Relic of the Future: Chapter 40

Pushing Blake behind him, he faced those in front, spying the faint sight of white masks under their hoods.

Damn it. He'd been arrogant to think he wouldn't be watched.

"Blake, I'll cut through those in front. When I make an opening, you need to run."

Blake sighed. "That won't be necessary."

Pain lanced through his back, drawing a cry and a reflexive slamming of his aura into place – too late by far to prevent the damage. He'd not thought to activate it, not for once thinking his back might be in danger.

Stumbling to one knee, he looked back, back to Blake and the blood that soaked the blade of Gambol Shroud.

—Relic of the Future: Chapter 39



Jaune's aura slammed into place but the damage was done. He hadn't thought to shield his back, trusting his old friend and comrade to protect it. The thought that she might not hadn't crossed his mind. He staggered away from her, confused, disbelieving. Blake, Team RWBY's Blake, one of his best friends, had stabbed him in the back. Jaune gasped, one eye scrunched shut through the pain. The wound hurt, but her attack cut far deeper, straight into his heart.

[...]

"You've done well, Blake," Hazel said, placing a hand atop Blake's shoulder. "Debilitating but not fatal. You serve the White Fang well."

[...]

The White Fang closed in quickly from both sides of the enclosed alleyway. The space limited them to four abreast with little room to swing a weapon. They were rough and, for the most part, untrained. But that was still eight-to-one odds and he was draining aura. His wound had stopped bleeding, but it took concentration.

[...]

The White Fang closed in quickly from both sides of the enclosed alleyway. The space limited them to four abreast with little room to swing a weapon. They were rough and, for the most part, untrained. But that was still eight-to-one odds and he was draining aura. His wound had stopped bleeding, but it took concentration.

Reaching under his jacket, he pulled out a small metallic cylinder, flicked the hoop-ring out of it with his thumb and tossed it on the ground in front of him. With his other arm, he covered his face and eyes.

"Flash!" a smarter terrorist shouted in warning.

The bang was sharp and sudden, and despite his closed eyes and the arm before him, dark spots still danced in his vision. His opponents had it worse, particularly with their night vision so late in the evening. Staggering and in some cases having fallen to their knees to paw at their eyes, they were unprepared for his counter-attack. The first fell as he slammed the hilt of his sword into the back of their head, the faunus having managed to turn himself around in his blindness. The second was quickly disarmed and brought down by a punishing blow to the underside of his chin.

It would have been easier to kill them, he contemplated, but that would leave even more problems behind. If the White Fang killed him and Winter and Qrow reported it, Menagerie would be blamed and dragged into the war. If the White Fang here were killed and he escaped, Atlas would be blamed, and Menagerie would be forced into the war. The politics behind the skirmish were messy, exactly what Hazel wanted.

Rushing through the melee, he backhanded and tripped those who got in his way. Hooked his arm around the necks of others and threw them into their friends. Stomped, kicked and rammed heads into nearby walls. In the midst of it he came across Blake, one hand on the wall to keep herself upright while she waved Gambol Shroud limply in front of her. Jaune's hands twitched, caught between a desire to both help and clothesline her.

Hazel took the option away, crashing down on him with a distorted roar. His eyes and muscles were already glowing faintly, proof of the dust he'd injected into himself. The first blow Jaune caught on the flat of his sword. He grunted as he was pushed back a few inches, one foot digging down for purchase. Hazel ground the fist into him, forcing Crocea Mors down through raw strength alone as his other drew back. Jaune cursed and dropped to one knee, giving up the fight entirely and letting Hazel knock him back. Better to be thrown back then hit by the big bastard.

Landing softly a foot or so back, Jaune skipped a few more paces out of reach and watched his opponent. Hazel was one of the most difficult of Salem's lieutenants. Cinder was complicated due to her range advantage, and Tyrian was fast and could – with his tail – deal a fatal blow very easily, but Hazel was one of the few who could take a beating and continue to dish it out. He could end a fight quickly or drag it on, winning through endurance. He'd been capable of facing multiple huntsmen in the past, and even at the end had taken a couple of his friends down with him.

I don't fancy my odds here. Chance of escape?

A quick glance behind showed the White Fang already getting to their feet. While not individually a problem, nor even in their limited numbers, they would bog him down through the sheer press of bodies, giving Hazel a chance to catch him and knock him out. Aura or not, Hazel would hold him down and keep punching until even the crust of Remnant gave way.

Gunfire would draw attention; that would be bad. Explosives would do the same, not to mention the risk of innocent casualties. His fingers brushed against different options under his coat, but each went ignored. This wasn't a good fight. His options were too limited.

Hazel's weren't. He closed in again, bringing both hands down in an overhead attack. Jaune ducked back and was knocked even further as dust expelled from the giant's arms, exploding against the ground. Jaune landed and rolled but was quick to get back on his feet. He swept Crocea Mors around as he did, forcing the White Fang suddenly all around him to back up. He was barely able to get it back in front in time to block Hazel's follow-up attack.

His bones grated with each punch he blocked. He tried to deflect them where he could, knocking them aside. His shield would have been even more useless, giving Hazel a large target to pound on until Jaune's shoulder broke. Instead, he tried to crate space where he could, occasionally throwing out his own attack. Hazel batted one such swipe away with the back of an aura-coated hand and brought his fist down and under, up towards Jaune's stomach. Left open, Jaune tensed and brought his knee up to block.

A pained grunt left him as Hazel followed through, expelling dust directly into his shin. His aura flexed and held, but the sheer power behind it still snapped his leg back, sending pain lancing up his pelvis. Nothing was broken, but he limped back, cutting toward Hazel's neck and forcing the larger man to take a step back.

"You're outmatched, Ashari," Hazel said calmly. "You're only making this harder on yourself."

"Gee. Fancy me not wanting to go and visit Sa-" Someone came up behind him and this time he was ready. Spinning, he brought Crocea Mors up, slamming the cleaver away, reversed and brought it down.

Blake's eyes widened.

"Shit," he hissed, pulling back at the last second. He wasn't able to stop entirely – and with her in his guard, couldn't afford to. He pushed forward instead and rammed his sword into her face, catching her with the flat and a little of the guard. Something cracked, and blood poured from her nose. Her aura prevented any more damage, but she fell with a startled cry.

Hazel's fist buried itself in the small of his back – straight into the mostly-healed wound Blake had left him. Jaune's lungs were all but crushed, breath exploding from his mouth as he folded back, staggered and then fell to one knee, tripping over Blake's body as he did. His sword fell, his arms wrapped about his stomach as he tried to breathe. The wound had re-opened and was bleeding profusely. His vision swam, and he tried to get back up onto one knee, only to bowl back over and retch violently.

"Collect and bind him. There's a Bullhead waiting to take him away."

"Yes, sir. Thatcher, get the-"

A howling gale struck the alley, throwing the speaker to the floor. It was as sudden as it was impossible, a localised hurricane that came in a fraction of a second. It was followed by an agonised scream cut off, and the tell-tale sound of feet hitting the pavement. Jaune struggled to see what was happening but could only make out Hazel's legs and those of the other White Fang.

That and the cries of shock, rage and panic. Steel clashed against steel, followed by the sickening squelch of flesh. Whistling heralded death, even as another far stronger gale hurtled through the narrow space, toppling Blake back over his body and sending them both down in a tangle of limbs. It was followed by a crack of thunder from the heavens. The night before had been calm. It still was.

"A Maiden," Hazel whispered. Shock mixed with irritation, but also a subtle hint of pleasure. He looked down to Jaune and grunted, then stepped back and turned away, leaving the White Fang to their fate.

The black and red figure tore through them easily, her long, crimson sword dancing from throat to throat, ribcage to thigh, hip to shoulder. Fully masked, Raven showed none of the mercy he'd tried to and cut through the faunus like a scythe might wheat. Spinning and twisting, she made it look easy, like a dancer on a stage. Not one of the terrorists managed to strike her back, despite the many who tried. Those that came close were blasted away by fierce winds as the woman's eyes burned with an unnatural fire behind her mask.

"R-Raven," he croaked, trying to stand. His arm got tangled with Blake's as she did the same, struggling to get up and fight the woman. She scrambled for Gambol Shroud, and Jaune had the presence of mind to kick her feet out from under her before she could. The girl stumbled with a yelp and cracked her head on the floor. Though she groaned, she remained conscious, aura having softened the blow.

Disarming one of the last remaining faunus, Raven gripped their sword and hauled it out their hands, the other holding her own as it pinned the man to the wall. He gasped and struggled on the blade but slumped and fell when she drew her weapon free. Turning her back on the dying man, she strolled towards him, sword point dripping blood onto the floor.

"You nearly fell to this rabble? I'm disappointed. Has Vale made you that weak?"

Blake cursed and rolled over to reach for her weapon. She gasped when Raven's boot stepped on her wrist, the older woman looking down on her with bright red eyes.

"Adorably." Raven kicked Blake in the face quickly, stunning her, and then placed her foot on the younger girl's shoulder to roll her onto her back. She tried to move, but Raven pushed down on her stomach, keeping her pinned. Her sword reversed, held up vertically and ready to come down through Blake's breastbone.

Blake struggled wildly.

"Good night, girl."

"RAVEN, NO!" Jaune lunged as best he could, only just managing to slap the side of her sword with his bare hand. It was a weak slap but she hadn't accounted for it. The strike came down to the side of Blake's neck, missing by a few inches. The girl shivered.

Raven tutted and looked his way, demanding an explanation.

"D-Don't kill her. She's important."

[...]

It occurred to him he should have acted with a little more confusion, but considering how his back was shredded, he felt he could be forgiven. Concentrating for a moment, he saturated the area with his aura and focused on healing the damage. Hazel was a monster of a combatant, though even he wouldn't have been able to do so much so quickly if it weren't for Blake's sneak attack. Stinging from the betrayal, Jaune glared down at his unconscious former friend.

—Relic of the Future: Chapter 40