Relic of the Future: Chapter 112

Pain blossomed down his arm and back as the tree exploded into splinters of wood that fired off in every direction like shrapnel from a grenade. Grunting, Jaune flexed his aura and pushed it to his feet, enhancing his next jump to take him away from Hazel's mighty fists. They slammed down in his wake, cracking the ground beneath them. Adrenaline raced through his system, blood roaring in his ears along with the sound of his own voice, Crocea Mors slicing in to strike Hazel's elbow.

Aura sparked but held. Hazel growled and swung his arm across, catching the blade in one hand and disarming him. Instead of fighting it, Jaune released and twisted, driving his own elbow into the pommel. The blade sliced forward despite Hazel's grip, cutting into his hand, or the aura he held there. Hazel took it in both hands to stop it moving.

Years back, that might have been his doom.

The Specialists taught him otherwise. Ducking into a crouch, his hands flicked under his coat and returned, one with a handgun and one with a small cylinder. So close, he couldn't miss, and took extreme pleasure in unloading four rounds into Hazel's testicles. Aura might have protected against damage, but impact force was just that.

He'd taken a Geist-possessed golem's fist to the balls once.

Not a fun experience.

Evidently, Hazel agreed, buckling with a low cross between a roar and a squeal. His grip on Crocea Mors slackened, letting Jaune stand, grip the hilt, and rip it from the man's hold, using that same momentum to spin and bring it screaming back down on his neck. It was a little-known fact that you could, with enough force, kill someone through their aura. Breaking the neck was one such route, because even if you couldn't penetrate skin and muscle, a head bent a certain way or too much would snap eventually.

Hazel knew that too. Teeth gritted and eyes watering, he still managed to get a wrist up to block the attack. His other fist punched down, releasing a discharge of lightning that forced Jaune to disengage. He left behind a present in the form of the cylinder, but Hazel covered his eyes a second before the flashbang went off, mostly protecting himself.

A few stray shots pinged off Hazel's arms. Jaune discharged the magazine and locked a new one in, taking the brief moment of recovery on his foe's part to reload. The window was short. The moment he stopped shooting, Hazel moved, charging across the clearing. Cursing, Jaune started to run left, only to see Hazel adjust on the fly and cut him off. The man wasn't just a giant brute. He was quick. Not as fast as Ruby, but enough that he couldn't run him in circles until his dust injections ran out.

His shield fanned out to take the blow. Hazel looked surprised by it – he used the shield so rarely nowadays that it often did catch people off-guard. Angling it down and to the side to deflect the fist that way, he thrust Crocea Mors for the neck again, only to have Hazel step aside and dodge it. A knee came around and behind. Jaune's kidney was struck by a blow so powerful it produced a shockwave. He was launched forward, collapsing on all fours. Ignoring the urge to vomit and the dizzying nausea, he scrambled back to his feet and away, turning with a wince to watch as Hazel pulled out a second syringe and injected it into his thigh.

"That's two," he mocked. "Only four left."

"Since when do you banter during battle, Ashari?"

"You're a special case." Since any time wasted meant dust filtering out his blood, it was a genuinely good idea. "Don't you want to hear my grand and evil plan? Can't we monologue a little?" Jaune swore as Hazel grunted and powered toward him. "Guess not!"

[...]

Oscar watched from behind a tree, for all the good that would do, as the two men fought. It was nothing like what he'd expected. There were no fancy moves, no graceful motions, and no clever tricks. Hazel was a wrecking ball of rage smashing his way through all in his path. Ashari was a whirlwind of motion, dodging where he could, taking blows he couldn't, and always giving something back, be it thrust, shot or a sudden explosion from a dust bomb.

It was wild and brutal and vicious. Every single attack was designed to kill. Every movement was either to avoid pain or heap it on your enemy. They didn't even clash weapons or parry or show off their skill. It was just smash, smash, smash, over and over again, like someone bringing a wall down with a sledgehammer.

"Is this what a fight between huntsmen is like?"

"No, Oscar. This is a fight between killers. You could travel Remnant for a hundred years and struggle to find huntsmen of their kind."

"He's on our side though, isn't he? The new one?"

"Ashari. Jaune Ashari. And yes, he is. Or at least I was positive before…"

"Is this about the traitor thing?" Oscar had heard it as well. "He's not though, right? He's here fighting Hazel to save us. Isn't that proof he isn't?"

"Yes. And anyone Hazel would call a traitor is an ally for us," Ozpin reasoned. "It's only that this would explain some of the discrepancies I noticed. Don't let it distract you. Keep your eyes on the fight, Oscar. I can only see what you see."

It had only been a few seconds since he looked away but from the state of those in the fight, it might as well have been hours. Jaune had somehow lost his white coat and gathered several nasty bruises on his chin, while Hazel had blackened charring down one side of his face and the left side of his outfit was torn open.

It looked like they'd been fighting all day.

A meaty fist struck Jaune in the stomach. He buckled over it, blood and spit flying from his mouth. There was something else too, Oscar noticed. Something sparkly and small that was spat from his lips, shards of glass but also something that glittered in the air. Grinning, he spat it all into Hazel's face, both the glass shards – which fell short – but also the dust he'd bitten down on a vial of. It caked the giant man's face, blinding him for a moment, but it was the reaction with Hazel's lightning discharge which caused the bigger blow. The dust ignited and burned at his face and eyes, causing him to reel back with an agonised roar.

"This is vicious…"

"This isn't a fight, Oscar. It's two men attempting to murder one another."

Hazel's eyes were burned. Even from a distance they looked red and narrow, the skin around blackened. Oscar couldn't imagine the pain involved in keeping them open, let alone fighting through it. Jaune stumbled back and spat more glass from his own mouth, and it was bloody. He'd probably cut his gums and lips with that move. A trick that wouldn't have even served any use against someone else. He must have come up with it just for Hazel.

A third syringe was produced and stabbed down.

A fourth went with it – and a fifth!

"He can do three at once!?"

Hazel screamed in pure pain, blood running down his cheeks and from his eyes, muscles bulging and expanding so grossly that he thought they might explode. It must have come as a surprise to Ozpin as well because he was silent. Jaune was just as shocked. Doubly so when the giant exploded forward like a rocket, kicking off the ground with enough force to leave behind a small crater.

He hit like a meteorite, completely breaking through Jaune's guard, and smashing him back into a tree. His follow up was just as quick, driving a fist into Jaune's stomach so hard the trunk behind him cracked and splintered.

It was like one of those cartoons he used to watch as a child when people could fly and punch through solid rock, where they could move and leave behind huge holes in the ground from the force of their movement. All of that which Oscar had come to understand was impossible and make believe, and yet he was seeing it again now.

And it was horrible.

The cartoons took out the sound of bones crunching. It took out the gasps and the choked gasps. It took out the cries of pain, the splintering of wood and the blood. It took out everything that made this fight the visceral nightmare it was. Jaune's shoulder hit the ground and he skidded along, only just managing to keep hold of his sword as other armaments spilled out over the grass.

His body trembled as he tried to stand. Hazel's foot impacted his stomach with enough force to launch him up like a football. If it weren't for the trees, he might have sent him flying. Instead, Jaune's back bent around a trunk. Somehow, he was still conscious, and cognizant enough to grab onto a branch and hang out of reach. Hazel lumbered up to the base of the tree and wrapped two meaty hands around it, muscles bulging as he pulled back with a horrifying crack of snapped roots and rustling leaves.

"We have to do something!" Oscar hissed.

"We can't. Even if I took control, one blow would snap our body like a twig."

Jaune leapt from the tree before it could be brought down on top of him. He landed, stumbled, and dove out the way as the trunk was swung down like a club. Using the force from it to keep rolling, he stumbled up and staggered away limping on one leg but still determined to fight.

"Hazel is going to murder him!"

"If he can keep this up. Look. Why do you think Jaune isn't running? Using three syringes at once is making Hazel impossibly strong, but it's taking a toll on him. It also means he's down to only one remaining. If he can survive long enough, he can still win. Jaune knows that." Oscar watched the beaten and bedraggled man bring his sword up. "That's why he continues to fight."

Hazel was also panting, though his was more from exertion than pain. Sweat covered him so thick it left his skin sparkling. Gasping for air, he reached down and gripped the final syringe, driving it into his thigh and injecting.

[...]

Last syringe. Jaune gritted his teeth and leaned into the attack, scoring a slice down Hazel's arm, and only just avoiding a blow powerful enough to shatter his ribs. The same couldn't be said for evading Hazel as he swept his arm around, catching Jaune in the chest with the elbow and hurling him away. He managed to get his feet under him, but only just, landing and stumbling back unevenly, digging Crocea Mors down into the mud to stay on his feet.

Hazel never used multiple injections before. Jaune had honestly thought that would overdose and kill the man if he tried. He must have been desperate, further proof that there was no backup coming. No White Fang to protect him. No Tyrian to save the day.

If he could stay standing long enough to do the job, that was.

A quick glance told him Oscar was alive. Unwilling to help, though. Or unable. Ozpin had always been pretty fucking vague with that. One second it was `I'm in a weak body, you'll need to do the fighting` and the next he was going toe to toe with Lionheart in said weak body. Maybe it was limited or Oscar really had improved that much in so short a time. It didn't make any bloody sense, but Ozpin was a wizard so screw sense.

Shit. I wish I'd brought Summer along after all. Could really use her help here.

Hazel had to be running low. It didn't feel it – his punches still hit like a truck – but the muscles on his arms were shaking and his breathing was becoming laboured. He was used to overpowering and crushing his opponents. No one had survived as long as he had. To be honest, his own body had been telling him to give up for the last ten minutes. Only a little longer, he told himself. This really would have been easier if it were Tyrian. That loon could and would talk for hours on end.

His eyes glanced down to his aura. It was in the red, visibly flickering over his body. Hazel could see and would know what it meant. He was weakening. The hammer blows would pierce through. Pyrrha had once said he had an unusually large aura, and that showed in how long he'd lasted. Six full syringes worth of Hazel's unnatural rage.

And across from him, the man was shrinking before his eyes, muscles atrophying and tightening, body shaking and veins bulging out against his skin. He didn't drop, though. Hazel had fallen back to the level he was at without his enhancers, and that left him still a powerful huntsman. Stalking forward, he swung his arms beside him, eyes narrowed and red, the skin around them blackened and blistered. There was blood dribbling down the sides of Hazel's head, out from his ears and also his nose, running over his mouth and chin.

Thumbing his last weapon other than his sword, Jaune tossed the canister down, spewing out thick, acris smoke that belched into the clearing. The military-grade Atlas smoke went off, spinning on the floor as it expelled smoke so fast it propelled itself in circles like a firework candle. The smoke spread and built up, some drifting away in the breeze but enough remaining to not fully obscure them but reduce their outlines visibly. Taking a deep breath and tightening his grip, Jaune charged into the smoke.

Pointless, Hazel thought, barging through it. He fixed his tortured eyes on the dark shape that ducked low and away, spinning to follow it, quickly finding it again rushing in from his left. His hand came up, swatting the blade away with the back of his knuckles. The ring of steel on bone echoed. Pushing through it, he snapped a hand out and caught Jaune by the scarf, fingers winding in tight and dragging him close. Hazel drove his other fist into the man's stomach, driving the air out of him.

"Did you think smoke would blind me?" he asked calmly. "That was a long shot, even for you."

"N-No," Ashari spluttered, holding Hazel's wrist tightly. "I thought it'd distract you."

Red hot metal pierced out from Hazel's breastbone, curving up and between his and Ashari's faces, stained red with blood but also, he noted with some shock, red itself.

The blade was blood red.

"Grk. H – How…? You…"

His eyes slid back, head turning to see the second shape in the smoke. The smoke grenade hadn't been to blind him. The constant fizzing and spitting sound of gas propelling the liquid smoke had only been to silence the sound of a portal opening. And of footsteps in the grass.

"Me," Raven Branwen said, twisting the sword inside him. "Hello."

Hazel chuckled. It caused blood to splatter out his mouth. His lungs must have been pierced right through. "C-Clever…"

Ashari pulled out from Hazel's weakened grip and brought his sword up. Behind, Raven was already crouched, hunched low with her long sword piercing diagonally up from the small of Hazel's back, through his body and out his chest. It was already a fatal blow, but Ashari was winding back. That was fair, he supposed tiredly, it only made sense to be certain.

Hazel closed his eyes, wondering for a moment whether he'd finally meet his sister again.

"I accept this. Well fought, Ashari."

"You as well, Hazel," Ashari said. "You were always the best of those that followed her."

Hazel Rainart chuckled weakly.

The sword was swung.

—Relic of the Future: Chapter 112