The ground trembled as Jaune and Pyrrha left their apartment, but they forced themselves onwards. Jaune hesitated, and looked towards the wall; it was Pyrrha's hand on his shoulder that pulled him on. She didn't smile. Didn't offer reassuring words. Her face was serious; they both knew what was likely going on, they both saw the clouds of dust, and—most importantly—they both knew they had a job to do. So they pushed onwards.
Pyrrha led the way as they rounded the corner at the end of the street and headed towards the manhole Blake had marked for them. She head Jaune muttering under his breath as they ran and smiled a little. He still hadn't changed. Ever since their first meeting, Pyrrha had seen the kind of man Jaune was—or would grow to be. He was smart enough—in his own way—to plan a battle, brave enough to fight with his troops, skilled enough to win in almost any fight. Any good leader could do this, but Jaune had something that not many of them did. It was both his greatest strength and greatest weakness.
He cared.
Many leaders will care for their troops like they do a piece on a chessboard. Losing some is less important than losing others, but any loss limits you options in battle. It was an impersonal, cold caring, but they cared in their own way. They'd do all they could to keep their troops alive, but wouldn't shed a tear over a body.
Jaune cared for everyone like they were his own flesh and blood—his own best friend.
He fought harder, planned better, so that everyone would come back alive. Pyrrha had never heard of a general in history who suffered as few casualties in combat as Jaune did. But it was hard on him. He mourned every loss, and blamed himself for every soldier who fell.
Pyrrha recalled a mission they'd been on six months ago, in a remote village in northern Vacuo. It had been simple: check the defences, fight of nearby Grimm, and make sure people in the village were prepared to defend themselves. The first and third tasks were usually unnecessary—people who lived outside the kingdoms were used to protecting themselves—but it didn't hurt to check them regularly. The main issue had been a pack of Ursai that had been terrorizing the village.
Jaune and Pyrrha arrived just after the villagers had fought off another attack, and had leapt straight into taking care of the wounded. A young man—only a year younger than them—had helped Jaune carry the wounded to shelter, while Pyrrha worked with the medically trained villagers, organising them and making sure those who needed urgent treatment got priority.
Jaune and the young man—Holon—had hit it off immediately. They were alike in many ways, in fact: Holon had been a weak child, and ridiculed because of it, but he was perhaps the most determined of all the villagers to protect those he held dear. His parents had died when he was ten, and he had been forced to look out for his younger sisters ever since. After a few days in the village, Pyrrha was convinced that she'd never seen anyone fight as hard as Holon did, so great was his love for them.
After a few days, they'd found the den the Ursai were coming from, and Jaune and Pyrrha had planned out one last attack—to finally wipe them out. Jaune led the charge, with Holon at his side. Even though they'd only known one another for a few days, they were fast friends, and they watched each other's backs. Pyrrha was content to step back, happy to see Jaune smiling and laughing with his new friend, while she coordinated the other troops.
The attack went off without a hitch. The Ursai were slaughtered, and the den destroyed. The whole group had been in good cheer on the way back, until they arrived back at the village.
In their absence, the village had been attacked by a Nevermore—a big Nevermore. At least half of the houses were in ruins, and corpses were strewn amid the wreckage. Jaune was petrified by the sight. He and Pyrrha had stood at the edge of the village while the inhabitants tore through what was left of their home, searching for their loved ones.
A familiar voice echoed through the houses, and Jaune sprinted toward the source. Pyrrha's stomach sank as they approached and her fears were realised when they arrived. Holon knelt in a pool of blood, holding the bodies of his sisters. They were young—one was eleven, the other thirteen—too young to die the way they did. Pyrrha felt a pang of pity and sympathy for Holon.
That was when Jaune made his mistake. He cared enough for Holon that he tried to step close and comfort him. Holon slapped away Jaune's hand and was on him in a flash, fists cracking into Jaune's head.
"It's your fault! All your fault!"
Holon's voice had broken as he screamed his accusations at Jaune, and he continued to roar at the Huntsman even after Pyrrha threw him off. Jaune didn't react. He merely gazed up at the sky. Pyrrha looked down at him and her heart almost broke.
His face a mask of misery, and his eyes betrayed his self-loathing. Holon had laid the blame at Jaune's feet, and Jaune had put it around his shoulders. Pyrrha had done all she could to calm the two down, but to no avail. Holon, wracked with grief, wasn't thinking clearly, and was adamant that Jaune was at fault. No matter how many times Pyrrha told him that no one could have predicted the Nevermore attack, he still blamed Jaune.
Jaune, for his part, said nothing. But Pyrrha could see that every word that Holon spoke was like a whip. That morning, the two had been the closest of friends—despite only knowing one another for a few days—and now Holon looked ready to murder Jaune. It was only Pyrrha's presence, and the sword in her hand, that kept him from trying. And Jaune blamed himself for all of it. Pyrrha had never seen a more hopeless expression on a person's face, and the fact that it was on the face of the man she loved made it all the more painful to witness.
They left soon after—as soon as they could. The other villagers were miserable and bitter, but none of them openly blamed Jaune. Nevertheless, Pyrrha saw his expression darken further with each frown he saw. Every tear that fell was a knife blade to his heart. And the weight of the guilt he bore was like a boulder, crushing him. An old myth told the story of a god, sentenced to hold up the sky as punishment; a myth it may have been, but it was an apt metaphor for Jaune's misery.
He barely spoke for days after they returned to Vale. It had taken Pyrrha almost a week to get him to smile again, and almost a month before he was back to normal. And even then, he was never quite the same.
So while Pyrrha said that the mark of a good leader was that he cared, and that any leader who stopped caring wasn't worthy of command, she also knew that Jaune needed to be able to distance himself from his troops, even just a little. Caring was good, but he cared to a fault. If he were to sink into misery and depression whenever he lost a soldier, then he'd be no good to anyone.
Holon had been a special case. Pyrrha was willing to admit that. The two had been fast friends, and Jaune had become very fond of the man. But, in a way, that concerned her even more. How would Jaune react if someone closer to him died? Like Ren? The two had been like brothers ever since their first year. Or Nora? She'd become like Jaune's little sister. Ruby? The two of them had been close friends since their first day at Beacon. Gods forbid, Pyrrha thought, what if I die? She shuddered at the thought. Jaune had improved since the incident with Holon, but she still worried about what would happen to him in such an event. The life they led was a dangerous one; he'd never survive it if he reacted as badly to a friend's death as he did with Holon. He'd need to survive the battle, grieve, and then move on, so that other battles could be won. Life wasn't lenient of those who gave into weakness.
All of this ran through Pyrrha's mind as they ran past the concerned citizens of Vale. And so she understood how hard it was for Jaune to ignore them—to continue on to their goal—and she was proud that he managed to do so. He was turning into a great leader—the one she knew he would be.
He just needed to be able to let things go.
"Pyrrha?"
Jaune's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and back to the task at hand. He'd pulled her to a stop right next to the manhole they'd been heading for. He gave her a look of concern.
"Sorry," she said with a smile. "I was miles away."
"Pyrrha…"
"I know. I know. Concentrate. I'm good."
He eyed her for a moment, and then nodded. They worked together to heave the manhole up, revealing a ladder down to the sewers.
"Alright," Pyrrha said. "You go first; I'll watch your back."
Jaune rolled his eyes. "I bet you want to watch more than that."
With a smirk, Pyrrha spanked Jaune, making him jump. "And don't you forget it," she whispered in his ear.
A yearning expression came across Jaune's face as Pyrrha held her face close to his, but he took in a deep breath and collected himself. Pyrrha smiled—Jaune always had such good self-control—and then, just to mess with him, pressed her lips against his for an instant before pulling away.
Jaune reached out to her as she stepped back, but caught himself and turned back to the uncovered manhole, grumbling under his breath. Pyrrha laughed as he started climbing down. The smile stayed on her face as she began her descent, but, by the time she joined Jaune at the bottom of the ladder, she was serious.
No time for jokes now, she told herself. We've got a job to do.
Jaune stood in the shaft of sunlight at the foot of the ladder, looking left and right. All around them was near impenetrable darkness. "Do you know which way to go?" he asked.
Pyrrha followed his gaze, frowning. That was one bit of information that would have helped. "That way," she said, pointing to the right.
Jaune raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
"Yes."
The eyebrow stayed raised.
Pyrrha sighed. "The water's flowing that way," she said, pointing to the left. "So if we go this way, we'll get to a junction—where the water gathers before flowing out of these pipes. Seems as good a place to start as any."
Jaune pondered, then nodded. "Sounds good."
He led the way, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Pyrrha perked her ears and reached out with her aura, sensing for anyone nearby. There were people running back and forth above them, but that was to be expected. The tremors seemed to have stopped, but there would still be work to do above.
If it was merely a tremor, then damages would have to be assessed, lodgings found for those whose homes were destroyed, and repairs begun. If, gods forbid, the attack had begun early… Well, they'd have their work cut out for them.
They walked for what felt like miles; the darkness made it difficult to judge distance, and their eyes adjusting to it didn't help a whole lot. Pyrrha found herself counting her footsteps.
One. Two. Three.
More than once, they came to an intersection and, each time, they walked against the flow of the water. It wasn't the best lead, Pyrrha had to admit, but it gave them something to go on; it was better than wasting time debating over which way to go and ending up not going anywhere.
Eighty-four. Eighty-five.
Jaune stopped, and Pyrrha bumped into his back. "Do you hear that?" he asked.
Pyrrha strained her ears; she heard nothing but the running water and her own breathing. "What is it?"
"I…" Jaune hesitated. "Come on."
Pyrrha frowned, but followed him without another word. If it was worth worrying about, Jaune would tell her.
One hundred and seventy-eight. One hundred and seventy-nine.
At the next intersection they stopped. Pyrrha frowned and looked back the way they came, for all the good it did her.
"We should have found something by now," she said. "If the Dust is being held under here, then we should have at least heard them moving around."
Jaune nodded. His face was obscured by a dark shadow, covering his eyes and half of his face. The set of his jaw, coupled with the shadows, painted him in a chilling visage. Pyrrha couldn't stop a shudder from running up her spine at the sight. He didn't look like Jaune. He just looked… angry.
"You're right," he said, and the spell was broken. Pyrrha let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding as her Jaune returned. "But I still think we should keep going… The junction would be wear I'd store the Dust, if I had the choice. From there, they can distribute barrels of it around the city, depending on which tunnel they send it down."
Pyrrha nodded. "If you're sure." As ever, she was content—no, eager—to let Jaune take the lead. He might have his moments of insecurity and self-doubt, but his instincts had never led them astray before.
With a nod, Jaune led the way; Pyrrha went back to counting.
Two hundred and ninety-nine. Three hundred.
For something different to do, she decided to count down. Just to break the monotony.
Three hundred. Two hundred and ninety-nine. Two hundred and ninety-eight.
Something splashed near Pyrrha's feet and she flinched away, drawing her sword and covering her body with her shield. Whatever it was vanished back into the water an instant later, leaving Pyrrha feeling very foolish.
One hundred and eighty-three.
Jaune must have heard something, or felt something, as he quickened his pace. Pyrrha had to speed up to match his pace.
Ninety-nine.
"I think we're close!" Jaune exclaimed, breaking into a jog. Pyrrha hurried to chase him.
Thirty-two.
As they rounded the last corner, they saw the door. It was forged of iron bars, letting the artificial light of the room beyond shine into their tunnel. It was difficult to make out at a distance, but Pyrrha could see it was the junction they were looking for. A raised platform—like a large pillar—rose out of a pool of water. Water would pour down from pipes in the walls into the pool below, where it then drained through pipes low in the wall of the room, to then flow through the sewers and out of the city.
Twenty.
They broke into a run, straight for the door. They reached another T-intersection. The water ran to their left and right in front of them, and the door was on the other side. Without a moment's hesitation, Jaune leapt over the fetid sewer water and landed on the far side. Pyrrha followed him a moment later, and Jaune caught her, giving her an encouraging smile as he turned away.
Six.
They approached the door.
Four.
Pyrrha stood back as Jaune examined the door and the room beyond.
"There's something in the middle of the room," he said. "I can't tell… It looks like a large Dust canister."
Pyrrha nodded. "Well let's get in there. Maybe there's a clue as to where the rest of it is."
Jaune nodded and opened the door. Pyrrha followed him inside, running her fingers along the iron bars of the door.
Two.
The door to the junction room was inside a small alcove that had been carved into the otherwise perfectly spherical ceiling and walls of the room. Pyrrha looked down and saw that the water had been drained out of the room, showing its complete spherical design. Weird, she thought. Why would the water be gone? It had been gone for a while too; the concrete below them was bone dry.
Jaune stepped out of that alcove, and onto a catwalk that led across to the platform in the centre. Light reflected off the dome of the room, casting a streaks of light onto Jaune's armour, making him almost sparkle.
One.
Something grabbed Pyrrha's heart. A feeling of danger. Something wasn't right. But she couldn't tell what. She took a step forward, reaching out to stop Jaune.
Zero.
Pyrrha's stomach sank. She didn't know how she knew, but she was certain that they were in danger now. A lone Dust canister, sitting on a platform in the middle of the room. How had she not been suspicious?
"Jaune…" Her voice came out a barely more than a whisper. Jaune, who had already reached the platform, didn't hear her.
He stood before the canister. From where Pyrrha stood, she could see a clear strip in the side of the canister—meant to show how much Dust was stored inside—was glowing a bright red. Burn Dust. Refined, ground Burn Dust.
"Hey, Pyrrha," Jaune called out. "This is weird…" Pyrrha's gut already told her what he was going to say. "There's a… timer…"
Pyrrha's feet carried her towards him and, sure enough, a pair of numbers flashed red on a small screen built into the canister's top.
57
56
Counting down, she thought. That only ever meant one thing. She and Jaune locked eyes. His were filled with fear, and horrified realisation.
"We need to get out of here," he said, grabbing Pyrrha's arm and heading back to the door.
"No!" Pyrrha wrapped an arm around him. The sound of her hand slapping against his chest plate echoed through the room. "We can't leave, Jaune!"
"Why the hell not!?"
"What about the other Dust?"
"What other Dust?"
Pyrrha yanked her arm out of his grip and pointed across the room, to the far side of the platform. "There's another door there, Jaune, and there's plenty of other tunnels the way we came! This is meant to blow, and then the Dust explosion will ignite the other Dust."
Jaune turned pale. "And then…"
"It's going to cause a chain reaction, which could—depending on how Dust they have—destroy this entire district. If not that, then it will do a lot of damage!"
Jaune swore and turned back towards the bomb. The numbers mocked them, blinking brightly as they counted down.
34
33
Jaune swore again and dashed to the far door. "Pyrrha, see if you can defuse it!"
Pyrrha watched Jaune for a second as he opened the far door and glanced outside, then she focussed on the bomb. It looked rudimentary at first glance, but as she examined it, she realised it was a very complex design. She didn't even know where to start. Jaune came back to her, his eyes asking a question he didn't have time to voice.
Pyrrha shook her head, and Jaune swore again.
20
19
Swearing again, louder this time, Jaune grabbed Pyrrha and dragged her towards the door.
Pyrrha struggled. "Jaune, what're you—"
"We need to get out of here." He didn't face her. Didn't look back.
Pyrrha glanced back at the bomb, and around the room. There was no sign of any more Dust in the room. Maybe the water in the tunnels will dampen it, she thought, though she knew better. No terrorist organisation would plant a bomb where it would be ineffective. And they'd had time to plan. Jaune was right: they needed to leave.
Something caught Pyrrha's eye. Something she'd missed. The light was reflecting off the dome of the room. Reflecting. She cast her gaze over it and saw why. It was made of metal. Maybe not made of it, but there was at least a layer of metal over the concrete. She reached out to touch it, running her hand over its smooth, seamless surface, and her heart dropped. From what she could see, the metal was thick enough to contain the explosion.
Pyrrha felt her knees go weak as she realised what all this was. The metal shell would hold the explosion in, and force all of the Dust, and the flames that resulted from its ignition, out of the two doors on either side of the room. With that much Dust rushing down each set of tunnels, the Dust scattered around would be ignited and wreak the destruction they both feared. If all of the energy of the detonation were pushed into the tunnels, it would reach even further into the tunnels, allowing the Talon to have set up even more bombs than Pyrrha had first imagined. Never mind the residential district; something like this could destroy almost half of Vale.
Jaune looked back at her as she stumbled. She could tell she looked bad; the worry on Jaune's face told her everything. A shiver ran through her. At the same time as she'd realised the true danger of the threat, she realised how to stop it.
Jaune hesitated, looking at the now determined look in her eyes. She took a breath and prepared herself for what she had to do.
"Pyrrha…" he whispered, fear in his eyes. He knew. He could see. But she wouldn't stop.
"Jaune…" Pyrrha said. Then, with a tear in her eye. She pushed. Her semblance took hold of Jaune's armour and hurled him out through the open door.
He screamed her name as he leapt to his feet, but Pyrrha pushed again and the door swung shut. Jaune beat on the railings, screaming her name. Pyrrha did her best to block it out; every cry he let out was one of anguish, and it tore her heart to hear.
She ran back to the middle of the room and stood before the bomb.
6
5
She looked back at Jaune and smiled. The sight of his face still filled her heart to bursting with the love she felt for him. He stopped fighting, and his face was overcome with the single most anguished, wretched expression Pyrrha had ever seen.
He mouthed her name.
3
"I love you, Jaune!" Pyrrha screamed, as loud as she could. She closed her eyes and pulled. The metal that wrapped around the room groaned, and screeched, but didn't move. Pyrrha pulled again, harder than she'd ever worked her semblance in her life. The hardest she ever would. The metal tore free and wrapped around her and the bomb, crushing ever closer and closer.
This was what she'd realised. The closer and more dense the shell around the bomb was, the less energy would escape into the sewers. Her efforts might be futile in the end, but this was all she could do to try and save Vale—and Jaune.
The metal crushed her legs, and she cried out, but she pulled it in closer, as tightly as she could.
The numbers blinked one last time.
1
0
Then it went blank.
Pyrrha heard, somewhere in the distance, someone screaming her name, and she smiled. The bomb whirred, hummed, and then screamed. The shell grew hot, hotter, burning, but she didn't cry out. Everything she had was being poured into pulling the shell in even tighter.
There was a burst of light.
A wave of heat.
A flash of unbearable agony.
Then nothing.