Grimm Nightmares Chapter 62

Chapter 62 Monster Painted Red

The sound of his steps dissonantly contrasted with the chaotic and constant crackling flames as he climbed the cracked steps leading into the derelict church.

Over his shoulders rested the transformed Hunter Axe, the elongated weapon held in place by his arms draped over its haft. He passed the threshold and, as he did, felt the sensation of the way behind him sealing through means he could not begin to fathom.

He could not even pinpoint when he had become able to sense this phenomenon accurately, and his memories of the epiphany were lost to his deaths.

The reminder made him want to cringe as he recalled Anima having to coach him back to his senses. But the uncomfortable memory served to remind him of his purpose, of his goal, of why it was he needed to be here.

Why this Beast was his prey…

His eyes adjusted to the dark with rapid ease, and he made sure to exhale before entering, ridding his nose of the cloying smoke from the outside. His steps were loud, echoing off the walls of the gutted structure with every individual step. It was unsurprising to him, a Hunter, that the Beast he sought to prey upon was aware of his presence.

He was not trying to hide.

There was no point to such an act, not while he smelt of the slain, not while he was painted in the red of the vanquished.

Not while his axe was still firmly lodged in the decapitated skull of a Scourge Beast.

His lips peeled back, his nostrils flaring, but all this was concealed. His cowl hid all his aggression save the narrowing of his eyes. His heart accelerated, fury blazing anew as he let the sensation go unchecked.

He would end this now.

This detour, this diversion, for that, was what it had become; it had been nothing but pain and wrought upon him burdens not even death would free him of. He wanted that Chalice… if only to determine its value.

Should it be found lacking… well, he had been searching for an adequate reason to return some of the antagonism the old man had been dishing out so freely.

The pink and flayed Beast began to crawl forward, the light on the diminished altar behind it making its shape and size seem vague and distorted. Even through his cowl, he swore he could smell its bloodless meat as it came closer and closer, the sound of its claws scraping on the stone itching at his ears.

With a flourish, he rolled the axe off his shoulders and brought it crashing down on the floor at his feet, the mangled flesh of the severed Beast’s neck squelching from the impact.

The Beast hissed, the sound like steam from a geyser as its breath danced like wisps between its jagged teeth.

What more invitations could a Hunter need?

He stomped forward, his heel landing squarely atop the severed head he carried with him just for this occasion. He wrenched the head of his weapon free of the decapitated skull and twirled it over the dorsal side of his hand beneath his knuckles.

He completed the flourish with a swing, the flat of the Hunter Axe colliding with the bloody head of the Scourge Beast.

The hunk of gore sailed through the air, right into the path of the approaching flayed monster who ducked the fleshy projectile.

It roared in response, the bellowing noise as painful as it had been the first time.

Jaune merely sniffed and collapsed the Hunter Axe to its smaller size to free up his left hand, the freed appendage already reaching for his belt.

The head had been a test, the initial probe to gauge the Beast’s nature. He had suspected such from his earliest encounter with it that it had a particularly ravenous predilection for blood. He brought the head to see how deep its inclinations reached, but it seemed it was not to be so simple.

Instead, he would have to trust in Gehrman.

There was no further thought for plans, only action as the thing was upon him, one arm raised to rend as it lunged.

So, too, did Hunter leap into the fray.

He dove into its opening attack, axe low as it glided through the air, under its emaciated frame, into the soft space beneath its diaphragm.

The half-circle head of his weapon bit into the abdominal meat, but the resistance posed by its anatomy was great despite its flayed state. The axe’s edge dragged across, and though Jaune knew he split flesh, the resulting blood he drew was pitiful.

Jaune snapped into a spin, risking his back as he turned and brought his weapon down in a horizontal slash that raked its edge across the creature's hood of flesh. The strips bled, showing they were still connected to its anatomy, but Jaune failed to sever the pink strips despite the blow.

He could not follow up his assault as the Beast retaliated with a vicious backhand Jaune barely managed to dodge.

But then he was on the back foot.

The flayed monster pursued him doggedly, its knife-like claws leaving gouges in stone as they ravenously pursued him. This particular monster was fast; it was arguably the fastest Beast he had fought yet, though the abomination in the Grand Cathedral might be its match.

Jaune could not recall accurately that monster's abilities.

Jaune darted around a pillar, swinging his axe out to ward off snatching jaws as the Beast swung around the same obstruction using one of its arms to hook about the support to preserve its momentum.

Jaune wasn’t fast enough.

Unnaturally long claws slammed into Jaune’s axe that barely managed to intercept the attack in time.

He was lifted from his feet and sent tumbling back, rolling on the unforgiving floor as his weapon hurtled to some distant corner of the ruined church.

Jaune was back on his feet before he even came to a halt, walking back to bleed momentum as the flayed Beast returned to all fours and slunk after him in pursuit.

With the Beast closing, Jaune scrambled to fill his hands, his right enclosing around his Saw Cleaver, the weapon coming free from the low of his back just as his left grabbed the item that would make or break his hunt.

The Pungent Blood Cocktail

The flayed Beast was nearly atop him, its body already arching in preparation for pouncing atop him with its savage claws.

Jaune threw the bottle away, the container hurtling through the air to shatter against the distant wall.

The effect was immediate.

Jaune watched, genuinely stunned, as the Beast that had been bearing down on him tripped over itself in its haste to rush to where the cocktail had landed.

He watched as the Beast slammed into the wall hard enough that Jaune was sure it must have hurt, its face scraping along the stone as he desperately licked at the pungent patch of red.

He shook off his astonishment, internally scolding himself for his foolishness as he immediately rushed at the distracted monster's back.

It didn’t even know he was there as he transformed his Saw Cleaver and swung it with both arms.

His target? The back of its leg above its heel.

It's the Achilles tendon.

The Cleaver part of his weapon slammed home with a meaty thunk as the scarily durable body managed to halt the edge at the bone.

But that was deep enough.

The Beast screamed in raw agony as its leg gave out and blood painted Jaune’s arms. The pain was seemingly bad enough for the Beast to forget the tantalising scent of the Blood Cocktail as it reared on him.

Jaune had long since learned not to remain idle.

He tore his weapon free of its right leg and tried to swing for its left, but the Beast was quicker and struck out with a kick, forcing Jaune to abort his attack and pivot away.

The Beast, its rage freshly stoked, tried to pursue, but its leg failed, and it hit the ground immediately, scrambling to right itself.

Jaune pounced.

His Saw Cleaver descended a steel blur with a razor's edge, catching on the curtain of flesh that protected the Beast’s neck. A chunk of said curtain fell to the floor in a bloody mess, and the flayed Beast screeched at the violent severing as its claws flared.

It swiped, and Jaune dropped, his knees hitting the ground just as the claw would have removed his head from his shoulders.

Jaune could predict the Beast’s next move before it did, but it was not hard.

After all, by dropping to his knees… he had put his head directly in front of its fanged maw.

It kicked, lopsided and uneven, but its jaw was wide and salivating.

Jaune stabbed forward with his weapon, the slashing weapon jabbing into the back of the Beast’s throat, and Jaune cursed the fact that the Saw Cleaver did not possess a pointed tip like its spear brother.

The thing’s hissing and caterwauling halted momentarily as it gagged but did not halt its lunging bite. Instead, its curved teeth crashed down on the unforgiving metal of Jaune’s blade… but its forward motion did not stop.

Jaune grunted as the handle of his weapon was slammed into his chest, his arms unable to keep it away as he was dragged back along the ground, his legs scraping over the stone. He pushed back with all his strength, but that was only enough to keep the deceptively strong monster from crushing his ribs.

The Beast must have found the resistance as aggravating as Jaune as it stopped and reared up-

With its jaw still clenched shut.

Jaune kept hold of his weapon with one arm as he was lifted into the air, his feet dangling as he refused to relinquish his Saw Cleaver.

The flayed Beast reared back its arm, the long curved claws at the tip of its fingers prime to gut him where he hung.

Jaune drew his pistol quicker.

The crack of the gunshot was followed by a fresh bout of screeching as the Beast let loose a fresh wail, cupping its face.

Jaune dropped to the floor, along with the fragments of some of the Beast’s teeth.

His Saw Cleaver transformed.

He lunged.

Gone was the smooth edge designed to chop to the bone.

In its place were teeth made to tear.

The monster swiped blindly.

The hunter opened its wrist as he punished its resistance.

It tried to back away.

He slammed his weapon into its knee and jerked up, opening a shredded gash along the inside of its thigh.

The Beast tried to drop its weight atop him.

He glided to the left, his weapon trailing him and leaving a bloody score across its hip.

Jaune twisted on the spot, intending to try and hamstring the Beast’s other leg; the muscles of his arm coiled and re-

He was thrown violently; suddenly, his body tossed like a ragdoll to crash into the worn but still sturdy pillars of the old church.

His body made a wet crunch as it pounced off the stonework, his body twisting as the collision made him twist midair. He hit the ground, lungs forcibly emptied, right arm a red blaring stream of pain that his mind refused to ignore.

He used his left to lift himself, his eyes immediately searching out the flayed monster even as he struggled to right his breathing.

It didn’t take much for him to piece together what happened.

He had been too focused on the Beast’s lethal claws and had forgotten it was not nearly so limited. The thing had driven an elbow into him, only his instinctive doge sparing his chest the worst of the hurt.

His shoulder was another matter entirely, hanging at an odd angle and in enough pain that it was affecting his mind… or at least his vision. Jaune grimaced beneath his mask as though his shoulder was the worst. In truth, his entire right side ached something fierce.

He ignored it and forced himself to his feet, his still dizzy eyes moving instead to the pink, bloody mess that was his latest prey. This act had the resulting effect of letting him know his ribs were also not unscathed as he nearly froze as a fresh wave of pain hit him with a side of increased nausea.

The Beast slammed back onto all fours, forcing Jaune to focus as it slinked forward slowly.

Jaune saw that his shot had been true, and the Beast was missing a section of upper teeth right next to a curved tusk that jutted out the side of its mouth. But like its other injuries, the bleeding was not as heavy as it should have been, and Jaune was forced to recognise once more that the Beasts were not mere animals.

They were abominable.

He holstered his pistol, happy he had managed to retain his hold on the firearm and swiftly retrieved a Blood Vial that was then promptly stabbed into his right side.

Once, it would have sent him to his knees, the feel of his bones shifting through his meat, his blood swelling and shifting to move ribs where they belonged. Once, he would have hollered, screamed his pain for all to hear.

Now… he groaned more in frustration than pain as he felt his shoulder, removed from its socket, not shift nearly as quickly as his ribs.

He slammed the offending joint against the same stone pillar that had freed it.

This was enough to have him gasping through his teeth as he felt a new type of hurt, a worrisome type of hurt. He had probably just hurt himself worse with his shoddy self-care, but he didn’t have time to reflect.

A second Blood Vial was all he could spare as he began to back away from the prowling, flayed Beast.

This was enough, however, to cause it to chase.

With his right arm still maimed, he fell back to using his left, drawing a pair of throwing knives with the same speed he drew his pistol.

Jaune hurled them at the charging Beast, the small blades sparking as they bounced off its skull-like face, eliciting a short screech.

He moved back, gaining precious time, throwing another pair of blades.

The Beast swatted them away with a single lengthy limb, snapping the flimsy weapons with unnatural strength.

It was practically on top of him, its head thrown back, its reflective eyes visible as the veil of flesh whipped behind it. Its mouth was letting out a yowling call as blood flew in specks from its injured face, its arms both swinging to carve him bloody.

Jaune could only smile as he threw himself at the ground.

The sound of the Beast’s body colliding with the stone pillar he had been leading it towards was made all the louder by the sudden halting of its enraged bellowing. Jaune rolled as soon as he hit the ground, desperately manoeuvring himself so he wasn’t under the Beast as it slumped.

He scrambled back to his feet, stumbling and somehow managing to pop his shoulder back into place. Whether by luck or the Blood finally having managed to complete its work, he didn’t care, and he was grateful for the return of his other arm.

His breaths came fast and hard as he threw himself atop his Saw Cleaver, clutching his weapon as he slid to his feet, turning to face his foe.

The Beast pulled away from the pillar, blood and spit smeared over the stone. A low rumble of a growl emanated from its throat as it turned to face him. It dragged its claws noisily across the stone, its growls growing louder still.

The Beast screamed, the sickening strips of meat hanging from its body flying around wildly as it bellowed its rage and agony. As the noise died down, its pink exposed flesh began to sweat, and a film of permeation clung to the uncovered meat, which quickly began to evaporate.

Jaune had been waiting for this, the moment the Beast would reveal its hidden weapon… poison.

Jaune finished reloading his pistol, again promising to put time aside to try and learn Djura’s technique as he thumbed the Quicksilver round into the gun. The Beast finished with its enraged screeching and kicked off the floor, charging at Jaune with immense speed.

Jaune met it mid-charge.

He held his breath, daring not to inhale the noxious fumes the Beast was emitting as he tried to open as many wounds across his skeletal foe’s frame as possible. Its swings were wide and quick, forcing Jaune to dance into the range of his bony jaws to avoid its long arms.

His weapon's serrated teeth danced along its arms, and the veil of meat around its skull, blood and poison dripping onto the floor in equal volume as Jaune lost himself in a haze of red and pink.

Only as his lungs began to beg for a breath did he disengage, taking a swipe at the beast's throat and forcing it to retreat in tandem with him. He breathed in through his cowl, tasting the wrongness of the air, but he still took two more measured breaths.

This was all the Beast allowed as Jaune saw it hunch its back legs and raise its arm out, prepared to go for another reaching lunge.

Jaune was ready, letting the Beast come as he slid on his knees, avoiding the telegraphed lung and retaliating by scoring a bone-deep slash across its ribs.

He turned, hoping to give chase and harry the Beast into a corner.

His eyes widened, and his breath caught in his lungs as the Beast did not have its back to him.

It was on the pillar, clung to it like a lemur, having used its momentum to scare the structure unimpeded.

Jaune kicked with his legs, trying to get on his feet from his knees as swiftly as possible.

The Beast launched off the pillar.

He used every muscle in his body and strained his entire self to get out of its path.

It wasn’t enough.

He was left feeling as if he had been rammed with a moving wall of flesh as he was slammed into the unforgiving stones of the church’s floor. His skull bounced atop his neck, and his left hand was awash in gut-churning pain once more. His right arm was raised, his Saw Cleaver brandished between him and the Beast’s dagger-like claws.

Jaune roared in exertion, forcing the thing's lethal appendage away from the vital space of his jugular.

The Beast roared back, leaving his ears ringing. As it reared its skull, Jaune knew its intentions instantly.

He rolled his dizzied skull as far to the left as he could, just in time as the Beast’s maw drove into the ground without reservation. But its head was too large, and Jaune found his cheek opening up as a tusk-like fang lanced through his cheek.

The sting of parted flesh was swiftly joined by the burn of poison etching its way into his blood.

Jaune snarled, spitting as he tried to clear his mouth of the taint crawling into it. He kicked with his legs, ineffectually slamming his boot into the Beast’s torso. He tugged on his left hand, but all he got from his efforts was pain. He shoved with his right and felt the Beast pull its head away, its baleful eyes meeting Jaune’s own as sickly spit drooled off its fangs.

Jaune looked away from its eyes to see its claw kept at bay by his Saw Cleaver.

His Saw Cleaver, which was right next to the Beast’s neck, unobstructed by the cloak of meat that had guarded it for the whole fight.

Seeing his chance, he let out another bellow of exertion, shoving with everything he had, ignoring the pain in his left hand as it still refused to move. The Beast hissed and pushed back, but its efforts were too little too late.

Jaune curled inward, bringing his knees up to his chest, jamming his feet against the Beast’s palm and forcing the limb up and away.

Freeing his Saw Cleaver.

His moment at hand, the Hunter transformed his weapon.

Mechanisms snapped into motion, and the serrated blade swung in an arc unimpeded by claws; teeth of steel bit deep into the Beast’s fleshy, almost natural-looking neck. Crimson red rained down on his person, painting his entire upper half as Jaune roared, pushing the biting blade deeper.

The flayed Beast let out a gurgling cacophony as it tried to rear up and escape from the brutal assault on its vulnerable throat, but the transformed Saw Cleaver had more reach. Its effort only lengthened the vicious wound and spilt more of its lifeblood over its attacker.

Realising this, it instead lashed out.

It moved its whole weight onto its left forelimb, moving into the attack and surprising the Hunter trapped beneath it. Jaune couldn’t react in time with his weapon stuck in the monster’s flesh and his other hand still pinned.

The Beast’s claws pushed through his resistance and pierced into his face before raking downward with horrific ease.

The pain was hellish as Jaune felt the lacerations open up like bloody gorges down the length of his anatomy, sending a wave of pain through his whole body that made him stop breathing.

Then the poison hit.

He tried to scream as muscles all over contracted and spasmed in the wake of such a violent attack on his senses. It was as if he could taste the pain on his tongue as his scream ravaged his throat raw.

He wanted to stop; he needed it to stop, and he would make it stop.

His right arm had been caught in the Beast’s swipe, so with no other recourse, he flailed and kicked and tugged on his left hand in a crazed frenzy of desperation.

His hand came away with the sound of tearing flesh and snapping bones.

He paid such things no heed, though, as his blood-slicked fingers raced over his mutilated front to reach the inside of his garb. He finally found the smooth neck of the bottle, and though caked in the red of both the Beast and his insides, his grip did not falter.

He hurled the other Pungent Blood Cocktail as far as he could.

The Beast’s open maw snapped shut with the sound of the shattering glass bottle as it leapt over Jaune, thankfully missing him as it rushed desperately to the alluring Blood.

Blood continued to rapidly vacate his person as the massive lacerations that the Beast had gouged into his flesh continued to bleed. With cumbersome, uncooperative fingers, he tried to pull one of his Blood vials free, only for it to slip from between his-

He was missing fingers.

Jaune’s eyes, thankfully uninjured, widened as he realised his left hand was missing its last two fingers.

He shook off the shock and instead focused on the Blood Vial that had fallen to the floor, painted in his growing pool of blood.

Not trusting his fingers, Jaune merely pointed the syringe up and threw his neck atop the vessel, letting the weight of his mutilated form push its contents into his system.

The rush… there was not a second of disgust as he rode the wave the Old Blood gave.

The pain that had been consuming his thoughts was pushed down as he focused on what needed to be done if he was to stave off his rapidly approaching death. Jaune didn’t waste time trying to fumble with individual Blood Vials.

He just tore off the entire belt they were attached to.

He sat up, the teeth that were still in his mouth grit as he stifled a wet-gurgling-bellow of pain. He got a proper look at the state of his body, and it was as if he could see an hourglass within his mind rapidly emptying.

His torso was open, multiple shredded gorges in his flesh with broken ribs shunted down and out by unrelenting claws. Some of his organs, or parts of them, could be seen as the blood that had pooled in his wounds rushed out courtesy of his movements.

Jaune tried to inhale, but all he got for his efforts was the sound of air mixing with blood in his open throat. He choked, the sensation refocusing him as the pain and horror of his own twisted body was pushed away so he might save his own life.

Jaune raised the holster of his Blood Vials clutched in his three-fingered hand and brought it down into his leg as it was the least harmed part of his anatomy. Like that, the content of all his remaining Blood Vials was rapidly injected inside his near-broken form.

It was a lot, perhaps even too much.

But the results…

YVYVYVYVY

It was whilst he was ‘younger’ for all that term was worth given his time spent in the Eternal Night that Jaune had first begun his research into the Grimm.

Unlike other topics he bounced between in the early years following his return, his interest in the Grimm did not abate. In that period before his older siblings reconciled with him, Jaune’s time was split unevenly between spending time with his younger siblings and his academic pursuits.

This was more due to his parents' insistence that he excel than his own desire, as he still very much would have preferred to be with his kin.

At least, such was the case in most regards… the Grimm were an exception.

Through such early exploration of Remnant’s monsters, Jaune learned of the stark difference in depth between public and more private sources of knowledge. His ability to recognise, in his opinion, ‘blatant’ censorship was, in fact, a point in his merit from his teachers at the time who praised his comprehension, though they did not present him the access he desired.

But despite such avenues being closed, there was one that Jaune was all too aware of and that he would have so eagerly pursued… if only it were available.

After all, his parents were the perfect teachers for this particular topic.

Unfortunately, though both Cloud and Hellebore Arc adored their many children and made many efforts to be with them… their careers were demanding. But neither of them were fools, and as such, both had taken many steps so as to be better able to be close to their children.

Hellebore had changed the most from her original path, becoming a sponsored Huntress when she originally intended to be independent. But the one responsible for that decision was, in fact, her husband, as it was him she had decided to stick around for. She had changed her speciality and division for her children, transferring from the Valean Head-hunters to be a resident Huntress of Reach instead.

While Cloud might not have deviated from his path as much as his wife, none could deny the sheer explosive leaps the man had taken through the ranks to achieve his position and post. Many spoke of nepotism and other such underhanded tactics he might have employed, considering the legacy his last name carried.

Oddly, such people seemed to quieten themselves when reminded that Cloud was one of the Kingdom’s premier Huntsman, ranked in the top ten and boasted many titles and achievements.

But their efforts went beyond mere career choices. Hellebore and Cloud endeavoured to ensure that one parent was home as much as possible. It was far from a perfect solution, and sometimes, they could not employ it, but they tried.

When neither was available, they would ask Hella’s closest friend, Tami, for help. Tami was always happy and eager to play aunt. But even Tami, whose love for the kids was earnest, couldn’t replace their parents, and she was not always free.

It was a point of shame for both that they found themselves relying on the elder children more than either of them liked.

Years before Jaune embarked on his Rite of First Quest, when he was still enrolled at school, he would come home feeling aggrieved. By this point, his academic prowess had launched him well beyond his yearmates, and his learning was mostly done via long-distance tutoring so as not to disrupt other classes.

However, much to Jaune’s vexation, his achievements and ability did not allow him to research further into the topic of the Creatures of Grimm. His tutor explained that research into the Grimm required a certain degree of clearance and was restricted.

To further research the subject, Jaune would have to attend a university and apply for a specific class or become a Huntsman.

Jaune found the idea of expending such effort not ideal.

He briefly looked into other avenues to obtain the knowledge, but they would involve him pursuing less reputable means. For all his talents, Jaune was not without caution and, as such, chose not to peruse less secure sections of the CCT.

This was why when he stumbled upon his father alone in the family library, he almost pounced upon the giant of a man eager to make more headway on a topic he had been stonewalled on for ages.

Jaune learnt a lot that day about various topics concerning the soulless abominations known as Grimm. But the most important thing his father taught him about the monsters in that particular lesson was how Grimm truly react to negativity.

It was a lesson he was presently putting to very good use.

Jaune blinked away the memories of home as he returned his focus to the present, to the crucial tasks he needed to perform to ensure his sisters' safety.

With the broken Horde on its way, time was of the essence, and the Atlesian soldiers, aware of the looming danger, were happy for an experienced leader. Jaune was comfortable waiting to the side as he observed the Huntress begin to issue orders, none of which he could find fault in.

He did spare a moment to be grateful for this Huntress’s presence as he had little to no personal experience in a command position akin to the one she was presently occupying.

“- Our goal is not to exterminate the coming Grimm but simply to hold,” Linda explained to all present in the forward command post at the base of the wall.

“Are there going to be that many?” One soldier said, “With the Horde being broken and all, won't this just be the stragglers?”

Jaune quickly corrected this dangerous misunderstanding, “A broken Horde is merely one that has been staved off, the Grimm as a whole deciding their target is no longer feasible prey.”

“Are Grimm that smart?” Norrel, the Atlesian who recognised Jaune as a Slayer, enquired.

“It is merely a response of their survival instinct, something the older Grimm have that can influence younger Grimm when in Horde conditions,” Jaune waved off.

“Arcs right, hence why we need to play this conservatively and safely with our top goal being to hold out as long as it takes for reinforcements to come,” Linda declared.

“You’re that sure they will come?” A soldier spoke up grimly.

Linda snorted in a dry, sarcastic display of amusement, “This airbase is practically on top of a major city; someone will come; we just need to ensure we are seen.”

Jaune nodded, “My plan will help with that.”

Linda hummed. Jaune felt she was not nearly as enthused about his idea as he was, but that’s fine. He did not need her faith, only her compliance.

“I already have men moving our stores of Fire Dust to the wall and applying it as you ordered, though they are going quite slowly-“

Jaune cut Norrel off but not impolitely, “That’s fine and, in fact, preferable, so long as they managed to prepare the northern face of the base successfully.”

“Why is that?” Another soldier, appearing more administrative than infantry, asked, fear easily visible on his sweaty forehead.

Jaune’s brow furrowed, “Doesn’t Atlas have an entire research division dedicated to Grimm behaviour?”

Norrel shook his head, “Probably, but fuck if we get to know stuff like that, we’re just grunts, Slayer. Stuff like that’s probably reserved for higher-ups and Specialists.”

“… Frustrating,” Jaune stated plainly.

“What Arc is getting at,” Linda cut in, “is that we know what the Grimm are going to do, and we can influence their movements as well.”

“How?”

“Stimulus,” Linda answered.

“Like… negativity, right,” the sweaty soldier spoke up.

“Yes, but we need more than that; the base is already playing host to a bunch of scared refugees from the local areas, and we want them focused on one point of the wall,” Linda demonstrated, pulling a map in front of her and searching for a pen.

“Here.”

“Thank you, right,” Linda flattened the map to the table, “The Grimm, more specifically the Alpha in the Horde, have declared Bastion as a shit show and therefore are going to be focussed on getting the hell away from it.” Linda displayed this by drawing an arrow from the centre of Bastion to where Jaune had previously indicated the Breach to be located to the best of his knowledge.

“This is the first place where luck plays a big part for us,” Linda mumbled, her words still loud enough for the Atlesians to hear as she leaned away from the map. “If we are lucky, the Alphas won't continue in a straight line and will instead take a big chunk of the Horde off in another direction and make it someone else's problem.”

Norrel gave a smile that was more of a grimace as he asked, “How likely is that?”

“Not likely,” Jaune’s calm tone replied succinctly.

“Arc’s right; the issue is the base is just too close to Bastion for their dispersal patterns to kick in…. The best bet is for us to see some minor dispersion but mostly from lesser Grimm, maybe some Alpha.” Linda continued showing small clumps on the map, breaking away from the big arrow representing the broken Hordes movement.

“After that is where we can start making our pressure matter,” Linda gestured, drawing a dotted line a bit away from the airbase. “Once the Grimm gets this close, it is imperative that we have the majority of your men situated along the north wall.”

“Right… but why? Won't they just circle the base and climb over the wall somewhere else?”

Linda smiled, “Nope, not if we play our part correctly.”

Jaune moved forward, looming over the others in the room. His still, somewhat bloody visage swiftly cleared a space for him and allowed him to jab a finger at the map. “With exceptions, Grimm is not smart; tactics such as flanking or encirclement are strictly relegated to the domain of Alpha Grimm. If it happens without their presence, it is merely happenstance, but it can happen… which is why we will stop it.”

“You soldiers will serve as both bulwark and bait, drawing the Grimm to an area and ensuring that their attention remains entirely on the northern face of the base,” Linda stated, her eyes coming up to search the room for objections.

Norrel was the first to speak, “That will work? The Grimm will all throw themselves at the north side and forget anything else?”

“No, not completely,” Linda denied. “Some will not be drawn in, but a lot of them will, and that will allow us to have a better grasp on the situation.”

“That’s why you told the engineers not to focus on the northern defences!” The administrative Atlesian crowed.

“The automated defences will have a crucial role to play, but if we do our jobs right, their load should be well within tolerable ranges even with the earlier sabotage in mind,” Linda encouraged. “That shipment of AK-130’s will help reinforce the other sections of the Base as well as protect the hangar where we will move the rest of the Base’s population.”

This was a section of the plan Jaune was still unsure about, not because he disliked the robotic soldiers but because he was unfamiliar with them. “You are confident in your ability to command them?”

A female technician scratched at her chin and notably didn’t meet Jaune’s gaze as she responded, “Yeah, the bots are good at following commands and stuff, and it isn’t my first time using the AKs.”

Jaune quirked a single brow; his question was unspoken but heard.

The technician cleared her throat, “Just, ah… they aren’t exactly ours, so what we are doing is kind of… um stealing.”

Jaune’s brow did not lower as he spoke, “I do not think you need to concern yourself with such matters, considering the number of indiscretions that have already happened on this base.”

More than one head nodded in agreement with the tall Arc’s statement.

Linda cleared her throat, leaning back from the table and shifting closer to the colossal rifle leaning on the wall behind her. “There is one last topic to discuss… the rest of the base’s staff.”

“All non-combatants who aren’t going to be assisting with the defences will be moved towards the designated hangar with the civilians,” the administrator answered, confused by the question that was covered earlier.

“They were not who I was referring to,” Linda said calmly.

Jaune was now quite curious about what the Valean Huntress was getting at.

“I noticed it when I came back… where are the Faunus?” Linda questioned, her arms crossed.

The administrative soldier's response was swift and finite, “No.”

Jaune peered down at the sweaty man, “That was not a suitable answer…”

His cold words seemed to dampen whatever fierceness the man possessed as he shuffled back but continued to shake his head. “They are traitors and are responsible for this whole mess in the first place! They’re White Fang!”

However, Linda wasn’t willing to accept that answer and turned to Norrel, “All of them?”

The sweaty administrative Atlesian cut in, “Probably!”

Jaune placed a hand on the table and leaned down so his face was at eye level with the man, bringing his whole body down from looming to invading many people's personal space. More than one person tried to subtly move away as the bloodstained and tattooed flesh of the tall, shirtless man became a lot closer.

Jaune’s tenor vibrated with warning as he spoke, just shy of growling, “Probably?”

Norrel spoke, taking pity on the sweaty administrator, “We were ordered to isolate all Faunus personnel on the base following the attack.”

Linda added her own two cents, “The Base Commander tried to do the same with the civilians I rescued. I stopped him.”

Jaune turned to Norrel, “Are they all White Fang?”

Norrel shook his head, “Hell no, I know some of them from Atlas; their only crime is not being fond of White Caps.”

Another voice, a cautious one, did speak up, though, “But some of them are…”

Jaune straightened back up, “An unfortunate reality and one that, for the time being, is inconsequential.”

There were clear looks of disagreement, but Linda shut them down, “The Faunus need to be either at the north wall or in the same hanger as everyone else. A clump of people separated from everything else gives them another target, another lure, which could be catastrophic.”

Everyone looked grim at this, but Linda was correct in that the situation was already dire, and adding additional risk could ruin everything.

“So that’s it, they just get to go free?” the same soldier asked, not trying to hide his distaste for the idea. “I understand the need for them to be in one of the designated areas but-“

“You worry that the Fang members could cause further issues?” Jaune enquired.

“I do.”

“… I will see to it,” Jaune declared.

“What?” Linda startled.

Jaune turned to the Huntress, his tone unflinching as he elaborated. “I will see to the Faunus, White Fang or otherwise. I will ensure that there will be no further problems on their end.”

All eyes were on Jaune, but he didn’t flinch, merely meeting Linda’s gaze. The silence lingered, and Jaune watched as the Huntress seemed to debate on whether or not to say something.

“… Just—just keep in mind yours and their negativity, please,” Linda finally said, ending the staring match.

“I will do my utmost to keep the interaction quick and clean,” Jaune affirmed, hoping to alleviate any concerns better.

He clearly failed, though, as more than one party flinched. Jaune could only lament that he wasn’t allowed to bring his sisters into this meeting; they would have been a boon in terms of communication.

Jaune shrugged it off; he was well used to others being uncomfortable around him. “That means the refugee civilians will be in your hands, Huntress Blue.”

“Wait, what about them?” Norrel spoke up, having suffered verbal whiplash at the sudden change of topics.

Linda Blue kissed her teeth, frowning at Jaune, who was unbothered by her expression, “For us to get the most out of this plan, we need to have as many guns to hand as possible.”

“You want to arm volunteers from the non-combatants,” The Technician said, no question present in his speech.

“It is sensible; it is almost a certainty that some amongst the number have a familiarity with firearms, be they part of the base or from the surrounding area,” Jaune shrugged.

Norrel spoke up, looking torn, “Adding untrained elements comes with its own slew of risks.”

“True, but there are positions we can put them in to mitigate those, and the cost outweighs the risk,” Jaune returned his words level. “You are correct that discipline will play a big part if we are to survive this, but the volume of fire is a quality that we also need, and you assured me we did not lack firearms.”

“… This is gonna be a hell of a story to tell folks back home,” Norrel muttered, although all heard him in the tight quarters. “We will do it your way, Slayer, Ma’am,” Norrel saluted.

“Good, enough chatter. You know your roles. Go do them,” Linda barked, sending all the gathered leaders off to fulfil their tasks quickly. However, Linda stalled both Norrel and Jaune, clearly wanting to say more to the two.

“Are you confident your soldier will be able to follow the firing orders I have issued? Mistakes will be costly,” She warned.

“Don’t fret, Ma’am; we’ve resisted the urge to shoot the Commander for this long; we can wait on some Grimm,” Norrel joked as he departed.

His jest landed well as Linda failed to hide her snort at the Atlesian’s joke; however, her amusement faded as she looked up at Jaune. With time against them, she spoke from the gut, remembering how her attempts to be diplomatic earlier only served to trip her up.

“Where will you be?”

Jaune’s head quirked ever so slightly, “With the Fau-“

“No, when the Grimm arrive,” Linda clarified.

“Where the Grimm are,” Jaune answered, brow furrowing somewhat as he failed to understand the purpose of the question.

Linda pursed her lips and replied, “Your sisters won't like that.”

“… Your point?”

“My point is I already watched your sisters rush into one dangerous situation tonight, and I can only imagine you’ve had to witness that particular act even more,” Linda exclaimed.

Jaune said nothing.

Unbothered by his silence, Linda pressed on, “What are you going to do about your sisters?”

Of all the responses Linda could have expected from Jaune, given her limited time with the tall young man, his lopsided smirk was not even a possibility. The brother of the two girls ran a hand through his hair, flecks of congealed blood coming away with his fingers as he shifted his weight.

“I’m not concerned about what Jade and Sky will do; after all, they are going to have a job the same as I,” Jaune proclaimed, his smile still on his face.

This answer and his mannerisms only confused the Huntress even more, “You think some busy work will keep them from running off into danger?”

Jaune laughed; it was short and cutting, and seeing it come from the blood-stained man who had to hunch to get through doorways made Linda more on edge than she liked. His brief laughter, however, was followed by speech, “Busy work? I would not disrespect them so, no… They’ll have a job, one that matters.”

Jaune turned to leave, but Linda decided she needed a little more before she let the blond go… deal with the Faunus. “What are you going to have them do?”

Jaune turned at the waist to answer, the blood-smeared symbol on his back distorting-

Linda shook her head as she refocused on the tall Arc’s eyes.

He smiled again, but this time, it was not a lopsided smirk but a quirking of the lips that brought a whole new life to his features… blood smears aside. His voice was confident and warm when he spoke, and Linda could feel just how sure he was that his sisters would do their part.

There was no doubt.

“My sisters… I am going to arm my sisters and give them a job I would truthfully rather trust to no other,” Jaune sniffed. “I am going to give them each a gun and tell them to hold the door for me, so should it come to it… I know I can get to them.”

Linda didn’t know what to say in response to Jaune’s explanation, and truthfully, they were out of time, so instead, she reached into a cabinet and tossed a canteen at the tall man's head.

He snatched it out of the air with ease.

“Do everyone a favour and try and get some of the blood off,” Linda commented as she slid past him and out the door, slowing only so she could look up and meet his azure gaze.

“You look scarier than the fucking Grimm right now.”

YVYVYVYVY

The Faunus staff of the Bastion Airbase were all sequestered in a more miniature hanger that had been cleared out hastily specifically to hold them. It was dark, with only one set of lights left on the inside, and despite the cool breeze outside, the cramped space filled with bodies left the inside rather unpleasant.

But the temperature was the least of the occupant's concerns.

As things continued to unravel and deteriorate, even more so than the sudden White Fang assault, the news they had managed to pick up on had become broken and sparse. This left them with little information aside from the fact that things were bad and getting worse, which did little to improve the mood inside.

There was tension inside; several verbal arguments had erupted and died down, with the guards outside demanding silence, but the threat of physical violence was present and growing.

Why? Because of the White Fang.

Even though not all the Faunus on the base were White Fang, they had all been lumped together. This meant that many Faunus were in that space now looking at some dire consequences merely due to association.

But it went deeper still because even though some of them were White Fang, they were equally as confused as the non-members about what had happened. The attack they were being blamed for was not in the evening's plans, but several of their numbers saw the Faunus steal the private aircraft.

Confusion, fear and the encroaching sense of dread meant that the Faunus were all but ready to devolve into a brawl. There was a tangible sense of distrust, and many sat around in clumps of those they considered their most trusted and eyed everyone else with suspicion.

It was not a knife that cut through these swelling tensions but the sudden raucous of the heavy metal hanger door sliding open faster than usual. The droning of the hefty noise, indicative of the door’s mass, was followed by the sharp blast of incoming light from the outside world.

Light that was broken by a long, solitary shadow. The Faunus squinted at the light, able to make out little more than the rough shape of the shadow and that which cast it.

A figure, a lone figure they were able to determine, was responsible for opening the door and was taller than any present with ease. They were given no further time to decipher details as the shadowed figure moved over to the hanging light switch and engaged the rest of the old hangers' hanging lights.

Not a single soul within managed to not flinch at what they revealed.

The tall figure, bare-chested and covered in numerous scrawling depictions etched in inky black, stood there, monolithic and imposing. His hair was slicked back, and while most could make out that his damp locks were supposed to be blond, none missed the tinting of pinkish-red that marred their colour.

Nor how the same tint continued onto his skin.

The blond's head turned slowly, tanking them all in, and more than one Faunus found their animalistic ears flattening or tails tucking as they tried to shy away from his piercing gaze.

Eventually, he was joined by two more people—no, not people, Faunus. Neither of them was as tall as the blond, and where one was slim, the other was quite broad.

That slowly rising fear that had suddenly afflicted them all was joined by a most poorly timed curiosity.

“My name is Jaune Adamant Arc,” the tall, dangerous-feeling blond spoke. “Earlier tonight, a group of White Fang operatives, in response to rouge elements of their own organisation, panicked and wound up greatly sabotaging this airbase.”

The sudden release of such information left all the Faunus present reeling as they tried to understand what they had just been told.

The blond did not let them as he continued to speak. “Now a Horde of Grimm that Bastion has repelled are en route to this base, and without its defences, it is uncertain whether or not it can endure.”

Whether White Fang or not, the Faunus felt fear, worry, terror, and panic as the fundamental knowledge of impending death struck them fast and hard.

But still, the blond wasn’t done speaking.

“As of now, there are plans in motion to see the occupants of this base, including yourselves, through the coming hardship. To this end, you will all be moved to a hangar more centrally located with the rest of the non-combatants to minimise the spread of negativity around the base.”

At this, the blond turned and gestured for the two Faunus to step forward; for some reason, the blond didn’t speak for a moment, instead standing there silently with the two Faunus. But when he did speak again, his words were like a slap to the face.

“I am well aware that amongst your ranks at present there are members of the White Fang,” his words hung in the air like a guillotine before it drops.

“I do not care."

Shocked silence.

“At this point, your allegiance is irrelevant, your feelings towards humans are irrelevant, your vendetta or grudges… irrelevant.” The man spoke each word delivered like a vicious jab. “The Grimm will not care, and neither will I. From this point forward, all that matters is this… If you can wield a firearm, have experience with firearms, and are ready and able to wield a firearm, you will aid in the defence of this base.”

Silence… that was it; his proclamation may as well have echoed for how all repeated it in their heads. Eyes bounced between the trio before them, lingering on the state of the two Faunus, one nervous, the other steadfast. None lingered on the tall blond or his severe gaze.

“A-and if we refuse?”

The terrified voice was quiet, but the room's silence meant they might as well have shouted for all the good it did. There was the sound of shuffling bodies as many moved to try and spot who spoke up, who had been courageous enough to speak in the face of such a pervasive dread.

However, their efforts were swiftly ended because when the blond began to speak again, no one bothered looking for the courageous speaker; their attention was captivated by the one called Jaune.

“Many have died tonight,” the blond began, marching into the room. “Many more are likely to pass before dawn,” he continued uncaringly as he boldly strode into their midst. “Some of you here might believe death to be the absolute worst thing that can come for you on this perilous night.”

The blond crouched down, coming eye to eye with the one who had spoken up.

“If that is the case, then consider this. You might indeed die on that wall, but out there, your life will be in your own hands, and you at least have a fighting chance.”

His expression hardened as his tone dropped, “If you can fight, yet choose instead to cower in the hanger, you might still die; only you will do so knowing you might have yet lived had you only aided us…”

The blond, Jaune, leaned in closer still, and all those nearby could smell the metallic tang of the gore that he had ineffectually wiped off his skin, as too could those with an enhanced sense of smell.

“But… if you can fight yet choose to hide, and we all live…” the blond spoke lowly, his voice audible to all despite his level tone. “Then I promise you…”

“You will come to learn that there are far worse things… than the Grimm.”