Chapter 1

In the true timeline, Jaune Arc became many things.

A knight, a hero, a huntsman, a mourner, a friend, and so much more. In many other timelines, he became so many things. A barista, a fraud, a crime-boss-by-accident, a thief, a monster, and many many more fates for the Knight of Arc. In this particular story, a similar vein was followed as many others had done before it, with a few twists, naturally. Jane Arc, fourth sibling of eight, twin sister to her brother. In this world, as with many, Jane Arc was refused training by her father, despite her siblings being trained to become Huntresses, and even her brother being trained.

This, naturally, drove her to a strong desire to strike out on her own, to go to Beacon and to become a huntress on her own power. And so, without aura, without training, and with an heirloom weapon, outdated and having last seen use approximately eighty years ago during the Great War, Jane sets out towards Beacon, fully intent on joining the prestigious school without regard for the risk inherent in such an action, nor with consideration for anything bar her own self-set goals.

Fate itself conspired to assist Jane, going so far as to allow her to attain forged transcripts that passed the cursory inspection, and a family name that attracted Ozpin's eye enough to ignore the false documentation and to allow her enrolment into that year's initiation trials, though he did this out of an assumption that Jane at the very least had her aura unlocked if nothing else, presuming a great many things about the stupidity and recklessness of a seventeen year old who had never truly been in danger.

And yet, as she laid her head down upon a cushion on the airship taking her to her dreams, when her eyes re-opened, they did not open with the same bright-eyed excitement that Jane Arc held within her.

"I promise I'll protect you!"

Yelling loudly and brashly, Jane swept her arm out, smashing her shield into the face of a snarling man-beast, sending the man sprawling away with many teeth missing. Turning, she threw out her sword-arm in a wide swing to ward away her other two attackers, her breathing heavy as she flicked her eyes between the crazed people. Behind her, she heard the sound of running, followed a moment later by a scream that was cut off by a visceral sound of flesh tearing.

Unable to stop herself turning, Jane felt vomit rise in her throat as the unarmed man she tried to protect had his throat ripped out by a canine not dissimilar to a beowolf. Her look away proved her undoing as a blunt weapon bludgeoned the back of her head, knocking her to the floor. Her screaming in pain and agony hindered her attackers not one bit as they set upon her with blade and bludgeon, butchering the young woman with ferocity and madness, not a single spark of humanity left within their minds.

And Jane woke up within the Hunter's Workshop, weeping and shuddering in equal measure, the sensation of steel parting flesh heavy upon her mind.

"I-...I'm...I..."

Jane had no words for the young girl who's hopes she had raised, only to dash without mercy. Despite all she had seen of Yharnam, her personal hell, she truly believed she could bring some small light back into the world, by finding her mother and father and bringing them back to her. But the mother was dead, slaughtered at the hands of the father, and all that could be recognized was a crimson brooch, with the name 'Viola' inscribed upon it.

And what she had needed to do...the young girl had no mother, and at her own hand, no father, if the beast she had slaughtered could be called that any longer. The young girl had taken one look at the brooch and scurried away from the window, leaving Jane standing there, helpless to do anything to help. She had no power over the dead, all she could do was kill. Unbidden, a snort rose from her chest, as if she was any good at that. Gascoigne had ripped her apart at least a dozen times, sending her back to the Hunter's Workshop. Each time she fell, she learned, yes, but she also suffered. There was no word to describe what it felt like to feel her life leave her body once, let alone a dozen times.

Yharnam showed no mercy to those with no skill in combat, and Jane Arc had never been taught how to fight.

Plunging her arm forwards, Jane slammed her pincered fingers into the wound left by her gunshot, tearing open a gaping hole in the abdomen of her opponent.

As she withdrew, she yanked a blood vial off of her bandolier and injected herself with it, the sensation of flesh knitting together and bones snapping back into place rigidly ignored lest it distract her from the fight. In her right hand, she drew Crocea Mors back out from the sheath in her shield, unwilling to let go of her one tie to her past despite alternative weapons being available to her. On her left arm, the shield remained, the paint scratched and metal dented but still functional.

Jane dared not take her eyes off the twisted creature that once was a vicar, all too wary of being distracted by the feral man-beasts attracted by their fight and allowing the greater beast to flatten her with an overwhelming blow. The creature had already slain her twice, both times because she had been distracted by the lesser beasts and overwhelmed, but Jane was determined to not fall a third time. So, as her body mended the damage it had sustained, she flicked Crocea Mors outwards and charged back into the fray.

It may have been a doomed venture, but she would rather die a hundred times than give up.

With a swing of Crocea Mors, the edge became stained with blood, the weapon claiming the head of Micolash after a brutal battle that saw her face slashed most viciously.

Swinging out the blade again to remove some of the blood, Jane sheathed the blade and sighed, pressing down upon the ground with her shield and leaning on it. The Nightmare of Mensis wore heavily upon her, merely to be present felt as though all the joy and warmth of life was being sapped from her, leaving her weary and desiring to simply lay down and rest. Beneath her though, supporting her rest, was her only ever-present reminder of what drove her onwards. Remnant, her home, so distant, so many deaths ago, such that she could scarcely recall the faces of her loved ones.

A thin smile came to her mind though as she recalled her 'youthful' naivety, fully aware that she had not aged a day physically, yet mentally, she felt as if she had seen galaxies rise and fall. Death really had a way to sap at the soul, something she would doubtlessly have scoffed at previously. Taking a blood vial, she slipped the needle into her flesh and felt the wounds she had sustained fade away like the morning that she could not recall the sight of, a distant memory that she hoped to one day see again.

She dropped the emptied vial, lifted herself off her shield, and with a quick roll of her neck and shoulders, she continued on her way, her soul all the heavier for it.

Grunting in pain as a blade speared her side, Jane reared back with Mergo's Wet Nurse looming over her.

Refusing to give up without a fight, Jane smashed her left arm down, a growl of pain forced out of her as the blade piercing her was wrenched in a brutally painful fashion, the hand holding it forced to let go, leaving her body impaled by the curved weapon. Unable to spare the time to pull it out, Jane threw any fucks she had left to the wind and slammed a blood vial into her flesh, the blade becoming trapped within healing flesh and causing a fresh hell to inflict itself upon her.

With her brief respite already gone, she dashed to the side to avoid a furious overhead blow, her motion slicing new wounds into her body as the blade was jostled and shifted. Snarling, she grabbed the handle, pulling forcefully on the weapon whilst at the same time she plunged a second blood vial into her body, a third following it as she ripped the weapon out of her side. Her opponent shrieked, a noise that sent spears of pain into her ears as a sound humans weren't supposed to hear pierced her brain. Ignoring it as best she could, Jane swept her two weapons before herself, using one to slash at the tentacle aimed at her head, the other blade lashing out and striking her attacker in the midriff.

She would almost certainly fall, but she did not intend to do so easily.

"Good Hunter, you've done well, the night is near it's end."

Looking at Gehrman, Jane exhaled slowly, resisting the desire to tap her foot impatiently. Gehrman seemed to believe that nothing was wrong, but the Workshop being ablaze certainly didn't seem to be nothing. She wanted to grab him by the coat and shake him until he explained why the building was on fire, but she refrained...for now. "Now, I will show you mercy. You will die, forget the dream, and awake, under the morning sun. You will be freed, of this terrible Hunter's Dream."

Blinking, Jane looked within Gehrman's shaded eyes, and saw only pity and sadness there. He...was telling the truth. He would free her from the Hunter's Dream. She looked down at the shield upon her arm, dented and chipped but kept in one piece desperately, one of her two only reminders of her life in the waking world. Within the shield, her sword, Crocea Mors. With it she had cut down every single thing that opposed her. It may have been hard, there may have been times where she wished to simply give up, but her sword and her shield had never failed her, and when they had, she had repaired them, maintained them, upgraded them, and gone back into the fight. Looking up at Gehrman, Jane sighed. "I can't do that."

The old man chuckled, surprising her. "Dear oh dear, what was it? The Hunt? The Blood? Or the Horrible Dream?" Gehrman began to rise from his wheelchair, and it occurred to Jane that Gehrman was not just an old man...he was the first Hunter, the first of what she had become. "Oh, it doesn't matter." She watched, a hand reaching for Crocea Mors as he withdrew something from his back slowly. "It always comes down to the Hunter's helper to cleam up after these sorts of messes..."

Her eyes widened dramatically as he swung out his arm, and a great scythe was revealed, quickly swung over his back and ready to be swung. "Tonight, Gehrman joins the Hunt." And with that, Gehrman began to stride towards her, forcing her to draw her own blade and backpedal. A look in his eyes and Jane knew he no longer saw her, he saw an opponent to be slain. Tightening her grip on Crocea Mors, Jane steadied herself, shield held at an angle and blade ready.

He may have been the First Hunter, but Jane had no intention of succumbing to his blade tonight.

"The night, and the dream, were long..."

Kneeling beside Gehrman, Jane looked into his eyes with sadness. He had fought well, and slain her multiple times. His weaponry was devastating and his skill unquestionable, but her own abilities had grown considerably as she fought her way throughout Yharnam. And now, he lay dying upon a bed of white flowers. "Why did you make me do this? What for? What was any of this about?" She asked him, and he raised a hand, taking her own.

"The Great One comes...you must become more...than the sum of your parts." He coughed, blood staining his lips. "The Great Ones' Umbilical Cords...you must absorb their insight." Blinking, she saw the Messengers emerge beside her, unbidden. Looking at them, she beheld the three thirds of a Great One Umbilical Cord, having given them over to the Messengers since she had no need for their insight, already having seen far more of Yharnam's dark side than she wished for.

Deciding to trust in Gehrman, in memory of his sad, weary eyes as he tried to save her from whatever fate was approaching her, she took hold of the three chunks of otherness. Guided by instincts not her own, she crushed them within a hand, and felt the essence contained within them flow into her body. As it did, her veins burned and her chest heaved as something wrong invaded her body. Curling up, she snarled and bared her teeth as her body became inflamed in the power held within those three chunks of grotesque flesh.

As it passed, Jane felt a pulse, a shockwave beyond physical comprehension that ripped out from the moon. A glance at Gehrman and she saw a slackened face and glassy eyes, so with a brief nod, she grasped the handle of Crocea Mors and withdrew the blade from Gehrman's chest, whirling as she stood to look towards the moon. What she saw approaching was a monster of tentacles and nightmarish geometry which threatened to overspill the boundaries of her perception. This is what Gehrman warned her of, and what he tried to protect her from. The creature landed, and a hand snatched Gehrman away, his corpse disappearing into the dark mass before her as if he had never existed.

Suppressing a shudder as something so otherworldly approached her, Jane readied herself for battle once more.

Screaming in agony, Jane twisted her entire body, her left arm caught in a mass of darkness that refused to let go.

Her right arm swept in, striking the creature with a blow that staggered it back, tearing horrific rents down her arm, peeling flesh and muscle away and searing an acidic pain down her arm, unmatched by any pain she had ever felt before. Shuddering as the aftershocks of the attack hammered her mental fortitude, Jane stabbed herself with a blood vial, rolling to the side to avoid a bodily charge even as she threw out her sword arm, lacerating her foe with a gaping rent across their side.

Not giving her opponent any time to recover, Jane kicked off with her right foot and twisted, striking out with Crocea Mors and stabbing it towards the still-turning creature. The blade pieced their hide, and Jane quickly let go of her weapon to duck below a sweeping arm, rolling once more to avoid a followup vertical slam. With a slam of her foot, she leapt acrosswards and snatched Crocea Mors, putting her weight and momentum to use to wrench her blade out, the wound causing her enemy to let out a guttural roar which left her feeling warmth dripping from her ears, along with a sudden inability to hear anything.

Ignoring her sudden deafness, she rolled once more, this time backwards and out of the way of the sudden frenzied slamming that pulverized the ground around her foe. Grabbing a blood vial, she jammed it into herself, allowing it to go to work as she charged back into the fray, her shield slamming up diagonally to deflect an arm swing away, leaving her with a big opening from which to slash her blade. Two strikes and a toss of a firebomb, then she rolled back away from a second strike, catching a few breaths and watching the flames feebly burning the not-flesh of the Great One. Any attacks were just so ineffective, it was like trying to fight an endless mass of flesh and black blood.

But giving up was never in the cards, and so, once more, Jane charged into battle.

With a roar of pain and triumph, Jane slammed Crocea Mors into the head of the Great One, both hands grasping the handle as she wrenched it downwards.

Using her body-weight, and with her momentum aiding her, the much-upgraded blade carved through first the head, then the body of the Moon Presence, bisecting the monstrous creature. As the blade finally parted the entire body into two pieces, the roaring, pounding, extra-dimensional attack upon her sense of self ceased, whilst at the same time, the two pieces of Great One fell to either side of her. Being completely honest with herself...Gehrman was a harder opponent.

Stepping forwards, Jane gave the two pieces of corpse a kick each, before flicking Crocea Mors and sheathing the weapon. Then, she released a slow, breathless sigh. That was the first true battle against any great foe she had fought where she hadn't died. From Gascoigne to Rom to Micolash to Gehrman, she had fallen to them all at least once. And yet, battling a mature Great One, she had battled it without falling in combat even a single time.

Unbidden, a chuckle rose from her throat. For all the power of a Great One, it was humans, corrupted by the Old Blood or otherwise afflicted, who had truly been more dangerous. Even despite all her skill, Gehrman had still wrought his own body-count upon her before she bested him. And yet, the Moon Presence had not managed to slay her even a single time. Still, it was entirely possible that slaying the Moon Presence was just like cutting off a finger, so she remained wary even as she examined the corpse more closely. Before she could see anything of note though, a violent sense of vertigo overtook her, and she found herself throwing up the contents of her stomach before she could do anything to stop it.

Directly onto the shoes of a sunshine-blonde young woman with lilac eyes and a frozen look upon her face. Her first instinct was the draw her blade and slash, as an uncountable time amongst monsters that wanted nothing more than to tear her apart told her to do, but her time in the Hunter's Workshop, alongside the dimly-remembered memories of the waking world, where there were not enemies around every corner, stayed her hand. It occurred to her that perhaps an apology was in order, while vomit on the shoes wasn't a big deal, it was a social faux par. "I'm sorry, motion sickness."

Bowing her head once, Jane rose her head back up to meet the eyes of the blonde, whilst at the same time assessing her situation. She was...awake again, and it felt as if she could breathe once more. The suffocating existence of the Hunter's Dream always felt like a clawed grip around her lungs, a reminder that she was held within, and even death was not an escape. "Ahh, it's okay." The blonde rubbed her head awkwardly, kicking at the seat leg and dislodging some of the gunk that stuck to her shoes. "So, what's with the get-up? Bit old-fashioned."

Jane was aware that the armour she had worn that first fateful night had not lasted against Yharnam, and so she had taken it off, both to preserve it, but also in favor of other protective clothings, ones that didn't restrict her ability to roll quite so much. "Something like that. Sorry, you have me at a bit of a disadvantage. Jane Arc." A faint memory swirled over her mind, a saying that her father had been fond of speaking around her brother, and for just a moment she felt the urge to mirror it. Only briefly, she was far more in control of herself, and far more aware of social graces than previously, having been all but forced to pick them up after spending time with Annalise, one of the few sane and even dare she say friendly faces in Yharnam.

"Yang Xiao-Long, and don't you forget it, we blondes have to stick together." Yang stuck out a fist, and Jane gave it a moment of contemplation, recalling how that particular social interaction was done. A moment longer to decide that it would be fine, and she closed her hand into a fist, bumping it against Yang's and drawing a wide grin from the excitable blonde. "So, Beacon eh? You must be pretty good if you got into Beacon."

Jane merely nodded, quirking a thin smirk as Yang pouted. "Well, I'll leave you to it...vomit-girl." Yang cheekily spoke, wandering away with a backwards wave to go be a pest to someone else. Settling back against the wall, Jane looked down at her hands, slightly baffled by her return to the waking world. Somehow...it didn't meet her expectations, but then again, she supposed that was why it was the waking world. There was no insanity here, no nightmare, no beasts to battle bar the Grimm, no multi-layered plots to bring about the apocalypse...

...right?

Yeah...I have no idea what I'm doing here.

Honestly this story probably won't go very far, because despite the funb idea of 'Jane Arc' becoming a Huntress, I just have no idea how I'd make it interesting. Like, yes, sure, she can fight now, she has her skills honed in mortal combat in Yharnam, but would I mix in the Old Blood and make it complicated, would I weave her into the student populace as a fighter beyond Pyrrha Nikos and have her draw Ozpin's eye as a potential maiden candidate?

I just doubt I'll actually manage to continue the story, if I'm being honest.