Forged Destiny [Book 5: Ch. 5]

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.

"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!"

[...]

I'd seen first-hand the damage those hooves could cause, so attacking from behind would be a sure way to get my head knocked off. The strangest part about the whole ordeal was how calm I felt, as though concerns for personal safety were distant or muted. I could acutely remember being terrified of the first Beowolf I'd fought, and equally frightened of the monstrous Ursa in the dungeon. This seemed weaker than the latter, but much stronger than the first, and yet my eyes sought weaknesses in its hide.

[...]

"It feels like I'm about to be sick at any moment," I admitted. "My stomach keeps churning and the images are replaying in my head over and over. And the sounds, Blake. It's the horses I remember the worst. It was so high-pitched. Like… like a child screaming." I turned to look at her. "I don't know how you're so calm right now."

"Because I'm emotionally spent," the Assassin said. "I went through all of that in the battle. I nearly lost control of myself. I wanted to be sick and I couldn't stop shaking." If the admittance of weakness bothered her she didn't show it, brushing one hand through her raven locks. "It was only because of you that I was able to move, you know. That any of us were. You were able to stay calm in the madness even when Ruby started crying and Weiss lost her stomach. No one else could pay attention, let alone think to move. How did you do it?"

"I… I don't know…" I stared down at my hands. They were still caked with mud. "I didn't feel anything at the time. Angry and upset, but… muted, somehow. Like it was far away."

"And yet you're feeling it all now?" she asked.

"Like I'm right there living it all."

"That's strange. It's all muted for us now. We… well, I wouldn't say we got it out of our systems, but we're all exhausted. The worst of the horror has passed and now we're just too tired to process it. But we almost fell apart at the moment where you were able to stay calm." Blake touched a hand to my chin and tilted my head to face hers. She stared into my eyes, searching for something.

"Blake?"

"Your eyes were glowing the whole time. Were you using a skill to keep yourself calm? Some Charisma-based Knight ability?"

"No. Nothing."

She saw the honesty in my eyes and nodded, releasing me. "Maybe it's nothing," she said. "We should just be grateful it all worked out."

I was grateful, at least on the inside. But at the same time I couldn't stop the images that flashed before my eyes. I clenched them shut, hoping that would help. Instead, I saw a woman ran through with spears, one through her stomach and the other through her face – tearing between her eyes and out the back of her helmet. My breath came out in harsh pants.

Blake's arms wrapped around me. "It's okay if you want to let it out. Anyone would cry after this."

"You didn't," I said, cursing as my voice cracked.

"I'm an Assassin."

"What does that even mean? That you don't feel emotion?"

"No." Blake smiled sadly. "It means I'm good at stealth. I hid my tears."

I laughed. That was just like her. The laughter cracked halfway through, however, and soon dissolved into muffled sobs. True to her words, Blake didn't say a word. She just sat next to me, letting the tears come forth.

"We're going to have to do this again, aren't we?" I managed. "Again and again until the war is over…"

—Forged Destiny [Book 5: Ch. 5]