Forged Destiny [Book 9: Ch. 13]

I dragged another wounded Hero away and pushed them against a wall – then felt the ground rumble underneath me. I wasn't the only one. Those I'd saved looked down nervously and Yang looked nervously at me. Subterranean Grimm? If so, and if now, we were well and truly doomed. The shaking intensified and the sound of rumbling cracks could be hard, looming closer and close to where the fight was taking place. No one could call a retreat. It just wasn't possible. I prepared myself for carnage, drawing my sword.

The ground split behind the line of Heroes and Soldiers, but the thing that came through was not blackened Grimm flesh but bright silver metal.

Living metal.

Ironwood.

It sang to me – singing joyously as it grew and grew, blossoming over the heads of the Heroes and crashing into the Grimm beyond. The root, for it was shaped like the root of some giant tree, twisted and bulged, breaking the ground further as the thick mass came forth, piercing through Grimm and slamming down onto, and into, the ground, digging back through solid rock on its journey toward the gate.

The Grimm didn't retreat. They were scattered. A second root exploded up, arched over the shield wall and slammed into the mass of black, sending Grimm flying in every direction. It wasn't like a sword cutting through flesh; it was like a battering ram hitting a flock of birds. Those it struck were bludgeoned aside and crushed. Those nearby were slammed down and ignored, bones and bodies shattered as the Ironwood moved on.

I could feel the energy within it. No doubt Ironwood's, the Archmage, feeding his magic through its porous structure. Even then, it felt weak and diluted, understandable given the vast distance between this offshoot and the CCT.

My feet were moving before I could stop myself.

"Jaune!" Yang yelled, trying to catch me. "Jaune, wait!"

The first root had come out behind the line of men, who were now pushing the Grimm back since the Ironwood was keeping more from joining the fray. No one got in my way as I reached the root, easily twice the width of me, and laid my hands upon it.

Immediately, I could feel the way the magic flowed through it. I didn't know why. There was no Skill I had that should have let me do it. It felt more like the Ironwood was showing me. Or just brimming with so much power that it was tangible. I closed my eyes and concentrated. It was like Penny in a sense, warm and alive. And it wanted to grow. I knew that now, knew it from the sheer joy it exuded as it tore through the Grimm.

The magical energy from Archmage Ironwood could accomplish that. In a very real way, he was feeding the magical metal-plants he made. He created them, fed them and helped them to grow, and in turn they responded to his call. Plants in real life did the same, in a sense, responding to sunlight and growing in the direction of it, spreading roots in search of moisture.

Archmage Ironwood fed his magic to make the roots grow because they were living creations of magic. But they were also metal, and if there was one thing I knew affected metal, that helped to shape it, it was heat.

My hands burned. Like before, the heat was swept away so easily by the Ironwood, siphoned and spread throughout the full length of it. Instantly, I knew this root was connected to the CCT. It wasn't made closer. It had come from the CCT, directed by the Archmage underground and probably guided by the Augurs he and Winter would be watching the battle through.

Thin branches burst from the Ironwood around my hands, caressing and touching my skin and weaving up my wrists. Before, I'd been afraid. To tell the truth I still was. But this time, I focused and pushed the branches back, crafting the Ironwood as I would a sword.

"Not me," I whispered to it. "Them."

The Ironwood responded. While the Archmage pushed the roots on toward the gate, vines like bramble speared out from the sides; a sudden explosion of growth that spread out over the Grimm like a net of thin silver filigree. It coiled and wound, suffocated and pierced through flesh, digging and worming its way through Grimm bodies. Leaves sprouted from fur and blossomed all over the area, thin and razor sharp.

While the Archmage provided the boughs, I made the branches and leaves, forming a forest of vines that ensnared the Grimm and continued to spread, moving autonomously but fed by my fire and limited by my will.

Not there, I thought when the vines tried to flow back over the defenders. They curled back as I told them to, happy to oblige because I wasn't trying to stop the growth, only target it. Forwards. Grow forwards. Toward the wall and through the Grimm.

The roots dug their way to the gate and suddenly speared upward. The crowd cheered and I saw in an instant what Ironwood's plan was. He had three roots and they were thick. He could plug the open gate, albeit not fully. Side by side, there would still be space for smaller Grimm to fit through, but in numbers the defenders could deal with.

When the roots touched the top of the gateway, I concentrated and sent a burst of heat through my hands. As I had under Weiss' tutelage, I put aside the notion I needed tools or a forge to smith. I put aside the notion I needed my hands. Like with her new weapon, I closed my eyes and envisioned what I wanted. A door. Or a fence. A fence of solid metal that shone like silver and that had thin horizontal vines like bars between each pillar.

I Engraved those bars. I Stoked the Forge. I pushed with mind and will and asked the Ironwood to assist me. Promised it heat and growth, promised it leaves and branches and vines.

The pillars of metal shivered. They rippled and bulged, thin metal vines reaching up to dig into the solid rock of the gatehouse, others winding around, like they were gripping onto it. Where the Archmage had the roots stand tall and do nothing more, I worked to secure them, affixing them by numerous bands of metal to the wall around it.

Between the roots, vines and branches sprouted out and met one another, intertwining and coiling until thick bands of solid metal stood firmly, blocking all entrance. Sharp leaves bloomed upon them, cutting the Grimm outside who continued to push mindlessly forward.

It took time. Any good tool took time to forge, and a door of this size and mass took longer. I had to curtail the Ironwood's instincts. I had to insist it not weaken the rock and dig too deep. I had to coax the vines to grow outward and not in, and I had to concentrate to make sure the metallic leaves grew on the outer wall, not the inner.

It might have taken me ten or fifteen minutes. It might have been longer. It didn't feel it, but when I eventually pulled back, sensing the longing of the Ironwood to have my fire, I realised that the Heroes and Soldiers around me had mopped up the last of the Grimm inside. Battered, bloody and bruised they looked to the new gate with awe.

I felt a small rush of energy inside me. My body grew just a little stronger, just a little faster.

I'd tipped myself over into a new level. It made sense, I supposed. I'd built something pretty fucking big, and with a material that had to be the rarest metal on Remnant. I fell back and would have collapsed if not for Yang catching me.

"Was that you?" she asked. "Did you do all that?"

"Not all," I said. "Ironwood made it, pushed it, sent it here and forced it to form the main pillars. I…" I swallowed, suddenly tired. "I just filled in the gaps. Made it into a gate. I wouldn't have been able to do any of that without him."

It was more akin to a portcullis than a gate. In fact, it was something you could see through, gaps existing past vines that Grimm were pushing their arms through. It was to no avail. The Ironwood was stronger than steel, and definitely stronger than the thick wooden doors they'd been just as unable to penetrate before.

—Forged Destiny [Book 9: Ch. 13]