaune explained quietly. "This isn't a game. If we keep going, Salem's going to pick us off one by one. At least if we run there's a chance of some of us making it."
Jaune stared downwards, unable to meet Naomi's eye. It felt like a betrayal, even to him. They'd already lost so much just to get here; to leave now would be to make Bounty's sacrifice in vain. But could he risk losing anyone else?
Naomi reached upwards and took Jaune's head in her hands, forcing him to look at her directly. "I knew there was a high probability of death when I came with you. I believed I was going to die just now. And I was willing to accept it. I still am. I am willing because I know this is our only chance of saving people. Salem will never stop being a threat so long as she lives; you know that as well as I do. If we leave now, she moves, and we lose our one opportunity. Then how many more Buzz's will die because we ran away?" Jaune shook his head. He didn't know. "I'm willing to give my life to do this. So is everyone else. We were willing to do that the moment we boarded the airship, and that hasn't changed. You make us willing. Now you must be willing to let us do that. So I ask you again: what do we do, Sarge?"
Jaune turned his head, and if anyone had asked, he would have said it was to observe the room and not because his eyes had suddenly started stinging. When his voice felt strong enough again, he said, "Have you noticed that Salem doesn't move much. Her shadows are darn quick, but she rarely moves her actual body to dodge."
"Perhaps she's not so mobile," Naomi agreed. "Can we use that?"
"Perhaps… though it's not much use if we can't even get close enough to her to attack."
"Maybe we don't need to," hummed Naomi. Now it was her turn to strain her neck and look around the room. Her eyes narrowed. "The wall area is primarily glass. The panes aren't thick. That means the pillars are load bearing. If we could weaken them, we could bring down the roof." Jaune followed her gaze to the sentinel-like pillars dominating the room. The ones made of the unidentified dust type.
Dust.
His eyes widened. Naomi held up her belt of grenades. "Naomi, I could kiss you," Jaune enthused.
"Later. For now, let's focus on killing Salem. I think I can walk." Jaune gingerly backed up as Naomi eased herself into a sitting position. She seemed to glow for a moment longer, a golden halo illuminating her for a brief moment, before it faded. "I think you gave me too much aura," Naomi noted.
"Don't worry," Jaune grinned. "I have a lot." Though having said that, he did need to be careful. Just healing Naomi had drained him by about half. He wouldn't be able to do that again if it came to it.
Naomi edged her way to the side of the table and glanced out. "Plan?" she asked.
Jaune joined her. "Get the grenades to the pillars," he ordered. "Don't pull the pins yet."
"She's going to spot us if we're running around from pillar to pillar," Naomi pointed out.
Jaune considered it. "Salem wants me to suffer. Everything she's done has been to get to me. We can pass the grenades to the others, then you make sure they're planted." He took a deep breath. "I'll keep Salem occupied."
"I'll get to Terry and Aiden."
"I'll get to Phil."
Jaune stuffed three grenades from Naomi's belt into his pockets, then crouched in waiting until Salem's shadows next coiled around her, blocking her sight. Jaune pounced from under the table and rushed towards where Aiden, Terry and Phil were still battling Salem. As he went, he took out one grenade and rolled it towards a pillar. Most dust was explosive, but with a few notable exceptions, it wasn't necessarily volatile. It needed a large activation energy initially to set it off, otherwise simply carrying around dust would be like dousing yourself in gasoline. The kind of activation energy that would hopefully be produced in an explosion.
"Aiden, Terry, fall back!" he yelled, diving into the fray. His senses immediately narrowed, focused solely on staying ahead of the mass of swirling shadows knifing for him. He didn't even have time to see if Aiden and Terry had been able to disengage as he'd ordered.
Instead he leapt to Phil's side. Crocea Mors was a blur of silver as it sliced through a tendril trying to snake behind Phil. The red-armoured man spared Jaune a glance, before turning back to Salem. The two men fought back to back, bashing and slashing away the tentacles that got too close. Jaune twisted slightly, so that he could speak over his shoulder to Phil.
"Grenade in my right pocket. Take it—" Jaune threw up his shield as a shadow lanced for his face. It clanged against the metal, ringing out across the chamber, "—and put it on a pillar."
"You want me—" Phil paused as he grabbed a shadow, then threw it to the ground and unloaded half a dozen dust rounds into it, "—to what now?"
"Trust me. I've got a plan."
Phil glanced over his shoulder at Jaune, then shrugged. "You're the boss." Jaune felt his pocket lighten at the same time Phil threw his weapon into the air like a paper airplane, its motors whizzing into life. It swept through the air as Phil made a break for it, spitting dust at Salem to keep her distracted. Despite this, three tendrils still swept after his fleeing figure.
Jaune raised his shield and charged into them. Like a bulldozer, he slammed into the shadows, shoving them out the way. The plan worked, at least in so far as it stopped Salem from getting Phil. Unfortunately, it also left Jaune in a heap on the floor once the shadows dissolved into nothingness.
Jaune cursed as new ones latched onto his ankles. He cut himself free, only for more to reach up his legs and grasp onto him. Jaune was lifted into the air upside-down, more shadows latching onto his arms and preventing him from cutting himself free.
Jaune growled as he was brought face to face with Salem once again. Somehow, she still managed to look calm and collected, retaining an air of elevated indifference even now. Not a bead of sweat stained her brow and not a hair was out of place. You'd have sworn she'd merely sat down for tea and not fought off two soldiers and a trained Huntsman simultaneously.
She brought him close; close enough to smell the sickly-sweet scent of her, like rotting fruit. It twirled and entwined with the stench of brimstone and ash, plunging into his lungs with each gulp of air he inhaled. He was close enough to make out the darkness of her eyes: endless, consuming darkness, the kind that children hid from in the night, the kind humankind had made lights to temporarily keep at bay. The kind that would return one day to extinguish man.
"I grow tired of you, Arc," Salem dismissed. "You are proving bothersome."
Bothersome. Because that was all he was to her. A bother. Not an opponent, and certainly not a threat. He was little more than a troublesome gnat in her eyes, buzzing incessantly in her ear. She would crush him at some point, maybe now. Indeed, the shadows seemed to be tightening around his limbs, increasing their pressure until he felt pins and needles in his extremities. To Salem, he wasn't even worthy of being killed in a fair fight. Jaune could have thrown every skill in the book at her and that still wouldn't have been enough. He couldn't win that way. Not by following the book. Not by playing fair.
Gentlemen's rules…
Jaune jerked forward and clamped his teeth down. Salem cried out in pain as Jaune bit down on her nose. It tasted disgusting, like spoilt meat, but Jaune didn't dare let go for even a second.
Salem flung her head backwards, cursing and spitting, but Jaune stubbornly held on. More shadows latched onto him, prying him off. A wet ripping sound tore through the air. Salem screamed and hurled him away.
Jaune landed hard, the impact slamming his head against the floor. He lay still for a second. His mouth tasted vile. He turned to the side and spat, expelling a white lump. He stared at it. It was part of Salem's nose.
He turned back to Salem. Black blood spurted out the hole where her nose should have been, but she didn't move to cover it up. She barely seemed to notice. Instead her eyes—those empty, endless eyes that seemed to gobble up the light—blazed with hatred. Gone was the cool disdain. Gone the assured superiority. This was the true face of the monster.
And it was focused solely on Jaune.
And just when things couldn't possibly get any worse, the double doors to the chamber were thrown open, revealing Tyrian holding an unconscious Cardin by the hair. "Well, that was fun," he giggled, holding his stinger to Cardin's throat. "Who's next?"
Time was up. They couldn't beat both of them. Either Jaune's plan would work, or they'd all die.
"Get out the windows!" he screamed, holding up his shield to block Salem's view as he pulled out the last grenade from his pocket. He'd never gotten confirmation from Naomi that everyone had laid all the grenades, and there was no time to check. All he could do was hope.
At the end of the day, wasn't that all any of them could do?
His friends started running. Phil blasted at the windows, knocking out an exit for the others. Jaune pulled the pin out and tossed the grenade towards one of the pillars.
Five seconds. That was how long Sergeant Cole had told him it would take for the fuse in a grenade to reach its end. Five seconds before the grenade exploded. Five seconds to get out of there, or die.
Fortunately, Salem didn't notice the grenade. Unfortunately, Tyrian did. "Mistress!" he screamed, pouncing forward.
Four seconds.
Jaune darted past Tyrian. The Faunus didn't even seem to notice him. His gaze was focused fully on the live grenade rolling towards one of the pillars.
Three seconds.
Jaune skidded to Cardin's side, grabbing the boy by his shoulders and hauling him along. He spotted the rest of his section leap out the broken windows into safety, but there was no way Jaune would make it in time. Cardin was just too heavy.
Two seconds.
Jaune changed tack. He dragged Cardin's form out the door to the entry hallway, away from Salem's chamber, heaving him against a corner.
One second.
Jaune threw himself onto Cardin. He glanced back into the chamber. Salem had enveloped herself in a ring of writhing shadows. Tyrian picked up the grenade, his eyes going wide as he beheld it.
Zero.
The grenade exploded.
This wasn't a fragmentation grenade—on those, the explosion tended to be relatively minor. No, this was a dust grenade: it was stuffed full of highly volatile fire dust, of which even the very smallest of sparks could ignite. And when these exploded, they exploded.
A fireball blossomed around Tyrian's hands. Jaune watched with startling definition as it expanded, gobbling up the surrounding space in a matter of microseconds. Tyrian didn't even had time to open his mouth before he was enveloped by a birthing star. The supernova continued to grow, so bright it scorched Jaune's retinas to look at it. It reached outwards, sucking down anything it met.
Then the fireball touched the dust pillar.
Jaune didn't even bother looking this time. He simply threw himself over Cardin as the world exploded.
Heat erupted over his back. The ground shook. The shockwave slammed into him, almost throwing him off Cardin, but he clung to the boy underneath. More explosions rattled Jaune's teeth. The other grenades going off. For a moment it seemed the world was nothing but explosions and shockwaves, tremors and fire. Jaune clutched desperately to Cardin, futilely trying to shield the unconscious boy with his body. Masonry began to crack and fall, adding to the cacophony barraging Jaune. He pulled himself inwards, trying to make himself smaller as the very room fragmented around him. Giant rocks began to crash into the floor, mere centimetres from his body. Jaune felt cracks spiderwebbing underneath him, as if the floor was tearing itself apart. The air tasted of dust and fire, clogging Jaune's throat as he dragged in tortured breaths.
Without even realising it, Jaune's hands began to glow. He felt his aura searching for Cardin's, trying to get a gauge on how much of it remained. Cardin had been knocked out by Tyrian; his aura had never been broken. He still had about a quarter left, but Cardin wouldn't be able to use any of it to protect himself whilst unconscious. Jaune pushed his own aura into Cardin, gritting his teeth as the world fractured around him. Splinters of rock shot out and bit into Jaune's calves. He hissed but continued to force his own life-saving shield into Cardin.
A tortured groan sounded behind Jaune. He glanced around through eyes slitted against the frenzy of dust that had been kicked up. Above, cracks splintered across the ceiling. The cracks widened, opened, becoming gaping chasms that bled the red of the sky behind it. Jaune's eyes widened. He threw an arm over his head, the protection about as effective as an umbrella during a hurricane. The ceiling crumbled around him, showering him with rocks. A large one crashed against his head, tossing him to the side. He lay there, vision darkening, barely grasping onto consciousness as the universe collapsed on top of him. If he blacked out, his aura failed, he died. He fought to drag his mind away from unconsciousness, but he was so tired. So weary. He just wanted to close his eyes. He wouldn't fall asleep. Just… close… eyes…
Jaune coughed.
Once. Twice. It wasn't long before he'd dissolved into a fit of wheezing and hacking, his lungs straining to remove the gunk that had clogged his throat.
Jaune finally managed to get his coughing under control. He lay back, his head cushioned on a piece of masonry. His mouth tasted of blood. Everything hurt. But then again, that was probably a good thing. Pain meant he was still alive.
Jaune rolled onto his front, groaning as he did so. He patted himself down for injuries: a few minor cuts and bruises, but nothing too serious. His aura had lasted just long enough to save him from the worst of the collapsing roof. That in turn had probably sheltered him from any more of the explosions.
And damn, what an explosion it had been—far larger than anything Jaune had hoped or expected. His mind flashed back, seeing torrents of fire and solar flares of light. It was nothing short a miracle that he'd survived that demolition. Not much could have—
Cardin! Jaune scrambled to his hands and knees and frantically crawled towards where he'd last seen the larger boy. He had to slither over and under multiple beams of masonry, but eventually he reached Cardin's side. Jaune put two fingers to his wrist, feeling for a pulse. If Cardin was dead…
There! Jaune gasped in relief as he felt Cardin's pulse, strong and regular beneath his fingers. Pulling Cardin to the corner of the room had probably saved his life, seeing as it looked to be the only standing support out of the whole castle.
It was at that moment that Jaune heard someone calling his name. The others. They'd have realised he hadn't made it out and would have begun searching the rubble. Jaune dragged himself towards a crack in one of the slates of rock above him and called through it. A moment later he heard a reply, and soon multiple voices had joined the first.
A scraping sound ensued, along with grunts of exertion. Jaune helped as best he could, pulling away the looser rocks as his section began to dig him out of the rubble. Soon the crack had become a slit, just wide enough for a hand to fit through, then a fissure, then a hole, then an opening. The first face he saw, staring down worriedly, was Phil. Jaune smiled up at him and was about to accept his offered hand, when he remembered Cardin. He slunk back to the unconscious boy and dragged him towards the opening, offering him to Phil. With some difficulty, they managed to pull Cardin free of the wreckage. Soon after that Jaune followed, pulled up by Naomi and Terry.
"It's good to see you again, Sarge," smiled Naomi. Jaune was too tired to even reply. He just about managed to confirm that everyone was alright before his legs gave out under him and he sat down heavily on a mound of debris.
"Did… did we win?" Terry's voice was hesitant, as if worried the universe would take this moment away from them if he talked too loudly.
Jaune didn't reply. Instead he stared out over the destruction they'd caused. Where there had once stood a proud palace, now lay a heap of rubble. Maroon bricks littered the ground, shards of broken glass sprawled discarded in the dust. In places, individual pillars and support beams still stood, though even they seemed stunted and hunched, little more than disgraced shadows of what had once stood there.
Jaune saw all this, and barely felt anything. His mind was still reeling, still scrambling to catch up to what had just happened. Had they really done it? Had they really won?
From the ruins of the castle alone, Jaune would have guessed yes. But he wasn't about to take a guess as a definitive answer. He'd met a human-Grimm hybrid. He'd witnessed shadows become daggers and spikes. He'd held a dying woman in his hands and had brought her back to life. Jaune Arc had seen the impossible. He couldn't be sure that Salem was dead until he saw it with his own eyes and had confirmed, once and for all, that it was truly over.
So, with his limbs leaden weights on his body, he began to sift through the rubble.
"Uh, Jaune? What're you doing?" questioned Phil.
"I need to see her," he answered tiredly. "I need to see it with my own eyes."
He saw the others look at each other out the corner of his eye, but he couldn't find the energy in him to care. Let them think he was crazy. He needed to do this.
A warmth lay itself onto Jaune's shoulder, and when he looked up he saw Aiden standing beside him. "Then we will help you," he said.
From there, it wasn't long before the entirety of the squad was searching through the bones of the fortress. They laid Cardin in the recovery position a safe space away, then got to work moving every upturned stone and collapsed pillar. It was long. It was hard. The air warmed from an icy chill to a crisp coolness as the day wore on and the hidden sun rose higher in the bloodred sky.
Yet still Beta section worked, silent and determined. Jaune eventually found himself heaving against a section of roof that had collapsed inwards. Terry worked nearby, whilst the others were further away. There was something vaguely familiar about this area. Jaune looked around, trying to place it, but lots of rubble had been thrown outwards by the blasts, making it almost impossible to figure out where he stood in relation to what the castle had once looked like. Still, something tickled the back of Jaune's mind as he lifted up the piece of debris.
And a shadow lashed out and stabbed him, shattering the feeble remnants of his aura.
Jaune stared, wide-eyed, at the spear going through his stomach. His gaze travelled up the length of the black shaft until it fell upon his worst fear, rising out of the rubble like a demon from hell.
Salem.
Gone was her façade of calm. Dust and grime covered her, staining her white skin a dirty brown in places. Black blood oozed from several cuts, and the hideous hole in her face where her nose had been stood stark against her skin.
The tentacle through his stomach jerked forwards, dragging Jaune after it. Salem pulled him close, eyes burning with hatred. "You tried to kill me?" she spat. Her teeth were bared, as if she no longer cared whether they saw her for the monster she was. "Me?! I am a goddess! Who are you to try to kill me? You are nothing more than worms beneath my feet."
Jaune continued to stare at Salem. He tried to say something, but no words came out. His mind was numb. He couldn't think.
"Jaune!" screamed Terry. He leapt at Salem and sliced through the shadow holding Jaune. He fell to the ground, though he didn't feel the thud. He didn't feel anything at all. The pain of his stomach should have been unimaginable, but the only thing he felt was a numb, empty pit where Salem had stabbed him. Shaky hands felt at the wound, coming back red. Very red. Already there was so much blood staining his fingers, mixing with the hellish sky that backlit them.
He was dying. He knew it, even if he couldn't feel it. Breathing had become harder. He was struggling to grip onto thoughts in his head. He was going to die in a frozen wasteland and no one could save him.
Terry appeared in his vision, that brave fool standing between Salem and Jaune, as if he could stop her himself. Jaune's mouth opened, trying to form the words to run, to get out of here, but no sound escaped him.
Salem threw out a shadow, this one wrapping around Terry's throat. Terry gagged, eyes bulging as Salem crushed the life out of him. Jaune reached forward with a hand that didn't feel like his own, searching for Terry's leg, for what, Jaune didn't know. And he'd never find out, as Salem lifted the asphyxiating teen into the air, out of his reach.
Jaune blearily heard other voices shouting. Salem look around. She didn't even bother raising her hand as a tsunami of blackness exploded out from her. It slammed into the others, throwing them off their feet. More shadows extended away from her, pinning them all down. God, she was so powerful. Maybe she was right. They'd dropped an entire building on her and that'd barely kept her down for long. What could they possibly do against such a dark force of nature?
Jaune felt his vision blurring, each beat of his straining heart pumping more of his lifeforce out of him. It wouldn't be long now. He closed his eyes, images of his life flashing through his mind. His family: mum, dad, and all seven sisters. They would be wondering where he was. Wondering when he'd come home. And when, one day, a man in a military uniform showed up at their door with a yellow slip of paper, they'd wonder why. Why he'd thrown his life away. Why he'd chosen the world over them. He'd never get the chance to tell them that they were his world, that he'd done this for them.
His section: that group of introverts and weaklings that had somehow come together despite all their differences and do something incredible. Salem would kill them all here. None of them would be going home. No one would remember them. Salem would win, and no one would even be able to tell the world that they'd tried, that they'd done their best to bring down a goddess and had come close enough to brush victory with their fingertips.
His friends at Beacon: the first meaningful friends he'd ever had. Never again would he confer with Ren about homework. Never again would he hear Nora's bubbly laugh or watch her shenanigans. Never again would Yang call him vomit-boy, or Ruby give him those puppy eyes of hers, or Blake roll her eyes with a quiet smile at his flirting whilst Weiss gagged dramatically.
And Pyrrha… oh Pyrrha…
He couldn't stop thinking about her. His mind wouldn't stop bouncing back to those gentle eyes, that precious smile, her vibrant hair and her kind personality. He'd never get to experience those things ever again. Just when he'd mended the bridges he'd thought he'd burnt, Pyrrha would be ripped away from him for ever.
That hurt more than any stab wound ever could.
He opened his eyes again, his vision now blurred with tears. His section still lay around him, pinned to the ground, unable to move, unable to save him. Salem still stood above him, still choking Terry, whose pale face was rapidly turning blue. No more than a few seconds could have passed since Jaune had closed his eyes, but he felt a lifetime of regret at that moment. He tried to move, tried to get up and save Terry as a leader should, but his treacherous body failed him, managing only a pitiful grasping motion in his direction.
Salem looked at Terry, contempt marring her face. "You are the weakest among them, yet you dare to challenge me?" she demanded of him. "You are nothing. Nobody. You will die alone. Your name will disappear into obscurity. And I shall make sure that history remembers you as nothing more than the man who failed to kill me."
Terry's lips began working, though no breath escaped him. He was trying to say something, but Salem's hold on him made it impossible for him to speak.
Salem loosened her grip marginally, relishing an opportunity to tear apart whatever he had to say. Jaune fought to drag himself closer, to save him, to stop her, to do something.
Terry's eyes fell to Jaune, still lying on the floor, unable to do anything right. Jaune's eyes burned. He'd failed. He'd failed to kill Salem, and he'd failed Terry and the others. He should have been the one to die, not Terry.
Terry's lips parted, just enough air getting to his lungs for him to hiss, "Thank you for believing in me."
Then he opened his palm, revealing a lone, solitary pin.
He'd never placed his grenade.
Jaune cried out as fire erupted out of Terry pocket, vaporising him instantly. Salem disappeared within the ball of hellish fire a moment later, her scream of loathing ringing out for a second longer before it cut off suddenly.
Jaune gasped as fire blossomed above him, only to have his breath snatched away from him. The fire greedily gobbled down the surrounding oxygen, stealing it from Jaune's lungs as it washed over him. The moisture in his eyes evaporated, forcing him to close them. His skin burnt with an intensity Jaune had never experienced before. He would have screamed, except that he had no more air to scream with.
Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the fire disappeared. Jaune choked out a cough. Breathing hurt. His lungs felt like they were covered in soot. He painfully turned his head to the side, to where Salem and Terry should have been.
In their place was nothing but ash.
Tears brimmed in his eyes. Terry had kept his grenade, perhaps guessing they might need it. Or maybe he'd simply never had time to plant it. Either way, he'd sacrificed himself to take out Salem. To save the world.
He'd died a hero.
There was no consolation there.
Feet thudded against the ground. An instant later, he felt warm hands cradling his neck, pulling it upwards. Naomi, Aiden and Phil crowded around his view, their faces stricken. It took him a moment to remember why. His injury. He was bleeding. And judging by the looks of his section, it was bad. Very, very bad.
Naomi ripped off a piece of fabric from her shirt, desperately trying to apply pressure to Jaune's gaping wound. It wouldn't be enough. Jaune knew it. Naomi knew it.
"Hang on, Jaune," begged Phil. "You're gonna be fine. You're gonna be okay."
Jaune's breathing was shaky as he inhaled. It was becoming difficult to keep drawing in breath, to keep biting through that pain. Maybe that was why he didn't refute Phil.
Jaune looked up. His eyes focused on an ember, glowing brightly in the still sky. It was strangely beautiful. Cathartic, even, to watch it glide on the breeze. The ember dipped lazily, coming to land on Naomi's shoulder, but instead of burning the fabric there, it glowed golden for a second. Wait, the ember wasn't glowing.
Naomi's shoulder was.
It happened for only a millisecond, so brief that Jaune convinced himself it was just a hallucination on his behalf. Or at least, he would have done, were it not for Aiden spotting the exact same thing.
"Naomi, you still have some of Jaune's aura," he said excitedly. "If his semblance allows him to gift it to others, he might be able to take it back."
Naomi's eyes lit up. The group stirred, hope jolting through them. Naomi took Jaune's hand in her own. "Take it Jaune," she begged. "Take it back."
Jaune was finding it hard to concentrate. His train of thought kept slipping away from him. But he nonetheless focused, closing his eyes as he reached inside Naomi.
There was something there for sure. A presence that felt undeniably familiar, like looking at a picture of a younger version of yourself. That moment of recognition, even though it looked different. Jaune reached out to this presence, guiding it in towards him. Immediately, he was filled with that same, warming sensation he always got when his aura healed an injury. Like hot chocolate on a cold day, it seemed to push back the chill from his bones ever so slightly.
"It's working," breathed Naomi.
Jaune continued to pull on the aura he'd given to Naomi, but he soon realised the problem. "It's not enough," he whispered. And it wasn't. He'd only intended to give Naomi enough to heal her; the little bit extra she'd had was merely an oversight on his side. The aura that had been protecting Naomi was too small to heal him.
"Take mine," ordered Phil, taking Jaune's other hand. "If your semblance is aura manipulation, then you should be able to manipulate mine, right? It has to work."
Jaune stretched into Phil. He could feel the power inside, but this time it felt different, slightly alien. Whereas his had been like warm water willing to flow where he directed it, this one felt like thick treacle. When Jaune tugged on it, it at first resisted, then slowly began to seep into him. He was positive that if Phil hadn't let him take his aura, he wouldn't have been able to do this.
"Comeon, Jaune," encouraged Phil. Jaune pulled harder on both his sources, feeling his stomach slowly knit itself back together, threads of cells growing and weaving into each other like a quilt of skin.
It still wasn't enough. Phil had been fighting Salem as long as Jaune. Most of his aura had already been used up. Jaune felt the last of it suck into him. He glanced down at his still bloody chest, at the wound still open to the air.
"No," breathed Naomi.
"I'm… I'm sorry," said Phil, as if this was his fault.
Jaune laid he head back against Aiden's hands, closing his eyes. They'd tried so hard. They'd given everything they had. Maybe this was simply an unavoidable fate, the way things had always meant to go. Maybe destiny had had no plans of him surviving this battle. At least he got to die in the embrace of friends.
Broken glass tinkled nearby. Jaune cracked his eyelid open.
It was Cardin.
He scrambled across the debris-strewn battlefield, pulling himself up to their group. The larger boy reached them at last and, placing a hand on Jaune's shoulder, said, "Take mine."
Jaune didn't bother arguing or asking how much he'd overheard after regaining consciousness. He did as he was told. Whereas his own aura had been water and Phil's had been treacle, Cardin's was molten steel, burning hot and fast. Jaune pulled it into himself, feeling his stomach healing. Cardin still had a sizable amount in him, and all of this he offered freely to Jaune. Jaune took greedily, sucking it into himself like a desert-stranded man gulping down fresh water.
Within moments, the pain had retreated from his front. When Jaune looked down at the hole in his clothing, he saw nothing there but dried blood and new skin. There wasn't even a scar.
Jaune looked up. "Thank you, Cardin."
Cardin shrugged. "It was the right thing to do."
Jaune laid his head back down, somehow even more tired than when this whole thing had begun. But he couldn't help but trail his eyes back to the smouldering crater beside him. There was nothing remaining of Terry. Not even a husk of a body to bring back. He was gone.
"I hear a ship," Aiden suddenly said, perking up. "An airship. Look."
Jaune strained his neck to watch the horizon, and from it emerged an airship, just like Aiden had said. Phil jumped up and began waving his arms over his head. It seemed to work, as the airship began to slow down as it approached them.
"We did it Jaune," whispered Naomi. "We won."
Jaune looked to the desolation around them, then to the ship that would take them home, then to the members of his section. Or at least, the surviving members.
Four. There were four of them, including Jaune, when they'd left Vale with eight. This was all that was left of the eleven-man Beta section. This was all that remained of the friends Jaune had made. The tears he'd been holding back came rushing out of him, gushing down his cheeks as the dam broke and emotion flooded him.
Yes, they'd won.
But at what cost?
And that is it. Salem's dead. What the show RWBY couldn't accomplish in 5 volumes, I've done in 28 chapters. Boom. Suck it RT. And all it cost was killing all my favourite characters. Worth it?
So yes, I did have to make up Salem's abilities, and yes, I did steal the face suckers who cause nightmares - though actually from lots of different places: Doctor Who, Alien (though I haven't actually seen that movie), hell, even Suicide Squad. I actually wrote that nightmare sequence way back for chapter 11, but it didn't really fit there, so I decided to move it here. Waste not, want not.
I really don't know what else to say. This is it. There were times where I honestly thought I'd never make it, but here we are. The end. It seems so poet that just as this fic is finishing, volume 6 is about to roll out. One story ends, and another begins. Who knows, maybe you guys reading this will go on to write your own stories. I can't wait to read them all.
And so, for the second last time, good morning, good evening, goodnight, and I'll see you all in two weeks for the last chapter of Sergeant Arc.