I mentioned it on yesterday's chapter of Royale but a heads up again for those who don't read it – my mother's heart surgery is Monday (unless the MRI she had Friday picks up blockages or clots and cancels it). As such, while I will be writing Monday because there's not much else I can do while she's in surgery, the chapter could be complete, short or not there at all. I will try and do a profile update if anything happens to warn people, but this is obviously a dangerous moment for her and if something does go wrong then I'm not sure what in what state of mind I will be.

I'm also spending a lot of today with her for the very obvious reason it may well be out last time together, so this is a very small chapter. Woke up at 6am to get started on this and will be basically writing as much as I can before 12, when I head off to have lunch and dinner with the family. You'll get however much I manage to write.

Cover Art: GWBrex

Chapter 8

The world seemed to move slowly, time and distance merging together as the Grimm bore down on him, surrendering the chance to kill his sisters. It was larger up close than it had looked even from a distance, its bone mask and razor-sharp claws serrated, the better to rip and tear at human flesh. Its eyes were deeper too, multi-faceted and reflecting light like small gemstones. Jaune's hands felt sluggish and weak, slow and outside his control like he was trying to swim in a dream.

Someone else moved his hands for him.

They swept to the left, bringing the spear shaft up to block a claw swinging in from his flank. The wooden haft shouldn't have proven even a minor impediment to the hulking mass of muscle. Jaune could snap one over his knee if he wanted to. He had a moment to think that in a panic before the claw struck, crashed and failed to snap wood. It was he instead who moved, skidding to the right as the force was transferred down the weapon and into his body.

The shock he felt should have frozen him solid, and yet his right foot twisted and dug down, his knee bent, and he brought his head and upper body low to duck under another swing. His hands slid down the weapon's shaft to grip it halfway down and at the butt, and with a sharp lunge he thrust the metal point up into the beast's face, under its bone mask where he knew – though he knew not – that the bone plates wouldn't cover the Grimm's neck.

Steel bit into flesh and pierced up with disturbing ease. Jaune stepped into it, hands sliding back up the haft for a new grip and so that he could thrust a second time, driving the tip up through the monster's skull and into its brain. The Beowolf had twitched upon first entry, but shuddered on the second thrust and toppled forward, threatening to crush him. Jaune panicked again, but his body simply slid the weapon out and stepped calmly to the side, letting it fall where he'd been standing with a wet crash of snow.

He'd done it. He'd killed a Grimm.

But there were two. His feet were already moving, boots crunching down as he turned away from the wall, the downed creature and his sisters and began running to where his father was being mauled. The distance was great and the slow only made him slower. As if immediately responding to such thoughts, he hefted the spear in one hand, brought it back over his head and swept it forward, launching it with a mighty heave.

Technically speaking, Jaune knew how to throw a javelin. The hunting spear was not that. It was heavier, uneven and had a metal tip that weighed it down. Even then, had he a normal javelin, he'd have struggled to hit a target over so great a distance. Throwing your spear was a last resort when an animal was charging you down, something you let go when it was within a few metres of you where you couldn't hope to miss. Striking a Grimm from twelve metres away would have been an impressive task.

Striking it directly centre-mass, under its arm where the bone plates didn't protect it, was art.

The force of the impact sent the Beowolf skittering off his father and tumbling to the side. It recovered quickly, more stunned than injured, and roared its fury, planting all four feet on the snow and lurching its body to the side to the snap the shaft on the floor. The tip remained lodged inside but the weapon itself was ruined.

The soft hiss of hit hunting knife coming free from its leather holster was Jaune's answer. He took the knife in his right hand, holding his left flat against the pommel to brace it in front of him. It was several inches long, thick and sharp, but not at all designed for fighting a wild animal, let alone a Grimm. But at this point he surrendered himself to it.

Save him, be begged. Save him and you can have my body. Do whatever you want with it. Just save my family.

It must have been the easiest time the Dark Lord had ever had taking over a host. Jaune offered no resistance and his body moved on its own, skirting to the side so that the Beowolf would run him down over snow and not his wounded father. The thing certainly didn't wait. It crashed forward spraying up snow and ice as it did.

The first heavy swing cut the air in front of him as he dodged back. The second bit down into snow from above, and Jaune slid awkwardly to the side. It felt as though his body wanted to do more but could not, like he wasn't lithe enough to really perform as expected. The snow and heavy cloth, furs and leather he wore to combat the cold didn't help. The Beowolf growled and swung both its arms around, and this time there was no easy dodging. It swung low and high, preventing any escape.

Back. I have to jump back.

He jumped forward instead. His foot landed on the elbow of the beast's arm swinging low, his free arm, his left, catching the top. As he was swept along balanced on both arms, he swung up and dug the knife into the Grimm's shoulder blade, twisted it deep and used it as a handhold to drag himself up and over the top arm even as it completed its swing. His legs swung out and up, and he found himself on top of the monster, mounting it as one might a horse.

Yanking the hunting knife free, he lunged up and slammed it into the right side of the Grimm's face, twisted again and pulled downward with all his might. Like a horse reacting to the reins, the Beowolf's head was forced to the right, dragged by the blade lodged above its jaw and below the eye. The thing's right shoulder dipped.. Its left arm came up clawed to strike at Jaune's exposed flank, and he gasped in pain as angry, serrated claws raked down his side.

Hardened leather, boiled and treated and padded beneath by thick fur and linen, parted like wet parchment. The cold sting of freezing, wintry air on skin hit him, and he felt the red hot lines drawn down his body. It was only the awkward angle it had to work its arm up with that prevented him being torn in two or grabbed and ripped off its back. It flailed again, but this time Jaune pinched his knees and rode to the side, angling his body away.

The added weight on its right-hand side tugged harder on the knife, and the monster lurched too far. Its right arm had to support it and Jaune's weight, and with its left trying to reach behind it, and its face punctured through and veering, it toppled with a grunt, crashing into the show on its side and almost pinning Jaune beneath it. Almost. He'd been prepared for it – or at least the Dark Lord had been – and he vaulted off at the last second leaving the knife still lodged in its skull.

Now what!? Jaune thought hysterically. That was our last weapon!

The answer was his body moving, one knee down into the snow and his left hand gripping the monster by the dagger's hilt. He twisted it up so that the monster was looking at him, so that its face was at an awkward angle. A claw struck his back and drove the air out of him, but rather than worry about the wounds he wound his right arm under its jaw and snout, around and gripped onto a bone plate on the other side of its face. With one hand on that plate and the other holding onto his hunting knife, he pushed with all his might, turning the Beowolf's head like a wheel.

It struck at him two more times and its hind legs tried to find purchase, but Jaune grunted and pushed and pushed, both with his body and his hands, until there was a loud click and a sudden failure in the beast's spine. Its head lurched suddenly snapping far louder and twisting at an impossible angle. It shuddered and lurched, dropping down in the snow with its maw hanging open and its tongue lolling out.

His work done, he trudged over to Nicholas leaving the knife still in the thing's head. It felt as though all was silent, though in truth it wasn't. The wind howled, there were sounds from Ansel, and the snow crunched with every step he took. It was his heartbeat, he realised, pounding in his ears and drowning everything else out. Jaune dropped to his knees by his father, looking down at the man dotted with frost dyed red with blood. His eyes were open and, to Jaune's relief, swivelled to look at him. Nicholas' lips parted but no words came forth.

"Stay calm." Jaune said, not feeling as such himself. Nicholas' chest had mighty rents down it, as did his stomach, arms and legs. Most were bleeding horrifically. He would die within a few minutes. "Stay calm," Jaune said again, his own voice sounding distant. He placed his hands down on his father's chest. "You're going to be alright."

Shimmering white light spread out from his hands and into his father, seeping from somewhere deep within himself and into the wounded man. It was visible, and Nicholas' eyes widened at the sight of it. Then, with incredible resignation, closed. "My son…" he wheezed as viciously deep wounds slowly closed. "Not you. Of all people… Not you…"

"I'm sorry." Jaune said. It was all he could say.

Once Nicholas was healed enough not to die, he picked up the man's arm, slung it over his shoulder and hefted him to his feet. Side by side, supporting his weight, they slowly trudged back to the gates of Ansel, which had been opened just a little now that the threat was over. Juniper came rushing out with his sisters. Jaune wondered if the gate might be closed behind them when they left, but it stayed open even as his mother flung herself at Nicholas, fussing over his wounds.

Other villagers watched warily, leerily, from their spots either on the walls or inside the gate. Those closest backed away when they walked inside, giving them – or him – as wide a berth as they possibly could.

"Your wounds, Nicholas." Mayor Cobbin said. He licked his lips, eyes meeting Jaune's for a second and then looking away. "I-I see they are not as bad as we feared."

"It was clumsy." Nicholas lied. "Pinned me down but kept scratching."

"Yes. Lucky." Mayor Cobbin sounded like he didn't believe it either. "We're all of us lucky today, no? Two Grimm outside our walls and no one killed. A fortunate day indeed. The Goddess must be watching over us." As if suddenly realising everyone watching, he shouted out, "What are you all hanging around for? Away with you now. The Grimm are dealt with. We have Nicholas and his boy to thank for that. Don't crowd them now, the man is clearly injured. Away with you all."

/-/

No one quite knew what to say back at their house. Or maybe they were afraid to say anything – afraid of him. Jaune carried Nicholas back, laid him down and helped his mother remove wet and bloody clothing. The healed scars were visible as red, puckered lines, and seeing as how Juniper knew her husband's body better than most, she had to know he hadn't had those scars before today. Still, she didn't bring it up. Instead, she took a warm cloth and began to scrub dried blood away and cleanse the still open wounds.

"Rub honey into them," Jaune said quietly. "It will help prevent infection. If you clear and cleanse them every day and apply more honey, he'll be fine."

"I'll do that," she promised. No questions as to how he knew this or why it would work. "Can you go fetch some from the kitchen please?"

"Sure."

Saphron and Coral were already there clutching steaming pewter mugs and trying to warm themselves up. They looked shaken from their near-death experience but seeing them flinch when noticing him hurt all the same. They kept their heads down. Conversation died. No one dared speak a word. Jaune didn't either. He moved to the kitchen cupboards, removed a comb of honey and slowly carried it back. As he left, he heard them begin talking again.

They had to be wondering if he was even their brother anymore. He wasn't sure why he was. He'd offered his body to the Dark Lord if he saved his family, and the Dark Lord had done just that. Why, then, had he handed Jaune's body back and retreated into the deepest recesses of his mind? Why was he still himself and not a proxy for a vengeful god? It didn't make any sense. Jaune handed the honey over and received a quiet "thank you" from his mother.

"Dad will be okay." Jaune said, partly to reassure her as to Nicholas' fate and to reassure her that he was still her son. "He'll live if you keep cleaning them and it's not like he has reason to go out much through the winter anyway."

"Will you be okay?" she asked him. Talk about cutting to the heart of the manner. Jaune had no answer. "Are you even…?"

"I'm me. I'm still me, mom."

"Are you…?"

"I… When I saw them close the gates I couldn't not act. They were going to leave them out there to die. I had to do something. I'd have never been able to forgive myself otherwise." The smallest smile flickered over her face. He hoped it was enough to convince her of who he was. "I'll get out your way. Shout me if you need me."

"I will. And… Jaune…" she called. He looked back. "Thank you for saving them."

Thanking him or thanking the Dark Lord; it was hard to know which deserved it. Jaune ducked his head and stepped out, almost running straight into the stranger in their own home. Or not a stranger. A newcomer. Ruby Rose looked up at him with her bright silver eyes and something akin to intense concentration on her face.

"It was you, wasn't it?" she asked.

"Me?"

"You who helped my dad. He was dying – even I could tell that – and then suddenly he was better. They say he'll wake up soon, but there was no way he was going to before you spent the night looking after him." Her eyes locked onto his and she smiled hopefully. "You healed him, didn't you?"

"I… I…" Jaune looked away. "I may have helped a little…"

The girl's arms wrapped around him. She squeezed him tight. "Thank you!" she whispered. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Whatever you are, whoever you are, I don't care. You saved his life. He's… Dad is all I have left."

At least someone was willing to look at him, willing to talk to him. That his own family wouldn't… He clung to Ruby and hoped she didn't notice when he hugged her back just as tightly, taking just as much comfort from her as she had from him saving Taiyang. If she did, she didn't say anything, and he was grateful for her understanding.

"If you need anything at all…"

"Thank you." He wasn't sure what he needed right now. Sleep, maybe. To clear his head and think clearly. "I'm not sure-" He paused and took a deep breath. "I'm going to try and get some rest. I know it sounds ridiculous, but could you make sure no one bothers me?"

Or tried to kill him in his sleep. He didn't want to think anyone would, least of all his own family, but they were obviously shaken and confused. He didn't know if Ruby caught onto that or not, but she nodded quickly. "I can do that!"

/-/

"Jaune. Jaune, wake up!"

Ruby was shaking him. He peered up at her face, wondering for a moment why she looked so tense and afraid. She was biting her lip and there was a bruise below her left eye, staining her pale skin an ugly shade of purple. The confusion of a slow awakening had him forgetting what he'd asked of her and why she might be in his room at all. "Ruby? What's wrong?"

He heard them before she answered, people outside – shouting, accusing, and the thud of something striking up at the shuttered and closed window of his bedroom. Jaune lurched up, hurried over and pushed it open to take in the small crowd outside, armed with pitchforks, spears and whatever else they could find, some with burning torches that they waved threateningly toward the house.

"Bring him out!" a man roared. "We know he's in there – the Dark Lord! Bring him out or we'll burn the house down!"

That's it I'm afraid. It's twelve noon – time for me to split. Really hoping this turns out to be a nice day today, normal surgery tomorrow with no complications, and I can look back on all this stress with my mother and both of us can laugh about it.

I'm sure you can all understand why I'd rather not chance that though.

Next Chapter: 20th March

P a treon . com (slash) Coeur