Time passed, the sky began to darken, and the boy ran out of tears. Forcing down his last sobs, he turned back to his nightmare. "I'm sorry," he murmured, to console himself more than anything else. Standing up, he forced his tears away and stared into the ash-choked sky.
And thus there was silence. No animals, of course, but more than that. No cries for help, no muffled sobs in the rubble, no breathing but his own. He didn't bother search any more. He knew what he'd find.
No. Wait. Not quite silence. It was behind him, but there was a distant crunching sound, not unlike footsteps on gravel. Instinctively, he turned to look.
It was a thing, that was the first thought. Grey, bipedal, it looked somewhat like a shark on legs. Armless, its head more than compensated, being as big as the rest of its body and filled with far too many teeth. Its tail was also vaguely fishlike, flattening into a broad scythe, covered with extra spikes. But the eyes were the most shark-like. Tingled in pale yellow, they were the cold, efficient eyes of a predator. More than that, they looked hungry.
A chill passed down his spine. There was no doubt about it. It was coming straight for him. There was nowhere to hide. From its speed of approach, he could never outrun it. That left fighting, but he was under no illusions. He probably had no chance, but when death was the alternative, he had to try.
Never before had he been so grateful for his family's overzealousness. His father had carried his sword at every moment, as insurance against would-be criminals; while he'd never wielded it before in his life, it was still a better defence than a rock. Silently praying to whoever would listen, he pried Crocea Mors from the debris. He drew the blade and prepared the shield, ready to face his end.
The beast looks at him, a predator watching its prey. A moment passes, tension mounts, and then it shrieks, an unholy wail of death and forlorn hope. He barely has enough time to raise his shield before it flings a salvo of spines from its tail, right towards his chest.
He expects the shield to shield him. It doesn't. The spikes chew deep, far deeper than expected, straight through the shield and into his arm.
Pain spikes, he screams and stumbles. The beast senses weakness and pounces. Any sense of form or strategy collapses. It's all he can do to thrash around, one arm desperately trying to keep that maw away from him, the other wailing around trying to hit a miracle.
The miracle never comes.
He thrusts for an eye, and gets the blade stuck between two teeth instead. Before he can pull it free, the beast swipes its head, snatching it from his grasp. Weaponless, he can only watch as it tries to shake the irritant lose, before settling on a more proactive method.
It bites down. For a moment, nothing happens, but then a crack appears on the blade. From a tiny nick, it ripples along the edge like a plague. Then one crack becomes two, becomes a dozen, and becomes uncountable.
It jerks its jaw one more time, and it's all over. Crocea Mors, ancestral weapon of the Arc clan, shatters into a thousand pieces.
Room 302, north wing. Four desks, four beds, some shelves, a closet-wardrobe combination, a small ensuite and a window. Slightly cramped, but in a cozy way rather than suffocating. And, for the next four years, home of Team Juniper.
Not that it looked homely at that moment. All of my teammates had packed similarly to me, meaning that our collective stuff could still fit into a large backpack. The closest things to personal touches in the room were Pyrrha's toolkit and my medicine box. The warm curtains and duvet covers did help uplift the décor a little, but overall the room still felt bland more than anything else.
Nora had come to the same conclusion as me, as she was animated talking to and/or at Ren (Lie? It wasn't clear which was his actual name, but 'Ren' made the R of Juniper) about possible decorative changes. I caught some mentions of 'Ursa-skin rugs' and 'sloth statues', but let Ren weather the storm. Pyrrha watched the scene with a gentle smile on her face, but I didn't disturb her either. I had some leadership slurry to sort out.
While the actual duties of a team leader were somewhat nebulous and badly-defined, there were still the obvious duties like 'make sure your team goes to class' and 'don't let your teammates starve to death'. But even the basics needed prerequisite information, like when and where classes were, and how to get food on campus. Hence, I was on my scroll, flicking through the student handbook. There was too much to take in all in one go, but I could at least work one day ahead.
First thing tomorrow morning: Grimm Studies, Professor Port, Theatre 2A. Except the map provided was four years out of date, with Theatre 2A not even on it. Hopefully it got corrected by tomorrow, but better to ask rather than get lost. Breakfast would also be important; they wouldn't have moved the mess hall if they had any sense, but better to wake up a bit earlier and be safe.
Afternoon: Combat, Professor Goodwitch, Ring C. That's actually on the map, no problems there. What'll they actually teach us, though? Philosophy a la Sun Tzu? Theoretical tricks and techniques? Groundwork? Teamwork? Practical application? It couldn't all be covered, and I'd definitely want my team to have a grounding in all of it. We'd need to do the rest in our free time; I quickly sent a request to book a training ring.
"Hey, leader!"
An energetic voice interrupted my (admittedly boring) planning. Putting my scroll down, I turned to the new centre of attention. "What is it, Nora?"
"Well, Jauney – I can call you Jauney, right? – me and Renny have been together forever – but not together-together, you know – but we and you and Pyrrha only just met today, and we don't know you, and you don't know us, so maybe we could get to know each other better?"
I looked at my other two teammates (not hyped, but not shying away either). I looked down at my scroll (three-quarters of the handbook to go). I looked back at Nora (still bright and cheerful and etc.). I looked back at my scroll (some of the words didn't look like words any more). I sighed, and put my scroll down.
Yes, there was a big pile of bureaucracy that needed to be done by the end of the week, like elective choice, dietary intolerance acknowledgements, and half-a-dozen other forms all of which seemed to be signing away some right to sue, but it could wait a little and, more importantly, was incredibly boring. And yes, I'd have preferred the 'team bonding' thing to come naturally over the corpses of hundreds of Grimm, but if my team wanted it the stilted artificial way, who was I to veto them? Let's roll. "I'm up for it. Did you have any suggestions on how to do it?"
"Maybe? I heard Two Truths and a Lie is fun in times like this."
Yes, after everyone had too much beer and stopped caring about offending each other. Stone-cold sober, it felt underwhelming, albeit still miles better than generic 'tell me about yourself' and 'fun facts'. Regardless, Pyrrha seemed unfamiliar with the concept. "I don't think I've heard of that game before."
"You tell two truths and a lie about yourself," I helpfully supplied. "Then we try guess which one's the lie. Go ahead. Try it now."
Pyrrha blinked. "Umm…" she mumbled, apparently caught off guard. "I went to Sanctum, my weapon's name is Miló, and my favourite food is pizza?"
It was my turn to blink. Nora blinked as well. The two of us made eye contact, and silent words were exchanged. Even if this endeavour was doomed to peter out, we should at least try to make it interesting. "That one doesn't count," I said. "Sure, it's two things that are true about you and one that isn't, but it doesn't tell us anything new about you." Especially since it was easy to guess; I knew from that morning she'd graduated from Sanctum, and what sort of monster didn't like pizza? "I'll go next. I'm Jaune – I'll give you that's a truth, but it obviously doesn't count. I'm an only child, my favourite drink is beer, or more specifically bottled lager, and I once took out a sleuth of Ursai nothing but a can opener."
That earnt more of a reaction. More specifically, a questioning glance from Ren, a guffaw from Nora, and a confused 'what' from Pyrrha. "The can opener's got to be the lie, right?"
"Or it could be true, and I could be making my others seem so mundane that you'd think it was the lie," I reasoned. Pyrrha didn't look convinced, but she didn't need to be. "And anyway, as team leader I'm adjusting the rules. We'll all take our turns lying to each other's faces before any guessing, alright?"
(This wasn't a flagrant abuse of leadership, I swear. I did actually have a reason for this.)
Nora grumbled something about moving the goalposts, but Ren gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. "No objections here. I'll go next. My name is Lie Ren; Ren is my surname, though I go by it none the less. I once meditated under a waterfall for three days, I prefer coffee to tea, and I'm partial to the occasional sip of absinthe."
Absinthe? Ren looked almost less of a drinker than Ruby, but who in their right mind thought of absinthe when making a lie like that? Pyrrha and Nora looked to be juggling similarly profound contemplations, but the latter quickly shook herself free and took her turn.
"I'm Nora! I've known Renny longer than he's known me, I've never owned a pair of trousers, and the only reason I like pancakes so much is because I didn't own a waffle iron when growing up."
Nothing outlandish, everything feasible, and why was Pyrrha chuckling? I turned, and she simply pointed at Ren. I turned again. There it was, perhaps the most out-of-context look of abject betrayal I'd ever seen. It was the look of a man who'd discovered that his best friend of years had actually been four otters in a trenchcoat all along. It was frozen, it was gormless, and it had been caused by an off-hand remark about pancakes.
It was beautiful.
Ren regained his senses before me and Pyrrha stopped laughing, and settled on giving us a disappointed frown. Both of us ignored it. "I think I get it now," Pyrrha said. "I'm Pyrrha Nikos, I have over two million Lien in the bank, I once won a tournament when every single other competitor withdrew rather than face me, and I like pineapple on pizza. It's a pleasure to know all of you."
All of that was plausible if she was a really good tournament fighter, which she apparently was. Anyway, time for why I'd changed the rules –
"Oh, Pyrrha, you should make a sneakier lie. Nobody likes pineapple on pizza."
Pyrrha looked at the girl who'd spoken, carefully considering her words. A good five or six seconds passed before her mouth opened again. "Actually, that one was true."
Nora did not respond immediately. The expression on her face was fixed, locked in a sort of strange smile, confident only because she'd forgotten to change it. Another five-odd seconds passed in a tense silence, waiting for Nora's reaction – wait, why was Ren hiding behind the –
"HERETIC!"
By the time the wreckage settled, we had wordlessly agreed to not make any more guesses, and to let Ren order all pizza in the future. At least we sort of knew each other better?
Grimm Studies. The studies of the Grimm. The lesson in which we would be taught everything about the beasts: types, characteristics, physiology, strengths, weaknesses, and the like. Perhaps the most important lesson for future Hunters, as information was always the key to victory. It was certainly the most important for me, and for Cradle's future prospects.
"Monsters. Demons. Prowlers of the Night. Yes, the creatures of Grimm have many names. But I merely refer to them as prey."
It. Burned.
I had met many inspirational speakers in my time. There was… okay, I hadn't met many inspirational speakers in my time. Dad had been inspiring enough in the usual fatherly way, Lindow sort-of counted, and teenage hormones meant that all the girls sort-of counted as well, but most people I'd met were as inspirational as a brightly-coloured potato. Professor Port, now? His speech didn't even have the benefit of colour.
Nothing about it was stoked any part of the spirit. Every single word from his mouth droned on about his own past glories, something that not only made him sound like a dated relic, but also alienated all of his audience – how were we supposed to resonate with something we had never and likely would never experience? His sentences rambled on without apparent direction – what did the smell of cabbages have to do with anything – which just told us that there would be no payoff for listening. All of it was directed at us rather than towards us, expecting us to laugh along with every misfired quip, only serving to build a bigger wall between us and him. But above all of that, above all that awful presentation, the most unforgiveable part was the utter lack of meaningful content.
After filtering out all the garbage, the first thirty minutes boiled down to 'Beowulves travel in packs and Boarbatusks do not'. Half the lesson. For eight words of information.
To distract myself from the internal screaming, I checked to see how my team was holding on. Nora wasn't; she was out like a light, mumbling quiet dreams of pancakes. Ren also wasn't; his eyes were still open, but unfocussed and slightly trancelike. Probably mediating, and I couldn't blame him. Or Nora, for that matter. Pyrrha, on the other hand, was actually trying: she'd filled up a page with notes, but even I could see that they were barely-legible, filled mostly with irrelevance and almost certainly useless for revision. It would make interesting wallpaper, at least?
In the row in front of us, Team Ruby was doing just as badly, if not worse. Of the four of them, Weiss was the only one who was giving half a grain of attention, but even that was boiling away in frustration. Ruby, meanwhile, had doodle a serviceable caricature of the teacher, and was guffawing at her own handiwork. Yang had mentally checked out, staring dopily into the distance, lost in her own thoughts, while the last girl – Blake, I think – had a book open in her lap, out of the teacher's sight. The rest of the students were similarly absent in spirit. The jury had spoken on Port, and I, the judge, agreed. Banned from teaching would be a suitable punishment.
Alas, we had no way of enforcing this, and there were twenty-seven minutes to go in the lesson. As tempting as sleep sounded, I still felt obliged to attempt to try take something from this pile of shambles. Given how soul-crushing taking this at face value was, maybe I had to read between the lines?
Probably not, but tenuous overextrapolation was better than nothing.
Okay. He wouldn't have mentioned the smell of cabbages unless it was relevant. He mentioned it in regard to a Beowulf hunt. The two were linked. Maybe… maybe Beowulves were vulnerable to the scent of cabbage. Maybe that smell blocked their noses, and prevent them from tracking us. Thus, before any encounter with the Grimm, we should soak our clothes in cabbage juice, to minimise the number of Beowulves attempting to kill us.
…
Who was I kidding? I'd take my team back out into the Emerald Forest, and we'd do our Grimm Studies the practical way.
Everyone was slightly caught off-guard at the end of Grimm Studies, at the actual presence of something not completely mind-numbing: Weiss stepped up and fought a Boarbatusk. It wasn't a great showing, but at least she didn't get injured. There did appear to be a few teething issues within Team Ruby, but it had been less than a day. Hopefully they'd sort it out by themselves.
Back on topic, there was an unexpected bit of fighting in Grimm Studies. In contrast, the fighting in Combat class was anything but unexpected – it was Combat, after all. The thing which I didn't foresee, though, was the amount of practical classwork.
"Nothing but fights," I muttered to myself. As in, all the class was just beating up others, and watching others beat up other others. It was refreshing in its simplicity, but the lack of any theoretical bits did irk me. It would take more of our free time before my team was where I wanted it to be.
"For this session, only team leaders will be sparring." At the front, Professor Goodwitch was calm, authoritative and organised, creating the exact opposite image to Port's earlier attempt. "Cardin Winchester and Jaune C. Arc, please enter the arena."
Me on first. Wonderful. As much as I was used to extra focus on me, that didn't mean I relished it.
"Go leader!"
At least my team had my back. Pyrrha and Ren had moved to calm our overexuberant fourth, but they were still hopeful for my success. Across the room, a ginger boy was rising to her feet, team cheering him on as well. My opponent, then.
At a distance, the only things I could discern were some bits of heavy armour plate, just to protect the vitals, along with a heavy mace. Probably the type to bludgeon through problems headfirst, finesse and cunning optional extras. Down in the ring, his posture suggested the same story: tall, open, plenty of offensive options open but holes everywhere. Suicidal if you didn't know what you were doing, but I didn't have the right kit to test him.
Still, there was an incredibly obvious plan. I made it, and immediately set it into action.
"On my mark, begin!"
My opponent – Cardin – surged forwards immediately, weapon high above his head. He covered the distance in under two seconds, and with a bear-like roar, smashed his mace straight into my skull.
Well, tried to. By using the ancient technique known as stepping backwards, the swing flew past me, an inch from my face. Some people in the crowd whistled their appreciation. I wasn't bothered. A miss was a miss, and it was all part of the plan.
Mace crashed into ground, leaving a sizable dent. Undeterred by his whiff, my foe changed his grip, and swung upwards with a brutal uppercut, straight towards my throat.
I stepped out the way again.
Cardin didn't let up the pressure. He didn't waste any strength in his follow-through, letting his momentum take him back to a neutral position. This lasted for a tenth of a second, before he twisted his grip again and lunged for my liver.
I stepped out the way again.
His momentum took him closer to me, closer than either of our effective ranges. He noticed it too, and rather than try arrest it, he pushed forward even more. Dropping one hand from his weapon, he dived to grab my neck.
I stepped out the way again.
He still didn't try stop his momentum. Instead, he knuckled down further and tried to tackle me to the ground.
I stepped out the way again.
You get the picture. Cardin attacks, I dodge. Cardin attacks, I dodge. Rinse, spin, dry, repeat. Was it pretty? Of course it wasn't. Each of Cardin's moves were big, flashy and impressive, while I hadn't even tried to attack once. While the crowd were beginning to see that my enemy's actions were mostly futile, he was certainly putting on a better show than me, and so had the lion's share of the support. I couldn't tell who exactly was cheering for me, but it was probably only my team and Ruby.
Still, the plan was walking perfectly.
It took a good dozen dodges, but eventually, the effects added up. Cardin had just returned to his neutral stance, and had tried to start a combination with another downwards smash. I dodged it, of course, but that wasn't the point. No, the important part was the speed: it was noticeably slower than his first smash. Not much, maybe only a quarter of a second at the beginning, but it was definitely there. He was tiring.
He was in heavy armour with a heavy weapon. Dodging until he wore himself out was obvious.
The rest of the fight happened in the same way. Attack, dodge, attack, dodge, etc. Eventually, Cardin did catch on, and tried to break my rhythm with some choice insults, but I ignored them. I knew I wasn't overcompensating for anything, and I'd lost all my manly pride the night Kanon chased me naked through the Den. Everything was in control.
My nemesis, to his credit, was a good fighter. I wasn't familiar with maces, but I could still tell his technique was good, if full of the aforementioned defensive holes. His endurance was good as well, managing to get a good fifty heavy swings in before significantly lagging. Unfortunately for him, my endurance was better.
My target had just made his seventh hole in the floor, but hadn't started his follow-up. His muscles were probably burning, forcing him to take a breather. It looked like a wide opening. It wasn't. He had eyes, a reaction time, and was looking at my weapon. By the time I was ready to swing, he'd be up and in my face again.
But it was a narrow opening, and by looking at my weapon, he wasn't looking at me. The perfect opening, then, to dart in and punch him in the face.
Tired and too focussed on my weapon, Cardin didn't put up his aura up in time. Flesh collided with unprotected flesh, and he staggered back, caught in a daze. It looked like a wide opening. It wasn't. I knew that I wasn't the strongest puncher. By the time I was ready to swing, he'd have recovered enough to desperately dive out the way, then punish me in my follow through.
But it was a medium opening, and he was certainly stunned for a second. The perfect opening, then, to grab him and knee him in the face.
Already stunned, Cardin definitely couldn't put up his aura, and my knees were a lot stronger than my fists. He collapsed to the ground, like a sack of puppet parts. It looked like a wide opening.
It was.
The continued dodging had tired me a little a well, so it was with a small grunt of effort than it lifted my blade. It was with a larger grunt of effort that I brought it crashing down onto Cardin's prone form –
Only for my weapon to hit some kind of invisible wall, and for something to drag me away from my quarry.
"Jaune, that's enough." The Professor's firm voice brought back the greater context. "Students, while Mr. Winchester's aura is still in the green, hopefully you can all see that he is not in a state to battle further. To prevent injury, I am stopping the match here."
One eyebrow arched at me the tiniest fraction, and it took a moment to process it. Giant sword. Human not as tough as God Eater. Not fully protected by Aura. Probably not the best combination. Yeah, she'd definitely been right to stop it. Not a good idea to do that again.
"Wooh! Go Jaune!"
The moment of reflection was ended by Nora, unexpectedly but not surprisingly. She followed up her cheer with a round of vigorous applause. While it did sound strange initially, due to her being the only person clapping, Ren and Pyrrha quickly joined in, and soon the whole room was politely applauding.
Goodwitch waited for the claps to fade back down before offering her advice. "Mister Arc, while I do not object to you adopting a defensive strategy, I would advise you to consider your contingencies, in case your defences are overwhelmed." It was a valid point, one that I'd planned for back at Fenrir, but those plans were against Aragami and would need a lot of readjustment. "Mister Winchester, my advice to you is similar: please consider your plans in case your offence proves unfruitful." Meanwhile, Cardin had mostly recovered. He still looked groggy, but was back on his feet and grudgingly agreeing to the instructor's advice.
He also seemed to have forgotten I existed. I would have liked to just go back to my team and be done with it, but I still had that whole 'sportsmanship' thing to do. I walked over to him and offered a hand. "Hey. Good match."
Cardin looked at me, looked down at my hand, then scoffed and walked away.
"Guys, do you mind staying behind after class? I want to do some team training."
Pyrrha did not know what Jaune had in plan for their team – she was not a mind reader, after all – but she could still recognise that knowing all their styles and proficiencies would make those plans better. It had been unexpected, but she'd been happy to agree with his request. Ren and Nora also took no issue.
Her introduction to life at Beacon had been… acceptable. Not quite good, but acceptable. Her initial high hopes had rapidly turned to dust even before she'd set foot on school property, with dozens of fellows on the bullhead gawping, falling head-over-heels and asking for autographs. That had burnt itself out rather quickly, only to be replaced by the too-familiar shell of her reputation. Once again, she was the invincible girl, destined to stand alone above all others. Regrettably, she had sighed and prepared for an isolated four years.
And then Jaune had happened.
All she'd wanted was someone who didn't know or didn't mind her past, and Jaune had fit that bill. She'd been a little concerned when he'd asked for a spar, but his expression at the time had quickly put those fears to rest. He didn't want to fight the Invincible Girl, but merely a girl who some people otherwise called invincible. The difference mattered, and it told her that he was the friend she'd been looking for.
She may have taken some unnecessary risks in initiation to get them paired together, but that was neither here nor there.
"Alright, guys," her partner's voice rang out. It was early days yet, but she could already feel that Jaune knew what he was doing as a leader. "I've got enough for the two of you. Both of you, get some rest."
"You sure, leader? Me and Renny can definitely go on –"
"It's fine, Nora. I don't want any of us to get too tired. Take a break. You've earned it."
Nora gave a salute, while Ren nodded in acknowledgement, before both retired to the showers. She hadn't been initially sold on her other two teammates, but they'd won her over quickly enough. While she could see in both their eyes that they looked up to her, it was more as a thing to surpass than an unreachable ideal. Plus, neither let it colour their interactions with her. Nora's perpetual cheer was infectious, always brightening her environment, while Ren's calm serenity provided the perfect counterweight, a glue to bind the team together. She couldn't wish for a better team.
Well, taste in pizza excepted.
"You okay to go now, Pyrrha?"
"Hmm? Oh, sure." Her partner was at her side, tidying the notes he'd made on their other teammates' methods. She let him finish, and headed down to the ring first. It was a minor detour to connect her scroll to the aura reader, and then – "Jaune, don't you need to connect your scroll as well?"
The boy in question, already in the middle of the arena, shrugged sheepishly. "No? I've found that the readings can be a little misleading. I know my limits well enough, so I prefer going without the readout. I'll surrender if I can't continue."
Pyrrha frowned. That was… not only did it go against every tournament ruleset in history, not to mention the ruleset at Beacon, it was also an easy way to get himself injured for no reason. It was stupid. Jaune did know his way around a fight – Cardin and the Deathstalker proved that – but this was reckless. "I really think you should –"
"I'll be fine, Pyrrha. Trust me."
She mentally groaned. There really would be no convincing him. She'd have to hold back.
Oh, she'd always planned to – there was no point in going full Semblance in a friendly spar – but without knowing when to stop, she'd have to hold back further, to avoid even the slightest risk of injury. She couldn't go more than, what? Fifteen percent? Giving a silent nod of acceptance, she drew Miló and settled into a basic stance.
"Three, two, one, begin."
Neither of them moved. She'd predicted Jaune to take the defensive, but had wanted to avoid any surprises at the start. When none were forthcoming, she raised her shield in front of her and began pressing forwards.
Jaune didn't move. She hadn't expected him to.
Tentatively, she began probing his defences. Nothing major: a thrust at the chest, a chop at the shoulder, a slash at the head, things like that. Nothing that could break his aura if it hit, all just to get a better feel of his darts and dodges.
He avoided all her strikes with ease. It was just like the fight with Cardin: his footwork was light, his steps small, only barely moving enough to avoid the hits. There was no flair to it, only function, one tiny step followed by another tiny step. It was almost natural, like water parting around a stone, even without considering the huge mass of steel that was his weapon. It would have been a ball and chain to any other, but in his hands, it was like a dancer's ribbon.
All the while, though, he didn't try to attack, or even try to try to attack. Just like in the fight with Cardin, that was his style: endless defence, followed by brutal counters. A fair plan, but like Goodwitch suggested, one easy to overwhelm. She could probably do it on her own.
She didn't, though. His movements were fast, agile and measured enough that breaking through wouldn't be trivial. She couldn't do it while only giving twenty percent, and even if she could, the risk of harm was too high. Within the limits she'd set herself, she wouldn't be able to win against Jaune.
She wanted to win.
No. She pushed that competitive streak to the side. Victory or loss wasn't important here. What mattered was making sure the both of them got out in one piece.
Swallowing her pride, she pushed forwards again. This time, though, her attack was weightier, a downward slash from shoulder to hip. It was clumsy and easy to avoid, but more importantly, left a big gap on her right that Jaune could exploit.
He saw it, eyes lit up, and he took a bigger step backwards.
Pyrrha clicked her tongue. That obviously hadn't been what she'd wanted. He'd probably expected a trap, a counter of some kind, and backed off to get away from it. If she'd been trying harder, it would have been – use the forwards momentum to bash him with Akoúo while he's preparing to attack – but this time, it had just been a regular opening to exploit. She'd have to leave bigger holes.
If anyone had seen them then, they'd have thought it a farce. The Invincible Girl, bumbling around like she'd never held a sword in her life, against a blond nobody who was just humouring her naïvety. Thankfully, nobody saw them – Ren and Nora were taking their time with their showers, and everyone else had better things to do – so nobody else saw it when Jaune chose not to dodge one of her thrusts, letting it graze his cheek.
As soon as she saw the specks of blood, she dropped her weapon immediately. "Oh, Gods, Jaune, I'm so sorry! Let me –"
A raised hand stopped her. "Don't worry about it, Pyrrha. I heal quickly." To prove the point, he wiped the blood from his face, to reveal unblemished skin underneath. "I get that you're worried about hurting me without the aura readers, but I'm tougher than I look. You don't need to hold back."
Some sort of healing Semblance? It helped explain why he was so blasé about the issue, but it was still dangerous. Even if she didn't hit a vital, what if he couldn't outheal her damage? "How… robust is it?"
"Forgive me for not wanting to demonstrate, but it's strong enough. Don't hold back."
She understood – she wouldn't want to hurt herself to prove a point – but his reply was still unhelpful. She could give more if minor injuries would heal, but not too much without the risk returning. Forty-five percent felt about right. She adopted her usual stance, one tweaked by years of training, and rejoined the fray.
This time, there was no flailing or sputtering, just solid form and solid technique. Serious strikes were mixed with feints and ploys, a false opening to bait a commitment, a false thrust to mistime a dodge. Nothing special, nothing fancy, just the bread-and-butter style that most people would nevertheless take a lifetime to master.
Jaune avoided it all.
She still wasn't getting close; if anything, she was getting further away. Once he'd picked up on the extra refinement, he'd immediately backed away even more, giving him more space and more time to react to her tricks and combos. She did catch him by surprise once, the first time she shifted Miló into its spear form. His dodge to evade the expanding lance had been ungainly at best, and she'd manage to nick his ear. He'd recovered quickly, though, and been able to read any further mix-ups without incident.
She wanted to win.
Jaune was a good opponent. Even holding back this much, most of her peers could never keep up with her. That competitive streak whispered again, telling her to claim her place. She pushed it aside again. Victory or defeat was irrelevant.
On the other hand, with Jaune still evading and still not attacking, and with neither of them running out of energy soon, both victory and defeat looked somewhat impossible. She'd need to force something to happen. As before, breaking through was unsafe, so she'd have to bait him.
She didn't bother with anything fancy, as Jaune would just avoid the risk. Instead, she disengaged, stepped back, and returned to her neutral stance. Her message was clear: come and get her.
They stood like that for too long, Jaune not wanted to leave his familiar defence, her wanting for something to actually happen. Eventually, Jaune's will faded first, and he edged closer, sword ready to swing.
She edged backwards as well. Her plan was simple: stay just inside his effective range, dodge back when he attacks, and counter in his follow-through. Likely a little too simple, but it would be easy to adjust on the fly.
Jaune tried some footwork tricks to get a little closer, but she followed them without trouble. After the second unsuccessful cross-over, he stopped with the fanciness and just swung.
His form was good, from what little she knew of oversized zweihanders, but it was slow all the same. Of course it was; nothing that big could be easy to accelerate. It was just a small step back, a bounce on the feet, and a jab at the gut.
She found air. Of all the ways to dodge, Jaune had gone to ground. An anticlimactic end, but she wouldn't complain. She reversed her grip on Miló and stabbed down.
She found air again. Jaune hadn't gone to ground; he'd kept his momentum and dived into a combat roll. Clever, but it wouldn't be enough. Her pace was faster, and she slashed out at the ball that was Jaune.
She found air yet again, and this time she had to pause. Did he just – yes, Jaune had somehow converted his diving, off-balance roll into an almost-flawless front handspring. The legs had been a bit messy, and he was facing away from her at the end, but she wasn't in a position to punish either of those errors. For that tiny moment, she had to stop and admire the strength and composure needed for a move as acrobatic as that.
She wanted to win.
Then combat instincts took over, and she returned to her neutral stance, just as Jaune returned to his.
Blue eyes locked on green again, as both waited for the other to move. The same logic as before rang in both their minds, and as before, Jaune made his move first.
He wouldn't do the same thing twice in a row, he wasn't stupid. His tricks with his feet had been the same, albeit rearranged a bit, and she could still keep up without trouble. A sudden dash forwards, while winding up a swing? Simple to counter, just needed a bigger step back and –
Years in the ring had trained her peripheral vision, and she knew when to trust the blurry corners of her eyes. No time to think, just to react – she desperately raised Miló in a last-ditch parry, barely in time to stop an enormous weight of metal from crashing into her flank.
Flying had felt better at initiation.
She managed to regain her bearings to land almost gracefully, but the strike had taken its toll. Miló had been bent out of shape, she could feel the giant bruise already starting to form, and she looked up at the scoreboard –
She'd lost nearly a third of her aura in a single hit.
How? How had he done that?
Not the damage. It was higher than expected, but he could tear through a Deathstalker tail with no problems. It was nothing that couldn't be trained, albeit slowly and painfully. There was no issue there, but how had he hit her in the first place?
Yes, the dash had shortened the distance, but she still should have been quick enough to dodge. His first swing told her – wait. It had to be.
He'd deliberately slowed that first swing to mislead her, hitting her with the full brunt on the follow-up.
She wanted to win.
Her leader was a good opponent to beat, indeed. When was the last time she'd taken a blow like that? Months? Years? Ever?
"If you're still holding back, I'd recommend you stop now," her opponent taunted. She tried to put it aside, to stop it burrowing in, but that nagging voice at the back of her mind kept whispering on.
She wanted to win.
She didn't want to take another hit like that. She wouldn't fall for the same trick as before, but what else did he have up his sleeve? Knives? Grenades? Another stratagem? If she fought on like this, what pitfall would she run into?
She wanted to win.
She knew about his mechashift gun and shield. The shield would be irritating, but not threatening. The gun, on the other hand, could blow up a Deathstalker. She was much softer than a Deathstalker. She had to end this before the idea began to cross his mind.
She wanted to win.
Jaune had set this up to learn how she fought. This wasn't it. If she carried on holding back, would that be disrespecting her leader's wishes?
She wanted to win.
And then, of course, there was the much simpler reason, one that she hadn't felt for a long, long time.
She wanted to win.
Pyrrha Nikos did not lose.
She wanted to win.
And if her leader, partner and friend wanted to face her head-on, who was she to deny him?
(Without ripping his weapon away with her Polarity, of course. That would be boring.)
The dent had jammed one of Miló's servos, preventing the spear-form from coming out. Rifle form, though, was still functional, and she smiled at the surprise on Jaune's face as she opened fire.
It would have been dissatisfying if he'd fallen then and there, but Jaune dealt with it acceptably. The first bullet grazed him before he could dodge, but he slid out the way and deployed his shield to block the rest. She would have started aiming for his legs, but he charged forwards through the hail of fire before she could.
Close range. Right where she wanted him.
Miló was in xiphos form as soon as her finger left the trigger. At the same time, she closed the last of the gap with two steps, grabbed onto his shield, and pulled.
He'd expected to run into something and slow down, not speed up even further. Off-balance, he began tumbling to the floor, but already he was going into that roll-plus-handspring motion again. She waited. She knew the right moment would come in two seconds.
Rising from his feet, eyes and head disoriented from the roll. He'd turned to face her while rolling, but it made no difference. All it did was allow him to briefly see Akoúo before it crashed into his head.
Bronze on bone rang out, and Jaune staggered back, eyes unfocussed. An opportunity to finish it. Letting Akoúo drop to the floor, she raised Miló above her and drove its pommel into his skull.
She'd won.
Jaune's neck snapped.
Team stuff, lessons, lessons, and team stuff. Pretty much normal activities for any student a Beacon. Except for the whole broken neck thing.
As one review alluded to, I'm basing the God Eater parts of this primarily on the games, rather the anime or any of the manga. This also means that I'm trying to incorporate some of the game mechanics/logic, provided it makes sense to do so. In particular, any normal person playing God Eater will get beaten up many times, by a large variety of monstrosities, all many times their size.
Jaune was a normal person, thrust into the world of God Eater. He has been beaten up many times, by a large variety of monstrosities, all many times his size. He is very used to lots of injury.
Will a broken neck be the end of Jaune? No, because it's chapter 2. But how will he recover? What about his aura? How will everyone else react? Find out next time, which won't be soon. I have a Master's dissertation to write first.