Characterisation B5C5 Weiss

Mistral was halfway across the field when Vale finally moved. The arrows continued, but the skirmishers began to fall back – and the ranks and ranks of Vale soldiers slowly started to make their way down the hill. It wasn't a charge, not yet, but rather a steady advance, spears at the ready and arrows launched in graceful arcs overhead.

As they closed, spells began to fly. It came from Mistral first, a series of fireballs launched like boulders from great catapults. The Mages from Vale worked to dispel them, pushing them aside with wind or trying to lance the balls themselves with ice or fire of their own, causing them to explode harmlessly above the battle and rain embers down on those below. Others ignored it, however, launching attacks of their own. Explosions ran through both forces, bodies thrown into the air or burned to a crisp as the first obvious casualties of the battle occurred before our eyes. Weiss gagged, ducking her head and covering her mouth with one hand.

The spells marked the first death – but also the point where distance was dangerous. Vale charged first, the men and women at the front screaming as they broke ranks and rushed in – seeking the reckless comfort of melee. They were matched by Mistral, black armour and ordered ranks unable to fully stem the adrenaline and fear. Screams were issued, flags were thrown aside, and steel glinted.

The first clash of the charge was a bloodbath. It seemed impossible that anyone survived it. I saw one woman rush in with her spear and impale someone from Mistral through their stomach, only for her to be pierced through her breast in turn and driven to the ground. Someone stepped over her body, raising a spear over the one that had killed her and stabbing the assailant in turn. The screams of the dying couldn't even be heard over the roars of the living.

Spears closed and swords were drawn. No finesse, just the hack and slash of brutal melee. What few sought to parry were often overwhelmed or killed from behind and the ordered ranks became intermingled and confused, people fighting in small pockets of two or four, with the occasional victor hurrying over to stab someone in the back while they were distracted. Arrows sailed above it all, aimed now at the Mages on the Mistral back line, who in turn sought to push them aside and rain their own destruction on the skirmishers.

One plucky soldier from Vale managed to break through Mistral's lines, gods only knew how. He looked up and saw the Mages, roared a battle cry and charged toward them. One of the robed figures turned. A flash of light and lightning struck the soldier, killing him with contemptuous ease. The Mage took an arrow to the throat a second later, the moment's distraction proving to be all an Archer needed. He fell with one hand grasping his throat. No one moved to assist him.

Horns sounded. My sight of the battlefield was cut off as the two cavalry squads closest to us crashed into one another, lances held before them. The noise was unimaginable. They struck at incredible speed and people were thrown from their mounts. Horses screamed and screeched, pierced through and dying, falling onto their sides and crushing their riders. The lucky died instantly. Some of those poor creatures continued to scream and cry, not understanding why this was happening. Ruby started to openly cry behind me.

I watched as one of the men thrown from his horse struggled to stand. He was cleaved in twain by a woman with a great sword before he could. She had no time to celebrate. A mistral soldier galloped by, swinging his sword with an almost lethargic motion down into her back. She looked surprised as she died, falling face-first onto the grass; what had been grass. It was all mud now.

The Mistral cavalry proved victorious on our flank, pushing on with several cries, dashing the wounded to death beneath their hooves and leaving their fallen horses behind to die in misery. A wounded but still living Mistral soldier limped over to his, falling across its flank and stroking its neck. I saw the knife come down for the mercy kill, silencing its agony.

"Jaune…you…?" Blake's voice was choked with emotion. It brought me back to reality. The whole Guild was in a state. Ruby was crying, but she wasn't alone. Pyrrha's cheeks were wet and Yang gripped her reins with shaking hands, face hidden behind one arm. Nora's smile was a distant memory. Ren had his eyes closed, his brow drawn down, his breathing laboured. Weiss had dismounted. She was throwing up on hands and knees. Even Blake was pale, the normally controlled woman shaking slightly.

"Are you okay?" I asked, reaching a hand over to touch her. She shied away from it. She looked nervously at me.

"Are you okay?" I asked, reaching a hand over to touch her. She shied away from it. She looked nervously at me.

"Your eyes…"

I wasn't sure what she meant – unless I was crying too and hadn't realised it. I reached one hand up to touch my face but it came away dry. As I looked at the skin of my palm however, I noticed an odd blue tinge to it. Reflected light; my eyes were glowing. That was odd. I wasn't using a Skill. I'd just been watching the senseless massacre, watching and hating every moment of it.

"It's nothing," I said. "I feel fine."

"After seeing all of this?"

"Not fine, then. Angry, upset, but… I'm okay. I can handle it."

"Better than we can," Blake whispered, shaking her head. She looked out over the battlefield and gasped. I saw it instantly.

"Grimm spawn!" I yelled. Heads snapped up and Weiss pushed herself off the grass, staggering to her mount. The spawn was occurring somewhere in the middle of the battle lines. I could see it in the form of a gap in the melee, soldiers on both sides falling back as thick black tar formed into something resembling a vaguely lupine shape.

"How are we supposed to get to it?" Pyrrha asked, her voice cracking with emotion. "There's a whole battle raging between us!"

"We force our way in," I said, sterner than I'd ever felt before. I looked to the others, noting their fear. No, not fear – revulsion and sorrow. They weren't afraid of this. They were just as distraught as I was. I nodded to them all. "Follow me."

"What-? Jaune!"

My knees dug into Faith's side. The mare, eager for action, surged forward. Wind whipped across my face and I kept my head low, at the level of the mare's as it bobbed up and down in its rich, green caparison. Behind, I could hear the others following. My eyes moved back ahead, teeth gritted together as I approached the battle lines.

The soldiers heard me coming, turning to face me.

"Move!" I screamed. "Grimm!"

The Mistral and Vale lines parted. I wasn't convinced it was my warning of my voice, both swallowed by the melee, but rather everyone getting out of the way of a knight in armour on a stampeding horse, flanked by seven others as we surged through the lines of men and women. Pikes and spears were pulled aside, swords checked and blows halted at the last second. The ground was a muddy slush of brown and red that was kicked up on either side, Faith whinnying as she less galloped and more worked her way through the mire. In green and gold, we cut a path through the middle of the warring armies.