Disclaimer: Don't own either Rwby or Type Moon. So enjoy or don't
Chapter 60: Exorcism of Jacques Schnee
The church stood as a solemn sentinel against the twilight of Mantle's industrial skyline. Its weathered stone facade bore the marks of centuries, ivy creeping along the cracks like veins in aged skin. Stained glass windows depicted saints and angels, their vibrant colors muted by a thin layer of frost and grime. A soft, amber glow emanated from within, casting the entrance in an inviting light, though the air outside remained brittle with Mantle's relentless chill.
General Ironwood led the group through the creaking wooden doors, his authoritative presence filling the sanctuary. "Everyone, before we proceed further, I want you to meet Father Andre," he announced, gesturing to a tall, thin man in simple black robes. Father Andre's kind eyes and lined face spoke of a lifetime of quiet service. His silver hair glinted in the candlelight as he approached, clasping his hands together in greeting.
"It is an honor to host you all in this sacred space," Father Andre began, his voice warm and measured. He turned to Ironwood. "James, it has been some time since you last visited. I trust the mantle of leadership has not weighed you down too heavily?"
Ironwood's usually stoic expression softened slightly. "As heavy as ever, Father, but your sanctuary is a welcome reprieve. Thank you for allowing us to perform this ritual here."
Father Andre inclined his head. "The church stands as a refuge for all who seek it. Though I must admit, I am curious about the nature of this exorcism. It is not every day one encounters such a practice."
Shirou stepped forward, bowing respectfully. "Father Andre, my name is Shirou Emiya. I'll be conducting the ritual. The corruption we're dealing with is unlike anything most have seen. I appreciate your willingness to let us use this sacred ground."
The priest's gaze settled on Shirou, studying him with a quiet intensity. "You have the look of someone who carries much on their shoulders, young man. I will pray that your efforts tonight bring light to the darkness you face."
"Thank you," Shirou replied sincerely. "Your blessing means more than you know."
As they spoke, two Atlas soldiers carefully carried an unconscious Jacques Schnee into the church on a stretcher. His pallid face was lined with tension even in his sedated state, and a faint, almost imperceptible darkness seemed to cling to him, like a shadow too stubborn to let go. Willow Schnee trailed behind, her face pale but set with a grim determination. Winter walked beside her, a steadying hand on her mother's arm.
The group's footsteps echoed through the nave, the sound mingling with the faint crackle of candles lining the altar. Father Andre gestured toward the front of the sanctuary, where Shirou had already begun setting up the ritual space. The altar had been cleared, replaced with a simple table draped in white cloth. Shirou meticulously arranged the blessed paper and consecrated wooden sticks, their presence lending an air of solemn purpose to the room.
Ruby whispered to Weiss as they followed behind. "This place feels... different. Like it's watching us."
Weiss's eyes lingered on the stained glass above. "It's meant to. A church isn't just a building. It's a reminder that there are things greater than ourselves." Her voice faltered as her gaze drifted to her father. "Let's hope those things are on our side tonight."
Father Andre moved to stand beside Ironwood as the preparations continued. "You have chosen a formidable young man for this task, James. Do you believe he can succeed?"
Ironwood's gaze rested on Shirou, who was now inspecting the leyline markers he had traced on the floor. "If anyone can, it's him. He's faced worse odds before and come out stronger. But tonight, we'll see just how strong his resolve truly is."
The priest nodded, his expression contemplative. "Then we shall lend him every ounce of faith this house can muster. Let us pray it will be enough."
Willow Schnee, who had remained silent until now, stepped closer, her expression strained. "Father, I don't know what state my husband will be in after this. But whatever happens, thank you for helping us."
Father Andre placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Faith is not the absence of doubt, but the strength to move forward despite it. Have courage, Mrs. Schnee. We will do all we can."
With that, preparations resumed. Team RWBY and JNPR moved to the outer perimeter, their weapons at the ready. Penny hovered near the large double doors, her mechanical limbs poised for action. Ironwood and Winter stationed themselves near Willow, their expressions grim but resolute.
Weiss glanced at her mother, who hadn't moved from her spot near the altar. "Mother," she said softly, stepping closer. "Are you—"
"I'll be fine," Willow interrupted, her voice wavering but firm. She turned to Weiss, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I just... need to see this through."
Weiss nodded, placing a hand on her mother's arm. "We're all here for you."
The sanctuary, once serene, now thrummed with a subtle, palpable tension. The stained glass windows seemed to shimmer faintly, the flickering candlelight casting long, wavering shadows across the stone walls. Shirou stood at the center of the ritual circle, the intricate patterns he had drawn glowing faintly with the energy of the leyline below. Each line and symbol was precise, etched with the careful hand of someone who understood the gravity of their purpose.
Shirou's voice broke the silence, low and steady, as he began the ancient chant. The words were foreign to most of those gathered, an incantation in an arcane tongue that resonated with the air itself. As he spoke, the leyline's energy began to respond, a faint hum rising from the floor and vibrating through the pews. Jacques's body, lying still in the center of the circle, seemed to react subtly, his fingers twitching and his breathing growing uneven.
Willow stood near Winter, her hands clenched tightly together. Her eyes remained fixed on her husband, a storm of emotions flickering across her face—grief, anger, and the faintest glimmer of hope. Winter placed a reassuring hand on her mother's shoulder, though her own expression betrayed the weight of her concern.
As Shirou continued, the air grew heavier, charged with a mixture of the sacred and the ominous. Wisps of dark energy began to rise from Jacques's body, coalescing into shadowy tendrils that writhed and twisted as if resisting the purification. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, and an unearthly chill crept over the gathered spectators.
"Stay sharp," Qrow muttered to the others positioned around the church. His hand tightened around the hilt of Harbinger as he scanned the room for any signs of danger.
"What's happening to him?" Ruby whispered, her wide eyes fixed on the dark tendrils.
Shirou's voice grew louder, the chant taking on a commanding tone. He extended his hands, his circuits flaring to life and channeling energy into the ritual. The glow of the circle intensified, the light pushing back against the encroaching darkness. The tendrils hissed and recoiled, their movements growing more frantic as the purification energy began to take hold.
Father Andre stepped closer to Ironwood, his expression grave. "The corruption runs deep. Whatever force has taken hold of this man will not relinquish him easily."
"And neither will we," Ironwood replied, his voice resolute.
A sudden, guttural groan escaped Jacques's lips, his body arching slightly as the darkness seemed to writhe more violently. Shirou gritted his teeth, his focus unwavering despite the strain evident in his posture. The glow of the ritual circle pulsed in rhythm with his chanting, each pulse driving the shadows further back.
"Almost there," Shirou muttered under his breath, his determination unwavering. The room seemed to hold its collective breath, the outcome of the ritual hanging in a delicate balance.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the sanctuary as the stained glass window behind the altar shattered, shards scattering across the stone floor. From the breach, a swarm of Grimm poured into the church, drawn by the malevolent energy of the ritual. Beowolves, Creeps, and a Beringel snarled as they advanced, their eyes glowing with unholy hunger.
"Grimm!" Yang shouted, her gauntlets clicking into place as she moved to intercept the nearest threat. Blake followed close behind, her blades flashing as she joined the fray.
Father Andre, clutching a staff adorned with a silver cross, stepped forward to aid the defenders. "The sanctity of this place will not be defiled!" he declared, swinging his weapon with surprising precision to strike down a charging Creep.
The room erupted into chaos as the defenders engaged the Grimm. Ruby and Weiss coordinated their attacks, Crescent Rose slicing through the air while Weiss's glyphs provided barriers and launched her rapier into precise strikes. Penny's swords whirled around her like a protective shield, cutting through the invading horde with mechanical efficiency.
Meanwhile, Qrow and Ironwood fought side by side, the latter's firearms roaring as they tore through the advancing creatures. Ren and Nora worked in tandem, Ren's precise shots weakening enemies for Nora's hammer to obliterate with thunderous force. Jaune stood as a bulwark, his shield protecting Willow as she watched the battle unfold, her face a mixture of fear and determination.
Despite the chaos, Shirou remained at the center of the ritual, his focus unbroken. The circle's glow pulsed stronger, the purification energy now a radiant barrier pushing back against the growing darkness within Jacques. The tendrils writhed violently, as if reacting to the battle raging around them, but Shirou's voice rose above the cacophony, steady and commanding.
"Protect the circle!" Winter ordered, cutting down a Grimm that strayed too close. Her saber flashed in the candlelight as she positioned herself near Shirou, guarding him with unwavering resolve.
Father Andre moved with surprising agility, his staff glowing faintly as he struck at the Grimm with a combination of physical force and divine energy. "Hold fast!" he called to the defenders. "The ritual must not be interrupted!"
The defenders fought valiantly, their combined efforts pushing back the Grimm swarm. Each strike, each barrier, and each act of courage bought precious seconds for Shirou to complete the exorcism. As the last of the Grimm fell, the sanctuary fell into an uneasy silence, the defenders breathing heavily but victorious.
A sense of escalating tension filled the church as Shirou continued to channel purification energy through the ritual. Jacques's body began to convulse violently, his limbs jerking uncontrollably as if he were a puppet on frayed strings. His breathing turned ragged, the sound akin to a windstorm struggling to escape through a narrow canyon. A guttural groan escaped his lips, his eyes rolling back as an oppressive darkness began to emanate from his core.
Suddenly, Jacques's mouth stretched wide—unnaturally so—his jaw unhinging with a sickening crack. From within him erupted a grotesque, spectral entity, serpentine in form and pulsating with dark energy. The creature's body was an amalgamation of Grimm essence and corrupted mud, its form writhing with veins of inky black and crimson. Its eyes glowed with malevolent intelligence, and its maw opened to release an ear-piercing shriek that reverberated through the sanctuary, shaking the very pews.
Shirou's focus intensified as he recognized the urgent danger. Without hesitation, he reached deep into his memory and his inner arsenal, visualizing the sacred sword that would be most effective in confronting this dark manifestation. He traced Durandal, the legendary blade of Roland, a weapon forged to serve as a divine instrument of purity and justice.
The sword materialized in Shirou's hand with a radiant flash of golden light, illuminating the darkened church with an otherworldly brilliance. Durandal's blade was long and straight, forged from a gleaming silver that seemed to shimmer with the light of countless stars. Intricate engravings of celestial patterns adorned its surface, depicting constellations and runes of ancient, holy origin. The hilt was a masterwork of artistry, wrapped in deep blue leather and capped with a golden pommel that radiated a gentle warmth. The crossguard was shaped like angelic wings, extending outward as though ready to take flight.
As Shirou held Durandal aloft, the sword's divine energy surged through him, filling his circuits with a torrent of light and purity. The oppressive darkness recoiled from its presence, the spectral Grimm hissing and twisting in agony as it was forced to confront the holy weapon's overwhelming might.
"This ends now," Shirou declared, his voice steady but laced with unwavering resolve. He advanced toward the corrupted entity, each step deliberate and purposeful. The sanctified light of Durandal clashed against the creature's shadowy form, creating bursts of energy that rippled through the air like thunderclaps.
The spectral Grimm lunged, its serpentine body coiling as it struck at Shirou with venomous intent. With a precise swing, Shirou brought Durandal down in an arc of pure light, cleaving through the creature's head. The blade's touch incinerated the corrupted mud and essence, reducing the twisted Grimm to ashes in an instant. The remaining shadow writhed and howled, its form disintegrating into motes of darkness that dissipated like smoke in a strong wind.
As the last vestiges of the creature faded, Jacques's body collapsed to the floor, his chest heaving as he took shallow, labored breaths. His face, once twisted in torment, now bore a faint semblance of peace. The oppressive atmosphere that had plagued the church lifted, replaced by a serene stillness that felt like the calm after a violent storm.
Durandal remained in Shirou's grasp for a moment longer, its light slowly dimming as the danger subsided. Shirou exhaled deeply, lowering the blade as exhaustion began to take hold. The weapon disappeared in a glimmer of light, its purpose fulfilled, leaving Shirou standing amidst the echoes of his triumph.
Across the room, Willow Schnee stared at Shirou with wide eyes, her hands pressed to her mouth in awe and disbelief. The horrific spectacle she had witnessed was matched only by the radiant beauty of the sword that had banished it. She took a tentative step forward, her voice trembling as she whispered, "What... was that?"
Shirou turned to face her, his expression weary but resolute. "That," he said, "was the darkness that had taken hold of Jacques. It's gone now."
Winter moved to her mother's side, placing a comforting hand on Willow's shoulder as they both looked toward Jacques, who lay motionless but alive. The air in the church seemed lighter, as though a weight had been lifted from everyone's shoulders, and the faint glow of Durandal's lingering energy cast a hopeful light on what was to come.
As the light of Durandal faded entirely, the tension in the church began to dissolve, replaced by a profound silence. Shirou knelt beside Jacques, checking his vitals and confirming that he was stable. Jacques's breathing was shallow but steady, his face bearing an unfamiliar calmness that had not been seen in years. The corruption had been expunged, leaving behind a man who seemed almost... fragile.
Willow hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, her hands trembling as she looked down at her husband. "Is he... Is he free?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Shirou looked up at her, his expression thoughtful but reassuring. "The darkness that bound him is gone," he said. "What remains now is up to him—and to all of you."
Winter stood silently beside her mother, her gaze fixed on Jacques. Her expression was a mixture of relief, skepticism, and lingering anger. Memories of her father's cruelty and manipulation warred with the faint hope that this ritual might mark the beginning of change. "I don't know if this will fix anything," Winter admitted quietly, "but at least... it's a start."
Weiss, who had been standing near the back, stepped forward as well. Her sapphire eyes were filled with conflicting emotions as she regarded her father. "I've spent so long hating him," she murmured, her voice tinged with sadness. "I don't know if I can forgive him, but... seeing him like this, I wonder if there's more to him than the man we knew."
Willow reached out tentatively, brushing a lock of hair away from Jacques's forehead. "He was different once," she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of years of regret. "Perhaps this is a chance to find that man again... or to let him go."
Ironwood approached the group, his demeanor as composed as ever. "Jacques will be taken into custody for observation and medical care," he informed them. "We'll ensure he's given every opportunity to recover and prove whether he's capable of redemption."
Shirou stood and turned to face the team, his exhaustion evident but his resolve unshaken. "The hardest part is over," he said. "But healing takes time—for him, and for all of you."
The group began to gather their things, the weight of the evening's events pressing heavily upon them. Weiss lingered for a moment longer, her eyes meeting Shirou's. "Thank you," she said earnestly. "For giving us... a chance to try."
Shirou nodded, his expression softening. "You're stronger than you think," he replied. "All of you."
As they exited the church, the night air felt crisp and fresh, a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere that had dominated the ritual. Each step away from the sanctuary felt like a step toward an uncertain but hopeful future. Together, they walked into the night, carrying the weight of what had been done and the promise of what might come.