AceReaper
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G.N. Chapter 20
🕑 Added 2023-05-25 14:47:58 +0000 UTCI do not own Bloodborne or RWBY.
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Chapter 20 Mauling in the Mud
Jaune had officially expended the last of his tolerance for the sewers.
He had delved into them with a renewed vigour, carried on by his senior Eileen's guidance and emboldened by discovering another weapon to add to his arsenal. He had met the foul things in the dark with a lit torch and the cruel bite of his steel. He had even developed a tolerance for the repugnant odour of the filth-laden waterways. But it was not to be.
He had gotten lost… again.
Jaune was not gentle with the curses he laid at the feet of whoever constructed the waterways, swearing that he would somehow have vengeance.
The most challenging part was how his torch kept getting extinguished. He would move cautiously through the water, his torch guiding him, only for something to splash him with a wave or pounce upon him, forcing him back into the dark once more.
It was infuriating.
Presently he was climbing up a ladder ignoring the revolting feel of his feet squelching from the unthinkable mixture of sludge in his boot. In his infinite wisdom, he had stomped atop the skull of a moving corpse, causing his boot to splatter the soft bone and maggot-ridden flesh on the gutter floor.
And splashing the gut-churning slurry up his leg and into his boot.
Every step made him want to set his leg alight.
Reaching the top of the ladder, Jaune heaved himself up over the edge, ignoring how the fluid in his boot shifted up his leg as he did so. Then, finally, with a grimace, he sat on that ledge, briskly removing his boot and letting the fetid slosh inside rain back down into the sewers below.
With an expression only half as disgusted, he slid the boot back on, his socks still wet, but at least now he could no longer feel the deadman’s goo slip between his foot and the leather of his boot. Then, hopping back up to his feet, Jaune resumed his prowl, his eyes free to look about as the moonlight illuminated the world around him.
He stalked forward, the spiked fences lining the street looking as hazardous as ever to Jaune’s critical eye. He saw coffins, a staple of Yharnam, leaning upright and bound in thick heavyset chains with large locks. Statues that held aloft iron lamps were designed in the same bleak fashion as everything else in Yharnam.
Jaune cracked a smirk as an absurd thought flittered through his head.
‘Compared to the sewers, it is downright jolly up here.’
A guttural groan helped remind Jaune exactly where he was, his hand sweeping down to his lower back and unhooking his Saw Spear. It was one of those malformed ogre-like men who followed around the mobs; it was standing before a closed door, gently swaying for some reason.
Keeping in mind its location Jaune moved to the edge of the small walkway that led on from the sewers, stopping at the edge of a building as he peered around the corner the opposite way from the ogre. He saw only a dead end and a large clump of black feathers, a gathering of Yharnam’s overgrown crows no doubt stripping the flesh off some poor sod.
Never had a ‘murder of crows’ been so apt.
Choosing to forgo disturbing the gluttonous avians, he approached the swaying ogre, guided by curiosity to discover what was causing its peculiar behaviour. His light footsteps carried him across the short bridge over the sewers and closer to his prey.
Where he was brought to a halt.
Gentle and melodic chimes rang so softly that, at first, Jaune was afraid his ears were playing tricks on him. But when the sound did not stop, he knew his sense had not abandoned him. Someone was playing music.
And the ogre was peacefully listening to it.
It was enough for a treacherous part of himself to consider sparing the mutated man thing for a moment.
Jaune brutally crushed that part and instead took advantage of its distraction.
Saw spear in hand, he swiftly rushed forward, taking long but quiet strides until he was behind the creature and ever so slightly to the right. His arm cocked back, and the Saw Spear, for the first time since Jaune found it danced in the moonlight.
It came down in a serrated arc, sheering open the man-thing’s leg from its hip to its hamstring.
It let out a cry that fell on unfeeling ears as he darted around the creature while it fell to its knees. Now before it, the creature’s beady eyes beheld him with comprehension and pain; he could see its anger, its desire to lash out.
The Saw Spear unfolded.
Flesh parted, cartilage was sliced, and bones cleaved.
Its eyes turned dull as its head rolled away.
And the Hunter closed his weapon, sparing only a moment to brush the crimson spray that had painted his face away from his eyes.
Mercy had no place in Yharnam.
Having no wish to loiter about his latest kill Yharnam’s newest Hunter instead peered up yet another ladder, from where the soft chiming continued. His head tilted as the noise flittered into his ears, filling his mind with thoughts.
‘So pleasant… this does not belong,’ he thought as he made his way for the ladder, his bloodstained hands climbing the rungs smoothly. This time he did not heave himself up so readily, instead pausing to inspect the area inquisitively.
Gargoyles spiked fences, a closed gate and an accompanying lever were all but background details to the scene Jaune truly beheld.
A window barred, chained and illuminated, an obvious sign of habitation in Yharnam, indicating a waking resident. From behind it, the musical ringing of a soft tone stirred his curiosity. A lit incense lantern was burning warmly, giving off that wafting scent that blanketed the nose and drove out the metallic stench of blood.
A true testament to its effectiveness, considering Jaune’s face had just freshly bathed in the crimson deluge of his last kill.
The space was small with the closed metal gate, but Jaune did not mind this, as he could perceive no threats, and the incense lantern would serve well to ward off beasts. Besides, the ringing of that soft music was enough to spurn him on, so with a silent grunt, he hauled himself up and approached.
His steps were cautious as he moved to the window, his body tense as he waited for the spat curses of some resident to send him off. But none came. Jaune made it up to the barred windows, the smell of incense and the luring chimes washing his mind of absent thoughts and commanding his attention.
His hand, coated in crimson spray, curled about the bar, blood smearing across the cold iron bars as he came as close as he dared to the window. It was parted ever so slightly, and something resting upon the sill was playing the music that had lured him forth in the first place.
“… How lovely,” Jaune croaked.
“Who… are you?”
Jaune startled backwards, his hand leaving behind a bloody palm print as he put two paces between him and the ajar window. His body was energised as the surprise worked through his veins, clearing out the curiosity to be replaced by an alert wariness.
He watched as a small shadow made its way over to the window, merely a silhouette, but it took the shape of a young child. He watched as they crawled up atop something until their head and shoulders were visible, projected against the window by whatever light was within.
Jaune was so alert and focused that he heard them shuffle forward and listened to their little breaths, nervous and exerting.
‘A small child… a little girl.’
The music stopped, the cold silence of night collapsing over the area briefly before the young girl behind the window spoke again.
“I don’t know your voice, but I know that smell…” she trailed off.
Jaune grimaced, readying himself for the expected bout of ‘outsider’ disgust that seemed to be on the tips of every Yharnamite’s tongue.
“Are you a Hunter?”
‘Well, that’s a pleasant surprise,’ Jaune thought, his grimace replaced with an astonished grin as it seemed he found another pleasant individual amongst the scores of hissing lunatics. “Indeed, I am young, miss,” Jaune nodded, relaxing his stance and adopting what he hoped was an unthreatening posture.
“Then, please, will you look for my mum?” The young girl pleaded, her hand coming to rest on the glass. “Daddy never came back from the hunt, and she went to find him, but now she’s gone, too….”
The young girl paused, inhaling a shuddering breath as if battling her own emotions, Jaune watching as her silhouetted arms moved to rub at her face.
“I’m all alone… and scared…”
Jaune felt the young girl’s fear prickle over his heart and heard the slowly growing panic in the tremble of her words. He saw her tiny form, naught but a shadow in the light and beheld its shift to the whim of her nerves.
How easy it was to see another young girl in that outline.
‘Jauney’
Before he registered his movements, he was at the window again, his hands gripping the bars as his soft and coaxing voice let flow soothing utterances. “Hey, I’ll go find her, ok? I am sure she and your dad are fine; we Hunters are tough. So there is no need to be scared, all right, I’ll find her, and you can show her what a brave girl you were, sound good?”
“Really? Oh, thank you!” The girl sobbed in gratitude, sniffling a little.
“My m-mum wears a red jewelled brooch,” the girl began stuttering out eagerly. “It’s so big and… and beautiful. You won’t miss it.”
Jaune nodded, “big red jewelled brooch, got it.”
“Oh, I mustn’t forget,” the girl hurriedly spoke, lifting something from beneath the window sill. “If you find my mum, give her this music box.”
Jaune’s eyes darted to the small partition of the window as small hands pushed out a tiny decorated box. It was the colour of burgundy with white floral depictions painted on, the flowing ivory lines taking on the likeness of a blooming flower with two leaves. It also had metallic decorations on the corners and edges and a small crank to wind the mechanisms.
“…It plays one of daddy’s favourite songs. And when daddy forgets us, we play it for him so he remembers.” The little girl’s explanation was so innocent, her words spoken with that pure tone that children often use.
The word’s effect on Jaune was far from innocent, his eyes widening as a foreboding feeling settled in his gut, his mind turning over her sentence repeatedly. Finally, he came to a very worrying conclusion that the girl’s father may not have complete control of his faculties and that he might suffer some ailment of the mind.
Or worse, be infected with the beastly scourge.
The young girl, however, was unaware of Jaune’s inner dilemma, his cowl and hat concealing much of his face from her few as he stared at the music box, so she continued speaking.
“Mum’s so silly, running off without it!”
Jaune went to lick his dry lips but remembered they were stained with blood, and it would not do to spit in front of the young miss. “Well then, I will be sure to give it to her; no doubt she will be wanting for it… I best be off then, young miss.”
“Of course, take care on your hunt, and please be careful out there… I know you can do it!” The young girl hollered after him. Jaune spotted a flash of blonde hair and something white as she leaned to the side to wave at him. A wave Jaune returned eagerly.
Jaune quickly opened the gate with the nearby mechanism and pressed on, waiting until he was out of sight of the young girl’s window to take a pause. Then, removing his glove to ensure he didn’t ruin the device, he opened the lid to inspect its internals. Inside was the mechanism he assumed generated the music; tiny metal tangs that raised nodules would pluck on a spinning metal wheel.
A tiny piece of paper was also attached to the music box lid.
It was old, discoloured, and its writing was very faded. So Jaune hypothesised that it might be an old message or perhaps a note. But despite its age and the deterioration of the writing, Jaune could still puzzle out two names.
Viola and Gascoigne.
YVYVYVYVY
“Now, sprout, I don’t know how deep a sleeper you are, so if I wake you up, I apologise, but at the same time, I’m about to fight big terrifying monsters to protect you, so really you should be thanking me and… Why am I talking to a sleeping child… am I turning into gramps?”
Orr took a moment of pause as worries about turning into a ‘lengthy’ storyteller like her grandfather began to manifest.
“Problems for later…” she decided, pulling loose one of her war picks so she wasn’t exiting the hole unarmed. “Right… let’s see what we got.”
Stepping out of the kid’s den, Orr beheld the tumultuous weather with disinterest, the pelting rain barely registering as she kept her eyes on the tree line. The dark wall of the trunks and branches that separated the clearing appeared almost as a singular structure held together by the black of the night.
Then they started showing up.
She watched as numerous red specks appeared in the dark, swimming about in the inky shadows between the trees. Then, more came until it was as if she was beholding a swarm of the crimson lights, some bobbing, others barely moving. But they were not lights at all. They were eyes.
And everyone belonged to the archenemy of all sentient life.
It seemed their spree of good fortune was up.
The Grimm had finally arrived.
“*Sigh* you would not believe how reassuring it is to see you lot!” Orr barked over the rain unhooking her other war pick. “I mean seriously! Where were you all? Off having a nap?”
Whether it was thunder or one of the beasts growling, Orr found a smile coming to her features; she had always enjoyed taunting her prey. A poor habit perhaps but one she never really could bring herself to be rid of.
After all, it was just too much fun!
“Heh, right then… who’s first?” Orr taunted, twirling her weapons about once as she let her legs slide apart slightly, her knees bent, ready to react.
Then when nothing moved, she let slip a savage smile and flared her Aura. The reaction was instantaneous as the light of her soul carried her feelings. Her blood lust and excitement became an almost physical sensation to the Grimm, driving them into a frenzy.
A chorus of bellowing snarls, roars, howls and shrieks erupted into the stormy night alongside the charging swarm. Branches snapped, trees shook, and the ground trembled.
And Orr? Orr cackled excitedly.
Her eyes danced across the many forms of her new prey with joy. Creeps, Beowolves, Boarbatusks, Nevermore and even Ursa. It was a proper mob, the beginnings of a decent Horde.
A good spread of common East Sanus Grimm. Sadly there were none of the rarer types or any Alphas. But she wouldn’t let that get in the way of her first real fight in weeks.
“Hragh!”
She charged at the black tide, flashes of lightning above illuminating bone-white masks, making them easier targets for her weapons.
Breach, her left war pick, cracked against the Skull of a charging Creep, flooring the stout Grimm and leaving a sizeable divot in its cranium.
Her other war pick Sunder instead swung in an upwards arc, the curved pointed side of it stabbing into a Beowolf’s jaw, nailing it shut and hooking the now limp monster.
With a twist and a thrust, she hurled the body into an airborne Nevermore, smacking the still small creature from the sky above the clearing.
All while never losing a step.
Orr weaved and swerved through the mob of Grimm, dodging and batting aside claw swipes and launched feathers. Her war picks crunched into or through any body part moving too slowly near her person.
Then she reached the edge of the clearing. With the strength of a seasoned Huntress, she launched herself up into the branches of a nearby tree, her body twisting as she ascended. War picks extended; she hooked onto a tree branch and used her weapons to spin about, coming to a halt atop the limb, squatting like an imp.
She had carved a swathe straight down the middle of them; the few that hadn’t succumbed to her blows rose shakily, either dazed or with broken limbs.
Rising from her squat position, she flicked Breach and Sunder downwards, Grimm’s blood splattering onto the tree branch beneath her, already evaporating. Thunder grumbled temperamentally above her as she looked down amongst the gathered forces.
For an instant, she let her mind be cast back to the time when seeing this many Grimm would have been a death sentence to her. Now it was a nice bit of exercise, especially the Ursa. Unfortunately, Creeps and Boarbatusk didn’t offer her the same amount of challenge as they did to other Hunters.
The Beowolves were also enjoyable, quick little buggers, but without an Alpha or more numbers, they lacked their renowned pack tactics.
The Nevermore were a pain, plain and simple, just an inconvenience.
“Speaking of,” Orr grumbled as a volley of arrow-like feathers shot towards her, forcing her to hop to another branch lazily.
About five of the annoying pests were flapping in the air, each cawing at her balefully as they shifted to attack again.
Orr wouldn’t give them a chance. Lightly tapping the trunk of the tree she was occupying with Breach, she waited a moment for her Semblance to take effect, feeling her Aura drain somewhat. The Nevermore flared their wings, their feathers transforming in preparation to be launched, succeeding in only making themselves bigger targets.
With both her war picks, Orr swung at the section of the tree she had previously tapped, impacting the exact spot and activating her Semblance. The tree's thick trunk, twice as thick as her torso, exploded outwards, launching large splinters towards the flying Grimm and sending its upper half to the floor, where several Grimm scampered to avoid it.
The birds were practically splattered as the wooden shrapnel tore them apart, their bodies raining down on their compatriots.
Orr grinned triumphantly, her scarred fleshed pulled back as she admired her handy work, only to doge once more as a Grimm clawed at her from below. Then, looking over he shoulder while she was mid-air, she saw a Beowolf staring after her hungrily.
That look clinched it, and Orr stopped ‘playing with her food.’
She landed in the mud, the wet muck splattering across her clothes and skin, her eyes now narrowed at the creatures of destruction. She clapped her war picks together, the metallic ring washing over the clearing and activating her Semblance.
Reacting to the noise, she watched as multiple Grimm suddenly had points on their body illuminated by an ominous olive green. Like moths to a flame, many of the creatures turned to observe the strange illumination, a beneficial side effect of her using her Semblance in the dark.
Rushing back into the fray, she leapt over many of the distracted Grimm and onto the back of an Ursa whose arm was awash with her Semblances light.
With one swing, it exploded into pitch black ichor as the bear-like Grimm fell to the mud roaring.
This was enough to spark the others into action.
Once more, she was a blur, a much more devastating one, as this time her blows occasionally resulted in either limbs or on smaller Grimm entire bodies being obliterated. This was why Orr was a widely requested Huntress; no one in Vale could boast her skills at armour penetration.
Well… precise armour penetration.
Cloud could probably do much the same, but not without levelling everything around the target.
Hooking her war pick into the eye of a Boarbatusk, she dragged the screeching monster in close before slamming her hammer into its head once, then again to activate her Semblance. Bone plates and flesh splattered outwards, cutting and digging into a Beowolf too slow to dodge; its body collapsing from the onslaught.
A Nevermore dived at her, its body missile shaped as it sped towards her; Orr just smiled wider. Then, flipping over the avian projectile, she spun her war picks into its body, splattering the smaller Grimm into little more than a cloud of viscera.
When she landed and wasn’t immediately attacked, she shifted her stance and took stock.
The clearing was littered with evaporating corpses and pieces of said corpses. But already, she could see the more dangerous Grimm were mustering themselves. She had slaughtered all but three of the Nevermore, and only two Ursa remained. Of the other types, only a handful remained, but none were fresh spawns.
One of the Ursa was already beginning to grow spines, meaning it was in the beginning stages of becoming an Ursa Major. Worse, it was showing signs of not just madly charging at its prey.
All Elder Grimm were Alphas, but not all Alphas are Elder Grimm.
“Sorry big boy… but you’re gonna have to die,” Orr snarled, having no desire for there to be a young up-and-coming Elder Grimm near Reach.
The bear-shaped Grimm began to pace, moving around the outskirts of the clearing, solidifying Orr’s thoughts on the matter. Killing it just became her second highest priority.
A howl snapped her attention back to the rabble as the Grimm charged her again, but this time she noted the difference in the calibre of the Grimm.
Her thoughts were only flashes as instinct took over and her body moved.
She was like a bloodthirsty ballerina, twisting about her war picks, crushing and stabbing as she spun. The older Grimm were far more fun to fight, lunging and backstepping, nipping at her and trying their best to strike her without having their heads turned to mush.
It was her oldest and most favoured pastime. Who needed clubs when she tore up the battlefield?
They finally managed to land a lucky hit on her, but it was inconsequential; the Beowolf she had dodged into managing to land a passing swipe on her hip, but her Aura absorbed the blow easily.
She paid it back with a shattered knee and dislocated arm. She would have dealt more damage but was harried on by a Boarbatusk barrelling about in that ridiculous wheel attack they use.
“Fucking pigs!” Orr cursed in frustration, angered that something would interrupt her. Eager to get revenge, she waited for the pig to twist about and roll toward her again. Then she ran from it, luring it in with her fleeing body, letting it think it was cornering her against the large tree in the centre of the clearing.
It never could have predicted that she would bounce off the tree and strike it in the side with all her strength, batting it off into the woods with a squeal and a wet crack.
As soon as she landed, another Creep charged her, but this time it slid through the mud, its tail whipping around to try and trip her. She easily hopped over it and managed to sidestep its crunching jaws, booting it away with an Aura-enhanced kick. But it was a distraction.
A Beowolf, larger than the rest, managed to land a swipe, its claws raking along her Aura and butting her guard open. Its other claw already swinging, aiming for Orr’s exposed gut.
A headbutt to its chest sent it rolling in the mud.
“That’s more like it!” Orr cheered.
A roar of thunder, two more wolves rushing her.
The feel of jaws locking around her ankle.
“Fuck!”
Aura did not block pain.
Sunder spun in her grip, and a downward swing sent the pick of her weapon into the Creep, the curved head going through and through. Breach was brought up to guard, catching both Beowolve’s initial attack and staling their chopping maws.
They kept pushing, chomping, their Jaws moving closer as they did their best to shove down her guard and get at her throat.
Orr hissed, yanking Sunder free of the dead Creep as she readied it to be driven into the skull of one of the foul beasts.
She breathed in an-
Salt
Orr… flinched.
Orr was an experienced Huntress; she had gone toe to toe with not one but two Elder Grimm, one of whom was an infamous Hunter Killer. She had seen entire settlements wiped out and fought against crazed rouge Huntsman many times. She regularly fell from incredible heights while developing her landing strategy mid-fall.
But despite all that, her many accomplishments, her conquered trials and her vaunted experience. For some strange, inexplicable reason. When she smelt that strange briny scent of sea spray.
Orr ‘Two-Hit’ Flamberge flinched.
Her body went rigid, and her arm stalled.
The bone-white jaws of the Beowolves moved closer, their teeth an inch from her face.
Thunder boomed.
Something roared.
Flesh split.
The weight on her arm lessened by half, and Orr shoved with all her might, her feet sliding in the mud as she hurled one of the Beowolf off, cracking it with Sunder as it was airborne.
‘One?’
Orr looked down, lighting in the skies above dancing through the clouds and illuminating something inexplicable.
A boy without Aura…
…Ripping out the throat of a mature Grimm.
YVYVYVYVY
Jaune did not dream.
Not as others did; the closest he came to it was wandering into his family’s to comfort them and beat back the nightmares that dared prowl in their thoughts.
But he did not dream.
His nights, instead, were plagued with memory. With recollection. With punishment.
He was repeatedly forced to recall with unnerving clarity his time spent in Yharnam, trapped in the Eternal Night. Made to relive every single death, every single horror.
Every. Single. Failure.
Imagine, if you will, watching yourself commit some error, some grave blunder, a terrible sin. Imagine you committed this trespass unintentionally or without knowledge and that this minor grace staved off your maddening guilt.
If only ever so slightly.
Now… imagine if you were forced to revisit it.
To relive it.
To commit that sin again.
And again.
And again.
With all the foreknowledge and warning possible, knowing exactly how it would play out but powerless to stop or change that same chain of events. No matter how much you wish it or how hard you desire otherwise, you are bound by the past and will endure it unendingly.
For Jaune did not dream.
He only remembered.
A white ribbon.
A stained white ribbon.
A wonderful, perfect ribbon…
What was the pain of the body compared to the torture of the soul?
But Jaune was no stranger to pain; his body may be numb to it, and his mind may be unconcerned with it, but this did not mean he revelled in it. He was not some masochist seeking flagellation; he did not yearn to suffer the crucible unending.
He did not want this burn, this lash, this suffering.
His body was numb.
His mind was unbothered.
But his soul…
There was no balm, tincture, medicine, or transfusion… that could undo those wounds. And those wounds… ached.
His fingers clawed at the dirt, buried beneath the dry grass as his back arched. His sobs muffled in the floor as he tried, with everything he had, to suppress those thoughts. To stuff the memories back in the gaping chasms of his mind, to once more drown the horrors in the past.
It worked.
It always worked.
The memories subdued, the past a sea of regrets waiting to stir.
All present, always present.
Just waiting for a stray stone to stir up a maelstrom once more.
It was maddening.
But Jaune was an old hand when it came to dealing with madness.
Madness was a mercy.
After all, if he was to be driven to madness…
Let him rage, crazed and untethered.
A Hunter free of Dreams.
Jaune bared his teeth, grin or grimace; it did not matter. Then, with his fangs bared, he rose, snarling with an intensity that had once made even the gods take pause. In his hand was a spear, handcrafted, wood and stone bound by fibre. Nothing more.
In his other, a rock, knapped, sharpened, its edge biting into his flesh, parting his dermis and spilling red. But still just a rock.
Wood and rocks.
Sticks and stones.
What more did he need?
A curse on the air, an exclamation of pain and surprise.
A friend’s call. A friend’s pain. A friend in need.
‘And the fool did see….’
He crawled to the exit, blood clinging to his skin like a paste.
He wore naught but the minimum of cloth bound to his hips. His flesh, pale and exposed, embraced the cold splatter of rain. His feet sloshed and curled in the mud, and his bloodied hand fisted and pawed at the puddles of the earth.
His hair, wild and untamed, lashed about in the wind until the rain subdued it, pinning it to his skin by the weight of the storm, dripping and heavy.
Fury bubbled in his gut; his heart ached and bled, filling him with pain that he would always know.
He opened his mouth.
Something inhuman, a noise, a feeling, a Roar.
It was chorused with thunder, embraced by the heavens and spat back out.
Beasts, monsters, things prowled in the stormy dark, their red eyes set in black-white masks. Their bodies effortlessly blend in with the inky blackness as if they were part of it. Some manifestation of the dark, adorned in bone and given a terrible wrath.
They would meet his own.
‘…That amidst the Hunter, the Moon and the Monster…’
Jaune’s spear sunk deep into the meat of a Beowulf, its maw kept at bay by a Huntress’s strength, wavering though it may be. Then, his hand, bloodied and red, went for the throat; sharp and ready, it bit deep.
The monster, the creature of destruction, spawned to birth havoc and ruin, wheezed and gurgled as Jaune’s weight pushed it down. His spear slipped free, its guts spilling lethargically, sludge-like blood leaking out with abandon.
How easy it was to see another, another thing, another beast.
How easy it was to immerse himself in the HUNT!
‘…There was no difference.’
He pulled his hand back and stabbed thrice over, tearing strips out of that gurgling throat with such speed that there was no retaliation. Instead, the beast, the Beowolf, went limp, broken, dead.
He had killed.
“Argh!”
His scream was human, so human, terribly human. Too human.
The Grimm responded; they rushed in, claws, teeth, and feathers all bared to kill.
He would break them all with blood and flesh.
Orr rushed forward, Jaune lagging behind, her war picks cracked into bone-white plates. Some broke, others shattered. Jaune did not pay it any mind.
He prowled, his eyes seeing puddles of blood and filth where there was only mud and rain.
A Creep charged him, and Jaune met it in turn. His body, lethal and limber, rolled in the mud, his spear thrusting as he passed, its sharp head sinking between bone plates, a testament to his accuracy and strength.
The bipedal thing made a pained chortle-like noise; Jaune silenced it by shoving his shoulder under its mouth and rapidly shanking its crimson eye with his blood-coated rock splattering his face with ichor.
He heard something in the air and rolled, pulling the creep body over himself and felt impacts through the already fading corpse.
A Nevermore, it circled far above, avoiding the melee below.
His spear grounded it.
It made no sound, the impact tearing it from the sky; Jaune charged forth, eager to rip into the wounded monster.
A shadow blocked him, a large form, bigger than himself and moving fast.
The sound of metal cracking against bone and the shadow was battered away as Orr landed in the muck to his left, her arms still swinging outwards, her snarling smile on her scarred face. Jaune observed and moved on, his spear sticking up, twitching… his prey still lived.
A primal noise ripped free of his throat as he dove onto his upturned spear, feeling the weapon sink and pierce through the squawking monster now impaled on it. But still, it struggled.
Jaune would put it down like every other mongrel, too stupid to know when to die.
His feet pivoted in the wet mud, kicking up a spray as he twisted and yanked the spear from the soil. The weapon swung wildly, the Nevermore still impaled, letting out an irksome screech, only to draw silent as it collided with a tree.
*Thunk*
It stilled, and Jaune kicked it off his spear, reclaiming his weapon and casting its broken body into the mud.
Then he rolled.
Mud splashed, and claws raked through where only a breath before he stood. A Beowolf lunged again and again; it was fast. Each swipe of its claws bit deep into the earth and would easily tear Jaune apart. He continued to evade his feet, finding purchase with ease in the slick terrain; after all, he had fought on worse.
Despite his effort, the Beowolf was closing in. So Jaune decided to change tactics, rushing for the edge of the clearing.
An explosion of leaves and branches heralded the arrival of a Borabatusk that exploded from the woods racing forward, a bladed wheel of bone heading straight for him.
What a pathetic attempt at an ambush.
Jaune merely stepped to the side.
The sound of flesh being ground into a paste was amusingly familiar, and Jaune grinned as the Beowolf that had been nipping at his heels collapsed dead with its torso ravaged. Better yet, the Boarbatusk stalled, stopping its spinning as it backed away from its now-slain ally.
Jaune leapt.
Landing atop its back, he drove his spear and rock into its eyes sockets, thick blood pooling about both weapons as the beast squealed and bucked, charging forward.
His smile grew more expansive as he began using his spear as leverage to drive the rock in repeatedly, over and over, further maiming the already blinded monster.
“Kid, jump!”
Jaune, not one to ignore a blatant warning, heeded Orr’s command lunging straight up his spear and rock abandoned. Had he delayed even a fraction of a second, he would have suffered as a large and imposing Ursa crushed the squealing Boarbatusk.
Its massive arms pulverised the swine, bursting it like overripe fruit.
He landed alongside Orr on all fours, his hands dragging through the waterlogged soil. Hunched over, he probably looked feral, but he was in no condition to care, seeing only the prey before him and desiring to break their monstrous bodies with his bare hands.
“Avoid the Ursa!” Orr ordered before she again engaged the Grimm, the handful of survivors being taken apart methodically.
Jaune heeded Orr’s commend and rushed at the last Creep still standing. The little beast stomped forward, chomping its jaws as it ran.
With only his hands to wield, Jaune scooped up a hand full of mud, pelting it at the murderous little fiend. The mudpie splattered over its right eye, the Creep grunting noisily as Jaune darted past its half-blind chomping.
His target had, in fact, not been the Creep itself but rather what lay behind it. His first spear, the sharpened stick he had used to catch fish.
With a weapon in hand, he quickly turned about, seeing the Creep cleaning its eyeball with its tongue. Jaune found great satisfaction in spearing said organ and its eye and internals in one fell thrust.
The creatures spasming corpse was quick to still, which was good as Jaune did not get to check if it was dead.
“Jaune!”
The strength of the Grimm cannot be understated. Save for a select few species; every single one was much stronger than most realised. Many could claw through even cement if given enough time, and larger ones could easily buckle armoured vehicles.
So when Jaune saw an Ursa swiping at him, instinct made him attempt to guard with his spear. It was also instinct that had him attempt to avoid, putting his all into trying to put space between him and the far more substantial Grimm.
The crack of wood was deafening to his ears as he was flung from one end of the Clearing to the other. He didn’t so much land as he slid, the rain-soaked ground doing little to halt him, his body only stopping when he had accumulated a sizeable pile of earth over his head.
When he yanked his head out of the mud, his lungs had been forced to eject all his breath, his body crying out for reprieve as he struggled to breathe. His eyes burned, and he hurriedly pawed the mud away from his blue orbs.
He did so just in time to watch as Orr crashed into the Ursa, a war cry screaming from her throat and her feet cracking into its head as she used it as a springboard to reach his mud-caked form.
“Shit, Kid! You breathing?” Orr yelled over the rain, her breath coming out in short pants showing that even this was still not too laborious to her.
“F-foul b-b-beasts!” Jaune cursed in the tongue of the Yharnamites, spitting out a mouthful of mud as he dragged himself back to his feet, coughing and spluttering, his hands clenching about both halves of his now-broken spear.
“… Ok, strange babble aside, at least you ain’t dead,” Orr shrugged, turning back to the last of the Grimm.
Two Beowolves, One Boarbatusk and two Ursa.
“And this kid is how you separate the fodder from the contracts,” Orr grunted, adjusting her grip on her war picks.
Jaune let out a snarl spitting to the side as he twirled about his spear’s halves.
“Same as before, brat, don’t square up with the Ursa; they will splatter you….” Orr instructed, ignoring that all of the Grimm could overpower him.
… Or, well, they should be able to, at least. The sprout was weird.
Anymore thought was forced aside as the Boarbatusk raced forward, the two Beowolves on its flanks and one of the Ursa taking up the rear.
Orr met them halfway, racing forward before dropping into a slide, her boots planting themselves atop the lowered head of the boar Grimm. Its own charge's force pushed her upwards and exposed its usually densely armoured back.
An inadvisable target for most Hunters. Orr was not most Hunters.
Rolling down its back, her war picks collided with the beast’s spine in two swift blows; she listened triumphantly as her Semblance activated and the Grimm’s back exploded in a shower of viscera as the bone plates on its back were forcefully injected into its body.
Two more swings had the Beowolves rolling away, new cracks adorning their masks as she let her focus shift to the Ursa.
Jaune was quick to pounce on one of the fallen Beowolf. The still-grounded beast made to snap at him, but Jaune was still faster than a dazed monster by a significant margin.
Slipping around its chomping jaw to jab forward with his spears, one driving up under its armpit, into its chest cavity, and the other behind its ear.
The beast did not die, though, the thick hide and muscles stalling his attack allowing it to squirm back, but Jaune pivoted his hips, slipping behind the beast, his spears tugging and opening deep holes in its chest and the back of its neck.
Its struggles were slowly diminishing as the trauma built, but what Jaune saw over the beast’s shoulder was what had his focus.
The other Beowolf was above them, looking for a way to reach Jaune without injuring its ally.
Jaune wouldn’t let it find one, pulling free the spear half lodged in the beast’s neck and stabbing at the other creature’s face. Spurned on by either Jaune’s hate or its own, the Beowolf lunged forward, its claws biting into the flesh of its ally while its jaws snapped at Jaune’s head.
Jaune let it, let its bone-white maw snap shut mere millimetres from his nose.
All so he could get at its glowing red eye, the spear half sinking in deep.
Beowolves, it turned out, could scream.
Jaune wrapped his other arm around the thing’s head, stabbing into its eye repeatedly as it swung about with Jaune dangling from its chest, his arm wrapped about its snout. Blackish-red Grimm blood covered Jaune, and as the beast’s strength failed, Jaune hooked his feet into its hips and swung his body about.
The Beowolf went down with Jaune on top, which was when Yharnam’s last Hunter cut loose, stabbing the other half of the spear into its neck and chest in a display of feverous brutality. Blood was whipped about, splattering Jaune the Grimm and the surroundings as he decapitated the Beowolf with stabs.
The Grimm was already dissolving before he had dislodged its skull.
*Roar*
The last Ursa was charging him.
With Orr atop its back.
“Haha! Last One!”
The sound of something heavy shattering rang out as the Ursa released an agonised howl, halting in its charge to rear up and begin twisting about. Its massive steps sent vibrations through the ground, and each swipe sent a flourish of raindrops whipping about.
Orr, not to be outdone, twisted both of her war picks around, using the pick sides to begin swiping at the beast’s back, worsening what Jaune was sure was an already ghastly wound.
Then Orr was airborne.
Jaune watched, his eyes wide as she twisted in the air, the storm above her illuminated by a stray bolt as she used her descent to bring her war picks down into the neck of the largest of the beasts.
“Fuck you, Teddy! Next time use your brains to fuck right off!” Orr taunted as she dragged the bear-shaped Grimm to the wet floor. It crunched into the ground with a massive splash, Orr’s already filth-covered body now coated with a fresh layer of mud.
But Ursa wasn’t dead.
In a last bout of desperation, it bit down on Orr’s closest limb, getting a long, drawn-out curse as the woman howled into the sky, “dammit, same fucking foot.
Orr’s foot was caught in a ‘bear trap’.
Jaune was already moving his hands, bloody and raw, wrapped around his much shorter spear as he sprinted through the mud, his weapon primed to thrust forward.
And thrust he did.
The spear slid past the Ursa’s teeth, past Orr’s foot and deep into its throat until Jaune’s entire arm was down the beast’s throat.
Everything save the rain stilled.
Then a flash.
And it was revealed, the tip of Jaune’s spear protruding out the back of the beast’s throat.
Slowly the light faded until the Grimm’s red orbs were dead, and only then did Jaune remove his arm.
Thunder rumbled overhead, fending off any silence that tried to settle over the clearing now that the battle was finished. Orr dislodged her war picks from Ursa’s neck, the Grimm blood on her body dissolving into flecks of black that quickly disappeared in the storm.
“… So… quick question…” Orr spoke up as she let her body relax, her shoulders dropping.
Jaune grunted in response, still dealing with some of the difficulties in his head and heavily panting from exertion, his eyes drifting to his judge to acknowledge her.
“What, and I cannot stress this part enough, in the ungodly FUCK are your parents teaching you,” Orr enquired, her expression like a cracked vase just waiting to explode.
“… Recently?” Jaune eked out between pants.
“Yeah, sure, let’s start with that,” Orr snipped.
“… Mostly survival lessons and hand-to-hand combat.”
“…”
Jaune wasn’t sure what Orr was trying to communicate with her scrutinising gaze, so he just shrugged, instead turning his focus to his broken spear. Watching the Grimm’s blood evaporate off the sharpened stick was somewhat mesmerising.
“… I can’t get a read on you, know that?” Orr groaned, scratching at the scarred side of her head.
Jaune tilted his head at this, “my sincerest apologies for any frustrations.”
Orr seemed to chew on her words for a moment before she spoke, “nah, no frustrations, well, not like notable ones, I guess; Cloud did warn me I shouldn’t expect you to act like some normal brat.”
Jaune nodded at this, “apparently, I am considered quite weird.”
“… You will find no argument from me,” Orr sniffed, hooking her war picks back to her belt.
Jaune realised that he should probably say something as there was tension in the air, but he decided to err on the side of caution, not knowing where it stemmed from.
“I am sorry… about engaging the Grimm like that,” Jaune piped up.
Orr shot him a look at this; her mouth quirked as she seemed to stop herself from saying something.
“… Don’t be. I get it; I saw your face, I heard you while you fought… I don’t know what type of shit you have going on upstairs, but I get needing to fight,” Orr admitted walking over to Jaune’s shelter.
Jaune was silent at this; while she was not mistaken in that fighting had felt incredibly freeing and a huge relief, he doubted she understood the whole nature of his… urge.
“Your dad warned me it was likely to happen… thinking about it, that’s probably why he chose me, sprout,” Orr chuckled, taking off her belt and hanging it up in the shelter, Jaune’s eyes drifting to her weapons as they clinked together.
“… And my Mother?”
“Oh no, she just threatened me; she’s cool like that,” Orr smiled, yanking off her muddy top, revealing clean scar-ridden flesh.
“That does indeed sound like my mother,” Jaune spoke warmly.
“Yeah, on that note, try to be a little less aggressive with how you fight; you ain’t got Aura sprout; if my foot hadn’t been holding open that Ursa’s mouth, you might’ve lost an arm!” Orr scolded, tugging down her pants, the clothing clinging to her legs through a combination of being caked in mud and waterlogged simultaneously.
“… I will endeavour not to be too eager in any future encounters… to that end, it might be for the best that I get myself a better weapon….” Jaune spoke, his mind drifting to his old arsenal while running his hand through his hair, causing his shoulder to twinge.
The Ursa hit had hurt a little. He was sure to have a huge bruise. He was lucky he had tried to doge; otherwise, it would have carved off a chunk of his hide.
“Pfft, kid, without Aura, anything you make ain’t gonna hold up against the Grimm. One way or the other, it will break,” Orr informed Jaune, moving to the edge of the shelter and letting the water rushing off the roof splash into her hair.
Just because she didn’t care too much about her hair didn’t mean she wanted to wake up with dry mud in it.
“Oh, I know, I was thinking something like a bow… it might not do too much damage to anything except some small Nevermore, but if I can hit their eyes, I can at least maim them,” Jaune elucidated.
“Not a bad idea… sling might be better, though, if you know how to use one,” Orr added, pulling her head back in and shaking off.
It was then she saw Jaune.
The boy had his back to her and was staring out into the storm, unbothered by the near-naked Huntress behind him.
“I know of slings, I can make one, but I don’t have any experience using them… it sounds very beneficial to learn,” Jaune nodded, looking out into the stormy night.
Seeing a chance to freak the kid out, Orr marched in front of the kid in nothing but her underwear, eager to see if she could get a reaction.
Jaune just looked up, his eyes not so much as glancing at her.
“Are you finished hanging up your clothes? If you want, my invitation to spend the night in my den still stands; I doubt the rain is appealing despite your already being wet,” Jaune commented, his gaze still locked to the shelter’s roof.
“… Well yeah, I would like to, but kid, I am nearly in the buff here?” Orr commented.
“If you are uncomfortable, I could lend you my pants and coat… my shirt too; it has dried nicely,” Jaune offered, moving over to his coat and shirt, his pants having been left inside his den. “Yep, nice and dry, so what say you, Miss Orr?”
“… Nah, keep ‘em,” Orr waved him off, “I will accept your offer to host me, however.”
Jaune smiled at this, his eyes still not glancing at her, but she could see his lips quirked up.
“Wonderful sh-“
“Two things. First, kid, you can look at me. I ain’t gonna shriek and slap you or anything,” Orr spoke up, her tone a little exasperated at the kid’s antics.
She wasn’t used to dealing with such… shyness.
“Ahh, very well, as long as you are comfortable, Miss Orr,” Jaune shrugged, his eyes coming to meet her own but drifting nowhere else.
“And the second thing, please, kid drop the ‘miss’ crap,” Orr groaned, annoyed by the unnecessary formality.
“… Of course, sorry, I shall try to remember,” he muttered, running his hand through his hair, his eyes not shifting from hers for a second.
Orr’s brow furrowed, and his eyes were a very stark blue, but looking at them… it was strange. She rapidly averted her gaze away from his cerulean orbs.
Shaking her head, she let some mischief slide back onto her face.
“C’mon, kiddo, we can snuggle to stay warm!” Orr proclaimed, her eyes swimming with mirth as she gave Jaune her best crocodile smile.
“… I’ll just grab some extra firewood,” Jaune mumbled, bending over to grab a few logs.
“What, am I not cuddly enough?” Orr teased, laughter welling in her chest as her smile somehow grew.
“… This was a mistake,” Jaune deadpanned.
Orr just laughed explosively, her amusement audible even over the storm.
A.N.
There we are, Jaune vs some actual Grimm and a look at Orr’s combat abilities and Semblance.
I hope you are all satisfied with Jaune’s current power level; it didn’t seem fair of me to make it so that he could rip apart Grimm as easily as flexing, but the Hunter in Yharnam is by no means a chump.
So here we go. Our boy is capable of killing multiple Grimm.
Just you know, not too many.
For now.
Anyway, only one thing of note is that the two most recent polls are now closed; stick around to find out the results in the story in the future.
The next chapter is significant, at least on the Bloodborne front. Jaune will confront the next boss and all the messed up shit that comes with it.
Hehe, are you excited?
