Disclaimer: RWBY belongs to Rooster Teeth. I own nothing.
3. Graduation Day
A sharp-eyed blonde admired himself in his bathroom mirror. Slicked-back golden locks, blue orbs glaring with purpose, this man held himself ramrod straight. He bedecked himself in a black suit, with a black shirt and blue tie, and pair of blue-tinted sunglasses hooked onto his breast-pocket to complete the ensemble. The man turned this way and that, seeing in the mirror a truly dangerous dandy.
In a few days' time this man will complete his training and stand on Beacon's campus, proving once and for all that he can-
BOOOOOOOOOMMMM!
The sound of an explosion rang out from the main floor. Jaune's sharp visage instantly transformed back into an uncertain demeanor. He spun around to face the bathroom exit, staring for a few seconds in the direction of the noise.
It came from the club. The thought turned his face green.
Jaune sprinted out into his room, snatching his knife from the bed along the way. Hurling down the stairs four steps at a time, Jaune blew past the hallways amidst the booming staccato of gunfire. With sweat pouring down his face, Jaune opened the staffroom door into the club, and beheld a vision of hell.
He first saw the bodies. Oh, the bodies. Jaune thought he was at the site of a massacre, until he noticed the screams and groans and a floor bereft of rivers of blood. No gunshot wounds, despite the roar of bullets he heard, or bomb shrapnel. Then, what could have caused so much damage? The bar counter lies cracked in half, the shelves smashed. Some of those bottles behind the bar were top-lien, and Uncle Hei would cry at their fate. The main entrance doors hanged off their hinges. Fires spread throughout the dance floor. One of the snazzy glass pillar has shattered in a million pieces, and is that-
Miltia. Miltia!
His knife slipped to the floor with a clang, left behind as Jaune dashed through the club's dance floor with focus solely on his fallen teacher. He heard a loud blast as something zip past behind him as he ran, clipping his back and causing his aura to flare. A bullet? All the more reason to get Miltia out of here.
Reaching the unconscious twin, Jaune inexpertly checked her for injuries. Her Aura pulsed weakly.
No blood, still has Aura, nothing looks bent. It was the best diagnosis Jaune could make. He couldn't discount internal injuries, his knowledge of how Aura protected an individual's insides still rudimentary at best, but keeping her body prone here might invite a bullet that punches through what's left of the shield. At the edge of his vision, something (a person?) walked while wreathed in flames as white flashes danced around it. It seemed to wave, and with a booming roar another glass pillar shattered.
That did it.
Trusting in Miltia's Aura to protect her, Jaune scooped up the crimson-clad girl with an ease that still surprises him. How he ever thought he could make it as a Huntsman without Aura, he'll never know. Certainly, he wouldn't have been able to run so fast while carrying a person like this.
Fleeing back through the staffroom door with useless thoughts in his head, Jaune gingerly lowered Miltia down against a wall. He considered calling an ambulance, frantically searching his pocket for a scroll that he realized remained on his bathroom sink.
A sigh alerted him to an awakening Miltia. Her eyelids fluttered, and the sigh became a groan as wakefulness brought her back to the world of pain and bruises. Jaune knelt down, held her shoulders to steady her, and panicked.
"Miltia! What's happening?! Who's attacking us, Is it terrorists? Are you okay? Stupid question, of course you're not. Do you have a scroll to call-"
"Mel-, Melanie. Where's Melanie?" With no indication of hearing his deluge of words, Miltia unsteadily lifted her head, unfocused eyes searching for her twin.
Jaune tried to recall the blur that was the last three minutes but found no memory of said woman. The cold, sickening feeling in his belly told him there's only one place she could be. With a hammering heart, he turned back towards the door, behind which hell reigns. Where Miltia fought, Melanie won't be far away. Is his other mentor fighting still? Is she hurt like Miltia?
Can he go back into that?
Jaune, to his shame for years to come, hesitated. With his meager training, what could he do when even Miltia had been laid low? With the safety of the staffroom came the overwhelming terror that adrenaline previously staved off. Jaune had never faced a battlefield until today. It was not the glorious plains where heroes clashed in the stories he grew up on. It was the bodies, the fires, the devastation.
Above all, it was the Oum-damned fear. In his awe upon witnessing the strength of his teachers, Jaune did not consider before today that if heroes with superpowers walk among men, then perhaps the monsters do too. Beings within the walls of Vale that can annihilate a room full of people.
One of them is in the next room. Causing fires. On fire. What did the twins' lessons teach about that?
Jaune peered down to Miltia again in the hopes that she would have the answers.
He was met with her gaze, staring back. Her pain-induced confusion remained but she at least recognized him. Her gaze wavered, but it never strayed from his own as Miltia slowly regained focus. His teacher had never looked so weak, yet her attention still pinned him in place. In it, Jaune saw gratitude for bringing her to safety and amazement that he could have done so. Her eyes flickered towards the door, then back to him with a hopeful light. In those pools of emerald, he saw a question. The question that mattered. The one Miltia needed him to answer.
Could you do it again, for Melanie?
A euphoric thought threatened to overcome the blond boy. He has just rescued a life from danger, like in the stories he loved. And someone believed he could perform the same miracle again. Not just someone. Her. One of his two heroes, so strong and proud.
Someone he admires, was counting on him today.
As if he was some kind of hero himself.
What a rush.
Jaune Arc still had doubts. Jaune Arc still feared the monster. Jaune Arc wasn't ready for this surprise exam.
In this moment, he can't recall any particular words of wisdom that would get him through this night.
But he'll make do.
Arms eased Miltia to the wall, legs turned and a chin jutted out. Lips quirked and eyes narrowed, as Jaune used what he had in lieu of what he needed.
Miltia stayed silent, she had so little energy remaining that she could only look from where she reclined.
She saw a tall figure, leaned back in his confidence. Sharp blue eyes, arrogant and challenging. A sneer, so natural now. The figure reached down and his hand swiped a short sword from the ground, resting the blade on a shoulder as he strode through the swinging door.
Miltia saw a memory of Mistral. Of laughing fools striding in the neon night. Of mortals that have declared themselves kings, challenging all comers. A sight so rare as the years go by, as honor fades and pretenders drove her to this kingdom to spend her days teaching half-remembered ideals from her childhood to dreaming wretches.
For a moment, she saw Yakuza.
The Mighty Dragon of Patch, or 'Yang' to those who refused to use her awesome moniker, couldn't help but growl as her fist once again whiffed the criminal by a hair. Her white-clad opponent followed up her desperate dodge with a feeble kick that Yang easily shrugged off.
After losing her red doppel-'gangster' (Hah!), the kicking party girl lost most of her momentum and began fighting defensively by dancing just out of reach and whittling Yang's Aura down with light counters. Yang supposed she couldn't expect a Huntress-level fight from a caked-up club waitress, even in a criminal bar. The tactic proved sound, however, and Yang was left striking the girl with glancing blows. Had there been bullets in Ember Celica, those glancing blows would still have packed the power of cannon shots.
Regretfully, Yang spent most of the bullets pretty early on to take down the Big Bears duo of Junior and the mascot-headed goon. Why a DJ needed Aura and why he wasted money on a mechashift stuffed-animal helmet (that is also a gun!) is beyond her, but props to him for dedicating to a character. Perhaps, also, she could have dodged rather than waste ammo to intercept the rockets from the 'bat'-zooka (Heh!). The rest went into sending the girl before her onto her last legs.
Nevertheless, after all the fighting so far her Aura would probably stand just shy of a healthy half if she had the chance to check her scroll. Each kick shaved off slivers of her energy that Yang barely felt. Each hit on the girl, on the other hand, brought a satisfying grunt and a visible dimming of Aura. At this rate, the Mel-something girl wouldn't last until her puny kicks defeat this Dragon. Yang was a bit disappointed that this would be the last show for the night.
Dodge. Kick. Dodge. Kick. Dodge.
This…is getting pretty darn annoying. Yang wasn't about to stick around until the girl drops from exhaustion.
In a stroke of inspiration, Yang raised her arms in a guard stance just a tad too high. Miss Lifts-Her-Legs, likely seeing a last ditch chance to end the fight in her favor, immediately dashed in to punish the opening. She twirled, skirt flaring as her bladed heel shot like a viper for a space just below Yang's right ribcage.
Yang punched her left gauntlet across to block as she leaned away from the kick. Boot met gauntlet, stopping cold. Yang deftly hooked her right arm around the girl's leg to complete the trap.
A feral grin broke out on the red-eyed Dragon's visage at the same time that Mel(-low?)'s face blanched stark-white.
A sharp twist sent her last foe slamming into the ground, head bouncing off the tiles.
Mel(-on?) didn't seem to know when to give up, shakily pushing up with her arms. Yang released the leg to ready one last punch.
"STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPPP!"
Only to be interrupted by a harsh, guttural yell.
As she turned, the first thing Yang noticed was that the man's face appeared pretty young. It did not at all match the deep, raw scream of anger she just heard. He glared at her, a derisive curl to his lips. His blonde hair appeared to have been slicked back with hair gel at some point, but has escaped its once-neat confines to become reminiscent of a lion's wild mane. Wisps of Aura radiated from his body, as if giving form to his rage. One hand held a blade on a shoulder, the other hand clenched in a fist. He wore a fitted suit, the quality a cut above the other mooks. The man sported a blue tie, an odd affectation in the Red Axe Gang that must've marked him as something special among their ranks.
Damnit, there goes the night. One of the mooks managed to call reinforcement, and it looked like they had bigshot waiting in the wing. Hell, his suit looked better than Junior's outfit. Could this man be the real boss of the Red Axes?
Yang shifted into a guard again. She might not come out of this little excursion unscathed after all. Her Aura will just have to be enough to see her through.
The challenger began his approach. He moved with a smooth gait, never faltering. Yang saw no stance, no hint as to his fighting style. His walk exposed openings from his toes to his forehead. Yet, this Dragon has been around the block. She knew better than to dive in like a chump. Junior feared her, the DJ feared her, the pair of trashy twins feared her. This gangster simply walked and exuded supreme confidence. Yang had never been in more danger tonight than at this moment.
He reached the broken dance floor, and Yang readied her fists. Time for one last fight.
The man never stopped. He still refused to take a stance. Surprised, Yang held for just a beat too long, allowing him to step within a foot of her. Up close, he really is quite tall.
He lowered himself onto a knee.
Wha...?
Disregarding Yang's presence altogether, the gangster focused on the girl on the ground. Looping his free arm around the girl's shoulders to help her rise, the man spoke to the girl.
"Are there any bones broken? Can you stand, Melanie?" In response, the defeated kicker attempted to pull herself to her feet, grasping onto the man's suit as leverage. Her legs shook like leaves, but she tried to smile winsomely at the man.
"Heh, yeah. C'mon, I'm tough, don't worry about me. Is Miltia safe?"
"She is. She's resting in the back." The party girl, who Yang thought was a baddie to the core, dropped her head on the gangster's shoulder with a relieved sob.
Still standing in her boxer's stance, Yang couldn't help but feel like the odd one out as she watch the daytime drama scene unfolding before her. Have they forgotten her? Had she awakened an invisibility Semblance? Punching the guy in the middle of all this seemed inappropriate, somehow.
As if acknowledging her thought, the man turned to Yang and spoke to her. His words halted her train of thought.
"Spare her life, and I will take her place instead."
Yang blinked blankly. That was not a bad guy line. Someone must've given him the wrong script.
"Whoa, hey now! I wasn't gonna kill her, I can pull my punches! You're the criminals here, not me. Buuuuut, if she promise not to try anything, I don't mind if we tango." Right, no murders here. None. This Dragon is not about any of that, just good fights all around please.
"Jaune, no. I can fight."
"You can barely stand, Melanie. Don't throw your life away for this, Miltia needs you right now. She's recovering, but there might be injuries I didn't see."
Mel (-lanie. Finally!) gripped the lapels of the suit, staring intensely through teary eyes at the gangster. Hesitantly, she nodded and let go of the man, limping away with a last heated glare towards Yang.
Yeah, it really hasn't been fun for a while now.
The two blondes waited until the retreating figure cleared the dance floor before facing each other again. Hyping herself up, Yang tried for some banter to ease the tense mood.
"Sooooooo, Jaune, was it? Was that your girlfriend? Or is it the red one? Oooooh maybe both, you Twin-timer. Take it from me, they have a bit of a stamina issue." Stone-faced, the man took a breath and whispered.
"They showed me kindness when no one else would. They may not share my blood, but they could be no less than my precious family. You will go through me if you want to hurt them again!" His words has risen to a scream at the end.
Yang can safely say, that the tension went nowhere but up. In retrospect, reminding him of the fact that she just finished tearing down the twins might've been a bad idea.
If banter didn't work, perhaps reason would.
"Well, it's a criminals' bar. I would think that they would be prepared to throw hands. I was when I walked in." The man grinded his teeth.
"I have broken no laws this night. Melanie and Miltia wanted to party. Uncle Hei wanted to practice bartending techniques. I wanted a quiet drink."
He panned his gaze along the destroyed club, ending when he reached Yang again. He scoffed, as if disgusted at her for how it came to this.
She could sort of…kinda…maybe see the point he's trying to make. Clearly, she was not the negotiator she thought she was. The flames in her hair dampened, but she gave one last try to speak from the heart.
"I have my reasons, you have yours. Why don't we just hit each other?"
Nailed it.
In answer, the gangster reached out with his right hand to grab her left arm, the other hand slashing his sword down across her chest at point blank range.
Aura tanking the blow, Yang clenched this so-called Jaune's suit in her fist, and sent her gauntlet crashing into his face.
The man's head snapped back, as his hand tightened on her bicep. Using the grip, he pulled himself in close again with a stab to Yang's abdomen.
The blade screeched off her Aura while Yang cursed the awkward position. With no room to build momentum and the gangster's hold preventing her from pivoting into her punches, Yang's strikes lost a significant part of their power.
Once again, she lamented the lost bullets. In her defense, she thought she'd be racing home by now.
Pulling back her right arm, Yang sent another blistering punch into the man's face. His Aura flared.
The wisps previously floating off him now roiled from him like a fire as he yanked Yang towards his blade again. The sword's tip struck the same area, skidding off her Aura-clad skin just as another right straight flew.
It became their rhythm, beautiful in its simplicity.
Punch. Stab. Punch. Stab. Punch. Stab. Punch. Stab. Punch. Stab. Punch. Stab. Punch. Stab. Punch. Stab.
Yang considered her last fight and her current one. In one, a foe she could barely hit, but each hit brought visible and devastating effect. In the other, an opponent her strikes could not miss, yet each might well be as soft as a feather's touch for how ineffective it appeared. Her fist never failed to connect, he always came back for more. Her fist crashed again and again, his Aura never lost their light.
Heh. She wished for a better match, and the world gave her this. All she can feel now is pain.
Punch. Stab. Punch. Stab.
Would the man ever go down?
Punch. Stab. Punch. Stab. Punch. Stab. Punch. Stab.
Or would this Dragon burn herself out?
On and on it goes, and Yang wondered if it'll go on forever.
Punch. Stab. Punch. Stab.
Her Semblance activated. Hair spun into flames, eyes flashed crimson. Victory is at hand.
With a primal roar, Yang shot her fist like a cannon towards the gangster's face with all of her Aura's might. Knuckles met jaw, and Yang crowed in triumph.
His head blasted back. His torso followed. His legs lifted off the floor. His grip on her arm…held like a vice.
Yang's heart stopped cold, feral grin frozen on her face. The momentum of the man's body wrenched Yang off her feet.
His feet touched the ground, skidded and found purchase. His torso braced. His head rose, sneer shifting into a faint smile. His arm pulled her forward.
The long knife twirled in the man's hand, until the hilt faced her. He smashed it just below her ribs, breaking the last vestige of her Aura, her constant companion in this seemingly never-ending night. The attack flipped her over the man to drop to the tiles on her back.
What a counter.
What a fight.
Yang laid unmoving, and tried to catch her breath. She heard a sigh, and the squeak of shoes as it turns and slowly walked away. The gangster would not send a coup de grace, even with her at his mercy. He did not spare her a word as he left. Memories of the pain and fear she caused, of the hate as she beat down one person after another, all came to the fore as the distance between two foes stretched.
Mustering her strength, Yang raised her voice before this pensive mood of hers disappeared.
"Let's fight again, Jaune. Someday." She heard the squeaking of shoes halt. "With no loved ones hurt, with no anger for each other. One day, with our Aura and our bare fists, let's fight again. I'm sorry I hurt your family."
The words from her heart spoken, the Mighty Dragon of Patch, the woman named Yang Xiao-Long, slipped into a slumber where she laid.
Her long night was finally over.
His long night just won't end.
Opzin, Headmaster of Beacon, cradled his head in his hands as the taxi dropped him and Glynda in front of the building. He sent the nightclub a suffering look.
The Club, the den of Vale's foremost info-broker, has been torn apart by one of his star prospective applicant.
Were it any other person, he could've shrugged and left them to their own devices. The clamoring of his agent, Qrow Branwen, and his former student, Taiyang Xiao-Long, roused him from his office. The potential loss of Miss Xiao-Long commanded his attention. And the fact that the info-broker, 'Junior' Hei Xiong, knew Miss Xiao-Long will be attending Beacon and has soured on his dealings with the academy, dragged all hands on deck and resulted in Ozpin and Glynda standing with checks in their hands to drown the matter away with Lien.
Not that he would show his cards before the negotiations start.
Passing the doors hanging off their hinges, Ozpin scanned the Club, suppressing a grimace at the damage. In a way, the scene before him proved the promise Miss Xiao-Long holds. However, she must be tempered in her years at Beacon, lest she follows in the footstep of Raven.
He spied a group of four, situated at the bar in the far back. Upon closer examination, he can see the signs of their struggle earlier this night. Junior sported a filthy vest over a rumpled shirt, his sunglasses cracked. Two young women, twins in fact, sat half-collapsed onto the counter. They held ice bags in one hand, and shot glasses in the other. Their dresses were torn and stained. The long-haired twin wore a too-large suit jacket over her dress. Her outfit likely took great damage from her fight. A man, a boy on the second glance, stood nearby against the bar with arms crossed and observed the approaching duo. His face showed signs of bruises.
Bruises…that were visibly healing, shifting here and there to show clear skin. Ozpin shuddered to think of what his face looked like hours ago if injuries remained even with such powerful Aura healing. Someone to keep an eye on, then.
The three other occupants of the bar turned to Ozpin and Glynda. Junior set an elbow on the counter. The twins glared balefully, either from their recent ordeal or from the drinks they were knocking back like water. The true surprise came from the young man, who moved forward with a thin smile.
Ozpin answered the firm handshake, keeping his astonishment under wraps. Ozpin knew Junior placed great stock in comportment and respect. That he would step back and allow a subordinate to take the floor indicated a possible shift in power.
Or, that Junior was too angry to speak. Tread lightly, Ozpin, tread lightly.
"Good evening ladies, gentlemen. For those of you who don't know me, I am Headmaster Ozpin. This is Vice-headmistress Glynda Goodwitch. I know Junior, of course." Junior nodded, as the young man spoke up.
"Good to meet you, Headmaster. Vice-headmistress. I am Jaune Arc, and this is Melanie and Miltia Malachite. We would get you a drink, but Uncle Hei lost his best stock."
Ah. That answered the 'too angry to speak' question. Ozpin subtly pushed Glynda forward to work her miracle. Junior noticed and also stepped forward, gearing up to fight for every single lien.
This also gave Ozpin a chance to consider this new addition to Junior's inner circle.
Could he be the DJ? No, the build was all wrong. The mystery of the Club Mascot's identity continued.
Arc. Arc. Arc.
Ozpin knew the Arcs. Was an Arc, sometimes. The latest generation kept simple lives as far as he knew and Ozpin was happy for them, except one Jaune Arc has just revealed a familial connection to someone quite notable.
Jaune Arc was clearly an up-and-comer, and could very possibly be the future head of the Xiong Family.
More relevantly, Ozpin recalled an application to Beacon with the name Jaune Arc. It had no mention of any relation to Hei Xiong, but he supposed that should be expected. The last thing a prospective Huntsman need was their criminal relations' reputation overshadowing their abilities and character. Qrow can certainly relate.
A headmaster like James would reject the application for such a connection, likely sending a few soldiers along to take the young man into questioning. Decisive, but shortsighted.
A young man with Aura in spades and who managed to achieve a 1v1 victory over one of the strongest Huntress-in-training of this generation, or so he gathered from a recuperating Miss Xiao-Long. And, a possible foothold for Ozpin into Vale's underworld.
Ozpin, smiled.
Welcome to Beacon, Mr. Arc.
Smile, laugh, smirk, sneer
Cry, weep, rage, scream
With your- hic!- your heart and soul
Become a magical gi- ow, I was kidding
Just…show the world all that you are, Jaune
-M&M's Yakuza lesson #31, to a drunken Jaune Arc
Author's Note: Good writers gradually build tension, their stories unfold in highs and lows developing in a crescendo towards the penultimate scene.
This poor writer took inspiration from Ben-to!, where buying late-night convenient-store meals end with a battle royale and dozens unconscious, all in 5 minutes. Tension turns on a dime here, and it's all highs.
Why is everyone alive? Because this is anime world, where people without aura can survive what is, to us, catastrophic punches with nothing worse than a swollen cheek. Let's say Yang had good training in combat school, and in no way could she have a body count from this incident.
Shotgun shells are only survivable for people with Aura though, so Nameless Club DJ got a promotion to soak them all up in place of his fellow mooks!
Not a final chapter, despite the chapter title. Jaune Arc will take Beacon by storm, soon(TM).
Now would be a really good time for a better writer to step in XD