Chapter 45. Beacon Days 27
For Jaune and his party, dinner was a subdued affair on the whole. The need to check for poisons really put a damper on conversations, and while their table in the ship's main restaurant was adjacent to the window, thus affording them a stunning view of the evening sunset, the group didn't get to enjoy it much. They were busy guarding their youngest member from possible firing angles. Because, holy hell, were there a lot of guns near them.
Despite it being rather early for dinner, the room was already filled to bursting with passengers. Nobody wanted to be caught alone by this point, and there's good odds people will sleep in public places tonight. A sizable contingent of them carried weaponry of some kind. Firearms and swords featured prominently, but Jaune also saw a few people opting for things like spears, tasers, and even a harpoon gun. With what looked like the contents of an armory disseminated throughout the ship, the public places that he previously deemed safe for his cousin have become anything but.
Against that backdrop, Verteau asked the question they were all wondering.
"What's our next step, Jaune?" He thought about it, before bowing his head in defeat.
"I'm not sure. I figured we'd be done at this point, or at least gotten a lot further in finding the culprit's identity." He cast his gaze over the room. "And now…"
How did that line go?
The best-laid plans of mice and men…something, something, nobody ever told him the rest. It conveyed the idea that a person's machinations would never be as perfect as desired. There's more than just yourself acting upon the world and everybody has their own goals. Each would march ahead, seeking the outcome they imagined. Moves and countermoves, intentions known and unknown; all that went to hell with one fiddly detail out of sync. Then, the future would crumble into a state of uncertainty.
The Arcs were a stubborn lot. It took a fourth death, Roseaux's, for them to come around to the idea that they weren't going to get what they desired. To compound the issue, some big names in the family were now gone, with the possibility of more on the chopping block. The likes of Bleudin, Blancaire, and Ferrouson gave their relatives a measure of stability and influence within their communities. Roseaux not so much, but even he carved out a niche as the guy that, for a favor, can be counted on to arrange a meeting with some useful acquaintances from his circles. With each successive loss, the Arc name waned.
And so, finally, the cruise ship was headed back to Vale. Self-preservation had won out against greed.
In Jaune's opinion, his relatives made the decision way, waaaay too late. This far out, it'll take until near morning to get back. The pattern so far suggested they might see three or more people added to the body count. Little wonder that his relatives have taken up arms.
And, honestly, he would have been fine with the weapons' presence were they strapped to hips. One did not simply live in Beacon and not get used to having deadly implements of war within one's personal space. There, however, he can expect people to be calm and professional about it. Seeing shaky hands holding on to a shotgun? Not so reassuring.
Two tables over, Cyano had a revolver sitting next to his bowl of noodles. His dining companion, Aunt Grassine, scanned the room as she ate with one hand, the other gripping her saber tight. Skylar, as expected, hanged around at the bar, regaling anyone within earshot of the supposed Grimms and bandits he had slain with the rifle he was waving about. Near him, Mauvery socialized with her group. She appeared unarmed as far as he could tell, but the man and woman bookending her carried elegant dueling pistols. Chocola raised a glass to him when he caught her eyes. He spied a sword handle at her hip. Idly, he wondered if she ever had a mechashift weapon, and whatever happened to it after her Beacon Initiation. It would have been cool to check out, especially since he hasn't seen one yet among the eclectic mix on display in this room.
Armed or not, in the end one common theme existed between those present. The arrogance, the willful thought of 'it would only happen to other people' was gone for good, now. In its place, paranoia gripped their hearts. They kept their heads on a swivel. The particularly nervous ones jumped at shadows, and more than once weapons were raised in error. Uncertainty frayed at their nerves.
To an extent, he was the same as his relatives, left in the lurch after the situation turned out different from how he expected it to go. The investigation was his attempt at drawing out the culprit. Being nowhere close to a real detective, he'd hoped to provoke an attack, then use it as an opportunity to catch them. A brilliant play, if he said so himself.
The killer neatly sidestepped it by ignoring him. That left him with the harder route of finding out who has what Semblance. Except…
"I don't think they're in the mood to talk," said Ren. Jaune sighed in frustration.
"Yeah, but what does it hurt to try one more time? Besides, baiting the killer isn't working." He pushed his untouched dish of flan over to Azurelle, offering her the dessert as he stood up. To Ren, he said, "I'll make the rounds. Stay here, and don't let anyone bother my sister and cousin."
Circling around the table, he walked towards Grassine and Cyano. The former noticed him first. Her eyes widened, alerting the latter who turned in his seat. Before he could say a word, Cyano pointed at his face.
"You stay away from me! You and that girl!" Jaune frowned at the note of hysteria in his voice.
"What brought this on?"
Cyano hurriedly dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. Bunching it up, he tossed it on the table and got to his feet.
"People seen talking to you two have a habit of falling dead, that's what."
"Oi! We were the ones who actually cared about catching the culprit, so don't go accusing us—"
"Who's accusing anything? I'm saying you and her are bad luck!" He glanced at the table behind Jaune, and the three people there who were listening intently to the conversation. His breath grew heavy with panic. "We were better off never knowing you. If Bleudin never gave that chit the fortune, he'd be alive right now!"
Cyano flinched at the fist that appeared a mere inch from his face. Jaune, who had launched said fist, looked down at the hand grabbing his arm to stop the punch from landing. He then met the gaze of the hand's owner, and his voice came out as a growl.
"You should be protecting Verteau and Azy." Ren shrugged in answer.
"I am. Pick a fight here, and people might start shooting. Also, I think your cousin could do with you over there right now."
Turning his head, Jaune looked where Ren indicated. Cyano's thoughtless words have had an effect on Azurelle. Tears brimmed in her eyes. Her lips quivered. Verteau had swept her in an embrace, and the younger girl dipped her head, curling into herself. Jaune was there a second later.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed the boorish oaf he'd spared shaking his head and walking away, hand fishing out a cigar from his pocket. For the moment, he let the man go in lieu of helping his sister comfort their cousin.
Cyano spoke a lie, but even knowing that, a lie can still hurt. In a twisted interpretation, a person could claim that had Bleudin kept Azurelle out of his will, none of the events that followed would have happened. Everybody would be happy, nobody would be dead, and there would be world peace.
…like hell!
It was nothing but a fallacy, one dispelled by posing a counter-hypothetical: had the other Arcs simply accepted Bleudin's decision, thereby showing just a smidgeon of decency and good character, they'd have achieved the same result. Of course, to a person wracked by grief and doubts, the worst conclusions were the ones that stuck in their mind.
He tried to explain it, repeating again and again in the late Bleudin's stead that the old man treasured the time he spent with Azurelle. That because of her, his was a life well-lived. How well it worked, he wasn't sure. While she had nodded in agreement and wiped her tears, his cousin couldn't muster a smile.
If there was ever an Arc that Jaune longed to hurt, it would be Cyano Arc.
The quartet sat around the table in silence. What appetite they had for their desserts have well and truly vanished. The whispers from the other people in the room reached their ears, grating on Jaune's nerves. He rubbed at his eyes, the restaurant's light seeming uncomfortably bright and irritating. It wasn't his imagination either since Azurelle mirrored his movements, face scrunched in discomfort.
Maybe it was so many of these little things exacerbating his bad mood, maybe it was his patience at last running out, but he came to a decision then and there.
"Ren, we're dropping this."
In surprise, his teammate asked, "You mean, the search for the killer?" He frowned when Jaune nodded. "I think you should reconsider, Jaune. People will continue to die unless we can catch them. Also, what about…?" His eyes flicked in the younger Arc's direction, who was looking at Jaune in worry.
"You're my priority, Azy." Jaune reaffirmed to his cousin. "You and my sister. Nobody else. Sorry Ren, but you understand what I expect from you."
His teammate waved away the apology. Unlike the others, he was a Huntsman and no stranger to the risks of the profession. If it came down to facing the killer, Jaune would count on the other boy to stand on the frontline, same as him.
Continuing, he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Whatever happens to the rest of these people, I don't give a damn. They're not cooperating, so they're welcome to get through the night on their own. I'm going to keep you safe until we're back in Vale. Then, I'll get in contact with my Uncle to set up a guard detail on you day and night while I… well, it's best if you don't know more. We will catch the culprit in the end, though."
Uncle Hei knew all sorts of ways to pry answers out of people. Some of them hardly involved the copious use of violence, too. Working blind did mean that the collateral damage would be immense as they go through the list of his relatives, but Jaune could no longer find it in himself to care.
A new plan took shape, the steps arranging themselves into one course of action. The first thing to do was to find a defensible position, somewhere with space to maneuver so they don't get trapped in a corner like the previous victims. From there, he'd run down the clock until landfall. The biggest risk was having the killer show up in the same place as Verteau and Azurelle, and it had been something he carefully avoided up till now. At this juncture, though, he fancied his chances in that scenario better than out here with the dozens of trigger-happy relatives, all of whom were tempted to attack the young girl.
He pushed back his chair, motioning to the others to follow suit. The party headed for the exit under the gaze of everyone in the restaurant. Reaching the heavy oak doors, Jaune prepared to push it open.
And he heard a scream on the other side.
He, and the entire restaurant, paused in their tracks. They, in shock; him, in indecision. The voice of the person in distress sounded familiar. He'd heard it less than fifteen minutes earlier. It belonged to Cyano.
There was a moment—one that seemed to stretch on forever—where he had a single thought.
Good riddance.
Then, he rammed the door open, blowing it off the hinges with the force he exerted. A quick glance showed an empty walkway, but a fading yell for help and a still-lit cigar lying inches from the railings a little ways down told him of Cyano's fate.
"Man overboard!"
Rushing to the balcony, he grabbed at the lifebuoy and rope strung on the railings, then leaned over to search the water below for the man. The moment he spotted Cyano's head breaking the surface, Jaune winded back his arm and chucked the flotation device at him. His accuracy proved topnotch… which he realized might be a bad thing in this situation, because the lifebuoy struck Cyano in the face.
He has Aura, so he'll be fine.
Cyano's head sank below the water.
"Ummm…"
Verteau appeared on his right. Grasping the railing, she looked down.
"Where is he? Did you get him?"
Define 'get him', sis.
"I did my best. Alas, a freak current dragged him into the depths—" An arm burst out of the sea to grab the lifebuoy, interrupting Jaune's eulogy and alleviating his guilt. He threw up his hands, cheering, "—but with my unerring aim, I got the float close enough for him to grab on! Hurray, me!"
He started pulling on the rope. Ren pitched in, and with the strength of two Huntsmen they easily dragged the older man up the side of the ship. His waterlogged body hit the deck, where he laid and gasped for air. Crewmembers moved in to check him over. Jaune left them to it, craning his neck above the murmuring crowd to search for a sign of the assailant. As before, he saw nobody beyond their immediate surroundings.
Two arms wrapped around his neck, squeezing tight, and his sister shouted in his ear, "Good job, Jaune!"
"That was amazing!" Azurelle followed-up. "You blasted right through the door! And you were so fast!"
Any Beacon student could have done the same, but he wasn't about to tell his cousin that. She wanted to praise him, and he wanted to bask in praise. They shared a common interest.
"Heheh, aren't I cool? I'm not a Huntsman just for show, you know."
In clear agreement, she rapidly nodded her head up and down, eyes shining with admiration. Jaune found himself standing a bit taller under that gaze, something his sister noticed. Laughing, she ruffled his hair.
"Don't get too smug. Ren helped, too." Reaching out an arm, she pulled the other boy in. "You two did good."
Ren answered her with a quick smile. He then nudged Jaune, pointing him to Cyano. Thinking about it, Jaune realized that they had quite a rare find here. A survivor might have insights to give.
"Give me a bit, sis?"
After Verteau let him go, he approached the older man, noting that Cyano hadn't lost his previous apprehensiveness. The nearer he got to him, the tenser the man became. Crouching down, he propped his chin on a hand.
"Still think I'm bad luck?" He received a wary shake of the head; it wasn't a very convincing response. "Well, no matter. The real question I'm interested in, is if you saw your attacker."
"I didn't," Cyano exclaimed. "There shouldn't have been anyone else around, I'm certain of it!"
The noise from the bystanders intensified upon hearing his claim. The word 'ghost' made its way from one mouth to the next. Among them, Jaune spied Mauvery and Chocola, the two suspects beside Cyano to possess Aura and now competing for the top spot on the list. They seemingly expressed trepidation, but he couldn't rule out it being an act.
"Walk me through it, Cyano. You came out here to, what, avoid me and my cousin?"
He stammered, "A-and to have a smoke. It calms me down. I was leaning on the balcony over there and…and watching the sunset!"
Jaune thought the last bit sounded like it was made up on the spot, and he wondered what Cyano was really up to. Ren beat him to it.
"I do not believe you. At that time, you just left a confrontation between yourself and us. I recall certain words spoken about Jaune's cousin."
The man wore a sheepish expression. His eyes darted this way and that before he rallied.
"There may have been a few… unkind thoughts. What of it? We're free to think what we like!"
In other words, he was cursing up a storm. That's a minor mystery solved, but it wasn't exactly a startling revelation since most people on the ship had likely done the same. Jaune glanced at Ren to see if he intended to continue this line of questions, but the other boy had already lost interest. Chin in hand, he stared off into space. Leaving him to it, Jaune refocused on the interrogation.
"Are you sure there was nobody else on this walkway?" A headshake. Jaune looked to where the cigar dropped, then turned to check the angle from there to the restaurant. As far as he could tell, Cyano had stood in a blindspot. "They shoved you, correct?"
"That's right. I was standing there for maybe ten minutes, when I suddenly felt an impact on my back. It… it was more of a punch, in fact, with enough strength to send me tumbling over the railings. If I didn't have Aura, it could have done a lot of damage!" The man wrapped his arms around himself, shivering as the event caught up to him at last.
Jaune, on the other hand, almost jumped for joy upon hearing that remark.
As Cyano said, a person without Aura could have been injured or even killed from one blow. For someone that did possess it, however, the attack only managed to damage their Aura and impart momentum to push them away. This ruled out Ren's theory on the Semblance being a devastating blow and his own that proposed an ability to bypass a Huntsman's defenses. What a relief!
The disappearing act still suggested a form of incorporeality, but a stealth Semblance that lacked offensive utility was a lot less terrifying than a one-hit kill. The one wrinkle he saw would be the question of how the murderer succeeded in taking out Bleudin unnoticed. He'd have to spitball some ideas with Ren later.
Also of worry was the killer's bolder approach. Since people were unwilling to go to their rooms, they looked to have forwent the locked door and opted instead for a moment when their victim was out of sight. That they went after a person protected by Aura within such a tight window spoke of confidence or desperation. Admittedly, the opportunity might have been too good to pass up. Cyano did sort of provide the perfect weapon to be used against himself. Trying to drown him was inspired, considering it was one of the ways in which a Huntsman can die the same as a civilian.
There's an easy counter to that, though.
"Ren, cross out the rooftop bar and the aft-decks. We want a roomy, defensible location that's fully indoors. None of us are getting thrown in the ocean."
"..."
"Ren?"
"Hmmm," His teammate replied in an absentminded manner. A nudge from Jaune snapped him out of it. "Huh? Oh, yes, I actually know a place we can use."
-o-
"...continue to monitor them, please. Thank you."
Jaune pressed a button on the intercom to end the call with the security team's leader, his worries assuaged. His top suspects, Mauvery and Chocola, were content to stay in the restaurant. With the ship's employees posted to observe the two, his group should have an advanced warning should whichever was the killer seek them out. Spinning on his heels, he laid his back on the wall and took in their hideout for the night.
The four of them were back where it began, the ballroom. Ren had pointed out its central location on this floor, with the passage behind him and the employees' entrance offering many escape routes. The wide, open space suited their needs should a fight occur. It lacked windows, and the nearest source of water came from the bottles sitting on the table along with their supply of food. Good luck on the killer to do anything more than splash his suit.
Smack dab in the center, they've thrown a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor. His cousin was there, getting her hair combed by Verteau. A few yards away, Ren sat on a chair with his arms crossed, once again preoccupied by his own thoughts. As if sensing that he was being observed, he looked up to meet Jaune's gaze. After a moment, he beckoned for him to come over.
Jaune did so, hopping up to sit on a table.
"You picked a pretty good spot. Nice work!" The other boy nodded in acknowledgement. "Alright, what's going on, Ren? You're distracted."
"I struck on a passing idea while thinking of the previous murders, and I was following that trail. Your Grand-uncle's death—"
"It's just off, isn't it? I was wondering the exact same thing, and I think I've got it."
Ren blinked in surprise. "Wait, really?"
"Okay, hear me out. We have proof that the killer's Semblance can't go through Aura, but let's suppose it can still through walls. That's how they can commit the other murders. As for Bleudin, the killer showed their hands by pushing Cyano off the boat; that's their solution to people with Aura. There was no battle because they caught him unaware and drowned him in the bathtub. The wound was put on him afterward to throw us off the scent. It fits!"
He faltered when he saw his teammate's head slowly shaking.
"Bleudin did not exhibit the typical signs of drowning. No tinge of blue to his face, nor residual moisture on his clothes and body. I'm quite sure he succumbed to the chest wound." Jaune slumped in disappointment at the rebuttal.
"Dammit. So it doesn't fit."
"No, it seems like nothing about his death meld easily with the rest of what we know. Which is why I am starting to believe that we have made a few mistakes from the beginning," Ren said. "Rather than trying to make the pieces fit into one neat puzzle, let us consider this: there isn't one killer, but two."
"What makes you think…that there…are…"
Oh. Damn.
He himself had taken note of the discrepancies. During the first murder, the perpetrator had multiple options to get into the room. They committed the act without alerting the ship. Then, they exited via the door. In the murders that followed, the culprit appeared from thin air, and cared little for the people who overheard. After the deed, they vanished as mysteriously as they came. When he identified the paradoxical behavior, Jaune had entertained the idea that it was all part of a convoluted plot to eliminate Bleudin and the other claimants before gaining control of Azurelle. It would have made everything fit together. Now, Ren proposed that there was no contradiction in the first place. The different modes of operation reflected the thought process of separate individuals.
"Two killers," he muttered. Ren nodded.
"One who hated Bleudin, and one who hated anyone that could have killed Bleudin."
Jaune, who was halfway to his feet to contact the security team, stopped short at those words. In his mind, the choices had narrowed down to Mauvery and Chocola, though he could not decide between the two earlier. With the premise that he was looking for two culprits, that decision became moot, and he thought it prudent to have both detained. What Ren said, however, sounded impossible.
"Wait a minute. Who's the second person? A lot of my relatives disliked my Grand-uncle. The people we questioned hated him for sure. We don't have a suspect."
If there was another person besides their group to have a good opinion of the old man, he'd expect them to show up by now. Maybe not to help find his murderer, but at least to express their condolences to Azurelle, who was visibly suffering from the loss. Granted, he paid attention to a fraction of the extended family, so one or two of the rest escaping his sight would not surprise him. From what he saw, though, they were at best ambivalent to the man's passing. The baseline lay firmly on the antagonistic side.
Just then, Jaune noticed the odd look Ren leveled at him. There was an apprehensiveness to him. His mouth would open as if to speak, before closing again. It was rather unnerving to witness because he tended to wear a calm expression.
"What's wrong?"
Finally, Ren took a deep breath, and said in a rush, "It had occurred to me that you might be seeing things through clouded eyes. Disregard all else but the motive, Jaune. Who had greater cause to avenge his death than anybody else on this ship? Who was closest to Bleudin?"
It took a long time for what Ren was hinting to click for him. When he realized the person that refers to, Jaune scowled.
"That's just in poor taste." The scowl deepened when his teammate remained motionless. Scoffing, he said, "I'll let it pass this time, but I don't want you spouting jokes like that when Azy is within earshot. She's already in too much pain as it is."
He expected that to be the end of it and, mood thoroughly ruined, he hopped off the table to leave. A hand landed on his shoulder, pulling him around. Ren had also stood up, facing him with clear agitation.
"Jaune, what is a Semblance?"
He cocked his head in confusion.
"Weird pivot, but okay. A Semblance a term used to describe the projection of Aura—"
"No, no. Forget the textbook, and tell me what it is. The power to absorb lightning? To run like the wind?"
"Those are Semblances, but they aren't the only options. A Semblance can be pretty much anything. It's like a superpower."
"Exactly!" Ren jabbed a finger at him. It narrowly missed his eye, making Jaune glare. "Semblances are as varied as the shape of clouds. It could be a power to induce a hallucinogenic effect, summon a doppelganger, or attack from afar. And that's just off the top of my head. Logic need not be an obstacle. Don't you see? Your cousin being near us and her being the culprit are not mutually exclusive, so you can't discount her."
Listening to his teammate speak, Jaune stared askance in the realization that the other boy wasn't going to let this joke go. Moreover, he was starting to suspect that Ren somehow believed the drivel he was spouting.
"Are you serious right now?" His jaw slackened when Ren confirmed he was. In exasperation, he exclaimed, "She doesn't even have Aura, you idiot!"
"You say that, and yet she isn't winded."
Jaune spread his arms out in a so what gesture.
His teammate explained, "Since last night and all through today, she did not sleep, and instead followed us around. Her hobbies are not very athletically inclined from what you've told me, but while your sister became tired at times, your cousin kept up with Beacon Huntsmen-in-Training and did not break a sweat. She fell down a flight of stairs, and got up like nothing happened. It wasn't luck that she escaped an injury. She has Aura."
"She does not!" Jaune denied. "Remember at the banquet, when she was stabbed by the toothpick? Something that small should not even leave a scratch on us but it drew blood for her. Besides, she barely knew anything about Aura!"
"Yes, but she was very interested to hear about it from you, wasn't she? Like a new student eager to learn."
He was beginning to hate his teammate's tone of voice. Calm, collected, reasonable; Ren leveled accusations in a dispassionate manner, as if they were facts.
"You'd need someone else to unlock it," He argued. Instantly, Ren offered a response.
"And she has one. Bleudin Arc. According to the maid, he left his room last night for half an hour. During that time, there's an opportunity for him to awaken her Aura… and a chance for someone to later catch him in a weakened state."
Why would the old man unlock it? It didn't take Jaune long to come up with an answer. To protect Azurelle from his mistake.
His relatives have made no attempt to hide their greed. Just by attending the banquet, a person would have the point driven home that the rest of the Arcs desperately coveted the fortune. Once Bleudin understood how much danger he had placed on the one person he cared for in this world, he would have wanted to ensure her safety. But how? He could not trust anyone. So, he did the best thing he could manage in such a short window. He unlocked her Aura. Something to keep her alive should anyone venture a try at harming her. A defense she can carry at all times…unless it has been expended by, say, unlocking someone else's Aura. If Bleudin was running on fumes at the start of the encounter, that would explain how the killer can fatally stab him—he cut off the train of thought with a furious shake of his head, admonishing himself for almost being taken in by this charade.
Maddeningly, Ren refused to let up. "People did not hear a fight because there was no fight. Azurelle must have a higher Aura reserve than most, something your Grand-uncle could not have known until he had exhausted his own in the effort to unlock it. That's how someone could kill him in one blow. The lucky murderer found him at his most vulnerable, and struck right through the last vestige of Aura."
"He could have used up his Aura lifting weights, or running a marathon on the deck. Hell, it was a dumb theory in the first place. He probably had full Aura, and someone hit him with a special Semblance. Yes! That's the best explanation!"
Even as Jaune said it, he didn't believe it. A thin sheen of sweat coated his neck. His lips had dried. For all his denials, what Ren suggested made too much sense. Way too much.
When put in a Red Aura state, it took hardly any damage to shatter the rest. Hell, a Huntsman's strength wasn't even needed to manage the feat. A civilian with a weapon would suffice.
He turned to peer at his cousin a short distance away. Verteau had finished combing her hair, and Azurelle was now holding the book he loaned her, opened up to the early pages. She wasn't very enthusiastic about reading, though, seeming down and lost in thought. He could guess why. It would have been around this time last night that they discovered Bleudin's death. She missed him.
Of all the Arcs, she was the one that cared most for Bleudin, and vice versa. What would the old man not do for her sake?
"Azy."
Before he knew it, he had already called out to her. Dread pooled in his gut at the same time that curiosity burned at the forefront of his mind.
She looked up, sadness replaced by a guileless smile as her eyes met his.
"Yes?"
"Do you… have Aura?"
His heart almost stopped for she now stared at him with a deer in headlights look. Before she could recover her composure, he saw shock, excitement, and guilt warring on her face. The latter won out, and she lowered her gaze to the floor. Bashfully, her hands fidgeted with the book.
"I-I wanted to tell you, but Grandpa said not to," she stammered as her cheeks turned pink.
His heart started beating again. Hers was the guilt of a prank discovered, not that of a monster's grisly deeds. Seeing her so shy and meek, the fear he felt withered to nothing, and he experienced a deep pang of remorse for suspecting her.
He offered a smile to soothe his cousin, and she perked up when she noticed he wasn't angry.
"I'm guessing he wanted you to keep it as a secret weapon." She nodded. He gave a small laugh. "I get that. My teachers taught me the same lesson. Keeping a surprise hidden in our back pocket is just a matter of good sense. Besides, things were tense between Grand-uncle and my family, so he wouldn't have trusted me after one dinner. I get it, and I don't blame you."
Hell, he approved, both of her (for following in his own sneaky footsteps, unwittingly or not) and of the old man (for trying to keep her safe). It cost Bleudin his life, but considering someone was willing to kill for the inheritance, it was also the right move.
A sigh of relief escaped Azurelle's lips. Guilt subsided to embarrassment at being caught out, and she revealed a mischievous grin, which he mirrored. Cousin and cousin shared a chuckle.
Like a devil, Ren appeared by Jaune's side, murmuring in his ear.
"…There's still the matter of the deaths. She has a motive—"
"She's a kid." Jaune hissed, spinning around so Azurelle would not see him snarl at the other boy.
"—and with Aura, she can match their strength—"
"Stop."
"—if we add to that a Semblance—"
"Ren. Shut the fuck up."
His teammate jumped back, sensing the raw hate that Jaune poured into his words. It was an order and a threat in one. He had his answer. He did not care to know more.
"I—my apologies, Jaune. It's just that… you must admit the possibility is there." The other boy's expression hardened, and Jaune understood too late his intentions. "Justice is a harsh thing, but we can't back down from it."
Ducking low, Ren surged forward. He slipped underneath the arm Jaune threw out, fingers brushing his shirt collar and failing to catch hold. Out of his sleeves came a table knife and, as Jaune roared his wrath, Ren swung it at the bewildered girl.
The strike was a weak one, barely stronger than an attack by an untrained civilian instead of his usual sharp blow, but it need not be more. He just had to show a token attempt to hurt her, something to force a mistake that proves she can match the level of a grown man, or can simply mind-control him to stop in his tracks, or even phase through the attack.
A hand easily stopped the knife cold, and Ren showed a look of vindication for the briefest of instances before he realized it was not the small hand of the shy Azurelle. It wasn't Jaune's, either. Certainly not Ren's own.
No, that hand belonged to the thing– the creature– the monster that loomed over them. A monster that had not been there a second earlier. In white and gold it softly shone with light, its flesh more akin to armor. Each of its arms was as thick as Jaune's torso, and longer than he was tall. He had to crane his neck to see the monster's helm-like head. The face resembled a human's, though devoid of emotions. A blank, cold thing it was, with blue fires where the eyes should be. Under its gaze, he shivered at the feeling of standing in judgment. The thing moved its other arm to enclose Azurelle within a loose circle. Heart sinking in dismay, he discerned the action as a bid to guard his cousin.
The monster was hers.
Then, before he could despair, a strange thing happened.
Azurelle, recovering from a sudden headache, blinked blankly upon sighting the massive arm. As she identified what it was, she began to tremble. Blue eyes grew wide and round. Breaths came in uneven gasps. Shaking like a leaf, his cousin turned her head, then her body, to follow the arm back to its origin, looking up, up, up until she saw the entity staring down at her.
With a squeak of fright, she fell to the floor in a dead faint.
And, in silence, the monster stepped over her body to charge at the two boys.
-o-
"We are going to have words, Ren!"
A thick arm swiped at him from the left side, and Jaune bent back to evade. The hand missed his face by an inch. Straightening up, he saw the other arm already coming down, forcing him to disengage from the attempt. He winced when a giant foot cratered the floor right next to his cousin's head on accident.
"But later!"
Ren, in a brief moment of respite, regarded the unconscious girl, the huge monster, and the blond boy currently being chased by said huge monster. He dipped his head in apology.
"Fair enough, Jaune."
The thing bore down on them, putting on hold anything more they wanted to say. They ran in different directions and Jaune made towards his cousin lying a few yards away, thinking to escape with her. Two steps later, he changed his mind as the monster skidded in between them to intercept.
Quickly, he checked on Azurelle to see if she had caused this, and noted that she was still unconscious. To test it further, he backpedaled to try and draw it apart from her. When it ignored his baiting in favor of grabbing a table and chucking it at him, Jaune came to the conclusion that this thing can make decisions by itself. At a fair level of intelligence, too, if he were to judge.
A rampaging Semblance. It could be nothing else.
He'd heard stories of it from other students. Those who have yet to discover their Semblance whispered of the phenomenon in hushed tones, as if afraid that the world would somehow overhear and punish them with one. People used to dismiss such Semblances as a myth or the result of poor training. Historical cases have changed that mindset. They existed.
Just as there were Semblances that were overpowered compared to the norm or were perfectly suited for its owner, so too were there ones that manifested on the other end of the spectrum. The strength of the Semblance did not come into it; that's a whole different debate. Nobody would call these powers 'weak'. Oh, no, rampaging Semblances were often extreme in their potency. They earned their moniker for being broken in terrible ways.
The best explanation he received came from Uncle Hei, who witnessed the activation of one. He claimed they were Semblances that had lost a few key elements during their creation, like an off switch or an immunity for the person to their own power's effect. Others might allow zero input from their owner, acting on unknown triggers. The worst cases seemed to have it out for people wielding them, as exhibited in the Bad Luck Semblance that Uncle Hei saw.
They're powerful, someone had told him, because they were in tune with the world's will rather than their owners'.
They're rare, someone had told him, because they tend to get their masters killed.
He cannot remember ever hearing of a situation like this, though, where a Semblance adopted a humanoid form and behaved as if it was alive. Weiss's came close, but her summons served as puppets for her to direct. The actions this monster took flowed smoothly even when Azurelle had fainted. He'd seen it make decisions without her contribution. For all intents and purposes, it had developed a separate, sentient agenda.
Catching a movement in his periphery, Jaune called out, "Sis, don't you dare! I've got this!"
Thankfully, Verteau heeded him, dropping the chair leg. At his urging, she darted for the far wall, letting the two Huntsmen have free reign. They could take a shot from this thing. She would have been a goner.
A giant fist smushed Ren flat into the floor. After it rose, the boy struggled to get back up, looking dazed.
Okay, scratch that. He could take a shot from this thing. His teammate's Aura, on the other hand, was a little lacking for a prolonged confrontation. The monster cupped its hands together, bringing it down on Ren. Jaune was already in motion and he rammed into the arms, knocking the blow off course. The two boys used this chance to retreat to a safe distance.
"Are you alright? You have to keep mobile. Don't stay still."
"Yes, sorry, I was just caught off guard. That thing… it looks like you."
The comment brought Jaune up short. As the monster turned to face them, he studied its features.
What the hell?
The similarities were there. Not in the body, which appeared as a suit of armor he would never be caught dead in, but in the set of the jaw and the shape of the nose. The resemblance lay in the monster's face, so like his, only golden and inhuman. And those eyes, they burned with his fire.
His gaze was drawn to the still form of his cousin behind the monster. His breath hitched as understanding dawned.
On Semblances, there existed many theories. One was based around the observation that they often emerge in a time of danger. It may be survivor bias, but sometimes it seems as if a Semblance will be exactly what a person needs.
In years past, Azurelle followed Jaune like a duckling whenever they saw each other. Upon their first meeting in years, he rescued her from a crowd of greedy relatives. She loved to read adventure novels, and visited Bleudin's manor every day to hear stories of his exploits. The lonely girl carried an admiration for heroes. Hence, when assailed by enemies uncountable, surrounded by people that shamelessly plotted harm in her presence, her soul may have responded to a wish. It gave shape to this form, drawing on the image of the boy who cared for her wellbeing so as to grant her an ever-faithful friend and stalwart defender. The Semblance construct looked like him, were he a hero of legend clad in shining armor. A being larger than life. A Guardian Angel.
And it was protecting Azurelle—little Azy—like he tried to do. Poorly. Recklessly. But nevertheless, wholeheartedly.
"It's not going to stop," Jaune muttered. "It won't calm down until we're dead."
There's no running from this thing. It'd simply chase them to the ends of Remnant, because it's as dumb and stubborn as he was. More, even, as evidenced by its rudimentary friend-or-foe mechanic.
"What's the plan, then?" Ren asked.
The answer was obvious, all told. If fleeing was not an option, one must fight. Of course, there's the little issue of his cousin lying at the center of the battlefield.
"We get Azy out of its path. The stupid thing is going to get her hurt at this rate. After that, I'll need you to keep her clear of the battle while I deal with it."
"It's beating both of us at the moment. I don't see how you can win alone!"
"You let me worry about that, and just wait for my opening."
As he rushed in, he kept light on his feet. A telegraphed punch was sidestepped with ease, and he weaved through a follow-up swipe. Neither were the opportunities he wanted, so he stayed on the defensive, baiting out different attacks.
His chance arrived when Guardian Angel lifted its foot high. No dodging now, he crossed his arms above his head as the foot stomped on him. He heard his sister scream in terror.
The initial impact would have flatten a normal person into pancakes altogether, but Huntsmen were a sturdier lot. It sent him crashing to one knee and cracked the marble floor, but failed to achieve the leverage required to crush him. Seeming to realize this, the construct adjusted to lay all of its weight on Jaune, trying to grind him down inch by inch.
He could have laughed, because while it was heavy, it was nowhere near 'Glynda Goodwitch dropping what felt like a mountain on his head with her unfair Semblance' heavy. An experimental shift of his shoulder confirmed that he can still move. That was enough for him, and Jaune drew out more of his Aura, pouring it into his limbs. The downward force slowed, then stopped. Man and monster achieved an equilibrium of sorts, and appeared unmoving to the onlookers.
Then, with a shout, Jaune shoved. His balled-up frame unfolded in one great effort. It overwhelmed the counteracting force of his opponent. Going with the momentum, he pushed off the ground in a jump. The leg ended up going high above the construct's waist, shattering its balance. The upper body—and most of the weight— tipped backward as a response.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ren zipping by on a course for Azurelle. As Guardian Angel slammed into the floor, his teammate made it to the younger girl. He scooped her up and promptly ran for the far side of the room.
Step one, complete! Now that his cousin was no longer at risk of friendly fire, he could bring everything he had to bear.
Jaune undid a button on his suit jacket and reached inside, his left hand wrapping around a lacquered wood scabbard. As he pulled out the weapon, his right hand went to the grip, unsheathing his wakizashi in one smooth motion. A gentle press of the switch and sparks crackled along the blade.
"What the—?" Ren yelled out from behind him. "You brought that with you to a family reunion?"
"Of course I did! Lesson number Thirty-Seven, Ren. A fight can start at the drop of a hat, so never go unarmed."
He spun the blade once, twice, then let it come to rest on a shoulder. The familiar weight bestowed upon him a sense of comfort he had missed, banishing his apprehensions to nothingness. In its place emerged the certainty that with this long knife and endless bravado, he had everything he needed to take on the world. A flippant smirk sprang to his lips.
The real battle starts now!
Two minutes later, Ren and Verteau watched from opposite corners as Jaune sailed through the air, flipping end over end to slam into the wall between them. He left an imprint in the plaster as he dropped back down to the ground, crashing through a table.
Stumbling to his feet, he murmured, "Okay, note to self: don't let it grab me. Thing's got an arm like a baseballer." Noticing his audience, he adopted a cocksure grin. "But don't worry, guys. I've got this!"
He threw them a salute, then charged his foe once more.
*Wham!*
Shortly after the sound of a great impact, they watched him soar over their heads to hit the same wall, leaving a second imprint next to the first.
"It also has the punt of a soccer star," Jaune said, brushing dust off the suit with his free arm. "But that's fine. No biggie."
"A-are you sure, Jaune?" Asked Verteau. She scanned him for injuries, and he spun his body to show her that he was unharmed.
"Sure as sure. I'm beginning to get the measure of this thing. Besides, I think I've hurt it just as much… hang on, you better get ready, Ren."
His foe hadn't been idle during the time Jaune was learning to fly. The heavy frame hampered its speed some, but it was still closing in on their position. More specifically, the corner with Ren and Azurelle.
Jaune met it a third time to give his teammate the chance to run. Ramming the knife into a leg, he activated the Lightning Dust. The uncontrollable spasms of that limb made the Guardian Angel dance in place. Ren was well on his way to the other end of the room by the time it recovered.
The construct looked at Ren, then at him. Evidently deciding that he was the bigger threat, it winded back and punched downward. Forewarned by the predictable movements, Jaune stepped inside its guard, letting the arm pass him by. He placed a foot on its bent leg and pushed off in a jump to knee it under the chin. The head snapped up.
As gravity took hold, he reversed his grip on the long knife, and drove it into one of the eyes.
Grimm would have died from such a blow. Normal people stood no chance. Even Huntsmen would be screaming. The construct bore the attack in a now-typical silence, and responded by tearing him off and throwing him to the ground.
Jaune rolled with the momentum, quickly hopping back on his feet. Turning towards his opponent, he shuddered upon catching sight of the golden face, so similar to his, marred by a gaping hole. Its expression had not changed despite this, still stoic without a hint of pain. A soft glow began to emanate from the ruined eye. Once it subsided, he found himself staring at the Guardian Angel's unblemished visage.
"Oh, come on! You're supposed to die when you are killed!"
Then again, Semblances obeyed no rules but their own. For a being made from Aura, it looked like a mortal blow did not mean the end. As long as it could draw on Azurelle's reserves, it would heal, which presented a simple condition for victory. Their battle was a race to shatter each other's Aura, like in Beacon's Combat Class.
"I really hope Azy's got less Aura than I do," Jaune mused aloud, before shrugging. "Well, it shouldn't be a problem. You may look like me, but you can't fight like me." He pointed with his knife. "All brute strength, no intelligence. How can you hope to win?"
The construct promptly spun around to make a beeline for Ren, leaving Jaune to stare in disbelief.
"Whuh—? Get back here!"
Aura poured into his right leg until it shined blue and, with a stomp, Jaune passed Guardian Angel in a blur. Reappearing just ahead of it, he delivered a frenzy of slashes, going by the theory that because it was composed of Aura, his attacks should have an effect no matter where they land. The thing probably didn't even have anything to stab behind those armor plates.
Dropping flat, he waited for a swipe to pass over, then sprang up to continue the barrage. Quicker than its size would suggest, the construct countered with a jab that bowed him over. As it stepped over him to continue towards Ren, Jaune rammed the wakizashi into the thing's foot, hitting it with a small burst of electricity as a distraction. A kip-up, and he was raining strikes on it once more.
Faster and faster he swung his knife, whittling down his foe while Ren repositioned along another wall. A flash of movement out of the corner of his eyes warned Jaune too late that he had overcommitted. The slap caught him with the force of a speeding car, sending him into a pile of stacked-up chairs, blowing it to smithereens.
The cloud of splinters and dust exploded a second time as another overloaded jolt of Aura in his legs put him back in close quarters with the construct. Rather than an abrupt stop, he lightly touched his feet to the floor, sliding across the marble before pushing off to leap at the construct's face. The head jerked to one side in an attempt to evade, and he responded by reaching out with a hand to grab the visor of its helmet. Swinging himself up, his legs wrapped around its neck.
The knife once again stabbed into an eye, and electricity traced a path along the blade to bite deep inside the construct, wreaking havoc from within. Half-deliriously, he laughed as the two massive arms began to twitch and seize, making their efforts to dislodge him miss by inches.
When the Lightning Dust cut out, exhausted to the last grain, he wrenched his knife free and leapt from its back. Two more slashes found their marks on his descent. Touching down, he scrambled out of range at the same time Guardian Angel turned around in a lurching gait.
His feet felt like lead as he moved. At this point, his special move was liable to put him in danger rather than aid in securing victory. His knife had returned to being a simple knife, sharp but not much else. There was a dull ache throughout his torso from taking the last hit, making his breathing difficult.
Opposite him, the construct swayed from side to side, the movement conveying a flagging energy in a very human-like way. The numerous cuts he left on it weren't healing at the previous pace, slowing to a gradual mending of one wound after another instead of the burst of Auric light that would wash off all imperfections.
Just as it hurt him, so had he hurt it. They were both headed for Red Aura.
"It won't be long, now. You're at the end of your ropes," Jaune taunted. Guardian Angel, as expected, answered with silence.
He began walking forward; the construct followed suit.
He chambered his knife; it cocked a fist.
My, my. I do believe it's learning from me—
Right before he stepped within its range, Jaune braced himself. The instant he placed down his foot, he hopped backward. The punch cratered the spot in front of him. One, two, three gashes marred the gauntlet to shave off Aura.
—but that's the wrong lesson to learn.
Made of Aura, the construct expended the energy for everything. To heal, to fight, to move, to exist. All of that added up. When operating on a battery, efficiency mattered. A defensive fighting style using precision strikes would have complemented its nature, and aggressiveness should have been anathema. In that light, Jaune made for one of the worst examples it could follow.
It may look like a hero, but it's fighting like a beast. Therein lay its defeat.
Jaune baited a kick, and scored a nick on the tip of the boot as it withdrew. A grasping hand prevented him from following through but he gladly abandoned the pursuit to backpedal, having already won the exchange by conserving more Aura. Tiny as it may be, the gap had widened, nevertheless.
Looking for his next opportunity, he grabbed a chair he'd just passed with his hand. Arm winded back, leg raised up like a baseball pitcher, he hurled the chair as hard as he could at the construct. It did not bother to dodge—or, perhaps, it failed to recognize the chair as a threat— and was struck dead center. It could have been a trick of the light, but Jaune thought he saw the entire creature flicker at the moment of impact, and he noted the dent on the chestplate wasn't healing, either. Any further musings halted when Guardian Angel picked up a table.
Jaune hurled his knife. The lighter projectile left his hands right as the table was thrown, striking first, and lodging in the construct's throat. It barely faltered, and continued to rush forward.
Meanwhile, seeing the incoming piece of furniture, he thought quickly of which direction to escape in. In the end, he opted to jump straight up to let it pass under him. His feet landed on the table's edge and he shifted his weight, preparing to dive out of the path of the second oncoming threat. Inspiration struck, then, leading him to readjust his trajectory.
A small hop positioned him in the air slightly above his opponent. He kicked out, one foot meeting the butt end of the wakizashi and driving it completely through its neck. Guardian Angel stuttered to a stop.
Landing, Jaune put up his fists. When no retaliation came, he lowered them and, suspiciously, observed the construct. Aura was trying in vain to mend around the metal blade. He tensed when a gauntleted hand reached for the knife grip. It fumbled a bit, but managed to grab the hilt. Slowly, it pulled out the blade, the edge scraping against its neck to rip away more Aura.
For a moment, he was afraid it would somehow know how to wield the knife. Instead, the weapon fell to the ground with a clang. His eyes widened when the construct made no other attempt at moving, seeming to freeze in place.
After a long while, he tilted his head.
"You're done, aren't you?"
There was, of course, only silence. Still, the lack of violence said it all. An exploratory step led to nothing happening, another yielded the same result. Confident now, he walked up to the Semblance construct, leaning over to swipe his long knife off the floor. Peering up, he met its impassive face; the fire in those eyes had dimmed to mere wisps.
Upon closer inspection, they weren't seeing him at all. Rather, the stare was directed somewhere behind him. Jaune turned his head to follow its gaze, and chuckled when he spotted the trio of Ren, Verteau, and the yet-unconscious Azurelle.
"Still trying to get back to her, huh? That's the one reason for why I can't help but like you despite all you did. It might be built-in to your very being, but loyalty is loyalty."
He took one last step to get into range, then set himself in a horse stance with his knife held in both hands.
"However, you also caused a whole heap of trouble that I'm going to have to deal with, so all in all, I am going to mark it down as a failing grade. You've got a ways to go, newbie." The knife thrusted forward to embed in the center of the construct. "Next time, do better."
Guardian Angel, unheeding of pain and relentless in its pursuit, rampaging monster and faithful protector in one, faded into motes of light.
At the same time, a soft blue glow emanated from his cousin, before shattering like glass. Her eyes fluttered open, and Azurelle awoke to the world.
The first thing she saw was Jaune's reassuring smile. It conveyed that everything was going to be okay.
-o-
Hours later, the cruise ship pulled into port with little fanfare. Its passengers were quite eager to disembark, descending in the gangway straight into the waiting arms of the Vale Police Department, who themselves were eager to make them (and a small, anxious crowd of family members and business associates standing outside the cordon) wait in the cold as they tried to figure out what the devil had happened in the past couple of days on the ship.
…or that was how it appeared, at any rate. Jaune had placed a call the moment they got within CCT range. He recognized many of the 'officers' present, and was therefore reasonably confident that the ones unfamiliar to him—the actual police, in other words—would be connected to the Xiong by the bonds of bribery, if not brotherhood. A line of suited, red-tied people off in the distance made it clear that he was among allies. Uncle Hei did not appreciate getting woken up at five AM after a night of bartending, but he came through regardless.
What was it that the ship captain had said? That the Arcs needed time to get ahead of the story? Well, he's just joining in on the game. The story will be what he makes it.
As for the truth…
"B-but it was me—"
"No." Jaune very quickly ended that line of thinking, injecting into the word a tone of absolute certainty in order to quell his cousin's doubts. He wrapped her in a hug. "I'll say it again. That wasn't on you. Guardian Angel has its own will."
The Semblance acted while she was unaware; while she was unconscious, even. It learned from him. The thing can think. Moreover, it had a most interesting set of victims.
Jaune pointed to the other Arcs standing in their own clump on the dock.
"And they? They wanted your death."
Her breath hitched, but he noted that she did not look too surprised. Ever since the banquet on the first evening, she must have seen them for who they truly were.
"Poisons, knives, guns; they were armed, and they were putting their plans in motion. The Semblance detected it, and put a stop to that. Like I would have."
He kept wondering how the construct made the determination of who to attack. Always, it was people who meant ill. Blancaire and her knife, Ferrouson with his cyanide. Even Roseaux had a tiny gun he was trying to tuck into his pocket, and Ren ferreted out Cyano's murderous thoughts. Jaune suspected that it came down to Guardian Angel being tapped into something more than conventional senses, and materialized at the moment where vague musings of what was to be done about Azurelle coalesced into killing intent. Then, it preempted those schemes.
Shaking her head, his cousin protested, "But you wouldn't have killed them!"
"I would." His easy answer shocked her out of her self-recrimination. She stared, wide-eyed, as he continued. "That thing was like me in more than just form. I think- I think it took something from me. A photograph of what I am here—" He touched a finger to his head, then his heart. "—and here. A set of directions that would tell the Semblance how to complete its task of protecting you. A will to perform whatever was necessary for your safety. In many ways, it is far more me than it is you."
Would he kill? He found the answer to that question on a terrible night, in a bullet-ridden and blood-soaked warehouse. For the people who mattered to him, he would do anything, be it wonderful or terrible.
Then, strip him of common sense, empathy, any understanding of mercy…pretty much everything that made a functioning person in society, and they would get something similar to Guardian Angel. A simple being of action and reaction, an unceasing drive untempered by emotion. The Semblance modeled an incomplete picture of Jaune Arc.
Nevertheless, he became the example it followed. He was the one responsible, not her, he tried to convey.
That, was the truth as he knew it. As he needed her to believe it. And his cousin, who trusted him so, took him at his word. Her arms squeezed around him, as if he was the one that required comforting. He went along with it.
Minutes went by, and Jaune soon spied two figures walking out of the crowd, waved through by one of the Red Axes after he checked their IDs. He vaguely remembered them. They were Azurelle's parents, a couple in their forties, and they peered at Jaune with blank, confused faces. Did those two have any recollection of him? Probably not. They waited there by the car, fidgeting under the scrutiny of gangsters, police, 'police', and the extended family.
He pointed them out to her. When she saw her parents, Azurelle's eyes lit up. But then, they dimmed, and she gripped his jacket tighter.
"What's going to happen, now?" She murmured. "Grandpa, my Semblance, the inheritance, our relatives who will want to get their hands on it… dad and mom don't know any of this, and I'm dropping it all on their heads." A note of panic entered her voice. "W-what if i put them in danger? I can't go with them!"
A hand landed on her head, making her pause. She looked up, meeting his gaze… and he proceeded to ruffle her hair at a rapid pace, causing it to go every which way.
"Ahhh!" She squawked. "Jaune, you're ruining it! Stop stop stop!"
Once he relented, Azurelle covered her head protectively with her hands and glared at him. In return, he showed her a playful grin.
"Quit worrying so much, little Azy. What, were you going to run away from home? Find a place to stay in the city?" Her expression of slight interest at the joke worried him. Maybe that particular bit of impulsiveness last summer hadn't been so much his own stupidity as it was an Arc quirk. "Go home with your parents. I'll drop by tomo- later today to help you figure things out." Her eyes grew round.
"Really?"
"Yup. In the old man's stead, I'm gonna look out for you. Everything will be okay."
He'd hopefully settle some of the issues around her even before their next meeting; a consultation with Uncle Hei should get the ball rolling. Security to ensure her daily life. A plan to neutralize the various gambits no doubt in the works by his relatives, and to find out who it was that got Bleudin. Advisors to help Azurelle handle her newfound wealth, ones the Xiong can keep an eye on. And… a friend, whenever she has a need for one.
"After this, you can visit Vale any time. I'll get you one of those unlimited year-long passes for the Bullheads," he reassured her. It's going to cost a ton, but he can deal. Bottles of liquor can always be marked up for greater profits, that was a lesson learned from Uncle Hei. "As for your abilities, I'll arrange a couple of tutors for you. Melanie and Miltia are amazing teachers, and I know that they would just adore you. They'll train that Semblance to properly behave."
A sniffle. "T-thank you, for this and…and for everything. You're the best, Jaune!"
"Heh. Always, little Azy."
An encouraging nudge got her to let him go. Azurelle took two steps before she turned around to give him another hug, followed by one for Verteau, and even one for Ren despite his part in the earlier troubles (of which there will be words!). She bade them farewell, confirmed again that Jaune will stop by later, and ran off towards her parents while waving back at them at every opportunity. Tucked under one of her arms was a book, borrowed and hardly-read, given in the hope that its story will help his cousin understand, and accept, all that had transpired in a different light.
The trio left behind watched her go. They waved to Azurelle as the girl's family car pulled out of the dock.
After a beat, Ren heaved a sigh, and broached the subject.
"I'm not sure Semblances work like that. Available research on the subject seems to agree that they're an expression of their wielders."
Jaune shrugged, the corner of his lips tugging up into a slight smile. "No matter what academia claims, Semblances are largely a mystery. Like many things in this world. And even if that was the case, I say that I would still be right." He cast his gaze over the cruise ship, recalling the events of previous days. "How much of ourselves are influenced by others? Azy… she admires heroes most of all, and despises the villains. And the Arcs? We divided ourselves so neatly before her. One side gave their all for her sake, while the other side was out for what they could take. The funny thing is that neither bothered to truly consider her thoughts on the matter. We created this situation. Her Semblance arose because of us. So if there is guilt, let it rest on those who acted upon her life, shaping her view while caring not a whit of her own will. Let them— let me carry that weight."
Azurelle's one great fault lay in her trust of fools. The greatest of them all was Bleudin Arc, who did not understand people, not really. He cared for Azurelle as his darling grandchild, and never imagined that anybody would want to hurt her. With not a trace of hesitation, he gave the entirety of his fortune to the young girl. Predictably, that act galvanized the jackals drooling over the inheritance, prompting them to target the new threat. His one brilliant move was to rectify the problem forthwith after realizing his mistake, but even there he messed up by setting in motion all that followed. Bleudin exited the stage never knowing what he had wrought.
As for the second fool… Jaune's part in this farcical tragedy began with a choice made in a forest not so long ago, or maybe it was in a warehouse on the docks, or even in a nightclub on a summer's day. He chose to be a Yakuza rather than a Hero. A mere pretender, he did not fit the role he tried to insert himself in, and by his callous actions twisted what should have been his cousin's ideal Semblance into a monster on a leash, couched as a defender.
He chose this Way, now here was his consequence. So, he'll carry that weight.
Always.
His gaze alighted on a familiar group of Arcs and a snort of wry disdain escaped him, followed by a thought.
After all, who else was there?
Bleudin was gone, and Oum knew his relatives wouldn't accept responsibility. Where his eyes followed Azurelle's car with a sense of relief and fondness, theirs were lit up in rage as they watched their meal ticket leave. Uncle Cyano was gnashing on his cigar and staying as far from the Red Axe gangsters as possible. Next to him, Cousin Chocola feigned an air of confidence, but could not help tapping nervously on an arm; the assuredness of yesterday seemed to have cracked once she witnessed the resources available to Jaune, and to Azurelle by proxy. Mauvery, whatever her relation to him was, will likely need a visit to a manicurist if she kept biting her nails that hard… if she can still afford one. Skylar had two middle fingers raised—that Jaune contemplated cutting off—as he hurled curses after the car. Off to the side, Aunt Grassine glared venomously with a hand on her saber, looking about ready to draw.
…
…
Jaune zeroed in on the scene of fingers wrapped around the sword's hilt tight enough that knuckles whitened. Sounds became muted. His eyes narrowed to slits. A question sprang to mind.
Who would hold a showpiece like that?
It was never meant to be used.
Who would hold a broken weapon like that?
When people were arming themselves after Roseaux's death, she held on to the saber. She expected danger and her instinctive go-to was that saber!
He had nothing to go on but a suspicion. He was also just impulsive enough to act on that one suspicion.
Upon catching sight of Jaune marching up, Grassine opened her mouth, no doubt ready to tear into him with one of her patented tirades. She balked when he did not slow down, instead walking into her space. Reaching down, he grabbed the sheath and, over Grassine's belated attempt to stop him, upended the thing.
The hilt and the three inches of the blade attached to it fell to the ground. Those nearby studied it in curiosity. A few bore expressions of sympathy for Grassine, or affront towards him for his rudeness.
Then, a sound of scraping metal came from inside what she previously implied was an empty scabbard, drawing all eyes in the vicinity. They watched as, slowly, a length of steel emerged. Filigreed in silver, radiant as moonlight, the blade would have been something quite special were it still intact. It fully left the sheath with a sound akin to a soft sigh, before hitting the concrete with a clang. Aunt Grassine seemed to have frozen solid. Her face was carefully blank.
Jaune knelt down to pick up the blade. He held it to the moonlight, and a part of him marveled at its lightness. Even broken, it looked perfect. Well, almost.
Flecks of a rusty red dotted the steel. He ran a hand over the blade, and some of it brushed away with ease. Other spots remained more stubborn. The inside of the sheath must be coated in blood, caused by her hastily shoving the blade in there without wiping it off beforehand. One moment of panic, and now no amount of cleaning could get rid of the evidence.
Was it enough? Could it prove beyond a doubt her guilt?
No. Yet the possibility burned so bright.
"You murdered Bleudin."
What he used was a low trick, speaking half-formed suppositions with absolute certainty. The purpose was to shock, to evoke an emotional response. And, coupled with what Grassine imagined to be damning proof, it worked. Anger, guilt, and fear flashed by on her face. They confirmed his thoughts.
Grassine whipped around in an attempt to run. She was not prepared for Jaune kicking out at her leg. A snap, a scream, she fell to the ground, leg broken.
Jaune stood up and walked to her. Dispassionate eyes regarded the woman whimpering in pain. He recalled her anger at the banquet, the state he encountered her in shortly before he discovered Bleudin's body, and the regret she showed when first unveiling her heirloom.
"It wasn't part of the plan," he said in the hush that had overtaken the dock. "What was it you said when we met… that you were going to give him a piece of your mind? No, you probably came to talk. And you saw Grand-uncle on his last leg. A militiawoman could not hope to match a person with Aura, but you have to wonder at what point that ceased to be true. He looked so weak, you had a sword, it added up to an opportunity. The temptation must have stayed in your mind, lurking in the background while you argued with him. At some point, you realized that the conversation was not about to go your way—perhaps he had just confirmed that Azy truly will be his sole heir—and hatred won out. The opportunity became an imperative. You went for it." His roar resounded throughout the pier. "Grassine, you killed Bleudin Arc!"
It was no grand plot that brought the old man low, but mere spite and bad luck. To Jaune, that rankled all the more. If Bleudin could not die peacefully in his bed, then let his end be a thing of legend, a tale of intrigue full of twists and turns. The man deserved greater than this.
Continuing, he pointed to the two sword pieces. "You had the presence of mind to hide the evidence by mutilating the area around the wound. Smart move; you've thrown confusion over the manner with which he was killed. Then, you made a mistake and shoved the murder weapon back in its sheath, thus coating the interior in his blood. Stupid move; no matter how well you clean it, a draw of the blade and anyone could see your crime. Did you break it yourself? Destroyed your family heirloom to pull the wool over mine eyes? The vaunted pride of the Arcs didn't amount to much."
A nerve was struck, for despite her agony, Grassine protested, "S—he would have ruined our name!"
Jaune paused. Wisps of Aura manifested, and with them came an air of menace.
"What was that, hm? At the beginning. It sounded like you were going to say 'she'." Grassine kept silent. "So. Your problem wasn't really with Bleudin, but with my cousin. Tell me, were you repentant after killing Grand-uncle, or did it spur you on to plan something for Azy?"
Even as his aunt desperately shook her head, her paling face was telling. Noticing how he eyed her other leg, she tried to crawl away. Jaune stopped her by pinning the limb with his foot.
"I'll take that as an answer." Casting his eyes over the crowd, Jaune noted how they sneered at the woman's humiliation. Towards them, he shouted, "Don't try to look so superior, you're no better. Knives, guns, poisons, and who knows what else you've got hidden. Things that would tickle a person who had their constitution bolstered by Aura. None of you were there to kill Bleudin, were you?"
Jolts of fear, feigned innocence, defiant glares, too many showed reactions that suggested one possibility. He barked a helpless laugh, and dropped his head in disappointment at the sheer number of would-be killers present. Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. The history of the Arcs was one of heroes, warriors, pirates and more. Violence ran in their blood. They trusted in its use to get their way. And when it involved a whole lot of money, compromises were made on other aspects of their name like honor or integrity.
"No, you had a different target. One without Aura. One helpless. Had I not come along on this trip, she would not have made it back to shore. You bunch of murdering fucks." He said in disgust.
It was supposed to be Azy lying on a blood-stained floor. It may still be, because their faces staring back at him remained unchanged. Heedless of consequences, his relatives have yet to lose their ambitions. Allow it to go on, and she would have no peace until the end of her days. A moment's thought and he had his answer.
They knew no fear. Therefore, teach them. Out on that ship, they stood on top, living above the law. Now, they'll learn that there's always a bigger fish, doubly so in lawless lands.
Besides… it wasn't like they will ever accept him, anyways. He's not losing much.
With a turn of his head, he caught the gazes of those who had worn altogether different expressions as they listened to his tale. Nodding to them, he pulled out his long knife. In response, the Red Axes followed suit, even those wearing police uniforms, as the actual officers turned their backs and feigned deafness. Nearly a hundred men and women pointed various deadly instruments at the Arcs, declaring their allegiance.
To his family, that in truth was never his family, Jaune drew the line.
"That will end. Your twisted dreams end. Go home and live good lives, or else you'll answer to me and mine."
His relatives stood with jaws dropped for a long, long while. The socialite, Mauvery, folded first; huffing, she raised her hands in a gesture of defeat. Cyano gulped and dipped his head in a bow, which made Jaune chuckle; for how pompous the man usually acted, he rolled over a tad too fast. Skylar scowled, but could not meet his eyes. Chocola gritted her teeth, but nodded; a financial advisor would understand the concept of risk more than most. Grassine had bigger problems, as two gangsters—policemen—stood ready to drag her off.
Jaune glared from face to face, at them and all the rest, making sure they got the message. People who saw him first as a crybaby child, then as a clumsy boy, the weak and pathetic nephew, they looked at him now as if for the first time. Afraid, they pulled away and left him alone in a wide circle.
One person drew near. His sister.
The sharpness he cultivated vanished in a blink. Worry stabbed his heart at the thought of what she might say to him after seeing that scene. It intensified when she just inspected him from head to toe in silence.
"Verteau?" His voice didn't crack. It didn't.
"You've changed in the time you were away," she finally said. "More violent. And cruel…"
His heart sank in dismay. He knew that for a while now. He has come so far. Too far.
"And...focused. You look people in the eyes. You don't stutter anymore." Verteau laughed, and Jaune's heart soared hearing that sound. "There's still a lovable goof in you at times, but when the occasion calls, you turn serious in a blink. You've grown."
"For the better?"
"Yes? No? Maybe so?" She showed a difficult face, and placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly. "I think… I think that you have learned a way of living different from most of us. The things you are willing to do goes beyond the pale. If Justice is good, then you are a terrible man."
Verteau turned her head. Jaune, and Ren who stood a step behind him, followed her gaze.
There, in the far distance, a car traveled down a road along the coastline.
"But if love is good, and kindness is good…"
As his sister pondered how to finish her thought, Jaune heard Ren whisper under his breath, so low that it might not have been intended for anyone's ears.
"...then it really makes you wonder what Justice is."
Jaune, Ren, and Verteau watched the car continue its journey, carrying a life away from tragedy, from grief, from hurt. As if to light the way, the soft rays of the sun crested over the horizon. Colors returned to the world.
And with a bright new day, came a close to the Guardian Angel Incident.
Author's Notes: This mini-arc came from the thought that the existence of Semblances bypassed conventional logic, thereby necessitating a different way of looking at a mystery for any would-be detective in Remnant.
Jaune, as intended, is a poor detective. He makes assumptions, misses clues, takes leaps in logic, and perceives the world from his limited view in the same manner that makes him such an unreliable narrator at times throughout Yakuza Arc. There are things he cannot or is unwilling to see, like the 'obvious' solution of hurting Azy to sap the Aura available to her Semblance. What he has are his own methods, backup to watch his blindspots, and the twins' many lessons to draw on. That's enough to get him there in the end.
After seeing how a Semblance like Qrow's Bad Luck just does whatever it likes without input from him, the concept of crimes perpetrated by a rampaging Semblance had to be explored. Given that we know Qrow has no control, if his power activated while he's strolling about and, say, sent a piano crashing down on the heads of a civilian family near him, should hebe held responsible? How come he walks around the city without a care? Here, Jaune's cousin Azy was as innocent as can be, completely unaware and trusting. Yet, she stood at the center of events, prompting other people to act for or against her. In response, her power did as it pleased, distorting her nebulous worries about what was happening until it carried out acts she would never agree with. What is justice in such a case? With whom does the guilt lie? Jaune arrived at his answer, guided by a Yakuza's heart!
I gave the girl a Stand. That was not the intention, but once I realized it was essentially a Stand, I was very tempted to obey JJBA naming conventions.
…You know what, I am going to obey JJBA naming conventions.
Azurelle Arc
Semblance: Send Me an Angel
Destructive Power - B, Speed - C, Range - A, Persistence - A, Precision - D, Potential - A