Relic of the Future: Chapter 30

Tyrian burst forward, blades swinging.

Jaune stepped in, tore Crocea Mors free and swept them aside. His other hand sought his shield, bringing it out in time to catch Tyrian's tail before it could catch him unawares. Through the gap between his shield and arm, Jaune thrust for Tyrian's throat.

It didn't connect. Tyrian danced back and brought his hands together. The barrels on his weapons glinted in the sun.

The shield came up. Jaune crouched. The ping-ping of shots ricocheting off filed his ears. He strained past it – and only just caught the tell-tale thump of a foot on grass. At the last second, he pulled the shield away, tanking a few shots but reacting in time to nearly cut Tyrian in two as he tried to leap up onto his shield as he had in Oniyuri. Tyrian hadn't been prepared for the trick to fail and hissed as his hand was nearly cut off at the wrist. He hopped back.

"Seen that one before," Jaune teased.

"Oh?" Tyrian inspected his wrist, and the small red mark on it. His aura had stopped Crocea Mors drawing blood. The crazed faunus grinned back at him, as amused as ever. "You'll have to tell me about that sometime. Maybe when I'm taking you to meet my Queen."

"If, Tyrian. If."

The faunus was on him a second later.

Jaune caught the knives on his sword, twisted and forced them to the side. They barked angrily as he did, and he winced as the shots impacted his left shoulder, draining aura.

The tail came up and over, trying to strike his back, but he stepped in and headbutted Tyrian in the face first, making his nose break with an audible crunch. Tyrian staggered back and the stinger waivered.

It was enough for Jaune to duck low and lunge in. Crocea Mors speared up towards Tyrian's stomach, aiming to slip in under the ribs and up. Tyrian's eyes widened. He spun, one arm catching the blade's edge. Aura sparked, but the momentum pushed Jaune's attack to the side. Barely. It skimmed Tyrian's thigh, cutting cloth.

Tyrian hissed but continued the spin, first swinging his tail into Jaune's face – he ducked beneath that – but then bringing his leg up and around.

He hadn't been ready for it. Tyrian's knives, yes, but not the knee. It impacted his cheek and pushed his head back. Rather than risk further injury, Jaune kicked back with it, allowing Tyrian to send him flying several feet, if only to build distance. He landed hard on his back, but flipped his legs up and over his head, rolling quickly onto his feet.

Just in time. Tyrian's twin-blades lunged in for his throat. He blocked one and pulled his head away from the other. Tyrian twisted it, recognising he'd miss the throat. The blade dug into his shoulder instead. Only a little. Jaune pulled his shoulder back and slammed the rim of his shield up into Tyrian's arm, forcing him to take it back or lose it.

"So much for taking my alive…"

"I'm sure you can take it~"

Maybe. But the fight was going to drag on at this rate. Jaune measured his opponent's reactions with a few feints and thrusts, but Tyrian danced between them, counter-attacking in turn. They were both even, or close to it. Problem was, Tyrian had all the edges out here. More hope for reinforcements, help from the Grimm and enough room to retreat and strike in the night if he wanted to. His faunus vision would give him the edge there.

Hell, he could have attacked in the tunnels, though that wouldn't have given him much room to use his tail or acrobatics.

"You look troubled," Tyrian taunted as they locked blades again. "Something wrong, Jaune?"

"No." He hooked a foot behind Tyrian's and pushed. "Just thinking of what to write on your gravestone when I kill you."

"If, Jaune," he teased, using his earlier words against him. "If."

No. When. Jaune lunged once more, feinted low and then struck high. Tyrian's blades went both ways, opting to defend. He managed to catch the sword high and grinned, lunging with his now free hand. Jaune's shield came up to block it – but to Tyrian's surprise, his blow against the shield pushed it back into Jaune's stomach. There was no arm behind it. The shield had been thrown up into the path.

As it fell away, Jaune pulled the trigger on his new dust-shotgun.

The roar was loud. Dust flew out in a large blast, erupting more like a volcano than a gun. It exploded all across Tyrian's body, sizzling and crackling. The faunus fell back in shock, hands crossed over his face.

Tossing the spent weapon aside, Jaune lunged in and drove Crocea Mors forward. It was parried and deflected at the last second, but he kept moving, slammed a foot down between Tyrian's and ploughed his left fist into the faunus' throat.

It was only impressive aura that stopped Tyrian's windpipe crumpling. Even so, he choked on air as he fell back, staggering away and waving his tail between them to cut off any pursuit. Jaune let him go, though he kicked his shield back up into his hand and edged over to his gun. While Tyrian was distracted, he casually reloaded the chambers.

"That's new," Tyrian snarled.

"I like to change things up," Jaune said. "Keeps things exciting."

In truth, he didn't. He'd never really moved beyond the sword and shield in his past life, not out of any great respect for it – though he did respect the blade which held hints of both his family and Pyrrha – but because there hadn't been the time. If things were easier, he might have asked Ruby to help upgrade his shield.

He'd had more time to think about that coming back, and the training with Team November helped. He'd picked up gunplay, demolitions and more. Explosives here were out of the question, but he'd come to appreciate how many arguments a shotgun solved. Maybe he could still see about some upgrades.

Looking back, Adam's shotgun-scabbard had been pretty convenient. With the shells inserted back into the gun, Jaune brought the barrel back and into place. He twirled it, just to piss Tyrian off, and hooked it back onto his belt.

In sight, holstered, but an ever-present threat Tyrian would have to be aware of.

Not that the faunus looked scared by any means. "You're always so interesting," he said. "No fight is ever the same. I like that, I really do."

"I'd like to say the sentiment is mutual…"

"It's not? I'm hurt." Tyrian stepped back again. He sheathed his weapons.

—Relic of the Future: Chapter 30