"Out of the night,"
Jaune bent backwards at an inhuman angle, the Viscount's blade grazing over his nose. Drops of crimson falling through the air. Blood surged forward out of nothing behind the blade, shaping into a spear tip that pierced forward. Borring a hole straight through Alfred's shoulder. White fur, flesh and bone miraculously knitting themselves at an inhuman speed before their eyes. The werewolf roared, throwing himself forward with reckless abandon. Grudges and curses rolling around black claws that dripped of poison.
"At dawn's first light."
The chant escaped his lips, each word pronounced with perfect clarity even as his spirituality rose and surged within. Not broken even as he danced to the side, lighting fast sword thrusts followed by blood shaped like spears and cursed claws constantly hammering at his defence. Crocea Mors dancing beautifully through the air, redirecting blows, conjuring spectres to cancel the blood surges and meeting Alfred's claws on equal footing.
"A new day is born,"
He continued, locking blade's with the Viscount and batting the revolver away with his free hand. Only to eat an open palm with his jaw. Cracking his teeth together so hard he felt something loosen. The backlash of the chant hitting him like a metaphorical sledgehammer. A trickle of blood trailing down his nose.
Retaliating with a sharp knee, the Viscount quickened away. Out of the three, he was the frailest. While he hit hard, his offence being the most ruthless and dangerous off all. He himself couldn't take many hits.
Jaune didn't allow the Viscount his escape, throwing himself after him. Only to dive down into the mist. Sliding forward as the snow carried him quickly under Alfred's legs. Crocea Mors held up as his blade cut into the werewolf.
Blood seeped from his ears, a howl unlike ever before boomed out of the werewolf The faces on it's body howling with Alfred in pain.
"My dear Vicar. Honestly now. Going after the poor man's testicles? Youth these days."
Jaune didn't reply to the Viscount's barb, the cutting reply on his tongue pushed aside. There was always a time and place for banter, mentally unbalancing your opponent was never a stupid idea. However, he had an idea, a game plan that was as stupid as it was smart. It could end the fight almost instantly, and if it didn't, it would put a time limit on both of his opponents. There were more to his semblance than just creating an isolated domain. Here, he was king.
No one could enter, and no one could leave his domain. It was a place where the lines between the waking world and the sprit world were blurred. Grudges materialized, miasma flowed freely, spirts ran rampant, and everyone but him would feel their every move be twice as draining. 'Then there is the little detail that lets me use it as a casting medium.'
On the defensive and backpedalling, Crocea Mors danced through the air. Blocking and parrying both sword and claw. The Viscount and Alfred both coming after him with reckless abandon, or frenzied madness in Alfred's case. Spinning around another sharp thrust, a grudge skull shot out of his blade and cancelled out the blood surge that trailed behind. Slamming his boot into the ground, Jaune threw himself into a reckless offensive. Knowing he coulndt only defend, and that he needed to weaken Alfred first if his plan was to have any success.
Alfred's grudge coated claws slammed into his side. Yet he bore the punishment with nary a sound. Eyebrow twitching when he felt a sharp trust followed by a massive spurt of blood slamming into his back. Focusing, Crocea Mors effortlessly stabbed through the white furred wrist. Breaking out of the weakened grip, he grabbed the tip of his sword and twisted. Cleanly separating hand from wrist. A furious snarl escaping Alfred, a white furred clawed hand thudding against the ground. Swallowed by the mist and consumed by hungry spirits a second later.
"Reflection perfection in the moonlit stream"
The chant quickly left his lips, just in time for Alfred's other hand to grab him. A snarl escaping the werewolf as he lifted him up and slammed him with all his might into the ground. Only for the illusion to shatter into hundreds of small motes of light. Blood spurting from Alfed's side at the same time. Crocea Mors barely poking out from the other side of his waist. Dodging backwards, he tore out his blade, cutting his stomach wide open and making intestines dangle out. The Viscount quickening before Alfred, leaping through the air intent of decapitating him. Only for the beast to respond by shooting it intestines after him. Wolf heads having grown on the cut ends. Sharp teeth biting into the Viscount's feathery cloak like an army of snake's, as he disappeared.
Disengaging, Jaune snapped his fingers. Casting a simple spell, using his semblance as a boundary to affect everyone inside it. In an instant, both the Viscount and Alfred came to a stop. White smoke rising from them as their head's snapped to him. Snapping his finger's again, he cast harm delay on himself.
"What did you do?" The Viscount hissed; a sharp intake of air followed by a single step forward. His boot slamming hard into the metal ground, creating a sharp echo.
"You wouldn't happen to know what a boundary is?" Jaune asked politely, smile turning sharp as the Viscount lunged at him. Throwing himself to the side, his muscles screamed at him, his bone cracking under their full force, his joint's praying as they were almost torn off. Yet with harm delay active, he only felt the pain, the effects of the damages not happening until after he willed it. 'Or a week passed by.' He thought, the Viscount's bade trailing along his neck, taking a chunk out of his aura as he darted past him faster than the eye could see. Even with how charged his body was, he coulndt see the Viscount move. Only staring at the drifting after image left behind.
Thunder bombed twice, the Viscount coming down to land elegantly on top of the archway. A hiss trailing from him.
"It just so happens that I can use my domain as one." Jaune explained politely, another sidestep made his body scream at him. A shockwave of snow and mist exploding from where Alfred had punched. The ethereal spider lilies almost blown away be the sheer power of the wave. "So I gave us all a little gift. Nothing much, nothing bad. I just removed the limits our bodies force on us. If anything, you should thank me. Don't you want to relive your youth?"
"Are you mad? Who am I kidding, of course you are." The Viscount spat. "Limits exist for a reason, you absolute buffoon. They aren't the chains holding our bodies down, they're the only thing that holds it together!"
Jaune didn't reply, smirk growing the more the Viscount cursed. Throwing himself to the right when the dancing light appeared out of nothing. Darting around Alfred, the werewolves' intestine's shotting out and biting after him like a dozen hungry snakes. Moving a near impossible speeds, his body begged him to stop, the world a blur around him as his blade cut through Alfred's left knee. Sending the werewolf crashing into the roof.
Panting for breath, his lung's burned. Yet he didn't get time to catch his breath, the dancing light appearing again. Throwing himself away, he shoot a quick glance up to the Viscount. Knowing that he coulndt use it indefinitely. 'Neither can I dodge indefinitely either.' As powerful as harm delay was, it coulndt defend against magic.
Dodging away from the snakelike intestines again, claws slammed up into his guts. His aura almost breaking at the extreme forced produced. His gut's screamed in pain, he felt his kidneys pop, and the exact moment his intestines decided to turn into sludge. Even as he raced upwards through the air, he was fine, golden chains springing to life as he slammed back fist into an invisible wall. Golden light growing to a crescendo and sending him ricocheting right back down.
A furious howl escaped Alfred the second Jaune crashed down into him like the hammer of an angry god. His leg's snapping under him from the blow, Crocea Mors piercing all the way to the guard into the shoulder. Black miasma exploding from the blade, ghastly arms and black skulls tearing into flesh with ravenous glee. Tearing the blade out, Jaune was forced to jump off. An angry snarl echoing out as a wolf head grew out of Alfred's shoulder. Biting after him, teeth cracking and splitting as it bit down on nothing.
Pulling out his revolve, he cocked the hammer and aimed up at the Viscount. "Now, what are you going to do? Take the bullet? Or will you rip yourself apart?"
Jaune never got an answer, lighting coursing through him, instincts screaming at him to move. Throwing himself backwards, a white blur raced past him. A heaven shaking roar shook the night. The cathedral building shook, the large wooden door's shot from the hinges, bits of wood and sawdust hanging in the air as Alfred roared again.
"NO!" The Viscount shouted. Before he knew it, the Viscounts sabre smashed into his aura. Shattering it and coating him a thousand deep cuts. A large hole carved in his chest and his heart was torn out.
Jaune stood rooted to the spot, trying to move, only to feel everything slip out of his hands.
A beautiful crimson lie cut through the air, twisting and surging like a river, following where the Viscount's blade had passed. Blood surged out of nothing, crashing forward like a furious river and cutting apart anything it touched. Carving away over half of his skull, his left arm disappearing into mist, a giant hole carved through his entire chest and stomach. His entire right leg gone.
The line continued, dancing through the air. Stepping into the Queen's chamber and dancing around Alfred. The surge of blood coming a moment later, turning him into a thousand pieces that hung in the air. A hole in his chest with a missing heart.
A hollow wind blew through the silence tickling Jaune's exposed brain matter. A twinge of spirituality touching one of his earliest stored spells.
#######
Queen Analisse sat on her throne, bound to it as she was. She had long since grown used to it and the torturous helmet forced onto her face. 'Yet it was better than showing my shame to my subjects, I suppose.' She idly thought to herself, having little better to do. Trapped in limbo as her throne room was. Not existing in the real world, and neither in the spirit world or the astral plane.
'No doubt that dastardly madman's doing.' Familiar anger scorched her inside out at the familiar hate. One would think that with nothing better to do she would forgive and forget, yet she had sat on her hatred and anger and stewed.
However, minuscule as it was, something felt different about this night. Even with her mastery of the occult, the provost's anchor left her just as blind as everyone else.
Muffled voices echoed from the other side of the door. One was young, soft and gentle but filled with strength and barely restrained anger. The second one was more middled aged, grief and a zeal that made her stick to her stomach coating every word spoken. The last was old, a familiar gentlemanly voice, thick with longing and relief, old strength returning the more it spoke.
The conversation was cut short, broken by a ghastly roar and the sound of clashing blades.
Queen Annalise sat stoically, listening to the sound of battle that raged right outside her chambers. Cutting words were thrown out freely, the fight lulling and picking up in intensity again and again like a dance. Slow and graceful one moment, blazing with passion the next.
She didn't know how long the fight lasted, having long since lost all semblance of time.
A piercing roar echoed outside, her large wooden doors turned to splinters and knocked of the hinges right after. A monstrous white shape moving faster than physically possible throwing itself through her chambers. Only to stop as if caught in a spell. A beautiful and familiar red line dancing through it's body, a surge of blood crashing forward after it. The white werewolf crumbling into pieces before her. Two large still beating hearts rife with blood dregs presented before her.
"Alric, my dear. I can still remember the day you presented your 'Comet', as you call it, before my court. Never in my life have I seen such beautiful display of swordplay and magic intermingling." Queen Analise said gently, looking down at her trusted hand. Blood dripped from his helmet's mouth. His right arm was bent multiple angels, offering up a heart even if the arm was dislocated and broken. His left leg swollen to the point his pants had torn, revealing purple and red veins.
"Quickening is simply the first step, my liege. We are simply children playing with toys." He panted; each word rasped out as he struggled to breath. "I do apologise for my tardiness, my liege. The martyr's enchantment blocked all ways home."
"Yet you returned to my side, ever loyal after all this time. There are no words to describe my gratefulness. I can never thank you enough, my royal knight." Annalise replied, voice soft and melodic.
Reaching out, she grabbed one of the two offered hands, bringing it up to her face.
"NO!" The shout of fury escaped Alric, breaking out into a harsh cough a moment later. A dagger, dripping purple, imbedding itself into the heart in her hands. Another dagger piercing into the other.
Unmatched fury shot through her. The blood dregs writhing within the heart dying in her hands. Leaving nothing but purple dregs tainted by blood and poison. Looking up from the heart in her hand, she glared forward. Staring at the man that had dared destroy her price.
Deader than dead.
His entire chest and stomach had been carved out, allowing her to see her castle through him. What bits and pieces of clothing that was left nothing but rags, stolen away by the wind. Brain matter tumbled out from his skull, the only thing left of it was half a mouth, the tip of his nose, an eye and an ear. His left arm was gone, yet a familiar and accursed golden amulet was wrapped around nothing but thin air. Moving up and down as he stepped forward. The shambling corpse somehow able to move with harsh and deliberate steps even if his entire right leg was gone.
"No." The word dripped with anger. A crimson moon fell from the sky, turning into a crimson mote of light, grasped by nothing. Staring through him she saw the clouds moving, revealing the moon. In an instant she saw him for what he was. A spectral heart beat in his chest. The vicar amulet wrapped tightly around a spectral arm, with a phantom leg moving forward. Everything missing, replaced by a phantom version of itself.
"What kind of monster are you?" Alric hissed defensively. Forcing himself to stand up on broken legs. His helmet thrown away by shaking hands. Blood streamed from one eye, the other had exploded in it's socket, only bits and pieces of residue left. Gargling, he spat out a piece of red, organs wriggling in the pool of blood. Forcing his dislocated arm into proper place, Alric lifted his sabre with his broken arm.
"Nothing compared to the woman you owe your loyalty to." The shambling corpse growled. Voice bouncing of the walls. Sword cloaked in roiling miasma coming up and pointing at Alric. "And if you think for a moment that I will allow that monster to feast on my, our, heart's. You are wrong. Alfred might have been a right bastard; however he will have dignity in death. So will you."
"Vicar." The word tasted like poison, coming of her tongue filled with barely restrained hate. "Have you come to finish what your rabid dogs started? Even stripped of finery and imprisoned on my own throne, don't forget that I am Queen. I will not give audience to ill-mannered beast. Neither will I give audience to the walking dead. Leave."
"My business here tonight is mine and mine alone. It has nothing to do with the church, no matter what this medallion says." The Vicar replied evenly. "But We don't have business with you yet."
With those words hanging in the air, he threw myself forward. The remaining bits of his right lung falling out as he moved together with that was left of his brain matter being blown away. His blade thundering into Alric's Chikage. Cracking a deep chip into the blade before moving unhindered by his wounds to disarm Alric. His blade piercing into her loyal knight's chest.
A mad cackle escaped Alric, defiant eyes staring into those of his killer. His free hand gripping the blade with all his might. "It was fun Arc. Truly. I can't remember the last time I had such fun. I will be keeping my skills sharp for you. This isn't the end. We will meet again where monsters like us end up when they die. And then, then, you will know why I'm called the bloody crow of Cainhurst."
"I will remember you." Arc replied. Laying a phantom hand over Alric's hand and giving a squeeze before tearing his blade out and cutting her knight's head clean of its shoulders.
Standing to his full height, the intruder turned to her. Clouds moving and hiding the moon again. The phantom forms disappearing. Leaving a shambling corpse to stare down at her with a single eye.
"So Vicar." Anallise said politely, the name coming out as a curse. "What business could you possibly have with me? Having slaughtered my most loyal on the steps of my throne."
"It is not I that have business with you." Arc answered flatly. A dozen familiar spectres clawing themselves out of his shadow at the proclamation. A sinister mist creeping into the chamber as familiar faces stared back at her. The younger ones hiding behind him, staring at her through the hole in his body, while the older spirits stared at her unflinchingly. "Or that is a misnomer. I do have business with you. However that can wait until after they are finished."
Moving her hand, the brand of sacrifice came to life. A dozen screams escaping the spectres as they darted into the safety of the Vicars shadow.
Everyone but a single girl that stared at her undaunted. Crimson fire consumed her, the brand of sacrifice burning and spewing blood, yet Elizabeth stared back unflinchingly. Invisible winds dancing around her, revealing the black socket her other eye had transformed into, filled with writhing snaked and all manner of filth.
"Is immortality worth it?" The Vicar asked, moving past Elizabeth as she floated into his shadow. Tainted blood fell onto the steps of her throne as he towered over her. "Your body snatching, using their souls as anchor's to keep you in the waking world. And now 'the forbidden blood', the vileblood if you will, that grants you immortality. Three different methods of immortality, and I can' help but ask why. Is immortality something worth chasing?"
"And why should I answer? What will you do if I don't? Brutalize me? Rape me maybe? I am prisoned on my own throne, stripped of my finery and sitting in my chemise. There is little you can do that will hurt me." Annalise replied flatly, disgust eminent in her tone. A smirk etched on her lips even if it was hidden behind the accursed metal helmet. "I know your kind Vicar." She whispered, leaning forward as she reached out and ran a hand through the empty hole in his chest. "Every fleeing man must be caught; every secret unearthed; every question answered. And for that, I will forever refuse to answer."
The Vicar stared down at her, an invisible hand coming down to grab her wrist. A chill crept into her body, yet no matter how cold, she would never die. 'Not like the man on a clock' she smirked to herself. More than well versed in the occult, she knew the cardinal truth. Everything had its cost. And forever was so much shorter than most people realised. The magicks that kept him alive wouldn't last indefinitely. 'An hour at best' she knew.
"You are as cruel as you are beautiful." The Vicar eventually replied, voice softer than the gentlest velvet. His invisible hand coming down to her neck and with a twinge of power, the helmet around her head shock and gave. Thrown to the side as he stared down at her.
Tears streamed down her side, the crisp air of winter filling her lungs. "Are you happy?" She spat, hatefully staring up at him with her shame on display. Her face peeled off. Her tears sending sharp spikes of pain racing through her.
"I am surprised you don't remember me." The Vicar said, ignoring her ghastliness. "After all, I'm here at your behest."
Cruelty laced his every word, the poisonous words seeping into her ears and setting her mind a-whirl. Yet, no matter how much she tried, she could find anything of what she hinted at. Eyes darting to Elizabeth.
"No."
"Yes~" The Vicar replied, what left of his mouth spitting into a grin. "Yes. You wrote a single rune wrong. Care to guess who it was?" He taunted, the golden crest on his sheet giving her all the answers she needed.
"No." She hissed, ignoring the way the muscles on her face screamed in pain. Venom on her tongue, anger in her heart. "I refuse to believe."
"So did I. So did I." The Vicar mumbled under his breath, looking down at his sword, the blood on the blade moving as invisible fingers ran over the fuller. "I am sorry… partner… but I have to ask the impossible off you."
Before a quip about the Vicar's madness could leave her tongue, cold steel pierced through her heart. The burning pain raced through her, yet she didn't give her tormentor the pleasure of hearing her scream.
"Cruelty begets cruelty, and for what it is worth. I am sorry. But I have to ask you to bear my wounds for me." The Vicar whispered, ghostly hand coming down to rest gently on her crown. Pain like never before shot through her. Not even the Executioner's brutality came close to the soul burning hurt that coursed through her. Thrashing on her throne, she looked up at her tormentor. Losing vision in her left eye just as his miraculously returned from nothing.
"Curse you. Kill me and be done with it. Monster in man's skin that you are. Why torment me so." She spat with all the anger and pain within. Her left arm disappeared; gentle warmth radiated from the fingers that held her skull. Her leg was the next to go, withering like a flower, while time miraculously rewound around his stump. A blissful haze of pain settled over her, one by one she felt empty and hollow. The emptiness growing as more and more organs miraculously rewound back in his body.
Gasping for breath through a throat cut to pieces, she fell backwards onto her throne. The Vicar letting her go as he held his hand over his chest. Gold escaping his fingers as he healed the only thing left. His heart.
The sword pierced through her heart felt almost comforting in it's cold and simple cruelty. Looking up through a single eye she saw him breath. Chest rising and falling with ease.
The Vicar, now whole and healed, reached into the hole in her chest. Strong and warm fingers grabbing around her heart. Blye eyes looked down at her with such unimaginable softness. "Again, I'm sorry. Royality, no matter how debased should be allowed to die with dignity. It will only be for a little while. The only way to free them, is by freeing you. So please, rest inside Crocea Mors. It will only be for a little while."
Something almost golden shone over the Vicar, the rays of dawn lighting up her chambers. Then everything went dark. She didn't even get to scream.
######
"Ughghg." Pyrrha groaned into her pillow. An all too familiar queasiness in her stomach pulling her from dreamland. She knew it had been coming, it lined perfectly with her schedule. But for the life of her, she hadn't wanted to wake up to her period slamming her with a sledgehammer of nausea. Burying her face in her pillow, she refused to open her eyes. Praying that maybe, just maybe, if she ignored it hard enough, her period would simply be gone.
Whimpering into her pillow when another wave of nausea raced through her. Daring to peek at her alarm clock, a pathetic whine left her when it read five over six am. She knew on a conscious level that Ren and Jaune was already up and about. But she was a B-person, she needed her sleep. Closing her eyes one last time, the tantalising smell wafting out through the dorm was the last strike against her already rapidly crumbling defences.
With a long-suffering groan she pulled herself out from under the covers. The autumn weather leaving a crisp tinge to the air. Standing up on unsure legs, she knew it wouldn't last. Her periods always being mild. Sure she started with a bout of nausea, but after some tea, a new tampon, and a morning run, she would be right as rain. Maybe a bit less patient and a tad irritable, but not knocked out flat in her bed.
Their dorm was dark, the curtains pulled tight. Some rays of light managed to worm their way through where there was a gap in the curtain, lighting up the room. Her partner stood by the kitchen bench, nursing a cup of tea with two pots on the stove. A hum escaping him as he sipped on his tea.
"Good morning Jaune, what's on the stove?" She yawned. Blinking away the lazy tears in her eyes, she looked at her partner. The dour mood he was in impossible to miss. Even when only dressed in a tank top, with the arms of his onesie tied around his waist as he nursed a cup in his hands. The tenses in him impossible to miss, how be clenched his mouth, the frown.
Crocea Mors laid on the countertop behind him. Golden chain, identical to the chain wrapped around his wrist, wrapped around her guard and hilt. Locking them together. The blade seemingly vibrating as it lied there. Forcing Pyrrha to do a second take, the blade lying still on the countertop.
"I cooked up something that should help in the pot on the right." Jaune answered, voice tired as he took another sip of tea. Grimacing and looking down in his cup as if it owed him money.
"Thank you." She replied, pouring herself a quick cup. Another yawn forcing itself out of her. Smacking her lips she shoot the other pot a curious glance. 'I wonder what he made. I have never seen tea in that shade of purple before.' "What are you having."
"Nothing much, just some Gallnut and Hemlock tea." Jaune replied with a shrug, taking another sip with a grimace. "It's a bit bitter for my taste, however, eh. It will do."
Humming in reply, Pyrrha took a sip of her tea before her sleep addled mind kicked into overdrive. Emeral eyes shooting wide awake, her hand flew out and slapped the cup out of his hand. "Jaune! That's poison."
"I liked the way the tea was massaging my insides." Jaune replied with a huff. Reaching down and the offered cup from the ghost that stuck out from his shadow. "Thank you, Annabeth." Jaune smiled. The child, no older than what Aurora had been, disappeared back into his shadow. A curious glance shoot her way before light giggling echoed out of his shadow.
"Jaune, that was the poison doing its best to kill you." Pyrrha sighed, worry bleeding into her words as she took a second look at her partner. Shooting a quick glance at his shadow, a dozen eyes stared back, sending a chill down her back. Yet right now Pyrrha coulndt bring herself to care about the peculiarities of his shadow.
"Are you ok?" She asked, not missing how poignant purple the dark circles under his eyes were. Reaching out, she ran a gentle finger over his cheek, feeling how hot and clammy he was.
"I will be." Jaune sighed softly. Taking another sip of his cup with a grimace. "I will be fine." He whispered, the gentle lie not doing anything to ease her worries.
Looking at Jaune, she didn't see her friend, partner, or even her still, somewhat, crush. Her vision flashed, a man, or a monster replaced Jaune. Crocea Mors chipped and broken in his grip. Blue eyes having long since lost their light. With each step forward, he took more onto his shoulder, and with each step forward he lost more of himself. Until there was nothing but a shambling corpse before her, eyes empty sockets, the burdens he took on his shoulders what crushed his heart under their weight.
Shaking the cursed vision out of her mind, she coulndt stop the word that came tumbling out of her mouth. "Why?"
The word felt hollow, not capable of properly expressing what she felt inside. The worry, the hurt, the fear, knowing that she could wake up to see Jaune dead in his bed sent shivers down her back. "Why? Why do this to yourself? Why can't you bring us with you? Why do you insist on bearing everything alone? We want to help you."
Jaune was silent, taking a sip of his cup with a grimace and setting it down. Blue came to stare at her. There was a gentleness in his eyes, a softness that washed away the harsh edges in the corner of his eyes. A sigh escaped him. "Because I love you." The words spoken softer than velvet. "I care for you, Ren, Nora. This team is… well it's family. And… I could, would, never hurt any of you like that."
"Even if it meant forcing us to see you waste away before our eyes, the nights getting worse and you refusing to let us help." Pyrrha counted, hurt thick in her voice.
"Even then." Jaune whispered with a soft nod.
"You are a complete and utter hypocrite." The words left Pyrrha before she could think, the anger and hurt mixing violently in her chest. Yet, the fire in her chest was only ashes and embers. Setting down her cup, she wrapped Jaune into a hug. Ignoring how he changed to something else briefly in his vision. "Why?" She whispered into his neck. "Why did fate choose you for this?"
A sharp bark of laughter escaped Jaune. Breaking the hug, she looked at him, silver twinkling in the corner of his eyes. Something sharp and hurt shinning within them. "Destiny doesn't exist." He replied sharply, the corners of his mouth coming up into something sharp and jagged. "Causality is merciless in it's meaningless. There is no fate. No grand design of destiny. For if it is, I refuse to believe something can be so cruel. We make our own destiny. Whatever that may be."
"You discovered something, didn't you." Pyrrha asked gently. It wasn't as much a question as it was a statement. The ghost, the eyes peeking out from his shadow, the tiredness in his eyes. It was the morning after Aurora died all over again. Part of her didn't want to find out, but with how it ate away at Jaune, she needed to ask. If only for him to say something, instead of having it eat him up inside.
"The world is a far bigger place than we thought." Jaune mumbled, moving his right hand back, his shoulder's falling when he grabbed around Crocea. Clenching his left hand, crimson light shone through the gaps of his fingers, before a little moon rose from his palm. Clouds of silver hiding it, with chains of gold wrapping around the misty garden that sprouted from his palm.
A young ghost shoot out of his shadow, a chill falling off her as she hung of Jaune's arm. Curiously poking the ethereal garden in his palm. Her nail turning into a sharp claw, completely pitch black with venom dripping off it in the garden. Yet it transformed back into a dainty finger the second she pulled it out.
"My… semblance… isn't the Dream." Jaune said with a hollow chuckle. A throaty rumble from his chest as he spoke. "It's… this. Whatever this is. I… haven't really thought to name it."
A sigh of relief escaped her at his first words, only to turn into horror. Realisation dawning over her as her brain digested his words. Coming to a conclusion she frankly didn't believe. Yet, the venom in his voice from earlier wasn't without cause, the ghosts and Violet coulndt come from nowhere. But it didn't make sense at the same time. "How?" The word felt hollow on her lips. Miniscule.
"Magic. Random chance at that." Jaune spat, a completely justified anger in his eyes. "It's more than that. I am almost certain something divine is involved. But I don't want to guess."
"Bu-"
"No." Jaune cut her off. "No. Just because it's not 'just a semblance' doesn't mean I will bring you over. It doesn't change anything."
"It changes everything." Pyrrha countered. Glaring at Jaune when he refused to budge. Not understanding how he could be so pig headed. With a harsh sigh, she dropped the topic. Even if both knew she wouldn't be forgetting it anytime soon. She would bring it up later, when the sting of the revelations wasn't as fresh. If only for her to talk some sense into Jaune.
'Why can't he understand that we care for him?' She thought. He wasn't the only one who saw the team as family. When the dust had settled after initiation, she had honestly expected the worst in a way. 'Maybe Jaune had been lying to her about knowing her fame.' Her mind had whispered together with a thousand other theories of how the team would implode in on itself. Yet, that hadn't happened. The first thing Jaune had done before they unpacked was set clear boundaries, setting up a flexible shower schedule, and ask if there were any 'no talk' topics. While that had been bit of an uncomfortable conversation, it had made them aware of any potential mines inside the team.
And then they had just spent the rest of the day mostly talking, getting to know each other before going to bed. When everything, yet nothing, had changed.
Her period didn't help, the tea Jaune had made did wonders. Her nausea was gone, so was most of her cramps. The feistiness, not so much.
"Jaune, where is Violet?" Pyrrha asked, completely switching the topic. Throwing a concerned look around the dorm. Sleep addled and frustrated mind instantly jumping to the worst. Violet not being around Jaune being the most obvious sign that something was wrong.
"She's still asleep." Jaune replied, nodding to his bed where the girl in question breathed gently. Another young girl floated above the bed, giggling to herself as she poked Violet's cheek. "Annalise, let Violet sleep are you so kind. I'm sure she would love to play with you when she wakes up. She… We all had a rough night."
The young spirit pouted, floating up and back over to them. Instantly exploding into motion and hiding behind Jaune when she saw her. Curiously peeking over his shoulder, before quickly being escorted back into Jaune's shadow by an older spectre. Even then, the elder of the two wasn't more than a day or two older than Ruby.
"Who… are… their highnesses?" Pyrrha tried, frowning slightly as she rattled her mind for a proper word. A light sheen of sweat racing down her back when a dozen eyes looked up at her. Everything from adoration to haughty indifference shining in their eyes. Scorn every flickered through one eye.
"They were ritualistically murdered by a Queen and are trapped in a limbo of sorts. Unable to pass on." Jaune said candidly. Pyrrha stared blankly at him, eyes trailing back to some of the young girls that rose from Jaune's shadow. The eldest no older than them, while the youngest was maybe around Aurora's age.
Horror gripped her, the brand on all their foreheads stared back at her. The wound everyone carried, going from something rough and dirty on the eldest, to something clean and precise, almost surgical, on the youngest.
Crocea Mors trembled in Jaune's grip. Magically drawing itself, only for the golden chains to hold it together.
"It's only for a day." Jaune promised, running a gentle finger over his sword. "It was the only thing I could think of then and there. Especially with the time limit of my emergency ritual hanging around my neck." Something raced past him at that. Running his fingers through his hair, Jaune looked momentarily gone. He was here in the physical sense, but his thoughts somewhere else entirely. Shaking himself out of it he turned to her with a brittle smile. "I am going to properly lay everyone to rest tonight, holding a proper funeral with incense and everything. I hope the glimmering gold spirits release when properly laid to rest will be enough to wash away the Queen's anchors to the Waking World and force her onto her next life. Even if it doesn't work, it should weaken her ties to the Divine, or the Cosmos, enough that I can properly see the causes of her multiple types of immortality."
Pyrrha blinked at Jaune, feeling incredibly stupid. While she understood the words individually, and she could draw some conclusions of her own. She had no idea what he meant or what context he was talking about. 'The Divine? Cosmos?' If she hadn't seen spectres rising from his shadow, allowing one of the younger girls to run her fingers through her hair, she would have said he was mad.
The spectral, echoey, cooing from both some young and 'old' ghosts told her otherwise. 'Not that I'm that sane… it's completely normal to see their friends as broken corpses and hollow survivors, right? Right?' Pyrrha thought to herself, expertly ignoring the little voices in her back of her mind that sounded like fear and doubt.
What was in her mouth died quickly when Violet came stumbling into the kitchen. Dressed in her matching onesie and rubbing her eyes before reaching up to Jaune. Her partner lifting her up into his arms, allowing his daughter in all but blood to nuzzle into his side. Instantly going ramrod straight as she glared at the cooing ghosts floating around her. Squeezing her arms tighter around Jaune's neck.
Yet, Pyrrha wasn't able care about Violet's little spat with the ghosts. Emerald eyes stared at her, a single tear trickling down her cheek.
Violet's skin was swollen and waxy, a ghastly shade of blue marred with deep, almost weeping, wounds from where the chain of the anchor dug into her. Only one eye was left, once so vibrant and full of life now nothing but a dull cloudy grey. Bitemarks marred her other eye socket, a water snake slithering out of it. Violet's white hair floated like a crown, or halo, of a drowned princess. Seaweed, river slime, and fish were tangled in her hair. Her hunters garb had been switched out with a coarse dress, still burnt and charred along the edges.
Yet, what stood out to Pyrrha the most, was how Violet looked. Tied to an anchor and thrown into a river or lake as she was, Violet's face was one of hope. Constantly looking up. Even in death, Violet didn't scream, her face one of hope. That at any moment Jaune would come breaking through the water and save her.
"Can I ask you a favour Elizabeth?" Jaune asked, breaking her out of her thoughts. The drowned and macabre form of Violet disappearing in the blink of an eye. Instead a grumpy and possessive nine-year-old glared bloody death at the ghost before her. The eldest of the ghosts giving Violet a flat stare filled with haughty indifference. Shooting a look at Jaune before reluctantly nodding. Floating down and taking Violet's hand in hers. "Please take her to the bathroom to help her wash up. I would, but it would be improper."
Elizabeth, huffed, rolling her eyes and said something in a language she had never heard before pulling a reluctant Violet after her.
Between the two of them, it was Jaune who seemed most reluctant to leave Violet alone with the ghosts. Something flickering in his eyes, almost as if he was looking at a cracking mirror. Afraid it would finally crack and crumble. A gaggle of other ghosts eagerly leaving Jaune's shadow and trailing after Violet.
"I'm sorry." Jaune apologized when the ghosts had gotten out of earshot. "I don't know what you saw, but I'm sorry."
"Don't apologise for something I chose." Pyrrha replied staunchly. "I know what 'insight' entailed when you gave us that choice. You made what it entailed clear. I guess… I just didn't expect it to be so visceral."
"What… What did you see?" Jaune asked, taking a deep breath as he waited patiently for her to answer.
"You, dead." Pyrrha replied, voice breaking slightly. Jaune only nodding stoically beside her. "Violet, tied to an anchor and thrown into a body of water. Drowned."
"Oh." The words were hollow. An apathy clinging to them, the muscles on Jaune's arms flexing as his knuckles turned white around his sword. Ice, cold and harsh, shone in his eyes. His eyebrow twitching, as the sound of gnashing teeth escaped him. "That won't happen. I refuse to let that happen."
"One often meets their destiny at the road one takes to avoid it." Pyrrha whispered, wiping her tear away.
"Then watch me." Jaune counted, blue eyes shining with resolve. All earlier coldness and lethargy washed away as he stood straight. A confident radiating of him. A promise on his lips. "We all make our own destiny. And I for one refuse to let what you saw come to pass."
Pyrrha looked at Jaune, a thousand different emotions gnawing away on another in her stomach. From disbelief and petty anger, joy, frustration, and a queasy and writhing mass of emotions she didn't know was humanly possible to feel.
Yet, deep within, in her hearts of heart's swelled a spark of hope. 'Maybe, just maybe, that wouldn't happen.' She thought to herself. For while what she saw in Jaune, Violet, Nora and Ren hurt. Her own reflection scared her in a way she coulndt put into words.
Only a scattered group of fireflies aimlessly drifting apart stared back.
####
Note: Honestly, the three-way fight was supposed to be just that, a three-way fight in Jaune's domain. But then I read over what I had written his semblance to be. And I coulndt help myself. Honestly, the only reason Jaune can use the 'Remove Limit' spell without problem is Harm Delay, as even if his body get stronger and stronger, he is just removing his limits already there. It also fits nicely into the magic used more as chess pieces than to overpower narrative I'm trying to write.
Note: I hope the emergency healing spell does Jaune justice. It's something he have had the entire time, mostly. And it is essentially, a get out of jail card. Only it affects one wound, or a set of wounds if they happen at the same time. It will be explained more another time.
Note: And Pyrrha's 'Vision' is introduced properly. Playing on her belief in destiny, I thought it was fitting that her vision reflects that. As of right now, Pyrrha sees 'a' future, or what will happen to someone in 'a' future. In one future, Violet is tied to an anchor and drowned. And we all know what happens to her in another.