Sneaking His Way into the Multiverse (RWBY Jaune, WC-lite mechanics)

[LazyAutumnMoon]

If there was one lesson that Jaune Arc (Huntsman-in-Training, one-time fraudster, natural blond, and currently in over his head) has ever learned from his bully, it was how to escape a locker. After the third time, it behooved oneself to figure out that sort of thing.

See, there's a latch. Get that latch to turn far enough, and the door unlocks. Simple.

The fact that all the leverage was on the other side can be an obstacle, true, compounded by the springs and gears keeping the latch in place being built to withstand the capsule flying, then hitting the ground, at 370 miles per hour. With how often the rocket function got used, the lockers saw weekly maintenance, too, so he could expect this thing to be in tip-top, people-confining shape.

Yet, he had discovered that all these problems were surmountable with sufficient motivation. A full bladder was usually the catalyst for him to succeed in previous incidents. Today…well, today his need to escape carried a bit more urgency than the norm. He'd even go further to say that it's one of those do-or-die moments.

Pyrrha was on her way to face the fire lady. Prior to which, she pushed him in the locker and launched him into the sky. That was after she kissed him, which he thought was really nice right up until he discovered it had been a trick to shove him in here. There's also the aforementioned fire lady, a magic lady, Ozpin trying to get the magic lady inside Pyrrha, more Grimm than he had ever seen, a Grimm dragon, White Fang, robots, people dying his friends are in danger and holy freaking damn he's got to get out there and DO SOMETHING!

The latch snapped off, crushed in the grip of a hand clad in white Aura, and the door blasted open to reveal a dark night sky.

Above him, a cloud drifted away to reveal that pale, broken celestial body he'd always loved to see. The shattered moon, an imperfect orb trailed by its innumerable fragments. It had never looked so near.

…Oh. Right. That's probably due to the next problem facing him.

The wind ripped him from the confines of the locker, and Jaune found himself in the sky over Beacon amidst airships and Grimm. A particularly hungry-looking Griffon had taken notice of this tasty treat, and was swooping down.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no—"

Fumbling with his sword, he tried to unsheathe Crocea Mors. Too late, red eyes and a gaping maw filled his vision. The rancid stench of Grimm washed over the Huntsman as the Griffon prepared to swallow him whole.

Of all the courses of action he could take, Jaune saw one desperate plan where he lived beyond the next three seconds. He shoved his weapon, held horizontally with the edge standing vertical, into the mouth as it chomped down, right at the base where the two halves of the beak meet. Bone struck steel with a clang, stopping cold.

He could have wept, such was the relief that he yet lived. Sadly, his joy failed to last long. The Grimm began shaking him every which way in a mindless attempt to dislodge the sword. Up, down, left, right, the wild movements triggered his motion sickness. Coupled with the texture of the slimy tongue and the smell of the Griffon's breath, bile quickly rose to the top of his throat. But while throwing up onto the Grimm sounded quite decent as a final middle finger to his would-be killer, he stuck to the plan and reached for a button on Crocea Mors. A press, and with explosive force the sheath unfurled to form a heater shield, wrenching open the beak until, with the snapping sound of tension giving way, the Griffon's head ripped in two.

Then Jaune threw up. Man, Grimm, and puke fell together through the air. He noted that they were much closer to the ground than before the Griffon tried to eat him. His struggles against being lunch had dragged his foe below the aerial battle going on above, and the fall looked much more survivable from this height. It was still going to hurt, though.

The Grimm slammed onto the spire of a building, the tip spearing it through. If it wasn't fully dead before, it sure was now. Most of the puke landed on the dissipating corpse, so Jaune got that last insult in, after all. He himself fell past the Griffon to collide with the roof. From head to toe his body lit up in agony. A long, pained sob escaped his mouth. He bounced once, twice, then slid on the steep incline towards the edge. Through a haze, his mind screamed at his body to do something if it didn't want to plunge to the ground. A part of Jaune shouted a warning that it'd hurt as much as the first drop; the rest of him sat up to take notice. In the scramble to find purchase, he slammed the edge of his shield against the yellow slate tiles, scraping a long furrow to slow his descent. He came to a stop with only inches to spare.

Jaune laid there, heaving for breath as the reality of everything that had just happened hit him. It couldn't have been more than five minutes, yet his ordeal felt like it lasted hours.

"I—I'm alive! I can't believe I'm still alive!" He shouted, laughing.

But then, he recalled the wider conflict taking place all over Beacon, and sobered up. What he had managed was just the first step. The long road to the emerald tower laid before him, starting with getting off this roof.

The unfortunate issue here was that he couldn't see any access doors on this thing. The only way down required going over the edge, where he could hopefully swing into a window using an acrobatic move he knew he cannot do. See? E-easy!

Peering over the lip of the roof, he searched for an outcropping. There weren't any, but his hopes for aid swelled when movements far below on the ground captured his attention. He recognized the messy (yet stylishly silky and flowing) crow's nest of a hairdo. That's Jax Darkphenix, Team RWBY's boyfriend!

And damned if that still wasn't weird to say after almost two semesters. Some guys have all the luck. Absolute, unbelievable luck.

He was about to call down for help, but stopped as he saw the other boy raise his twin katanas. Despite the urgency of his task, Jaune waited. If enemies were in range, distracting his ally may well put them in danger.

Jax slapped his katanas together, transforming it into an assault rifle. Oddly, there didn't seem to be any Grimm, White Fang, or robots in the immediate vicinity. What was he doing?

He lifted it to aim down the sights. Following the direction of the gun revealed a—wait, wha—?

Bang!

WHAT THE FUCK!?

-o-​

Jax Darkphenix POV

Shit shit shit, it was all going to shit!

One measly Point! The girl was a complete trash mob!

Sadly, Jax Darkphenix has come to realize that the so-called 'elite warriors' of this world amounted to jack all when they possessed no plot relevance. He'd hoped this one might have some value, being a pretty girl in a world where 90% of the important characters were pretty girls, but nope. 1 Point. This felt sucky enough when he had to start going for the females after shooting too many of the dudes, but for them to be worthless, too? Sucks.

Uuurgh! That green-headed chick in the distance—whatever her name was—definitely carried a higher value, he knew that for a fact since he remembered her showing up a couple times in the cartoon. If she would just stop zipping around, he'd have popped her already. It's like she was mocking him.

Giving it another shot, he changed his NGSW XM7 6.8×51mm assault rifle into a Barrett Mk-22 7.62mm bolt-action sniper rifle and shot off a round.

He was so tempted to pick up [Auto-aim] just to off her, but right now he can't spare a single Point. The priority was [Emergency Recall], and it cost way too much for him to fuck around. Besides, if the previous characters on her level storywise were any indication, she'd probably put up a fight. Attacks that bypass Aura only work if they hit, and these people bounce around like the Energizer Bunny. Letting them get in CQC range would make offing them easier, but then they'd start taking his HPs, too. That was fine at the start, but the number was getting awfully low.

Fuck Emerald and her thieving hands.

Heh. That's kinda funny since that was exactly what he did. Leaving the bag with all his consumables open next to the bed was a mistake, though. Whenever he gets the chance, it's [Dimensional Pockets] or bust. No more of this carrying stuff crap.

He didn't bother to go loot the headless corpse. A few bucks—oh, excuse him, a few 'Liens' weren't going to get him out of this hellhole.

After turning his Barrett Mk-22 7.62mm bolt-action sniper rifle into a PSRL-1 93mm rocket launcher, he took aim at a team of Huntsmen-in-Training and fired an SH-R1 round to wipe them off the face of the Ea- of Remnant. He checked his smartphone—wait, his scr…actually, fuck this world's terminology, it's a smartphone—and saw that the tally had gone up by three. There were four of them, so how can it give three Points?

Trash mob. Trash world. He could not get out of here soon enough.

Once again, the realization that this run had gone to shit made Jax heave a great sigh. Things had been going so well, too.

He had bagged—ahem, romanced Team RWBY by, like, the first month. It took all of his charm and skills! And when that didn't work, a fuck ton of points to up his CHARM and [Skills] did the job. There was nothing Yang wouldn't do for him. Weiss made out with Ruby because he asked. He convinced the sexy cat girl to try meowing, meowing!

Life…life was good.

And it all went wrong because, apparently, the butterfly effect was real. At some unknown point, even though he asked for the original RWBY world, events deviated from canon. Somehow!

…okay, so he had a sneaking suspicion it might have to do with him telling Neo some important details when they slept together to turn her to his side. Who could have guessed that the ice cream girl would betray him? Just because she was evil didn't mean she was a bad person!

It had seemed like Season Three's finale was averted. Everything was quiet up to and through the Vytal Tournament. He was about to win it all with his kickass Semblance that lets him ignore people's Aura (i.e. the thing that made them marginally a threat), then sweep Pyrrha into his arms with a totally cool line about how he was the only person strong enough for her before wowing her with his kissing prowess. The face on that Miles Luna Self-Insert when he steals his OTP girl would have been delicious.

Then, Cinder's (admittedly sexy) face replaced the fat professor's (very unsexy) face on the stadium's screens, and she kickstarted the Fall of Beacon like it's a scripted event, except for the giant robot that Neo sneakily bought with all his saved-up Points and was now piloting with not an ounce of control or skill.

The PSRL-1 93mm rocket launcher became a pair of…of whatever the SMGs are named, he didn't have the energy to remember, and he shot blindly into a melee between some girls and the White Fang, mowing down both sides.

Ding!

That sound, that sweet sound. He clamped one of the guns under his armpit and pulled out his phone. Staring in disbelief, he noted the number on the top left. The last group gave him 48 Points. That female team must have been side characters, because they helped him amass the Points he needed for [Emergency Recall].

This was it. This was goodbye Remnant!

"Holy shit! Yes! Get me the fuck out—"

His [Threat Detection Lv.1] went off like crazy.

Jax turned his head this way and that, trying to find where the danger was coming from. Not for the first time, he cursed Neo for his Point deficiency that kept him from making some upgrades. [Threat Detection Lv.2] would have taken care of locating the threat for him.

Jax scrunched his face in puzzlement as he failed to spot anyone nearby. Yet, the klaxon horn of [Threat Detection Lv.1] increased in volume. What was going on?

The thought struck him, then.

Combat was three-dimensional.

Jax whirled, pointed his SMGs towards the sky, and fired off all rounds at the same time that something cold, hard, and sharp rammed into his head.


Remaining HP: 1,460
Piercing damage, Sneak Attack! modifier, It Came From Above modifier
-1,460HP
Remaining HP: 0
You have died. Better luck next ti— oh, wait. There is no next time. Too bad, so sad


In the last few seconds before the System shut him down, his eyes rolled madly in their sockets to try and find what had hit him. It wasn't difficult. There was a body lying just over there, bleeding out as badly as he was. He recognized the messy (and unstylish) blond mop of a hairdo.

Fucking Jaune A—

And so, Jax Darkphenix, Gamer and Worldjumper, died with the name of his killer on his lips.

Like countless others who contracted with the Company, he failed his very first run.

-o-​

Jaune thought he knew what pain was from Initiation, from Combat Class, and from being hit by Grimm. He was wrong.

He also thought there was nothing worse than the feeling of pain. He was oh so wrong.

Ding!

The worst was when everything stopped hurting, even though you knew for a fact that the injuries were still there, and nothing and nobody had saved you. The worst was the coldness setting in as your life bled out.

He didn't need anyone to tell him what a bad idea it had been. The drop might not take his entire Aura reserve, but it would put him at such a disadvantage that Team RWBY's dog could have beaten him, let alone their boyfriend. Jax was the strongest of Beacon. Hands down, no argument. Pyrrha was losing to him in the tournament finals.

Ding!

But…but to witness him murder so many people, so many of what should have been Jax's allies and friends, Jaune had to act. He drew his sword. He leapt. Somehow, someway, he succeeded in slaying the monster. And now, he was dying.

Because Jax Darkphenix, that psycho, had a Semblance that treated Aura like air.

He can feel his reserves attempting to heal his injuries. It'd never work. The gaping holes to be mended, the sheer amount of blood that was outside of him and mixing with that of Jax in one crimson pool, the damage was so catastrophic that there was nowhere to begin.

This was it…this was goodbye.

Ding!

And the CCT service won't even give him the dignity of dying in peace. What, was it sending him spam mail? Advertising life insurance, perhaps?

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Odd. Rather than his pocket, the sound was coming from near his head. His tired eyes blinked once, blinked twice, then opened to stare directly at the glowing screen of the scroll laying under his face. He couldn't tell what the model was, but it must belong to Jax, considering it looked super cool. Because Jax was super cool. You know, right up until he wasn't.

Blearily, he gazed at the words until they shifted into focus.


[Emergency Recall]
The cowardly way to escape all your mistakes. Sure, you can tell yourself that you're just going to nip out for some milk, to grind and upgrade and buy a couple of powers, before coming straight back here to your waifus, but we all know why you bought this. Still, in the words of a certain pair of twins in your current world: Whatever.
Effect:
Activate to exfiltrate back to designated [Home Base]
Basic Medical Package included
Activate:
[Yes]
[No]
Note: Choosing [Yes] will pause the current world until your return.


Yup. Spam mail, and the message pretty much amounted to life insurance, too. Aaaall the hate.

Yet…yet how tempting its promises were to someone like him.

Power. Something he dearly wanted way back when, and naively thought that his partner had granted unto him, so that he could fulfill his dream of becoming a hero. As it turned out, Aura could only get him so far, and no matter how hard he trained he could not catch up with his peers. Now, the crazy fire lady was displaying abilities so far above anything he had ever seen, and his friends were in danger, so of course he wished he had more power.

Pause the current world. What madness these words offered. There was no way to stop time. Not even Dust and Semblances can truly influence it, merely simulating a similar effect. Such an easy lie to see through. But as the world burned down around him. As he laid dying so far away from his goal. He wished with every fiber of his being that he could stop it all.

He tried to move his hand. Miracle of miracle, it shifted an inch. With the patience of a man who had nothing else to do, nothing to look forward to, nothing left, Jaune reached for the screen.

An eternity later, the hand hovered above the button. He wondered why he was even entertaining the message. His brain was shutting down, but his thought process went something like this:

Hey, it wasn't his scroll. If this thing gets a virus, then his last act on Remnant would be the equivalent of slaying his enemy and pissing on their grave, meaning he had died a true warrior's death.

He pressed [Yes].

At the very last moment, his true thoughts slipped out.

Please, be real. Please, I want to save everyone. Please…don't let this be…just a dream…

It should not have worked. You could say what you like about their blood mixing, and the names sharing some similar letters, but the crux of the matter was that it. Should. Not. Have. Worked.

But, as had been the case when Jaune—based on nothing but a strong wish, a devil-may-care outlook on his prospects, and quite a bit of idiocy—submitted a set of false transcripts to Beacon Academy, someone caught the attempt. They read the details from end to end, and were amused. They let it ride.

And so, Jaune Arc, fake Huntsman and a complete nobody, left Remnant as motes of light.

---

Author's Notes: Be careful of spam mail, Jaune. Even if it's not an all-out scam, there's always a catch.

A story in the vein of the CYOA, WC, world-jump fanfics, except instead of some psychopathic/sociopathic SI from Earth amassing great cosmic powers and being an absolute legend—which I cannot and never want to write—it's a fictional character from Remnant trying to grab at the scraps of power that the bona fide MCs would spare a single line of the chapter to mention.

FYI to all the SIs: If you want Neo on side, don't trust her right off the bat. Don't assume your future knowledge is going to get her in your corner. Ice cream psycho will backstab you on principle. It's part of her charm.

Three-letter MC first name, mythical animal in the last name (but with a Dark or Onyx in there so it's evil). Putting actual guns in RWBY with all the unnecessary details on caliber rounds to show Earth's 'superiority'…Bleeeech. Disgusting. Cringe. I needed a drink before I wrote that section.

 

[LazyAutumnMoon]

Jaune awoke, and beheld a bright light.

It surrounded his prone form, and was all that he could see. Beneath him was a soft and springy surface, but not quite a bed. He rather liked the odd texture.

There's no sound in this strange space, nor any scents. And as recent memories flowed into his mind, reminding him of the ruined body that lay beyond saving, he noted with relief that there was a lack of pain, too. The afterlife wasn't so bad, then. A bit boring, but that may just be the sort of opinion typical of someone who died following a series of unbelievable events.

One thing stood out of place in this picture. He seemed to be gripping an object in his left hand. Lightweight, compact, cool to the touch, with a slight curvature to smooth out the edges… hold one scroll and you've held them all, certain features have become a mainstay among the devices.

Now, why would a ghost have need of a scroll? Who's he going to call?

He'd prefer not to imagine that the CCT service has expanded beyond the land of the living, because then there would truly be no escape from its terrible grasp. Let's consider the other possibility then, that this scroll was the same one he swiped from Jax, which meant—

With a surge of anticipation, Jaune pushed off to sit upright, and the capsule encasing him smoothly opened to reveal that the bright light was not all there was to see. Gray walls, white ceiling, a tiled floor. A bed to fit one. Table and chairs. A kitchen on the far side, and an open door nearby through which he glimpsed a shower stall. This room bore the hallmarks of a studio apartment, spacious but sparsely furnished. Too dull to be heaven, too restful to be hell, never had a sight so mundane filled his heart with such joy.

He smacked his own face. There was pain.

Jaune lived.

A whoop, and he bounced to his feet, dancing a jig in celebration. He almost fell over midway when the futuristic capsule began to fade into nothingness until only the word 'MedPod 720i' stenciled on the side of the machine hung in midair, before it too blinked out a second later. Waving his hands around the spot where it had been confirmed that it did not turn invisible, but vanished.

"Whoa, this is straight out of sci-fi!"

Then, his jaw practically dropped to the floor when he raised his head. There, on the other side of where the capsule used to reside, a window allowed him to peer out at the world beyond. What floor was he even on? Way, way down there a city sat, so distant that he cannot pick out the details. Clouds were floating lower than his vantage point.

Nobody would call him a well-traveled person, what with boats and Bullheads being akin to prolonged torture sessions for him, but he did attend school and the teachers there have shown pictures of Remnant's four main cities. None of the Kingdoms have managed to build anything like this. The technology just wasn't there.

And above? Above floated another planet. Not a moon. A planet. He can make out the landmasses from here.

Jaune had the slightest of suspicions that he wasn't on Remnant anymore.

-o-​

As callous as it sounded, the novelty wore off. After staring at the sights for an indeterminable amount of time, he tore his gaze from the view to explore the room. Also, to find a shirt, because while the capsule had cleaned off the blood on his clothes, it did not repair them. His tattered rag of a top covered him with the effectiveness of strings. His pants fared better, and might have increased in value, considering the strange fashion surrounding ripped jeans.

Unfortunately, the apartment proved a stark contrast from the fantastical view outside. What he saw was what he got. Its barebone state extended to personal belongings, and even food, of which there existed none. By the looks of it, nobody had set foot in this place before him. As for leaving the room, the lack of a door put quite a damper on that idea.

Yeah, someone built a room with no exit, then dropped him in it. The scroll promised power, but seemed content to instead grant him a slow, half-naked death. He did discover a big metal disc in the corner that the sci-fi movies he watched would suggest might be a teleporter, but no amount of poking or prodding (or stomping or screaming activation catchphrases) have freed him from this place.

In the midst of his confusion, he turned to the scroll for aid. It brought him here, so what else can it do?

"I'm on an alien planet, and I still ended up with my face in a scroll. Maybe mom was right about my generation being addicted." Jaune said to himself as he sat on the bed, device in hand.

The message advertising an 'emergency recall' had closed itself. In its place was a basic black background, superimposed by a white ring on which app icons rested at equidistance. In the center of the circle were two words:

~The Company~​

"The company of…what? "Jaune scratched his head. "Did they make the apps? The scroll itself? That lifesaving capsule?" His gaze alighted on an icon of a shopping basket, and a spark of hope blossomed. The notification had mentioned the ability to buy powers. "A teleporting portable hospital sure sounds like a power, so maybe the answer is all the above."

He tapped on the icon and…and a marketplace of impossible, wondrous potential unfolded before his eyes. Waifus, Skills, Weapons, Armors, Vehicles, Homes, Pets, Medical—oh, my!

Power, and more, lay at his fingertips… obtainable with a currency called Points, of which he had a balance of zero as noted on the top left of the app screen. Likely due to the lack of funds, the shop had deactivated the corresponding purchase buttons for each item. Still, a man can browse.

A few of the listed categories, he didn't really get—the Waifu tab and the figurines on sale in its catalog, especially. By the actions of some mad corporate executive, these dolls carried the highest prices on average when he compared a sample of items from each category. It rekindled his worries that this was all make-believe until he found the capsule that saved him under the Medical section. The price differential between a toy and a groundbreaking piece of tech was mind-boggling, to say the least, but the presence of what he had seen with his very eyes to be an actual object served to convince him that the spam mail he opened had followed through on one of its claims. And, maybe, all the rest.

Jaune stopped there for a while, sitting stock still and nearly in tears with relief at the idea that the end of the world had been put on pause, that his friends and family were safely frozen in time at this moment. Frozen, and waiting. Once he regained his composure, he dove back into the shopping app with renewed eagerness.

Weapons, that's the ticket. He needed the means to beat back the untold number of Grimm, White Fang, and murderous robots, along with the dragon(!) and the fire lady.

…He also caught a glimpse of what had looked like a giant robot during his descent from the locker, but that had to be his imagination, right? Better safe than sorry, he'd add it to the list.


Maliwan Volcano
Universe: Borderlands
Pele demands a sacrifice!
A simple sniper rifle that sets your enemies on fire with exploding bullets.


Lightsaber (Purple)
Universe: Star Wars
The weapon of a Jedi, an elegant weapon of a more civilized age. Utilize its plasma blade to cut flesh and blast doors, alike. Also the weapon of a Sith. And of General Grievous.
Commonly found in blue, green, or red. This one's purple.


Way cool, but he needed a bigger oomph. Jaune adjusted the sorting function, typing in a random 38,542 as the lower price limit. The items shown now were a lot more ornate, many sporting strange energies and motifs.


Khartoth the Bloodhunger
Universe: Warhammer 40K
A Daemon Weapon of Khorne—the Blood God, the Lord of Skulls, the Lord of Blood, the Lord of Rage, the Lord of Battle, etc. Capable of cutting through not only matter, but also time. May or may not send wielder into a blood frenzy from which there is no return.


Tome of Meteor Shower
Universe: Magicka
Knowledge is power. Use this tome to learn the magick (that's magic with a 'k'!) Meteor Shower, and summon a barrage of meteorites to bombard your enemies.
Warning: Low chance of setting the planet on fire.


Drops of nervous sweat poured down his brows. These ones, and others like them, have a bit too much oomph. Then again, when it came to fighting the forces of darkness, he'd rather start with overkill and work his way down. Ruby, whose dream involved building a gun that can blast through ten Grimms and level the building behind them with one bullet should the need arise, would certainly agree.

Experimentally, he pressed the grayed-out purchase button.


Tome of Meteor Shower
Points Cost: 157,000
Points Balance: 0
Insufficient Points. Unable to purchase.


Sadness.

Ah well, the scroll already warned him of his empty budget. What he wanted to know about were the methods by which he could acquire these 'Points'. He did spy a 'Sell' tab, but his current possessions consisted of a pair of pants, boxers, and sneakers. Not exactly worthy items of trade barring some bonkers exchange rates.

Exiting the marketplace, he moved on to the other apps in search of answers.

The next icon displayed a rectangle with lines of scribbles. It opened up to a page bearing the heading 'Contract Terms'. Before he could panic over having to read, a notification materialized.

Error, Inactive Contract. The app shut down, and turned gray.

Well, crap.

On the one hand, no legalese. Yay! On the other hand, it appeared that certain functions of the scroll were tied to Jax and they ended with his…end. Depending on how the other apps turned out, he might be in a spot of trouble.

He tried another program, and arrived at a page reminiscent of a video game status screen.


Name: Jax Darkphenix
Level 45
HP 0/0
State: Dead


Oh, sure, remind him of his crime forevermore.

He didn't want to hurt Jax, but there are things you just don't do! Lines to never cross. Stabbing your allies in the back was right up there at the top. He had to stop him. A-and he got shot for it, didn't he? Fair's fair!

Jaune forced himself to continue on, swiping past that section to hide the damning words to reach a series of stats. Lacking a reference for where the numbers stood in relation to a typical Huntsman, he skimmed over them. The CHARM stat outpaced the others by a large margin, though. Fitting for the guy.

Past that was the [Skills] list…

Holy crap, you can just buy the ability to talk to women!?

…which at first sounded amazing for its diverse and useful effects. Yet, once he read through the later entries, his heart wasn't in it anymore. He left the status screen at speed, and put the scroll down on the bed. Then, he curled up into a little ball.

[Excuse my Mistralian], [Once is an Accident], [A Second Shot at Love], [Third Time's the CHARM], [Sharing is Caring], [All Your Waifus are Belong to Us Lv.1],and a whole lot more whose descriptions were…

When it stopped being about improving oneself, and became manipulating the minds of the people around them, that's when a person should know they'd gone too far. He'd always wondered why Team RWBY accepted the fivesome arrangement so smoothly. It must take a man possessing charisma and eloquence on a level he could merely dream of having to swing that, he concluded. As it turned out, sharing was caring in the world of Jax.

And he had an interest in Weiss, hadn't he? But he went to bed one night with the idea of asking her again at breakfast to go on a date, and then just…didn't. Not once from that day on, even as the emotions for her still beat within his heart. Was it because he realized—in a sudden bout of humility and self-awareness—that he had no chance compared to Jax, or did the other boy activate the damned [Skill] that stopped him from acting on any of his romantic feelings? In hindsight, the second option looked all too plausible. And that was at Level 1. Compound those abilities with the rest of the list, and he suspected Jax could have become Remnant's new god given enough time.

The scroll promised power, and the scroll delivered power. In all its forms.

Later, when he could peek at the scroll without feeling sick, Jaune took the device in hand again. A return to the shopping page confirmed that it sold every sort of [Skill] conceivable (and many many that weren't, at least to him). Romance and sex featured prominently, but so did combat. There was even a category full of benign-sounding ones, like [Househusband]— though the numerous proficiencies governed by that composite ability seemed suspiciously redundant for him.


Cleaning, cooking, sewing, and…yeeeeah, my family expected my future wife to be the breadwinner between us.


In the end, what it came down to was choice. Jax went down his path, but Jaune did not have to follow the trail he blazed. Nor did he have to avoid [Skills] altogether. From a certain point of view, they possessed greater potency than weapons. Every bit of strength counted, and as long as he stuck to the combat-related ones, there were little reasons to shy away from this particular catalog.

Calmer now, he continued exploring the scroll. The Communications app powered off in quick order, blaring the same "Error, Inactive Contract" notification. Ditto with Quests and Achievements, which he was pretty worried about. In games, those usually came with rewards upon completion. By the time he got to the last app, most functions had locked down to leave him with a store he cannot afford and a dead man's information.

He breathed deeply to brace himself, and touched the icon bearing a globe. The page opened, the title 'Jump Portal' emblazoned on its heading. A message popped up. He despaired.


Error—ERROR–Modif-0-Access—


Jaune's vision blurred, and he cradled his head as a bout of dizziness overwhelmed him. It felt a bit like being on a Bullhead, and right on cue his stomach performed a flip. Thankfully, he'd already emptied the contents on a Griffon earlier, and thus avoided the accompanying mess. Focus soon returned to the world.

The odd text had vanished, replaced by two options: Permanent Worlds and Instances. The first contained a blank page upon inspection, but the second? The second activated when he tapped on it.


Searching… searching… temporary connections established.


A series of boxes took up the screen. Their significance failed to register for him in the beginning. He caught an inkling of it, when he came across a familiar—yet unfamiliar—phrase.

'Universe: Warhammer 40K'. He carefully read through the rest of the box. It mentioned a location and an event that helped him understand nothing, but the information revealed when he touched the option to show more details? Danger rating. Loot rating. Inspiration smashed into his head with the force of a truck.

Out there lay other worlds, and in those worlds existed the items on sale in the marketplace. Their inclusion under an app named 'Jump Portal' suggested the possibility of him entering them. How? He had no clue. The itty bitty device managed to pluck him from Remnant and bring him here, so he would not doubt it can put him somewhere else again.

If he were to, say, travel to Warhammer 40K, could he perhaps acquire the item Khartoth the Bloodhunger straight from the source and not have to pay for it in Points? Even should he not succeed in such an endeavor, he might find any number of weapons or objects of value strewn about. What's to stop him from keeping what he can use, then selling what he cannot, thereby accumulating the Points needed to go on a shopping spree?

Giddy with the prospect of having found his path forward, Jaune browsed the available Instances. In his view, the ideal location was one that overflowed in treasures he can claim, with no accompanying risk. His perusal nixed the dream right quick. The two ratings tended to go hand-in-hand. Warhammer 40K rocked a maxed-out danger rating of 10/10; quite apt, going by the description of the Khartoth. Deeming himself unprepared to handle that level of peril, he crossed that universe off the list for this go-round and began sifting through the choices.

"This one seems doable," Jaune remarked as he checked the specifics on the fifth Instance.

Danger at 4/10 stars, a middling threat level. Universe, Location, Event, they held no meaning for him. Loot rating was…high for the risk involved. Very high. Wow, if he was going to choose a place to visit, this was the winner. A quick in and out and he'd have an armful of loot, easy.

He took a look at the last Instance for completion's sake, and dismissed it when the numbers differed unfavorably.

Selection made, he pushed the big, blue button labeled 'Jump'. The pop-up almost gave him a heart attack.


Recommended [Skills]:
[Blank]
You'll need it where you're going.


Ominous. Not least because the device can evidently perceive him in real time. That's not a general 'you'. That's a Jaune Arc 'you'.

"You can see me," he accused.

The scroll laid there, looking innocent.

Thoughts for later, he decided. He needed the scroll too much to abstain from its use. As for the [Skill], while he appreciated the warning, what can he do? To buy it, he required Points. To gain the Points, he had to enter the universe sans [Skill]. What a conundrum.

He stared at the screen, fretting in silence. 'Need', it stated. As if to press the point, intermittent golden light pulsed around the purchase button. Demanding. Insistent. It taunted his pauperism.

Hang on… the button had a color. Jaune tapped on it with a tremulous finger.


[Blank]
Points Cost: 400
Points Balance: 0
Insufficient Points. Buy on Credit (Credit Available: 1000 Points)?


Hey now, that option wasn't there before. Granted, it might be due to him trying to buy a 157,000 Points item. A price tag of 400 sounded like a steal in comparison.

Very much a steal, and Jaune bought the [Skill] without further ado. Sure, he'd owe, but the idea of taking on debt hardly fazed him. He owned a credit card, and used it on the regular. So long as the card gets paid off on time, the cutthroat interest rate won't come into play. In this case, one good run in the Instance can probably take him back into the black.


Ding!
[Skill] purchased.
[Blank]
You Thinkers get off my lawn! Render yourself unreadable to clairvoyance and related abilities, no matter the source.


And, in truth, he bought the [Skill] because it was power. His first power. He had no way to confirm its authenticity, but the idea that he'd just gained a literal out-of-this-world ability felt phenomenal.


Activating Portal


Swirls of energy manifested above the scroll, and shot off to hit the wall. There, it thickened to form a large circle shifting in a kaleidoscope of colors. Through it, Jaune heard what might be distant voices and the sound of waves. He tasted salt in the air.

It tasted… off. Different. Unlike home. Like another world.

A grin sprang to Jaune's lips. Tucking the scroll in a pocket, he unsheathed his sword and shield, then walked up to the portal. Whatever doubts he had, he crushed down and left behind.

Before him stood the road to everything he wanted, so what was there to fear?

This universe will be his starting line. From nothing, he shall walk the path of the straw millionaire. Loot. Barter. Gain. Then repeat, repeat, repeat until he has achieved the means to protect his friends and Beacon.

Starting Jump in 5…4…

He felt a tug coming from the portal. The pull boosted in strength with each passing second. Rather than resisting, he relaxed his stance. The energies grew to a crescendo.

…3…2…1

He didn't wait for it to take him. He leapt right in.

The new world awaited.

Universe: Worm (divergent). Location: Brockton Bay. Event: Leviathan.

---

Author's Notes: gg, new story next week?

10/10 danger rating is equal to the current attack on Beacon for sure, so 4/10 is probably, like, a pack of Beringels, right? Just need to be careful and everything should go without a hitch.
…Jaune has no Gamer's meta knowledge, no sense of the scale that other worlds are operating at. He thinks the Grimm is the scariest threat there can ever be. Heh. He'll learn. Or die.

A weapon, a shield, and topless. Jaune's starting out with the Deprived class. Would've taken the pants, too, but I don't think anyone's here to see Jaune get stripped.

 

[LazyAutumnMoon]

Rain.

That was Jaune's first impression of Brockton Bay, a torrential downpour that drenched him to the bone the very second the portal deposited him in a deserted alleyway. He had experienced storms before, both in Vale and in his hometown, but rarely did he ever get caught outside during one. Even then, not one like this. The sounds the raindrops make blended together in a dull roar that carried on without end. Water streamed past him towards the alley's mouth, where it joined a bigger river cascading down the street. The salty tang in the air has now become near overwhelming.

What a time to be shirtless.

Jaune stowed away the sword part of Crocea Mors, but kept the scabbard in shield form to hold above his head as a makeshift umbrella while he jogged out to the main street. It, too, was devoid of people, which didn't surprise him. He had the excuse of a portal mishap, but otherwise only an idiot would go out in this hurricane. Or was it a typhoon? They're both tropical, he knew that. Maybe one's for the mainland and one's for islands. Could it be a matter of wind speed?

…Dang it, this was going to haunt him until he got an answer.

Whatever. Finding shelter took precedence at the moment.

A storefront stood to his immediate left. The lights were off so it's probably closed. He tried knocking on the door anyway in the hope that a kind stranger might let him inside. No luck. He advanced to the next building. Then the next, and the next, and so on until the shattered window of an electronics store—plus the looted interior—clued him in that he won't find ready aid any time soon.

Taking a closer look at the street, he noted the cars sitting in the middle of the road, not pulled out of parking spaces by the water like he previously thought, but abandoned outright. He also spotted a number of personal items among the trash and debris floating in the inches-high river. Suitcases, bookbags, toys, and the like. All signs pointed to the aftermath of an evacuation order.

Just his luck to get stuck in a storm-hurricane-typhoon-thing powerful enough that people had to use the emergency shelters. He searched the sky for the signal flares that would mark out such places, but saw nothing. And he wouldn't, Jaune reminded himself, because this was a different universe. Standard practices of Vale need not apply here.

His gaze returned to the electronics store, drifting from there to further down where a convenience store sat. An unpleasant idea reared its head. Seeing as nobody was around, and he was in desperate need of clothing—his stomach rumbled to inform him that he hadn't eaten recently—and food, the case can be made for him to, not steal, but shop without oversight. He'd pay, of course.

Jaune paused that train of thought to check his pockets. Unless he lost it somewhere back in Beacon, his wallet should still be on his person. Aaand…Yes! Plan is a go! A few seconds later, he stood on the threshold of the convenience store, peering into its depths.

"Hello?" Jaune called into the room. When he did not receive an answer, he stepped fully inside. The lights were on, so whoever owned this store must have departed in a hurry. An inch of water covered the floor. A selection of memorabilia covered one of the back corners, among which he spied shirts and jackets. That'd be the next stop after he got some food in his belly. His feet made splashes as he passed the front counter and began browsing the aisles.

Any doubts he had that this was another universe faded once he saw the unfamiliar brands. From chocolate to water bottles to something as innocuous as paper towels, everything was sold under different names. He grabbed one of each aforementioned item, then approached the display case bearing an assortment of sandwiches and meals.

"Ooh, turkey! Don't mind if I do." Jaune snatched up the sandwich. Out of curiosity, he also added an 'italian' hoagie to his hoard before returning to the front of the store. It all went on the counter as he checked the prices.

Whyyyy was there a decimal on the price tag?

He was either looking at six and a bit for the turkey sandwich or six hundred twenty-seven written in a bizarre way. For the sake of his meager wealth, he chose the former, dropping two 10-Lien cards down on the counter for the lot. It sounded about right.

After wiping himself dry with the roll of paper towel, Jaune used the counter as a seat as he started on his lunch. The turkey tasted as turkey should, and took the edge off his hunger. The hoagie followed, eaten at a sedate pace so he could try and figure out what ingredient 'italian' was. As best as he could tell, it matched a regular hoagie in every aspect, down to the objectively subpar quality as was wont in this kind of place. The chocolate bar rounded out the meal, washed down with the contents of the water bottle. Feeling alive again, he disposed of the wrappers and moved on to the back corner of the store. There, he perused the wares on offer, with an eye for apparels in his size.

A city's souvenirs said a lot about its culture. Vale liked to print its most famous artworks onto t-shirts and drink coasters. Mistral went in for decorative hand fans and other traditional items, while jars of colored sands sparkling like gemstones were Vacuo's specialty. His one family trip to Atlas revealed the kingdom's penchant for patriotic messages (and patriotic puns) emblazoned on the usual fares of mugs, pens, clothes, and such.

Brockton Bay's souvenirs outed it as nerdtown, with comic book superheroes taking center stage. Dozens of them. Names like Dauntless, Vista, Clockblocker (his immature mind got the joke all too quickly), and Battery jumped out then fade from memory as soon as his eyes left their picture due to the sheer number of characters represented here. The superheroes leading in popularity seemed to be a bearded man in blue futuristic armor, a woman garbed in a tri-color bandana and the sort of combat fatigues that Ansel's militia would wear, and a pretty blonde girl sans mask in the most superheroine-esque costume of the bunch (it's the only one that has a proper cape). The three of them featured on a good half of the merchandise.

Jaune imagined how he'd look with their faces on his clothes, and cringed. He wouldn't do that for even his favorite characters, X-ray and Vav.

In the end, he settled for an 'I ❤ Brockton Bay' T-shirt (which in his opinion didn't roll off the tongue like 'I ❤ Vale' would) paired with a Panacea Poncho (white-and-red ambulance themed). Their purchase set him back another sixty Lien, an absolute ripoff of a price for the cheap-quality goods. Shaking his head in disgust, Jaune exited the store before he could be tempted to reconsider a spot of thievery.

He reared back when the ground in front of him exploded, struck by a man-sized projectile—no, wait. He was wrong. As asphalt and dirt pinged off him, Jaune watched the woman-sized woman crawl out of the crater that was fast filling up with water. She didn't even notice him standing behind her, looking into the distance and mumbling to herself.

"I'm okay. I'm okay. I can totally take a hit. J-just get back in there. I'm okay."

Interspersed throughout her mantra was a second voice, female but synthesized, speaking from an armband she wore.

Chubster deceased, CD-5. Good Neighbor deceased, CD-5. Hallow deceased, CD-5.​

…deceased?

"Uh, miss—?" The question died on his lips, for she was no longer in front of him.

Now, a person impacting the ground from a great height was nothing new. It's called a 'landing strategy', and everybody should have one. As for launching up, he had seen people like Pyrrha and Weiss use that move as an opener. They always come back down.

Not this girl. She floated in the sky, three stories high with nary a foothold. Her cape billowed, blonde hair whipping in the powerful winds. Then, she shifted her body into a corkscrew motion and blasted off across the city. Within two heartbeats, Jaune lost sight of the girl. He continued to stare.

Conventional knowledge would say the girl possessed a flight-type Semblance, even if that was something thus far only theorized as possible. It made a whole lot more sense than the word bouncing around in his head, one spurred on by the memory of a blonde in an identical outfit printed on a t-shirt inside the store at his back.

An impossible power? Check.

A cape? Check.

In a vacuum, those two details would just make her a Ruby Rose kind of person. When coupled with the line of merchandise for a certain Glory Girl, the possibility existed that she's a—

"Superhero." He breathed out the word. "And if she's real, all of those comic book characters might also..."

A moment of stillness followed, during which time he wrapped his mind around this new piece of information. Worked through the various implications. Really internalize it.

Then he full-on sprinted in the same direction the girl flew off to.

Whatever the 'Event' this Instance has dropped him in, he'd bet it was happening over that way. Where the superhero was going. Where, with luck, he can find more superheroes.

If anyone would be able to help him, it'd be them. And since it sounded like they were fighting, maybe he could pay them forward by pitching in.

-o-​

What he would give for the ability to fly. City block after city block he ran, his journey seeming without end. Vision and hearing obscured, he relied on the mental map of his path to keep on the approximate heading. The water has risen to about a foot by this point to waylay him with submerged debris and unseeable divots in the road.

The first hint that he was finally near to the goal occurred in the form of a rainbow lightshow brightening the sky. Booms echoed off to his left, and he course-corrected. Two blocks later he started to pick up more than the storm's background noise; shouts, screams, the occasional burst of gunfire and strange zapping sounds. Further along, shapes developed within the thick curtain of rain. All of it converged into clarity—into a roaring cacophony—until, abruptly, he was in the midst of a battle.

As it turned out, superheroes came in far greater numbers than the souvenir corner had shown. Colors bright and dark, outfits flashy and stark, close to a hundred people were present at the small intersection he had stumbled upon, loosely split into two groups on either side of a huge figure to prevent its escape. A miniature sun that hurts to look at blocked one of the other routes; behind the orb stood a person in a black bodysuit adorned by red suns. A gray cloud hemmed in the last exit. A dozen fliers hovered in the air. Together, they've got their foe—a hulking creature with green scales, thin limbs, long claws, and a long tail that moved like a whip— boxed in.

The superheroes unleashed attack after attack upon their target, though none did so more ferociously than a flying man in a skintight blue-and-white outfit. He was the cause of the pretty lights that guided Jaune's way, blasting dozens of laser beams down on his foe. In retaliation, the creature lashed out with its tail.

Oddly, the appendage canceled the movement, coiling back. Jaune's eyes bulged in shock as a tendril of water in the shape of the tail continued the original motion, on course to hit the laser-flinging hero, who had to dodge. The faux-tail crashed against the fourth floor of a building and left a deep gouge in the concrete.

The beast has a range attack. That used water. And they were in the middle of a storm.

At the back of the crowd, Jaune lifted his shield and kept it at the ready, because holy hell nowhere was safe from this thing.

Then, stamping down on his rising trepidation, he took a step forward. Battle instincts spurred him on. Here was a monster, and he a Huntsman. Where else should he be but in the fray?

That idea ground to a halt as the laser barrage redoubled in intensity. Motivated as he was to pitch in, trying to reach his optimal fighting range would be tantamount to suicide by friendly fire. Unsure of what else to do, he cast an eye over the cohort he'd joined. Beyond those able to fling projectiles, there were people deploying defenses to block the monster's blows... and that looked to be about it for the active participants. The rest of them were in similar circumstances to him, lacking the means to fight from a distance and thus reduced to milling around. A frown stole over his face.

Shouldn't there be someone organizing them into a more effective formation?

If the fliers were to stay lower to the ground, they can angle their shots to hit the big upper body. That would give the melee combatants an opportunity to whale on the legs, and maybe neutralize the tail. As things stood, only a fraction of them were contributing to the offensive. A powerful fraction, when they take into account Mr. All-the-lasers over there, but there's clear room for improvement.

One fruitless search for a commander later, Jaune readjusted the plan and began to circle along the edge of the crowd, hoping to put himself in a visible spot from which he could communicate his observations to people in a better position to do something about it. It was not to be. Someone else made their move.

"Fire in the hole!" Yelled a woman at the front of the other group—Miss Militia, he recognized her from the red, white, and blue bandana—before she raised some sort of Hard-light grenade launcher that reminded Jaune of Velvet Scarlatina's weapon projections, and fired a succession of projectiles at the monster. One exploded into a mess of gold ribbons that adhered to its green scales and to the road. Another explosion turned a part of the thing's shoulder to crystal. The last expanded to a shimmering sphere, trapping the waist and a leg in its grip. The beast tore through the first like paper, barely slowed on the next, and struggled with the third long enough for a ragged cheer to break out among the superheroes. The budding hope died when it managed to pull free.

Quick as a flash, the tail plunged into the ranks of fighters on Jaune's side of the intersection to pluck three people off the ground, hurling them at the sphere where they hung suspended and unresponsive. Simultaneously, the monster slashed its hands in an 'X' at the second team. The sharp claws fell short of the heroes, but blades of water shot out in their place to bridge the distance. Shields formed of mysterious energy sprang up to protect the opposite group.

They failed to neutralize the attack in full. The beginning of a scream cut short as blood flew in the air. Jaune heard the synthetic female voice again, this time coming from multiple armbands but most audible in the one worn by the skinny, long-haired figure sporting a dark costume beside him.

Jotun deceased, CD-6. Dauntless deceased, CD-6. Alabaster deceased, CD-6. Miss Militia deceased, CD-6.​

A startled gasp escaped his throat. Bile threatened to follow. His gaze zeroed in on the three people trapped in the sphere and the bisected remains of Miss Militia.

This was wrong. All wrong.

Superheroes weren't supposed to die.

In a daze, he watched the battle with a sense of detachment. Two giant, armored women rushed out to pin down the monster. It darted away, ending next to a building which it ran up at speed despite bearing a massive bulk. The trailing tail hooked on an open window, allowing the beast to swing onto the roof. A copy of itself—not just the tail or claws, but the entirety of the body—that was composed of water carried on the previous course, shooting into the sky to impact a glowing barrier conjured by a floating younger teen. The energy construct tanked the hit but shattered afterward. The blond boy, huffing and puffing in clear exhaustion, slumped onto another flier, a girl about Jaune's age who shared a similar outfit.

Refusing to let up, the monster leapt from the roof like a spring. A hundred feet high put it in the midst of the fliers. Deadly as a snake, the tail whipped at an armored hero hovering on a board. He threw up his hands in a futile attempt to stop the blow. Everyone knew he wouldn't survive.

Just before it would hit, the tail zig-zagged behind him to strike from a blindspot at the true target. The laser-hero.

It had not forgotten the hoverboard-hero. The tail's watery afterimage tore him apart. Both fighters tumbled out of the air.

Kid Win deceased, CD-6. Legend deceased, CD-6.​

The monster landed on cat's feet, the water hardly disturbed despite its size. It was greeted by a silent battlefield.

Jaune, the lone outsider, looked from face to face. With slack jaws or wide eyes, hitched gasps or tears, horror etched the uncovered portion of every mask. Even those whose expressions were hidden within helmets betrayed their fear by the way their bodies shook.

Why? What could have stopped their assault even as the beast readied its next attack?

The hero that fell. They called him Legend.

A grand name. A great power. The dots connected.

Jaune had wanted to find the commander of the heroes. That was him, there. Lying face down in the foot-deep river. Dead.

Fuck.

"SHIELDS!"

Jaune's shout rang through the battlefield to correspond with a water-whip barreling at his side of the street, and the crowd awoke with a start. A wall of interlacing steel swords rose up, and the pair of giant warriors braced their shoulders on the impromptu barricade to keep it in place. A blue forcefield sputtered to life behind them. The water carved great rends in the steel wall, in the two women, and crashed against the second line of defense, making the forcefield flicker. It held.

Fenja down, CD-6. Menja deceased, CD-6.​

The monster, relentless, turned its attention to the next target. With a mere look, a geyser blew a large hole in the strange fog blocking an exit, which struggled to reform into a person. Another scythe-like water blade shot at the second group of heroes. Prepared by Jaune's warning, energy shields in various colors were at the ready and overlapping so as to form a solid front. They prevented the ranks from being shredded.

Their foe gave them no further thought, having moved on to the last target. It juked at the miniature sun, then immediately rammed its talons into the street to halt the maneuver. A water-copy surged forward, instead. Most of it collided with the orb to create a huge eruption of steam, but a portion traveled close to the ground and continued its uninterrupted journey, headed straight for the lithe figure behind the sun, the summoner of that ball of molten fire.

Before it ever reached her, Jaune was there.

For him, the moment the beast dispersed the living fog yet did not escape spoke volumes. Throughout the fight, it demonstrated a clear ability to run anytime it pleased. Opportunities to retreat were given up in lieu of meting out death and destruction. Altogether, it suggested a bleak reality.

The heroes had not trapped it here with them. They were trapped here with it.

By the time the monster lashed out at the other hero team, Jaune was already in motion, fully anticipating the fourth attempt. Skidding across the last yard, he positioned himself in front of the girl. The attack was coming in low, so he slammed Crocea Mors into the concrete road, propping himself to push against the shield in an unsettling mirror of the pair of warriors earlier. Oh please oh please let Great War blacksmithing and Aura be good enough to survive this.

The water-copy, weakened as it was by the mini star, still slammed the shield with the force of Yang's strongest punch. His very bones rattled under the blow, and Crocea Mors scraped a line in the concrete as he slid a full body's length to hit the Sun-summoner. Fortunately for them both, most of the momentum had bled off, so all Jaune felt was a light impact on his back followed by a soft "Oof!" from the superhero. Success!

The monster was staring at him.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck—

It turned away.

Jaune blinked in confusion at this unexpected mercy. Before he can ponder overmuch of it, the beast conjured a wave with the water gathered at its feet and blasted it at the crowd formerly headed by Miss Militia, then dropped onto all fours to bullrush the team Jaune was a part of.

Ah. It had better targets.

Was it shameful, that his heart soared with relief at the thought of that thing directing its ire elsewhere?

Maybe so, but it was also understandable and he'd bet everyone here agreed with the sentiment. This monster…despite the drastic difference in size, this monster set off the same alarm bells in his head as the Grimm dragon. His instincts screamed at him that he had not a hope of a prayer if he faced such a creature head-on.

In some ways, this smaller foe inspired even greater terror than the dragon, for its overwhelming lethality possessed a sense of focus on the immediate area. Any who stood on this field, lived at the whim of the beast.

In the time it took for him to muster his will and take the first step back into the battle, the wave had scattered the heroes on one side of the street in the manner of bowling pins. Their defensive line collapsed in an instant. And on the other side, where the monster roamed, Death arrived, announced by the armband of the girl behind him.

Escutcheon deceased, CD-6. Herald deceased, CD-6. Velocity deceased, CD-6. Crusader deceased, CD-6. Stormtiger deceased, CD-6. Othala deceased, CD-6. Aegis deceased, CD-6.​

And then, the battle stalled out.

The rain fell. The injured cried in pain. A massive column of iron raised by someone's power fell over.

But the monster remained motionless.

A beat, and pandemonium broke out. Everybody started shouting. Some were calling for help, some were yelling for people to tie down the monster—Jaune finally learned its name due to how often they repeated it here; Leviathan, the same as the 'Event' listed in the scroll.

Still others simply began firing at the beast. For whatever reason, their attacks failed to even scratch it. A bullet struck inches above a superhero covered in what appeared to be clocks, who was standing way too near to Leviathan. Jaune peered closer, cursed, and started running at the drowning figure trapped in the shimmering curtain of water that was somehow just hanging in midair.

Halfway there, the clock-hero flickered and in the next moment was replaced by the body of a fallen combatant bearing a trumpet icon on his chest. Jaune spotted the former a distance away, getting checked over then evacuated.

"Listen!"

A strong voice that brook no argument silenced the crowd.

All eyes turned to the speaker, a bearded man in blue futuristic armor—Armsmaster, as named on the souvenirs—standing in front of a trio of superheroes; a man in a wizard costume, one in a green cloak with a glowing-green mask, and the last in a silver-and-gold knight's armor wielding…wielding…

Did Ruby design that? A massive sword/cannon hybrid sure seemed like something she would make. Jaune made sure to commit the knight-hero's equipment to memory. When he gets back to Remnant, and after he saved everybody, he was going to commission that weapon and armor set. The motif, the color scheme, they fitted him to a tee. The cannonblade looked like it can annihilate any Grimm.

His gaze flicked to the frozen form of Leviathan.

If he gets back to Remnant.

---

Author's Notes: Welcome to Worm, where bad things happen quickly, suddenly, and all over the place.
And then it got even worse, by upping the raid boss's ability by half a percent.

 

[LazyAutumnMoon]

After their arrival, the newcomers quickly took charge. As the green man—Eidolon, according to the awed whispers among the crowd—flew off to deal with the incoming tidal waves(! ! !), Armsmaster handed down orders to the assembled superheroes.

It was a hell of a thing for Jaune to learn from the man's speech that they never expected any of the heroes who joined this battle, alive or fallen, to stand a chance of defeating the monster. The best they could have hoped for going in was to whittle it down until it retreated, a plan shot to pieces by this point. Even its current frozen state had a limit. The clock-hero, Clockblocker, can stop things in time for a random duration, but the effect never lasts long. The object would also be immune to all damage in this condition, which explains to Jaune why they weren't unloading their combined arsenal in the monster's face at the moment.

What remained now was a do-or-die delaying action as they awaited someone going by the name of Scion to arrive and beat back the beast. To that end, Armsmaster was organizing the combatants in a loose formation spread out over a few blocks to prepare for Leviathan's eventual awakening.

The thought that Leviathan could start moving in the literal next few seconds lit quite a fire under people's rears, and they were running pell-mell to obey their given orders. The heroes most durable formed a line, waiting; their task was to be first up to bat. People who could set traps were doing so at record speed to lay a veritable minefield along one side of it; that way led to the nearest civilian center, and nobody wanted the monster heading there. Others helped to evacuate the wounded or bring in reinforcements. Those capable of bringing great firepower to bear were told to space themselves throughout the area and look for opportunities whenever Leviathan became distracted. The rest were sent to man the perimeters in the expectation of waylaying the enemy should it break containment. As the clock ticked by, a sort of harmony asserted itself, the hectic scramble developing a rhythm, moving to one man's vision.

A single discordant element existed within that space, born from a lack of orders to follow and a desire to help. Which can be either the best, or worse, combination.

Jaune's banking on good outcomes. His idea wasn't that out there. In fact, it made perfect sense. To him.

"Yup, just here." Standing behind the scaly beast, he pointed with a hand as he spoke to the girl capable of summoning miniature suns. "Can you make the ball big enough to engulf it?"

"I c-can, but…" The superhero glanced sidelong at Leviathan, hands wringing. "It's not alive, is it? Like, this isn't a person that I am going to k– attack?"

It wasn't hard to catch the slip, and to guess what the girl was hung up on. She abhorred the prospect of killing. Whether she was brave or foolish to still participate today despite that, Jaune couldn't rightly say, but his respect for her rose a few notches because of it. Heroes and idiots have always found a home in Beacon.

"I doubt it," Jaune denied. "That thing's more akin to some ancient Grimm than a human."

"Greem?" She asked, tilting her head.

That one mangled word said it all. They don't have Grimm here. Wow.

No engulfing darkness, with civilization driven to the brink of extinction? No ravening horde descending on a town due to one person feeling too sad that day? Hot damn.

Then again, there's an eminently lethal, city-destroying monster in their place. It's not all sunshine and rainbows in this universe. But, still. He hadn't even considered there could exist a place where he might have to explain what a Grimm was.

Faced with someone who had never known of life's enemy and in all likelihood wouldn't believe him on it, Jaune waffled a bit for an excuse.

"Uhhh, it's a fictional creature." Inspiration struck. "From a comic book. A very niche one you probably wouldn't have read. I'm a nerd like that. Anywho, the details aren't important. What I was getting at is that Leviathan is probably, you know, that sort of thing. One of those thousands-of-years-old, monster-from-the-deep types like you see in the movies. It's not human, and never was."

He sure hoped they have creature-feature cinema here, or he would have just outed himself as coming from somewhere else. Or left the impression that he's a loon.

"I guess that makes sense…" So she said, but the hero remained yet uncertain. She stared up at Leviathan without speaking, shifting from foot to foot.

"It's okay if you don't want—"

Jaune bit off the rest of the sentence as the girl took in a deep breath. Her chest rose and fell once, twice, thrice before she seemed to muster her courage, striding in front of him. Holding her hands a short distance apart, she peered down at something in them.

Jaune peeked over her shoulders to see her power at work, and regretted it pretty much instantly. A flicker of light, accompanied by a roaring sound, flashed between her hands for a fraction of a second, bright to the point that it left spots dancing in his vision. He squinted his eyes and turned from another flare, this one lasting a touch longer. The temperature made a sudden jump, shooting past uncomfortable to become so hot that the rain around the summoner transformed to steam. Jaune's Aura softly glowed as it registered an attack upon his body. There had to be another aspect to her power, because the girl was unphased by the heat.

"You might want to step back. A lot." She said, while standing on dry land in the middle of a flooded street during a hurricane. Heeding the suggestion, Jaune skipped back a few yards. Then, a few more when that proved insufficient. Around him, others followed suit.

Above the girl's hands now floated an orb of fire, baseball-sized. A couple of flickers later and it compared to a basketball. The orb began a slow flight towards Leviathan, growing over time. Meanwhile, the hero backed away, keeping her gaze on the ball as she retreated to where Jaune was waiting.

Halfway there, an armored hand crashed down on her shoulder, squeezing so hard that she let out a cry of pain.

"Shut it off!" Armsmaster snarled. When she instead stammered in confusion, he slammed his halberd into the road to emphasize the command. "NOW!"

"B-but—" She cringed as more shouting drowned out her protest. Jaune rushed over, and tried to segue between the two of them. Armsmaster's attention snapped to him.

"You are not in the database of participants," he declared with absolute certainty, then proceeded to observe Jaune from head to toe before focusing on his face. "Rags and souvenirs. No mask. Are you a new parahuman?" His lips curled in scorn. "Or are you a civilian who snuck in to meet heroes?"

A rumbling passed through the crowd of onlookers, fueled by open-mouthed astonishment. With great care, Jaune smiled to hide his ignorance, hoping that nobody would press for an answer. He had only an inkling of what a parahuman was from the context, enough to know he wasn't one, but professing to the contrary appeared the worse choice judging by the hostile atmosphere.

Deflecting, he said, "I'm the person who came up with this plan. I asked her to help me."

The good news? His admission succeeded in warding off further questions on his background. Bad news, it otherwise didn't go over that well, triggering the man's ire.

"There is ALREADY a plan, one which you two are impeding," Arsmaster growled. "Desist. At. Once."

Jaune, perhaps unwisely, declined to roll over on the man's say-so. "Look, can we at least give it a shot? You want to deal damage, she summons a frigging sun! There's a mutual interest here. When Leviathan unfreezes, it'll get a few thousand degrees to the face and—boom!—Patch Fried Lizard." Instincts drove him to search for a blonde mane of hair and a gauntleted fist after making that comment on Patch island, before he remembered the violent woman was a universe away from here. One silver lining to getting punted out of Remnant, this Ansel boy can throw shade on the other regions of Vale with impunity.

"Her power is untested." Armsmaster almost spat the word, it seeming to offend him on a base level. "Nothing has indicated it to match the sun in thermal output. Our strongest Blasters, good people whose powers have been rigorously researched, cannot land a decisive strike on Leviathan, and you think you can? Are you so arrogant to believe that your ability can surpass that of Legend!?"

Oh, that's just dirty pool.

Jaune spotted the very moment that the tide turned against him and the girl. As the name 'Legend' resounded through the staging ground, the stances of those in the vicinity shifted to face the two of them. Arms proceeded to cross and lips set in frowns or sneers, many scoffing as they dismissed the whelps who dared to besmirch the beloved hero's memory.

"You children think you have all the answers, yet you did not even consider how your doomed attempt would affect the rest of us." The armored hero pointed at the ball of fire. "That thing will blind anybody trying to keep an eye on the beast. What will you do when Leviathan escapes our net and annihilates everyone here, because we can't see it coming? It'd all be on you two fools if we fail!"

Jaune argued, "Or, it could work and we end the match in one big opener. Doesn't this monster warrant taking that kind of risk? Besides, there's ways to mitigate the visual effect. Aren't our eyes open right now? We can still see." His rebuttal garnered a few nods, a couple expressions of intrigue. Not nearly enough.

Just then, a new figure interrupted the confrontation—it was the superhero whose equipment Jaune coveted—and he moved to stand next to the hero in blue. A glance from one party to the other, to the miniature sun and back again, gave the impression that he was granting the possibility careful thought.

Hope reared its head, growing alongside the silence. In bated breath Jaune waited, as did everybody else, for the impromptu tiebreaker to render his judgment. Maybe, just maybe, he would agree to let it ride.

Reaching a conclusion, the knight-hero spoke. He projected his voice loud and clear for all present to hear.

"Armsmaster is an experienced hero who has taken part, and proven himself, in multiple Endbringer fights. I trust him implicitly."

…bastard.

"At the current juncture, he is in command of this operation, his authority superseded only by the Tri- the surviving members of the Triumvirate. You are expected to defer to his expertise in all circumstances. Disobeying an order from him cast our efforts and sacrifices thus far in jeopardy."

Reputation. Trust. The person that took umbrage with him was one who has established his bona fides, a core member of this alliance. It therefore mattered not one whit the merits of Jaune's idea or how well he presented his case. Those were not even taken into consideration. The heroes occupying the top ranks will without question stand by their fellow, lending him their support out of camaraderie and presenting a united front through thick and thin against malcontents like the blond nobody that was Jaune.

It should have been a sight to inspire. Standing on the outside, he would call it an obstinate blindness, plain and simple.

Pure smugness oozed off the man in blue across from him. He stepped closer to loom over Jaune and the sun-hero, the latter of whom received a hard stare.

To her, Armsmaster remarked, "And when such mutiny comes from a villain, it certainly calls into question your level of dedication in this battle."

Vil…lain?

The sun winked out of existence, its absence casting them into a darker, near-night visibility. Out of the corner of his eyes, Jaune watched the girl shrink in on herself, and he seethed in fury at the triumphant smirk that flitted past Armsmaster's face, too quick for anyone but him to catch.

There's a desire to ask his ally about what was said, the curiosity couldn't be helped, but he clamped down on that impulse in favor of shooting back at the older man.

"Hey! Don't just accuse—" He got no further. Deeming him no longer a concern, Armsmaster marched past Jaune, bashing an armored shoulder against his fabric-covered own to make him stumble.

"Follow your orders!" He barked with an air of finality. It was a signal for the assembled combatants to return to their tasks, running every which way in a flurry of activities. Looking around, there were no allies to be had among them. Some shook their heads in pity. More would rather throw a last nasty glare at them before leaving for their assigned positions. Armsmaster, in what to Jaune's view was a direct reversal of his former stance, got to work strapping a small pile of bombs to Leviathan, explosives that failed when Ms. Militia used them and bearing a fraction of the destructive potential of a mini sun. Not a single person gainsay him.

Jaune pulled the hood of the poncho low to hide his downcast eyes.

What kind of superhero treats other people like that? People on the same side, no less. The browbeating, the power play, Armsmaster was only interested in winning the confrontation, his mind unwavering throughout. It's doubtful if he had spared any true regard to the gambit before dismissing it out of hand.

So, what now?

There's got to be a way to beat this thing. He just didn't know how. His best plan was shot, and he knew too little about the abilities of the other superheroes, rendering it impossible to formulate a strategy. They wouldn't give him the time of day after that disagreement, in any case.

As for following the proposal Armsmaster put forward…nobody said where he should go. People were taking their cue from the chirpings of the armbands, something he personally lacked due to his spontaneous involvement. He couldn't get any orders.

He could guess, though. With his Aura and Crocea Mors, he wasn't about to do much to Leviathan. He's weak, meaning it'd be the outskirts for him; A simple lookout duty to warn others if Leviathan escapes down his route.

Jaune scoffed.

Escape. What a joke. That thing goes where it pleases.

His approach had run counter to that of the other man. Of course it did. Jaune pushed for a greater offensive that bordered on an all-or-nothing play because he had visualized the end result of the holding action advocated by Armsmaster. The number of casualties paving that path boggled the mind. Splitting up to prevent heroes dying in droves made sense, but to spread out to the extent of stationing each combatant by themselves, then leaving them to their own devices? A lone fighter would draw all of Leviathan's ire, guaranteeing their death in a matter of seconds.

It's a poor tactic, all told, born of desperation. He'd observed the heroes (and villains), and many were geared for one thing or another. Offense. Defense. Movement. Esoteric effects. Few can boast of having it all. Apart, Leviathan would overwhelm each person on every front.

Put some of them together, however…

Organize the combatants as teams in the style of Beacon, balance the mix, and see what a difference it could make. One to attack, one to defend, another to get them out of trouble, and so on. Give them a chance to deal damage and survive. Or the hope of it, at least.

Instead, their lot was to be offered up one by one as sacrifices to sate the monster's hunger. It's enough to make a person despair. Truly it did.

So, again, what now?

A hand tapped a soft beat on his arm. Turning towards the culprit, he came face-to-visor with the summoner, who answered the questioning tilt of his head by holding up her wrist, on which an armband sat.

To his amazement, the thin fabric worked somewhat like a scroll. Bright lines drew a minimalist rendition of a map, with colored dots and arrows to denote objectives. One arrow led straight at Leviathan. Another was blinking, and led southwest of here according to the compass. Was that where she's redeploying?

She took a step that way, waving for him to come along.

…He could have hugged this person right about then. Falling in line with her, they started to wade through the water.

"Thanks, I was a little lost on what to do," he said, then glanced over his shoulder. "And hey, I'm sorry for dragging you into that mess back there. If I knew the guy was going to blow up on us, I would have…well, I probably would have still tried it, but I'll knock him out beforehand."

The summoner's hands flew up to her cloth mask, stifling a laugh. And while it faded all too soon due to the pall cast by Leviathan, Jaune was glad to see the tension slowly ease off of her. After regaining her composure, she shrugged, murmuring, "I thought it was a good plan. It's weird that he shut us down so hard, I wonder why?"

He wanted an answer to the same, too. Something beside weak excuses boiling down to 'my eyes are sensitive' and 'we know better, you shut up'.

"And, and!" His companion gave a quick bow. "Thanks so much for taking the hit for me earlier. I was a sitting duck and if not for you, it could have been really bad."

His heart lifted at the comment. That's one thing he did right.

"You're welcome. I can't bring anything special to the table, but I hope my shield arm can at least be of some use."

"A-about that, I was actually thinking we could work together?" She asked. A note of eagerness rang clear in her tone. "My outfit doesn't make for the best protection, as you can see." Yep. He can. It featured thin armor plating in places, but hugged her figure on the whole, and the red suns were more decorative than practical. It reminded him of Huntsman fashion. "But with me on DPS and you playing tank, we might do better than if we're alone. What do you say?"

What does he say? She had just put into words—albeit more gamified—the very concepts bouncing around in his head!

He can't save the day. Jaune no longer harbored any delusion of accomplishing such a miraculous feat. Leviathan was simply too strong. But he can offer one person his shield, for what it's worth, as they try to survive in this battle until the hero Scion arrives. And with her overwhelming firepower, they stood a chance of making a difference, however small.

"Done!" He put out a hand. After a second, his ally reached out to clasp it in hers. They shook on it, and Jaune continued the conversation as they turned a corner. "Since we're teaming up, I suppose we're overdue for an introduction. I'm Jaune Arc." Wait, he should have given out a hero name! Inwardly lamenting the lost opportunity, he said, "What do they call you? In costume, I mean."

Please say 'The Sunmoner'. The pun would cheer him up to no end.

"I go by Sundancer."

"Oh? That's a pretty name." It rolled off the tongue even better than The Sunmoner.

Sundancer ducked her head at the comment and grew quiet. The reaction worried him at first, but he soon worked out the reason for it.

Wooow, did he purchase a conversation [Skill] by accident, or something? Because he delivered that line so smooooth. Now, if only he can figure out how to replicate it on a consistent basis, he'd be golden.

In the meantime, the silence between them dragged on. They've relocated a block west and south of Leviathan, with the map telling them to walk south for three more. Occasionally, other heroes (and villains, which would never not surprise him) tasked with the same appeared in view. Jaune and Sundancer walked past one such, a person he remembered from the battle at the intersection.

The skinny, androgynous figure in black was scoping out the surroundings. They froze when the pair neared, watching the newcomers while motionless. Hiding how unsettled their stillness made him, Jaune nodded to the figure. They did not respond, insectile mask simply moving to follow the progress of his group.

Once he left their vicinity, Jaune shivered from the sensation of wrongness that had crept up his spine. Sundancer herself seemed to breathe easier for having put them behind her.

They then both screamed their heads off as a massive cloud teeming with bees, flies, and beetles burst out of an alleyway just ahead. Jaune recovered first, and jumped forward with his shield raised to cover Sundancer. She, meanwhile, had rushed to his back in order to hide. Peeking over his shoulder, she gave a soft 'Ah!' of recognition.

"T-those must be Skitter's. She's the person we just saw. They won't hurt us…I think."

"Are you sure? The buzzing sounds awfully aggressive to me!"

Her claim gained credence, though, when the bugs refrained from doing much more than that, and Jaune heaved a sigh of relief. The prospect of a million bugs crawling over and into his clothes had filled him with revulsion. As it was, the two of them maintained a wide berth as they skirted around the swarm. A glance at the bug controller revealed three additional clouds like it were floating towards the person, gathering in passable silhouettes of people with the leftovers clinging to her body. Jaunce can already tell that it will be this and not Leviathan that's going to feature in his nightmares for days to come.

"Scary as hell, that lady."

"You can say that again." muttered Sundancer. She fidgeted with her hands before speaking up. "Hey, so, you seem really used to jumping in the line of fire…I'm guessing you're a hero? Are you with New Wave, by any chance?"

"New who?"

"Oh, that's a no, then? I just assumed you might have been since John Arc sounded like, you know, your real name." She resumed her nervous fidgeting.

Jaune nodded. "It is. Although, it's Jaune and not John. J-A-U-N-E."

"Like, french for yellow?"

"Uhhh, sure! Let's go with that." Leaving aside whatever the heck 'french' meant, it was true that his name referred to the color yellow.

"Jo… Ja… Jaune?" Sundancer practiced, shaping her lips around the unfamiliar word. She pumped a fist in victory when Jaune confirmed she said it right. "I can't believe you're using your actual name. And aren't wearing a mask."

Partly in jest, Jaune replied, "You really think I'm that ugly, Sunny Days?"

Sundancer furiously shook her head, flustered. "That's not what I said! You look good- I mean, you look fine! F-fine as in okay, I'm not trying to say fine as in fine, I wasn't staring, I swear!" A short pause ensued, where neither of them said a word. Then, her face fell into her hands, and she groaned. "Ignore me? Please? It's just you don't hide your identity, and most people in this scene… hide their identity." She finished lamely.

Whookay, a lot to unpack there, not least that he should work on his jokes if it sets people off like this. Also, he could be wrong, but her ramblings seemed to imply a positive opinion on his appearance, stroking his ego in a way he didn't know he enjoyed. It merited further investigation. He'll bring it up when she's less skittish. Grin, grin.

Man, this was fun. Why had he never tried to talk to girls back in Beacon?

Ah, right, because Jax Darkphenix in all probability blasted his head with mind control to prevent a single hint of romantic interactions, and this might well just be him acting without that filter. Jaune experienced a sudden, unfathomable urge to kick something.

"It never came up as a necessity, that's all," he said, mood dampened at the bad memory. A glint in the water ahead caught his attention. He kept a close watch on it as he talked. "And I can't say I'm a hero, yet."

"Then, are you a—"

"Hold that thought? I need to check on this thing real quick. Keep going and I'll catch up."

Splitting off, he raced over to the half-submerged object; it's a hilt, red and crystalline. Grabbing the handle, he pulled the weapon out of the road where it had been impaled to expose a long dagger. The razor thin blade was composed of the same material as the hilt and the knife as a whole possessed a delicate yet simple form, lacking details. An experimental swing easily sliced through the metal of a car door. He flicked a finger against the blade and it sang a most beautiful, melodious note.

Lien signs appeared in his eyes.

After a quick scan of his surroundings to search for an owner and seeing none, he fished out Jax's scroll—while making a mental note to separate it and his scroll in different pockets from now on—to open the Marketplace app.

Okay, time to test out how the selling function worked. Though he wasn't confident in what information he should put down for the dagger, he can probably muddle along in listing the thing. What he's most concerned about was the delivery process. [Blank], presumably, took effect upon purchase, but this was a physical object. He might be in big trouble if The Company required him to handle packaging and shipping the item to another universe.

Navigating to the selling page, he encountered a list of his sellable goods, numbering four entries at the moment; Crocea Mors, the t-shirt, the poncho, and the dagger, recognized by the app through some creepy eldritch power as being in his possession, and furthermore owned by him as noted on one side of the entries. On the bright side, that'd save him the effort of typing out a description.

Crocea Mors was out, because he wasn't going to pawn his family heirloom. The two mundane items carried a value of zero, their cheap make deemed worthless to the universes at large. The new weapon, on the other hand? One hundred points. Pretty dang low in his opinion considering the otherworldly gem-like material, but still able to pay off a solid quarter of his debt. Giddy, Jaune tapped on its icon.


Bloodiamond Dagger
Universe: Worm
Hard as diamond, but not actually made of diamond. Crimson as blood, and certainly made of blood. Crafted through the blood-based power expression of 'BloodEdge, the Bloodied Hero' (PRT-Registered Name, full phrase with comma and caps), whose bloody blades have taken more of her own blood than anyone else's blood. Blood.
Sharp, and appeals to a particular demographic. That's about it.


Yeeeah, no way he's keeping that around. Sell, sell, sell.


Unsellable within Instance.
Note: Marketplace Selling is allowed in designated [Home Base], or with relevant [Skills].


The urge to kick something made its reappearance. A second popup offered the answer to his woes.


Recommended [Skill]:
[Mobile Merchant]
Make quick bucks from the comfort of your couch, in the midst of dramatic battles, or sitting on the toilet. Anywhere, anytime, it's a world full of capitalistic possibilities at your fingertips.


Checking the cost, Jaune took one look at the low, low price tag of 5999 Points and promptly shut off the scroll, muttering curses under his breath. Capitalistic, indeed, to paywall critical functions! He was starting to suspect that the Company was out to fleece his sorry self. While there may be a day he'd have to pick up that [Skill] for the sake of accessibility, it would not be today, given he's flat broke and owing.

Frown stuck on his face, he stowed the dagger in his belt and regrouped with Sundancer at the coordinates marked by the armband, on the edge of Sector CC-7 and CC-8 according to the map. Besides them and Skitter, there were a few people scattered about, including the younger sibling of the blond flying duo from previous. He vaguely noted a new reticence to Sundancer but it went unaddressed in lieu of a greater oddity that occupied his focus.

Their spot in CC-7 translated to four blocks south and one over from Leviathan. Why have the heroes in charge placed Sundancer this far out? She's among those with higher destructive potential against the creature. Lookout duty seemed a poor use of her strengths.

Soon, however, her persistent scrutiny drew his attention, and he observed how her head alternated between tilting up to look at his hair, then lowering to his hip where Crocea Mors hung. Finally, he couldn't take the silence anymore, and asked her about it. In a voice laced with suspicion, she responded.

"Weird question, but…you're not with E88 are you? Because we can't be friends if you're a Nazi."

He blinked twice, not understanding. His lack of an answer must have worried her because Sundancer took a half-step away. She shuffled from foot to foot, torn on what to do.

"No," he stated. Going by context, he guessed that was the correct thing to say.

Sundancer exhaled a breath, one hand going to her chest. "Oh, thank goodness. I'm so sorry for asking something rude like that. It's just this town, you know? Not a hero, blond hair and deep blue eyes, a sword, the whole shining knight thing. It screams Nazi cape, and I was worried..."

"But, I'm not wearing a cape?"

A simple statement, yet it caused Sundancer to freeze in her tracks. Incoherent choking noises came from under her mask, nothing he could decipher.

With effort, she rasped, "No, I was talking about a cape cape."

Jaune twisted to look behind himself. Undoubtedly, he wore no cape. If she was referring to his rainwear, then a mere poncho shouldn't make the cut to capehood, he felt. Turning back to his companion, he was greeted with her slackened stance, a full-body tilt to convey her incredulousness.

"Do you know what a cape is?"

Damn. Her tone boded nothing good. It suggested that he was missing some common knowledge. He'd out himself unless he played this right.

"Course I do. Do you know what a cape is?" Deja vu. He tried this on Pyrrha way back when, if he recalled. He…he also remembered it not working too well at the time.

"Are you being serious? You are! Then you're really a civilian—but, no, you can block one of Leviathan's attacks! A new trigger?" She saw something in his expression, a cause for great concern. It convinced him that there's a good case to be made for donning one of those masks, after all. His poker face sucked. Sundancer deadpanned, "You have no idea what a trigger is, do you?"

Jaune fabricated a backstory on the spot. "I live out in the sticks. We don't get the news very often. Or ever."

Just a simple farmboy, nothing to see here.

"Uh-huh." She sounded unconvinced. Jaune avoided her gaze, glancing off to the side and hoping to hell that she knew as little about rural life as he did, because otherwise it'd take about thirty seconds to expose his lies.

As she was gearing up to poke holes in his flimsy excuse, however, a cold front hit them from the direction of the sea. It pierced through their wet clothes to leave them shivering.

The cause of the freak wind was flying over the coast, a green figure shooting out blue beams that froze the waves into big, irregular walls. They, in turn, blocked later waves from ever hitting land. And, more importantly, from washing the combatants away. Nice.

They could do without the hypothermia, though.

Nudging Sundancer, he asked, "Can you give us a bit of warmth?"

She answered by putting her hands together, and after Jaune removed himself, Sundancer brought forth a new ball of fire. The moment the tiny orb emerged, the chill immediately receded. Once it ballooned to a stable size, she pushed it out half a block to let Jaune rejoin her at the center of the street. Warm and toasty, Jaune stood with the sun at his back, using its light to check out the city skyline in full.

"Your power's got a lot of uses, huh? I wonder if it can provide energy to run the entire city. There could be good money in that."

"Um, yeah. Maybe."

"What's with the dispirited tone, Sunny Days? You could become a millionaire." A memory niggled at his mind, and hand met forehead. "…although I suppose that's kinda hard to arrange if they arrest you on sight. Dang."

The sun shook, nearly dissipating. "I-it's not a problem with you, is it? That I'm a villain?"

Had that incident with Armsmaster hounded her thoughts all this while?

He was leery upon first finding out of it, that much Jaune will admit. The revelation that such a mild-mannered and agreeable person might be a career criminal had thrown him off his rhythm. The oft-said line one hears on the evening news put it best. She didn't seem the type.

But then, he wasn't exactly what he appeared to be, either. Not since the start of Beacon, which he entered through false documents. And the same went for a lot of people he called friends.

Team RWBY hadn't intended to tell him and the rest of JNPR much of anything, but they were a loud, indiscreet bunch and their 'secrets' were known to more people than they would expect.

Blake's a former terrorist. Yang took part in back alley brawls and street races. Ruby's a vigilante.

Ren and Nora have seen some things, done some things, and only the fact that they were literal starving, orphaned children during their pre-Beacon days excused them from the label of 'bandit'.

He'd had the chance to listen in on a few conversations between his other classmates, too—which was another strike against his character now that he thought about it—and discovered that Beacon hosted quite a collection of ne'er-do-wells, enough that he wondered if a criminal background might not count as a hidden requirement for entrance. Taken altogether, it left Weiss and Pyrrha as the odd ones out among their year-group.

Ooh! There's also the brutal evisceration of Jax attached to his name. He'd almost forgotten that!

So, yeah, he had no room to judge Sundancer. She was a ray of sunshine in comparison to the den of outlaws he resided in for a year.

"My past isn't squeaky clean, either," he reassured Sundancer, shrugging his shoulders. "And I've seen for myself the way you act. You're pretty cool, and loads better than the shouty blue guy." They both snickered. "Still, I can't deny I'm curious on what made you choose to help out the heroes."

His ally stared into the sun she summoned, arms crossed and contemplative. Her answer, when it came, contained an undercurrent of shame.

"Honestly…I didn't want to. My group, we're working for this one villain, Coil, in exchange for him helping our friend and he ordered us to take part. I tried to get everyone to run but they didn't listen. I had to go because they went. And then- and then I learned what that thing can do. Leviathan was going to bring down the city, and there were hundreds of thousands of people in its path, all trapped in the shelters. I didn't want to be here, but how could I leave? "

Yet, so too were there the very heights of heroism. Jaune concluded that she would have done well as a Huntress.

Adamant down, CD-6.​

The synthetic voice intruded upon their conversation. Its cold message heralded the awakening of the beast. Along the road, heroes and villains whirled to look northward, straining to spot a sign of the battle.

Night deceased, CD-6.​

The armband announcement remained their best indicator.

Fog deceased, CD-6.​

The strategy spearheaded by Armsmaster worked as intended. Their casualties ticked upward by single counts, their distance forcing Leviathan to chase down targets.

Uber deceased, CD-6.​

It didn't sound like a win. Leviathan seemed no less unstoppable, inevitable.

By his side, Sundancer held herself, trembling. She flinched each time the armband chirped the name of a fallen. It's impossible to see an expression past the full facemask, but her shortened breath belied her panic.

To distract her, Jaune started talking.

"What do you do, outside of this?"

"Huh?" Was her numb reply.

"Life's not all great big balls of fire. What does Sundancer do when she has free time?"

She alternated her gaze between him and the direction of the battle, as if unsure if she had heard him correctly. In the end, his continued show of interest drew out a response.

"I p-play videogames. I'm actually a pro back home."

"That's awesome! I'm just a casual player, myself."

Emboldened, Sundancer said without prompting, "I also know ballet. It's been a while since I've done it, though."

"Nice. I saw a performance once. It's a lot different from ballroom dancing." His oddly specific comment garnered her attention.

"Ballroom?"

"My sisters made me learn. Totally bragging, I've gotten quite good at it, along with a couple modern styles. My friends and I killed it at our school dance."

Sundancer softly giggled, the sound muffled in part by the fabric of her costume. It couldn't quite drown out the next announcement, but she stayed calm through the report.

Faultline deceased, CD-6.​

The orb of fire increased in size.

"We had a blast. It was a great night," Jaune finished. The armband kept up a steady chant in the background.

Victor deceased, CD-6.​

"You know..." It was Sundancer who initiated the dialogue this time.

"Yes?" Jaune asked.

Sundancer fell quiet, seemingly losing her nerves. She turned her head to the side, facing with ease the intense light radiating from the miniature star she created. What she wanted, he had not a clue, but he stood by in his own silence, content to wait.

And, peering into her sun, she found a resolve.

"You know," Sundancer repeated, turning to look up at him, "a waltz can't be much harder than ballet. If we get out of this mess, how about we go dancing?"

"Sure thing. That sounds like a good time." Jaune mustered a smile for her, cheery and honest; and though he cannot see under her mask, he had a hunch Sundancer was doing the same in turn.

Whatever else they might say was left unspoken.

A giant ocean wave slammed against the ice wall conjured along the coast, an almighty crash sending up a roar to shake the city.

And far, far down the street, Leviathan stalked into view.

Oh, boy. Here we go again.

---

Author's notes: Jaune thinks he's so slick, coming up with his 'fool-proof' plan. He didn't expect the Brockton Bay welcoming committee.
One thing I like about Worm, I didn't even have to adjust the heroes' personalities for them to act like that.
.
Jaune, throughout - Imma grab all the flags with this Sundancer girl!
Sundancer, helping- Ooh, ooh, here's one! Ehem… Once this war is finally over and we go home…
.
Since there are elements of the story that our narrator cannot know about, and therefore cannot be explained in the text, I'll field questions, limited to those with answers that won't spoil future developments.

 

[LazyAutumnMoon]

Nobody made a move. Nobody wanted its attention. Heroes and villains watched in breathless terror as Leviathan slinked down the street. A lop-sided thing it was, one shoulder malformed with swollen growths. An ugly thing it was, face ripped away on one side. A hole through the belly, a gouge in the neck, the beast bore its wounds in total silence. Splattered on scaly hide were the blood of hunted prey, meeting rain to drip down in rivulets. Grasped in a hand was one such quarry, the remains of a man encased in armor and crown of steel, body torn in two and his legs nowhere to be seen. Leviathan discarded him with a careless throw.

"Is that…Kaiser?" Sundancer whispered.

Jaune frowned. That name hadn't been announced by the armband. Had it malfunctioned?

Leviathan pointed ahead with a claw and the seawater flooding the street responded, gathering. It soon formed a swell measuring the height of a man, spanning half the street across. A minute adjustment of the claw and the water moved to engulf a rusted van, lifting the wheels off the ground then pulling the entire thing towards the creature. Once the vehicle was close enough, sharp claws tore it asunder, revealing an empty interior.

Near where the van used to be, a dark figure—Skitter—rushed out of a hiding spot, sprinting to gain distance from the monster. Noticing her, Leviathan sent a water blade scything after the runner. Both Jaune and Sundancer shouted for her to duck, their voices drowned out in the rain.

Just before contact, the younger of the blond flying siblings landed next to Skitter and a blue bubble sprang up around them to weather the blow. Above, his sister retaliated by firing laser bolts at Leviathan.

From there, the battle began in earnest.

Those few who could, shot at Leviathan from range. A rifleman appeared over the lip of a building, unloading on the monster's head in an effort to hit the eyes. Twice, Leviathan launched watery afterimages to strike his position. Twice, he managed to take cover, and got up to continue the assault.

Leviathan, that clever beast, repeated the feat, this time whipping its tail back and forth to send two lines of water through the air, one hiding behind the other. The first was dodged like the ones prior, but the second… the rifleman never heard the warnings that others cried out, and the second blade neatly severed his neck as he popped up to take a shot. Leviathan did not spare him a glance as it lumbered on.

Jaune wondered what name the rifleman went by. The armband refused to say. His gunplay waylaid the monster for half a minute. His end came too soon.

"Jaune, how can you be so calm?"

"I'm screaming on the inside."

"Um. Wow. I wish I didn't know that. I thought maybe you weren't worried because you had a plan."

"I do have one. It's called 'protect Sundancer while she cooks the lizard'. So long as you're okay, I'm okay too."

"..."

"Do you feel better now?"

"Strangely enough, yes, I do."

Out of an alley came the next contender, a man in an odd outfit of blue overalls over a red shirt; a red cap sat atop his head. He was strapped down with a mix of devices and weapons, heeding no central theme that could be identified except perhaps that of an insane gadgeteer. It's difficult to tell past the heavy rainfall, but faintly can he be heard screaming at Leviathan.

The man brought up his left arm, which was encased in a blue egg-shaped thing from elbow to hand, and aimed it at the monster. The object flared and sparked, and for a worrying moment seemed about to go off, before spitting out a massive blast of golden energy that detonated on Leviathan's chest.

It slowed for a half-step, but nothing more.

Unbuckling the arm cannon, he let it drop in the flooded street as he swung a rifle from his back. It bore a ramshackle appearance, bulky with the internals on display. Blue beams sprayed in quick succession to zap Leviathan's face, nearly striking its eyes but for a hand rising to block the attacks.

As the man lined up a new shot, electricity crackled along the barrel and the muzzle melted into a useless lump. Not missing a beat, he unslung the rifle and hurled it at Leviathan. The gun landed at the monster's feet and erupted in an explosion, followed up by two cartoony bombs, and a blue turtle shell borne on wings whose detonation dwarfed the ones preceding.

Leviathan walked out of the smoke, missing some pieces but very much alive.

The red-capped man walked forward to meet it, cycling through his arsenal with reckless abandon.

A handgun that spewed jets of fire, used until it slagged. What Jaune recognized as a lightsaber, one that sputtered and smoked, summarily tossed at the beast to go boom. A purple gun of alien design, whose spiky projectiles snapped on Leviathan's hide. A blue circle on a wall, an orange counterpart on the opposite side of the street, linked portals for him to avoid a deadly burst of water. A red-and-white ball that opened up and deployed a yellow beam to no effect… then it set off in a devastating lightshow that scooped out part of the road. A dagger, slashed at a seawater tendril to turn it to ice. A book that launched fireballs, itself going up in flames. His hands continued on in a blur of motion, never resting.

Almost inevitably, the weapons would backfire in spectacular fashion. Yet, even that became another element of the offensive, though the man did not come out from it unscathed. Shocks and burns left their marks on him. Blood dripped down his body, mixing with the water at his feet. Patches of skin bubbled, or dried and cracked.

In return, he has inflicted greater harm upon Leviathan than any one person so far. Half the thing's eyes have shut. Little chunks were missing along its limbs and torso to create a pitted surface. The right hand has shriveled to an ashen husk, movable albeit slow. The monster listed to one side.

The man proceeded to pull out an oversized wooden hammer from a pouch (that disintegrated a moment later). Jaune goggled when the thing's head mechashifted into a rocket thruster, the back igniting to propel its wielder on a beeline for Leviathan. Ducking under a swipe, he smashed the hammer into Leviathan's kneecap with a *BOOM!* and a cloud of smoke.

Without even stopping to see what kind of damage it did, he winded the hammer back and swung it again…and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again until a glowing belt he wore fizzled out and the hammer crashed to the ground, suddenly too heavy for his arms to bear.

His knees hit the street soon after. He slumped in exhaustion.

Left with just his overalls and cap, the man stared up at the looming giant. It, in turn, regarded him for a short while, still as a statue. Then—in a slow, drawn-out movement akin to the raising of a guillotine—Leviathan lifted an arm high over its head.

The mad inventor watched it all play out, and in the moments before the end, a distraught howl filled with anger tore from his throat, its echoes ringing loud and clear over the rain to reach Jaune and Sundancer.

That rage. That despair. Who did he lose? Sharp claws descended, and they'll never know.

"Sundancer, Sundancer, are you sure you want to be here? Now could be your last chance to go."

"If I say I'm running away, what will you do?"

"…There's something for me here that I'm looking for. An object of great value I have never seen but I know I need, and might only be attained in this battle, if that makes any sense. Until it's found, I can't leave."

"Then, I'll stay, too."

With almost casual ease, Leviathan plunged its tail into a storefront, reeling out a person dressed in a blue devil outfit. A swarm of bugs, their controller unseen, affected a rescue by besieging the monster's face, in vain as it ignored the insects to slam the prey against the ground. A sickening crunch, and what remained of the body was released.

Blades of water flew, and they collapsed the front section of a carport. Blood seeped out of the rubble to mark a passing, while nearby another figure dug themselves out, none the worse for wear.

A needle measuring several feet long pierced one of Leviathan's leg. Shadowy bolts failed to do the same. Leviathan swept an arm. High on a rooftop, two figures abandoned their sniping position as it was crushed by the attack. They withdrew rather than risk firing a second salvo.

And then, it's down to Jaune and Sundancer. After a procession of heroes and villains, all that stood between their team of two and Leviathan was the length of a city block.

"Sundancer, Sundancer, it's our turn. Are you ready?"

"I am, so lead on."

They drew closer together, Jaune one step ahead with his shield raised, Sundancer half-hidden at his back, her sun in tow at a safe distance. At his direction, she alternated the ball from one side of the street to the other, vanishing away some of the water behind them to prevent the possibility of a sneaky wave or geyser coalescing in their blindspot.

Quick as a flash, Leviathan opened the battle by whipping its tail at them, the thick limb halting midway. The watery echo continued, on track to take their heads off.

Beacon-honed instincts took over in response. Fear abated, the future pushed aside, here and now it was time for a fight.

The first move Jaune performed in this conflict was aimed at Sundancer. He swept out her leg, dropping himself low in kind. One hand went under her, the other angled his shield up. Most of the water passed harmlessly overhead, with the very edge clipping the metal in a weakened blow. Peeking around Crocea Mors, he spotted an area of bulging water, and recognized Leviathan's work. It was building up for a wave.

Assisting Sundancer upright, he spoke in her ear.

"Swing your sun around, fast as you can!"

He thought that meant a jogging pace when he gave the order. It's the limit to what she had shown. What he didn't expect was for her to have been playing nice all this while. The fireball outpaced a man sprinting, drawing a curved path that evaporated swathes of the water below as it careened towards Leviathan.

Before the mini sun forced him to turn his head, Jaune caught a last glimpse of the monster leaping backward, ditching its attack for the sake of finding safety.

"It's…afraid."

Spotting movement, Jaune spun his ally to switch places, with him facing the spot where the water was molding into a tendril, coiled to spring. One slash of his sword and it lost its form. He then barked out a laugh and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"IT'S AFRAID! ! !"

The echo bounced off the buildings around them.

He had suspected it. He had dared to dream of it. But oh, did it feel amazing to see the truth confirmed with his very eyes. Elated, Jaune peered down at the girl who wielded a star, and said for only her to hear.

"I think we've got a real shot at making it to tomorrow, Sundancer. We just have to hang on. Follow my lead."

"Yes!" She replied, giddy. Interlaced within her voice was a new vigor, a resolve to fight now strengthened by a hope to live.

They scanned the surroundings for Leviathan's next move. Sundancer, able to look at her conjuration, discovered it first. She pointed high.

"It's jumping over!"

Jaune grabbed her, and ran. Slung over his shoulder, she pulled the sun after them, and Jaune directed her to position it in their former place, under where Leviathan will land.

"No good! It just latched onto a building with the tail!"

Turning his head, he watched the monster slam into the ground, having redirected its bulk out of harm's way. Leviathan rolled to its feet, neck twisting in a mirror pose of Jaune to stare at the pair.

Setting Sundancer down, he used the free hand to flip off the beast.

A thought occurred, and he addressed Sundancer. "I wasn't too rough on you, was I?"

It had not seemed so at the time, the girl exhibiting a dancer's grace to shift her body almost in sync with his movements, but he had first-hand experience on how sudden motions can disorient a person.

Sundancer shook her head. "No, it's… I think I would be dead by now if not for you. You're fast."

"Combat training will do that." He shrugged, eyes riveted on Leviathan. "Is it fine if I keep moving you like this?"

"Eheh. Please do."

At once, he grabbed her hand. "Good! Because it's attacking."

"It's wha–eep!"

Sundancer went from standing adjacent him, to spinning on a revolution that placed Jaune between her and three water-claws—his shield tanking the brunt of them, to in front of him with one arm outstretched to guide the miniature star. It obeyed her command and accelerated at their foe.

In a burst of speed, Leviathan dove to the right, the fireball searing one side of the monster black in its passing. It rolled as it hit the road, the water steaming when touched by the burnt hide. The maneuver finished with an arm planted deep in the asphalt to stop its momentum, and after Leviathan recovered it kicked off the ground to rush them. Jaune resettled half a step ahead of Sundancer, a hand at the small of her back.

"Don't panic."

"It's getting close."

"Don't panic."

"It's getting way too close!"

Do matadors exist in this universe? He'd have to ask his new acquaintance later. In the here and now, he observed the approaching beast, eyes flitting at a frantic pace to take note of the possible escape routes.

It hunched a shoulder. He made his choice.

A twirl and Leviathan skirted on by, its ever-present cloak of moisture missing by inches. Sundancer was screaming in his ear, unaccustomed to this level of intensity that she could scarcely follow.

The monster tried to turn, one arm swiping back at the pair; it failed to connect, too far out of reach. Jaune didn't drop his guard, crouching low with Sundancer, the shield forming an incline and his body wholly blocking hers. As anticipated, a sword of water bridged the shortfall, smacking the surface of Crocea Mors with a clang, the force diverting upward in a spray, pouring down with the rain.

Movement stopped for both sides. Jaune and the beast locked eyes, sizing each other up during the stalemate. The sun relocated near, ready to intercept should Leviathan renewed its assault.

A red bolt of light slapped the mouthless face. Beast, boy, and girl turned in the direction from whence it came, just in time to see a giant needle zoom through the air. Leviathan attempted to counter it with an afterimage of its claws, and received a puncture wound in the palm for its efforts.

The nearby heroes and villains have rejoined the battle. No more sacrifices, they were here to make a stand. Hope had bloomed again.

Yaaaay!

The mini star shrank a whole magnitude smaller. Jaune whipped his head towards the other girl.

"Sundancer! Are you hurt?" He checked over her for wounds, seeing nothing beyond scratches. Still, he noted how she had hunched over, limbs locking up.

"I…they…"

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"There's too many people!"

"I don't understand. Isn't that a good thing? They'll back us up."

"NO! I mean— what if I hit them!?" She wailed. The girl in his arms was hyperventilating by this point. Her visored mask began darting this way and that. With a jerk, the sun moved further from the buildings, and fell below the fliers. It continued to diminish as time went on. Becoming weaker. Safer.

And it dawned for Jaune at last.

Sundancer was frightened of what she could do. She had downplayed her power in the beginning—reducing the speed and strength of the sun she wielded, maneuvering it with utmost care—because the idea of killing a person had sickened her even when the target in question was an enemy. Now, with allies of unknown numbers dotting the area, she saw the possibility of her sun cutting a bloody swath across the landscape, and panicked. Rightly so, Jaune had to admit, because he cannot deny the absolute lethality of that fiery orb. Simple proximity could spell death.

Why then, had she released that tight control earlier?

Because of him. Because he said so. Upon his orders, the sun raced and swooped and flew without a hint of worry. In possession of a peaceful–almost passive–temperament, she meekly listened to his command on the impression that he knew what he was doing. It told of a crippling lack of self-confidence.

A flaw he could encourage so she'd fight as he wanted, or…

"It'd be fine. You won't make a mistake."

The battlefield was no place to play therapist. He'll give it a good try, anyway, and there's no better time than when other people were distracting the beast.

"B-but…"

"It'd be fine," he repeated with emphasis. One of his arms wrapped around her shoulder in a half-hug. "Because your control is impeccable. I'm proof of it. Look at how I've fought by your side. I spun you round and round, until you can't tell what's up or down. Yet, I got out with not a single lock of hair singed. All the damage you've inflicted landed on that scaly bastard. Who can boast of such accuracy? You. Only you." The sun pulsed, shining a touch stronger to signify he was on the right track.

"That was when it's just you and me," she mumbled. "With so many more people, I can't watch everyone to make sure I won't k– hurt them."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm here to support you, then. We'll work together, two pairs of eyes to cover all angles. That's the way of it back where I came from." Leaning down, peering into her visor, he said, "Rely on me, as I rely on you, and the brighter tomorrow will surely arrive for us." That was what Beacon had stood for. He missed it already.

Her voice, thick with emotion, asked one thing of him. "Promise?"

Heh.

An Arc never goes back on their promise. That's what the stories say. As a consequence, most Arcs tended to be real careful with the 'P' word. It's not worth the trouble, as his careless mouth had learned so often.

"I promise." Jaune agreed to yet another one with a smile.

Sundancer stood straighter now, surer. Her hands were clenched in fists, raised to her chest. She looked past his shoulder, and Jaune felt the day grow warmer, sunnier.

"I didn't mean to freak out..."

"Who could ever blame you?" Jaune countered. "A love for your fellows is not a flaw. Just know that I'm here to lend a hand."

A sniffle, badly hidden. "Watch my back?"

"Of course."

They re-entered the conflict and the combatants, whatever their alignment, took notice. The sun drew a lazy arc to start, visible and obvious. Those with a working brain saw their silver bullet, and removed themselves from its path; those without ended up doing so anyway when the temperature became too much to bear. Fliers migrated up and back relative to them, giving the sun a wide berth. Thus, a thin corridor opened among their allies to grant them space for fighting. It was the best the two were going to get.

Sundancer set the fireball high at his suggestion, aimed down instead of sideways to gain a greater measure of safety for other people.

"Clear!" On Jaune's go-ahead, the orb hurtled towards Leviathan. It missed as the monster evaded, just barely, and melted a hole in the street. "Reel!"

The sun reverse-coursed on the same trajectory it fired, functioning as a jab rather than the wild swings of previous. It came to a rest in the original position while the other heroes and villains rushed at the beast to get their licks in.

'Clear!' and 'Reel!' evolved into a rhythm as Jaune and Sundancer grew adept at spotting opportunities within the chaotic scramble. In the downtime, Jaune's mouth never rested, calling out to other combatants when the chance presented itself. Mostly, it was to shout warnings, often some variation of 'Move, you idiot!', but he also tried to organize those who wielded powers he had gotten a grasp on so they could better mesh with the offensive.

Some listened. Others had their own ideas, deaf to the strategies in play. Naturally, problems arose.

In the middle of helping Sundancer retarget, a laser sped past his head from someone who thought they'd make great cover to hide behind, grazing way too close for comfort. By reflex, he jerked from it, and caused Sundancer's shot to go entirely off-course. The monster used the lucky reprieve to return a salvo of water-claws that forced the pair to hunker down and lose a precious opportunity. After it ended, Jaune peeked over the lip of the shield, and beheld an open field.

"Cl—" Jaune had to bite down on the word as a teeming cloud of insects flew by, breaking their sightline of Leviathan. What it accomplished he couldn't tell, but it dispersed to leave him a nasty surprise. A wide cutting scythe of water filled his vision.

Diverting the blow proved impossible. He planted his feet solidly, and took it head on with Crocea Mors.

Numbness spread over the shield arm. A portion of the blade, a mere handful's worth of moisture, slipped through his guard to sock him in the jaw, scrambling his thoughts.

"JAUNE!" Sundancer, seeing how he stumbled as she stood at his back, screamed in worry. "Are you okay!?"

"Uuuugh, yeah. Yeah." Things stopped spinning. His stance firmed. "I'm good to keep fighting. Don't worry."

The sentiment changed when he spied a new development that was absolutely worthy of worry. During his short period of disorientation, Leviathan had created a ten-feet high wave that nobody could dispel. The sun was out of range to block it. With a push of a hand, the swell of water rushed at them.

Timely rescue arrived in the form of the blond siblings' younger brother. Dropping out of the sky ahead of them, he activated his power. A blue forcefield sprang up to take the brunt of the wave.

"Nice! Thank- Sundancer, we've got to move!"

The overflow from the wave had spiraled into a geyser. It barreled on, set to pummel Jaune's group. Hoping to destabilize the jet of water, Sundancer recalled her orb, but suspended the endeavor as the sun risked flying too near to people. The geyser lost cohesion in part, yet maintained course.

His plan was simpler. Grabbing her, Jaune hastened out of harm's way—and bounced off the wrong side of an energy barrier being deployed by a person in high tech armor. They've taken cover within, attention focused on the incoming strike with none to spare for others in their vicinity.

Left with little choice, Jaune parried the attack on his shield, twisting his body to flip over Sundancer rather than crash into her. He hit the street, knees and elbows slamming against the asphalt to flare in agony; mouthfuls of filthy seawater entered his lungs in the process.

Coughing and sputtering, he struggled to get back on his feet, slipped and had to be caught by Sundancer. She struggled to hold up his form, and exhaled a relieved breath when he was finally able to stand on his own.

Angry, frustrated, he scanned the battlefield. It was getting messy. Sloppy. The body count has begun ticking up in a repeat of the fight at the intersection.

Rage boiled over. He roared over the din.

"Damn you all, just MOVE ASIDE!"

And, they did. Not by their own cognizance, though. Whose power it belonged to, he hadn't a clue, but the space in front of him warped in mind-bending twists and—suddenly—a clear road stood before the duo. The person who did this deserved a medal. Sundancer agreed, and she pressed the advantage, not even needing his command. The mini star went screaming down the lane.

Leviathan responded by raising a wall with its hydrokinesis. Water met fire, and exploded into steam. Their foe vanished from sight; it had been engulfed by the billowing cloud.

Seconds passed, quiet but for the rain. A woman garbed in forest green and a wispy cloak gestured with her hands to call up a light wind. She channeled it to blow away the steam, revealing…

Nothing. Where did Leviathan go?

"It's circling behind us!" The assembled heroes and villains spun towards the shrill cry. It belonged to Skitter, who was staring at the buildings that lined the street. Her head slowly turned to track something unseen.

Her gaze reached a street corner.

Leviathan bounded into view, the tail enabling it to adjust course without losing speed. Its legs moved in a blur, outright sprinting faster than a car as it raced at the combatants —no, at Sundancer. The last three working eyes of the monster centered solely on her. People in its path went ignored. Attacks washed off without retaliation.

It swiped a hand, launching echoes of its claws. It swung the other, reinforcing with more of the same. The tail was next, contributing a horizontal line going from one side of the street to the other. Then, it restarted the combo, bringing forth a frenzied onslaught the likes of which they were completely unprepared for.

Facing this grinding, slicing storm of blades, Jane considered their options. Simulated the encounter. Calculated his moves. He…did not fancy those chances.

Go wide, go high, both futile. Block or dodge, they'd die. Retreat to nowhere, advance to nothing. Leviathan, that unstoppable beast, was going full-tilt in pursuit of one goal, for the girl by his side to perish.

It was looking like Leviathan would get its wish. This went beyond Jaune's capabilities to overcome. He'd break if he tried. Judging by the choked gurgle that escaped Sundancer's lips, she has arrived at a similar conclusion.

There existed a part of him, a nasty and ugly thing, that told Jaune he could therefore seek to save his own life. Give her up as a loss. Hunker down, roll into a ball. Make himself small. Trust in Aura to spare his hide. He'll get out alive. That voice crooned so enticingly, indeed.

There then arose another piece, that which encompassed the promise he swore, and it rebelled.

No. No! Like hell! Sundancer had stepped up when the occasion called, risking her life despite her doubts and fears. It's his turn to stand on that same line.

No sooner had he thought so, and put himself forward to protect his friend, did Jaune hear a steady thumping. The rhythm intensified, louder and louder as the barrage drew near. It grew to be the only sound in the world, this roaring heartbeat of his.

What might the sensation he's feeling be, the pulse of invigoration that set his body afire?

It's… familiar.

The first of the attacks struck, two claws on his shield, one passing over the rim to cut into his neck. Aura or no, he should have fallen dead from the sheer burst of damage concentrating on one point.

He should have, but for the light which lit him aglow. It radiated not from the faraway sun, seeming rather to emerge from within. Alongside it came an unshakable certainty. Right now, he could hold back the world if he needed to.

The blade of water cut into his neck. It stopped cold, failing to break skin.

And unlike that day in Forever Fall so long ago, he did not close his eyes. He did not let the fleeting moment slip away. Someone was counting on him still, so Jaune wrested hold of the power, willing the gates connecting him with that well of energy to stay open.

Using his shield, he batted aside the second set of claws. The force that had strained his arm now caved as it met an object too hard to overwhelm. The road crumbled beneath the heels of his feet as he pitted himself against the fake tail. A flurry of counters scattered the onrush of water blades that followed. The real tail speared Jaune in the chest. It knocked the breath out of him, and naught else. He has yet to retreat a single step, utterly immovable.

Leviathan itself slowed, then paused, as it arrived in front of Jaune, brought short by an unexpected deviation in the plan. It slapped down with an arm, and was soundly rebuffed. Next was a repeat, only harder. Nothing changed, so it fired a water-echo of a claw, then bolstered the attack by using the whole hand, moving on to an arm in a gradual escalation.

It seemed very, very confused, and Jaune laughed in its face as the clues lined up.

The thing could sense power, it must. That's how it knew he was supposed to be dealt with already. The attacks unleashed were more than adequate to turn a mere human to ribbons. And so, unable to fathom the presence of Aura, it gawked at the anomaly that withstood the blow when he should falter. Lived, when he should die. Here was a creature that defied reality, a thing incalculable to the great beast.

Though, he had his limits.

All too soon, the attacks progressed to the level where his peculiar state cannot fully compensate for the opposing force and leverage. Leviathan's long tail rose high, then dropped like an axe to crush him. Prepared as he was, with shield held in both hands, Jaune's knees buckled under the strain. He hardly recovered before a massive arm bashed his front, nearly making him crash into his charge. Wiping off the water in his eyes, Jaune looked up at the approaching Leviathan.

Yeah, asking him to hold out for much longer would be too tall an order. But then…

A sudden feeling of summer heat caused him to break out in a grin.

…he was never the star of the show. Just the distraction.

"Let him have it, Sunny Days."

Joyful laughter was her answer to him, as Sundancer did exactly that. Her star had navigated all obstacles, tracing a near circle to avoid hurting Jaune, and intense light bore down on him from the sun crossing the sky overhead. In a reversal of their tactics thus far, Sundancer took command, ordering him.

"Jaune…run fast."

Asking no questions, he scooped up the girl and booked it. Behind them, the burning star crashed down on Leviathan at a speed far faster than Sundancer had ever displayed, only possible now because she trusted her partner to survive. The orb connected with Leviathan's back, heat exerting a near physical force to press it to the ground. The beast went wild, thrashing as steam and smoke wafted from its skin, blending together in a spiral pattern. The veil of moisture that it secreted at a constant pace dried up in a flash. Water from the area drew to the beast, vanishing long before reaching Leviathan. The few waves that managed to form struck the sun, the buildings, the roads, anywhere and everywhere in a blind panic. Cautious, Jaune carried Sundancer further out of range from the frenzy before he dared to release her. Side by side, they watched in awe as the monster attempted to drag its sorry carcass towards, not them, but the ocean. Away.

Jaune and Sundancer both sensed it, the turning of the tide. Leviathan was hurting, pushed to the brink. The thing wanted out. Victory was at hand.

They've done it. She's done it!

Their hearts soared in triumph. The beginning of a cheer was ready to burst from their lips.

The elation withered as an object interposed itself between Leviathan and the pair. Lobbed in a gentle arc, it spun in a slow revolution, allowing them to observe the particulars of the object's design, a cylinder colored yellow with a blinking light at the end and buttons along one side.

It sort of looked like a bomb.

The object landed in the water with a splash, closer to Leviathan than them. There shortly followed a dull, muffled thump. Nothing happened for the briefest of moments.

Then, the surface bulged. Volumes of water became displaced. There ensued no explosions, no fire, only a formless pressure spreading out from the point of origin at a walking pace. Slow, deceptively so.

This mysterious effect surpassed a tipping point, and accelerated. The water around it was shoved away in an ever-expanding ring, rain bouncing off an invisible barrier as the asphalt underneath rumbled. The circle extended to Leviathan and induced a minor tremble along its body, the beast too heavy and dense to be much affected.

The phenomenon raced on. A roar reached Jaune's ears. No time to think, to question, he pulled Sundancer into a protective embrace. Pure impact struck them in the next instant, taking the pair clear off their feet.

The sun shining above the battlefield collapsed into nothingness.

---

Author's Notes: Whodunit? Whydunit?
I'm betting it's that Skitter person. She saw what looked like two riajuus walking hand in hand past her earlier and wanted them to explode.

A stranger came from distant lands to raise up a hero, the two fighting back-to-back, coming to rely on one another, each growing as a person and a partner, until—against all odds—they reach the point of victory… whereupon they ate a bomb to the face? Where are we, Worm? * Checks to see if this is in Worm* Yup, it's Worm.

 

[LazyAutumnMoon]

A hand to cradle her head. Another on her waist, pulling Sundancer into him. His back was to the blast. A twist, his back now faced the ground. An impact, and something snapped. Not his. Hers.

He skipped on the shallow water, hit a sheet of red energy fanning out in the air, an impromptu cushion that he crashed right on through. Again a shield appeared to slow them down, to the same result. He glanced off the roof of a car, flipping end over end. Sundancer was wrenched from his arms. Terror, as he lost track of her.

Coming down, his face smashed into the asphalt. An involuntary breath and nostrils became filled with seawater. Sputtering, drowning, he tried to reorient himself. A hand found purchase on rough, beaten road, and pushed to bring his head above the flood. Air was his reward.

The water he inhaled came back up, expelled in great heaves. Shapes and colors danced before his eyes, coalescing over time into buildings, objects, and moving things. The moving things were people, his mind supplied as it cleared. A last moment of confusion had him staring down at his empty hands.

"Sundancer?"

A blur of blue dashed past. Not important. The girl he sought wore red and black. He scanned the road, and spotted her a distance away, slumped along a wall like a puppet with its strings cut as the waterline lapped just below her chin. She looked…

Bad. Badbadbadbadbad.

"Sundancer!"

Flailing off-balanced, he got back upright and stumbled over to the girl. With arms and legs splayed out at sickening angles, her head lolling, she didn't respond to his shout, coughing in labored rasps that sounded as if she was choking. The visor on the mask had cracked, and spots of dark fluid stained the cloth; he ran his fingers under her chin to find the seams to the garment before gingerly pulling the whole thing off.

The first glimpse he received of his friend's uncovered face was of long blonde hair and pretty features drenched in crimson. Freed from the mask, a glob of blood dribbled from her mouth and down her chin. More poured from her ears and nose. Her skin was pale, wan. There were cuts around her eyes; blue irises rolled madly until they landed on him.

"Ja…Jan…whahapp'n…J-J–?" She slurred in an effort to form words. The many, many wounds didn't seem to register with her, leading Sundancer to attempt to move. She scrunched her face in pain. "Ggghh! Ahhh!"

His hands darted forward, instantly rescinding as if scalded. The urge to help ease her agony in some way warred with the thought that he would hurt her more if he touched on an injury by accident.

"Sundancer, don't move, okay? Please don't move. We were hit by a bomb or something, and you're injured, b-but it'll be okay, so just—"

"Huuurd…"

"And we'll make it not hurt. Soon, alright? I'm gonna get you to people who can help." Jaune babbled on as he raced through his options. Long-ingrained common sense jumped first to the solution that said to call for an ambulance. Futile, as his scroll relied on the CCT network instead of whatever it was that people had here, and because they were located at the center of a warzone.

"Aumban…c-call hep…"

Armband, call help? The armbands can be used to communicate! Jaune moved down to the device on her wrist. Unable to decipher the unmarked buttons, he opted for pressing on each in turn.

Hope sank at the sight of a blank and unresponsive screen. Its power had cut out at some point.

"Dammit! It happened to you, too?"

Jaune spun towards the voice, seeing a person descending from the air to hover over the pair. Maskless and sporting a white bodysuit stylized with red arrows, it was the elder of the siblings duo, the one to fire lasers. On her wrist, a similarly dark armband.

"Okay, teleporter evac is out, which isn't ideal, but I can fly her—oh." The flier wilted as she took in the numerous injuries Sundancer bore. "Fuck. Shit. Panacea can heal this, she can heal anything, but to get there…" She trailed off, too late to spare Jaune the message.

In her current state, Sundancer would never reach this Panacea.

A sniff drew his gaze back to Sundancer. Tears were streaming down her face to rip his heart in two. Cupping a cheek, he carefully rubbed his thumb in a soothing motion.

"It's going to be fine, Sundancer," Jaune mumbled, the empty platitude ringing hollow. "You'll see. I'll fix this. I'll…I'll…"

That scroll full of miracles, can he buy things from it?

He had dismissed the possibility due to the message that prohibited selling items outside the so-called [Home Base] area without an ability to circumvent the restriction. He stood far from the former, and was missing the latter. Yet, that was all the scroll stated; it said not a word on spending Points. And hadn't Jax purchased [Emergency Recall] from Remnant?

The notion, however implausible, was all Jaune had left. He plunged a hand into his pocket.

Scroll unlocked and Hardlight screen spread out, Jaune entered the Marketplace app, quickly navigating to the Medical section. The choices rolled out in an unending list. Resentment flared in him upon seeing too many of them priced outside his means while knowing they were the exact solutions he desired; the pod that had brought him back from the brink was right there, on sale for five times his available line of credit.

As for what he can afford, the choices narrowed in function and scope. Mundane supplies came up in droves, ineffectual against the severity of the injuries. A host of strange names appeared next, whose effects seemed no better; they were just common items from universes not his own. Jaune skimmed past the descriptions in increasing desperation, sparing a mere second or two for each one, searching for…this.

Blood-Replenishing Potions, costing 25 Points for five bottles. Something from nothing, a means of restoring Sundancer's fading blood levels while lessening the strain put on her as the next item did its work.

Stimpaks, a set of ten for 50 Points. What it can treat boggled the mind, a true paramedic's dream. Possibly dangerous to a person at death's door as it cannibalizes the energy reserves of the body to stoke their natural regeneration. Employed in conjunction with the potions, however, and the risk may become moot, or at least mitigated.

Still, neither risk nor cost mattered if he failed to make it past the real concern. A tremulous thumb tapped on the purchase button.


Stimpaks x10, Blood-Replenishing Potions x5
Points Cost: 75
Points Balance: 0
Insufficient Points. Buy on—


That was all he needed to read. Jaune slammed his finger on the second button to confirm the order.

"Yes! Hell yes!" He whooped as two glass cases materialized to levitate in front of him, revolving to showcase the contents within. His hands passed through the side of the first box as if it were never there, and the contraption vanished the moment he removed the tray holding the round, glass bottles. Leaving the second case to float in midair—a baffled woman flying alongside it, staring agog—he grabbed one bottle by the slender neck, with the rest lowered to the water where they bobbed up and down, and drew close to the injured girl.

"Sundancer, drink this. Hurry." He unstoppered the bottle and tipped it, letting the syrupy medicine trickle between her lips. Much of the fluid spilled back out, but once he saw that she managed to swallow some down without gagging, Jaune tilted the potion further. When half the bottle was gone, he put it to the side for later, and turned to the container holding the stimpaks.

The second case popped out of existence as he took out the small, plastic package—colored white and bearing red crosses on the sides and top—which opened to reveal ten syringes resting in two neat rows, capped by numbered gauges and loaded with a pink liquid. The accompanying label on the roof of the box detailed usage instructions. It read simply enough, except for a couple of words.

"Intravenous and intramuscular. Does that mean I can inject it in either vein or muscle?" His question caught the flier by surprise.

"Huh?"

"Hurry, please!"

"Uh, uh, yes! I'm pretty sure it is! I saw it on Jeopardy once."

Dubious, but that was the best second opinion he was going to find. Jaune tore open the costume material on Sundancer's right arm, and jabbed the needle at an unblemished (and thus, to his amateur diagnosis, uninjured) spot. After the syringe had finished delivering its contents, he removed the device, and watched for a sign of the medicine affecting her.

One second. Nothing observable occurred.

Two seconds. His heart sped up, gripped by fear.

Three seconds. Four. F-five.

Sundancer gave a sob, and it nearly sent him into a panic until he noticed the cuts on her face closing shut and her posture untensing. Delicate, blood-stained lips quirked in an unbidden smile of relief as the pain wracking her began to ebb.

He did not cry. It was the rain.

Setting to work, he assisted her in finishing the half-full Blood-Replenishing Potion, which he followed up with another stimpak injection. Color returned to deathly-pale skin, and swiping a thumb across the trail of blood on the corner of her mouth showed that it had ceased flowing. He proceeded to add a second bottle plus two more syringes, choosing to err on the side of too much healing rather than not enough. Was it the right procedure? Can a person overdose on these items? He didn't know, but didn't dare to stop.

After the fifth stimpak and third potion had been administered, the condition of Sundancer stabilized to the best as it would get. Both her legs and arms remained broken, and she had difficulty breathing still—it may relate to a protrusion under the skin located on her ribcage, a sight that worried him immensely—but the medicine seemed to be keeping her from experiencing the pain in full, reducing it to a dull ache. In the meantime, Sundancer was able to shift her body to a better position, and Jaune helped to hold her head above the water as he wiped away what he could of the residual streaks of blood. The fact she can muster the energy to voice reassurances whilst chuckling at his mother-hen impression mollified him somewhat.

"You saved me again…"

"No, I messed up. I was dumb and got it in my head that the scroll wouldn't work here. If I had thought of it sooner, I could have spared you a lot of suffering." Jaune chided himself. The device was too new, too unfamiliar, for his mind to jump directly to it in a pinch. That'd have to change going forward. When his savings start filling up, the store may provide any number of useful, if not outright essential, solutions beyond his normal means.

"Stop that! If, if, if! Well, if we never met in the first place, I would have died." Sundancer insisted, giving a petulant huff. "So I'm thanking you, and nothing you say will change my mind."

"But, still—"

"Not. A. Thing. Thank you very much!"

"I—"

"Thank you!"

"W—" He started.

"Thank—" She was ready to cut him off.

"...Heh. So that's how it's going to be, then?"

"Yup. That's how it's going to be. And thank you!"

Blue eyes gazed into blue eyes, and they shared a laugh together.

"Not that this isn't adorable," a voice interrupted, and Jaune almost dropped Sundancer in surprise, having forgotten about the flying hero, "because it totally is and I'm squeeing my heart out on the inside, but I would like to remind you that she still needs proper medical attention, and there's this minor annoyance in the area called Leviathan. Remember him? We need to go."

"Right. Crap. Where's that monster run to?"

She pointed behind him. Jaune and Sundancer craned their necks to look.

Far down the street, deep within the curtains of rain, two shapes were locked in combat, Leviathan was a silhouette in the dark visible only when it moved, while the smaller figure appeared faintly blue. As they carried on their battle, Jaune was able to pick out further details, putting name to costume.

"Armsmaster is beating it back, so we have an opening—" The flier flinched as she saw the expression stealing across his face.

"And why, oh why, would he be in a position to do that, I wonder," said Jaune, with chilly politeness. A twitch had developed at the corner of his mouth and it was taking quite the effort to suppress the snarl. "Did you see what happened to us, perchance?"

Although, he can already make a few guesses as to the whats and the hows. And who.

The woman gulped. "Armsmaster, he… he threw a bomb, it's some kind of concussive blast that knocked everything over and blew out the windows." Seeing his face become thunderous as she spoke, the flying blonde continued in a rush. "But he must have had a reason to do it. This is Armsmaster we're talking about, and he wouldn't ever break the Truce! He probably spotted Leviathan pulling a trick or about to attack you, and he didn't have time to use anything else? Or- or he just misaimed when trying to help finish it off?"

So she says. Did he buy it? Hell no!

He didn't know which he wanted to kill more at the moment, the mass-murdering beast or the backstabbing beast. One was impersonal in its animosity, seeking to murderize everyone in the city, of which he and Sundancer were just a couple of nameless nobodies to be included. The other carried out a deliberate maiming—scratch that, an outright murder attempt!—of his friend, and made him break his promise. Sundancer had counted on him to keep her safe. Because of Armsmaster, look where that miserable idea went. He almost lost her!

The needle, already weighted, ticked decisively over to one side when the voice of Armsmaster drifted to their ears.

"For the terror and destruction you've inflicted on the people of this world, I, Armsmaster, will send you to your grave! Today, you die by my hands, Leviathan!"

Borne on speakers that amplified each word as if to let the entire world hear, the proclamation surely struck awe into the hearts of heroes and villains alike. Deep, rich, and strong, his was the type of voice that one expected from a true superhero, and projected utmost certainty. None who heard those words would doubt his claim. It sounded larger than life. It sounded like judgment passed down from a king.

To Jaune, neither hero nor villain but a victim of the man's actions, those words rang with a different connotation.

I will become legend. I will become greater than Legend.

The arrogance to believe that his ability can surpass that of a thousand laser beams. The blindness to think he can match the might of a burning sun. As the man continued speaking—mocking Leviathan, extolling the inevitability of its defeat, and boasting of his surefire victory—anger flared on Jaune's face.

Did he and Sundancer get stonewalled so Armsmaster can enjoy this opportunity? Earlier at the intersection, seeing an upstart villain ready to deal what could well be the crucial blow on a time-locked Leviathan must have sent him into such a tizzy; it's little wonder that he erupted on them in a rage. As for the bombs he strapped on the beast's frozen form, Jaune derided them as ineffective, but they had served their purpose in truth. Armsmaster wanted the honor of the first strike. Then, one more piece of explosive granted him a chance to steal the kill after so many have given their lives to whittle down the enemy.

Heroes and villains, dead for the sake of his moment in the spotlight. Sundancer's victory, snatched away at the finish. The masterstroke of a rousing speech, presenting his version of events to the world at large before the truth can spread...

Bravo, that chaser of glory, the monster without peer. Come tomorrow, there won't be a single person that does not know his name.

Maybe not in the manner he wanted, though. Jaune was going to put an early end to Armsmaster's dream, likely along with Armsmaster, in as loud a fashion as possible. He's gotten a bit of practice, only a day ago, in the proper way to handle this exact sort of psycho who would mow down allies with scant remorse. It's a habit he would not particularly mind developing.

Hehehe, turnabout was fairplay, he should take a page from the man's book and wait until Leviathan lay on the very edge of death's door to spring the trap.

"Jaune? It's starting to hurt again. Can I get some more of that medicine?"

Sundancer's request jolted him out of his half-formed plans to achieve payback and he set them aside to refocus on the injured girl, preparing a new stimpak on one hand in a now well-practiced motion. A flick sent the cap flying off. A twirl placed his fingers and palm in the correct position. He set the needle against her arm, and Sundancer squeezed her eyes shut as the syringe plunged into skin.

When finished, he disposed of the empty stimpak.

"Please don't attack him."

"Huh?"

Sundancer had reopened her eyes, and an insistent gaze bore into Jaune to let him know that he had been rather blatant in his designs. "The lives of so many people depend on Leviathan's defeat. We can't interfere with that."

"It was supposed to be you that won!" He protested, but she gave a small shake of her head.

"I'll be happy just seeing it gone. As for who gets credit…if I'm known for beating Leviathan, they'd ask me to keep hurting things. Maybe people, too, down the line. He's welcome to that fate. Please, Jaune, let it be."

Jaune didn't fancy that idea. Hated it, in fact. Notions of seeking glory and renown had been beaten out of him by Pyrrha during their training nights, the girl herself exemplifying the concept of putting duty before personal fame. For his troubles, he got shot up with a few dozen bullets; Pyrrha received the doozy that was an extra soul which may or may not destroy her own soul in time. Sundancer fared no better, nearly losing her life fighting for the sake of others. Armsmaster being rewarded for doing the complete opposite rankled him to no end.

"It's not fair. You know that, right?" Seeing Sundancer remain adamant, Jaune huffed in defeat. "You are a terrible villain. As in, you're no good at it. At least tell me you'll set his pants on fire if he shows his smug face around us."

An exasperated roll of her eyes, and she said, "No promises. All I want now is a bed, and to move my arms and legs like normal again."

"And I'll get you to both, pronto!" The flier declared, then addressed Jaune. "Also, while I still think you're wrong about Armsmaster, I'm going to make sure people know of you two's contributions." Sundancer opened her mouth to object, but the blonde barreled on. "If you really mean to avoid notice, I can downplay your part, but even helping to kill an Endbringer should get you a good payout, so why don't you think about it?"

Sundancer did appear somewhat pensive upon hearing mention of a payment; Jaune took it as a win, and directed a grateful nod to the flying hero. That sentiment redoubled after she conjured a long, stretcher-like forcefield for him to lay Sundancer on. Recalling how he crashed through two of these after the bomb hit him, Jaune rapped his knuckles on the surface to test out the solidity.

"How strong is this thing? Can it support the both of us?"

The flier winced. "It's kinda brittle, so be gentle; my shields are the weakest in the family. I can carry little miss sunshine here, but you might have to stay, unless…" She turned towards the fighting, eyes scanning the sky above it, "Shielder! Shielder!"

The person she was calling out to, the younger brother presumably, failed to materialize, lost within the low visibility.

"Damn. If you wait, I can go look for him. His top speed is pretty slow, but he can save you the trouble of wading through water."

Jaune made his decision right there. "No need for that, please take Sundancer and go."

"What!? No!" Sundancer exclaimed.

"A bit of a walk isn't going to bother me when you need proper care. The sooner you get it, the happier I'd be," Jaune said, resolute. "I can find my own way out of here."

Sundancer looked like she wanted to argue, but the flier nodded in agreement and directed the forcefield to rise. Reluctantly, the girl settled down, though she shot him a glare.

"If you so much as catch a cold, I'll get really mad at you."

"I won't," he answered easily. "And I'm sor—no. What I mean is, thank you for going along with my recklessness all this while."

Dropping the glare, she giggled. "Is that what you'd call it? Well, I was glad to. I expected a lot of things heading into this fight, most of them bad." A blush. "Finding a friend wasn't one of them."

"Hehe, same here. We made a good team."

The healing supplies went onto the platform, set to one side. Looking at it, the four syringes that were left seemed woefully insufficient, so he bought one more pack of stimpaks just to be on the safe side, then addressed the flier.

"If the injuries flare up, inject one for her, alright? The potions shouldn't be needed, but if she loses blood, get her to drink some."

"Understood. By the way, did you make these things? And that teleporting doohickey, too."

"Oh, man. I don't even know where to begin to explain."

I'm an alien from another universe and my new scroll is a magical device, a genie's lamp that grants wishes at a cost. To pay for it, I came here to plunder valuable booty. Which, I guess, makes me a pirate. Arrr.

Let's not say that.

"I think I recognize them," Sundancer interjected. "One's based on the Fallout games, isn't it? As for the bottles… were they from the Harry Potter books? I remember in one of the chapters they used potions that can recover a person's blood levels."

Whatever explanation he could have given died on his lips. Unable to muster a sound in his shock, Jaune's mouth flapped open and shut, all kinds of confused. Games and books? These were supposed to be items from different worlds.

"Is it tinkertech?" She asked.

"…It is exactly that. We can talk about it later, when you're safe and healthy." And when he had worked out how to best reveal his story, because simply telling the full, unvarnished truth right off the bat was not a winning premise to convince people of his sanity, doubly so when he's summoning make-believe things.

The forcefield floated higher than him now, and Sundancer craned her neck to peer down through the translucent material.

"You had better be okay when I see you again!" She called out.

Jaune waved to show that he heard, and watched the two of them ascend. Soon enough, they rose above the height of the buildings. The flying blonde checked on her passenger and, once satisfied she wouldn't fall off, zoomed through the sky with Sundancer in tow.

After she dropped out of sight, Jaune hung his head and allowed himself to groan. He had put on a blasé attitude in front of Sundancer, but slogging across a flooded city was going to suck no matter which way he cut it.

"Alright, no point standing around."

The fight was a bust. The search for items to sell, ditto barring a measly 100-Point knife. Still, he can look forward to a warm bed and, perhaps, a hot meal before deciding where to go from here. There's a new clue to investigate, the 'tinkertech' that Sundancer mentioned. Were they objects he could buy? If yes… well, what do you know, he might see some money coming his way at a very opportune time so long as the flying hero did as she claimed.

Of course, that scenario depended on Leviathan dying or retreating. Curious to know the result, he put following Sundancer on hold to detour down the street. Eyes peeled for danger moving near him, Jaune skulked along the side of the buildings, ready to duck inside at the first sign of a giant water monster. Here and there, he identified the shapes of people behind cover or flying in the air, including the boy referred to as Shielder high up and Skitter hunkered down next to a car. They were all facing the same direction, and he joined them to observe how the battle was faring.

It yet continued.

On a long stretch of the road, a one-on-one duel raged on, ringed by a smattering of heroes and villains who stayed far back from the melee.

Seething animosity aside, Jaune admitted that Armsmaster at least displayed the skill to back up his position as a superhero. Alone, he was fighting toe to toe with Leviathan in close quarters, a prospect that caused Jaune to blanch; he barely survived his own encounter, this guy made it look easy.

The blue armored figure moved and attacked as a whirlwind, and he somehow dual-wielded—what was with total bastards that Jaune hated and dual-wielding? That's two for two—long halberds with the technique of a top class Huntsman; one was a high-tech marvel of engineering, the other a simple steel pole topped by a blade bearing a strange blurring effect. Together, those weapons seemed capable of anything, from vaporizing the afterimages Leviathan summoned with a purple flame, to freezing a wave in time, to leaving deep gouges on its form.

A low cut that tore into one of the massive legs transitioned to a dodge as the monster retaliated with a tail swipe, whereupon Armsmaster employed Leviathan's knee as a springboard to leap high and carve a line on its chest.

A matador twirl that outperformed Jaune's best attempt created an opening for him to score a long furrow on its side, with one of Leviathan's full-body afterimage neatly evaded through the use of a grappling hook that sprang from the head of a halberd.

Whatever Leviathan tried, Armsmaster had an answer. No matter how it struggled, he never relented on the offensive.

But…the decisive victory this hero craved, it remained ever out of reach.

Jaune would even say that it was slipping out of the man's fingers, his gradually-widening and horrified eyes spotting the many ways that Leviathan, bleeding from multiple new (and sizable) wounds, was improving with each passing second.

He's wrong, right? He has to be wrong.

Yet, when exhausted limps now moved in crisp motions, when a tail that should have been cut to the bone rendered a concrete wall into a fine dust, when waist-height waves stopped being waist-height and expanded to be ten feet high? The reality became impossible to deny. Leviathan was fighting better. Much better.

And it just so happened to occur after Sundancer had been taken far, far away.

Oh dear. The thing played possum, didn't it?

By the look on his face, Armsmaster arrived at the same conclusion. The quips and declarations, the pageantry he hammed up, ceased in lieu of a hard-set grimace. Actions grew, if not frantic, then rushed.

The grappling hook relocated him at the base of the tail, and the man worked his arms in a frenzy to hack at Leviathan. Shallow chips and pieces rained off the beast. The tail rose, he fired the hook. Landing front and center, he stabbed upward once then spun to avoid a set of water claws, rushing in right after to press his assault. He committed, and the battle shifted to a static contest of attrition, with him relying on his training to evade rather than the various gadgets.

Trying to match it on physical attributes? That's a dumb move, Jaune judged. Meaning it's a trap. If it were him pulling that stunt, he'd be doing it to—

A wave swelled behind Leviathan, wide and curved to aim inward.

Aha. A big, telegraphed finisher has been baited.

The wave slammed through Leviathan, wrapping on either side and closing in a pincer move to cut off the routes of retreat for Armsmaster.

Who, simply, touched a button. The high-tech halberd launched its grappling hook straight at the wave, and locked it in a temporal effect identical to the power of Clockblocker, snaring the arms and legs in the process.

Loathing the man as he did, Jaune still found himself leaning forward, watching in rapt attention for what will surely follow. The deciding blow.

Armsmaster took two steps, then leapt. The bound wave became his footholds, letting him ascend to the top of Leviathan. One leg on a shoulder, the other on its head, he brandished the remaining halberd high.

"The end, monster."

He granted his foe a last derisive sneer before driving the weapon into Leviathan's neck, the blade sinking deep like a knife through butter.

Then, like a knife through flesh.

And finally, like a knife through stone. The triumphant gleam Armsmaster had revealed in anticipation of victory vanished from his face. In its place, an expression of utmost disbelief.

"H-how? My nanothorn can cut anything!"

That one moment of distraction would cost him.

The temporal effect collapsed. The wave crashed onto the street in a massive boom. Leviathan's arm, now freed, shot up in a blur, sharp claws slamming shut to trap the blue suit of armor in a tight grip.

Leviathan pulled its prey, halberd and all, off its shoulder and lowered him until they were face to face. Not surrendering, Armsmaster swung his weapon, attempting to slice at the arm holding him. The long pole worked against his purpose, unable to catch the correct angle. Still, ever tenacious, the man continued his struggle.

The hand began to squeeze.

At first, it elicited a mere grunt, discomfort endured as Armsmaster focused on breaking free of the grip. That did not last long. Leviathan increased the pressure. The expression of grim determination dissolved into a rictus of agony as the armor pieces grinded together, servos whining in protest. A spark ran along one arm and the halberd, the last hope of Armsmaster to escape, slipped from his fingers. It hit the water with a splash.

And that was that. Caught in the clutches of the monster, bereft of his beloved weapon, Armsmaster faced his doom.

Jaune knew he should feel something. Sadness for a life ending, perhaps, or respect for a fellow warrior. If not, since he held little sympathy and zero admiration for the man, then at least let there be a bout of tenderhearted understanding upon witnessing such an awful way to go. After all, members of the same species, by nature, tend to experience an aversion to seeing a similar creature get hurt.

This sensation of bubbling glee was probably not the correct emotion. A definite no, in fact. But, dammit, the guy stole Sundancer's victory and then he fumbled it!

Sort of like how he dropped that halberd, really.

Jaune was going to feel so ashamed for that thought later, maybe, but right now? Pure catharsis. Absolute zen. He was of half a mind to just leave the man there and walk off into the sunset. Or, well, the gray patch of sky where a sunset should be.

Someone else showed a different reaction.

Skitter, the bug controller, scrambled out of hiding to head towards the towering beast and the trapped hero. Her hands plunged into the frigid water, and came out hefting the halberd in an amateurish grip. She winded the weapon back in (poor) imitation of how Armsmaster did it, losing her balance as she failed to account for the heavy weight at the top, and brought it down on Leviathan's arm. She almost missed, and the best she managed to accomplish was clipping it on the skin.

Undeterred, or unaware of her atrocious form, she tried again. This time the blade struck true, if superficial. The rain-soaked pole also promptly slid out of her grasp to fall on a collision course with her skull. Jaune would have slapped a hand over his eyes in exasperation at this travesty of martial skill, if he wasn't busy catching the weapon before the razor-sharp head of it brained the fool.

His slash, although not masterful by any means, accommodated basic principles of weapon handling. The halberd cut into the wrist and sheared about two inches past the skin. Leviathan gave no indication it had noticed.

Very well, have at thee.

Jaune proceeded to rain down blow after blow upon Leviathan, striving to sever the limb holding Armsmaster. Clouds of bugs, heaving under the weight of water, alighted on the monster to bite and sting. Another person, armed with a sword-like drill, drove it home below the base of the tail and activated the spinning function. In a surreal development, giant stuffed animals made their appearance, a trio marching abreast. They slammed into Leviathan's sides, the adorable creatures trying to wrestle it to the ground. More figures darted in to strike with blades and fists, or stayed further back and peppered the head with lasers and bullets.

A low, keening wail escaped through the gritted teeth of Armsmaster as the crushing force passed the threshold he could tolerate. It signaled a dwindling time limit for the would-be rescuers, and they ignored the protests of their tired limbs to eke out every bit of effort. Jaune swung with reckless abandon, by this point having carved the forearm down to half its thickness—strangely, no further. The insects poured into the injuries that crisscrossed the beast, attacking from the inside; the amount of bee venom used could have killed a whale. The sword-drill reduced itself to a dulled, smoking ruin. The ground shook with the strength exerted by the stuffed animals punching and kicking.

To no avail.

Dawning horror flashed across Armsmaster's face before—*crack!*—it slackened to blankness.

And that was that. The end, for true this time.

Armsmaster deceased, CC-7.​

Why was only his armband working?

Jaune shunted the question to the back of his mind, because he had a bigger problem looming over his head. Namely, Leviathan looking down at the buffet clustered around its legs.

Jaune tried stabbing it with the halberd one more time. It didn't do jack.

Leviathan lifted both arms, and that did something. A rumble passed under the street. Cracks formed as the noise grew louder. With a bang, a huge concrete pipe broke the road surface. From it, water spewed forth to construct a wave half again the usual size.

"Where the heck did that come from?" Jaune blurted, unable to fathom a giant water hose just popping up out of nowhere.

"It's the storm sewers," someone whispered, voice tinged by horrified realization.

Well, now he knew, and they do say knowing was half the battle.

Jaune sure wished someone would tell him the other half, too, because he's racking his brain and coming up with a whole lot of nothing to counter this. Well, that's not right. There's one.

In a calm, steady voice that surprised even him, Jaune said, "Can anyone here make a barrier to withstand that?"

Yup, that was his last ditch plan. Asking for a miracle.

"H-here."

Huh. What do you know?

"GATHER UP!" He shouted, leaping to land next to the blond boy—Shielder, the older sibling had called him.

Not all of them made it in before the shields went up and the wave hit. He could only hope those guys survived. It stopped mattering a second later, though, because Leviathan lashed out with its tail. The barrier shattered under the blow and those within were swept away to join the rest.

For half a minute or so, water became his world. Hands clamped over mouth and nose, Jaune held on to the one shallow breath he managed to catch as he was thrown against the ground, the cars, the building, and other people. Attempts to grab on inevitably resulted in the water prying his fingers from the handholds. The current was too strong to resist for long. His Aura flickered time and time again as it endured the barrage of impacts. That didn't worry him overmuch; he had Aura for days. What scared him was the possibility of drowning, it posing as one of the few real dangers to Huntsmen. Aura or no, people needed to breathe.

The water ebbed just as his lungs burned for air. The first breath he took ended with a relieved sob.

Rising on shaky legs, he searched for Leviathan, expecting an imminent attack. It was gone. For good? No, that was a vain hope. It had, in all likelihood, exited the stage to go and wreak havoc elsewhere in the city.

In its wake, a stillness but for the rain, and bodies in the water.

Then, movement.

A stirring here. A power effect there. Not everyone had passed.

Stuffed animals, waterlogged, returned to their feet and hurried around to check for survivors. Jaune joined them in the task.

The sword-drill thing was impaled in a wall; they couldn't find the owner. A yellow-suited woman needed to be extricated from under a car. He awoke a high-tech power armor by poking it, though the person inside skated off on their waterski system instead of helping. That wasn't the last hero or villain to bail.

Jaune came across Shielder crawling out of a muck-filled collapsed portion of the road, and helped to pull the boy free. As he was making sure the guy could stand on his own, a squishy-soft paw tapped his shoulder. It was one of the stuffed animals, and the lion pointed with the other arm to its brethren, a pig waving for their attention from further down. It stood over a dark shape, which on closer inspection was revealed to be Skitter. Her visible injuries were… extensive, to put it mildly.

"P-please…Please help me…" Her voice was a weak murmur. The gash on her neck caused a watery gurgle with each breath she took, and a whistling pitch to her words. "I don't want to die… please…"

She wore a dark, scary costume and a creepy bug helmet, and displayed an off-putting mannerism to boot. His encounter with her left him a sneaking suspicion that she was some insectile creature. A thing unlike a person.

But that plaintive cry beneath the mask, it sounded all too human. Before he knew it, the scroll was already out of his pocket and opened to the Marketplace. Any regrets of losing precious Points turned moot as familiar packages materialized from thin air, and he administered the same mix of stimpaks and Blood-Replenishing Potions that had saved Sundancer's life.

Things went different, here. The neck injury healed, as did the other ones Jaune can see, but her breathing persisted as rasps and wheezes. The voice begging for help steadily grew smaller. Lifting the mask exposed a flowing nosebleed. No amount of otherworld medicine had staunched it.

Jaune and Shielder shared a glance, neither wanting to pin a diagnosis on the girl. The terms 'internal trauma' played through their minds.

"Can you evac her?" Jaune asked Shielder.

The boy didn't respond, the sight of him said it all. Wan and staggering, he stood upright by clinging on to a stuffed animal, and that was after receiving a stimpak injection himself to mitigate the hardest wounds. The sister mentioned that his ability to fly lacked speed at the best of times. These were not the best of times.

Armbands? Fried. Medicine? Futile. Transport? Grounded.

"… help…please…" Delirious, and likely unaware of the situation around her, Skitter continued to beg.

"I…"

Can't, Jaune hated to say.

A person on death's door. Another capable of flight. And him.

All the elements as before. More of the same. Only, it got worse.

What a hell he has walked into. What a fucked up world. It felt as if this place wanted him to break.

Kneeling down in the water, he took the dying girl's hand. It was the last thing he knew to do, a lesson learned in Beacon when he asked of his professor a certain question. What to do for the people they cannot save.

Offer kind words in their last moments, was the answer.

"You—"

Have done well? Can rest now? Their youth made it worse; her and Shielder both. They were younger than him. Younger than Ruby, even. This shouldn't have been a battle they fought or the place her life ended, and coming up with something to say that would make it okay proved an impossible challenge.

The kid was crying now, tears and snot mixing with raindrops as she came to understand why a person would be there to hold her hand but not save her. And to that scared girl for whom nothing else can be done, who had nothing in her future, with nothing left, he mustered the strength to try again. She deserved kindness, at least.

But as he aligned the weak, meaningless sentiments together in his mind, lips ready to shape the words he'd say out loud, a memory stirred.

There once was an injured boy, way back when. His soon-to-be partner healed him with but a chant and an indomitable will.

It's a different universe, but perhaps even here one might find the inextinguishable soul yearning to awaken.

"I am going to try… something." The declaration began slow and unsure, picking up momentum as he warmed to the idea. "Something I've no idea will pan out or not, mind you, but since I've just discovered that I possessed a startling lack of talent in comforting last words, it's worth a shot. If you disagree, save it for afterward." Despite the condition he was in, Shielder managed a snicker at that. It attracted Jaune's notice. "Know what? You get over here, too. Pyrrha never mentioned there being a limit on this."

She never told him the particulars of this procedure, either, so he'd have to proceed based on the feel of his own experience. Which was fine. That's how the best chefs do it.

For the first step, he remembered her putting a hand on his cheek. Skitter's face was a mess of cuts and bruises, but he found a spot at the base of her jaw that he can touch without inflicting pain. His other hand reached out to Shielder. A slight misjudgment of distance led to him slapping the hero on the mouth. Deeming it workable, he shrugged and moved on.

Pyrrha had glowed on that day in the forest. He had learned what that meant after the fact; she was drawing on her Aura. Hers then were a red hue, his here shined with a white light. It lit up the immediate area, shining as a beacon.

Lastly, Pyrrha somehow also made him glowy. That was the crucial part he's having trouble grasping. As he understood it, she had Aura while he did not. Then, she had less Aura while he had some. Logic follows that she shoved her Aura over to his side. Was it a simple matter of doing, or had the poem she chanted jumpstart the process? He's undecided.

Nothing was stopping him from using both.

His eyes closed shut, looking inward to hunt for that elusive well of energy called Aura. Its instinctive protection was dead easy to trigger, but conscious manipulation required a delicate touch, a person in tune with their inner self. Or, you can just really, really, really want to. So went the Ren/Nora lecture on Aura control, and he's opting for the explanation given by the latter at the moment. In a turn of events that would make Ren despair, Jaune did manage to tease out a spark, and willed it forward.

The mote of Aura did not split, yet it still ran down the two different paths, one leading to Skitter, the other to Shielder. A puzzling conundrum.

The Aura settled in his palms, and he experienced the odd feeling of it bouncing off a wall. Jaune compelled the energy to break past this obstacle.

Alright, now, how did the unlocking chant go? Ah, yes. With great solemnity, he thus spoke.

"For it is in passing that we achieve immorality."

Damn. He messed up on the wording. No matter, press on!

"Through this, we become a something something of glory to rise to the top."

It's close enough! He brought his Aura to bear, sending it along to the two teens.

"Infinity in distance and…and beyond when dead? *whisper* whatever, I'll just use more Aura to compensate *whisper* I release your soul, and by my shoulder, protect ye."

Boom! And that's the gist of it. He managed to hit the broad strokes, by his reckoning. Jaune opened his eyes and, to prove his point, saw the telltale radiance of Aura not his own.

Shielder looked down at himself in wonder, amazed by the shield his powers had not conjured yet still safeguarding his form. Going into this ritual, Jaune expected to see blue, white, or maybe gold for the blond hair. The kid's Aura was actually orange. Surprising, but the boy in question seemed less concerned about it, reveling in his recovering energy as he took a little hop and was able to float inches atop the water, albeit with a tired and shaky bobble to his flight.

As for Skitter… Jaune whooped in delight, for the girl's breathing had evened out, expression smoothing into serenity instead of the earlier agonized torment. Her Aura appeared as the muddy brown of earth, a new hue Jaune has yet to witness. Teenage Huntress magazine (which somebody dropped in the library and he and Ren definitely did not read cover to cover, only skimming the pages when the wind turned them) claimed that the colors signified the defining character trait of a person. What did Skitter's symbolize? The article devoted most of the pages to how red meant passion and pink was a sign of an ardent heart, and they sort of neglected to include shades of brown, beige, gray, and other less exciting colors.

Whatever. The important thing was that he succeeded in unlocking a person's Aura. Proof of concept was viable, and when he meets back up with Sundancer, he'll activate hers without delay. Dammit, if he had thought of it before…no, that was hindsight talking. It's no use dwelling on the 'could have beens'.

A groan drew him out of his thoughts. It came from Skitter. Jaune, Shielder, and the stuffed animals leaned over as a group to look at the girl waking up. Her eyes fluttered open to peer up at Jaune. They widened in horror.

"Pana—!" A cry of utmost fear, cut short as her vision cleared. "No, wait, you're not her…are you— *cough, cough!* —are you with New Wave?"

"You know, that's the second time someone asked me that today," Jaune said. "Glad to see you're awake. How do you feel?"

"Uhhh. Good. But bad. But good? Am I on drugs?"

Shielder chimed in. "Ditto. What was that?"

Before Jaune could answer, Skitter made a strange, spasming motion.

"I-I can't get up!"

Jaune winced. "Ooh, not good. That probably means something's still wonky, then. Aura does a lot, but there are issues it can't fix."

"Aura?"

"The manifestation of your soul. It empowers you. Heals you. And gives you a Semblance." Catching the question about to be asked by the two, he preempted them. "A Semblance is like a superpower."

Simultaneously, Skitter and Shielder shouted, latching on to the last point.

"I have a second power!?" / "You can grant powers!?"

They were completely floored by his statement. Meaning, what he did might not be a common occurrence. Jaune deflected at speed.

"I live out in the sticks. It's a thing there. For realsies."

Just a simple farmboy, nothing to see here. They seemed disbelieving of his lie.

"Look, there is a time and place for a discussion about my abilities. It's not in the middle of a typhoon with a roaming Leviathan added to the mix." Skitter and Shielder shivered at the mention of the monster's name. Jaune pointed at the former. "You need medical attention, and quickly."

The girl, who was all kinds of messed up on the inside, actually hesitated, saying, "But, if Leviathan is still in the city, then we can't stand by and do nothing! I have to fight it!"

She's nuts. Jaune very carefully did not say that.

Taking on a gentler tone, he urged her, "Leave it for others to worry about. You've done your part. More than your part. What's left for you is to rest and recuperate."

"But—!"

"And if that's not enough for you, then I'd add a reminder that you literally cannot stand up to anything at the moment. No matter what, they'll have to put you on a hospital bed. Make it easy on yourself and go with it." Jaune gave himself a mental pat on the back as the girl deflated. Seriously, she's nuts!

"I'm starting to think you are with New Wave," Shielder interrupted. "You sound like mom and dad."

"Is he really not? It's just—"

"Nope." The boy addressed the girl. "Never met him before in my life, but I get what you mean. No mask, Panacea colors, can heal and form a personal forcefield on his skin. He even has blond hair like us. The similarities are uncanny."

The siblings were part of New Wave. He had suspected, what with the unmasked faces.

"It's a total coincidence," Jaune dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I can't shoot lasers like your sister can."

Shielder perked up. "Wait, have you seen my sister? Do you know where she is?"

"Yeah? She should be with Panacea right now, along with a friend of mine," Jaune answered, and noticed the other boy fidgeting. "What's up?"

"Um. I think- that is, since I'm hurt, too, and you said we shouldn't fight, I want to go to her!" After blurting that out in a rush, he flushed red and hung his head as if he expected a reprimand. Jaune rolled his eyes. After what the kid's been through, making up an excuse to avoid Leviathan and wanting to run to the safety of his family were the normal things to come out of a person's mouth. He'd have questioned Shielder's mental state if he insisted on fighting. Like someone.

"Good idea. Take Skitter with you."

Shielder nodded, grateful. Skitter, far more grudging, looked like she would argue. A flat stare conveyed his message. She backed down, sulking.

Jaune added. "Do me a favor, though. Check up on my friend for me once you're there. See if she's alright. She goes by Sundancer."

"No problem, I'll do that first thing after I drop Skitter with Panacea. But what will you be doing?"

"I'm headed that way on foot." He crossed his arms in an 'X' when they suggested traveling as a group, "Do you have the energy to carry two people? No? Fly ahead, then, and get yourselves seen to. Remember, make sure Sundancer is being looked after. Tell her I'll be by in a bit."

And, oh boy, was he going to be in trouble with her for jumping into a second fight with Leviathan the moment she turned her back. Whoops.

A concord reached, they proceeded with moving Skitter. Worried of aggravating the unseen injuries, Jaune directed Shielder to whip up a forcefield and press it flat to the ground under the water, after which they shifted her a little at a time to get her on. Once there, the platform lifted in a slow, labored ascent. Shielder drifted beside it, lingering exhaustion shown by his erratic flight path.

"Think you can do this?" Jaune asked, concerned. The younger boy answered with a weak thumbs-up.

"I'll make it. Somehow." He turned to go, but hesitated and spun back around. "Okay, I have to ask. Those things you were saying when you gave us our 'aura', what did they mean? Because I didn't understand most of it."

Jaune hid his panic, pasting on his best 'enigmatic smile' a la Ozpin. "That is natural. I touched on many profound subjects in that speech, and it would take you a lifetime to comprehend its truths."

When he returns to Remnant, he's making Pyrrha write the damn words down for him to memorize. Unlocking someone's Aura should not be this embarrassing.

"That doesn't—"

"Oh, get out of here already! There's a girl hurt; be her hero and take her to the medics!" Waving his hands, he shooed them off.

Fortunately, the probing questions ceased, and he was able to split from Skitter and Shielder without further ado. After bidding farewell to the stuffed animals heading for their own destination, Jaune waded over the sidewalks in the direction he recalled the elder sister—Laserdream, Shielder had told him—flying towards prior to the recent debacle.

Along the way, he caught sight of glints in the water, thinking nothing much of it at first. Barely a block down, his pace slowed, then paused altogether. A closer inspection revealed the shapes submerged below the surface.

Oh. This was what the scroll meant by 'loot'. There sure were a lot, exactly as advertised.

-o-​

Jaune was making good time, for all that he clanked with every step. The landmarks guided him down familiar roads to put him on a long straightaway leading to his destination. It won't be much further—twenty minutes slogging through water at the most—until he arrives at the portal.

Not to the field hospital, though that remained his ultimate goal. He just had to take a small detour first in order to offload the pile of 'loot' that filled his arms.

A more honest description would be 'dead people's belongings'.

In normal, non-apocalyptic scenarios, he would hold no truck with such a distasteful thing as graverobbing. In a city besieged by Leviathan, and behind that the ever-looming threat of Vale and Beacon falling to the Grimm, he can learn to compromise. Battlefield acquisitions, let's call it, and it paved the foundation for the idea bouncing around in his head.

Weapons, armors, and gadgets. A knife composed from blood, a halberd that can cut things well, a laser gun, a pair of electrified gauntlets, a hardy prismatic cloak, a device that projected illusory disguises, and many other treasures of note; the cannonblade he admired counted among them. Apart, the majority of the items were nothing to rave over. Put together, they added up to ten thousand and some hundreds of Points by his mental calculations. Points aplenty to trade for an item or [Skill] of decent value, which he can use to slap Leviathan out of Brockton Bay or knock it down for good, depending.

If this world alone cannot beat the monster—risking Sundancer's life and limbs notwithstanding—then the simple solution afforded him was to go outside of it and bring back fantastical powers to even things up. And in the event Sundancer does return to the battle as their silver bullet, he'd want to provide her with better defenses and recovery options than the slapdash measures he was currently running with. Stimpaks and blood infusions did not a healer make.

The trek became easier as he moved out of the city center. The area they fought Leviathan in had transformed into a devastated wasteland of broken buildings, sinkholes, and thigh-deep water to waylay him. After cutting a parallel line to the coast for about ten minutes, he was navigating inland through neighborhoods that had suffered only minor damage from the shin-high flood and heavy rain. It alleviated the strain on his flagging strength, allowing him to maintain a steady pace.

Purity down, BW-8. Shadow Stalker down, BW-8.​

Blinking in surprise, Jaune looked for signs of an armband. The search didn't take long. A group of them floated towards him, six or seven strips of cloth borne on the water surface and pulled by the currents. There were no bodies littering the road; the owners of these devices must have fled. The synthetic voice of a woman blared from each armband, and they merged together to resound across the avenue.

Evacuation Notice for BW-8. Repeat, evacuate BW-8 immediately.​

The lack of tall buildings in this neighborhood granted him a stellar view as a number of high-rises began to collapse, accompanied by creaks and groans and soon an almighty crash. He stood and gaped in horror.

Smoke, dust, they bloomed in a cloud shooting for the sky, tamped down by the rain. Once it cleared, an entire section of the city skyline was gone.

Alexandria deceased, BW-8.​

A lengthy silence ensued following the announcement, one without a single update on the casualties. Not long after, Jaune spotted colorful figures flying in the sky, tracing routes starting from the direction of the city center. They sped past him overhead on a course away from the city.

Unnerved, he leaned down and, carefully so as to not drop his harvest, hooked one of the armbands around his index finger. He resumed the trip while keeping his ears open for the next update.

Two blocks on and it hadn't made a peep. Instead, activities in his surroundings provided him a clue of the fallout. Pausing at intersections, he would catch the occasional glimpses of masked figures emerging from alleys and streets, running full-tilt for the horizon. Their undignified scamper spoke volumes.

The name Alexandria might mean nothing to him, but it was the name to break the final threads of morale. The battle was lost, or near enough.

Not everybody ran. It sounded a lot better than the reality. Villains—for surely these could never be the heroes, despite the heroic cut of some of their costumes—carried out excursions at times to enter places that intrigued them. Jewelry shops, most often. They would jauntily exit these buildings loaded down with valuables. Twice Jaune saw conflict occur among such opportunists. The first when one person stumbled upon another, and thought to relieve the latter of their burden. A second altercation was an argument between accomplices that devolved to a brawl after the division of spoils failed to suit all tastes.

People who an hour ago stood on the same line, how quickly they turned on each other.

He had beheld the heights of heroism in this universe. In his optimism, the actions of what he thought to be the few bad eggs were dismissed as aberrant. Now, block after block, he witnessed scenes of selfishness and greed, jackals descending on those weaker to enrich themselves. Jaune marched on, morose. In his mind, a mantra.

Sell, buy, save the day.

Sell, buy, save the day.

Sell, buy, save the day. He sang it to himself, a goal to focus on. And finally, but finally, his journey entered the home stretch.

The street he traveled upon opened up to a large, empty clearing hemmed in by four different roads with side avenues galore. At the far end, past one of the roads, lay a row of shops and homes. Taking a left up there to exit the clearing and he'd see the flickering neon sign of a convenience store. There's a looted electronics store visible from here. A couple buildings over, the mouth of an alleyway sat.

Jaune stepped out into the open space, and noticed that he wasn't alone.

A fair distance to his right, a young woman screeched to a stop, having entered from one of the other streets. Where he was located at a corner of the clearing, her position drew a direct line into the alley.

Rain plastered her dark blond hair to her back. On her face, a domino mask. The skintight outfit bestowed scant protection in this storm, water soaking into the purple-and-black fabric.

The costume was torn, here and there. She bore wounds, here and there. What bothered him was her wide-eyed stare.

She had startled after spotting him, and the mild surprise near instantly switched to a look of bewilderment as if she had never seen a human in her life. Unsure of what the problem was, then recalling his appearance—that here was a guy holding onto an armory's worth of weaponry—he wiggled the fingers on one hand to wave in a show of peaceful intent. Her expression changed not one iota.

He stared, she stared. They stood still in the rain.

Aaalrighty, then? Whatever's happening was clearly a her issue, and he had a task to complete, so he'll just carry on. Jaune turned his attention towards the alleyway.

She mirrored the motion.

Doing a double-take, Jaune whirled to face the girl. Had he imagined—no, she really was staring deep into the alley, a nondescript and uninteresting gap in the brick wall except for the portal to another universe sitting in total darkness at the end. Her head swung back and forth, bouncing from there to him then back, appearing more baffled if that was even possible. Occasionally, she would wince, face pinching with effort for reasons unknown.

He took a step towards the alley.

She did, too.

He inched a little further.

She copied him, this time maintaining eye contact all the while. Though, one eye was twitching.

He stared, she stared. Confusion abounds. What was going on?

Their odd stalemate broke at the sound of a dull roaring, like the rumbles of thunder or the hard rapping of knuckles on a door. They both spun around as one.

Distance was relative. Meaning, distance was a state of mind. Up until this moment, Jaune believed he had traveled far from the coast, an illusion cast by his arduous (yet slow) progress through submerged roads.

One look at the towering ice wall, and the spray of water shooting over the top, and in his mind the distance between him and the sea shrank down from 'safely out of harm's way' to 'major flood risks, do not enter'. He assuaged his unease by noting that the sound of waves impacting on ice reverberated across the entire length of the wall, concentrating on no particular point and thus diffused in strength. That reassurance lost some persuasiveness when the first crack appeared. It was near the far side of the barrier, however, so he reined in his panic even as water blasted a gaping hole there. He thanked his lucky stars when a second gap formed to dump water down on the area where he fought Leviathan, which he had vacated less than half an hour ago.

And then a last breach occurred. This one was a big one. It originated at the point closest to him.

Tidal waves incoming, multiple zones at risk. Evacuate red areas immediately.​

Jaune checked the map on the armband, still hooked on his finger. The entire thing was colored red.

Oh no, oh no, oh no. He ran.

Across the empty lot, Jaune blazed a trail, hardly thinking of where to put his feet only that it led him closer to the portal. Beneath him, a shaking. Behind him, a roaring. To tarry was to drown. He did not dare look back.

His right leg sank down in a hidden divot. He slammed his left hard against the ground to compensate, quickly regaining balance and form to race on. Heart thundering at the realization that a simple pothole could spell his doom, Jaune begged Lady Luck to stop dunking on him already and leave him be. Whether the prayer was heard or not, he couldn't tell, but his subsequent footfalls landed on even ground. Still, he knew better than to tempt the cruel bitch by celebrating.

A car rested ahead, necessitating avoidance. Rather than wasting precious seconds to circle around, he slid over the hood, pile of loot and all. Something dropped out, making a splash as it hit the water. He ignored the pang of regret to abandon the item. Considering there's more than ten thousand Points nestled in his arms, he can spare to lose one or two. The sound of the approaching tidal wave clinched the decision. It sounded a ways off, but the rising volume served as proof of the armband's warning. That tsunami was headed here.

Reaching the other side of the clearing in record time, Jaune proceeded to cross the road without delay, dodging debris floating by with near prescient intuition. He got to around the middle of the avenue, and it's there that the errant thought struck him.

Where was the other person? He chanced a look.

Whatever her superpower, physical prowess it was not, Luck, neither.

His running was running; he had zoomed over the land on speedy feet. Charged up with adrenaline, the weight he carried felt light as feathers. In contrast, hers was a stumbling jog, poor athleticism leading to her arms windmilling for balance whenever she slips, and it's often that she did. Some sort of injury was at play, as seen in the swaying gait and the head being held in hands. Her narrowed eyes struggled to see…something. She had barely traversed past the midpoint.

Jaune performed a quick eyeball calculation. She's too slow to make it. The wave was too fast, too near.

Somehow, someway, even though she had not turned her head to see for herself, the girl also figured out the truth. Her expression transformed into that of pure, stricken terror.

Then, suddenly, the fear drained from her face. Her pace lagged, soon coming to a complete stop altogether. With shoulders slumped, a sigh followed.

Wait, was she—?

A deep breath helped her to regain composure. Trembling hands clenched and unclenched until she moved them down to place on either hips. Her eyes caught his for a brief moment, before they closed.

She was.

Her expression said it best. Serene, but for the slight quaver to her lips. Acceptance, despite being afraid. She has grasped the foregone conclusion. Rather than wailing or cursing her unfair fate, she chose to let it be.

The wave rushed onward. This close, it deafened all other sounds. The land ahead of it quaked; walls and roofs crumbled as it arrived. In the churning, roiling motion that uprooted trees and swept buildings along in the water's wake, one could so easily ascribe a sentience to the boundless destruction, imagining that the tsunami held an unabating rage for all that laid in its path. Where it touched, nothing remained but ruins.

Before that… before the coming end, the girl raised her head to face the sky, and she showed the world a wide, toothy grin. Because, sometimes, you couldn't do anything else.

The wave rolled towards her, three city blocks off. Two blocks. One.

And Jaune was beside her, scooping the girl into his empty arms, running back the way he came.

He rushed through a field of strewn treasures. A red crystal knife shimmered as it laid sunken beneath the water. An unnaturally sharp halberd had embedded itself deep in the road. A beautiful cloak floated down the street. A device had malfunctioned from hitting the ground and now spat out holograms at random. The cannonblade that had so enamored him, he no longer paid it any mind.

A face stared up at him in blank astonishment, unable to fathom what he did. Honestly, neither could he.

He had a mission with the fate of Vale on the line. Another, of Brockton Bay. For their sake he must survive. To succeed, he should be prepared to do anything, even if it involves killing and stealing. He needed to harden his heart.

All the people of his home put on a scale against this one life. All the people of Brockton Bay against her. Either should have been obvious in their answer, no hard mathematics required. They mattered more.

The man who can understand that was the man these worlds called for, a true protagonist who's cold and logical, able to control the situation with his piercing intellect and create plans that ran several steps ahead of everyone else. Such a man always knew the optimal route to attain his goal. A hero, for whom the right choices came easy.

It's too bad then, that he could not be that man. Just a student, a trainee of a Huntsman, who too often mistook what was easy for what was right. Logic and him never really got on, and he lacked the fortitude to be heartless.

The means of victory, ten thousand Points and change. It was the purpose of his journey to this place, and so close to the finish line, he tossed it all to the wayside for the tidal wave to take, exchanged for the chance to save a stranger.

Because, sometimes, you couldn't do anything else. Because these little souls, they mattered.

The crashing waters chased his heels. The dark alley loomed ahead. He darted inside.

The portal, detecting his presence, flared to life. A hundred colors swirled on the brick wall to light up his path. Almost there, he was almost there.

A swift, savage force swept out his legs. The tidal wave had caught him first.

Jaune curled around the bundle in his arms, tucking her head into the center of his chest. He tried to draw a breath. The tsunami slammed against his back, knocking out the air in his lungs. The world plunged into darkness as water engulfed him on all sides.

Up was down, down was up. The current slammed him on the concrete, grabbed him and tossed him at a wall. He cracked his head on the bricks. Feeling himself pushed forward, afraid the person he held would take the impact, he kicked out with a leg. Ramrod straight, it struck a hard surface head on to send pain shooting up the entire length, bones rattling. An object borne by the wave—sharp, unnaturally so—sliced him on the hip to elicit a cry, a mistake as seawater tried to rush in. He forced himself to spit it out, his lungs screaming at him that he needed to breathe in something, anything. Stubbornly, and not wishing to die, he fought the instinct and pressed his mouth shut even as pain bloomed from within.

And then, with a myriad of colors filling his vision, he was out. Out of the water. Out of the universe. Emerging inside a gray room.

Halfway through, he felt a strain on his arms, like he was pulling a massive weight with him instead of a girl. The gateway he was stuck in shook and flickered ominously, until he wondered if it was going to throw him back to drown. To his great relief, the portal, accompanied by the sensation of a rubber band snapping, asserted itself and spat the both of them across the room.

He twisted to take the impact on his back, hit the wall with a boom to rattle the room, and crashed to the ground on his rear. Dizzy and nauseous, he inhaled great gulps of air. Panic spiked when he looked down and saw that the girl's eyes were closed. It was followed by relief at the sound of her breathing. She was unconscious, but alive.

He was alive, too, in a dry room with all the water blocked on the other side. Laughter bubbled up in his chest, released as he threw back his head and let out a shout of elation.

Elation became horror as the portal began to shrink. Letting the girl roll to the floor, Jaune scrambled to his feet.

"Nonono!" Rushing headlong to the swirling circle, he put out a hand to stop it from closing, to push through, to—

His hand crashed against an invisible barrier, fingers twisting painfully. He slammed a fist on the same spot, a useless gesture.

"I still need to go back! I'm not done yet! STOP!" He cried to no avail. The portal was no longer acting as a gate, but a window growing smaller with each passing second. From a circle that can fit four people marching abreast, to the size of his dorm's door, to a handspan gap just above the alley's waterline.

His last glimpse of that universe, of Worm, was the scene of a golden figure far in the distance floating in midair and the embodiment of nature's wrath, Leviathan, perched atop a high-rise. A beam shot from the figure to descend upon the beast. Following it, the first rays of sunlight, so like hers, broke through the clouds as the sky started to clear up, just as the portal winked out.

In utter silence, his shaking hands reached for the Company scroll. He opened the Jump Portal app just in time to see the textbox containing the details of the Instance disappear, leaving an empty page where a world should be.

So. That's the rule, is it? One time in. One time out. No second chance.

Jaune rocked on his heels, falling back to lay flat on the floor. He stared blankly at the white ceiling. Moisture swam in his eyes. There was so much left undone. He thought of his failures, of the many mistakes he committed, and the tears fell free.

But then, he thought about his successes. Events that would have unfolded differently had he not been there or people who might have died had he never met them. Things went wrong, yet things went right. On a face streaked with tears, a small smile formed.

Joy that he had gone, sorrow for what he had seen, regrets that he could not stay, he allowed the opposing feelings to dwell in his heart, crying and laughing as he recalled the scant few hours that felt like days. It was a hell of a time.

And after the tears have dried and the laughter has faded, he sat up once more, looking to where a portal had rested. There used to be a city there, just waiting on the other side. To it, he bade farewell.

Farewell to a world where superheroes die. Where they were vain, petty people ready to turn on each other, and the day was never won. A Grimmless land nevertheless filled with beasts of many stripes.

Farewell to a world where a villain fought for a city, and wished to never kill. Who took a chance on a stranger, and called him friend.

What a horrible world. If only he could go back again.

Jaune sighed.

Aah. Aaaah, it's such a shame. I was looking forward to dancing with her.

-o-​

In a quiet, gray room, a girl awoke from her slumber, eyelashes fluttering delicately. Sitting up, she beheld her savior, a device of some sort in his hand.

"Hey there, you. Feeling al–"

Her gaze flicked to the rest of the room, bouncing from wall to corner to window before settling back on him, eyes trailing up and down his form.

Such a pretty green, so went the thought in the boy's mind.

Then, those same green eyes proceeded to roll to the back of her head. She tipped backward and fell flat on the floor, unconscious.

Jaune stared, nonplussed. Was it something he said?

A shake of her arm, a tap on her cheek, he tried various ways to rouse her. A minute or two later saw her stirring. The first thing in her sight, was him.

"Are you o–"

Theeeere she goes again. Out like a light.

Is that her superpower? Fainting spells?

This could be a problem.

Universe: Worm (divergent). Location: Brockton Bay. Event: Leviathan.
Loot acquired: a narcoleptic girl
Instance Failed(?)​

---

Author's Notes: Jaune Arc accidently played the game right, embracing waifu over loot.

And that's the end of his first foray into Worm. Instances are meant to be short episodes, whereas Permanent Worlds will be the ones he can stick around for longer periods of time. It's too bad that he didn't know all the rules going in. And wasn't OP enough to hard-counter the grimdark. Hopefully he'll learn to pick a happier place on the next go.

Poor Narcolepsy Girl– I mean, Tattletale. She wakes up, sees the guy that makes no sense to her power, the device connected to every world, the room built by alien hands, the window view of what is clearly not her world, and her power of super observation goes haywire to result in the mental equivalent of a sledgehammer to the back of her head, thus knocking her out. Then she wakes up, sees the guy that…and so on, and so on.

For those who are unfamiliar with Worm, Lisa Wilborn aka Tattletale is the kind of innocent, demure, and supportive gal who will be ever so sweet to Jaune. Honest. Really, I'm not lying. Ask anyone who has read Worm, they'll tell you.

There's some good art of Sundancer and Tattletale by an artist called LinaLeeZ, if you would like a mental image.

As for that particular Worm AU, who knows how it'd go. Skitter with Aura and an extra superpower (and the ability to grant that to other people)? She'll probably use it as intended and not do anything drastic. Then again, she's nuts.

Sunrise. Sunset. Sunrise. Sunset. What follows a sunset?

 

[LazyAutumnMoon]

In a sparsely-furnished room with gray walls and a white ceiling, a girl laid on a bed. It's a simple thing; built for one, not all that soft, missing both pillow and blanket. Water soaked the section of the mattress beneath the girl, she herself drenched from a dip in a typhoon. Those sleeping conditions practically begged for her to develop hypothermia, but lacking a change of clothes or even a towel in this place, the other option would have been for her to be stripped nude. And Jaune, shivering in his own wet outfit as he knelt beside the bed, certainly wasn't going to be taking anyone's shirt off in these circumstances.

Bodysuit, in her case. He used to think Huntress fashion was distracting. It had nothing superheroine costumes—or perhaps supervillainess, he didn't get the chance to ask yet. The ridiculousness of wearing a skin-tight one piece to battle registered in full when it ceased being an artist's portrayal on comic book pages and became an actual thing a person does in front of him. What kind of defenses did the bodysuit offer? It wouldn't even protect this girl from the cold air let alone a bullet, being so thin. Way too thin, and there were tears in it.

With a sigh, he cut off that thought to preempt another bout of temptation. Gaze turned towards the ceiling, he counted the seconds in his head as he waited for the girl to regain consciousness, one hand drumming a beat on the mattress, the other extended to place over her face.

After the latest repeat of his guest's fainting act, Jaune had conceived of a brilliant idea. Her looking around seemed to be the trigger for incapacitation, what with the frantic eye motions followed by a groan of pain and a trip to la-la land. So, he simply blocked her vision—and patted himself on the back, because this was the kind of go-getter, problem solving mindset that would get him hired by a company after his Huntsman days were over.

It continued being a brilliant idea right up until the girl awoke for the umpteenth time.

"H—" The beginning of a word was all he managed before she erupted in a violent struggle while screeching like a banshee, the natural response for a person when they came to in total darkness with a warm fleshy thing gripping their face. He's pretty sure someone filmed a horror movie featuring a scene like that. Mistakes were made.

The girl succeeded in slapping his arm aside, at which point she stiffened up and, forgetting the fight altogether, played out a now familiar scene. Green eyes panned from one side of the room to the other, roamed over Jaune's features, then rolled in their sockets.

"Too much…too much…" she mumbled, and clocked out. Again.

Jaune scratched his head, puzzled on the best way to proceed. He had been on the right track. By the sound of it, the girl was undergoing some sort of sensory overload that rendered her mind unable to comprehend…well, anything. Unless she was amenable to living life blindfolded, the problem extended beyond his level of expertise in neuroscience (none).

It's lucky for her that he can turn to his handy-dandy stolen scroll for aid. Slowly but surely, he was coming around to the idea of leaning on the most versatile tool at his disposal. Although, it'd be great if his broke-ass can keep up with his spending habit. How much credit did he have?

Let's see, there's the 400 Points spent on [Blank] , then 75 to save S-Sundancer…

A shaky breath, a pang of regret and hurt. Clamping down on that mess of emotions in a very healthy manner, he continued adding up.

…75 on Skitter and Shielder, plus another 50 just now to get a stimpak that took care of this girl's wounds, which amounted to 600 Points in total, with 400 available until he hit the credit limit. Not encouraging, since his first Jump required a [Skill] that cost those same number of Points. For a brief moment, he entertained the idea of making a second Jump to bolster his budget while letting the girl stay like this.

That notion ended with a whimper slipping out from between her lips, some residual pain bleeding through to torment her even in unconsciousness. It decided his course, and Jaune walked over to the table on the other side of the room, picking up the scroll and opening it to the Marketplace.

The Medical section, in a surprising twist, provided few good options. Medicines relating to the mind were more geared towards restoring or unlocking higher clarity of awareness than dampening one's faculties, which made sense now that he thought about it. If asked, the average person would classify a drug that left them dumb as a poison, not a cure. In this case, though, a pill that expanded the perception of the person swallowing it would only exacerbate the problem, and may well kill the girl. Ditto for an item called [Insight] , aptly-named and on sale for cheap, except the description for it went further to suggest that she'd die screaming. He flipped away to a different page after reading that particular tidbit.

The first possibility remotely beneficial he found was a superpower. [Soothe Mind] , which can be summed up as an instant college degree in psychology, letting him heal mental stress and trauma. The downside was that the girl would have to stay in his proximity so he could apply the ability on a continuous basis. Can somebody say addiction?

Also, much like a college degree, paying for it was beyond his means. All in all, it's not the solution he's looking for, but it hinted in the right direction. The remedy should exist independently of him. An object, not a power. A thing of permanence, instead of a consumable needing replenishment. Something like—he paused mid-swipe as a gadget caught his eye.


Mind Suppressant Collar


Yes! This was it! Opening up the detailed view, he read on.


Stop their pesky free will. Best waifu is dumb waifu.
Shuts down independent thoughts and places the subject in a highly suggestible state… Did we say highly? We mean completely. She'll do anything. Anything.
Points Cost: 10


No. This wasn't it. Yet again, the many universes at large have succeeded in scaring the hell out of him.

That was not to say it didn't tempt him. The impulse, a momentary thing, stirred alongside a stolen glance at the girl on the bed. He noted she looked rather pretty past the domino mask; not Huntress gorgeous, but in Vale would be quite cute. That was his hint to retreat at speed from the page, paranoia leading him to move his finger with care lest he misclicks. Seeing the cheap price tag and knowing from his purchase of [Blank] that the device possessed a sort of intelligence, he couldn't help but wonder if it had laid a deliberate trap for him.

Perhaps this was how the process started. He would buy one of these on a whim, and enjoy the high that went with controlling someone powerful and attractive. The store would then ply him with more and better ways to achieve that same rush, priming him to make decisions that result in him dominating all within sight during his travels until, down the line, it's Jax Darkphenix staring back in the mirror.

The next item further fueled his suspicions, being limited in scope across the board while bearing identical prices, gently reminding him that he could gain so much value by going with the superior model.


Inhibitor Collar
Universe: DC
Ancient Americans once said, "Everyone is equal."
Modern Amanda Waller says, "Challenge accepted."
Crafted with mundane yet unexplainable science, this marvel of plot device engineering cuts off access to abilities from a wide variety of sources including metahumanism, magic, and alien biologies. Sleek, stylish, and trendy, each collar comes outfitted with an electric shock function, gratis.
Points Cost: 10


Having gotten used to living with Aura, the idea that someone else can shut it off at will alarmed him quite a bit, and the less said about the 'freebie' tacked on at the end, the better. The accompanying keyfob stopped him from dismissing it straightaway.

Control. He can leave it in her hands. A prison was only a prison until the inmates held the keys. Giving it a tentative maybe, he moved on to try and find a better option.

Ten minutes and two fainting cycles later, he circled back to the inhibitor collar, with it still the single thing on his list because a 'good side' equivalent of the device had not been forthcoming. Despite how useful it might sound to have around, a power nullification effect seemed to always feature as a punishment or an attack, never benign in purpose.


Inhibitor collar x1
Points Cost: 10
Points Balance: 0
Insufficient Points. Buy on Credit (Credit Available: 400 Points)?


The delivery box materialized to deposit a rectangular strip of metal and a keyfob in his hands. Testing it out, he pressed the biggest button on the controller and the strip unfurled into a curving band, clasping where the two ends meet. Another toggle returned it to the inert state. The next switch down was labeled 'Inhibitor', simple enough. The last button, marked by a lightning bolt, laid under a cover one must flip open, reassuring Jaune that the girl won't zap herself by accident.

Walking to the bed, Jaune lifted the girl's head with one hand, the other placing the device behind her neck. Smooth metal flowed over her skin to create a loop. Done, he took a step back to observe his handiwork.

It…it didn't look too bad. Hardly like a human rights abuse at all. A person might even mistake the thing for a choker at first glance. Yeah, he'll call it that from now on, and try not to think about the sketchier aspects.

He felt a touch better about the matter once he activated the power-inhibiting function and the girl gave this long, soft sigh that spoke of sweet relief. She seemed disinclined to wake up anytime soon, falling into a true sleep with a smile playing on her lips.

Sporting a smile of his own, Jaune left her to it. Tossing the keyfob and the scroll onto the table, he sat down against a wall to wait. The fatigue from his recent ordeals was catching up, and with no more troubles on the horizon, he allowed his eyes to close for a while.

-o-​

However long he drifted off for, he did not know. In his sleep, he dreamt of Beacon and home, of a city by the sea and a bright sun. Everything was jumbled up in one place, existing in a raucous harmony. The faces around him, all the people he knew, wore happy expressions. It was a beautiful dream that he could have forever lost himself in and when he awoke in an otherworld apartment, he almost shed a tear.

Blinking the moisture away, Jaune noticed movement in his vision. He peered through half-dozing eyes at a shape on the far side of the room. That purple color was reminiscent of something, but…

Ah. The girl he rescued. She's up, and no longer prone to incapacitation, looks like. A roaring success.

She was also fast coming closer to him, both hands wrapped around a shiny object. Crocea Mors, his mind supplied and Jaune chuckled under his breath. She's holding it all wrong. Her form sucked even worse than Skitter's did with the halberd.

It occurred to his sluggish awareness a little too late to ask the question of why she was carrying his sword. He got his answer when the girl, standing over him, raised Crocea Mors high with a grunt of effort. The last traces of sleep were banished as Jaune came to grips with the situation. Namely, that this appeared to be a murder attempt. The sword swung down.

"Holy—!" He shouted in panic and brought his hands up, slapping them together in a maneuver he had only ever seen Pyrrha accomplish outside of movies. On this occasion, he succeeded—like a boss!—and caught the blade in between his palms mere inches from it connecting with his head.

Boy and girl stared at each other.

"What. The fuck, lady!?"

She, in lieu of giving a response, released his sword and scrambled away. Reaching the shield half of Crocea Mors, she hid behind it.

Like, not even lifting the thing, she just propped up the shield and tucked herself into a ball in the most useless defensive stance in history. The eyes peeking at him over the edge were wide with terror, the absolute fear taking him aback to bleed off some of his ire. Only some, because holy damn she tried to kill him! It wouldn't have worked since he had Aura, but still, bloodthirsty much?

Holding up a hand in a warding gesture, he made to stand.

"Okay, listen, I—"

The girl did the opposite as he asked, immediately covering her ears. Unsupported, the shield flopped over. She stared at it for a bit before sighing.

"Just kill me," she murmured, arms dropping to her sides. "If I'm going to be Mastered, then I'd rather die first."

Kill? Mastered?

He opened his mouth. She beat him to it. "Really makes me wonder, though…why would you need all those abilities, Jax, unless getting a girl on your own was too tough~" A mocking sneer. "Performance issues, perhaps?"

Hearing that stupid name, the pieces of the puzzle clicked to form a picture of what happened during his nap. Jaune peered past her at the table, confirming that the scroll sat at a remove from where he left it.

He took a step, halting when she flinched. Slowly, maintaining eye contact throughout, Jaune gave the girl a wide berth as he made a circuit around her. Once next to the table, he picked up the scroll.

Yep. Status screen. Right at the section that listed out the many fantastical [Skills] of a dead man. Except, if you miss the line that declared him dead, you might mistake the device (and powers) as belonging to the sole other person in the vicinity.

"Look," he said to the girl. As should have been expected by now, she squeezed her eyes closed and covered her ears again, because following the orders of someone believed to be in possession of mind control abilities and bearing the intention of using it on you would be the heights of stupidity. Jaune palmed his face. "I'm not Jax. I'M. NOT. JAX."

The shout was heard. A wary eye cracked open, ready to slam shut at a moment's notice.

"He's gone. Check this part here." Jaune pointed under Jax's name, where it said 'State: Dead', inching closer to the girl one cautious step at a time so she could see. Curiosity got the best of her and she visibly resisted the urge to bolt away, instead leaning forward to read the screen.

"Oh."

Jaune smiled.

"Well, I knew that."

Jaune frowned. The girl endured the flat stare he leveled at her quite admirably, confident expression daring him to contradict her claim.

"It was… a test. Yes, a test." She glanced to the side to avoid his accusing eyes, before rallying. "A-and you took my powers away! What is that if not a 'I'm going to do terrible things to you, huhuhu' move? And you put a collar on me." Jaune winced.

"I would call it a choker."

She arched an eyebrow. "And I would call it a collar. A slave collar."

"Whoa, okay, let's not go that far. I assure you it was necessary for your own good." He paused to contemplate that line, which sounded suspiciously similar to the official SDC stance on faunus work conditions, and revised his words. "Your power was going haywire and I had to use the col– choker to shut it off. You can deactivate the effect at any time by toggling the keyfob over there, but—"

No longer listening, the girl ran for the table. One frantic search later, the control device was in her hands; she pressed on it while displaying a victorious smirk. Jaune simply sighed.

Three…Two…One. Cue the obvious routine.

Rolling his eyes, he walked over to the passed out girl, reaching down to enable the inhibitor again.

-o-​

In a sparsely-furnished room with gray walls and a white ceiling, a girl stood at the wide window, looking out over an alien sky. Nose pressed to the glass, she bore an agog expression. In the background, a boy droned on and on about a bunch of nonsense.

At least, that's what Jaune guessed her opinion was, because the girl who referred to herself as Tattletale was barely responding.

"Did you hear me?"

"Uh-huh."

"You're the one that asked for an explanation, remember?"

"Uh-huh."

"That planet up there is going to impact this one in a few hours."

Tattletale spun to him. "WHAT!?"

"I'm kid—"

She had already whirled back to the window, one hand clicking on the controller suppressing her superpower, the ability to infer and extrapolate data on a level that a detective could only dream of. Tattletale claimed she was the closest thing to a psychic in Brockton Bay—and at first tried to get him to buy that fib until he called her out with his own earlier deductions. With her power, she can as good as read a person's thoughts, and smell a deception from across the street. Without…well.

Jaune was happy to say that the sensory overload did not lead to a subsequent loss of consciousness this time, just a keening whine as Tattletale clutched her head. Improvements!

Although, had she looked at him or the scroll for any length of time, it would still knock her out for some reason. How odd.

After she reactivated the choker, he asked, "Were you really trying to check if the planet was going to hit us?"

"…No. Of course not."

"It was just a joke."

"And I knew that." She insisted in a bare-faced lie, clinging on to what shreds of her pride that remained.

Which was kind of pointless, since he had long concluded that this girl was hilarious. How else did she want him to think when, after being provided the answer to her woes, she continued to repeatedly shoot herself in the foot for the smallest of things, like switching on her power in an attempt to verify that his name was real.

"So, let me get this straight," Tattletale said, getting back to the matter at hand (and in no way changing the subject). "You have a phone—"

"Scroll."

"—phone that sells anything and everything, and can also open portals to different worlds."

"That's the gist of it."

"It sold you this collar that shuts off my power completely, and it can sell powers."

"Yup, except for the collar part. It's a choker."

"And you just happened to show up in Brockton Bay, fought Leviathan on a whim, then accidently took me to a different universe. Except, it's a one way trip so you can't put me back on Earth Bet."

"Not quite how I would put it, but yes." He would have (and did) recount the story twice as heroically. He arrived in Brockton Bay, as intended. Dueled Leviathan, for great justice! Absconded with the girl to a different world, to rescue her—minor complications notwithstanding.

"Bullshit!"

"Oh, come on! There's a literal planet in place of the moon, your superpower isn't working, and I showed you the Jump Portal app. I'm telling the truth. What don't you like about it?"

She cocked her hip, and smirked. "All it proves is that you want to keep me here. Tinkertech that allows extradimensional travel have existed for years and each one of those pieces of equipment weighs, like, a ton. Saying this itty bitty phone can do the same is laughable. It's a red herring, and the collar does nothing. You're using a Shaker effect to disorient me whenever I use my power, conditioning me like a dog to stop trying. It only works in a room this size, so you hid the exit to prevent me from leaving and learning the truth or finding the portal-tech that can send me back home. How close am I?"

"On a different world entirely, in every sense," Jaune retorted. "But alright. If you can rationalize the what, then tell me the why, because this is a lot of effort to go through to trick someone I pulled out of a tidal wave. Taking a swim in that for you wasn't exactly fun, and I could have looked elsewhere for a scam victim."

His words wiped off that smugness of hers, replacing it with a new expression he has yet to see on Tattletale. Unsure, lost, and far softer.

"Well, you obviously thought it was worth the risk…"

"Doesn't answer the why, you know~" Jaune crooned with no small amount of vindictiveness, ticked off by the barrage of accusations from what was a rather ungrateful person in his opinion. The thought occurred that he can prove his claim by connecting to an Instance and shoving her through for a few minutes to fight Leviathan 2.0 or something. If only he wasn't burdened with that pesky little problem called a conscience. Le sigh.

"I-I'm figuring that out now." She fidgeted under his deadpan stare. "You did it because, um…because I'm pretty?"

Jaune gagged. The sheer vanity on this one.

His reaction caused Tattletale to give an indignant squawk, one foot stomping petulantly. "Hey! What's that supposed to mean? I'm not wrong! We just can't all afford enhancements like you!"

"Enhancements?" Jaune furrowed his brows. "What enhancements?"

"Do you expect me to believe that face is natural?" Tattletale scoffed. "Perfect symmetry, no blemishes, glowing smooth skin; I want to meet whoever did the job, because they are good. Like, parahuman levels of skill. Honestly, this was the thing that almost convinced me about that magical store of yours. It would explain how you got your appearance if you can buy your way to handsomeness. I wouldn't put it past you."

Was she a masseuse? Because his ego was getting stroked and pampered like never before. The earlier anger vanished in the wind, and he decided that Tattletale was surely a good person. Yup, yup.

"It hurts me to say, but most people I know generally agree that this is kinda mid." Jaune said, pointing to his face.

"Yeah, right. How beautiful would actual beautiful people be, then?"

The notes of jealousy in her voice convinced him. That was not mere flattery she spouted, but her true feelings, and Jaune saw an earlier event in a new light.

Back when Sundancer grew so flustered in his presence…maybe, just maybe, her reaction at the time wasn't due to natural charm and good looks overflowing from his every pores, but came about because of a dissonance in beauty standards existing between their two worlds. It would mean he had understated things when he considered Sundancer and Tattletale to be pretty and cute, respectively. On the other hand, guys from the Worm universe might well suffer heart attacks should they ever meet Pyrrha or Yang.

It raised the question of how others would judge him were he to travel to a world of near-angelic levels of attractiveness. Perhaps they'd view him as an ugly goblin of a man? He hoped to never find out. His self-esteem may not survive the experience.

Breaking away from a vision of people mistaking him for a hideous monster and hunting him down, Jaune returned his attention to the blonde girl who conflated the speechlessness with her victory and has accordingly grown smug once again.

"While I'm certain that appearance upgrades are for sale in the Marketplace, I haven't bought any of them. I doubt you'd accept it, though, because you seem to think I'm lying from start to finish. So, what is it that's going to persuade you, Tattletale?"

She hummed, tapping a finger on her chin. "Ummm, let me try out the store. Seeing is believing, after all."

Despite her affectation of nonchalance, Tattletale couldn't quite hide the momentary flash of hunger. She's tempted by the prospect of unlimited power and even prettier looks, he'd bet the fortune he didn't have on it. The sneaking suspicion arose that she had been angling for this all along.

"I don't have much Points to spare," he hedged. "It'd have to be cheap."

"How many of these 'Points' do you have?"

"There's 610 Points—"

"Well, I'm sure we can find something to fit that budget."

"—of debt," he finished. Tattletale looked very unimpressed, prompting him to defend himself. "The limit is a thousand, so I have leeway, and it's not like I went on a spending spree for fun. Those Points saved lives."

Grudgingly, her expression softened. "Right. You mentioned that." A pause. "Hey, you really did it, then? Helped out Sundancer and… Skitter?" She said the second name with some fondness. It spurred a hunch.

"If Skitter was the kid wearing a dark costume with a yellow-eyed, insect-looking helmet, then yes. I'm guessing you're familiar with each other."

A nod. "Mhm. That's the one. She's a friend of mine, or as best as you can have in this business. It's good that you saved her. So, thanks." A sense of malaise stole over her countenance. She soon played it off, but not before Jaune became keenly aware that by bringing her here, he had ripped her from everybody she knew. "A-Anyway, was it all medical supplies that you bought? Not gonna lie, the cost seems a little expensive if that was the case." Jaune waved his hand in a negative.

"Nah, most of the credit was spent on this one ability. It's called [Blank] , and it makes me…immune…to Thinker powers… I might know why you pass out looking at me." He winced upon meeting the gaze of the flabbergasted girl, who quickly recovered and pounced on him. She grabbed two handfuls of his shirt, shaking him; the scroll slipped out of his grasp, bouncing across the floor.

"No, duh, you ass! Turn it off!"

"Why? You're wearing the choker."

"Pleeease!" Wait, were those tears in her eyes? Jaune panicked when Tattletale sniffled. "I feel uncomfortable when I don't have my powers active, and it really hurts when I look at you without the inhibitor. Please, Jaune, it huuuurts~"

"Alright, alright! Don't cry. I'm not sure if I can, but I'll try." And he discovered that he could. The moment he thought of wanting to deactivate [Blank] , the mental image of a slider scale emerged within his mind. Jaune willed it to move and it obeyed, falling from the top position to the bottom. "There. That did it, I think. You… you aren't going to cry, are you?" The hesitant shake of her head was not encouraging, so he employed what he'd learned growing up with seven sisters to distract, distract, distract. "Hey, how about I show you that Marketplace. Maybe I can't buy anything big, but it's getting to about dinner time, probably, so what say we get some food? How does that sound?"

"...'kay."

Whatever annoyance and hard feelings Jaune had for the girl sputtered to nothing as he extricated himself from under her to go find the scroll. How could anyone stay mad after a sight like that?

-o-​

Behind Jaune's back, a no-longer-teary Tattletale…grinned an all too fox-like grin.

---

Author's Notes: Turned [Blank] off around Tattletale. Nice move. And with Jaune getting the upper hand in their exchanges thus far, she now has something to prove.

Yeah, that's Lisa Wilbourn. Self-serving, impulsive, manipulative, kinda bratty. If she has a softer side, it's buried deep. Will default to using her power even when she knows it's a bad idea, will use it for shortsighted petty purposes, and will even do it for the lulz. An imperfect person. The anti-waifu.

Some writers like to take these traits away and portray her as an absolute darling and genius planner. To make things easy, Waifu Catalog MCs upon adding her to the party would typically grab the perks that just… smooths out all of her downsides, personality- and superpower-wise, so she'd work properly. Though, had any of them bothered to ask her, she would loudly insist that she's fine as she is. After all, there's not much she hates more than being treated as a convenient tool for others (her parents, the supervillain Coil) to exploit, instead of being seen as a person.

And now, flaws and all, she's making half of a dynamic duo with Jaune. It's going to be hell on them both.

.

You know who's the actual sweetie pie, as written in Worm? Sundancer, the gamergirl/ballerina who (technically) lives in a foreign country. Backstory has her as a legit pro gamer from an almost-identical Earth to ourselves, meaning she would understand the principles of minmaxing builds and probably has reliable meta knowledge if they entered the more popular game franchise universes. Give her the Company Scroll and she could have helped Jaune munchkin his way to OPness. In short, she's the perfect waifu for someone clueless in a World-jumping WC story. A shame that those qualities aren't the criteria on who gets brought along.

After all, the synopsis doesn't say 'power gets handed to Jaune and the road home is going to be a smooth, easy ride full of him styling on the multiverse'.

 

[LazyAutumnMoon]

As with every category Jaune had visited in the Marketplace thus far, the Food tab offered a lot of choices. Some items Jaune recognized, while other available meals featured fantastical ingredients not found anywhere on Remnant. He swore to himself that he will one day try out the Dragon Steak (tail cut) and Phoenix Egg (poached).

For the sake of today's demonstration, he bought two containers of sushi. Each cost 3 Points, though that was less a reflection of quality and more being the case for mundane meals in general. Instant ramen packages carry the same price tag. A simple hamburger, ditto. If he had to guess, it came down to a matter of supply and demand. Fish, rice, beef, and flour can probably be sourced as needed from different universes, since both Remnant and Earth Bet (the name of her world according to Tattletale) had them; in normal, everyday circumstances—i.e. when not trapped in a doorless room with zero ways to call for restaurant takeout—people can buy all of those foodstuff with money. The dish made by a five-star (or higher) chef using the sap of a million-year old tree and meat from a space turtle was a bit harder to put together, and the corresponding price reflected that.

Tattletale pretended she had not been impressed at first, saying how the scroll was just a glorified food delivery service. She has gotten quieter and quieter with the passing minutes, however, and now sat with her face buried in the screen, engrossed. Her sushi lay half-eaten nearby.

Jaune left her to it, occupied by his own meal. After the hectic… dangerous… insane events of the recent past, he discovered in the normality of this scene a precious thing he had not known he treasured. It harkened back to the good old days of last week where he and his team would commandeer a table at the cafeteria for breakfast, eating in companionable silence—or as silent as can be when Nora was present—before they departed for classes. The peace never lasted long since it was Beacon they were talking about, but for a few minutes all would be well in the world.

"Oh?"

And then somebody would inevitably break the comfortable illusion. How like home.

He has grown familiar with the tone and pitch of that sound in the past hour. It signaled that an unbridled curiosity has been piqued, and so far always preceded a certain behavior. Without looking, he reached out to grab the hand inching toward the keyfob that would deactivate the choker on Tattletale's neck.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?"

His guest flashed a confident grin, which did not reassure him much. She displayed that same smugness on the previous occasions.

"Oh, ye of little faith. I've already solved that problem! My ability is rooted in observation, and I can usually analyze a target in an instant. Something about this device is blocking me—" She scrunched her nose, glaring at the scroll with peevish distaste. "—so that's not the play here. No, I instead studied it in detail without activating my power to familiarize myself with the minutia beforehand, and now I'll Think on it to unlock all the hidden secrets this little guy is trying to hide. Watch me. It'll work."

Such determined eyes…

Ten Lien on this backfiring. Rather than saying that out loud, Jaune released her hand. "If you say so, then."

With a push of a button, the Inhibitor powered down. In the opening seconds, it seemed to have gone well. Tattletale's face morphed into an expression of wonder as she read the words on the screen.

"Ow!"

And then, pain. She fumbled to turn the choker back on, missing the keyfob with her fingers due to her eyes staying riveted on the scroll, unable to look away despite the intensifying headache. Jaw clenched, Tattletale hissed under her breath, not protesting when Jaune took her hand again and guided her to press the correct button. Afterward, she slumped on the table, rubbing at her eyes.

"Catch your breath. Don't make sudden movements." Jaune leaned down to get a look at her. "You good?"

"Yeah…" A tentative raise of the head. A blink. Two. Tattletale exhaled. "Ugh, that could have gone better. Why didn't you stop me?"

Jaune shrugged, retrieving the scroll. "A lifetime of wrangling little sisters says not to. Some lessons are best learned when self-taught. Besides, you're doing better. I saw how you were trying to shut off your power when it became too much to bear. Good job! And you don't fall unconscious anymore." The unsubtle positive reinforcement earned him a glare. He took heart that she did not bite his head off, and jotted it down as another win for the Jaune Arc's Handbook (For Surviving a House Full of Annoying Blondes).

"Whose fault is that, I wonder?" She groused. Jaune gave a nervous chuckle, and averted his eyes.

So, as it turned out, Tattletale had a problem and 90% of it came from [Blank]. Whoops. The room, the outside view, and the scroll each contributed to the mental burden, but stacking his power on top of those was what pushed her over the edge, the deluge of stimuli that would greet her upon regaining consciousness invariably drawing a path back to him at which point her brain loses the ability to draw conclusions. Without the anti-Thinker effect, she soon acclimatized to their surroundings after repeated exposure, the planet in the sky now a nonissue to her senses. The Company's device, however, did retain a tendency to send her into a spiral of speculations on other universes, the nature of existence, and the nebulous intentions of the shadowy entity known as The Company until she short-circuited.

That last one, now that he thought about it, might be to blame for her predicament. After all, the scroll was smarter than it let on.

He revised the statement when Tattletale, without hesitation, deactivated the choker the moment her headache faded, freeing her power to roam. Half the fault, at the minimum, belonged to the girl herself.

"I resent that!"

It was very hard to not see her as a mindreader when she would respond to his thoughts.

"You might as well consider me one. There's nothing that you can hide from these eyes!"

"Uh-huh. I'm of the opinion that you would benefit greatly from thinking less about 'can', and more about 'should'. In the interest of you not harming yourself—" Tattletale jolted at that, for what reason he has yet to understand. "—It's best if I confiscate this," Jaune said, shaking the scroll in his hand for emphasis, to her immediate protest.

"Wait, I'm doing just fine! And I was on the verge of sussing out some juicy tidbits! Let me see!" She scrambled out of her seat. Jaune hopped back from the girl and held the device out of her reach as she bounced up and down, trying to grab at it.

"That's kind of what I'm worried about, Tattletale! This thing is more sophisticated than it seems. It might have a security feature like my [Blank]—"

"To protect the Company's proprietary technology? Yeah, I thought of that ages before you did. But doesn't that make you want to crack it open even more? C'mon, live a little." Tattle said, grinning. She did that a lot.

Jaune was not convinced by the call to adventure. "Look, there's a point where you have to admit that you're outmatched." The narrowing of her eyes suggested he had said the wrong thing. Hastily, he moved on. "Besides, the purpose of lending you the scroll was so you can see that I was telling the truth."

The grin took on a predatory air, somewhat akin to a cat looking at a mouse. "Hmmm. I dunno. Fighting monsters of darkness, then dying and coming back to a new world. Going toe to toe with Leviathan. Saving girls left and right. It sounds like a fairy tale…or a delusion."

Gurgh! His heart, it hurts. She's kind of right, though. What even was his life?

"Honestly? Fair. I'm having trouble coming to grips with it, and I lived it. Still, I've provided you with what evidence I have and, frankly, the truth isn't going to change just because you believe otherwise." He spread his arms to encompass the room. "This is our reality, and we need to figure out how to proceed from here. I wish I could return you home, but that's beyond me. Instead, here's what I was thinking—"

"Bup bup bup!" Tattletale interjected, silencing him by pressing a finger to his lips. "I'm going to stop you right there. Your planning ability hasn't impressed me much so far."

Jaune tilted his head away to avoid her finger. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your 'plan' boiled down to diving headlong into one universe after another and pillaging anything not bolted down. Alright. Respect. Nothing like a spree of smash-and-grabs to get the heart racing." Not the term he would use. Tattletale gave a sudden laugh. "But not untrue, even if you'd prefer to sugarcoat it. Anyway, I'm telling you right now, as a verified expert in the fine art of asset liberation, that your current method isn't tenable in the long run."

Asset liber— Jaune pointed a finger at her face. "You're a thief!"

"A Villain, thank you." She proclaimed without missing a beat. "And you don't have room to talk, Mr. Steals-Everybody's-Tinkertech. Ooooh, and that's not the first crime you've committed! Well, well, well. You're not the goody-two-shoes I thought you were. Blue collar, white collar, fraud—forgery? Was it financial—no, academic! Awww, that means it's just a misdemeanor instead of a felony, how adorable. Although, that's not the reason you feel guilty, is it? I wonder, do you truly deserve to be a hero when your Hero School papers are… a lie… wait, hang on, why didn't the faculty kick you out if they knew? What are they, cracked in the head?" Tattletale complained as the wind was taken out of her sail.

The bewildered expression sparked a quiet amusement in Jaune. He likely wore a similar look on his own face the day Headmaster Ozpin revealed he had known of the transcripts the whole time.

The long-suppressed doubts drawn forth by Tattletale settled back into the calm seas of his mind. There had been a moment of kneejerk panic, but what did he have to worry about? The matter was over and done with. Ozpin claimed to have seen potential in him, and allowed him the chance to prove it. He has yet to fail, and once he succeeded in returning to Remnant with the means to protect everyone, nobody can deny his worth.

"If you succeed. Like I said, your current course will end in failure."

Annoyed, Jaune said, "How's that, then?"

The smile Tattletale wore now was the widest he had ever seen. In a lecturing, condescending, tone of voice, she detailed all the things he had failed to consider, revealing the true scope of the daunting task he had set out to accomplish. A proper base of operation, intelligence on the worlds he will travel to, a gameplan to get in and out, weapons, utility tools, contingencies; the list of what he lacked went on and on.

At the start of his journey, he had expected, optimistically, that it would take him an undefined but short amount of time to accrue the Points needed to overcome Beacon's crisis. What did that involve again? An answer to three armies (Grimm, robots, White Fang), two mobile city-destroying siege weapons (a dragon, and a probable giant robot), and an assassin/magical girl able to fight on par with Ozpin who was touted as one of the Kingdom's best (and her team of lackeys).

Doable? He was looking at a full-on war campaign, translating to months of hopping universes, if not longer.

He needed to eat. Sleep. Live. That meant spending on daily meals, changes of clothes, toiletries, and a host of other commonplace things. The Marketplace can provide, but the costs added up in the long run, and trading treasures for cereals was a horrendous waste of Points. Restock from the Instances instead, and he would lose out on space for the valuables that were his goal, necessitating a constant balancing act. Maintenance will require another outlay, either of time or Points. Get his hands on an object too complicated, and it would be as useful as paperweight without the relevant operating knowledge. If he happened to have expended the entirety of his Points balance on it? Well, then it was goodbye Beacon.

By the end, Jaune was ready to go back and face the music. A fuckup like him can at least try to put his body between Pyrrha and an attack from the fire lady.

"—it's seriously laughable how little thought you put into thiiiis but, hey, you have the bare bones ready, now it's just a matter of building from there and I'm pretty sure a couple rounds of purchases from that online store would put you on the right track. You have loads of time anyway, if your world is frozen like you said. So, um, maybe you could do okay?"

There's no response. It's just a corpse.

The change in tune elicited no change to Jaune's mood. He sat slumped in his chair, and one would swear he had faded to an ashen white. Standing over him, Tattletale beheld her great work, and her expression was one of anxiousness bleeding into horror.

"You're not wrong, though," Jaune said, voice hollow. "I don't even have any real starting funds for my next run. The one thing of value I have on hand to pawn off is Crocea Mors, but it's not like the thing is worth that much either. Nowhere near the level of a lightsaber. I'm… I'm in a really bad spot, huh?"

"Pshaw, that's nothing! I've been in worse straits, and I made out like a bandit. You just need to, you know, use critical thinking and stuff. You don't have Points, and don't want to sell your family heirloom? That's okay! It doesn't necessarily have to be permanent. Trade it in now to tide over the hard times, and buy it back later when you're rich. See? The situation's not so hopeless already!" Some color returned to Jaune, not much. Tattletale continued, words spewing out in a rush, "L-Look, what's the sword worth? I can check the store to see what falls in the budget, and set you up with the basics. That should help you survive wherever it is you're going to next, and you can decide on your choices afterward. Fresh eyes and all that, you know? And let's maybe not go with whatever else you might have been thinking about?"

Jaune stared down at the scroll in his hand, not inclined to do much of anything. Tattletale reached over to tap the button that opened the screen, then dithered by his side, waiting in silence with a strange constipated face—

"It's a look of encouragement!"

—Ah, that. It did not suit her, seeming awkward and unpracticed.

"Shut uuuup!" Tattletale whined as Jaune at last cracked a smile. She sounded more relieved than angry.

He fired up the app, and navigated to the Sell page. Crocea Mors, by his recollection, was worth around six or seven hundred Points. A quick inspection confirmed it stood at seven hundred, and Jaune experienced a pang of disappointment at the thought of his ancestral blade failing to scratch the fabled (and arbitrary) milestone of a thousand Points. Then again, the number reflected what The Company was willing to pay. Its retail price on the Marketplace should be higher assuming his knowledge of basic economics held true. In the (very unlikely) event that he made the trade, he would have to check it out. For the ego boost if nothing else.

Putting a pin on the idea, Jaune was about to give Tattletale an answer when he noticed a discrepancy. The list of his possessions appeared longer than it should. Below his clothes and weapons was another line… h-h–how many Points!?

What could he have that was worth 14,000 Points? His gaze snapped to the other side of the screen. The words he saw there froze him solid.

Tattletale/Lisa Wilbourn/Sarah Livsey

In the ensuing silence, Jaune became starkly aware of the person next to him, who had broken out in a cold sweat after reading from his posture the new information. Who happened to carry a price tag according to the scroll. It considered her a product.

Just when he thought he understood how deep the rabbit hole went, a whole other level to The Company revealed itself. The Marketplace sold more than methods of enthralling women. In this new light, that 'Waifu' category took on a different meaning; it did not stock overpriced plastic figurines like he initially, and naively, believed. For the discerning customer, the scroll was all too willing to skip the intervening steps.

Twelve of her.

Twelve Tattletales and he can acquire the power to rain meteors from the sky. Thirty, and he would own an axe capable of cracking a continent in half—which he supposed a sufficient number of meteors can do, too, albeit with the fatal flaw of lighting him on fire.

Out of his periphery, he caught green eyes briefly darting to the screen, just long enough to catch her exact worth, before trailing to his thumb that was hovering way too close to the icon representing her. She made an attempt at affecting nonchalance, facial features trying to twitch into a semblance of confidence. It looked more like a grimace, and was further undermined by her clenched fists and shortened breaths. She may be the mindreader between the two of them, but at this moment Jaune had little trouble seeing the wheels spinning in that blonde head, calculating whether she could dive for the scroll faster than he could move.

And then, abruptly, she relaxed. A familiar grin made its return a full second ahead of Jaune—in a slow, careful motion—placing the scroll on the table and retracting his hand.

"W-Wooow, fourteen grand. You could have made bank. Didn't you say that pile of tinkertech you were lugging around added up to about ten? I see, I see. Who would've thought that I'm such an expensive gal~"

Now, say it again without the stutter, and he might believe her cool attitude was genuine.

"You have a superpower. I guess that's rarer than a fancy gun. It's a moot point, though, don't you think? Selling people really isn't in the cards." In his world, the SDC came closest to taking that backstep to last century, and even they were unwilling to go over the line. An entity seen as the devil incarnate by a not-insignificant subset of Remnant's population thought it would be too much.

Breaking news, it's official. The maker of this scroll he was using ranked higher on the evil scale than Jaques Schnee. What was the word for the opposite of an ethical consumer? Because that's him right now.

Somehow, somehow, Tattletale made it worse. "You'd be surprised at the number of people who disagree with that sentiment. Around the bay? There are… rumors."

Breaking news, it's official. Brockton Bay was right up there on the evil scale.

"First Leviathan, now slave trafficking? You live in literal hell," Jaune deadpanned.

"Yeeeah, that's good old BB's nickname," Tattletale drawled. "Along with 'Nazi-capital of the US' and 'Shithole'." She plopped down on a seat, and made a grabbing motion at the scroll. "Now, gimme."

"You mean it about helping me?" Jaune asked in astonishment. With some hesitation, he pushed the device nearer to her reach. Showing that she can learn, Tattletale dampened her power before picking it up.

"What with the face?" A pout. "I can be generous! A bit of freebie advice isn't a big deal, especially if it keeps you from giving up and doing something stupid…" The grumbling devolved into murmurs too soft for him to comprehend.

"Well, thanks. I owe you one."

Tattletale perked up. "Welcome~ I'll cash that in right now, if you don't mind."

"I- seriously?" Return to him his gratitude, dammit!

"Nihihi. You see, I'm just a poor, innocent girl adrift in the universe—" She snickered as Jaune mimed gagging. "—and I'd appreciate it if you can drop me off on any nice, peaceful world you come across."

"Hang on. Don't you want to go home?" Jaune asked, surprised.

Uh-oh. He might have touched a nerve, because the chatterbox named Tattletale stopped talking. She merely shrugged, continuing to peruse the Marketplace in pointed silence. A hint. Drop it.

The tap-tap-tapping of her fingers on the screen soon became the only sound in the apartment. Jaune fidgeted in his seat, unsure of what topic to broach with his previous question still burning at the forefront of his mind and not inclined to ruin the mood they had managed to build after the previous series of blunders.

"My life for the past year has been devoted to escaping Brockton Bay, and the hold a villain there has over me," Tattletale finally muttered.

"Oh." Okay, that was a pretty dang good reason. Jaune bit down on his next question, whether her situation had anything to do with her fear at the prospect of being 'Mastered'. No conversational precedent existed for asking someone if they also belonged to the Mind-Controlled By a Psycho Club, but he would guess that it counted as a faux-pas when directed at people he just met, and instead pivoted to safer grounds. "What about your family? Or your friends, like Skitter?"

A sigh. "The less said about my 'family', the better. My friends… Skitter left. She's with the heroes now from what you said, where she always wanted to be. As for the rest of my little team of ne'er-do-wells, they're fracturing bit by bit. I give it a couple of months before we dissolve. Beyond that, Earth Bet doesn't have much waiting for me." She looked up into his eyes. There was the barest tremble of her lip; it disappeared, and she flashed a wide smile. "This could be my fresh start."

"I'll make sure to get you to a good world," Jaune blurted out, unthinking.

"Heh. You damn well better."

All that they needed to say, has been said. An understanding was reached. The room settled into quiet tranquility.

It was not until a few minutes later, under a spray of water from the shower-head, that Jaune banged his head against the wall tiles in a bout of self-recrimination, chiding his stupid ass for pushing what must have been every single one of Tattletale's trauma buttons.

Hey, let's remind her of her failing personal relationships! Describe her attempt to show concern as 'constipated'! How about raising the possibility of her being sold to an extradimensional corporation of nonexistent morality? It would be a hoot!

Was this his Semblance? Did he have a special ability to drag a girl's hangups out into the light of day? According to Huntsman convention, people would name their Semblance when they discover it. His was going to be Open Mouth, Insert Foot.

Ugh. It may sound callous, but the day he parted ways with Tattletale could not arrive fast enough. She was not horrible company or anything on that level—worse than three, nowhere near all seven was her Annoying Blonde score in his professional judgment—but, as she said, it would be a fresh start, one that spared him the embarrassing memories of today.

Having washed away the grime of his ordeal, Jaune turned off the shower and, due to habit, put out a hand in the direction he would normally hang his towel. He swiped empty air.

Right, no towel.

Poking his head out of the stall, he searched the bare-boned bathroom, which continued the same theme as the rest of the apartment. Very sleek. Very modern. It exuded a stark, impersonal feel and lacked the personal items that said a person lived here. A careful inspection failed to conjure forth even a tissue, as he had already known. Left with no good option, Jaune shook like a dog to try and get rid of the water clinging to his body—however the furry fellas manage it, he envied them, because he was still damp by the end—before stepping out. His clothes, hung up on the sink in a vain hope that they would dry, were likewise somewhat moist when he donned them.

One thing Tattletale got right, it sucked living without the little conveniences he grew up with. Cups to drink water, a blanket for when he's cold, clean outfits to wear, soap. He also had not brushed his teeth yet in at least twenty four hours.

A day of hoofing it was fine. A week was endurable. A month spent in filth…just no.

He supposed it's similar to what was taught in class at Beacon. When embarking on a Huntsman mission, you would preferably not rush in headlong if the situation allowed it. Pack your own gear, in case your destination could not provide. Scoping out the scene was the prudent thing to do, and always check in with the people of the settlement to gain an idea of what you were facing. He really jumped the gun on his first world, huh?

Brockton Bay… it was a mess and a half, but was also a true unknown at the time. He did well, all things considered. He had learned from his mistakes.

The next Instance will show better results. The one after, even more so. Step by step, he will advance toward his goal.

Determination reinvigorated, Jaune exited the bathroom as a new man, eager to take on the universe. Tattletale, his font of knowledge on the so-called path of smash-and-grabs, was still where he left her, sitting at the table. He wandered over in the hope of an update. She ignored his greeting and stared unblinking at the scroll.

That was…worrying.

"Are you okay? Did you get trapped in a loop again?"

A small shake of her head. She remained quiet for another minute.

Finally, she spoke, idly asking, "How hard are these worlds to take on, would you say?"

"Well, I've only done it once, so don't call me an expert, but the first one put me in Brockton Bay the day Leviathan attacked."

Tattletale winced, and mumbled under her breath. He caught a snippet.

"...there goes that idea…"

A second period of silence ensued. Longer, this time, as the girl struggled through a personal train of thought.

"But you survived," she declared.

"I did. Otherwise, I wouldn't be in front of you."

She nodded slowly. Jaune drew closer to see what had her so fascinated.

[Res— the screen winked out. Tattletale spun to face him, and he was taken aback by the serious expression with nary a smirk or grin. In another disturbing sight, that motormouth of hers worked to find the words to say.

"Hey. I've been thinking… You're obviously in over your head."

"Yes," he admitted. It was the simple truth, he can own up to that. But, while he may have yet to find his footing, his heart was set on this path for the sake of—

"Dueling Leviathan? Your dumb brain is going to get you killed one of these days. You need all the help you can get."

"Okay. It's getting a little mean now. You can stop bashing me anytime," he deadpanned. Thankfully, she did, and proceeded to the point.

"So, I've got an offer for you. I'm going to stick around, and lend you the benefit of my intellect."

Jaune blinked three times in rapid succession, before blurting out, "Hang on, really? I mean, not that I'm doubting your sincerity, but—"

She cut him off, continuing on as if oblivious. "In exchange, those Points you're gonna get? Allow me a share of it. I want to make a purchase."

Understanding dawned. Just as he did, she had found in the Marketplace the means of attaining her heart's desire.

Jaune pondered the merits of the proposal. The obvious detriment was having another mouth to feed, specifically in regards to Point gain. It would extend the timeline further than the current projection, which was already stretched too far for his taste.

Also, Tattletale; no more need be said on the matter.

As for benefits? Damn her for offering, because she was making sense. He was the guy whose winning play for attending Beacon started with defrauding the institution and ended with lies, lies, and more lies, with the cracks paved over by a copious amount of wishful optimism. Have a short-term problem, like a fight? Give him enough pieces to play with, and he can muddle through it one way or another. Ask him to build a roadmap spanning longer than a week, and watch him implode. He could use the support, someone whose brain he can pick for ideas.

And… It's lonely here, in this room of gray walls and white ceiling.

"If the offer is genuine, then I would welcome the company. Fifty/fifty split?"

"Good! I knew you'd see reason. Let's talk…shares…wait, did you say fif—I mean, DEAL! No take-backsies~" In a turnaround to make one's head spin, Tattletale was all smiles, positively bouncing in glee.

He overpaid, didn't he?

Peering down at the elated girl, Jaune mulled on the possible consequences should he, indeed, commit the sin of take-backsies squiggly line.

He forgot she was a borderline mindreader. Power activated, she studied his body language to detect the lingering indecision, and responded by doubling down on the show of earnest gratitude. Faker than fake, and oh so nostalgic, Annoying Blondes truly were the same in any universe.

A roll of his eyes conveyed his awareness of her ploy, followed by him putting out a hand.

"Happy to be working with you…hm, is it Lisa Wilbourn? Or Sarah Livsey?"

"Gasp!" She verbalized the sound. "I can't reveal my secret identity to my kidnapper!" The comment lacked bite, more teasing than snarky. All the while, the mask of her emotions kept slipping, falling back to this odd, sort of shell-shocked look, the grin permanently affixed.

"It can be Lisarah. Don't think I won't."

"Snrk. Fine." She took his hand, and shook on it. "Call me Lisa, ya goof."

---

Author's Notes: You know what they say, the real treasure was the friends you made along the way. Which is why, in a WC system, selling people is playing the game right; they're worth a lot more than piddly battlefield loot. The option for easy mode is always there, available at the click of a button.
.
A manipulator, sure. But a master manipulator? If she was, people's impression of Tattletale in canon wouldn't be 'that arrogant, insufferable know-it-all'.
.
What did Lisa see for sale? What does she wish for above all, but could never have? Those who read Worm might be able to take a guess. Otherwise, it'd take Jaune a while to find out.
.
Not everyone is familiar with the Waifu Catalog/CYOA genre, or Worm, or RWBY. So, if you have a question about it, do ask, since not everything can be expounded on in the narrative.

 

[LazyAutumnMoon]

After their bargain was struck, Jaune got down to the meat of the matter. The issue at hand. The real talk.

"Okay, tell me what you have for me, Lisa. Am I going to fly? Shoot laser beams?" ...X-ray vision?

His new partner in universe-hopping fixed him with an amused look, one eyebrow raised, lips twitching in mirth.

"Slow down there, hero-boy." Unhurried, Lisa took the time to brush back her blonde hair over an ear. "Trust me, I can understand why your mind went straight to the flashy toys, but even though they may seem attractive upon first glance, this is a multifaceted problem requiring a multifaceted solution. As such, I recommend you take a more holistic, long-term approach while always keeping in mind the synergies that may exist between the purchases, if any, made today and those tabled for later on." She held up the scroll, and tapped a finger on the surface for emphasis. "Our best path forward is to set up multiple channels of advancement which, with the critical acquisitions, will result in a cascading effect that jumpstarts you to success." She punctuated her speech with a confident grin, then looked at him expectantly for a reply.

Wow, those sure were a lot of smart words!

"All of that sounds so, so great," he complimented, and Lisa visibly preened. "Although, I have just one request: can you put it in smaller words for me, please?" Because me dum dum.

"Ahaha…um." Lisa grew distinctly nervous, fidgeting as she turned her head to peer out the window. Away from him.

"Lisa?" He moved to enter her view, then kept doing so as she refused to meet his eyes. "Tattletale? Hello?"

Cracking under the pressure, her words came out in a rush. "Basically, you can't fly any time soon. On the other hand, you can have the amazing ability to fall at a very safe speed. You know, if dropping from great heights was somehow a constant problem for you."

It was, in fact. The lack of a landing strategy has always been a (thankfully nonfatal) weakness of his. Was fixing it worth his family heirloom? Will he make that trade for the chance to be… Slowfall Man?

No.

"Tell me you're joking."

A helpless shrug was Lisa's answer. "Anything decent costs too much. The ones in our price range either outright suck, or have multiple tiers that you have to purchase. The latter isn't a flaw by itself and I normally might have called that an investment, except for a glaring issue."

Jaune cocked his head, awaiting an explanation.

"Like, how strong are you?" Lisa asked in a leading tone.

Thinking of the best way to demonstrate, he searched the room for a set of weights. There were none, of course, and his gaze soon returned to Lisa, whom he picked up by the waist, raising her high with ease before putting her down again.

"About that strong, I guess."

"..."

"What?"

The girl stared at him, mouth half-open. Her statue impression stretched on until it became downright uncomfortable, prompting him to reach out and poke her on the shoulder just to make sure she was still alive. The contact broke Lisa from her daze.

"W-well, that was quite…interesting. So that's what it's like to not have my powers screwing with me." She coughed into a hand, and moved on rather than explain. "Nice lifting. You made it look easy. Here's the kicker, though. Most of it is thanks to that Aura stuff, right? Your natural baseline is lower."

"Yeah, the Aura stacks on top of what I have. Is that relevant?"

Lisa pulled up a store page, spinning the scroll around for him to see the name: [The STRENGTH of Two and a Half Men]. It sounded underwhelming until she directed him to click on an arrow icon, and the 'Two and a Half' part changed to a 'Nine and Three-Quarters'. Another click, and it was now 'Forty Two'. Then, 'One Hundred and One'. He stopped once it surpassed the 'Ten Thousand Thirty Two' mark (costing a cool 500,000 Points for the Tier).

"I'd say it's crucial," Lisa said, tearing her eyes from the screen and reactivating her powers, "because this [Skill] here and the ones like it improves your physical and mental attributes. They're split into Tiers, and start out pretty cheap in exchange for a modest upgrade; each rank costs more than the last. It gets ridiculous on the higher end."

It sure did. Phrases like 'breaking the sound barrier' and 'punching the moon' in the descriptions painted a very enticing picture. He wanted them. All of them.

"And the catch?' he asked, not blind to the despondence surrounding Lisa.

"The effects for this series are really just multipliers. They rely on those weird metrics in the Status app. STRENGTH, SPEED, INTELLIGENCE, CHARM, and so on."

After a few seconds, he got it. "We have no idea what the numbers are in reference to me."

"Yeeeep. Or me. Farewell, my fleeting dream of being the smartest person in the universe."

At the moment, the Status app was stuck on a snapshot of its old owner. Under the list of attributes sat a small pile of unallocated stat points, grayed-out and impossible to interact with. Even if they could spend them, Jaune gave it equal odds of affecting the dead man instead of him or Lisa. If he cannot increase his own numbers, then that was a major part of the [Skills] cut off at the knees.

It was as she said. The things of use laid out of reach. What was attainable, brought with them flaws.

"Being broke sucks."

"Preach~"

Damn it all. He was so excited about getting some help, too. So long, easy life.

Lisa winced, having yet again read his body language for his thoughts. "I can help! But we need to start small. That [Mobile Merchant] you mentioned is a good first goal—and it's not a paywall scam, FYI."

His ten thousand lost Points said otherwise.

"Listen. No matter your opinion on it, that [Skill] increases the efficiency of our job." She was speaking faster and faster. "[Dimensional Pockets] is a good alternative. The downside there is you still have to retreat out of the world to sell your haul. It could be useful for carrying supplies, though. Either way, they provide more benefits to you in the immediate term than combat-related abilities or weapons. Your Aura and sword-shield tinkertech covered those bases to an extent, anyway."

A particular memory surfaced, and he recalled a night where he used Crocea Mors as a crowbar to pry open the rooftop access door of the dorm after someone locked it with him on the outside. His sword was a tool for many occasions.

Lisa nodded along in satisfaction. "A lever is always valuable. Look at that, now you don't have to sell your precious family blade. Aren't you happy? Of course you are, you hated the idea of parting with it in the first place! And you know, a flying power takes a ton of Points, but who's to say we can't work around the problem? I'm talking about jetpacks. Rocket boots. A robo-suit featuring both. Eh? Ehhh?" She waggled her brows, smirking victoriously at the change that came over him upon hearing of the sci-fi inventions made real.

In a magical store that sold everything imaginable, there was always an alternative, a way to continue on despite the obstacles. Yes, they were more limited in what they can do than the best toys. He'd take them, nevertheless.

"Executive decision: we're going on a Jump." he declared. Snatching up the scroll, Jaune navigated to the portal-making app.

"Already!?" Lisa squawked in astonishment at his haste.

"Why not? It's good to analyze and scrutinize, but there comes a time when thinking must give way to action. And when the thinking is rocket boots, that time is now, now, now."

A familiar message soon appeared.


Searching… searching… temporary connections established.


A remnant of hope compelled him to scan the list for the names Worm and Brockton Bay. No dice. Only one of the options matched the previous group, a 'Nier'. The rest were new.

"What do you think about this Instance? If I had to guess, we'll face a haunted house in a city full of raccoons. Easy-peasy."

Lisa peeked over his shoulder, and immediately shouted, "Nope! No way! That's the same danger rating you said Leviathan had. Once was enough, thank you. I almost died in that battle. Twice!"

"That's the fear talking. C'mon, we can handle it."

"I'm of the opinion that you would benefit greatly from thinking less about 'can', and more about 'should'," Lisa echoed word for word an earlier sentiment he expressed. "A smart villain starts out by casing the easiest targets before ramping up from there. They don't go and rob a bank for their first crime." She paused. "Except Skitter. Don't be a Skitter."

"Fine, fine," Jaune idly said as he continued checking through the available choices. "Your analogy is terrible, by the way. And you're going to have to tell me stories about this friend of yours sometimes. Seriously, she's nuts."

He moved down the list while excluding Instances carrying a danger rating higher than a 4/10. As expected, the loot rating sank like a stone in response. The groupings of three-stars, two-stars, and even a one-star were a sad sight, pitiful in comparison to their treasure-rich peers. The fantasy of a tinkertech pile laying on the roadside withered in his heart, and he privately—or as privately as possible when standing next to little miss My-Supervillain-Name-is-Tattletale —wondered if these worlds were even worth the trip. Then again, he supposed that was a good reason to at least try them out. Making an informed decision required him to possess more than a single data point. A safer place may also afford him the opportunity to scope out the area and see what was worth taking—

"You really aren't mad at me, huh?"

Jaune half-turned his head to meet Lisa's gaze. She hadn't been looking at the scroll, but at him.

"For?"

"I promised a bunch of stuff, and that stupid phone made a liar of me," the girl said, choosing her words carefully. "My last team would have started bitching about it by now, and made all kinds of demands."

Jaune waved it off and went back to the scroll. "You tried your best to help even when you could have left me to wallow in my misery. I can't claim to understand your every thought by looking at your nose or whatever—that's your schtick—but I can at least tell you don't have bad intentions."

She scoffed. "How you manage to not get yourself killed by now with that goody-goody mindset, I'll never know. The world isn't so kind." The line was delivered in a lower tone, as befitting such a dire warning. Jaune had to roll his eyes.

"Meh. That's nothing new, since my world is full of Grimm. But if you meant people, then I think you'd find it shocking just how nice they can be." A certain friend who forgave his lies and crimes, and went further by spending her nights training him, was one such. "As for getting myself killed? The risk of that comes part and parcel with my future line of work. 'My grave might say hero, my grave might say fool, but by the Brothers, it's a Huntsman's life for me' or so a folk song goes."

The giggle coming from behind him brought a smile to his face. Turning to her, he pointed at a particular Instance on the screen. It was the safest he found, and earned Lisa's endorsement.

Thus, their course was decided. He did not press the confirmation button yet, though, and set the scroll down on the table. To his companion's questioning look, he wiggled the fingers on a raised hand.

"I'm dead broke, so I can't provide gears for you, but there's one free gift I can always give. C'mere. I'm going to unlock your Aura."

"My Aura?"

Jaune nodded. "The light of your soul."

The gravitas of that statement failed to properly impress on the girl.

"Pft. Is that what people call it, the soul? You gonna help me find my inner self, mystic man?"

"Or I could just not," he said with a carefree shrug, retracting his hand. Lisa read his action to see the truth, and quick as a flash she reversed her attitude.

"Wait! Waitwaitwait! I want soul magic, so gimme!"

"I thought you might. Also, it's not magic." Not a day had passed since he met her, and Jaune was already treasuring these moments where he got to be the smug one. Reaching out, he placed his hand on her cheek, and drew in a deep breath—

"Is this just an excuse to touch me?"

He snatched hand away. "It's part of the process!"

"Riiight. Nevermind me, then. Go ahead."

Jaune eyed her with suspicion, but she merely stood there with a grin. Was it paranoia, or did he sense an undercurrent of competitiveness under her fake innocence, a hint of smugness to that cherubic façade? Slowly, he made contact with her cheek a second time.

Hm. Without context, the gesture did seem rather intimate at a glance.

And right on cue, Lisa opened her mouth.

"Ahn~"

"Oh, come on, don't make this weird!" Jaune exclaimed, his hand pulling back as if burned.

Amidst laughter, Lisa replied, "Weren't you the person who thought that we were being intimate? What? Have you never made a girl moan before, Mr. Vir-asdfghjkl—owiiiie!" The Annoying Blonde doubled over, clutching at her head.

Jaune hid his amusement as [Blank] dialed down again. Out of a desire for privacy, he tried to project an image of the mental slider halting just a notch above the off position. It was hard to discern whether that worked or not, so he observed Lisa in detail as he spoke.

"We good? Truce?"

"You dick. Truce." Lisa massaged her forehead, grumbling under her breath.

Yeah, she wasn't a bad person, but something—perhaps the sheer inability to maintain the act for longer than a minute—told him that, at heart, Lisa also wasn't the sweetie she pretended to be earlier.

And damn him, was it nostalgic to see. There weren't seven of her. Yet, just for a brief moment, a vivid daydream struck him with the force of a freight train, sending him back to the breakfast table of the Arc household. It washed over him; the noise, the laughter, way too much teasing, and a whole heaping of good food, and…

It's been so long since he was last home.

Lisa was peering up at him, curiosity plain on her face and eyes widening as time passed. The mild interest transformed to an agog expression as she realized what he had done, and what she can no longer see.

"How did—t-turn it off!"

"Nope. [Blank] is not hurting you, or you would have said it. I reckon we should set up some boundaries if we're going to be roommates." He drew back as the girl leaned in close; her gaze roamed over his features like he's a strange animal. "What are you doing?"

"This is so weird. Usually, if I stare too hard at somebody else like this, I would have puked from the flood of TMI."

Jaune shied away even further. "Oh. Well, here's an idea. Don't do that."

Nothing against the vomit-prone, Jaune considered them his people, but he will be the first to admit that it usually leads to an unpleasant experience for all parties involved.

"Um, 'kay," she said in an airy tone of voice, and was too distracted to protest him cupping her face. The bright hue of his Aura woke her from her stupor. Or, maybe, it was the words he chanted…

"For it is in clashing that we achieve impossibility."

…because he messed it up again! Fuck!

"I don't even need my powers to tell that's incorrect." There's the return of that mocking attitude. She really cannot resist making a quip, huh?

"Through this, we become a champion of…of virtuous glory(?) for all."

"Wro-ong~ If you're just parroting half-remembered lines, there's no real meaning to it, you know?"

"Shhh. Infinity in distance and beyond all death, I release your soul and…"

The eyeroll. The dull apathy. Her casual response to the proceedings irked him. But then, whose fault was that?

She was unable to take him seriously, because he was failing to be serious.

Well then, since he's already bungled the rite to hell and back, let's forget about trying to copy Pyrrha and instead make it sincere. Let's make it his. He switched [Blank] off for a second.

"...on my word, walk beside thee."

There was no witty snark to follow, the Annoying Blonde dumbstruck.

And would you look at that, the little devil did have a soul. A soft glow came forth to encase her form. Shakily, Lisa raised her arms to stare at the apple-green layer fitting her like a second skin. She pinched the back of her left hand as an experiment.

"Woooow."

Jaune chuckled, understanding too well the reaction. "How do you feel?"

"Like everything is brighter,' she murmured. "Like I'm safe for the first time in a long time."

Nodding along, he kindly said, "Savor it, because that will pass."

He had felt the same rush when his Aura was unlocked, too. The sensation of invincibility was phenomenal…for the twenty minutes it lasted, cut short by him meeting the giant Deathstalker. It was a big world out there, filled with all manners of threats to screw up one's day. In fact, with the door to the many universes open to them, that number must have multiplied exponentially.

Jaune's face tinged faintly green.

With effort, he pushed those thoughts aside for his peace of mind to allow Lisa the chance of simply enjoying the occasion. She cycled through a similar list of actions to what he had done in the past: jogging back and forth, jumping, attempting to lift the furniture—the bed was still too much for her, leading him to question her baseline physical prowess. She shadow-boxed for a bit. He had to bite down on his cheek to suppress the laugh for that one; a fighter she was not. Once she had calmed down enough to pay attention, Lisa was all for entering the next Instance, wanting a place to play with her newfound ability.

A tap on the app, and a kaleidoscope of colors swirled in an expanding circle upon one of the drab, gray walls. The surface of the portal oriented into shimmering half-clarity, revealing a darkened space with its sole source of illumination coming from the thinnest rays of light. A sniff, and he detected the scent of cheap beer and musty decay.

A hint of a sea breeze reminded him of recent triumph and loss. His spirit faltered at the thought that it may repeat. Seeking comfort, he asked of his companion a question.

"Just tell me one thing. Where does it lead, Lisa?"

Unsure, she pointed at the portal. He shook his head.

"My goal still seems so far away. I risked my life to fight a monster and ended up with fuck-all. Am I just arrogant, or can I hope for more than what I have?"

He expected biting ridicule. She gave a rueful sigh. "Heh. Don't think you're special or anything. That's how it goes for everybody and their dreams. The first days are the hardest, and so we give up. Which is why you should be glad that you met me." Her voice had strengthened by the end, boldness shining through. "Did you know? The store sells stable portals to different universes."

His movements ceased. Jaune forgot to breathe.

"That's the milestone we're aiming for. Permanent access to one of the cheaper worlds for us to build a base in and use it to accumulate resources for our forays. Then, we save up to buy a higher-end location; a place that—while riskier—would be rife with opportunities, which we can loot to the bedrocks. Does that seem doable?"

Numbly, he nodded his head in agreement. The future did look far less daunting when cut down to smaller sizes like that. That was not the only part he focused on. To hear of a method which would allow him to enter other universes without depending on the portal app? Jaune dared not hope, but he had a destination in mind.

A city by the sea. A world of heroes and villains.

And all it took was for him to continue pushing forward. So long as he stayed alive, no matter how many times he failed, he had a chance to keep his promises.

Yeah, that sounded grand.

-o-
​

The portal deposited them in what appeared to be the living room of a derelict apartment. Sunlight filtered through a gap between drawn curtains, casting the place in a gloom. Lisa—or Tattletale as she asked to be called on the job—meandered over that way, opening them to peer out the grimy windows, nose scrunched in disgust.

Much of the personal effects were gone along with some of the furniture to leave the room rather threadbare. A couch sat in the middle of the space, covered by a cloth to help it keep; optimistic, considering the damp, humid condition of the apartment. Trash and papers littered the floor, making Jaune very careful where he stepped.

"Filthy alleyway, now a filthy house, the app has a type."

"Fuuuuu—"

"Wow, look at that. A window that opened right into a brick wall? Whoever put up the next building over is a total bastard."

"—uuuuuuu—"

"Rats! There are rats here!"

"—uuuuuuuuuuck!"

"Got it out of your system?" Jaune said to Tattletale, who was rubbing at her eyes. The windows past her revealed a foggy, gray sky.

"Ugh. Yeah. I just gleaned a bit of information on this place, that's all. Maybe we should have taken on those raccoons in the evil house."

"Portal is right there if you think we should go back. The list might update, though, so no guarantees on the universes we will find. What's the problem, anyway?"

"This place got hit by a plague."

Ah. Not fun.

"How can you be sure?"

In answer, Tattletale pointed to a wall no longer darkened by the lack of lights, and the graffiti on it that said:

'BLOOD FROM THE EYES'

She then turned her finger at the windows; Jaune had to lean over her to see where it indicated. The view outside did not look much better than in here, showing an empty street and shabby, abandoned buildings. At the edge, half out of sight, sat a tall wall made from metal sheets. It crossed the road, likely blocking the path from one side to the other.

"I think we're on the wrong side of a quarantine," Jaune remarked. Tattletale confirmed it with a nod.

"You take me to the best places, Jaune. Here's hoping we don't catch a pox."

Universe: Dishonored. Location: Dunwall. Event: House of Pleasure.​

---

Author's Notes: Finally. Less talkee, more Jumpee.

Don't try to out-smug the smug monster. You might provoke it.

 

[LazyAutumnMoon]

Jaune flipped the gold coin high in the air, admiring the way it glinted in the light as all his worries seemed to just fade away.

He has been doing this on and off ever since they discovered the odd little disc lying forgotten on a shelf and Tattletale taught him how. His whole life he only ever encountered Lien, and it seemed so normal for currency to be in the form of rectangular cards that he at first thought it a joke on hearing there were places that still use coins. It's wild how people would walk around with precious metals in their pocket, let alone something this heavy, but he sort of understood the point now. The ting sound the coin makes when flicked was very satisfying.

Earth Bet preferred paper money according to Tattletale, flimsy pieces of paper that can tear or smudge. Stamped with ink. Unlaminated. Pure insanity.

This piece of revelation did suggest he essentially robbed the convenience store in Brockton Bay he visited, considering Lien would be of an unknown and unaccepted denomination. That, or he had left behind otherworld artifacts of far greater worth compared to the things he took. Food for thought.

In any case, his search of the living room had further yielded a silver coin plus three of copper hidden under the couch cushions, which altogether he hoped would suffice for buying some necessities. Other than that, the apartment appeared devoid of valuables, and with the beginning of restlessness setting in, Jaune would glance at the bedroom entrance every minute or so as he waited. Tattletale entered it a short while ago to comb for more of this world's coinage while he stayed out here, and he had not heard a peep from her since then. He should probably check on her.

"Ahhhhh!"

He should definitely check on her.

The scene he arrived at, sword drawn, was of a threadbare room containing many empty bottles, a faded painting, a bed, a table, and a Tattletale perched atop the table. Back pressed against the wall, she caught sight of him and at once pointed a finger at the ground. He followed it down, scanning for the grave threat that had terrified her.

"Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!"

It, being a rat half-visible under the bed.

Jaune looked from her to it, to her. "You have Aura. Its bites won't even break your skin. Come on, get down from there and let's go."

"Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!" she rattled on in a continuous loop, staying right where she was. He supposed a lifetime of being a squishy person from Earth, lacking Aura, was screaming at her that rats were dangerous creatures.

Too bad, he wasn't about to kill small animals on a whim. Jaune sheathed Crocea Mors and crossed the room over to Tattletale, holding out both arms with the intention to pick the girl up and carry her from the room. In doing so, he walked past the bed.

His shadow must have startled the creature. It leapt for him.

Tattletale screamed. Jaune screamed. The rat screamed, then went splat as Jaune punted it mid-leap into a wall.

What? The damn thing jumped higher than he expected, straight at his descendants. He can be forgiven for panicking a little.

"Is it dead?" Tattletale asked in the ensuing quiet, peeking around him for a better view.

"The bloody smear says yes. Poor guy."

She glared at him as she climbed off the table. "That 'poor guy' was foaming at the corners of its mouth and had bloodshot eyes. The rats are the ones spreading the disease!"

Jaune paled.

"Are we going to be okay? Because we're in a room with it, and I'm pretty sure rats get everywhere in a city."

"Oh god, don't remind me." Tattletale looked ready to camp out on the table again. She rubbed her forehead, thinking. "You said Aura would block their teeth, right? So long as it transfers through biting, we should be safe. The problem would be if it's airborne. I think I found a medicine which can help, but to make sure, can you use your phone—" He corrected her on the terminology, she ignored it— "to pull up the description for this?"

She held out her hand to show him a vial. Composed of a hexagonal glass tube capped by a metal lid, it featured a label proclaiming the glowing red liquid contained inside as 'Sokolov's Elixir'. Taking it, Jaune entered the Marketplace page that detailed his sellable possessions (plus Tattletale).

"Sokolov's Elixir…says here it's a flawed attempt at a cure, only effective for staving off the earliest of onset if you catch the disease—and you were right, they call it the 'Rat Plague'."

For a moment, the validation Tattletale gained from her accurate deduction overcame the wariness at her surroundings, and a beaming smile lit up her face as she fist-pumped in delight. His snickering brought her back down to Remnant, and she tried to play it off.

"A-hem. Of course I'm right. I'm always right. Anyway, we should hang on to the elixir, and keep an eye out for more. Unless we have a way of getting enough Points for some sort of immunity [Skill] or an actual cure from the store, this could save our lives."

"Works for me. 'Blood from the eye' doesn't exactly sound like a good time." Jaune tucked it into a pocket on his poncho, opposite the one carrying the remaining stimpaks from the package he bought and used on Tattletale. "Did you find anything else?"

He asked for the sake of politeness; her empty hands rather answered that question, as the outfit she wore featured neither pocket nor space. To his surprise, the girl shouted an "Ah!" and ducked around him to approach the bed. She then thought better of it, and skipped away while gesturing for him to go ahead.

"There's something behind the bedpost. I was reaching for it when the rat attacked me."

"And now you want me to risk a second rat, is that it?" Jaune groused in faux-outrage, knowing quite well he would have suggested the same plan. Due to his combat training, him scouting from the front lent their party better odds of surviving whatever threat they may face. The wimpy Thinker, not so much.

Propping one knee on the floor, he leaned low, fishing out his own scroll instead of the Company one and turning on the flashlight function. A sweep of the dark corners confirmed no other rodents in sight. Just some pieces of trash, dust, and the aforementioned object lying where Tattletale said it would. The strange shape and feel piqued his curiosity, and after retrieving it, he and Tattletale stood in a huddle to study the thing.

"Looks like a piece of junk," he remarked.

Indeed, the object seemed to lack any clear purpose, a three-pronged contraption made of brass and a milky white material, affixed to a buckle. An odd script decorated the prongs with unfamiliar letters. He tossed it up and down, trying to understand how something with such an awkward shape can rest so comfortably in the palm of his hand.

Tattletale recognized the material before he did.

"Ewww—It's made from bones!"

The obvious concern struck him. "Human?"

A moment of thinking—or perhaps Thinking, as one might call it when superpowers are involved—and she arrived at an answer. "No, it belongs to a bigger creature. Whale or shark, given the nearby sea."

Much relieved, Jaune exhaled a long breath. Nobody ever wants to hear that they were currently inside a cannibal's house, so confirmation otherwise was appreciated.

The scroll gave them a name for the item. Locals refer to it as a 'bone charm'. Tattletale would not stop grinning after they learned she was yet again correct. Jaune let her be, because she had uncovered a gem.


Bone Charm
Universe: Dishonored
Harmless superstition, or foul witchery? Good luck charm, or the conduit to a place Outside?
That's not up to you to decide.
Under certain circumstances, this accessory is capable of granting esoteric abilities. Currently inert, deVoid of a power source.


It was a magic amulet!

Okay, the wording may evoke some (or many) worrying connotations, and the feedback Tattletale suffered from her power when she delved too hard into the item's various implications lent a level of credence to it. For the value of 260 Points and its ease of carry, though? The charm was for sure coming along with him, empowered or not. In fact, he preferred it as-is, a mere trinket he can pawn off at a good price without a debate on the pros and cons of keeping it on hand.

That, after half an hour into the trip? In the literal next room over? Not bad. Delighted by the find, he sported a chipper smile as he practically skipped to the apartment's front entrance.

Following the ignoble start to their adventure that was the battle against a rodent, Jaune and Tattletale opened the doors to a new world.

"Woooow, the city looks as bad out here as in there," Jaune commented. A hop took him from the top of the broken staircase to the ground. Tattletale followed with less grace, but succeeded in sticking the landing.

The surrounding area existed in a state of neglect, vegetation springing up through the cracks and unboarded windows shattered. The worst of the lot was the building opposite him, located at the end of its own lane branching off the main avenue. A grand edifice six stories tall, its supporting structures have collapsed on both sides to leave one rickety tower piercing the sky, wrapped in vines. It swayed in the winds.

Shaking his head at that monument to all building code violations, he walked out onto the street, noting how both ends of the road along with all the alleys were encased in the same type of barricade he saw earlier, and had no easy means to exit. Posters dotting the brick walls advertised theater shows and circus acts, memories of a better time judging by the faded print. His lips curled in distaste at the one boasting of the viciousness of their dog fights, though the poster beside that soon captured his attention.

~The Golden Cat~
The finest ladies in all the Isles
Skilled in the sensual arts!​

My, my.

"You're gawking."

"I'm just surprised since Vale doesn't allow those places to advertise themselves so blatantly. Euphemisms are the order of the day for adult goods and services. It's an academic interest, I assure you."

"Uh-huh." Her voice dripped with doubt. "Come on, let's get out of here. This place is so quiet, it's creepy."

Now, why did she have to remind him? He had almost managed to ignore the deafening silence and what it portends. The sun, the little of it visible through the clouds, sat high in the sky, yet the two of them accounted for the only living souls around. Jaune looked from the top of the tower to the vacant sidewalk, from the face in a window to the darkest nook and cranny, hoping that everyone had departed from the area instead of…well…departed.

Hang on, he saw what in a window?

His gaze snapped towards the second floor of a building adjacent to the tower, a large structure featuring a restaurant or similar on the ground level. He searched for human features behind its curtains.

Nothing. Had it been a trick of the light?

"There are people inside that pub." Tattletale declared with absolute certainty, pointing to the same building.

"You spotted the face, too?"

"Errrr, what face?" Before Jaune could shout 'ghost!' and run screaming, she elaborated. "Someone swept away the muddy tracks leading to the door. The residue is still wet, meaning it was a recent thing. Seven minutes ago, to be precise."

Jaune tried to identify said details, then gave up and accepted her word on the matter. She owned a superpower geared for detecting clues; he'd trust her to know what she was talking about. Besides, mud prints denoted shoes, which meant no ghostly hauntings. People, he could handle just fine.

The pair glanced at each other. Understanding flashed between their eyes, and they shared a nod.

"Alright," Tattletale began, "this is the gameplan—hey!"

Jaune spun around, blinking. "What's wrong? I figured we could just go knock on the door and see if they're in."

"No! I mean, yes we should, but…Oh, nevermind." She slumped, and drudged over to follow him.

Her attitude left him scratching his head, but he proceeded to do just that, approaching the front door to give it three sharp raps. While they waited for a response, he peered at the sign above the entrance, which proclaimed this as the Hound Pits Club. That name spoke volumes of the establishment's favorite pastime.

Once they reached the minute mark, he turned to Tattletale again, jerking a thumb at the pub to ask a silent question. She mimed a walking motion with her fingers.

"Hey there, we're coming in!" he called ahead. With a light push, the door opened.

"Duck!"

Tattletale's warning came too late. An arm slithered around him to seize hold, and the man who had not been behind Jaune a second earlier pressed a blade to his throat.

"Don't move."

So, of course, Jaune did the natural thing for a Huntsman in this situation, and moved. He jerked his head aside, allowing the sword to scour across his neck, painful but failing to leave a scratch on Aura, and snapped a backfist to the assailant's face. Knuckle struck metal, enhanced strength winning out to force the man to let go.

Arming himself with shield and sword, Jaune advanced on his opponent still recovering. He swung his blade. It cut nothing but air.

"How did you do that?" he blurted to the dark-clad figure now standing a few yards from his original position.

"You first." The voice sounded neutral, the man's emotions inscrutable under the metal mask styled in the fashion of an eerie, grinning skull. It was dented where Jaune struck, the damage evidently not enough to take him out of commission. Rather than waiting for an answer, he took a step. A blur, and he vanished to reappear on Jaune's right side, stabbing. The shield deflected it, and the man spun with the motion, slashing Jaune on the cheek. Once more, to little effect.

Trying for a feint, Jaune dipped his shield arm, an opening immediately capitalized on. He tanked the attack, countering with a strike of his own. At this distance, it could not miss. Yet, miss it did, his opponent seeming to teleport right out of his grasp.

The fight approached a stalemate apparent to everyone involved. Jaune failed to connect even one hit, while his opponent cannot land a decisive blow. There was a troubling moment when the man went for a device strapped to his belt, but he changed his mind and left it alone. That act of restraint convinced Jaune to dial back, aiming solely for arms and legs, signaling for the other man to respond in kind.

Further deescalation was derailed by newcomers pouring out of the building. Most of them were garbed in normal, if dated, clothes that marked them as everyday civilians. They wielded clubs and kitchen knives, harmless for a given value of harmless. Jaune dismissed them as serious combatants.

The one at their front was different. His hard-set face was scarred and weathered. Dressed in a military officer outfit one might see from the Great War, festooned with medals, he carried a pistol in one hand and took aim, not at Jaune, but at Tattletale who stood a small distance behind the boy. Without a trace of hesitation, he fired.

…

"Didn't you say that Aura protects me? I would have been fine," muttered Tattletale into his chest.

"I might have forgotten, and getting shot still fucking hurts," Jaune said through gritted teeth. "Also, was it me or was that guy smirking?"

"Uh-huh. He planned on you jumping in front of me. Thinks he'll get an easy shot that way."

"What if I hadn't?"

"Then he expected I'd be dead," she growled, face darkening. "He wouldn't mind that outcome either. Bastard."

The military man seemed to swear by his method, though. Once he got over the sight of a human blocking a bullet with his back—right where the heart was—and living, he raised a second pistol to try again.

Jaune's first opponent appeared by his side, pulling the gun hand to point it at the sky. Their entire group halted to stare at the unexpected development.

"Corvo?"

"You can stop there, Havelock. The boy was disengaging from our battle when you arrived." He then addressed Jaune. "I never intended to harm your life, merely to subdue then ask for the why and how of you locating us. If you lay down your arms, I swear your woman will be safe."

Tattletale squawked in outrage.

Cautiously, Jaune lowered his weapons. When no attacks ensued, he put the sword back in its scabbard. The final test of their promise came when he returned the shield to sheath-form. Aside from some intrigued gazes at the mechanism, in particular from a bespectacled man, they kept to the deal. The newly identified Havelock re-holstered his pistols, and the man named Corvo activated his own mechashift to fold the sword into a compact form.

Jaune has found a compatriot!

"Good." Corvo nodded his thanks. "now, would you mind answering my question?"

Havelock coughed into his hand. "We should retire to a place less open. The district is supposed to be abandoned, but who can say for sure what spectators we might have garnered with the previous commotion." He indicated the Hounds Pit Club for emphasis.

That it would let them surround Jaune and Tattletale went unspoken, though it may also be that he realized the futility of such a trap.

The interior of the pub nailed the classic look that many try to emulate. Or, he supposed, the period-appropriate look. A long wraparound bar, spacious and sturdy. Aged wooden floor, smoothed by years of customer traffic. Booths lined the windows, seats upholstered in red leather. A sense of upscale pretension long since faded permeated the atmosphere.

Most of the inhabitants retreated to the periphery, leaving a select few individuals to handle the matter, the leaders of this outfit if Jaune were to judge. Corvo and Havelock were among them. Another, pinched face sneering, dressed himself in aristocratic fineries. The last sported an austere jacket in black embroidered with gold trimmings. They set themselves at a remove, facing the pair.

Havelock took point on the conversation, manner brusque. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

I'm something like a pirate, here to blunder. Show me to the booty!

"Let me talk." Tattle pushed him aside, even without her superpower able to guess that he was thinking dumb thoughts. To the room, she said, "I'm Taylor, and he's John." She told the lie without even batting an eye. "We're—"

"Are we truly going to entertain this harlot's farce?"

The room froze stock still, and the temperature dropped to below zero. Tattletale's friendly smile transformed into one much more vicious as she glared at the aristocratic man.

"Excuse me?" she hissed, eyes narrowed to slits.

Corvo interceded, "Pendleton, I advise that you recant your words. They are currently our guests—"

"I'm sorry, but are you blind to her attire?" He swept a hand up and down to indicate the supervillainess's costume, then pointed at Jaune. "And accompanied by a 'John' to boot? They were obviously looking for a place to rut. Just dump their bodies in the river and be done with it. Unless we can make a deal…" A lecherous grin grew on his face.

Tattletale skipped two steps to stand behind Jaune, putting her body out of the man's view, and stuck out her tongue over Jaune's shoulder. "Yuck! Never in a million years, old man! And curb that bloodthirst. Your attack dog won't do squat to us." She turned to Corvo, shrugging in mock helplessness. "What? That's how he thinks of you. Strange, though. He believes you can take us on even after that display outside. Ah ha ha, it's because you managed to do the impossible in his eyes. Murder, but not a simple murder." Her eyes flicked from face to face. "Someone important, someone secured in his seat of power. Very impressive. And that's not close to being the last target."

Jaune's fingers inched towards his sword as intense gazes centered on them.

"I know not what dreamful substance has you under its sway, but I would be cautious of bandying about wild accusations were I you," Havelock warned.

"Awww, don't call me a liar, not when you're all traitors." The tension ratcheted up another notch. "Or do you prefer freedom fighters? Loyalists? You were an admiral, weren't you? But the regime change put an end to that." Tattletale glanced from him to Corvo. She read his posture, and what she gleaned there cut short her scathing diatribe. "Who is she?"

Panicked, the last man said to the others in a rush, "They know too much. We can't let them leave."

Holstered weapons made their return to hands. Jaune replied in kind, armed and ready for renewed hostilities. Notably, everyone on that side sent expectant looks towards Corvo. The 'attack dog' moniker might be insulting, but not inaccurate, then. At least, they seem to acknowledge him as the best fighter among their group.

Corvo did not oblige them. When he brought his hands up, they were empty, held with palms outward in the universal—and apparently multiversal—'calm down' gesture.

"Given the information you may or may not possess, what are your intentions towards us?"

Tattletale opened her mouth, pausing when Jaune nudged her in warning. They were one step away from a complete breakdown of diplomacy. She rolled her eyes, before giving the room a bright smile. No one was fooled.

"Well, we want payment, of course." Under her breath, she added onto her statement to dispel Jaune's alarm. "Follow my lead. Trust me." Then, louder. "We're for hire! Think of us as troubleshooters of a sort. I'm the brain, he's the brawn. We take care of problems others cannot."

Him, merely the brawn? This slight shall not go unpunished.

"He is, as you witnessed, an absolute juggernaut, capable of shrugging off bullets and blades with nary an injury. Who among you can boast the same?"

Yet, as her boon companion, he must back her up in these circumstances. Yup, yup. Jaune played along and flexed his arms, elated at the flattery.

"As for me—"

"What my partner lacks in might, she compensates for with her astounding intellect." Jaune lowered his arms, resting one on Tattletale's shoulder. She tolerated it, preening at the compliment he paid. "Secrets cannot hide from her eyes, as you have experienced for yourselves."

"You're trying to infiltrate a location," Tattletale, unable to help showing off, further demonstrated. She read a new detail off Pendleton, and used the tidbit to elaborate. "A brothel."

Jaune spread the other arm out wide as if to invite applause for a magic trick. In fact, one person at the far end of the pub did exactly that, sending Tattletale's ego to the stratosphere. The rest were not far behind in their amazement, even if they hid it better.

Hell, he himself had to admit that it was a neat ruse, wowing people with knowledge she can't possibly have access to. Professional fake-psychics would kill to own her ability.

"In short," Tattletale concluded her pitch, "whatever it is you need, an extraction plan for the little girl or a bodyguard who would not blink at withstanding lethal attacks during the rescue, there's nobody in the world more suited than us!"

Jaune whispered at her from the corner of his mouth. "I'm down with the idea, but why are you so agreeable to this?"

An innocent person in captivity? Sign him up for the mission. That Tattletale pushed for it was a pleasant surprise. She might be sweeter than she let on.

"The girl in question is royalty," she whispered in reply.

Royalty, the implication being that her safe return was worth a whole lot of gold coins and magic amulets. With that piece of information, Jaune questioned Tattletale no further; it fitted what he knew thus far of her character to a tee.

An examination of the pub indicated a favorable reception. The civilians were the most impressed, but he doubted they held much sway over any decisions made given their deference to the smaller cadre before him. Havelock wore an expression almost akin to excitement—it was difficult to tell for sure on that rockface of his. That he had removed his hands from his pistols said it clearer than words can; he very much liked the sales pitch. The still-unnamed man appeared interested, tapping his chin in thought. Pendleton continued to glare but Jaune attributed that to the total rejection he received from Tattletale and him raging about it. Their final member, Corvo…

"The thing you see is blank to me."​

…he stood unmoving in an odd pose, arms crossed with a cupped palm open to the ceiling. The skull mask revealed nothing of his opinion, though it spoke volumes of the influence that the 'attack dog' wielded in how the others waffled one way or another without coming to a conclusion as they waited on him.

And, finally, Corvo broke his silence, choosing to give neither acceptance nor rejection, but a test.

"Answer me this: how would you get inside the Golden Cat brothel quietly?"

"Why not go in through the front door?"

Everyone, Tattletale included, stared at Jaune. In the unsettling silence, he scratched his cheek, nervous and wondering if he said something stupid.

He had very little inkling of how a brothel operated when it came to the nitty-gritty details, since he never entered one, but the classical model of the business set itself up as essentially another brick-and-mortar shop, right? Customers go there to purchase services and whatnot. The ad poster they slapped on the wall outside denoted its status as a legal enterprise; the place should therefore be publicly accessible rather than hidden, leading to even fewer hoops to jump through than, say, one of the unlicensed brothels in Vale.

The snooty aristocrat was the first to recover, laughing in his face. "Haha! Yes! We'll just have a wanted man walk where he pleases. What could go wrong?" The laugh shifted to a snarl. "Fool!"

Sheesh. They could have just mentioned that caveat beforehand.

Tattletale came to his rescue, interrupting, "Hang on, people. He's got a good idea going. Each one of you is a known party, but us?" She pointed at Jaune, then at herself. "We're strangers, free to go in. It would be a simple matter from there to act as his lookouts and support squad, passing along information for Corvo to complete the mission. Should things go wrong, he'll have a second fighter on hand to cover his retreat. How about it?"

The cadre looked at each other.

"We must confer on this," Havelock declared.

Jaune and Tattletale were bade to rest at a booth, while the four men retreated to a different table, within view but out of earshot. There, they discussed the merits of the suggested plan.

-o-​

An admiral, an assassin, and two blonds gathered around a sewer access hatch. No, this was not the start of a joke.

"We do not know what's down there."

"You do. That guy scouted it out earlier."

"Therefore, your task is to identify the source of the recent noises."

"People. Sick people. They've gone mad at this stage of the plague and will attack us on sight. There, test completed."

With how Havelock's teeth were grinding, Jaune would not be surprised if they ended up as stumps. The man's sinking mood contrasted the smug grin growing on Tattletale's face.

With great effort, the former (though don't say that to his face) admiral nodded to confirm her deductions.

"As you say. However, we will reserve judgment of your capabilities until we see results."

This band of monarchic loyalists may be amenable to the idea of hiring them, but Jaune suspected Tattletale's continued presence would reverse that opinion within the next ten minutes if he did not interfere. She has a gift, and to stop her from sharing it with everyone else, Jaune hooked his arm around hers.

"Come along, Chatterbox," he said, pulling the girl towards the hole in the ground. Not too deep, the drop to the walkway below measured about ten feet by eyeball estimate. They never installed a ladder, necessitating a jump.

They landed in a tunnel. Dark, dank, built of bricks and low enough that Jaune had to stoop. Someone above must have flipped a switch, because a lone light turned on at the corner ahead, the sole path forward from their position. Jaune and Tattletale shared a look, then started walking.

"She carries the scent of far-off shores. It carries no scent at all."​

Taking the turn let them enter the main area proper. The actual sewage pipes were tacked onto an existing tunnel network, which spanned the width of a city street and featured a path running along the side. The surface of the walkway was dry, to their relief. Fishermen boots or not, wading through filth would have sucked. Broken boats in the shallow water and sunlight beaming in from a sea entrance told the tale of a smuggler's den once upon a time.

Jaune took a step, but paused as he felt a tap on his arm. He turned to ask what Tattletale needed. His eyebrows raised at her response.

"Can you turn off Blank?"

"I'd prefer not to. You understand exactly why." Jaune deadpanned.

"I'm serious."

So was he. Still, he waited for her to explain.

"I should have asked you the moment we got to this world. I didn't expect we'd run into danger so soon. We're in known hostile territory now, though, and during an op, I need a full grasp of the available information, which you interfere with. The wrong conclusions can get us killed. Being able to use my power lets me stay on the same page as you, to better work together. Some privacy in the day to day is fine, but…sometimes the situation demands otherwise." She finished with a shrug, leaving him to ponder her words.

With a mental click, the defenses of Blank came down.

"...Just like that?"

"Were you lying?"

"Uh-uh."

The cheeky smile said otherwise.

"That's my normal smile." she protested, not even noticing that she was once again holding conversations with his unspoken thoughts.

"He lied to the girl who believed him most; she tricked him with a kiss."​

"Yeah, yeah. Just remember that I can turn it back on whenever I like."

To their dismay, the path terminated further down, only resuming after a lengthy gap. The metal catwalk meant to span the intervening distance had collapsed into the water. A nearby door renewed Jaune's hope that they could advance while remaining on dry land, but it was locked.

"You really, really do take me to the best places, Jaune," Tattletale remarked as they waded into the mix of seawater and sewage. She looked ill, her superpower revealing all sorts of details about what she was stepping in. "They disposed of bodies here. People. Dogs, too. And…there's a vibration in the water. I'm not sure why."

"Did you get anything on our target?"

A noise came from around the bend, a hacking cough. Then, the sound of vomiting.

"They're close."

What an astute observation.

"And it's targets. Plural." She mulled it over, listening for more sounds. "Two of them. One closer than the other."

That was part of the test, wasn't it? Either Tattletale detected the second threat, or it would catch them with their guards down.

Peeking past the corner, they spotted a figure on a walkway. Jaune's first look of a person infected with the plague affirmed his resolve to chug down those elixirs by the barrel. Pale, waxy skin pockmarked by gouges, either from scratching himself raw or from the insects that wriggled in and out of their living nest. Two streams of blood dripped down the man's face. A black sludge poured from his mouth. He alternated between piteous moans and snarls.

A change in perspective, and Jaune observed the target as a foe. A stumbling gait, uncoordinated. Empty hands, no weapons to speak of. The maddened mind removed the possibility of tactics or skills. A negligible threat.

"I'll take care of this." Jaune climbed onto the walkway.

The infected person heard the sound a sword makes when it withdrew from a scabbard, and turned in their direction. Shield raised, sword prepped for a stab, Jaune advanced towards the plague-carrier, on guard for the moment they would attack.

The man– the thing, it shambled down the corridor, stretching its arms wide to catch Jaune. It would not succeed. He aimed his blade and—

"Jaune, don't kill him! Just knock him out!"

Adapting, he twisted the sword, lifting it to bonk the infected person on the head with the flat of the blade. They promptly collapsed, unconscious.

"What was that, Tattletale?"

The girl caught up with him, and spared a glance both disgusted and pitying to the body at their feet.

"He wasn't hostile, not really. The body language said he was glad to see you. There's enough of a mind left in there to think of seeking help, but he didn't realize he might spread the disease to us that way."

Oh.

"Good job. Thanks for warning me." He would have regretted it, he thought, had he killed the man and found that out afterward.

"Eeeeeeargh…"

As one, they looked to the source of that groan. Out of the gloom appeared another figure, similar to the first in displaying symptoms of the Rat Plague. The difference was, this one retained surer legs, outright sprinting at them.

"Is that a cry for help, too?"

Tattletale shook her head, and hid behind him. "He's hoping to murder and eat us. I dun wanna be dinner, Jaune."

"Got it."

He returned his sword into its scabbard, then used the entire thing to none so gently whack the charging berserker upside the head as he came within range. Momentum sent the body sliding across the ground for a bit, stopping right before it would drop in the water.

"Nice!" he complimented his own feat. A conundrum soon arose, however. "Do you have handcuffs on you?"

Tattletale spun to show all sides of herself, then spread her hands helplessly.

Right. No pockets. He eyed the nearby branch tunnel.

"What do you think of splitting up? You'll guard them, and I'll keep going."

"Nope. No way. That's how people die in movies, Jaune. Besides, without me spotting the signs, you could well get ambushed. It's safest that we stick together."

"Alright, but that does mean we might need to knock them out a second time on the way back."

"She hates being alone, it reminds her of home."​

At a glance, the next stretch of the tunnel was clear of plague victims. Before they traveled down it, Tattletale directed him to an abandoned cabinet next to the water. It had a note sitting on top that she immediately snatched up to read.

Jaune, on the other hand, picked up the object laying inside the opened cabinet, recognizing its style despite the different shape. The slab of whalebone was as big as his hand, supported by metal clamps and decorated with abstract markings. Individual bits and pieces of the art reminded Jaune of different things—a sword, a chair, a clock… a compass maybe—yet the whole of the thing seemed nonsensical at best.

Sellable. That's the important word to remember.

"What did the note say?"

Tattletale crumpled up the letter and tossed it over her shoulder. "Nothing you want to know. By the by, I recommend getting rid of that thing the first chance you get."

Jaune checked the amount of Points he could get for it, and agreed. The first chance he gets after they leave this world, it's gone. What great value. He would like ten more of these 'runes' to bring back, please and thank you.

"Also, if Cthulhu rises from the deep, I'm abandoning you."

The random quip drew out a laugh from him. "Yeah, okay. Except, I can outrun you. If tentacles and fish people start appearing, they'll catch you before me."

Wait a minute, how come she knew of a Remnant fiction?

…

Best not to think about it. Tattletale clearly was, and her sickened face said nothing good.

"Ready to move on?"

"Definitely. I have a sudden and urgent need to be far away from the sea."

Of a like mind, they turned around.

A skull stared at them out of the darkness.

"AAAAAAA—"

"—AHHHHHH!"

"Hm. Work on that," Corvo advised the screaming, hyperventilating teens. "Maintaining one's composure is crucial to a successful mission." He indicated the bodies, now secured with ropes. "Well done subduing the weepers. I will inform Havelock that you have completed the task. Go wash up, there are rooms prepared for you."

-o-​

Jaune awoke in the middle of the night, shivering.

The chill seeped to his very bones, and burrowing into the blanket did nothing to stave it off. He twisted and turned for a minute or two, trying to rub warmth back in his arms, then decided on a different course when that failed to improve the situation. Maybe the heat needed restarting, and everybody was in bed hoping someone else would deal with it. That he had not one clue of how a Dustless system worked can be surmounted by grit and ingenuity. Probably.

Sitting up, he panned his gaze around the room.

"Huh. Lisa's not here."

Had the whispers of the pub's inhabitants gotten to her? They had certainly responded with scandal when the girl, distrustful of the rebels, insisted on bunking with him for safety. It was the sort of tut-tutting one would hear from prudish busybodies aghast at the very notion of opposite sexes existing in proximity before marriage, only more prevalent in this world's society than his own. Tattletale said it matched with a general attitude typical of an era from her world called Victoria England.

She acted blasé about it earlier, but who knows? The opinions of others have a way of getting to a person.

He did wonder how she moved her bed out of the room without waking him. Or why. The place was more empty than not, and possessed free beds aplenty.

Odd.

Slipping on his shoes, he walked to the door and pulled it open.

…

Jaune blinked in confusion.

He should have entered a hallway. What laid before his eyes was another bedroom. Half a bedroom. It had one wall. Above that stretched an endless void. He took a step forward, and nearly fell through a gap in the floor. Below that, nothingness.

Jaune grabbed onto the door frame, his breaths coming short and shallow. Frantic, he cast his eyes every which way. As he did, he began to pick out certain details.

The posters that hung on the bedroom wall. A video game console and the projector that would turn a scroll into a viewing screen. Comics and books on the shelves, titles he could recite by heart. A desk.

A set of papers laying atop an envelope, yet to be sent. He recalled this day.

Only…instead of a blond teenager agonizing over the crime he was about to commit, someone else stood before the desk. A man older than him by a year or two. Not much can be said of his plain features. Sickly pale, he had dark hair, cut short.

The false transcripts did not garner his attention. He was looking at a poster set above, of a Huntsman and a Huntress posing heroically to the backdrop that was a shining beacon of light.

Turning to Jaune, the young man with black eyes greeted him.

"Hello, cheater."

---

Author's Notes: No hell, below uuuus. Above us, only skyyyyy~
Don't fall in, though.

The Heart speaks, but can you hear it?

 

[LazyAutumnMoon]

Confused, unbalanced, Jaune still had the wherewithal to level an unamused look at the stranger.

"Rude."

The man tilted his head, and Jaune suppressed a shiver as he received the full effect of those unnatural, pitch-black eyeballs focusing on him. Light just…dies in them.

"Do you object to the appellation? Pardon me. I intended no offense, and am merely conveying what I have observed."

So the man said, and the tone almost sounded contrite, but the unchanging expression made it difficult to believe his apology. Also, didn't the last part boil down to the same insult, worded in a different way? Jaune mulled over the line in his mind, then scowled as he arrived at the conclusion that, yes, it did. Indignation spurred him to retort.

"If that's an honest mistake, then I'll eat my boots."

Shadowy wisps coalesced into a pair of sneakers. Identical to the ones on his feet, they bobbed up and down in front of him, striving to appear tasty.

Ghost! Ahhhh!

Outwardly, Jaune projected calm; the first rule of fighting Grimm was that you don't panic, and it's a lesson applicable to most combat situations, whether that involved giant monsters, teleporting assassins, or footwear-summoning poltergeists. You know, the usual. No bigs. He's got this.

Jaune batted the shoes aside. "Haha, very funny. Who are you, and what's with calling me a cheater?...Also, where are we? How did I get here? What did you do to Tattletale? Why does this look like my room? Frankly, I've got so many questions." Oh great, he's panicking.

"Most do, when they are drawn into this realm," the stranger said as he leaned on the desk, arms crossed. "As to your first question, I am the Outsider." A shrug. "Yes, not much of a name, is it? That was lost to the Void an age ago. If you happen to find it, do let me know. In any case, you see why I put stock in one's nature over one's name."

"And your no-doubt stellar judgment says my nature is a cheater?" Jaune hoped this 'Outsider' heard loud and clear the skepticism laden in his tone. He worked hard on it.

"Can you say that I am wrong? Take a look at where you began." The man swept a hand around the bedroom. "Here lies the destiny of Jaune Arc. Small town boy to small town man, to small town end. His life was short and sweet." His other hand picked up the sheaf of papers on the desk, holding them in a way that allowed Jaune to read his own name on the fake transcripts. "But then, one day he concocted a falsehood, and that fate was no more. Cheating got him ahead when honesty could not."

Erk. Point.

"That was a one-off thing," he protested.

"So you often tell yourself. It is not everyday that I meet a man who can fool even his own person. You have a gift."

The Outsider let go of the transcripts. Rather than falling, the papers defied gravity to float off into the vast emptiness above. The brief distraction drew Jaune's focus, and once he lowered his gaze, the other man had vanished with a swirl of smoke fading away in his wake.

"I would not tarry in one place overlong," said the Outsider's disembodied voice. "The Void abhors permanence."

No sooner were those words spoken, a rumbling passed through the copy of Jaune's bedroom. Books dropped off their shelves and the floor began to buckle, wood planks snapping from the strain. He had scarcely a second to leap forward when the previous spot he stood in crumbled to pieces.

Jaune stared at the debris falling in a descent he suspected might go on forever. Loathe as he was to heed this Outsider, running seemed the necessary move at the moment.

With a last longing glance at his home, Jaune sped across the small landmass, sneakers pounding on stone as dark as the Outsider's gaze. The path ahead tapered to a point. Lacking a choice, he ran down it. Relief flooded him as a second island situated below the one he was on drew into view past the approaching edge. He made that his destination and leaped for it upon the final step.

The best that could be said of his landing was that he avoided a faceplant. Hands and knees took the brunt of the impact, with him collapsing in a heap on the ground afterward. He bit down on a yelp as the freezing surface touched his bare skin. Colder than the frigid air, cold enough to hurt, mere seconds of contact and he was already forced to push himself upright.

The gasp came unbidden.

What lay before him was not a barren rock in a sea of nothingness anymore, but the shining Beacon, emerald tower and all. Three familiar faces stood on the front steps, motion stopped midway as they waved to him. Tears sprang to Jaune's eyes…and the black-eyed bastard ruined it by reappearing at his side, propping an arm on his shoulder.

Don't act like we're friends or anything!

"Ah, the vaunted halls of future heroes. The first lie may have allowed you entrance, yet I say the lies that followed did their part to maintain the fiction."

"...You're not wrong, I'll admit, but I've since earned a spot there."

"Of course, and the manner in which you accomplished it was pure art. Almost a year, you've survived, scrambling from one mishap to another until you cement your presence among greater individuals, accepted as their equal despite starting out with nothing but a false pretense. Aside from those in possession of prior knowledge, only a single person ever suspected, and she turned into your greatest ally."

On that last point, they agreed. Pyrrha went above and beyond their friendship to help strengthen him. He owed her much.

The Outsider turned around, letting go of Jaune to cross his arms. Jaune likewise spun to look in that direction, and paled as he recognized himself. Whoo, boy, were a lot of his insides outside.

"All that, just to lead here, where the choices you've made seemingly brought you to a poor end. The world tumbles down. Your partner sets off to meet her destiny."

Jaune experienced a vision of fire. He heard his own scream, sounding broken.

Whatever that was, he did not like it.

"Then, there you were, bleeding out on the ground, your blade mortally wounding the hero of the story."

Boots crunched on rocks as the Outsider walked over and knelt at the side of the second body. Tousled black hair framed a handsome face, one twisted into a hateful grimace. Eyes of a gemlike green sent a redundant promise of death to the other Jaune.

"What a nasty way to go. The regrets, the disbelief. He never truly realized he could die. He thought his fun will continue forever. I would have enjoyed his story, the birth of a new god. Such plans he had, brought low by an unlikely source, the one true deed you've accomplished in life. And yet…"

This time, the ground broke without warning. Jaune lost sight of the Outsider as he fell. Rocks and bricks transformed to dark wisps around him, obscuring his sight as he struck the next slab of stone. They cleared to reveal the looming visage of a beast. Leviathan.

The Outsider was sitting on its shoulder.

"And yet, it would not be the last. Someone who should be dead, broke the rules and lived again," the Outsider said. He observed not the monster, but the girl standing beside the statuelike figure of Jaune, her fists clenched in determination. "In a different future, she would at this moment lay on a cot in a medical tent, half the bones in her body shattered as she clings on to life. The thing you call Leviathan would be just outside, having thoroughly broken the city's defenders."

Jaune startled. "Would Sundancer have—"

"Died? Perhaps. That future ceased to exist when she mistook you for a hero and marched to your beat, realizing too late that you had no idea what you were doing. Astounding, that she used your example of all things to grow into a real hero herself."

"Well, I'm glad I went to Brockton Bay if that's the case." His voice cracked near the end, visions of Sundancer's fate otherwise playing in his head.

Silence answered him. Turning his head this way and that, Jaune searched for the Outsider. No luck, but he did see a jagged set of stairs formed by the island leading up to a smaller platform.

Ascending to the top, Jaune faced the exterior of the Hound Pits Pub. The Outsider reformed next to a window, leaning on the wall. On the other side of the glass, the core members of the Loyalist plot were deep in discussion. As Jaune neared, the man addressed him.

"When did it happen? Lies turning into truths, words giving rise to actions. Your appearance in this world allowed me to observe your past, the tale of what I deemed a most uninteresting soul at the start. I then watched as you derailed your story again and again, before moving on to a new stage to do the same. Now, the twice-lived boy boldly pulls at the threads of a story marked by my influence."

A theory reared its head as backhanded praises heaped upon backhanded praises, suggesting to Jaune that the neutral tone conveyed approval more than animosity or sarcasm. It would require a mind alien towards normal sensibilities to compliment his unfortunate penchant for deceit, which…sounded all too possible with this guy.

"You're not angry at me, are you?"

"In some ways, anger is beyond me. I was… mildly vexed, perhaps, in the beginning. Yet, I asked myself, why should I be?" Peering inside the pub, the Outsider continued, voice growing even duller if that was possible. "This world has gotten so stale. The same old places, the same old faces. They play out a tired game, and the flashes of their brilliance to light up my existence in this cold, dark Void are few and far in between. Before your arrival, I would have wished for an ending to it all."

"Is that not the case now?"

"No. Today, I rediscovered a feeling long faded, a yearning to witness something new. Look what you've done to me." He turned to show his face. His completely blank face. "For the first time in a very long time, I cannot guess the way the story goes. How exciting."

"Honestly? I can't tell. You've got one of those faces," Jaune deadpanned. "But that's what I am to you? Some kind of show?"

"A show, a possibility, a change. What fun you promise to be, the one who cheated life, cheated death, cheated everybody you've ever met."

"I mean… there's Tattletale?"

"Give it time. I believe in you."

Ouch. The words hit harder when he knew it's earnest.

"Still, one never tapdances on quicksand for long. I've seen it enough times to tell you a single slip is all it takes. You, as you are, would be hard pressed to go much further past the shores of Dunwall. I can help with that." He extended a hand. "I shall grant you my Mark."

"Your Mark?"

"Power." was the simple reply. It seized Jaune's undivided attention.

Cautious, he asked, "Why give that so freely? What's the catch?"

"Color me curious. There is no catch but the ones you make for yourself. As another being once did, I am wagering on your potential."

Jaune got the feeling that Ozpin and the Outsider diverged on their definitions of potential. Likely, it was akin to the difference between a hero and a clown.

"I really hate that attitude of yours, thinking I'd have to dance to your tune."

"Then, I suppose you ought to do something about it, unless you enjoy the life of a leaf buffeted by the winds." The Outsider leaned forward. Black eyes bore into Jaune, rooting him in place. "Where will you go from here?"

With a yelp, Jaune grabbed his left hand. The sensation of heat seared the limb from within, unquenchable by the freezing winds around him.

On the back of his hand, lines emerged, etching a familiar design. The symbol he had seen on the whalebone rune became emblazoned on his skin, flashing a brief golden light before it settled into a dark tattoo.

"Let's find out."

Jaune tried to reply, but paused as a shape drifted into view behind the Outsider. A great whale swam its way across the Void. Beyond the display of magic, the scenes from his memories, and the branding, it was the appearance of the fish that overcame the false impression of reality reinforced by the biting cold he felt to his bones. Sheer absurdity brought epiphany.

Oh, I think I'm in a dream.

As if on cue, Jaune's eyes fell shut, and his consciousness fled.

-o-​

Jaune awoke to warmth, body buried under a blanket. He pressed his face into the pillow to block out the rays of sunlight beaming through the window.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. Vivid memories of the dream sent him scrambling out of bed, and he cast a wary gaze around the room, exhaling in relief when he spied the bed Tattletale slept in yesterday. Things were as they should be. She had left the room, but that could just be a case of getting breakfast or washing her face.

He checked his hand. The Mark stared back at him.

Or, maybe, she had been abducted by a black-eyed entity.

Grabbing Crocea Mors, Jaune inched over to the door and cracked it open, ready to retreat at a moment's notice. A hallway greeted him in place of the Void. Mundane, boring, safe. He threw the door back to step out of the room.

The hustle and bustle of people elsewhere in the building marked a busy morning full of activity. Something was cooking, going by the scent wafting from below. A raucous din on the next floor up seemed a possible candidate for his companion's handiwork.

"Ah, John. Just the person I wanted to see!"

Jaune turned in the other direction to see the admiral, Farley Havelock, exiting his personal quarters. The older man looked a lot more jovial this morning, scarred face smiling to suggest he was not in any way the type to shoot an unarmed girl as bait. He beckoned for Jaune to approach.

"Are you amenable to a spot of exercise in the practice yard?"

"Not to offend, but can it wait? I'm about to go check up on Tat—Taylor."

"That…girl?" A scowl stole over Havelock's countenance, and he loaded the word 'girl' with the sort of emotions one would reserve for fouler epithets. Tattletale, what did you do? "She is with the womenfolk, I believe. Leave them to it. Come, this will not take long. I would like to get the measure of the man I am sending on a mission, you understand?"

He phrased it as a request. His insistence said otherwise. Begrudgingly, Jaune agreed that the man had a valid point, in that a job like abducting a princess from the people who abducted her in the first place called for the best of the best—or two people claiming such credentials, at least—and verifying that was a simple matter of prudence. Annoying, but valid nevertheless.

"Fair enough. I'll eat breakfast, then join you."

"A few drills will improve your appetite." No, he didn't need help there, he's already hungry. "It won't be but a moment. Come."

…Haaaaa.

"You know what, I could do with a spar after all. Lead on."

"Capital!"

The admiral would not say that if he was capable of peering into Jaune's mind. No chance to wash his face, no bacon, no coffee!? Someone will die today.

Jaune accompanied Havelock to the rear entrance of the pub that led to the spacious loading yard, once used to move casks of wines and beers produced in the adjacent brewery to other ports along the coast. At the far end, a warehouse hemmed in the area, while an outbuilding sitting on the opposite side hosted a workshop out of which emanated the occasional zap and clang. From this vantage point, Jaune could see the bridge that a former owner had built to connect the pub's fourth floor to the nearby derelict tower, using the eyesore as a secondary residence. The tall walls on three fronts afforded a level of privacy to their activities.

Unfortunately, said activities did not include a spar where Jaune can 'accidentally' swing for the admiral's nose, nor was it a simple exercise session. Instead, Havelock summoned the bespectacled man from yesterday—Piero Joplin, who resided in the workshop—to run a series of tests on Jaune's capability. Lifting weights, timed runs, even an arrow-dodging trial that doubled as an experiment on durability, Joplin was giddy as a child on his birthday at witnessing the perks of Aura. A brief conversation revealed him to be a prolific inventor and scholar, with the man inviting Jaune and Tattletale to pay him a visit prior to setting out—while bringing Crocea Mors along for him to study, of course.

His enthusiasm in regards to Aura was matched by that of Havelock. The admiral oversaw the testing with a critical eye at first; he changed his tune as Jaune carried barrels of ale on his shoulders that should each have required two men to lift, or drop from the roof to the ground unscathed. By the end, the man was left shaking his head in awe, even clapping for feats he deemed particularly impressive.

"How?" he asked. "What are you?"

Jaune shrugged. "Eh, it's no big deal where I'm from."

"Where is that, by the way? I've sailed to every corner of the Empire, but your accent eludes me. There's a touch of the Poolwick lilt to the way you talk, yet it does not quite fit."

Uh oh. "I came from that region thereabout, far out in the sticks. A real backwater town that you wouldn't ever hear of."

"Is that so?" Havelock expressed his doubts. "And you say this level of prowess is common there? Can anyone learn it, or is it due to one's bloodline? If you wouldn't mind, I have a number of colleagues who may be interested in studying your case."

He missed Worm. His excuses worked a lot better when superpowers were commonplace. People asked fewer questions. Hoping to avoid further scrutiny, Jaune brought out the big guns.

"Oh, look. A distraction!" He pivoted on the balls of his feet, prepared to run, but stumbled as the unthinkable happened.

Havelock did not turn around.

Jaune stared at him in complete disbelief. How? HOW!? That always works. You call out 'distraction' and people become distracted. It's–it's built into the collective psyche or something, practically a rule of the universe!

"I— well— Boy, am I hungry. This has been fun, but I really should go. Laters!"

Run for it!

Ducking inside the pub, Jaune slammed the door shut behind him, and hurried down the corridor to escape from the error back there. Amidst panic, he retained the presence of mind to detour through the kitchen, absconding with a plate of eggs, bacon, and bread along with a few apples, afterward retreating to the upper floors.

On the second floor landing, he paused upon catching a hushed conversation between two women on the stairs above.

"She refused to wear it! Refused!"

"What did you expect? You heard how Lord Pendleton was ranting about her last night."

"I thought the old pervert was exaggerating! You wouldn't think it true, seeing how well she takes care of herself."

The other person sneered. "It's wasted on her. Hair soft as silk, skin fair as a princess…and not an ounce of decency to speak of. Callista nearly had conniptions when she wouldn't tighten the corset."

"And what she did to Emma? I can still hear the poor girl crying from here."

"...I actually enjoyed that. Never liked her. Too uppity."

It sounded like Tattletale was having trouble making friends with the Loyalists. And having a blast tearing those same people apart.

Jaune circled the balustrade to continue ascending the staircase, though he was unsure if he would be heading up there to lend the girl a supportive hand or to rescue everyone else from her brand of trouble. The two women noticed him and their talk devolved into stammering, embarrassment mixed with worry. He regarded them with chilliness to indicate that he had overheard what they said.

"I'm looking for my friend." He pointed past them. "Has she finished with whatever she's doing?"

Flustered, the woman on the left frantically nodded, but her partner hemmed and hawed. Jaune cocked an eyebrow at the latter, prompting in her a change of heart.

"F-finished. Right. I suppose that she is." A hint of distaste remained in her words. Before Jaune could address it, the voice of Tattletale rang out above them.

"John, is that you there? Please tell me you have food, I'm starviiiing!"

He did have food. His food. Good luck to her getting any of it. Hoisting the plate high, he skirted around the group on the stairs. Whispers followed him.

"I take it back. That man is the one with skin like a princess."

"He's wasted on her, too."

"W-wait, is he going to—?"

A door sat ajar just off the landing with commotions heard within. Jaune knocked on it twice, then entered the large common room when Tattletale shouted for him to come in.

A gasp sounded out behind him, echoed by others inside. One of them, a stern woman in her forties, covered her mouth with a hand, absolutely appalled at the sight of some guy holding a plate.

What was her deal?

Distinctly uncomfortable, he scanned the room for Tattletale, spotting her in front of a mirror. She fluttered her fingers at him in the reflection.

She looked…different.

Rather than the black and purple bodysuit, Tattletale donned a dress in the fashion one would see in a museum, the kind that a person can properly flounce in, all frills and ruffles and lace. Her blond hair had been braided and tied into a bun. Gone was her mask, and its absence softened her features. She appeared as a normal, well-mannered young lady from a wealthy family with no connection to her alter ego.

As he joined her, she twirled to show off the dress.

"Nihihi~ You look so surprised. Like it?"

He scoffed, playing off his thoughts by giving a 'so-so' gesture. Her knowing grin told him he was less than successful. To deflect, he asked about the fancy clothes.

"It's part of the plan. The Golden Cat caters to the nobility, and to go through its doors, we have to dress the part. More importantly…" She licked her lips. The 'rich girl' impression went out the window as she eyed the plate of breakfast. "Gimme some~"

Jaune danced out of her reach. "No way, this is mine! Besides, it might stain your dress."

"Oh, fuck off with that! I'll just have another set rush-ordered."

She darted from one side of him to the other, hands grabbing. He may be faster, but she deciphered his movements the instant he twitched a muscle, and soon poached slices of his bacon—a heinous crime. To prevent further theft, he began chomping down on the remaining pieces.

A cough interrupted their antics. Mouths full, they turned to the side. The stern woman, arms crossed and one foot tapping, glared back.

"The Lord Pendleton has graciously agreed to a set budget for this venture. Do not waste his generosity." She seemed to draw strength as she talked, and strode forward to loom over Tattletale. "Put that down, girl, and we will continue your fitting."

Jaune considered looming over the woman to see how she liked it, but Tattletale waved him down. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand—the stern woman's eye twitched at the poor (and deliberate) etiquette—then heaved a dramatic sigh.

"That's too bad." So sweet, so fake, her voice raised a shiver up one's spine. "I guess there is a limit to Pendleton's loyalty for the crown, despite what he claims. Don't worry, Carol, I'll let Corvo know and we can switch to a new plan."

All pretenses of authority shattered in a heartbeat, and the older woman immediately caved to the teenager.

"T-That won't be necessary! A small matter like this is clearly beneath Sir Attano!"

"Clearly," Tattletale drawled; she oozed with self-satisfaction. "Send for another dress. No, two."

Amidst a flurry of activity, Jaune leaned down to whisper in Tattletale's ear. "How much of this amazing plan of yours was designed to rip off Pendleton?"

"No comment." She averted her eyes, expression coy.

Another round of whispers erupted from the rest of the room, who caught the gesture if not the words said. He sent them a dubious look, which led to their gazes hastily adjusting elsewhere, and Tattletale huffing in annoyance.

"Just ignore them."

"I don't think I can. What's their problem?"

"They have a grudge against their own boobs, and think I'm promiscuous for wanting to breathe," was the blithe reply.

"...That sounds deranged. Are you sure that's not a misunderstanding?"

"Meh. It doesn't help either that proper nutrition and modern medicine has done wonders for the human appearance. They hate me because I'm beautiful."

"How humble of you," Jaune said, snorting in amusement.

"Hehe, the line's from a commercial, and I've always wanted a good chance to use it." She flashed a victory sign. "There's also the fact that everyone here knows my destination later. Female clients frequenting the brothels are supposed to keep it discreet. My improper attire plus the way you came in while I'm 'half-dressed'," she pointed at what was to him a complete and classy ensemble, barring a few undone strings, "were anything but quiet. It cemented my reputation as a loose woman."

"My bad," he said, uncomfortable that he had caused her problems. Tattletale waved away the apology, blaming the nosy people around them, who treated Jaune and Tattletale with a stark divide. Whereas he received the blushes and longing glances, she got to be the target for their sneers. The bravest ones were already treating her with condescension, bluster compensating for the qualities she possessed that outshone them.

Excluding the ones crying, of course. Emma, whichever one she was, had collected two more colleagues in the corner before he arrived. Evidently, Tattletales were a species that fought back, often in a preemptive manner.

"They're not giving you too much grief, are they? I kind of overheard people talking about you in the hallway…"

"Hahaha, of course they are. They haven't stopped since yesterday." She tried to maintain the unbothered act, but this bout of laughter lacked any true humor and came across as resentful, the result of hours upon hours of judging thoughts that she could read like a book no matter how deeply hidden. "So, yeah, this world is turning out completely shit for me. Silver lining? I don't feel an ounce of guilt about fleecing them."

"Hence, the five extra dresses on that rack?" He asked.

"Hence, the five extra dresses on that rack." She confirmed. Her lips started to curl upward, mood improved by mischief managed. "We have outfits for you, too."

Jaune balked. "Wait, what?"

"You can't possibly expect to go for an outing with what you're wearing. We have to match to maintain the cover story. An adventurous girl of nobility and her stalwart, if lustful, bodyguard—"

"Oi."

"—both ready to experiment in Dunwall's famous Golden Cat. It practically writes itself."

"Hang on, I think I remember this plot line. Don't tell me Ninjas of Love exist in your universe, too."

"No? But with your reaction, I kind of want to read it now." She paused, and started mumbling to herself about 'intellectual copyright' and 'opportunities' for a bit before shaking her head. "Whatever. Thoughts for later. Come on, it's time for your fashion show. Then you can tell me all about that freaky tattoo on your hand."

Oh, yeah. That was a thing.

-o-​

All in all, his new clothes weren't bad.

The outfit they settled for fell on admiral Havelock's side of the period style, with a martial bent rather than the pretentious Pendleton look to grant Jaune the air of a noble house's personal guard. Having now worn this, the reason why Atlas retained their armed forces became apparent. Military uniforms held a certain charm to the opposite sex. Winter Schnee was proof enough of the concept, but even he himself garnered a fair amount of appreciation as he was putting on the provided clothes. The hallway war between Tattletale maintaining his privacy and the people attempting to peek in on him attested to the effect.

Of the ensemble, what he enjoyed most was the overcoat in blue that any pirate captain would surely envy. He only needed a tricorn hat to complete the image.

One foot on the roof's parapet, a hand on his hip and the other on his knee, he stared out to sea, coattails fluttering in the brisk winds. Damn, did he look good. He should take a picture.

"Mind helping me out, Tattletale?"

"Yeah, yeah. Let's see how this thing works…"

*snap*

"Sweet. Thanks!"

He took back his scroll from Tattletale, tucking it in a pocket as they moved on to the real matter at hand. Namely, his hand.

Whatever power the Outsider granted him did not come with a manual. Were it not for the Mark, he would have dismissed the notion as a figment of his imagination, and Tattletale still pushed the theory that a bad actor drugged him to the gills with hallucinogens. As it stood, they agreed to give the possibility a chance.

"What if you, I don't know, muster up your spirit and shout it out?"

Jaune followed the suggestion. Nothing happened beyond Tattletale pointing at him and laughing.

"I'm gonna leave."

"Okay, okay, okay. I'll get serious. Really, I won't mess with you anymore." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Maybe."

"I heard that."

"Don't worry, it's a joke." Those innocent eyes fooled nobody. "Have you tried using it the way you would Aura?"

"First thing I tested out. It didn't work. Aura is Aura, this is…well, who knows? How do you activate your superpower?"

"Instincts, like it is for every parahuman." She buffed her nails on her dress, looking smug.

"That is such a comic book answer."

On Remnant, Huntsmen have to practice if they want to manipulate Aura in fancy ways, and Semblances may remain unknown for their entire lifetime. People from Tattletale's world just skip that nonsense and went straight to the ass-kicking fight scenes. He would call it unrealistic, except it was difficult to argue with real life.

"Hey, Tattletale, how do you feel about putting yourself in danger so I can miraculously unlock my ability in a time of great need?"

It was a classic development that succeeds in 99% of comic book storylines, and a bone-deep certainty, nearly a premonition, told him that it will work here.

The girl raised her fists. "Try to make me and I'll fight you. Go throw your own self into danger if you want, you nut."

Tattletale faltered when Jaune fell quiet. She paled as she noticed the contemplative expression on his face.

"Well, there's an idea…"

"Jaune?"

"Xray and Vav Issue Twenty-Five used that method, and we already established that comic rules apply. Hmmm." Jaune nodded to himself.

"Jaune?"

"Hang on, Tattletale, I'll be back in a bit."

"Jaune, you better not be whatthefuckareyoudoing!?"

Rather than answering, Jaune demonstrated by continuing his sprint. He stepped on the parapet again, and this time braced his leg so as to launch himself high into the open sky, clearing at least the height of an entire story of a house. Add to that the brewery itself, and he must be near seventy feet high at the apex. Survivable if a person has Aura, but—he twisted his body upside-down, falling head first—it was going to hurt on landing.

Soooo, yeah, if he wanted to avoid harm, now was the time to summon his mystical power.

Okay, now was the time.

Now…

He might have miscalculated—ahhhhhhhh!

One moment, Jaune was flailing his arms and legs in a futile attempt to grab onto something, anything to break his fall. In the next, he had a tight grip on the edge of the roof while his body was simultaneously a mere yard from hitting the ground. A pull, and momentum reversed course to catapult him at the building. He slammed into the edge, flipped over it, and landed in a heap at the feet of a terrified Tattletale, peering up at her.

He waved. "Hi."

"You—you—"

"Look! I discovered what power the Outsider gave me." Recalling the sensation, he conjured a shadowy tendril, the limb superimposing over his physical arm. "It feels a little slimy, and not all there. Very odd."

He punched at empty air, and the false arm elongated quite a distance, growing tall as a utility pole.

"Cool. I finally have a ranged attack." He flipped a thumbs-up at Tattletale. "Thanks for the advice!...Why's your face turning purple?"

Tattletale wouldn't talk to him for the next hour.

-o-​

The pub stocked ice cream.

Jaune knew, because he went searching for stuff to bribe Tattletale with, and found some. She wasn't in a happy mood yet, but she accepted it, which was the first sign of hope for reconciliation in the Jaune Arc Handbook for whenever he screwed up with his sisters. The curses she whispered under her breath had ceased, too. Progress!

The tenuous peace persisted as they cut across the loading yard, on their way to a meeting with Piero Joplin, the outfitter for Corvo's operations. Tattletale was eating her ice cream, almost humming in contentment as her anger abated, while Jaune experimented with his third arm, finding the limits to the new toy.

His ability, the…[Shadow Arm]? [Far Reach]? [Blackhand]? [Sealed Darkness of the Void Fist]?…too far, dial it back. His ability, the [Third Arm], was a versatile thing, if imprecise. It can pull him to heavy or anchored objects, or pull objects to him if they were light enough. He could configure the hand into a fist or a grabbing motion without trouble, but moving an individual finger or other fine-tuned actions took greater focus.

Also? He's getting a headache. Employing the ability in quick succession for a prolonged period was not recommended, a lesson learned in hindsight. The predicament did earn him sympathy from Tattletale, however, who experienced it all too often through overuse of her superpower.

Walking into the workshop only worsened his problem. The crackles and pops of electricity, the overwhelming scents of oils and pungent plants, and a most terrible screeching noise coming from a grindstone machine drove a spike of pain into his head.

"Fuuu-u-uck…"

"Oh my, do you need a tonic?" said Joplin, hurrying over. He pressed a vial into Jaune's hand, and adjusted his glasses. "Here. Piero's Remedy, the finest solution for what ails the body and spirit. One draft will revitalize your mind, expand your cognition, and excrete the plague from your very being."

"The pitch was fine until that last part. Poor word choice," Jaune mumbled his advice. Through bleary eyes, he squinted at the blue vial.

Well, it's glowing, and as he had learned in recent days, any strange substance that glowed was good for the body. He uncapped the lid and knocked back the liquid in one go.

A cold rush poured over his brain, bringing clarity as fine as a bracing shower. Jaune sharply inhaled, and sighed in relief.

Tattletale saw that, and immediately slammed down gold coins—picked up or purloined, he cannot say—on the counter.

"I'll take ten. This can cure the plague, too, you said?"

"Ummm. For a given value of 'cure', yes."

"How does it compare to Sokolov's Elixir?"

Infinitely better, or so Joplin claimed in the ensuing rant that cursed the very grounds Anton Sokolov had walked on. Jaune and Tattletale both drank another Remedy to rid themselves of the budding migraine from listening to the scathing diatribe.

"I should have warned you about that." The two blonds turned to the speaker, seeing an unmasked Corvo approach from outside. "He and Sokolov have something of a…disagreement."

"—patent-stealing, cradle-robbing, hidebound son of a Serkonian who—oh, Corvo, my sincerest apologies,"—Joplin slapped a hand over his mouth, muffled voice continuing—"my mind was not my own."

"Fret not, Piero. I understand how certain matters may cause a man to lose his reason. The best way to banish such thoughts, I find, is to throw ourselves into a task. Coincidentally…"

Joplin barked out a laugh as Corvo lifted up a pistol. "Of course! What adjustments would you like—no, let me see what can be done. Why make a few improvements when you can make all the improvements?"

The man rushed to a workbench, completely forgetting the existence of his rival, along with Jaune, Tattletale, Corvo, and the rest of the world.

Corvo turned to the pair, a contrite expression on his tanned face. "That was rude of me, I know, but Piero would have carried on for hours otherwise. Did you have pressing business with him?"

"Not at all," Jaune replied. "He said to visit and get supplies, but we frankly don't have much of an idea of what he can do for us besides these." He shook a vial of Remedy.

In his periphery, he noticed Tattletale poking around the area, highly curious. She darted here and there, studying the various objects and notes scattered about.

Jaune refocused on Corvo as the man spoke. "I make no claim of being an inventor or a scholar, but I do possess a level of experience with Piero's work, if you are partial to my advice." Corvo beckoned them to follow him. Jaune did, Tattletale did not.

"Ooooh, what does this button do?"

"Don't touch that! Do not touch that!" Joplin snapped out of his fugue to race across the room, interceding between Tattletale and what looked like pieces of a life-sized, incomplete puppet. "She—it is not a toy!"

Tattletale examined the puppet again. She raised a finger as if to object, then lowered it and walked over to Jaune, grimacing in disgust.

"Gross." She met his gaze. "He's building that doll for exactly what its appearance suggests."

"A maid robot?"

"...Among other things."

"Ahem. Here are two devices I believe would serve you well," said Corvo, ignoring the incident with steadfast resolve. "First is what we refer to as a rewire tool, useful for disabling certain security systems and defenses by shorting their power source. Do note that it may result in machine backfires and scrambled targeting priorities when employed on arc pylons and Walls of Light. Be very cautious. If I hear of unnecessary casualties, we will have words." More than, if the way he caressed a small crossbow strapped to his side was indicative of anything.

"Sure, that's easy enough."

"Understood~"

"This, on the other hand, can be fielded on a more liberal basis." Corvo displayed a roll of—

"Sleeping darts," Tattletale declared, nose held high in the air.

"Correct. The formula requires two to three seconds before it induces unconsciousness, and…hmmm. Joplin?" He turned to the other man, who looked up from his tinkering. "Do you have another crossbow in stock?"

"Yes—no—I have most of the parts. If you give me a day, oh, but you are setting out soon. Um…" Joplin fidgeted, nervous.

"Never mind, then. For our purposes, it can also be applied with a firm stab, so do keep a few needles about your person."

Tattletale cut in. "We wouldn't mind a couple of those crossbows in exchange for a portion of the payment we agreed on, so if you can put it together, that would be great!"

The scowl on the inventor's face said he had not forgiven her for the earlier rummaging. He relented when Corvo added his voice to the request.

"As I said, it would take a day for me to produce one. A second copy means sourcing new parts, and that could take a week or longer. Although…" Joplin glanced at Jaune. "You may not need a crossbow in most cases. Your astounding performance this morning certainly suggests that you can imitate the same function within a range of thirty paces—"

"Hold up!" Tattletale interrupted again. "What perfo—you ran tests on him?" She whirled to face Jaune. "They ran tests on you. Why? Not his idea, or yours. The admiral."

In the same vein as yesterday, Joplin and Corvo showed visible surprise at the rapid-fire leaps in her logic. Jaune fared better since he knew the real reason behind it, and did not bat an eye.

"Yeah, the guy called me up first thing in the morning. Had me doing—"

"Drills. Lots of them. Strength, speed, reaction time, endurance—he wanted to know what you were capable of for the rescue mission, and…Oh? Ohoho!"

"Care to share? Is something wrong?"

"Oh, nothing~ Don't even worry about it."

Instantly, everyone else there clamored for an explanation, thoughts consumed with what could be the answer to her string of deductions. Tattletale reveled in denying them it.

"Her mind, a mess. She grasped a thread. Plots within plots? It pains me to read deeper."​

Jaune whipped his head in the direction of Corvo, having heard a hissing, whirring jumble of noises that almost sounded like words. His mind came screeching to a halt.

Why was he holding a beating heart in his hand? Corvo, what the hell!?

It…It was not fully corporeal. Or was it? Jaune felt as if he was looking through the thing somehow, an object composed of both flesh and mechanical parts, but there was a heft to the impossibly-working organ or Corvo wouldn't otherwise hold it in that way. The man's head was tilted—he held that pose yesterday! It must have been invisible then!—as if listening to the steady heartbeat.

"He has noticed me in your hands, and wonders which of you is insane."​

The strange noise echoed again, but Jaune did not get the chance to ponder where it came from because the man—no, the assassin was now staring at him! The two of them were of a height, but Corvo seemed to tower over Jaune at that moment. Jaune flicked his gaze away from the heart, pretending he hadn't seen the object and had instead been enthralled by the blank wall this entire time.

Did that manage to fool Corvo? The man neither pressed him on it, nor ceased his scrutiny, and Jaune dared not move a muscle. All the while, a heart went thump-thump.

More than ever before, he wished he could go back to Remnant. At least his world made sense!

---

Author's Notes:
You make bad choices…I like that in a man. You're a clown and I want to see more of your fuckups. —The Outsider, probably
Of the many random omnipotent beings out there, the Outsider is one I like. No infantile rage fits when things go wrong, no deus ex machina nudges to ensure happy ends. He just wants to push the big red button and see what happens.
.
The pre-mission phase took, what, twenty minutes in-game? Oh, we're going to blaze through that with, like, two thousand words and finish the main part in the same chapter.
Seven thousand words later...

 

[LazyAutumnMoon]

Under the noontime sun, a little boat cruised along the Wrenhaven River, carrying four people further inland from the sea. Here, the salty air has been replaced by something else, the stench of city refuse and plague-ridden bodies thrown into the water without care for which was which. Neither Jaune nor Tattletale were faring well during the journey, swaying with nausea as they listened to Corvo hammer into their heads the mission goals of this little jaunt.

"The priority is to rescue the princess. The elimination of the Pendleton brothers is secondary to that, do you understand? The safety of Emily Kaldwin is paramount."

Jaune groaned a long, low note of exasperation, and replied, "Yes, yes, we got the message the first five times already. I find it odd that you are being so insistent about this. It's not as if I'm some berserker type baying for the blood of my enemies or anything...am I?"

Because how would he know, if he was? Nobody ever considers themselves the ax-crazy type.

"He's worried out of more than simple loyalty," Tattletale piped up from beside him. Even seasick, she strove for a look of superiority, turning this way and that to make sure everyone was paying attention to her. "There's an undercurrent of familial affection whenever he talks about her. She…is his daughter."

The boatman nearly sent them all into the drink at that revelation, and had to execute a few harrowing maneuvers in order to get the boat back on course. He, along with Jaune, stared at the third man present, the bodyguard to the former queen. The former queen who was mother to princess Kaldwin. Princess Kaldwin who was Corvo's daughter. Round and round the hamster wheels in their heads spun.

"Daaamn," Jaune summarized his thoughts.

"Daaamn," The boatman echoed.

What else can they say about the man who carried on a relationship with an actual queen? The sole title Jaune heard people refer to Corvo as was a 'Sir', otherwise calling him by his first name outright. He was not Lord Corvo, and certainly not King Corvo. Add in the layer of obfuscation and they had the story of a forbidden, whirlwind romance between commoner and royalty.

Tattletale held up a finger before her lips in a shushing gesture. "Shhh, it's a secret."

She then devolved into cackles, unrepentant in the face of Corvo's blank stare. The laughter went on and on and on and on and on and then died with a whimper as the assassin just continued to look at her. Tattletale shifted in place, growing distinctly uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

"...I have the same protections as my partner, so you have nothing that can kill me," she blurted out in a hurry.

Corvo thought on it for a bit, then peered overboard. In a casual tone, as if speaking of the weather, he said, "Do you still need to breathe?"

Tattletale scooted closer to Jaune.

If they needed further proof of how dangerous the man could be, that was it. He had already conceived of a way to kill people with Aura. In the interest of defusing tension, Jaune raised a hand to draw the others' notice.

"Hey, I get it. Anybody abducted my family, I'll get very stabby until they're safe again. We're going to do our best. And don't worry, nobody's hearing a thing from us about your private affairs."

A long beat of hesitation, and Corvo sighed. "Thank you for your discretion. It is not a well-kept secret in truth. Half the court suspects, they merely lack proof. Jessamine and I had hoped for an opportunity to announce it before…well, before." Before the murder of the queen, the imprisonment of the bodyguard, and the abduction of their child. The story Jaune had heard was not a happy one, riddled by unfortunate events. "I'd rather that such news does not receive confirmation and become public knowledge in a time of turmoil. Aristocrats like Custis and Morgan Pendleton already adhere to the belief that Jessamine's reign was hopelessly tainted due to 'too many riffraffs' sneaking their way into the palace."

"The more I hear of those two, the less I like them." Jaune scrunched his nose in distaste. "Greedy, cruel, and see people as less than dirt? Some guys have it all. I almost feel sorry for the Pendleton on your side…you know, if he didn't just stone cold ask us to kill his own brothers."

Corvo shrugged his shoulders. "Such is the politics of Dunwall, I'm afraid. Oftentimes, a rift would grow wide to the point that words could not reach the other side, and the knives come out. Their voting bloc is the driving force behind recent laws passed by Burrows's regime, and hundreds of the queen's subjects are dead as a result. We need to either fracture or take the reins of that bloc if we are to mitigate the damage that they've done. Treavor Pendleton can be difficult, but he understands that."

"Ha!" Tattletale interrupted. "And the influence, along with the inheritance, he stands to gain has nothing to do with it, I'm sure." Her voice dripped with poison. "He resents it, you know. Living in the shabbier mansion… unable to drink the very best wine…barred from the most exclusive clubs. I saw all his little peeves, plain as day. That man envies his brothers, and he'll follow in their footsteps if given the chance."

In apprehensive silence, the rest of the people in the boat considered the possibility of this being a spat over money. Their mission to rescue a princess took on new implications, an incidental byplay to the real conflict at hand. Jaune did not enjoy the thought of himself as a patsy, and neither did Corvo from the look of it.

"I will keep your counsel in mind. Either way, however," the assassin's voice hardened, "for what Custis and Morgan have done to my family, I would not shed a tear for their fate. Get ready, we are here."

He looked ahead to where a rocky stretch of the shore sat below the city, overgrown with weeds and littered with detritus. Sewer pipes dotted the area, discharging filth into the water. For good or ill, Dunwall was a city in its industrial heyday, and factories lined the river, fumes billowing from their tall chimneys. The sound of heavy machinery filtered beyond the brick walls to set the water under them rumbling with vibrations. The signs of troubles were there, though. Inert smoke stacks marked where the plague had swept through and shut down production.

The group set to preparing their equipment, with Jaune and Tattletale readjusting their fine clothes to ensure they presented the right image. They were banking on the outer disguises to make up for the shortcomings in their behavior, since the half-hour course given to them back at the pub on the proper way to walk and talk only touched on a few surface things. Crocea Mors went on Jaune's hip as part of his 'fancy guard' ensemble, swords being a standard weapon carried by city guards and soldiers everywhere in the Isles, while Tattletale hiked up her voluminous skirt a couple of inches to strap a roll of sleeping darts to one leg, and the rewire tool to the other. To finish off, she slipped two of the needles under her sleeves.

Corvo checked over his gear in a well-practiced routine. He ran a hand over the various devices stored about his person to ensure their placements, then drew and holstered his pistol before moving on to the crossbow. With a twirl, the sword unsheathed, segments snapping into place to form a blade longer than the handle in which it rested. To Jaune, who knew of hammers that can transform to grenade launchers and sword-javelin-gun hybrids, the weapon Piero Joplin created would be considered rudimentary mechashift at best, a relic akin to his own Crocea Mors and barely even worth selling in the Marketplace. In this world, however, nothing of its like existed yet, making the sword less 'antique' and more 'precursor' to signal the coming revolution in armaments. A genius's work.

Did Corvo understand what he held in his hands? Who can tell, for the mask he put on obscured all traces of the man beneath to leave a cold, steel skull peering out at the world from under a dark hood. The misshapen form engendered a sense of wrongness, crisscrossing wires lending it the impression of a mouth sewn shut. Little gears clicked and whirled in one eye-socket to manipulate the embedded spyglass.

A second later, he cursed as the magnified lens allowed him to catch sight of a scene in the distance. Following the direction of his gaze, Jaune shaded his eyes and watched as figures ran away from the city to a bridge tower extending over the water. It's a dead end, the actual bridge dismantled, but that did not stop them. They had nowhere else to go.

The first projectile screamed through the air, fired from a boxy contraption erected atop steel scaffolding three stories tall. It struck near a pair of runners, and exploded on contact. The next shot landed amidst a different group, and a third followed soon after. One burst upon another, the turret lit the bridge aglow with fire, leaving no survivors once it was done.

The boatman murmured in the stillness that followed. "A river-hand I met yesterday mentioned a Watchtower going up. I never imagined…"

"The people in charge are the ones doing this? Your city is fucked," Jaune offered his succinct opinion, and Tattletale nodded in agreement.

"Jessamine vetoed the deployment of those infernal things," Corvo replied. The skull mask distorted his voice with an echo that grated on Jaune's ears. "It appears the Lord Regent Burrows has different ideas on quarantine measures."

"You mean those people were victims of the Rat Plague?"

Kill the infected? What, were they in a zombie movie?

"Yes, they showed signs of it from what I saw. It appears the City Watch has increased security efforts around the gate to Clavering Boulevard in fear of the disease spreading." The boat touched land, and Corvo hopped out first. "That is the most direct route to the district housing the Golden Cat," he added for the benefit of Jaune and Tattletale.

"I'm guessing that we'll have to find a path around it to the boulevard, then. Or do you think me and her can talk our way past them?"

"Let us see," was the noncommittal answer.

Hugging the wall, they sneaked up the dock. A man in a uniform, sword on a hip, strolled into view as they passed the bend and, before Jaune could react, Corvo vanished then appeared behind the man to choke him unconscious. As he laid the body down in a dark corner, Jaune padded over to ask a question.

"What did you do that for?"

"I am a wanted man, masked and otherwise. He would have shouted for aid from his fellow guardsmen had he seen us. Best they think he was simply mugged in the backstreet for his money pouch than that I was here. Now, this way."

A flight of steps put them at a street that ran below the bridge. Curious as to the defenses protecting Clavering Boulevard, the group sneaked up the second set of steps, reaching the bridge proper where they peeked around a low wall to observe the surroundings. Jaune grimaced, for it was not a pretty sight.

Past signs which stated 'No Citizens Allowed / Lethal force has been authorized', the bodies of people who had not taken the warning littered the area, their blood filling the cracks of the cobblestone road. Guards, faces covered by balaclavas to protect from contracting an infection, were dragging the bodies to a nearby dumpster for disposal, making sure to search their pockets for valuables before throwing them in. Further along, the gate that once spanned an avenue was now barricaded with thick steel, leaving a much smaller access door, currently shut tight. Above, the Watchtower swiveled to and fro, sweeping the area with a floodlight. A rat scurrying across the ground was caught under its light, and blasted to smithereens. They would allow nothing through.

"The backstreets?" Corvo asked Jaune and Tattletale.

"Agreed."

"A fine idea."

Taking the lower road, they headed into a shabby neighborhood. Doors were barred, often from the outside. Boarded up windows showed signs of attempts to break out. Rotten produce and fish festered in abandoned shop stalls.

"Things are getting worse," Corvo remarked. "Just days ago, some of the stores were still open for business. And the homes…"

According to him, the red 'X's painted on the walls denoted buildings ravaged by the plague, put there to be a warning for people to stay away. Yet, it looked as if every wall carried that mark, and very few people were around. These locals stuck to the nooks and corners, wary eyes not dissimilar to cornered animals, and they shrank further into the shadows as Corvo passed by. The well-dressed pair received a different sort of gaze, calculating and covetous. Jaune kept a hand on his sword to deter anyone feeling particularly brave.

As the party approached a turn in the road, they noticed a man barring the path, who perked up when he spotted them. An odd reaction considering the mask worn by one among their number, though it was that same person that the man addressed.

"Hey, you're just the man I's lookin' for. Slackjaw's wanting to talk to you. At the distillery." The man waved them forward, and pointed to a building at the end of the alley manned by a couple of burly toughs.

Corvo took a few steps, but Jaune stopped him to point out the obvious. "This sounds like a trap." Beside him, Tattletale tapped a finger to her chin in thought whilst studying the men's postures.

"Hmmm, not really? They have orders to stay polite—as polite as street thugs can be, at any rate. That's why they've put those cleavers just barely within reach, to signal they won't attack unless we do. It's the closest to an olive branch in these places."

"A good observation, thank you for that," said a visibly less tense Corvo. "I believe it would be a good idea. Slackjaw, too, is opposed to Burrows's rule, and his Bottle Street Gang would know the goings-on in the area. They may have useful information. Perhaps an unguarded route I can take to our destination."

As they made for the distillery's door, one of the thugs stretched out an arm to bar the way.

"Meetin's for one," he said.

"They are with me."

"And you and them add up to more than one," the man insisted.

"Holy shit, they can do math," whispered Tattletale to Jaune, hand covering her mouth in faux shock.

Jaune snickered, and murmured in her ear, "It's a miracle!"

Their comments were overheard and drew a glare from the thug. It also brought his full attention to Tattletale. He looked her up and down, and annoyance was soon replaced by a smirk. The man might have thought it dashing, but the crooked, yellowed teeth did him no favors.

"Not to worry, tho'. They can wait here with us 'til you come back. We'll keep the pretty little thing entertained with a good time. How 'bout it, doll?" The man tried to slip an arm around Tattletale's shoulder, but stumbled when she ducked under the limb and skipped out of grabbing distance. She then stuck out her tongue.

"Pft. Big boast for somebody who can't satisfy his wife." To drive home the point, she held up a pinkie, immediately setting the man off in a rage. The uproarious laughter of his two companions incensed him all the more and, snarling, he advanced on Tattletale.

"What did you say, you bi—!" Two hands clamped on his shoulders with crushing grips.

"Now, now," Jaune said. "She didn't mean anything by it." Yeah, right. She totally did.

"Do forgive the young for their mischief," Corvo offered his 'advice'. The cold mask brooked no disagreement and, cowed, the man retreated at speed to the wall, sweat beading on his brow. A shaking hand went for a bottle, which he gulped down.

Still, Jaune caught the furtive glances the man gave towards Tattletale—towards him, too—and knew the matter was far from settled. He, and his buddies, might well find their bravery once Corvo leaves, and decide that a lesson on respect needed teaching via knifepoint. Nah, hanging around here would only invite a fight.

Pulling Corvo and Tattletale aside, he said, "Since we're splitting up the group anyhow, why don't she and I continue ahead to Clavering in the meantime, and get started on our own mission? We can scope out the interior of the Golden Cat before your arrival."

Credits to him, Corvo weighed the merits of Jaune's suggestion instead of dismissing it out of hand. That one quality made him miles better than the likes of Armsmaster.

…No offense to the blue bastard, of course. RIP.

Coming to a decision, Corvo pointed to a gap between the nearby buildings. "At the far end of Bloodox Alley is a wall that you might be able to climb over. Clavering Boulevard lies on the other side, and from there you can head up to a fork in the road. Taking the right will eventually bring you to the Golden Cat. The City Watch will have posted checkpoints along the street, however. If you run into trouble, regroup here and wait for me to return."

Tattletale scoffed as she sauntered off towards Bloodox Alley.

"We'll handle it easy peasy. Watch me."

Her words engendered no credibility, and a suddenly uncertain Corvo looked at Jaune. "Can I trust you two?"

"Of course! We're consummate professionals!" he assured the other man. As Jaune left to join Tattletale, he tried for a bit of bravado, throwing a debonair salute over his shoulder. "When next you see us, it'd be in the Golden Cat. Good luck."

"He has failed every person who stands by his side. Again and again. Will this time be any different?"​

Ignoring that. He won't try to figure out what the whispers say, because there were no whispers. Only crazy people hear voices from thin air, or see beating hearts in other people's hands. And Jaune Arc was not crazy. Yup.

Tattletale noticed his ashen white face, and commented on it.

"You look scared."

"It's nothing."

"There's something about Corvo that freaks you out. What is it?"

"You don't wanna know."

"Tell meeeee—!"

The back and forth continued as they walked along, the conversation distracting them from their surroundings. Bloodox Alley was an unpleasant place, stinking to high heavens. From what he could tell, it used to play host to a few butcheries, all shut down now with nobody removing the piles of discarded scraps meant for the trash heap. The refuse laid along the alley, and baked in the sun.

The bodies, too. Wrapped in rough sheets, they were stacked in corners, ostensibly for later disposal. How long they had laid there, Jaune shuddered to think, and he instead focused his gaze straight ahead at the wall separating the alley from Clavering Boulevard. It was hardly a barrier by his standards, though he can see it stymieing a person without Aura. A dumpster resting against the bricks provided a foothold that rendered the matter trivial for the pair.

Honestly, the biggest concern facing them would be how to keep their clothes clean while climbing over the wall. After Leviathan, this was a cakewalk.

From one instant to the next, a dark-clad figure appeared before Jaune to disabuse of that hopeful notion, their knife at his throat. Corvo's name was halfway out of his mouth when he noted the differences in their attire. His assailant donned a gas mask, and their clothes sported a rougher, cobbled together look. They did not come alone, either, with another attacker behind Tattletale to hold her in place and a third standing a little further off.

The person nearest Jaune was the one to speak, a male voice filtering through the mask to take on a breathy rasp.

"Well, well, well. What fine company you two keep. Now, you're going to tell us what we want to know, or—" *Crack!*

The alternative he proposes will forever remain a mystery as Jaune ignored the blade digging into his throat in favor of headbutting the man. The leather mask provided less protection than Corvo's did, allowing the force of the blow to transfer in full to the face beneath. His adversary sank to the ground, unconscious, while Jaune unsheathed his sword.

"Don't move, or the girl gets it!" shouted the person who had seized Tattletale. He roughly maneuvered her between himself and Jaune…and then keeled over to lay in a heap at her feet, a sleep dart sticking out of his side. Tattletale gave him a swift kick to the head as additional punishment, followed by a "Hmph!" to convey her disdain. In one hand, she held a second dart at the ready.

The last assailant spun between him and Tattletale, thrown by the unexpected development, and ultimately chose to attack what seemed the easier target in their eyes. Despite a brief burst of panic, Tattletale dodged to the side before they even swung their knife, the blade missing by a wide margin. They twisted to avoid her sleep dart before retaliating with another slash of their knife, but—too late!—the wasted seconds meant Jaune was there to intervene. His sword swept a horizontal line across the alley, slicing through empty air.

"Teleporters." He spat the word as if it were a vile insult, and searched the alleyway for the person.

Tattletale shouted, "Up there!"

He turned to where her hand indicated, in time for an arrow to ping off his chest. The person he sought was crouched atop an awning, frozen in shock with their arm pointed at Jaune. He spied a device of some kind attached to their wrist, presumably the method by which they fired on him. They shook off the terror at seeing Jaune survive lethal blows twice over—haha, Aura for the win!—and pulled another vanishing act to now appear on a nearby balcony above, grabbing the edge of the building to swing themselves onto the rooftop.

Jaune's triumphant cheer faded. The dirty sneak was going to get away!

Forgoing a chase, he chambered his left fist, and punched. A long, shadowy arm zipped across the distance, fingers spread to clasp around the runner's leg and pull. He succeeded in making them lose their grip on the bricks, the dark figure slipping to hit the railings with an audible "Oof!" before falling off of that as well, flipping end over end to land inside a dumpster below, the impact sending up a spray of trash.

An old man leaning on the wall in that corner, heretofore unnoticed as he watched the entire altercation, grabbed the lid and pulled it shut, moving the bar to lock the container. With a cool nod to the pair, he went back to his previous spot.

Peace returned to Bloodox Alley.

"...Well, that happened. Are you injured, Tattletale?"

"Uh-uh. It hurt a bit when I was grabbed, but the pain's already gone. You?"

"Not even a scratch." He nudged one of the bodies with his foot. "Who do you suppose they are?"

"Assassins. Here for Corvo. They spotted us with him and wanted to squeeze out information about his capabilities before setting another ambush."

"Oh, damn. Should we warn him?"

Tattletale shook her head. "It's only these three. The last one ran because she wasn't getting any backup." A gleeful smile crept onto her face, and she rubbed her hands together. "Now, what goodies do we have here?"

She moved in on the bodies, and began rifling through their clothes. Coins clinked as she gathered them in a pouch. Lockpick sets were handed to Jaune to hide in his pockets, with sheaves of arrows set aside on the ground next to the swords, which Tattletale deemed to be of low quality. She eyed a couple of suspicious vials found in one of the utility belts for a while, then shook her head and placed it with the arrows. Assorted other knick-knacks were likewise discarded.

Pulling up the sleeves revealed the assassins' means of shooting arrows. Each person wore a metal half-brace on their arm, secured by straps. Each brace supported a crossbow-like gadget, slimmed down and reliant on a clockwork spring to launch its projectiles. Jaune put on the one that was still loaded, and turned his wrist to different positions in the hope that it would activate the mechanism. After a few attempts, he tried a finger snap.

Fwip!

The two of them followed the trajectory of the bolt, wincing at the same time as it flew into a third-floor window, breaking the glass.

"It's probably abandoned."

"Y-yeah. If not, we'll just blame these guys."

The two wheels at the front of the device had revved up at the moment of firing to increase the projectile's speed, imparting a stronger momentum than one would expect. Along one side, a thin shaft spun to wind the spring back in position, the process automatic and powered by a viscous fuel that glowed blue.

"I think—hahaha, I knew it!" Tattletale crowed, showing off how one of her sleep darts can nestle comfortably in the chamber.

The elation faded once she realized that there was no way to hide it under the sleeve of her dress like Jaune did for his overcoat. With great reluctance, she handed the gadget to Jaune for safekeeping on his other arm, though she was adamant that she would get one back for her own use.

"What do we do with them now?" Jaune asked as they finished looting the assassins of their choicest valuables.

"That old man there is waiting for us to get first pickings before he moves in. He'll take care of it once we're gone." Tattletale met the man's eyes, and gestured at the pile of rejected items. He, in turn, nodded his head. "And now he saw nothing, and will say nothing."

Bargain struck, they left the unconscious bodies in place, and marched onwards. At the end of the alley, Jaune boosted Tattletale onto the dumpster there, and they poked their heads over the wall to observe Clavering Boulevard.

It was a glimpse of a different world standing in stark contrast to life on this side of the brick wall. A raised road swept so clean the cobblestone almost sparkled in the sun. Massive estates that could host a party for hundreds. Tall, glass windows showcased the lifestyle within, rooms decorated in fine furniture and beautiful artworks. Festooned on the houses and lampposts, the flags of Dunwall flew proudly in the wind. Not one home on the entire street had their entryways obstructed, though the City Watch can be seen coming and going in one residence, their captain oh so apologetic to the owners as the couple waited on the front steps.

They've also barricaded every possible access to the area from the poorer neighborhoods, steel walls rising behind the buildings. An open gate rested on the west end of the street fitted with strange contraptions on either side that bounced crackling electricity back and forth to prevent free entry. A guard outpost was stationed there, an officer manning the booth.

"What do you reckon are the odds we have to get through that electric wall?" Jaune remarked.

"No bet."

"I figured as much." He placed both hands on the top surface of the wall. "Welp, showtime."

Confirming the coast was clear, they hopped the barrier to land on a lower level that ran parallel to the street. Vale had places like it, where new roads were built on top of old ones, putting them above the first floor of houses. The feature permitted them a spot of privacy as they waited for the perfect moment, ascending the stone steps right as a group of people their age walked by.

From there, it was a matter of copying the correct way to behave so as to not draw scrutiny from the many, many guards patrolling the area. The City Watch was out in force, and regularly stopped passersby for questioning. The grubbier-dressed among the crowd received the worst of it, but even the wealthy folks traveled with a brisk pace, never dithering to converse.

Some, though, strode with aplomb. These people, the guards formed a wide berth around. The Watch's men might not always recognize their faces, but the attitude belied their station. Bothering them was how one got reassigned to the midnight shift.

Those were the examples to imitate. Jaune offered his arm, which Tattletale took. Back straight, noses in the air, they faked an enthusiastic pep in their steps as they advanced along the boulevard. They would chat about inconsequential things like the weather when within the guards' earshot, whispering 'jokes' in each other's ears and laughing obnoxiously about it. The key, to put a trite expression on it, was to have fun. To show a sense of untroubled optimism, as if the plague cannot possibly bother one so rich, let alone the pesky lawmen.

The healthy glow helped. They did not live with the months and months of rationing that was even starting to take its toll on the bottom rungs of the upper class. Clothes sat a little looser on people's frames than it should. Some of the kids had that sickly pallor of poor nutrition. Things were headed in a bad direction for Dunwall, and Jaune's and Tattletale's laughter rang hollow for it.

Still, they smiled when others would not, or could not, and that sold the story.

Few dared to approach the gate. Tattletale marched right up to it as if this was the entrance to her house and the officer her doorman. Or a squatter.

"You can turn that horrid thing off, my good fellow. I have an appointment to be fashionably late for."

The officer seemed caught between his standard spiel and deference, uncertain of the consequences should he reject her order out of hand. The two men with him likewise took a pause.

"Ah, we can't just, that is, the Lord Regent's decree says it's not so simple, miss." The officer's gaze flicked to Jaune, noting the cut of his ensemble and the sword at his hip, the sheath of Crocea Mors fancier than his own. No mere guardsman, was Jaune Arc. "And sir. We would need to record where you're going and who you're meeting, and get your information jotted down."

A most offended scoff left Tattletale's lips. "Am I a common criminal? Oh Jaune," she spun to him, swooning in his arms as if overcome by emotion, "did you hear what this man said? Kill him for me."

Jaune and the guards all squawked as one. "Do what!?"

He then recovered, and grasped the handle of his sword, striving to play the part of a gentleman who was angered on the lady's behalf. The position of Tattletale's head, buried in the crook of his neck, concealed from everyone but him the evil smirk that she wore.

"Why, he has besmirched my name! Frankly, it is a much lighter fate than what uncles Custis and Morgan would do if they heard about this."

"C-Custis and—you mean the Lords Pendleton?" stammered one of the subordinates.

His buddy chimed in. "But they're at—"

"The Golden Cat, yes. I am to meet them there for tea."

The incongruity was easy to spot for all present, and the officer seized on it like a lifeline. Confidence returned to his voice.

"Ah, ha! I was almost fooled, miss, but that's where you've made your mistake. The Golden Cat is a—"

Tattletale turned towards the man, the grin transforming to a face filled with wrath in a heartbeat.

"A tea shop," she hissed. "Where. People. Drink. Tea. Nothing else."

Realization dawned on the guards' faces, the switch flipping so starkly that Jaune can almost read the thoughts in their heads.

Ahhhh. Yes, a tea shop. It was obviously a euphemism, meaning that this young lady in fact knew what services the Golden Cat provided, and had been trying to act as propriety demanded in that prudish way only the other nobles would understand. The reluctance to have her destination recorded, the anger, the overreaction, they came from a place of embarrassment. He and his fellow guards had not caught her guilty of trespassing, but guilty of being randy. Slowly and surely, the pieces of the story slotted into proper order, weaving a narrative which happened to affirm all their views of the aristocracy and amused them to no end. The men relaxed.

"They keep going on and on about the establishment just yonder, and I thought I would stop by for a visit. So please, be a dear? I would hate to have to explain why I was delayed," her eyes narrowed, "and who was responsible."

Yet, hilarious as the story will be to tell at the pub after their shift, the wrong move here could also cost them their heads. This was a real noble before them, no doubt about it, and a relative of some famous people to boot. It prodded them to action.

"Y-yes, miss! Just let us remove the oil tank. It won't be but a moment, and you can be on your way!"

"Your very merry way—Ow!"

"Please ignore him. Dropped on his head as a kid, he was."

The electric wall went down to allow Jaune and Tattletale entry beyond. The officer even bowed.

Jaune said nothing as they entered through the gate. He maintained a face of utmost impassiveness as they took a right turn at the fork, walking by guardsmen who were much more polite on this side of Clavering Boulevard because any civilians allowed passage could well earn a hundred times their income and carry the clout to match.

The pair ducked into a bakery, then Jaune fell over laughing without a care of how the customers inside thought. All the while, Tattletale stood over him, looking smug.

That mouth of hers could get them out of trouble as much as it lands them into trouble.

---

Author's Notes: In the same vein as last chapter, a five-minute segment turned into 5500 words. Had to stop here or it'd be days before update. Next week, they enter the Golden Cat proper. It's a tighter space with fewer elements, so one chapter should go from beginning to end.

Then again, it's a chapter about setting foot inside a brothel, and Jaune's not exactly a man of focus, commitment, and sheer fucking will or anything close. Distractions abound.

.

Upcoming story rotation…eh, let's say
Sneaking Into the Multiverse - Yakuza Arc - Sneaking Into the Multiverse - Honey Starbright - Conquered Menagerie - then who knows.

I would also appreciate it if anyone call tell me the easiest way to put pictures into the story on this site.

 

[LazyAutumnMoon]

Within the city of Dunwall, the Golden Cat existed as a world apart.

Grandiose. Gaudy. In your face. The mansion rejected the utilitarian concept prevalent throughout the surrounding neighborhoods in favor of bright colors and curving walls, domed rotundas and the nouveau styles. Parts of it resembled a fortress, elsewhere a palace. The balance of the structure had been shifted to one end, right against the waterfront, to introduce an asymmetry that further emphasized the distance between the brothel and what existed beyond the borders of the establishment. With its inspired design, the Golden Cat commanded the attention of every pair of eyes present, Jaune included.

…Yes, the architecture was what fascinated him, those massive domes and round arches. That's his story and he's sticking to it. The dozens of prostitutes at the balconies and windows posing for the public to admire, waving and blowing kisses to entice them inside, did nothing for him.

"Can you be any more obvious?" Tattletale asked in between bites of her croissant.

Oh, no! There was someone here with the ability to read his intentions!

"What? I'm scoping the place out. Checking it for weaknesses, you know?" Jaune got the impression that she did not believe him. Weakly, he offered up another excuse, "...One of the Pendletons might be dumb enough to show his face?"

Tattletale opened her mouth to retort, then paused in thought. Her subsequent grumbles were sweet music to his ears.

"Just because you have a point, doesn't mean your lies are fooling me for even a second."

It was often not the employees of the brothel visible in the windows, but clients seeking the thrill of public sex, the identities of illustrious figures who might otherwise be recognized by those below preserved by the semi-sheer gauze curtains that hinted rather than showed the acts outright. That said, a rare few have eschewed such barriers to their passion, and a passerby can clearly see the woman pressed to the glass with her breasts on display or—one floor up and a few rooms over—the man standing with arms akimbo while a head bobbed up and down at his waist level. The brothel appeared content to let it happen, the exhibitionist plays serving as a form of advertisement for the many delights that a guest could find within Dunwall's premier house of pleasure.

Thus far, the faces that Jaune could make out failed to match up with the sketches of the Pendleton brothers. Or, maybe, he was too distracted to properly tell.

"How is it going on your end? Any nosy guards thinking to check on our story?"

"Nope, I think we're in the clear. If those guys were going to follow us, they would have done it by now. It's safe to go."

One less variable that could screw them over, then. Good.

Jaune dusted off the rest of his apple danish with a few quick bites. Seeing this, Tattletale finished her own meal, and drained her teacup. The shop bell chimed a soft ting-a-ling as they exited the bakery together.

An embroidered hand fan snapped to Tattletale's hand, unfurled with a flick of her wrist. She fluttered the accessory before her face in what she must have imagined a classy manner. Jaune looked at it askance.

"Where did you get that?"

She gestured vaguely over her shoulder.

"You just stole it from someone?"

"I liberated it for the sake of our mission. And no, I'm not being hyperbolic. Do you know what the other female customers who we saw entering the brothel had in common?"

His eyes darted around for an answer, finding none. Yet, if anything, that caused Tattletale's smile behind the fan to widen. She patted him on the arm to comfort him.

"Don't worry, most people will miss it. I, on the other hand, noticed the problem right away."

A 'praise me' aura practically exuded from her in waves.

"All of them had a prop, either a parasol or a hand fan that covered their faces to some extent as a thin veneer of anonymity. It's the done thing around here and we would have drawn attention to ourselves had I gone without one. The idiots at the Hound Pits Pub neglected to think of it, which left me to take care of the issue." She sighed, shaking her head. "Good grief, it's like being in the Undersiders again."

Jaune likewise shook his head. "We could have found a shop that sells them. Or, hell, go up to the woman it belonged to and offer to buy the thing. Why did you think stealing that was necessary?"

Thievery shouldn't have been the first method they resorted to, was his point. They had other avenues to explore. Tattletale disagreed, her attitude dismissive as she listened to his spiel. Once he paused, she rolled her eyes.

"Look, it's really not that bad. In a society like this, pickpocketing is almost a game. For something so small? That woman is rich and she can afford a thousand more." She fluttered the fan for emphasis. "Then there's people like us who need to eat, who are out doing good things. A bit of theft gives us a leg up, while the worst she'd experience is a minute of ordering a servant to go buy a replacement, and now she has a story that she can whine about to her friends over tea. In the bigger scheme of things, nobody's actually getting hurt. Nobody's losing out."

There was a problem with her rationale. He cannot put into adequate words what that problem was, but it existed. It must. What kind of morality system applies different judgments to an act based on a person's wealth? Unless, she's right?

No, no. A supervillain made for an unreliable role model.

Unfortunately, debating laid outside his narrow range of expertise, and Jaune was having trouble coming up with compelling objections. Arguments along the line of 'stealing is wrong' held zero weight coming from a graverobber, and he didn't believe it anyway. A thief telling a thief not to go thieving, it sounded like a joke.

The Outsider might have been onto something. Jaune had a habit of fooling himself.

"You know I'm right," Tattletale chirped. Her cheeky grin had grown to the extent that it should have by now split her face in half. She reveled in her victory, humming as she strolled across the street.

"I can't say you're wrong. Not the same thing. We'll…talk about it later." After he had a chance to develop a defense that she won't tear straight through as if it were paper.

"Nihihi, 'kay~"

They passed through the gate of the brothel, above which the golden silhouette of a cat perched. Another cat, identical except for being taller than a full-grown man, sat atop the biggest of the dome roofs to announce the name of the building to all and sundry. Sightless, they yet seemed to peer down at Jaune and Tattletale as the two entered a private garden. At the far end, two guards stood on either sides of the entrance, and they performed a cursory scan of the pair, the gazes turning appreciative as they landed on Tattletale. With a shudder, she slipped her free hand into a hidden fold on her dress—one that Jaune did not realize even existed—and took out the keyfob for the Inhibitor on her neck. A press, and her power shut off.

"Saw waaay too much into their fetishes," was the explanation she gave, before an eruption of outcries and whistles poured down from the balconies over their heads.

"Hey, handsome!"

"So dashing! I love a man in uniform."

"Ask for Betty, hon! I'll show you a good time!"

"No, me! Tell them you want me!"

"What I would let him do—"

"What I would let them do—"

Jaune gave an awkward cough. The show of bashfulness only served to set off a new round of catcalls.

"W-Well, you sure are popular," Tattletale remarked, likewise flustered.

"Did I ever say that other universes are great? Because they are." It was proving quite difficult to keep his face from cracking into a dopey look. "And hey, you're getting some attention yourself."

"I think the main focus is still on you in those cases, just with me in the picture…" she trailed off. The embroidered fan failed to hide her blush.

Her other hand played with the controller to the choker, thumbing over the button in indecision. She eventually stored the keyfob back in the pocket without reactivating her power, and tugged on his sleeve to signal that they should hurry along. Her eyes refused to meet his.

They ascended the front steps, with Tattletale sliding closer to him to avoid the guards. One of the men opened the door for them, and…

Jaune's heart sped up. His lips went dry. It truly hit home for him that this was a brothel.

Gauze and silks and—above all—naked flesh filled his vision, spread out over the reception room and up the winding staircase. Everywhere he turned, he saw scantily clad breasts and asses, though within the last couple of seconds a few women have decided to pull at their outfits in order to bare themselves in full, directing come-hither looks at him.

Oh! That woman there was hopping up and down! Jaune stared at the bouncing pair of apple-sized breasts, hypnotized.

A nudge to his side awoke Jaune from the trance, and he looked down at his companion. Tattletale, beet red and floundering, pointed ahead at an older woman dressed in a more business-like ensemble, and sporting a face caked with makeup. The employees of the shop treated her with deference, moving out of her path. The madame of the brothel was approaching.

As quietly as he could, Jaune murmured, "She might know—"

Tattletale needed no further prompting. Pivoting her body to hide her hand, she reached for the Inhibitor keyfob in a surreptitious motion, bringing her power back on.

Her expression turned wooden.

"Welcome to the Golden Cat," the madame declared with a simpering smile. "Welcome to the time of your lives. Here, you will find the finest ladies in all the Isles, skilled in a thousand ways to give you pleasure, as you desire." She leered at Jaune. "As. You. Desire—is something wrong?"

Pale and gulping air, the best Tattletale could manage was an incomprehensible gurgle. Unable to take it anymore, she triggered the Inhibitor. Jaune leaned down to check on her.

"Ew. Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew."

She saw too much again, huh? Worse this time, from the look of it, which raised all sorts of concerns about the madame if she can outdo the two guardsmen in sheer depravity.

Ignorant as to her part in the byplay, the befuddled woman asked, "Has she taken ill? Is it," her voice lowered to a fearful whisper, "the Plague?"

Jaune deflected at once. "Oh no no, she's always been of a delicate constitution, and the perfumes here did not agree with her. It's rather cloying. Do you have a room with a balcony we can book? Some fresh air would improve her mood."

The skepticism remained, but when Jaune withdrew a money pouch from his jacket, the madame readily dropped that line of question, plus whatever other pesky inquiries she may have. Her eyes were lit up with greed.

"Let me see the rooms we have available," she said as she bustled behind the reception counter to consult a ledger. Her absence left a gap that allowed Jaune to notice a sign, set front and center of that counter, with words engraved in permanence on its surface.

What might it say? What poetic motto encapsulated the core essence for this house of pleasure?

"Please, do not ask for credit."​

In other words, money talks. How…grounded.

"The Gold Room is currently free, and it has a private balcony which offers a most beautiful view of the river. The sheets are made of silk, imported from—"

"I'll take it."

Showing her experience, she took the curt reply in stride, and changed her style of conversation to suit.

"The price is two hundred gold ones, for a maximum of an hour. Girls come separately, fifty upfront."

Jaune placed a second money pouch on the counter to total three hundred or so, thinking that he'd get the difference back. He did not. The madame left the bag where it laid, and swept her arms wide to indicate the courtesans.

She's going to pocket the extra coins on the sly, wasn't she?

"Very good, milord! Have any of the girls caught your fancy?"

He glanced at Tattletale, receiving no help there. Without her power, she was as lost as he. In lack of guidance, Jaune just pointed on a whim at one of the employees, the bouncy woman. The ensuing jeers and whines of disappointment only ended when the madame raised her voice. Afterward, she called to the selected courtesan.

"Verity, lead our esteemed guests to the Gold Room. And I had better hear that you've shown them the level of service our establishment is known for."

"Yes, Madame Prudence."

"And dear?" The older woman stopped Tattletale. She tried to pull her aside, but Tattletale would have none of it, dodging from her grasp, so the madame settled for speaking in a hush. "If you would like, you can step into this parlor here before you go, and I'll have one of my girls retouch your makeup. We have a new paint that will cover those unfortunate freckles of yours right up."

Shy Tattletale vanished, leaving outraged Tattletale.

Spitting mad, the girl snarled, "I think I'll live with my freckles, thanks. Just like you'll have to live with that itch, and the clap, the crab, the pox, the—" Jaune pressed his fingers over her lips to halt the tirade.

"Excuse us. She has been stressed lately, hence our coming here." He squinted his eyes in a glare, playing up the lover angle. "However, I expect an apology for your insinuation. Her freckles are cute."

Behind his hand, Tattletale squeaked.

"E-ehem, my apologies, miss," The shell-shocked madame managed to stutter out. The warmth she faked had disappeared due to the scathing remarks, and Jaune detected a tinge of panic to her, as if a dozen ignored symptoms had taken on new meaning in the past half a minute. Her eyes darted past them. "Verity! Hurry up and get to work!"

Subtext, distract them for me!

The prostitute executed an inept curtsy as Jaune and Tattletale turned their attention to her, and proceeded to—very happily—mould herself to Jaune's other side, towing the two of them to the staircase, whose wall was adorned by the many pictures of notable past employees.

Their ascent was slow going, hampered by the large number of people crowding the steps, who saw their last chance to tempt Jaune. They whispered promises in his ears of sensual delights. Soft hands caressed his arms and chest, moving ever lower until the boldest among them cupped his bulge. It opened the floodgate for competition between the courtesans, a game to arouse him to the limit, and he quickly hardened under their ministrations.

So threatened by the many contenders throwing their hat in the ring, the woman named Verity had to protect her claim. She did it by taking his hand and placing it on top of her bust.

…Not wanting to be rude (and for absolutely no other reasons), he gave her tit a firm squeeze. Fascinated, he brushed his fingers over her nipple, eliciting a sweet "Ahn~" to send a thrill up his spine. In return, Verity arched her back in encouragement, and slipped both arms behind his head, drawing him down.

Tattletale, who the woman seemed to have treated as an afterthought in all this, cleared her throat and brought their focus to the fact that they've stopped at the top of the stairs for a while now.

"Our room?" she pressed, while slapping away a couple of errant hands that were more interested in her than him. Jaune groaned in the realization that he'd have to walk around in his current condition.

The second floor, much like the lobby, featured wallpaper of a vivid red that cast everything in a rosy glow. Gold gildings decorated the door frames and furniture. Portraits of half-clothed or nude women, and abstract sculptures suggesting the same, lended the brothel an air of opulence mixed with eroticism, designed to excite those who walked within its halls.

Folding screens partitioned off corners to create places of intimacy throughout, divans occupied by couples who flirted and teased—and from fleeting glimpses, often moving onto more pleasurable things. City Watch guards were present to provide security, though Jaune hesitated to say they were doing a good job of it, what with the majority of them engaging in activities far outside their scope of responsibility.

Fucking. They were fucking.

Facilitating a rescue of the princess should be a breeze if this was the opposition they face.

At the far end of the hall can be heard a cacophony of voices, music, and laughter, muffled by a set of closed doors. As Verity was leading them towards it, Tattletale directed Jaune's attention to a piece of decoration hanging on the wall.

It was a rune.

Jaune mouthed 'no'. Tattletale mouthed 'yes'. He palmed his face when she used the opening of Verity walking ahead to the doors to dart over and snatched the rune from its resting place, running back and tucking it under his jacket just as Verity looked around.

"And here we have the pride and joy of the Golden Cat."

She threw open the doors to reveal the central rotunda, two massive floors arranged in an open space layout. Musicians played on harps to provide an ambient song for the room. Couches were nestled under trees and flowers, blending comfort with nature.

That may, perhaps, be the reason so many people have chosen to get back to the natural state of mankind, discarding their clothes to join together in a writhing mass. Decorum, standards, propriety, the trappings of civilization so valued by Dunwall's nobility fell by the wayside, replaced by simple lust. Couples, throuples, harems, reverse-harems, there were little distinctions as people switched to whatever group activity caught their fancy. Sexual acts that Jaune had not ever fathomed were performed for all to see.

Their guide snickered at the shocked look on Jaune's and Tattletale's faces.

"Would you prefer we stop here for a while? Normally, there is an additional charge, but I'm sure you two would be so popular that another patron will cover the cost in a heartbeat."

An overwhelmed Tattletale shook her head. "Nope. Nuh-uh." She ducked behind Jaune. "I'm fine staying outside of it. Jaune, let's go."

Verity glanced at him, and he shrugged.

"So the lady says."

This was way too high level for him, in any case. Like, he could not even guess at a name for what was happening over by that one corner. They appeared to be…imitating the spinning blades on a helicopter? Did helicopters exist yet in this universe? Tattletale had the right of it. Nope. Nuh-uh. Count him out.

Verity giggled, and said to Tattletale, "Don't worry, I understand you completely. I wouldn't want his eyes wandering too far from me, either. Two or three of the other girls, maybe. Anymore and I'd get lonely~"

Undermined by the need to maintain their cover story as an adventurous pair of lovers who did want to bring in a few paramours, Tattletale's vehement protests fell on deaf ears as Verity ushered them up another staircase. The woman took the opportunity to return Jaune's hand to her breasts, inviting him to thoroughly explore the expanse of soft flesh. Her moans set his blood afire, and he nearly missed the topmost step as they arrived at the new floor, which took the form of a mezzanine balcony wrapping around the interior of the rotunda. An entire section of the outer wall had been removed to grant the floor natural lighting, with an open air view of the city and river; a cool breeze flowed in to rustle the foliage.

This area exhibited a calmer, quieter mood. People were not as frantic, often conversing in leisure, casually disregarding their various states of undress. The space at the center allowed spectators, drinks in hand, to watch the orgy below during the lulls between their own carnal activities. At regular intervals along the wall, doors led off to private rooms, each bearing a title on a sign. Jaune spied one labeled 'Gold Room'.

Heavily turned on, Verity hurried them inside before shutting the doors and, unable to wait another second, the courtesan fell into Jaune's arms.

With a sleep dart stuck to her back.

Jaune looked beyond her to the culprit. "Oh, come on! You couldn't wait, Tattletale?"

"It was necessary for the mission. You should thank me for the initiatives I'm taking." She avoided his eyes, and her voice spoke in monotone.

"You know, with how skittish you're acting about sex, I would almost swear that you have even less experience than me."

Her silence told him the truth. He froze, then barked out a laugh. "And you had the gall to make fun of me for it, Ms. Virgin!"

"Shut uuuup! This is new for me, okay? Let's see you get a deductive superpower, and watch what it does to your love life. You would have puked on that girl when she first touched you."

Jaune opened his mouth to retort. Tattletale cut him off.

"Your power might then describe to you in detail how much she liked it, and that she wants to return the favor."

Jaune closed his mouth, and shuddered in disgust.

As Tattletale stormed off to dispose of the dart by throwing it off the private balcony, Jaune hauled Verity over to the bed. He laid her down, and drew the covers up.

"Should we leave some money?"

"Do it. I don't need superpowers to tell us that the fifty gold will go straight into the old biddy's pocket. This girl's livelihood is whatever she can earn in these rooms."

Jaune dropped a stack of coins on the nightstand. After Tattletale reminded him of the chaos that would probably visit this place in the next few days if they accomplish their objectives, he plonked down the last of their money pouches. Hopefully, it would let the courtesan tide over the coming lapse in business.

The doors to the Gold Room cracked open. Two pairs of eyes peeped out. The coast wasn't clear, people were around, but nobody paid actual notice to things outside of their little bubble unless it's wildly erotic. Two patrons, still clothed, should be boring enough to pass under the radar.

Jaune and Tattletale slipped out onto the main area, and began traveling along the wall on a path that would allow them to pass the other private parlors. At each one, they tested the handle to see if any unlocks. The plan was not particularly discreet, though at the same time the worst reaction they've garnered were indulgent chuckles from patrons who thought them a couple of voyeurs. Par for the course, in the Golden Cat.

They struck gold at the Smoke Room, for while they cannot open the door, pressing their ears to its surface lets them eavesdrop. A phrase recurred often in the conversation they heard, used to address one of the occupants. 'Lord Pendleton'.

"Let's nab him!" Tattletale suggested.

He considered the scenario. The room contained at least four people. In the event the pair effected an ambush, it'd get loud in short order. They might subdue one, maybe two, before the rest raised the alarm.

"Leave him alone. If we have trouble finding his brother or Emily, we can come back and risk it. Otherwise, we'll tell Corvo when we see him to let the professional handle the matter."

Sneaking away, they descended the stairs to repeat the same process on the first floor. To provide another layer of subterfuge, he snagged a glass of some fizzy, alcoholic drink that he wasn't familiar with off a serving tray and used it as a prop to appear casual, providing a cover for Tattletale to hide behind as she poked her head inside the various side rooms.

She discovered something in the Silver Room, but she refused to talk about it, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know given how fast she vacated that area. The Ivory Room, on the other hand…

"Tattletale, I think that's enough."

"Nnn."

"Unless he's hiding under the bed, the other Pendleton brother isn't in there."

Her hitched breaths was all that answered him, the girl captivated by the scene within the Ivory Room to the point that a glimpse had stretched on to become twenty or so seconds of her fidgeting in place. The situation resembled their alibi, two women and a man together on a bed, and rather than the animalistic rutting one would find out here, their acts ran softer, sweeter. It slipped past her guard, and didn't shock her budding interest in sex back into a shell of denial. The result was a flushed, trembling Tattletale unsure of what to do.

When words failed to work, Jaune grabbed her shoulder and gave her a light shake.

She was still out of it when she looked up at him, dazed eyes blinking once, twice. As her senses returned, the half-lidded gaze transformed to a mortified expression.

"...Bye." She spun on her heels, and attempted to bolt out of the brothel. Jaune hooked an arm around her waist to reel her back.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, it's cool. I understand."

"I would really rather that you don't, so erase that memory!"

Jaune laughed. "That's just the embarrassment talking. Nobody minds that you're a little perverted."

"Don't say it like that! I was only curious, that's all!"

"And it's natural to be curious, there is nothing to be ashamed of." With effort, Jaune schooled his face into a seemingly kind smile. "Look, there comes a time in everyone's life when they start to feel these urges—"

Tattletale was ready to run again, but paused as realization dawned. She scrutinized him with suspicion.

"You're screwing with me, aren't you?"

"No, you shot the prostitute before you and I could work up to that."

The corner of her lips twitched. Tattletale tried for a comeback; it died in her throat and a snicker slipped out unbidden. Biting down on her cheek, she shook in place as she suppressed the laughter that threatened to burst forth. Jaune waited for her mirth to subside.

Once she had regained control of herself, Tattletale pointed at him.

"We never mention this again."

A nod. "Except when it's funny."

She glared at him without heat, and hip-checked him in passing as she made for the rotunda's exit. Jaune hurried to match her pace.

"Hey, wait! There's a steam bath on the lower level. Aren't we going to take a look?"

They stopped, turning to examine the entrance to the Steam Room located near the central area. It had a towel rack and baskets with which to store clothes. Oh, and a massive orgy blocking the path to it.

"Nevermind. "

"Good call."

Reentering the hallway, they walked at a sedate speed, taking the time to study the situation. A few guards and courtesans still populated the space. By this point, only a single one held to a semblance of professionality. A group of employees were doing their best to change that, making a game of it to the amusement of the man's colleagues, who placed bets or shouted advice—mainly that he should stop handling his sword, and start handling his 'sword'.

Jaune felt a tug on his sleeve, and sent Tattletale a questioning look. She indicated a door on the far side of the hall, labeled 'Personnel Only'. He glanced again at the scene of merriment, noting who might have the door in their field of vision. A plan formed when he saw a divan set in the corner adjacent to the entry, half-hidden behind an ornamental folding screen. He led Tattletale to it, and invited her to sit down.

Then, Jaune grabbed the screen, and shifted it on an angle to better block the corner from sight.

"Did anyone notice that?" he asked.

"One woman did. She's saying something to the person next to her…" Tattletale chanced to switch on her power, and continued observing. "She's smirking. Thinks we're going to, um, you know. They don't care much. Seen it before. Joined in before—" Her nose scrunched and, with a struggle, she cut off that train of thought, closing her eyes.

"Bad?"

"They changed the couch. I didn't get what exactly happened here, but they already changed the couch, so it's fine. We don't need to burn this dress afterward."

"Keep thinking happy thoughts, Tattletale."

Jaune waited there behind the screen for confirmation that everybody had forgotten them. After that came a series of incremental movements, relocating the screen further and further to the side until it obscured the employee door. Tattletale was the first inside, ready with a number of believable excuses ("Ohoho, guide me to the powder room, peon.") should she meet a person there. Jaune followed on her heels, and closed the door behind themselves.

This side of the entryway put them on a staircase landing, one that stood in stark contrast to the luxurious atmosphere they just left. An old, stained carpet laid on a scuffed floor. The plaster on the walls was falling off, and pieces of broken furniture were stuffed in a corner for later disposal. Water dripped from leaking pipes. There were no decorative plants to spruce up the place, nor signs of casual life. Behind the fantasy of the Golden Cat existed a drab, mundane house of little note.

Opposite them laid a partially opened door. It's in better shape than the rest of the area. A mailbox rested beside it, with a chair in case anyone needed to sit as they wait.

Tattletale put the clues together.

"The madame's office." She tilted her head. "It's occupied."

Neither needed to say a word. Together, they crept up alongside the door, peering in.

The office followed the trend of dim lights and barebone features, though improved by the framed portraits of—presumably—previous madames hanging on the walls. Someone had dropped a table, a chair, and a cabinet into the center and called it a day. Markings of furniture long since removed spoke of better days gone. Madame Prudence was standing by the table, hunched over a book.

"Writing in a ledger. Muttering. Muttering names…and checking the map on the wall. She's recording who's in what room." Tattletale flashed a predatory grin, all teeth bared. "Wait for her to finish. The moment she's done, we get her."

"Right!" Jaune acknowledged.

They did not have to wait for long. Minutes later, the madame completed the last stroke of a name and laid down her fountain pen. Jaune took that as his cue. His vision narrowed to a point, and his arm came up. A finger snap, and the sleeve of his overcoat whipped in the air as a sleep dart launched from the wristbow beneath. His aim was true, and the dart stabbed into the shoulder of Madame Prudence.

The concoction affected her at once, and she lost control of her facial expressions, a yelp fading to a slurring yawn, with her limbs loosening. Jaune rushed forward, seizing her before she hit the floor. He tossed her into the chair.

A stroke of inspiration prompted him to rearrange her form. Arms crossed on the desk surface, head went on top, pushed the chair in, and…voilà.

Anybody stopping by here in the next few hours would see a woman napping.

Skipping back to Tattletale, Jaune raised his hand above her. "High-five! We did good!"

Tattletale's palm met her forehead instead of his hand.

"You weren't supposed to knock her out!"

Jaune stumbled to a halt. "Say what?"

"I said to get her—"

"Yeah." He mimed aiming the wristbow. "Fwip. Got her."

"—as in capturing her, to ply her for information on Emily's whereabouts."

…

Ahhhh. Jaune looked at Tattletale, then at the unconscious woman who certainly won't be waking up for the rest of the afternoon, then at Tattletale once more.

Stumped on how to fix his mistake, he dithered, scratching his cheek in the awkward silence. When no solution presented itself, his gaze fell to the floor in shame. If it was possible for a gloomy rain cloud to appear over him, it would have.

"That was my bad. Sorry, Tattletale."

The speech that Tattletale was building up to deflated to nothing, her annoyed posture slackening.

"No, it's…communication issues. Stuff like that happens." She waved a hand dismissively. "We'll work on it in the future. For now, let's check around for clues." She made a beeline for the ledger. " *whisper*...like a fucking puppy, I swear…*whisper* "

While Tattletale perused the records, Jaune searched the madame's pockets, finding a key. He moved on to the cabinet, which held a number of knick-knacks irrelevant to their purposes. Scanning the room, his gaze alighted on a stack of papers.

Tattletale beat him to it. She flipped through the stack, skimming at a feverish speed until she snatched one out of the pile.

"Yes! I'm amazing!" She spun the piece of paper around and pushed it at his face. "Jaune, I got it. The princess is being kept in the dormitories, somewhere above us. Prudence carries a master key for all the doors on her—" She saw the key he was holding. "That's the one!" Tattletale raised her hand for a high-five, and he slapped it on instinct.

"Do you have the location of the other Pendleton brother?"

"I do. Turns out he was in the steam baths. Room Two."

And that was three for three on where to find every objective of their mission.

"We head upward, first," he decided. "See what rooms this key opens. One of them will have Emily Kaldwin."

Leaving the office, Jaune was careful to shut the door, and since he now had the master key, secured it for good measure. The next level up held one such locked entryway. No sounds came from within, however, and on gaining access revealed an empty bedroom. The madame's if he had to guess. Better furnished than the office, if still shabby compared to the furniture used on the brothel side.

For the sake of thoroughness, Jaune checked the nooks and crannies, like under the bed.

"Nothing."

"Something~"

Jaune turned towards the other corner of the room, seeing a happy Tattletale showing off a couple of orbs half the size of her fists. Behind her, a chest with its lid unlatched.

"Lookie. Pearls."

"They're not yours."

"They shouldn't be Prudence's either," Tattletale countered. "Reason one, she's holding a child captive. Two, she mistreats her employees. Three, she forces them to give her their pay. Four, these are the crimes I've discovered so far. Is it really stealing if we take from a person like that? I call it justice. Justice!"

"Why not give those pearls to the employees, then?"

The grin flickered. "Do not. It'd only need one person to squeal and whoever we hand this to will become reason number five."

Jaune searched her face for a hint of that being a joke. There were none.

"...Alright."

Tattletale fist-pumped in victory. "Hell yeah! Now grab that bone charm from the mantelpiece, if you don't mind."

Give an inch and take a mile, this girl.

He walked to the fireplace, and sure enough there was a small talisman of similar design to the one tucked under his shirt. Greed bubbled up in his chest. They were connected in some way with the Void. Activated by its presence, which he now carried wherever he went. Without thinking, Jaune reached out, then hesitated and looked at Tattletale again. She offered encouraging gestures, smiling bright.

Oh, what the hell. He plucked the charm from its resting place, to much applause from the peanut gallery. The moment his hand touched it, an icy chill rushed up his arm as another boon took hold. Jaune checked the Company Scroll for an explanation.

Bone Charm
Universe: Dishonored
Harmless superstition, or foul witchery? Good luck charm, or the conduit to a place Outside?
That's not up to you to decide.
Under certain circumstances, this accessory is capable of granting esoteric abilities.
Effect:
Strong Arms - slight increase in strength, limited to the arms, from shoulder to fingertips.

Very useful, despite the vagueness. He'd have to test what a 'slight increase' translated to in terms of performance later on.

"From your ecstatic face, I'm guessing it's a good result?"

"Yup, and easier to understand than the previous one, too." Jaune stowed the charm with the other accessory, and swept his gaze over the bedroom. "Still no princess to be found, though. Next floor?"

"Let's."

A return to the stairs, a last flight of steps, and they were standing on the topmost level. The worst part of the brothel that they have seen by far.

The peek Jaune got inside the empty dormitory delivered a sobering view into the life of a Golden Cat prostitute. It was no glamorous thing. The outfit she wore for work may be the fanciest thing she owned.

The women lived dozens to a room. What personal possessions they owned laid under their beds, or next to ratty, old mattresses spread on the floor. Narrow windows, drafty and caked in grime, were the sole sources of light.

"Jaune, over here," Tattletale called from up ahead. She was crouched at a closed door, trying to catch a glimpse of the interior through a keyhole. Jaune padded over with the key.

Creeeeak.

The door swung open on rusty hinges. Most of the space was bare. Incongruously, rich curtains in red covered the far wall. A keen eye would spot the nails securing them to block the window. In lieu of it, Candlelight provided illumination.

A corner of the room had been partitioned off by assorted pieces of random furniture. A mattress, a child's drawings, a pair of shoes…the shoes moved. They twitched, then pulled behind an upended coffee table. After a couple of seconds, a head poked above it.

"Who are you people?" the girl asked in a wary tone.

Short, dark hair. Young age. A certain Corvo-like demeanor that said she would not hesitate to attack if they failed to give her a satisfactory answer.

Quite possibly, Emily Kaldwin.

Tattletale's widening grin confirmed it. "We're your rescuers, princess. Say hello, Jaune."

Jaune showed a friendly smile to the kid, and threw a sloppy salute.

"Emily, right? We were hired by Corvo to take you out of this place."

The name did the trick. She brightened with a hopeful look, and scrambled out from cover to rush at them.

"Corvo—he's alive!? Is he here? They said he was dead—in the prison, with an ax—I knew they were lying!" Her voice rose in volume as she stammered on and on, head darting over their shoulders as if she would spot Corvo walking in any second now.

Jaune took a knee to match their eye levels, and did his best to calm her down before somebody heard. Meanwhile, Tattletale explained.

"He had to take a different route, but he was so worried about you that he sent us ahead." She extended a hand to pat the younger girl on the head, sweetly chirping, "You'll get to see him soon."

Smack.

Tattletale held her slapped hand, staring blankly in shock as Emily withdrew out of her reach, behind Jaune.

"I'm not dumb. People always use that voice when they want to lie to me. I don't trust you."

"Oh, ho. Hoho." Tattletale narrowed her eyes. "How precious."

"Don't go fighting a girl younger than you, Tattletale," Jaune cautioned. "She didn't mean it. And Emily, I can assure you that my friend here means well. She's bad at expressing her kind side, but she's a good person." He thought about what he said, and amended. "Maybe…some of the time…on a rare occasion."

Tattletale whined, "Boo! Whose side are you on?"

"But am I wrong, though?"

Emily giggled as Tattletale fell silent. The latter winked at Jaune from an angle the girl could not see.

The laughter soon ended, and Emily pulled on Jaune's shirt to get his attention.

"Is Corvo really coming?"

"Definitely, and you know what? I'll go get him." He dropped a hand on her head, and ruffled her hair—Tattletale growled when he didn't earn a slap from the princess for that. On her part, Emily showed a displeased face at the prospect of staying behind with Tattletale for company, and had to be dissuaded on the idea of moving as a group through the main brothel area. She understood the reason, at least, and as he left, the two of them were setting to the task of tearing a strip off the curtains for use as a hood that would conceal her face.

The last he heard upon leaving earshot was Emily asking "Why does he call you a tattletale?"

He remained undiscovered as he descended the staircase. Back on the level he entered from, he checked in on the madame's office to ensure nobody had unlocked the door in his absence, before returning to the ritzier section of the brothel.

It did not hold the same allure as the first go-round, not after his tour of the underside hidden behind the walls. There may have been a truth to the fantasy once, as seen in the gallery of past stars taking pride of place, but no longer.

He charted a wandering course, staying on the periphery while flitting between the floors with catlike, ninja grace.

"Oh, my. Are you alone? Let me keep you company, milord~"

"That's okay, miss. I'm just passing by."

Catlike, ninja grace.

"Hello, handsome. Fancy a tumble with me?"

"And with her twin?"

"And us, too?"

"N-no. I'm fine. Got my own appointment waiting and everything."

Catlike, ninja grace.

"Could you help the two of us settle a little debate?"

"Whose butt is better, in your opinion? My tight, plush rear or…"

"Mrphlshgurgle—*choking noises*"

…Catlike…ninja…

Oh, who was he kidding? He attracted notice wherever he roamed, fending off propositions with increasing regret. After a fruitless circuit of the rotunda, Jaune retreated—light-headed—to the divan in the corner, taking a pause to calm down, let certain things settle, and reassess his plan.

Once his mind cleared, Jaune saw the path forward. He closed his eyes, and channeled his inner Ren.

Now, if he was the cool, silent assassin type who wanted to avoid notice, where would he hide?

"He wants to return home. Less, with each new day."​

Above!

He snapped his head up towards the ceiling, from whence the creepy whispers emanated, and met the gaze of a metal skull. The dark figure was crawling on an overhead ledge that encircled the hall, located near the top of the walls, meant for showcasing curios and plant pots. People hadn't realized, because people never look up.

Jaune waved. Corvo waved back.

He then pointed a thumb at the entryway, the gesture acknowledged with a nod. Sidling off the couch, he turned the doorknob, and left the hall.

Corvo was already there, leaning on the railings.

"Wha—" He whirled to look back the way he came, then spun to the man. "How did you get here before me? The door was shut!"

Infuriatingly, the man just shrugged his shoulders.

Perhaps his teleportation functioned without line of sight. Still, the maneuver would have involved phasing to an unknown location and a posture change from horizontal to vertical in an instant. The first was a risk, the second defied logic. Something else was at work.

"Heh. If this was a fantasy novel, I would have thought you were a timestopper."

Corvo froze at the off-hand comment.

…No frigging way. This guy was playing around with space and time, while Jaune got from the Outsider the equivalent of those telescopic pointer sticks that university professors use?

Seeeeethe.

It must have shown on his face, because Corvo coughed, and deliberately changed the subject.

"How have you fared? I do not see your companion with you. Is she unharmed?"

"Yeah, she's fine," Jaune shook off his envy, and flashed a victory sign. "Better yet, she is with Emily up top. Follow—" In the space of a blink, Corvo vanished— "me. Well, alright then."

He retraced the path to the dormitories and heard the reunion before he saw it. In the princess's former prison two people laughed their hearts out. Corvo, unmasked, swung Emily around in his arms, an uncharacteristic grin on his face as the girl whooped in delight. Tattletale stood to the side to give them space.

He sidled over to her, nudging her on the side.

"Heartwarming, isn't it?"

She squeed under her breath. "We did it, we are soooo getting paid!"

Of course. Don't know what he expected. Then again, was that her only thoughts on the matter, or a mask she wore? He leaned down, studying her closely.

"Stop looking at meeee!"

Proving that he had heard them, Corvo said, "Yes, you will be paid handsomely for what you have done today. Thank you, truly."

"No big deal," Jaune replied. "Happy to help."

He played cool, but internally? Shit, hearing such honest gratitude felt amazing.

Tattletale cut in. "You gotta remember the bonus too, 'kay? We've located the Pendleton brothers. Custis is in the Smoking Room on the third floor, and Morgan can be found in room Two of the steam baths for another hour or so."

"That…that is impressive. I had worried the detour I took would result in my failure, but you've accomplished more than I can imagine in your time here."

"And?"

He chuckled. "And, yes, I will ensure you get your bonus."

The man's good mood then slowly faded, leaving a troubled expression. He seemed to be having difficulty finding the words, and his grip tightened on Emily.

The assassin faced a choice. Staying with his (secret) daughter, or completing the mission. She solved the dilemma for him.

"I can leave first, um, with them?" Emily pointed at the pair of Jaune and Tattletale. "I know where there's a special door to come and go, for very important people! I almost escaped through it twice! They can lead me out, while you take care of those horrible brothers?"

"Are you certain this is what you want?" Corvo asked, hesitant.

She rapidly nodded. "Those men were awful, and absolutely mean to me!"

Jaune took a big step back from Corvo, as did Tattletale. They did not envy the two Pendletons at the moment. The look on the assassin promised death, or worse.

"I understand, Emily." Corvo put her down. "Your plan has merit—that is," he turned his gaze on the two otherworld travelers, "if you are amenable to this arrangement."

"We do need to leave the building," answered Tattletale first, with Jaune following up.

"And we're headed to the same boat anyway." The man appeared to still have reservations on leaving his daughter, and so Jaune continued. "Nothing around here can stop me, you know that. You go do your job, I'll get her to safety."

He gripped Jaune by the arm, and leveled an intent scowl at him. "Do you swear?"

The answer came easy.

"Sure. Promise, man."

Corvo continued to match his gaze, searching for signs of deceit. Until, he gave a firm nod, and moved to Emily to bid her a temporary farewell. Then, he was gone, slipping around the corner as a shadow.

Left behind, the little princess did not remain idle. She grabbed Jaune by the hand and pulled him along towards the stairs, running down it with Tattletale on their heels. They breezed past the main office unchallenged, tip-toed at the ground floor landing to not alert the courtesans in the lobby, then continued below that to a basement level that hosted a simple metal door. Above it, a signboard engraved with the words 'V.I.P. Exit'.

"Pretty clear that this is it. I'll take point, and check for guards. Tattletale, watch our tail, and Emily can stay between the two of us." He grasped the door handle.

"He promised. That means something."​

He jolted, twisting to peer at their surroundings, and at the higher floor. Was that a glint of steel in the darkest corner?

"Jaune, what's up?"

"...Nothing, Tattletale. Must have been hearing things."

Lucky for them, the space beyond the door was devoid of other people. It also ill suited the pretentious name given by the Golden Cat's management. The business didn't exactly roll out the red carpet for guests using the route. The room was just a loading area for supplies that happened to lead out the back of the building. VIP entrance, indeed.

They crossed the space, and the master key perfectly fitted the lock to the exit at the far side, depositing them into a long tunnel. There were people populating the vicinity, though their ragged clothes and the indications of meals and makeshift beds in the passageway marked them as those that have gravitated to this place after losing their homes, and unaffiliated to the Golden Cat.

Their group garnered some glances for their manner of dress as they walked down the tunnel, and the inhabitants made sure to maintain a wide berth from them. The wariness spoke of harsh experiences with the patrons employing the brothel's back entrance.

The gradual brightening of the passage let them know when they were close to its terminus, and Emily picked up her pace, though Jaune matched her easily with his strides. They spied the end of the alley after brushing past a strange elderly woman—who insisted on taking whiffs of him for unstated reasons, muttering something about dark eyes—and the girl broke into a run on the last stretch.

And then, the trio were outside, standing on the curb of a main thoroughfare, in a part of the city that has retained a bit of life. Nowhere fancy, its pedestrians were of the working sort. Shops yet kept their doors open for business, and personal vehicles traveled on the rails installed in the street. Nobody recognized the little girl wearing a red hood over her head looking up at the sky.

"Sniff, sniff."

Jaune and Tattletale both blinked, then peered down at the princess.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" he asked, worried, though he needn't be.

The glimpse of her face under the red hood was not of pain, but joy.

"I-I finally did it." Another sniffle. "It's been so long. Months, you know?"

Jaune did his best to not cry himself. Tattletale had no such qualms, wiping a teardrop from her eye.

"Yeah…yeah, I get it, Emily."

The streets were dirty. The air smelled of smoke. The city's in turmoil, and trouble lay on the horizon.

But the sky sure was blue.

---

Author's Notes:
One of Tattletale's bad habits is coming out. "Just a little crime is okay", "it doesn't really hurt anyone", "think of it like a game of cops and robbers". It didn't end well when the shoulder devil did it in Worm canon.

I've taken a few liberties. You're not going to see an orgy if you play the game, because Bethesda and other studios aren't crazy enough to make a AAA, XXX game for mass consumption, what with rules set down by Sony/Microsoft/Nintendo/etc. There are also hardware limitations in what they can reasonably program at the time. They do, however, choose to suggest things in the details. In-game, strewn haphazardly about the public areas of Golden Cat are discarded clothes, both male and female, to show what activities might take place in the building.

 

[LazyAutumnMoon]

Whatever fate befell the Pendleton brothers, Jaune never found out.

Were they strung up in front of the brothel guests as an example for enemies of the crown? Perhaps, they simply suffered unfortunate accidents, dead via a scalding blast of steam in the Baths or a bad supply in the hookah pipes of the Smoking Room. It's also conceivable that they were, in actual fact, still alive at this time, whisked away by associates of Corvo to where they will no longer see the light of day.

One man knew, and he refused to say, assuring them that the matter had been resolved to his satisfaction. Jaune supposed it came down to what flavor of vengeance the former bodyguard ascribed to.

It was not mercy the brothers received, was all Tattletale could derive from the clues.

To Emily Kaldwin, none of that mattered. Rescued from her tormentors, reunited with the person she regarded as the closest thing to a father, the princess to the Empire of the Isles looked towards the future, not the past, and reveled in her freedom, head turning every which way to absorb the sights she had missed during her captivity. Among the many points of fascination, the two strangers who aided in her escape.

And as Jaune once again activated Crocea Mors, transforming the sheath to a shield, the girl stared agog.

"Wooooow!" she exclaimed to Jaune's delight.

Why couldn't people from Remnant be more like Emily? On any occasion his classmates ask him to demonstrate the sword's mechashift, it's always "Show us the third form!" and "Does it turn into a gun?", with never a speck of appreciation for what he thought was a very practical bit of gadgetry.

"This thing's been through a war, so don't think of it as a showpiece," he bragged. "It's slain monsters, protected settlements from bandits, and seen all kinds of adventures!"

Starry-eyed, the princess looked at Crocea Mors as if it were a treasure.

"Ahem."

The cough came from Corvo. In a casual manner, he twirled the handle of his sword. With a series of soft clicks, the blade unfolded and snapped into place. He brandished it to catch the sunlight.

His face fell in disappointment when Emily did not take notice, riveted as she was on the details of Jaune's weapon, her hand tracing the twin-crescent emblem of the Arc family. The ornate gildings lent it a regal air, so befitting a weapon used by heroes in times past, and even on first glance, one could just imagine the stories it had played a part in. Contrast that with the folding sword of an assassin, a wicked thing built to inspire dread. It was no contest.

Jaune shrugged his shoulders while showing an apologetic expression to Corvo. The man accepted it with good grace. That ended as Emily opened her mouth to speak.

"Are you, um…by any chance, are you a prince?"

And now Corvo was looking at him like his last name was Pendelton.

Before he could answer, Tattletale cut into the conversation, cooing, "Awww, how sweet~ He does give an impression of one, doesn't he? Fancy clothes, fancy sword, saving people left and right, a face that can charm a princess…" Emily flinched. Tattletale grinned. "But honey, he's as close to a peasant as you will find."

"Hurtful", he commented. Hard to argue, though. No identity, no home or job. Pockets full of stolen goods. A squatter. Also, technically speaking, hadn't he dropped out of school?

What a catch.

Tattletale waved him off to continue. "The world isn't like the fairy tales, Emily, that it would be kind to sweet, dainty girls. Better to be like me, who knows what's what and can take care of herself." She crossed her arms, and nodded in the fashion of one who had dispensed sage wisdom.

"I bet you're just mooching off of him."

Tattletale's composure cracked like glass.

"Hah? Say that again, little girl! He would be dead without me!"

The two of them sniped back and forth, and things devolved into an argument from there, one that lasted the rest of the trip. Jaune chimed in from time to time for the sake of reigning in Tattletale, preempting her more acerbic retorts, while the princess mounted a defense with surprising skill; a royal education must have left its mark. It made for a boisterous journey from the Golden Cat, and came to a close with the sighting of the Hound Pits Pub.

They arrived on the docks to a welcome party consisting of Joplin the inventor, Treavor Pendleton, and a woman who Jaune learned was to be Emily' caretaker. Further along, the Pub was rousing into a hive of activity, servants running pell-mell to prepare for royalty staying on the premises, while the rank and file Loyalists craned their necks to get a glimpse of their future ruler. She waved, and a cheer went up to startle the girl.

Amidst this scene of celebration, the only person to not crack a smile was Pendleton. A sullen glare greeted Jaune, Tattletale, and Corvo as they approached him.

"It's done then? They're…gone?"

Corvo nodded. "Gone. Never to have another night at the royal court. The title, the votes, the power, they're yours now."

A myriad of emotions passed by Pendleton's face. It settled into despondency.

"The Loyalist Conspiracy thanks you for your work." A shaky breath. He worked his jaw, trying to find the words. "I don't know if I can. My own brothers…" His gaze fell to the ground.

"So, didya have our payment ready?" Tattletale asked with a bright smile, and Jaune slapped a hand over his face.

"Fucking—! He just lost his family, have some tact!"

"What? The guy hates them, asks us to kill them, then resents us after we gave him everything he ever wanted in life?" Tattletale scoffed. "Come off it. Half of that was for show, so he can welch on the payment."

Immediately, Jaune and Corvo looked back to the noble.

"I—That is—Why, I never!" The indignant spluttering garnered nothing except flat stares from the people present.

"Are we getting paid?" Jaune asked point blank.

"Of course!"

Tattletale muttered under her breath. "Well, now we are."

"We are simply," Pendleton waffled a bit, "in the process of gathering the requested funds and goods. It won't do for us to attract notice, hence it shall require a while longer." His eyes flicked to the side, searching for a way out of the conversation. "M–More importantly, I have news of our next step! Havelock left me these instructions." He rifled through his pockets. "Ah. Here we are."

"Havelock isn't here?" Corvo asked as he took the sheet of paper, reading it. Tattletale went on the tips of her toes to get a peek.

"He and Martin both had matters elsewhere to take care of, and entrusted me with briefing you on your mission."

"Anton Sokolov. You want me to abduct the Royal Physician?"

Now, where did he hear that name before? Jaune mulled it over to arrive at the memory of a glowing, red vial. The man was the one who created an elixir that was supposed to stave off the Rat Plague, Piero Joplin's hated rival.

Meanwhile, Pendleton answered Corvo. "It is a risky move, I know. However, Martin and Havelock have discovered a momentous opportunity. One of the greatest obstacles to us deposing Burrows is his mistress. She's powerful, she's wealthy, and nobody has a clue of her identity except for Sokolov, who painted her portrait."

Corvo got it. "He'd be able to tell us her name."

"Hey," Jaune raised a hand to draw their attention, "just a quick question…why kidnap him at all? Is getting the information from him not enough?"

The Pendleton brothers were scum, from what he had heard. Confined a young girl to a windowless room for months on end. Forced people to work to their deaths in silver mines, a la Jaques Schnee. There were even stories of tormented pets and mysterious disappearances of servants. The two men preyed on those weaker than them.

What had Sokolov done, then, to warrant tearing him away from his normal life? Was he a puppy-kicker?

"He cooperated with the new regime," Corvo offered as an answer, though he, too, seemed unsure. "The Wall of Light is his work, as are the Watchtowers. The man has a part in this, indirect as it may be."

Tattletale, unable to resist interjecting into the discussion, pointed out, "In practical terms, it's so he can't tell anyone they're aiming for the mistress," She then snapped her fingers, and whirled on the aristocrat. "And you'd deny his talents to your enemies. In fact, if you flip him to your side, that's both genius inventors in Dunwall under your thumb." She read the expression on Pendleton, and puffed up in smug superiority. "Didn't realize that, did you? I wonder if anybody else did but me. Hehehe."

Pendleton clenched his fists, temper building near towards his limit. With great effort, he ignored her to focus on Corvo.

"I'm not the one to talk to about this, and we cannot wait around for Havelock or Martin to return. They have, however, assured me it is critical to our cause that we obtain Sokolov, and I place more trust in them than I do the objections of some mercenary."

In other words, this was no longer Jaune's business, so butt out. And, to be fair, he did not really have a stake in the conflict. To him, Anton Sokolov was a mere name; to the Loyalists, an enemy, and a target of great tactical worth in light of Tattletale's revelations. Corvo appeared to be convinced of this course, at any rate.

Pendleton held up three fingers. "Sokolov splits his time between the palace, the Academy of Natural Philosophy, and his residence on Kaldwin's Bridge, spending days at each location. The last of the three is, undoubtedly, the least guarded. You'd need to leave now to catch him there, before he goes on the move again and we lose access to him for weeks."

On hearing his allies wanted to send him out this soon after reconnecting with Emily, Corvo hesitated to agree with the request. More so, when the princess noticed the group looking her way, and misunderstood that their business had concluded at last. She dashed over to them, hopping in excitement.

"Corvo! Callista said she'd show me my room. Can we go see it?"

That energy slowly bled out of Emily with each passing second as Corvo explained the situation at hand. A fragile smile remained, the best that the young girl could muster to hide her dejection.

"I understand," was her reply once Corvo finished speaking. Nobody there, not even Pendleton, missed the subdued mood.

Everybody jumped in shock as Jaune clapped his hands together. Injecting as much cheer into his voice as he could, he said, "Hey, I've always been curious about how royalties live! Why don't me and her," he gestured to Tattletale, "go take a look with you?"

Emily perked up, while Corvo directed a hopeful gaze towards him, spotting the solution to his dilemma.

Jaune then leaned over and whispered for only his companion to hear. "Is that cool with you? Since we have to wait around for our pay anyway, we can keep her company until Corvo gets back."

Tattletale glanced down at the princess. A smile reminiscent of a fox grew wide on her face.

"Might as well~"

All of a sudden, Emily looked a lot less sure about this.

-o-​

Tattletale opened the door to Emily's quarters, situated in the derelict tower next to the pub, and stepped inside. For the sake of fairness, she kept her eyes closed.

"Little miss princess is in the wardrobe. Jaune's under the desk."

Two groans rang out from the aforementioned places to confirm her deductions, thus ending another lightning round of hide and seek. As soon as she exited the wardrobe, Emily pointed an accusing finger at the older girl.

"You're cheating!"

Unrepentant, Tattletale strutted to the center of the room, spreading her arms wide.

"And?" she boldly declared to all and sundry. "I used every advantage I had to seize victory. You call it cheating, I say that's playing the game as intended. It's no worse than what Jaune did."

At the reminder, Emily turned on him with a pout, and Jaune scratched his cheek in mild embarrassment. She still hadn't forgiven him for using his superior athleticism to climb up on the rafters, forcing her to spend a good ten minutes confused and lost as she tried to find him.

What? Hide and seek was serious business.

Hoping to soothe the girl's ire, Jaune lowered himself to her eye level, and put a hand on her shoulder in comfort. "Don't mind her, Emily. Are you having fun?" He smiled, kindly, when she gave an affirmative. "Then that's what really matters. We're friends here, and it's fine when someone else wins. This is nothing serious, after all. And if you think her skills are unfair, know that we each have our own strengths, including you. Focus on that." He stood up. "Now, I believe it's your turn to play seek."

Reinvigorated by his speech, the princess sprinted out the door to start her countdown.

"That was sweet."

"My sisters can get the same way sometimes. I just happen to know the things to say."

Tattletale nodded in understanding. "We should probably go easy on her."

Jaune laughed in good humor.

"Twenty…Nineteen…Eighteen…"

As one, boy and girl ran for the open window of the room, fighting and shoving each other to climb out.

"Shouldn't you be letting her win? Go away!" Tattletale snarked.

"Hell no!" Jaune shot back. "I've been keeping this place in reserve, and I'm not wasting it! Hide under the bed or something." He got a scoff in return.

By this stage of the game, the hiding spots have been depleted. The top of the wardrobe, within the curtains, even burying oneself among the dolls or the psychological ploy of standing behind the door would be treading old grounds. The Loyalists provided furnishings, sure, but the path to the tower involved either a ladder or a rickety walkway that the movers could break their necks on. As a result, the princess had little beyond a bed, a desk, and storage, though the toys and flowers were a thoughtful touch. The fineries one might find in a palace—grand pianos, divans, sculptures, and the like—were luxuries for such a time when she was reinstated in her home.

But outside the window? Right on one of the ledges that remained after the rest of the building collapsed into the sea? It counted as part of the tower, allowing a hider to win on a technicality, and a seeker's preconceptions will more often than not eliminate it as a possibility. A stroke of genius, in other words.

Jaune succeeded in climbing through the opening first, and pressed a foot on the broken planks as a test. Once he confirmed they were secure enough to stand on, he set his weight on them, then scooted to the side to put his body out of view. He frowned as Tattletale followed his lead, taking up the other side. She glared right back at him.

"I was here first."

"I thought of it first."

A voice from further off reached their ears. "Ready or not, here I come!"

The two of them made shushing motions at one another. Inside, they heard the door open, and the pitter-patter of the princess rushing from one corner to the next, checking on the obvious hiding places. A minute went by, and the footsteps became slower, the girl putting more thought into the search. She started to employ a methodical approach, leaving no nook or cranny unexamined.

Too bad for her, she missed them, passing the window without a single cursory peek. Jaune had to chuckle at his devious plan. Tattletale did, too.

"Heheh. Heh."

She was rather loud, however, causing him to mutter, "Quiet, now, or she'll hear us."

To the contrary, Tattletale refused to lower her volume. Curious, he turned his head in her direction, and noticed that rather than mischief or the usual smugness, she seemed wary, almost…scared.

"W-We're pretty high up, huh?"

She gave another nervous laugh, and pressed further against the wall. Her side of the ledge was shorter than his end. The tips of her shoes extended over the edge. She was trying, and failing, to not look down, no doubt regretting she ever considered this a good idea.

"Hey, it's alright," Jaune whispered in a soothing tone to assuage her fear. "You have Aura. This fall is nothing."

"You said we would still feel pain…"

"The pain is temporary." That did not reassure her any, judging from how her limbs locked up. "Look, the footing is solid. Your posture is firm. You're going to be fine."

"R-Right."

He chose a different tack. "The one thing you need to do, is to stay in the same spot. Sounds easy, don't it?"

That appeared to have done the job, and her worried expression began to clear.

"Right!"

Calming, Tattletale placed a hand over her heart, and recovered her breath. The familiar grin flickered on, just in time for a strong gust of wind to blow past, whipping her off-balance.

Before she could scream, Jaune clamped a hand onto her arm to steady her.

"Ohcrapcrapcrap, thank you for that!" she blurted in a rush, eyes squeezed shut.

"No problem, but…" he snickered. "Seriously, you're so lame."

"So lame," Emily echoed.

Both Jaune and Tattletale looked at the girl poking her head through the window.

""Ah.""

"I found you!" she declared in triumph. Then, peeking over the edge, she continued. "Can I give that a try? It looks fun."

Jaune imagined what Corvo would do to him if he agreed to the request, and blanched.

"Let's maybe not. I think we can stop this game now. I'll admit that it's gotten a little out of hand."

Shooing Emily back, he helped Tattletale climb inside. By the time he entered after her, she was clutching the bed frame in a deathgrip.

"Whoever's idea it was to put the leader of the country in a tower was an idiot!"

That got a chuckle out of him.

"What?"

"There's a fairy tale where I come from, titled the Girl in the Tower. She was supposed to be a princess, too. It's a classic scenario, and I'll just bet it happened loads of times before."

Tattletale shot him a glare. "And how did that work out for her?"

"She escaped the tower, married a prince, and lived happily ever after. Duh."

"I envy her. Escaping this tower sounds like a great plan," she grumbled.

She got her wish. As they've thoroughly explored Emily's quarters by now, and it held no more secrets to be found, the princess was raring to go elsewhere and restart the process again. The pub, with rooms galore and the prospect of snacks, became the natural destination. For two hours, they ran up and down, to and fro, never a moment's rest. Jaune and Tattletale earned the eternal ire of Callista the caretaker that day, for she witnessed Emily's many antics, and realized what a hellion the two of them had created and would drop in her lap later.

The fun and games ended with the trio occupying a booth in the pub's main area. On the table laid a spread of simple, but filling, fares. Potato leek soup, potato casserole, fried potato wedges, baked potato, potato mash, boiled potato bits…

Alright, a little too simple, but Jaune wasn't about to complain to the chef. Maybe vitamins didn't exist yet in this era. It sated their hunger, and that was the important part.

Halfway through the meal, Farley Havelock made his appearance, emerging from the back of the pub. He caught sight of them, of the princess in particular. Pure elation swept across his face, and the admiral hurried to their table, whereupon he bowed low.

"Princess Emily, welcome. I am Admiral Farley Havelock, and it is good you are safe. My apologies for not being here to greet you earlier, and know that we all are gladdened by your presence."

Emily sat straighter, and assumed a serious demeanor.

"I thank you for your aid in my rescue, admiral."

"Please," he placed a hand over his heart, "we both know that it was Corvo who made this possible. I merely play a humble part."

Sitting between Havelock and Emily, Tattletale mimed gagging to provoke a burst of giggles from the princess. Havelock scowled, but kept a rein on his temper as he scanned the room.

"Is Corvo not here?"

Jaune answered, "He's off to grab Anton Sokolov."

"Good. Very good!" The admiral was delighted by the news.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jaune noticed Tattletale on the opposite side of the booth tensing up. She stared at the man oddly, scrutinizing him. Havelock missed the look as he set a knapsack on the table.

"As for you two, you'd be happy to hear that I've brought your payment. Here."

Jaune expected a hefty sack of money. His eyes bulged as Havelock withdrew a gold bar and laid it down before them with a dull thunk. The shine it cast on the surroundings broke Tattletale from her musings, the girl leaning on the table for a closer look, as did he, their heads nearly banging together. They treated the smaller pouch of coins that ended up beside it as an afterthought.

"The supplies you requested are also ready. I've had it stored in the brewery, though I still don't see how you can move the lot."

"It won't be a problem. We're strong," said Jaune. He reached out for the gold bar. Havelock got there first, laying his hand on top of it.

"Funny you mention that, because I have an offer." The man sported a hungry look on his face as he peered down at Jaune. "Your abilities can do great things for our cause."

Having seen this coming to some extent, Jaune sighed. "Look, I sympathize, but I have my own goals. I can't stay long."

"Then you don't have to. However, I need you to impart your powers with us prior to leaving."

The way he spoke, it sounded like an order. Even after Havelock caught himself and straightened his back, ceasing to loom over the group, Jaune could not forget the finality of his words.

The admiral continued in a friendlier tone. "What you are capable of, you said it was common where you live. it's replicable, isn't it?" He indicated their payment. "Money is no object. I can have five more bars prepared within the hour. You don't understand what a groundbreaking change such strength will make in our fight against Burrows's tyranny."

He could imagine. Corvo's skill with arms already outstripped Jaune, with only Aura putting him on par with the man. Give the assassin that, and he would have no need to hide in the shadows. And on Jaune's end…

Three for three have societies in different universes valued gold. Doing this would likely take care of funding issues for the foreseeable future, enabling his travels. It's an idea he could get behind. At least, until Tattletale opened her mouth.

"So, not gonna say anything about your real plan?"

Havelock froze, then tried to play it off. "I'm afraid I do not understand—"

"You've no love for the crown," Tattletale revealed with glee. "I see it in how you look at Emily. The deference was faked, through and through. She's a piece to be controlled in your opinion. When you asked Corvo's whereabouts, you weren't happy that he's going after Sokolov, you were happy that he's out of the way. You're scared of him." She leveled an accusing finger. "You intend to betray him."

The man broke into roaring laughter, slapping a knee in mirth.

"Oh, good joke. Princess Emily, do not listen to this…this…"

The man reached towards Tattletale, either to grab her or silence her, but stumbled back when Jaune sprang from his seat to interpose between them. In warning, he gripped the handle of his sword, and Havelock raised his hands to show he meant no harm.

Yeah, right. He wasn't born yesterday. As Jaune stayed on guard, Tattletale poked her head over his shoulder, standing on the booth seating.

"Answer this, Havelock. Do you want Emily on the throne?"

"Yes, of course—"

"Liar!" she crowed.

"I do!" shouted Havelock. His eyes flicked to Emily, taking in her unimpressed gaze, realizing she did not believe him. Grudgingly, he amended, "Just with proper guidance. She is young, and needs time to grow into her role. We, her loyal subjects, are here to help relieve her burden."

Well, that made a lot of sense. Farley Havelock was a concerned citizen, and nothing suspicious was going on at all. Phew!

Jaune immediately turned his head to ask his companion for the actual truth. "Tattletale?"

"Hmmm. It might have been true once. Everybody with a brain noticed how you strutted around in your uniform. It's so obvious you resented losing your rank, and wanted it back. That was the extent of your ambition, and the reason driving you to take part in the Loyalist Conspiracy. But you've changed that outlook..." She adopted a slower, stilted cadence as her mind raced to fill in the gaps. "Because of Jaune. Because of his abilities. You started thinking you don't want to just be Admiral Havelock again. A puppet queen could work, but 'Emperor Havelock' has a nice ring to it. 'Conqueror', even better. Aura could let you empower an army with which to achieve domination of the known world. And beyond. You seek war." She gave a dramatic sigh, her breath tickling Jaune's ear. "But, before all that, there's a problem you had to solve. The attack dog. He's an obstacle to you. His fate, to be put down like the hounds in the fights you used to watch. He'd never see the end of this conflict."

A soft gasp, and Emily now stared at the admiral as if he were a monster. Havelock saw, to his dismay. He had lost her trust forever on Tattletale's word. Were she to claim the throne, he'd have no position in her reign. The pawn lost her value.

With a resigned shake of his head, he lamented, "I see that I would have been proven right. The princess makes a poor ruler." His expression firmed. "A child cannot see what must be done!"

Tattletale paled a split second ahead of the admiral extracting a whistle from his pocket.

"Stop him! He's calling for…"

*Fweeeeeet*

"...reinforcements."

The long, shrill note rang out across the room, and further. For several seconds, nothing seemed to happen, leading Jaune to think it a failure. The rumbling sound of footsteps soon dispelled that notion.

They rushed in from every entrance. Almost all of the men and women arrayed before them possessed the weathered tan of sailors, and wore military uniforms or the clothes of the City Watch. One odd group was dressed in austere, black outfits along with strange masks, golden and set in an angry scowl. Clutched in their hands were an eclectic mix of knives, swords, clubs, and firearms.

Jaune recognized one or two faces among them, no more. Very few of these people belonged to the Conspiracy. Unsurprising, as a loyalty to the princess would have been a detriment to Havelock's purposes.

Standing in their midst, Havelock unholstered his pistol. "I present to you my many friends and colleagues throughout Dunwall. They come from all walks of life, but on certain things, we are of like minds. Glory. Riches. Power beyond normal men. We would gladly kill for that future."

"So, this was what you were up to the whole afternoon?" Jaune spat out in disgust. "We went to save a princess, and you decided to enjoy a spot of treason?"

The admiral shrugged, unaffected by the accusation.

"I was simply preparing for every possibility. You could have agreed to my offer, and we would have parted on amicable terms. Now that it came to this, you will hand over your secrets, one way or another." He spread out an arm to indicate his followers. "Corvo isn't here to save you. Are you stronger than a force of fifty? Would you like to find out? Surrender!"

Rather than answering, Jaune directed his attention to the girl at his back.

"Hey, Tattletale?"

"Yeah?"

"How about next time you don't straight up tell the enemy that we're onto them?"

"But I figured it out! I was right!"

And she had to let everyone know. To wow the audience with her deductions, and throw it into the face of the culprit. Like a detective in the novels. Except, life didn't always tie events up neatly the way it does in a book. People react.

"You were, and I would have applauded you had it not brought an army down on us."

"I-I…" She searched for an excuse, a person with whom she could deflect the blame. After getting a good, long look around the room, she wilted. "Shit. We're in trouble."

"I mean, not really." BANG! A lead pellet impacted his head, fired by an impatient, and rather dim, sailor who had heard of his resilience and thought no further on the matter. Jaune barely showed a response. "I'm bulletproof, remember? Cover Emily. I got this."

As Tattletale scooted back, pushing Emily into a corner and blocking the smaller girl with her body, he drew on his connection to that pool of coldness, the Void. The [Third Arm] shot across the room to pluck Havelock—who, true to form, was aiming his pistol at Tattletale—from the crowd, yanking him kicking and shouting through the air. Jaune met him in a lariat that sent the man slamming against the floor with a sickening crunch. On rushing by, he whacked Havelock on the head with the sheathed Crocea Mors, ensuring no more interference from him. He then deployed his shield, tossing it behind him for Tattletale to protect herself with.

Jaune used his sword as a club as he charged into the crowd, favoring the flat of the blade as he swept in wide, wild swings that slung bodies every which way. Bones broke under the strength of his blows, his kicks crumbling their guard. When the edge of Crocea Mors inevitably bit flesh, limbs were severed, and the floor grew slick with blood. Seeking help, the wounded flailed about, grabbing those still upright and impeding their movements, easy pickings for Jaune to punish. Shouting, taunting, cursing, he challenged them to fight for their lives, sowing mayhem.

Look at me, his actions screamed. Me, and nobody else.

As his enemies turned their attacks inward to reach him, the injuries magnified. Blades that missed their mark came to rest in allies, drawing deep cuts. Thoughtless gunmen fired at Jaune, instead shooting down their fellows.

One sailor struck on the bright idea to ignore the overwhelmingly strong foe and run at Tattletale. It's a good tactic, attempting to secure a hostage. Jaune made an example of him by seizing the man with his supernatural limb to employ as a shield. The sailor did not last long, falling down screaming with a knife in his gut. The next few who decided to follow in his stead met similar fates.

Jaune wanted their focus on him, for them to forget about Tattletale and Emily. He got his wish. More people stepped forward to replace their fallen comrades, spurred on by greed or revenge or desperation, raining attacks on him. To become a terror, he had abandoned defense, and his Aura suffered as a result, draining to weather the assault. Repeated use of [Third Arm] took its toll, and a migraine was developing to hinder his combat performance.

But, just when the two sides seemed to grow more even, a new figure entered the fray. The shadow appeared at the back of a City Guard, sword coming around to slash open his throat. It then vanished, popping up across the room to stab someone else in the chest. A flicker of movement, and three arrows lodged in three sailors who had been rushing at Jaune from different angles.

Among the fear-stricken cries of "The Masked Felon!" and "Witches! They're witches!" was a lone girl's elated shout.

"Corvo! You're back!"

Having someone to watch his back made the difference. Jaune was free to be as reckless as he liked, and Corvo capitalized on the opportunities created by it, the two laying waste to their enemies in tandem. Not one of the men and women could spare a single glance in the direction of the princess, and those splitting their attention between two sources of danger opened themselves up to an easy defeat.

During a time Corvo locked blades with someone, one such person aimed her pistol at him. Jaune cracked his sword against the back of her unsuspecting head to put a stop to that. He expected her to fall down.

She burst into a cloud of dust. Her residue blanketed the people nearby, who looked on the verge of heart attacks as they gaped in horror. The battlefield stopped to stare, first at the remains, then at Jaune and the sword in his hand.

Ah. So that's what the first bone charm did. 'Unaware foes turn to ash when killed'. A clear-cut description in hindsight, really.

Luckily for his shocked, frozen self, that was the moment when spirits broke and courage fled for the opposition. Whatever dream they had of superhuman strength, riches beyond compare, or a world in which they ruled were discarded by the wayside as the remnants of Havelock's forces—so pitifully few now—deserted the fight, parting shouts of "Witchcraft!" left in their wake.

Soon, two people stood where there once were dozens. At their feet, the wounded and the dead.

In the corner of a booth, a shield shifted aside. Emily was the first to dart out in the open, and she screeched to a halt as she received an unimpeded view of what had taken place. Within a second, Corvo teleported in front of her to block most of the scene. He swept her into a hug as the event caught up to the princess, and she began to cry.

Tattletale skirted by them, her eyes wide as she stared at the battle's aftermath. She hesitated at the point where the floor began to stain red, unable to take another step. Her hands were clamped to a spot on her waist, It raised Jaune's alarm, and he rushed over.

"Are you injured?"

She shook her head, and removed her hand to show a round hole in the dress, and unblemished skin beneath.

"You were right. Getting shot hurts."

Her words sounded as if they came from far away, and devoid of emotion. She wasn't even looking at him. Half in a stupor, her gaze lingered on the blood, the bodies moving, and those unmoving. The scattered ashes.

"Tattletale? Lisa? You sure you're alright?"

She snapped out of it when he touched her shoulder. "Y-yeah, totally cool. You, uh, you really know how to use that sword, huh? No hesitation, just…shing!" she made a cutting motion, "and they're g-gone."

"And that's…a problem?"

"Um, no. Course not." She fidgeted. "But, uh, I thought you were a student, learning to fight creatures of darkness in your hero school or something."

All the while, she failed to maintain eye contact for any length of time. It revealed to him the truth. Tattletale considered him the scariest thing in the room right now.

Jaune's gaze fell to the floor, where he scuffed at the tiles, suddenly uncertain. "I mean, Beacon taught me to fight more than just Grimm. There are any number of enemies facing our world. Bandits, traitors, those who would raze settlements for kicks. I've seen people die, and this isn't the first time one met their end by my hands." Emerald green eyes, and messy black hair came to mind. "It doesn't make me a monster."

That was fine, right? Surely, it worked that way everywhere? There were crimes, and then there were rejecting the Kingdoms to go live like the Grimm. Once a person crossed that line, they accepted the consequence thereof, and a Huntsman should label them the enemy, too. Everybody knew that. It's normal.

"I didn't want to kill them. They decided otherwise."

Tattletale's mystified looks continued for a long beat. What she saw, she did not share. But then, she closed her eyes, and took a few deep breaths. When she opened them, it was with her usual expression, if a bit sad.

"Good job, Jaune. And thanks."

She had mustered as much cheer as she could, which in this circumstance amounted to not much at all. Still, it's enough for him.

He was okay. She was okay. So, they'd be okay.

-o-​

"Well."

"Oh gods, it's you again."

His sleep ruined, Jaune got up from the slab of stone, swinging his legs off the side to face the Outsider. The young man with black eyes was perched on a stool at the bar, shaking a bottle upside down to test if beer would come out. No luck, looks like. He set it aside.

As he walked over to the adjacent chair, Jaune peered at their surroundings.

The scene was a mishmash of the Hound Pits Pub, Emily's tower, and a studio apartment that did not belong to this world. Things blurred at random, and objects stuck together, or changed shape in between moments. Havelock's people alternated between looming menacingly, and lying on the ground in pieces. Jaune did his best to not look at them.

Settling on the barstool, he joined the Outsider in gazing at the Void through a modern glass window.

"Soooo, this is different. Are you redecorating?"

"Hardly." He inclined his head at the floor, and the…pile…there. "This is more your sort of work than mine."

"Don't you start. How was I supposed to know other universes have different sensibilities?" Jaune said with a scowl.

"You weren't. And yet, could anyone truly understand? Hundreds of cultures have lived and died on this one little world. For some, the bloody swathe you left in your wake would have earned you a death sentence. For others, worship as a god." The Outsider tapped his chin. "Of course, that often leads to the same outcome. What is it about humans and sacrifices?" A couple of seconds later, he shrugged. "In any case, both you and I have recently discovered that it's a bigger universe out there than we ever suspected. You're going to meet many kinds of people in the days ahead, and they will get their chance to see who you are. Would they love you? Hate you? I admit, it is a story I am eager to watch."

Jaune rolled his eyes. "I can already guess which situation you're rooting for. And, you know, Corvo agreed with what I did. I'm not the weird one."

"He would. You should have seen what he did to the poor Pendletons. It was very creative."

A sigh. "Really, really did not need to know that. Guy scares me enough with how he flips on a switch."

Corvo could be the politest man you'd ever meet. Then, he'd gut you with barely a change in his smile. Jaune was glad they found themselves on the same side.

"Yes, Corvo is a fun one, isn't he? Life's going to get harder for him from here on out."

"What do you mean?" Jaune asked, frowning. "We dealt with Havelock, and Martin too."

"I saw. In doing so, you took away The Vision, and the Charisma of the Loyalists. What remains is the Purse. I wonder," a coin rolled along the bar top, and the Outsider picked it up, "can you change the world with gold alone?"

He flicked it over to Jaune, who caught the coin in his palm. Rather than Jessamine Kaldwin's face, the Mark that branded him was engraved on the sides.

Jaune played with the coin as he mulled on the question. His forehead soon hit the counter.

"Fuck. Pendleton can't carry them all."

Sure, the Loyalist Conspiracy can still afford a resistance movement. That it exists meant nothing without momentum. Havelock's ambition was what gave them a direction, and from the sound of it, Martin served as their face. Each member of the cadre had a part to play.

Nobody would consider Treavor Pendleton to be of revolutionary stock. He was satisfied with acquiring his big mansion, and possessed a most punchable chin.

"You might have saved the princess, but you also gave dear Corvo big boots to fill. He's comfortable as a pawn. Unfortunately for him, that is no longer enough to see his daughter back on the throne. His new story promises to be quite a harrowing ordeal. And if he cannot change to fit the occasion? Then, congratulations, Jaune. You just rang the death knell for an empire. Only a select few throughout history can boast the same."

Still with his head down, Jaune groaned. "I hate you so much right now. Can I, I don't know, stay here in this dream where Corvo can't reach me? Because I think he has a bullet with my name on it. Or a sword. Or an arrow. Or a bomb."

"Oh, no. That won't do. It's a new day full of possibilities, and you need to wake up to meet it," A hand patted his back. "Wake up, Jaune, or never again."

The island shook beneath his feet. Abruptly, he experienced the sensation of falling.

Jaune slammed into the wooden floor of his temporary quarters, half trussed in a blanket. Someone was shaking him, and yelling. As his bleary vision regained focus, their indistinct features coalesced into the face of a frantic Tattletale.

"Come on, wake up!"

"Huh? Tattletale, what the hell? Did you shove me out of bed?"

"You have to see this! And grab your stuff!"

She did not wait for him, running from the room. Then, she came back into view, and started pounding one fist on the open door to hurry him.

Her panic, and the Outsider's warning still ringing in his ears, prompted Jaune to leap to his feet, moving to the bedside table and gathering his belongings. Living out in the settlements, it paid to listen when people start screaming in the night for you to do something. It could be Grimm.

He threw on his clothes, the Panacea Poncho going over top along with the various supplies he tucked inside it. The sword went on one hip, the bone charms on a string around his neck.

Nearly done, his hands stopped. The place he stowed the runes sat empty but for a gold coin bearing the Outsider's Mark.

"That bastard gipped me! Those runes were worth way more than a measly coin!"

"Jaune!"

Right. Not the time.

They rushed down the staircase, passing by Loyalist members in similar states of disarray. The bar room had been cleared of the bodies, though there remained a reddish hue to the floor. Past that, the front entrance.

Out in the street, beneath the night sky, that was when Jaune saw it. The sheer wrongness of the sight left him a gibbering wreck. He clutched his head, striving to comprehend.

"What…what is that? How is it possible? It's so…round…"

Was it the same yesterday? He had not thought to check. Could have never imagined such a thing.

An unbroken moon shone on Dunwall. Whole. Complete. Unnatural.

"What are you on about?" Tattletale placed a finger on his chin to tilt his gaze down and across the street. "That's the problem!"

In front of him was the building from which they entered this world. It had undergone a drastic change, the walls in mid-collapse, and sections looking aged by centuries or in mint new condition. Loose bricks and furniture were floating in the air, sometimes resetting to their original place, sometimes disappearing altogether.

"Oh, yeah. That looks kind of freaky, too."

"The house is being pulled inward, and it's hurting my head every time I use my powers to look."

Jaune got her hint. There's only one thing in the building that could have done this. Their portal.

A figure exited from that house, and teleported to them.

"Stay back. I'm not certain what is happening there, but it could be dangerous." He noticed their guilty expressions. "Do you, perhaps, have an inkling as to the cause?"

Jaune and Tattletale looked at each other, then at Corvo. The former was the one to answer.

"I think we've overstayed our welcome."

What followed was a scramble to grab as much as they could carry. The people in the Hound Pits Pub were wary at first, but Corvo set them to work helping the pair. A keen-eyed observation that the phenomenon seemed to be accelerating put a pep in everyone's steps. Unwilling to test the time limit until a calamity occurred, Jaune and Tattletale left a part of the goods they've negotiated for behind. Objects too unwieldy to move into the building on the first trip would stay in this universe. As an exchange, they were given practically anything lying around the pub that came to hand, people tucking in bits and pieces where it would fit on the pile.

An assassin and a princess waited under a streetlamp, and once they were ready to go, met them to say goodbye.

Jaune spoke to Corvo first, shaking his hand. "I've talked to a man calling himself the Outsider."

"We're acquainted," Corvo said.

"Yeah, I figured. He thinks you're going to have a tough time with Havelock and Martin gone."

"That is obvious, but it was worth the cost, to remove people who would have surely betrayed us at the end of things. I will make do in their place."

"You're not giving up on the Loyalist Conspiracy, I take it?"

An instantaneous response. "Never. The Dunwall that Jessamine loved, I would not let it end. And one day, Emily will return to her home."

"Offer's still on the table, you know. Aura can go a long way to protect you and Emily."

The other man pondered the idea, and as he had the last time Jaune talked of unlocking their Auras, he shook his head.

"Havelock has spread the story far and wide. The survivors that slipped through our grasp will confirm its truth. Your ability is one that armies would go to war for. Should it come to their knowledge that Emily or I possess this 'Aura', even were she to regain her throne, we would be hunted down to the end of our days. For wealth and influence, they've killed my love. I fear what they'd do for the power to claim the world."

"If you're sure."

They both said their farewell, and Jaune moved on to Emily. Having known them for mere hours, she nevertheless sulked as they prepared to depart.

"Do you really have to go?"

Jaune jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm pretty sure it's the only solution to make that stop, so yes, Emily, I have to. On the bright side, that one won't bother you anymore." He pointed at Tattletale, who stuck out her tongue at him.

"She's not that bad," mumbled Emily in a grudging admission. Tattletale took that as her cue to sneer at Jaune, oozing smugness. The younger girl did not notice, attention drawn to the modern clothes Jaune wore, and the piece of fraying reality. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No, I come from a long ways away. Further than you would believe."

"Then, um, will you ever come back?"

He thought of lying, as he so often ended up doing. But…

"I can't say, Emily. It's a long road I'm taking, and I don't know when I'll finish walking it. Although," he grinned, "if I do happen to stop by here again, would you welcome me?"

Crying, smiling, the princess was yet resolute in her answer.

"Always!"

-o-​

After passing through the portal, Jaune dropped his armful of goods and turned around to check on the ever-shrinking view of the other side, soon sighing in relief. The supernatural effects in the abandoned apartment had ceased, with gravity reasserting. It left a crumbling wreckage, yes, but a mundane sort.

Note to self, Instances have an end point. Best to not stay overlong.

Through a new opening in the Dunwall building, he spotted two people waving. Jaune waved back to them until the portal finally blinked out of existence, and the two universes went their separate ways.

How will their story go? Can Corvo beat the odds? Will Emily become Empress? And…would they remember him? A complicated mess of emotions swirled within his heart, and he struggled to find an answer.

"Hey, Jaune. Catch."

Something soft and white hit him in the face. He pulled it off to see…

"I made sure to grab a couple of towels, so we can dry off after taking a bath now."

"I love you. Dibs on shower."

Universe: Dishonored. Location: Dunwall. Event: House of Pleasure.
Loot acquired: [Third Arm] (upgraded), Bone Charms x2, wristbows x2, crossbow (secondhand), sleep darts (box), sleep dart formula, Piero's Remedy (crate), whale oil fuel (two containers), Gold bar, pearls x2, gold coins, antique clothes (pristine condition), food, daily necessities, two towels

"My, my. It worked. Live long, Jaune, and amuse me."

Plus, a spectator.​

---

Author's Notes: Dishonored is done! Sure ended up long. I think I'll try to fit a few shorter episodes between arcs of this length. Vary it up.

.

Jaune—I'm not a murderhobo, I'm a Huntsman.
Tattletale—*stares at Jaune, then at the bodies*

 

[LazyAutumnMoon]

With great care, Jaune tipped the teaspoon in his hand to dole out drops of a glowing, viscous blue liquid into the wristbow's fuel chamber. Once it reached full, he returned the excess whale oil to its container, then screwed the little fuel tank back into place on the contraption, sealing the edge tight before hooking the crankshaft to the miniature motor. A test-fire, and it worked as intended, rewinding itself.

The wristbow then went to a corner of the table alongside its twin and the crossbow given by Corvo. The whale oil he carried to the kitchen, stowing it next to the other container in a cabinet where, ideally, the volatile substance would stay inert; from the warning he got, the stuff tends to explode when disturbed in much the same manner as Dust.

And that was that. After half an hour of fiddling with the thing, the job was done.

Could he have left the task to Lisa, whose ability would help her figure out the full schematic plus the proper way to maintain the wristbow? Yes. He still wasn't sure what every component did, and if he took it apart, he doubted that he'd ever manage to put it back together. The steps to refuel the auto reload mechanism had seemed simple enough at a glance, however, so he gave it a shot. Pyrrha always said it was important to know how to maintain one's weapons, after all.

He was also restless beyond belief, and willing to try most anything to while away the time.

Two days.

Two days of forced rest, of four gray walls and a white ceiling. Two days of endless training exercises, counting gold coins, and wondering what the hell was up with the wildly fluctuating Point value for the fragment of the Outsider that had somehow followed him through the portal—with Jaune concluding that the strange entity had escaped containment to explore the world beyond this apartment since there was not a peep from him. All because he had the bright idea of venturing into an Instance before jumping right back out, which by his thinking would refresh the list and grant him the possibility of an easier destination. He was so proud of it, expecting to have gamed the system. Instead, the system has refused to work since and only displayed one phrase whenever he opened the portal app: Standby for reset.

Lesson learned. Do not get cute with the Company scroll. Hopefully, there's still a chance to put that knowledge to use.

He checked again. There was. Jaune fist-pumped in victory.

Forty-eight hours on the dot, and the accursed standby message had vanished at last. In its place, row after row of universes now occupied the screen. Eager to see progress, he searched the list for the best option available to them, though one concern stood out.

"The ratings…they didn't change?"

Gone was Pandora, from whence barren wasteland came dozens upon dozens of bullets within the one minute that their team spent that world. Yet, the scroll offered no less danger for the days it stole from Jaune. He reread each entry, noting with a measure of frustration how the loot rating had adjusted for the new events, and might even have trended downward.

Perusing the list thrice over led to no different result, so he gave a resigned huff as he settled on one destination, and sat down to wait. When Lisa exited the bathroom, dressed in comfortable if dated clothes acquired from Dunwall and drying her hair with a towel, he raised the device to show her the screen.

"Hey Lisa, how do you feel about meeting zombies for real?"

"Screw that—hang on," her face brightened, "is it working now?"

"Yup. And it's either zombies, something worse, or staying another two days here doing push-up regimens."

Any trace of her high spirits vanished, and Lisa paled. She looked down at her aching arms, looked up at him, and mewled in dismay.

-o-

Universe: Dark Souls. Location: Undead Burg. Event: Bells of Awakening​

The portal spat the two blonds out in a castle tower, right at the foot of a statue depicting a beautiful woman and her child. To their right was a portcullis gate, to the left an exit to what looked like an overgrown garden. Ahead, they faced a—

"Ouch! Ouch! Hot! Ouch!"

Game faces changing to expressions of pain, Jaune and Tattletale leapt away from the pile of ashes and bones they were standing in, ashes and bones that yet simmered with a blistering heat. Someone had driven a sword into the center of the mound—a bonfire pit, Jaune recognized now—and fading embers have heated the length of steel to a cherry-red glow. Intermittently, it pulsed, as if threatening to burst into flames given but a spark.

Tattletale kicked it in a fit of pique.

"Owwwwie!" she moaned, bouncing on one foot while cradling the toes on her other foot after the sword, embedded deep in the stone beneath, refused to move an inch.

Less than twenty seconds in, and they were already taking casualties. It did not bode well. The commotion they made has also attracted the attention of the people gathered on the bridge directly ahead of them, a squad of soldiers wearing armor the likes one would see from centuries ago.

The people could be from centuries ago, too. Jaune blanched as they turned around towards their group, revealing appearances that were little more than cadavers, weathered skin stretched over emaciated frames, wearing bits and pieces of tattered clothes. Dull orange orbs took the place of their eyes.

"You know, I imagined a modern setting when I heard 'undead'," said Jaune.

"Raaaagh…"

"Yeah, I hear you guys." He drew his sword and prepared for a fight. But then, he paused in thought. "Wait a minute."

Seeming disinclined to bite, the zombies hefted swords of their own as they advanced on the pair. Two of the things stayed behind the line and nocked arrows to bows.

"Tattletale? I think they might still be alive. Zombies can't use tools."

Then again, movie knowledge was not exactly true to life. Unable to tell one way or another, he waited for a verdict from his partner. She, in turn, reached for the crossbow strung to her new utility belt where a host of useful items lie nestled, counting among which were her sleep darts. One landed in the chamber of the weapon.

Fwip.

With unerring accuracy, the dart flew out and lodged in the shoulder of a zombie, to zero visible effect.

"Sooo, dead, then?"

The question became moot anyway as, with a bestial howl, the squad charged. Two arrows outpaced the footsoldiers, slamming into Jaune's shield as he strode forward to meet his opponents. As for Tattletale, she ducked to the side behind a wall, and fumbled for a steel-tipped bolt.

She never got the chance to fire the shot. The zombies displayed, at best, rudimentary skill in battle and Jaune cut through them with ease, ending up in striking range of the rearward archers by the time Tattletale raised the crossbow to aim. Two slashes lopped off an arm from each zombie. They didn't bleed as much as they should, and disregarded the injuries altogether to lunge at him, prompting Jaune to remove the remaining arms. Now they went for biting attacks, rushing him with their teeth clacking. A wide sweep severed both their heads from their necks. Then, he whirled around and set to finishing the job on the defeated zombies that he had not fully put to rest the first time.

"I'm ninety-nine percent certain they're dead," he explained his action to Tattletale. "Before I killed them, I mean. Now they're a hundred percent dead."

Tattletale strove to hide her discomfort, and admittedly she did it well. Nevertheless, she gave the bodies a wide berth as she picked her way over.

"Yeah, you did good, Jaune." Along with the praise, she patted him on the shoulder. "Even if they were alive, I don't think there was much going on in their heads except murder."

Jaune released a breath he did not realize he was holding. "Right? It was us or them."

A quick glance-over and they decided to move on rather than loot the corpses. The armor pieces were corroded to the point of uselessness, and the weapons same, not to mention their proximity to half-festering bodies for who knew how long to present a very real risk of disease.

Tattletale suggested that they hit the lever to raise the portcullis. Not for any reason, she just wanted to. Despite likewise thinking it would be cool to see, Jaune advised against doing so because he had enjoyed zombie cinema enough times to notice the pattern. You do not leave an opening for the walking dead to sneak up on the living. Which was why, when the two poked their heads into the side garden, he indicated for Tattletale to retreat while he disposed of the zombies in the area. These, thankfully, were unresponsive throughout the process.

The garden terminated there, without a second exit, leading them to take the only route left, the bridge. It offered them a stellar view of the city situated a dizzying distance below, and the pair oohed and ahhed as they peered over the battlements.

The Undead Burg encompassed an area much bigger than Jaune thought possible for the apparent technological level of this world. In fact, if his eyes were to be believed, they stood in a far-flung corner of a greater civilization, with the tall wall encircling the city stretching from one side of the horizon to the other until it curved beyond their view. In the intervening space between here and there, homes gave way to forests ceding to homes again, repeating on and on. Past giant trees and looming towers Jaune spied the sections of another wall at the top of a mountain, this one built of resplendent white stone, behind which arose towers that pierced the sky.

Remnant has yet to create anything like this, and the sight stole his breath away. He wandered in a state of awe along the length of the bridge, his footsteps accompanied by the sound of a distant tolling bell seeming to emanate from underground.

Although…where was everybody? Any sign of movement that he or Tattletale noticed came exclusively from an undead, the shambling bodies roaming the streets unopposed. It spoke of a city that has fallen to calamity, an unthinkable scenario for Jaune. Zombies might claim a mall or a graveyard in the movies; they weren't supposed to ever truly win. How could this have happened?

Suddenly, the world turned dark. It was over in a blink, daylight returning to leave Jaune wondering if he had suffered some sort of hallucination.

Looking at Tattletale, he asked, "Did I imagine that?"

The girl's mind raced a mile a minute, aided by her superpower. The conclusion she reached was not a word, merely an impression. Something big. Something high in the sky. Something alive.

Something that had spotted them, because a shadow was swinging around. Tremulous eyes panned upward, followed by a whimper.

The flying object dipped lower, its form becoming clearer to Tattletale and Jaune. In a strange twist, they each had a personal experience to serve as reference for what they were seeing.

""DRAGON!""

The massive creature spread its wings wide, gliding parallel to the bridge. Its back was lined with sharp spikes, and its red scales glimmered in the sun. As it flew, an odd bulging grew at the base of its throat, moving further up the long neck with each passing second.

There was something about dragons that always fascinates, even when it spelled one's death. Far later than he should have, Jaune snapped out of his stupor.

"Back to the portal!" he screamed.

Tattletale shouted back, her voice shrill, "No, we won't make it, the thing can—"

Breath fire. It can breathe fire. The bulge reached the thing's mouth, which opened to spew a gout of flames onto the bridge.

"There! Go there!" Tattletale pointed to an alcove between them and the dragon, one that led to a lower level. Jaune did not question her idea, simply throwing the girl over a shoulder in passing as he full-out sprinted faster than she could have run. It was a coin flip whether they would make it before the flames overwhelmed them as the distance shrank to a scant few yards.

Jaune threw Tattletale down the hole to ensure she won't get roasted, himself diving after her. The heat bore an almost physical weight as it slammed them into the staircase, licks of flames singing Jaune's back, catching on the overcoat he wore and lighting up. They rolled on the steps in a mass of tangled limbs, grunting in pain with each impact.

As the stairs bottomed out, Tattletale landed flat on her back, Jaune hitting the floor right beside her on his hands and knees. Everything ached, but he forced himself to his feet, scrambling to pull off his burning coat. Help arrived in another pair of hands that ripped the garment from him to leave him in a white ruffled shirt. The ruined article was tossed out a nearby entryway, and blown away by the wind.

Holding a hand to his thundering heart, Jaune heaved great gasps of air, an action mirrored by Tattletale. Minutes passed as they tried to regain their bearings. The important thing was that they appeared to be alive. Probably. The afterlife shouldn't look like a storage room in Jaune's mind.

"I say, that was a lucky escape. Why, you almost became as bright as the sun…though not nearly as long lasting. Hah hah hah!"

An easy laugh filled with cheer punctuated the soft-spoken voice, and after Jaune pulled Tattletale back to her feet, he turned to face the person who had assisted him in removing the coat.

"You're telling me. Thanks for the save," Jaune replied with a grateful smile to the honest-to-goodness knight standing there, chainmail and helm and all, the man's tunic adorned by a stylized sun, an inexpertly—yet lovingly—painted thing portraying a face on a yellow orb, fringed by red rays of fire. "Jaune Arc. My friend here goes by Tattletale."

Along with the introduction, he offered his hand for a shake. Rather than accepting that, the knight clasped him on the forearm instead. A beat late, Jaune copied the motion. The pleased laugh of the knight let him know he had performed the correct gesture.

"What fine names! As for myself, I am Solaire of Astora, an adherent of the Lord of Sunlight, come to Lordran to seek my very own sun!" The great helm he wore tilted in curiosity, the red feather sticking up from the top shaking slightly. "Neither of you appear Hollow, a rare thing in this realm…"

"Hollow?" Tattletale asked.

"Oh, good joke." Solaire burst into laughter, slapping his knee. "Who would not know of the Undead Curse? Not I, Undead that I am."

They were talking to a zombie. Jaune glanced at Tattletale, receiving a 'what the fuck' look in return.

In any case, while he still had many questions, this was clearly one of those subjects that everybody knew and could bring a heap of scrutiny on them if they professed ignorance. To deflect suspicion, Jaune played along with the misunderstanding.

"Heheh, yeah, she is a funny one. What was that you said about your own sun?"

"Do you find my quest a strange thing?" Solaire asked.

Well, he didn't say it.

"No need to fret, everyone I have met thinks the same! The sun is right there, after all. Hah hah hah!" One would expect him to feel bitter, thought Jaune. The man acted quite blithe about it, however. "Yet I must press on, nevertheless, for my quest calls to me so. That is, were it not for our fiery foe above. It has maintained a most vigilant guard on this bridge, and stymied my attempts to bring it low," Solaire admitted with some embarrassment.

Jaune cursed under his breath. "Is there no way to get past the dragon, then?"

"Dragon?"

Solaire paused their conversation to skirt past them and, faster than Jaune could stop him, hurried up the staircase to peek over the lip. Seconds later, an orange glow reflected off his helm and he ducked below to dodge a stream of fire.

"I bear good news!" he said as he rejoined the group. "The creature still breathes fire, not magic, and its hide is not cast in stone, nor ivory white. It also has two legs instead of the four that legends depict. That is a drake, the same one I encountered earlier. A challenge to be sure, though one surmountable."

Drake, not dragon, he says. Surmountable, he says. Jaune preferred the idea of not facing the thing in the first place, whatever its species, so he set his mind to mulling on the alternate ways with which he can gain entry to the tower. As memories of the portcullis resurfaced, he facepalmed in the realization that it was a very real option—possibly their sole other option—that he had sealed.

In desperate hope, he pointed to the two unexplored exits of this room. "What about those? Do you happen to know where they lead?"

"That door there would do no good. It connects to the city below. As for the path outside…it goes under the bridge, and I can hear the chittering of rats down yonder passageway."

Rats? That's it?

"Sounds like a winner to me. Tattletale?"

She rapidly nodded her head. "Please and thank you."

That settles that. They were of a like mind. Fighting rodents in place of a giant, fire-breathing lizard? Sign them both the hell up. The mission they prepared for was supposed to involve zombies, not another giant monster a week after Leviathan.

Solaire seemed about to say something, but stopped himself and tried to play it off. That attempt failed, as the man wasn't subtle in the least.

"What is it, Solaire?" Jaune asked.

"I have a proposition if you are willing to listen. The chamber with the rats promises another path, true. But whereas we can brave such creatures and go on our merry way, what of those who follow in our footsteps."

"Who—" Tattletale yelped and covered her ribs, glaring at Jaune. Who cares, was what he thought she might have wanted to say, hence the nudge to her side in mild reproach.

Solaire continued, oblivious. "Those luckless fellows will encounter the drake, and it might well result in their demise, perhaps even their turning Hollow. I cannot abandon them. The beast must therefore fall. Yet, I cannot pass this trial by my lonesome. Thus is my dilemma, and your aid in this matter would truly be a boon. What say you?"

Despite the madness of Solaire's suggestion, Jaune considered it, because the drake's defeat equated a direct route to the portal. Were it just him and Tattletale, the answer would be a resounding NO. Between them, they amounted to a fighting force of one and a half—if that. A warrior Tattletale was not, and he would rather she stay far away from the drake. That leaves him to face the monster by himself. He'd probably get roasted for the trouble.

With Solaire, they had a second combatant. They had a team.

"No. No, no, no." Tattletale, who had seen through his intentions and where it was headed, grabbed him by the shirt to pull him close. "Don't you even think about it, Jaune! We can look for another route, one that doesn't involve a dragon!"

"It's only a drake," Jaune corrected in jest; it did not improve her mood. "No matter how you slice it, we have to figure out how to get back in the tower. Is this the best way? Who knows, but it is a way. That's worth exploring. I'm willing to take a risk on it."

"We're going to fucking die!"

"Ah, don't worry," he said, causing Tattletale to pause to listen. "I might die. You'll be fine down here."

"Wha—"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not sending you up against that thing, Tattletale, what kind of idiot do you think I am? Seriously, what are you supposed to do, snark at it?" He gently pry her hands off his shirt. "Solaire and I will handle this. If our plan fails, we can go back to the drawing board."

Various emotions flashed past her face, anger and outrage chief among them. Tattletale balled her hands into fists, teeth grinding. It should have pleased her that she would stand out of harm's way, or so went his thought process. She was accepting it less well than imagined, and he struggled without avail to understand why.

"Fine," she spat out. "See what not listening to me gets you."

Growling in frustration, she spun on her heels and marched over to a pile of crates. Hopping up to sit on one, she crossed her arms in petulance.

"Oh, dear," said Solaire, seeming a little awkward at having witnessed the byplay. "It was not my desire to cause strife between you two."

Jaune sighed. "I'll handle that later. Somehow. Maybe she'll feel better if we get back in the tower."

"You truly think so? Hah hah! Then it appears you and I have ourselves a most vital quest. Come, let us engage in jolly cooperation!"

Thus agreed, their plan soon took shape. It was…not that great. The one concrete step they established was to lure the winged monster down where the wings would not grant it a total advantage over the flightless duo. That step was also easier said than done.

A blond head poked above the ground. It met the red eyes of the red lizard spewing red flames. The head retracted just in time.

One more it resurfaced. All was fire. The head ducked down.

Jaune sat on the staircase, and dropped his face into his hands. "We're going to be stuck here forever, aren't we?"

"I told you!"

"Not helping!" Jaune looked at Solaire. "Thoughts?"

The knight hummed, the sound carrying an echoey warble due to the helm.

"For it to come to this, we must take a risk. I will go up on the bridge and bait the creature by dodging its breath in quick succession, thereby showing the futility of such an attack."

"...Can you? Dodge, that is. Your suit of armor looks heavy."

"I shall stay optimistic!"

"You know what? Allow me. I'm a lot faster than you are."

This time, Jaune fully exited the stairs, standing with his head held high. As the drake inhaled a gulp of air, he flipped it off and dove for the other side of the bridge. A jet of flames scorched his previous position. A shorter blast shot at where he now crouched, evaded with a roll towards the stairs again. He activated [Third Arm] to latch onto the parapets further back, yanking his body that way before another fireball hits.

The drake glared at him, huffing and puffing as it recovered its breath. From its throat escaped a long, low growl—an exact match to the one made by the irate blonde ensconced below. That gave Jaune an idea.

"Wow, you're stupid!" he shouted across the distance, and stuck out his tongue, thumbing his nose. "No wonder you're a drake and not a dragon…you couldn't hack it! Pathetic!"

Perhaps the drake would not understand the individual words and gestures. It sure recognized the intent as a whole, however. The snack was taunting it. A roar shook the stone bridge, wrathful and promising death.

"Aw, yeah. Here we go."

Wings unfurled. In one powerful beat, the dragon launched from the tower, diving for Jaune. [Third Arm] once more got him to safety, though with the drake landing next to the staircase, he lacked the means of cover to stave off its fiery rage.

This might have been a bad idea.

The giant maw opened. Sharp teeth filled his vision. The monster sprang at him.

Lightning struck it on the side, at the base of the wing, eliciting another roar, this one of pain and shock. The lunge that would have let the drake swallow Jaune whole was thrown off course. The head passed him by, and he used the opportunity to give it a whack right below the throat, leaving a shallow nick on the tough hide.

"Face me, o great beast!"

Solaire, now also on the bridge, grasped a second bolt of lightning in his hand, winding back in the stance of a javelin thrower. The sinewy neck twisted around, letting the drake spot the threat Solaire posed. It dipped a shoulder, the one warning they got before it shoved its entire frame at the knight, with Jaune caught in the path. Solaire went low, Jaune went high. The latter landed atop the drake.

Standing on the spiky, undulating neck was no easy thing. Jaune used his shadowy limb as a rein to maintain balance, and laid into the beast with his sword. Bone spikes cracked and snapped, but Crocea Mors failed to go much further than that; he hadn't the leverage to strike with every ounce of strength, accomplishing only superficial damage.

Noticing the prey on its back, the drake thrashed about. The head rose up high, and succeeded in loosening Jaune's grip.

"Ouch! Ow! Crap! Ouch!"

Jaune rolled over the length of the drake, feeling each and every spike along the way. He struck the ground on the tail side, and spotted the portal as he crawled upright.

The scraping of claws on stone prompted him to turn around, just as the drake did the same. They stared at each other.

Jaune smacked its snout with Crocea Mors, the drake responded by taking a breath.

A budding headache grew as Jaune slid on the bumpy stone bridge below the drake, having yet again used his power to escape. He zoomed past Solaire, who was getting back on his feet, and ended behind the beast, which was still bathing the tower interior in an inferno, not realizing that Jaune was gone.

"The portal's probably fine, right?"

Whatever, he'd think on that later. At the moment, they had a punishable window of time. Jaune rushed at the drake, and started whaling on the beast, focusing on the back leg in an attempt to hamstring it; reduce the thing's mobility and it will become a sitting duck. Solaire followed a similar mindset, shield left aside as he two-handed his sword to strike at a wing. Dribbles of blood began to flow between the scales.

They were making progress. Good.

Faster than Jaune thought possible, the tail coiled, then smacked him like a whip to send him flying. Stone blocks crunched under him as he slammed into them again and again down the length of the bridge. He skidded to a stop far from the fight.

The thought occurred that this would be the chance for a gout of fire to render him ashes, with the drake smart enough to do it, too. Jaune scrambled to his feet in a hurry after that.

It was trying, he saw. Solaire came in clutch for him, laying into the drake with abandon to keep it distracted. Nevertheless, the thing smelled a chance, and even as it reared back to bat at Solaire with a leg, its attention would inevitably flick to Jaune. Licks of orange flame erupted past clenched teeth, held in reserve for the perfect moment. Sweat pouring down his brow, Jaune started running, knowing what was going to happen when the drake dinged Solaire with its claws.

The ensuing blast swept over his head as Jaune returned to the warm, motherly embrace of the understairs.

Meeting bottle-green eyes, he waved. "Hi, Tattletale."

She waved back, a bit unsure.

"Is everything going okay up there?"

"Absolutely spiffing. We've got that monster on the ropes."

"Are you sure?" She squeaked as the room shook. "It doesn't sound like it…"

After the flames faded, he rushed aboveground. Solaire was holding his own in the meantime, preempting the firebreaths with the lightning he summoned, but only just. Jaune reentering the battle eased off the pressure to allow the knight a reprieve.

A swing, a dodge. He clipped one of the claws, removing half of it. The drake roared louder than ever, and Jaune darted to his left to avoid the chomping mouth, kicking the teeth as the opening presented itself, inflicting little damage but annoying the hell out of the beast. It snarled.

A lightning bolt carrying twice the power as those preceding seared one red eye blind.

"A sterling distraction, Jaune Arc! Take heart, the end nears!"

"Can you keep it off my back? I have an idea."

"Gladly. In fact, I believe the drake agrees!"

Solaire was right. Having been hurt far beyond anything Jaune had done, the drake deemed Solaire as the real danger, and targeted him almost exclusively.

Jaune found a few precious seconds to catch his breath, and prepared for his next move. The shield transformed to a sheath, strapped once more to the hip. Crocea Mors was not suited to be gripped in both hands, but he made it work, and raced behind the drake. What followed was a relentless onslaught, where he abandoned any notion of defending his body or anticipating how the beast would attack. One thing mattered, that he severs the tail.

Solaire ensured he had time, peppering the mouth and wings with lightning bolts even as he grew visibly tired. The apparent weakness galvanized the drake. It sensed victory, and whatever intelligence behind that skull performed a calculated move, accepting that it would sustain wounds in trade for permanently removing a threat. Jaune was free to hack and slash unchallenged.

The drake realized its mistake when scales cracked and crumbled beneath Crocea Mors. Steel blade bit deep in soft flesh. The tail jerked away; Jaune chased it, giving no respite. Again, its flesh parted, accompanied by a spurt of blood. A third cut reached bone. The fourth, swung with all of Jaune's strength, completely lopped off the tail.

A screech of pain, of loss, pierced the air, echoing over the Undead Burg. Wings snapped open, and the drake took to the sky.

"Damn it!" Jaune shouted. Their foe has retaken the advantage in one fell swoop. With the drake back in its element, the humans were helpless. "Solaire, run. I'll get Tattletale."

If they were lucky, Jaune and Tattletale would arrive at the portal ahead of the drake coming round.

Solaire held out an arm to stop him, pointing with the other. "No need. By hubris, the beast has doomed itself."

Jaune peered up at the drake. Seconds went by, and he saw what Solaire meant.

The monster had believed them prey, and settled in among them without fear. In anger, it lingered too long. Although it had taken to flight again, the injuries sustained in the battle were too significant to ignore. Lacking the missing tail to serve as a counterweight, the drake maneuvered with the level of grace of a wine barrel, with blood pouring from the stump. The lightning bolts that Solaire threw had torn into the membranes of the wings, and they struggled to stay aloft.

Swerving and swinging on a winding route, it did not so much charge at the duo as drunkenly swayed in their direction. A wing clipped on the watchtower on the far side of the bridge, and the fire bubbling up its throat sputtered out as it lost its balance. The drake began to tumble end over end, culminating not with a smooth landing, but a crash that left a crater in the stone and knocked Jaune off his feet, followed by a roll as excess momentum carried it forward to Jaune and Solaire. It skidded to a stop near the stairs. And for a time, there was nothing but the far-off sound of a tolling bell.

Then, the drake twitched. Laboriously, it dragged its body upright. One wing bent at an odd angle, decidedly broken to the extent of stymieing another flight. It was listing to one side, the right leg barely holding.

Through a mess of broken fangs, it growled. The monster knew. Even should it destroy the two pests that placed it in this situation, death was nigh. Pure hatred flashed in its eyes. It advanced.

Solaire strode forward, sword and shield at the ready. Jaune joined him, walking side by side. Reaching an unmarked point, on an unspoken signal, they broke into a jog, then a run. Weapons raised, they roared as the drake did, and met it in a final clash.

And finally, but finally, the drake fell to the ground, succumbing to the swords driven past broken scales and corded muscles, lodging deep in its flesh; one to the heart, the other to the throat.

Jaune stared at the slain monster, half-disbelieving. He looked down at Crocea Mors, and up to the gaping wound that decided the fight, a wound he inflicted. Drake, dragon, the name was unimportant. It was far weaker than Leviathan, and a fraction of the Grimm Dragon's size, but here was a creature straight from the storybooks, from myth and legend. It died by his hand.

Well…

He glanced at Solaire.

…not alone. Fighting alongside the stalwart knight, an ordeal insurmountable became oh so possible. A large part of the credit went to the man. Yet, it counted as a win in his books, one not stolen at the finish, and was a taste of victory he never realized he needed.

He could do it. He could save Beacon. In this one moment, Jaune Arc felt it as a certainty, to his very bones.

Laughter bubbled up his chest. He grinned, then snickered. His control slipped, and he pumped a fist in the air, whooping in pure elation. Solaire happily joined in, and when Jaune spotted Tattletale coming up the staircase, he swept her into a hug, swinging her round and round in celebration.

"Did you see that? I'm amazing!"

"Put me down! Put me down! Ahhh, I'm getting dizzy!"

-o-​

A woozy Tattletale laid flat on the ground, green-faced.

Jaune left her to it. She'd recover. He was busy pursuing a mystery. It went like this: where was the drake tail that he cut off?

The issue wasn't important by any means, but the thing just vanished into thin air. Meanwhile, the rest of the corpse was still there, draped over the bridge. The oddity would not get out of his head.

"Ah-ha, I have found it!" Solaire called.

Jaune hurried towards where the other man knelt. His eyes scanned the ground; there was no tail in sight. However, a sword rested in the spot that the tail could conceivably have fallen back when he cut it off.

"To think, the drake sword lost to the ages had been hidden…in a drake! How marvelous!" The joke seemed to tickle Solaire pink, the man guffawing. "I suspect Seath the Scaleless was responsible for the trick." He paused, tilting his head. "Though, it begs the question of why the ancient fellow has set its distant cousin to guard this bridge…ah, regardless, as the man to remove the sword from its sheath—hah hah!—it is your rightful property." Proudly, Solaire presented the sword to Jaune, who balked.

"You sure? You kind of did a lot of the work to bring that thing down."

He received a carefree laugh, and a nod. The treasure was his, uncontested. What a great day.


Drake Sword
Universe: Dark Souls
One of the ancient dragon weapons, formed of a drake's tail. Essentially, a sharp rock on a stick.
Grip firmly with both hands, and swing your tail. From the tip will come a great and magical force.


Soooo, it was a dragon? Or were dragons all drakes? You know what, he's just going to claim the title of dragonslayer, and if anyone has a problem with it, they can make their objections known.

It was heavy, the naked blade weighing more than both parts of Crocea Mors combined. Pretty, too, with a serpentine motif running down the sides. He rather liked the part saying it was a magic weapon. Little things like that added to the selling price.

He checked its worth.

Ehhhhh. The sword can take care of his debt, at least. He hesitated to call it an excellent prize due to the preceding battle. Life's tough for a dragonslayer.

With the drake sword resting on shoulder, Jaune and the others relocated inside the tower. The portal sprang to life as they drew near. Sparing it a single glance, Solaire shrugged and made a beeline for the bonfire, kindling it then stoking the flames. The heat it gave off felt uncomfortably warm to Jaune, as he considered this a fine spring day where a fire was not necessary in the least. Solaire's happy sigh said otherwise, and it was with reluctance that he left its side to go pull the lever near the gate.

"And there we are," declared Solaire, applauding heartily as the portcullis rose.

Jaune looked down the passage to see if it held things of interest. No dice, the road leading deeper into the fortress sat empty, and lend no hints of what lay ahead.

"What's down that way that's got you so eager, Solaire?"

"Yonder lies the Undead Parish, where the Bell awaits. Who knows, perhaps my sun is waiting there with it. Would that not be grand?"

"A bell, huh." Jaune tried to sound interested. He was unsuccessful. Come on, give him something cooler, like 'the drake's treasure hoard' or 'the magical sword repository'!

"Are you…not familiar with the story?"

Jaune backpedaled. "Uh, well, I wouldn't say that."

He needn't have worried. Solaire took his ignorance in stride.

"Hah hah hah! Do not fret, I shall be honored to explain. You see, legend tells of a Chosen Undead, come to Lordran in the time of the Awakening Bells. Lo and behold, the bell below started ringing not long ago. That leaves only the one atop the parish to open the gates to Anor Londo, city of the gods."

As Jaune listened to the story, his eyes grew wider and wider. This was a tale straight out of his adventure novels.

"The Chosen Undead, that's you, I'm guessing? You are pretty strong."

"Oh, thank you, but I could never claim such a lofty title. After all, while greater souls pursue that grand destiny, I shall run to and fro in search of my sun. What a silly Chosen Undead I would make, would you not agree?"

Jaune imagined it, and began snickering, as did Tattletale. The knight likewise gave a short chuckle, before growing contemplative.

"Still…we who have traveled to this land each walk a lonely journey fraught with danger, and will need as much help as we can get. If, by sparing some small effort, I could ease their way, then I shall do so." As he spoke, Solaire strolled out on the bridge to gaze at the sky. "Heroes, villains, adventurers, or chasers of the sunlight, it matters not. This age calls for us all to take part in jolly cooperation!"

Facing the sun, the knight performed an odd gesture, raising his arms aloft in a V-shape, palm facing outward, and going on tip-toes. He held the pose with the ease of having done the same a thousand times, appearing restful.

Behind him, Tattletale whispered, "He's mad!"

"He's so cool!" Jaune whispered back.

Believing in the ideals that everybody should unite to stand against the cruel world? The man's practically a Huntsman.

Missing their interaction altogether, Solaire completed his ritual(?) and turned to them, saying, "I have a thought. In this strange land, where space and time has been twisted into knots, our encounter defied all logic, and luck itself. Our fates are intertwined in manners not apparent. You may be the very companions to ensure this endeavor ends in success. So, what do you say? May we work together in this moment where our worlds meet?"

"Sure!" Jaune answered.

"No!" Tattletale refuted.

They looked at each other, then at Solaire. Jaune motioned for the man to wait.

"Can you give us a moment to discuss between ourselves?"

Solaire covered the spots on the helm where his ears should be, and spun around while the pair of Jaune and Tattletale moved to a corner. The latter spoke first.

"What was that? Why are we even thinking of sticking with him? We almost died. Let's just get out of here."

"Well, we always knew that was a possibility. This plan of ours was never going to be easy sailing."

"That doesn't mean we should risk our life for no proper pay."

Jaune showed the sword on his shoulder. "We got something, didn't we? And there's the fact he helped us return to the portal. Without him, we would have been toast."

His appeal to camaraderie failed to convince her, making Jaune sigh. Placing his hand on her shoulder, he continued in the soft and soothing tone that he would normally reserve for his sisters, or Nora. Or Pyrrha on the rare occasion she gets in one of her stubborn moods.

"Look, you can stay here, it's pretty safe for now. I'll go on ahead with Solaire. He's throwing magic around, and talking about gods. What else is here in this universe? Who knows what we can find along the way? It's worth a day or two of poking around."

Tattletale stamped her foot in a huff. "And we can do that in a better universe that doesn't have giant, man-eating monsters."

"Like Dunwall? Gold and towels are great, Tattletale, but we have enough of that to last for a while, and this is the time for us to work our way upward, not just circle round and round. I'm giving this a shot," he declared with a note of finality. "As I've said, stay here where it's safe, alright? I'll see you in a bit." Left unsaid, was that he might not see her ever again.

Receiving no further retorts (except for the grinding teeth and baleful glare), Jaune patted Tattletale on the back on his way past, and rejoined the knight.

"Solaire, I've decided. I'm coming along."

"Wonderful! With you two by my side, I shall have nothing to fear!"

…You two?

He turned his head. Lisa stood a step behind him, unhappy to be there, but clearly a part of the group.

She crossed her arms, and hmphed. "I'm not useless. You wouldn't get anywhere without me."

---

Author's Notes: No trickeries, no intrigue. We are on a quest!

But then, why the heck is Lisa going along?

 

[LazyAutumnMoon]

The sword stabbed through the Hollow's chest. Jaune left it there to step past the falling body, and kicked its ally, a strong blow to send the zombie soldier into the air. Solaire was there in the next moment to cleave the body in two.

Jaune pulled on the sword, extracting it as he continued striding forward without missing a beat. Two more Hollows have set upon Solaire, staved off by his shield. One swing of Crocea Mors took care of that problem before the other man could counterattack, and ended the altercation.

Not even ten seconds had passed since the start of the encounter.

"What strength!" Solaire praised as he clapped Jaune on the shoulder. "You have the making of a fine knight, my friend…if a tad reckless. Take care that you do not become an Undead like me. Hah hah hah!"

Jaune gave a rueful smile. "You're quite strong yourself." Stronger than should be possible, and he chalked it down as something to do with the Undead condition. "And my bad. They were just so…"

Easy.

It sounded arrogant, but the zombies—not the Undead, but the Hollows—really were too simple a foe, and to take them with a sense of seriousness seemed a needless effort to him. It's no wonder those movies always featured plucky civilian teens instead of Huntsmen and Huntresses. There would not be a story otherwise.

"No need to say it. I understand well the feeling. Take heed, I urge you. Lordran is home to a multitude of beings both small and great. The Black Knights, for instance, count among the latter."

The pair stopped at a door for Solaire to look inside. A quick glance, and the man shook his head. There was no sun to find here. They went to the next building while continuing the conversation.

"That name sure sounds ominous. Who are they?"

"Elite knights, chosen personally by Lord Gwyn to serve him in war. Those poor fellows may have been scorched by the fires of the First Kiln, but they still retain their prowess in life. Should we meet one such, I hesitate to say whether we shall prevail."

"Wow. You're saying that? These guys must be tough."

The knight was no slouch, Jaune had concluded from their brief partnership. During previous skirmishes, his techniques displayed a brutal simplicity, one worthy of envy.

How to better put it? Take the aforementioned fights. Jaune can be considered efficient in that he just strolled into the enemy ranks, smacking his sword about and ending up on the other side victorious. An enhanced physique granted him an overwhelming advantage, and Aura protected him from the occasional dings, opening him up to options that would let him neutralize a threat faster (i.e. tanking a hit to gut his enemy). Solaire, in contrast, employed efficiency in terms of deliberateness. His footwork was minimized, attacks tight and controlled. He moved in the path he intended, and emerged beside Jaune a mere few beats later while bearing little to no wounds.

With skill alone the other man closed the gap against Aura. Put aside the advantages of an awakened soul, and he'd likely trounce Jaune ten out of ten times in a spar. Which rather begged the question: How would Solaire fare if he received Aura?

Also, should he get Aura? Jaune had not forgotten Corvo Attano's warning. To awaken willy-nilly people's souls carried consequences that may spiral beyond his control. Trust mattered.

Solaire shut another door behind himself. "Many regard them the toughest among humanity barring champions the likes of Pharis or Black Iron Tarkus. In the event that we face a Black Knight," the great helm tilted in what Jaune had come to know as Solaire's equivalent of a wink for when his face was obscured, "do allow me to stand at the front."

The needle was leaning hard towards a 'yes' on unlocking that Aura. Jaune did not think he would regret it. Sure, the guy apparently can't die even when killed, being Undead—there's some kind of nine-lives situation, sort of like a cat? Only a lot higher of a number? The explanation was hard to believe—but the willingness to spend even one of those lives for someone else spoke volumes of his character.

The clanking of armor alerted them to a group of Hollows approaching, drawn by the noise they were making. The two groups locked eyes, and the battle began anew.

"Any advice for how I should be fighting?" Jaune asked as they advanced.

"Hmmm. Were I to note one thing, then I would say you are neglecting the possibilities granted by your shield."

A zombie wielding an axe raced ahead of its brethren. Arriving in striking range, it reared back for a swing. Solaire met it by raising his shield. The axe chopped downward, and with a shift of his arm the knight caught the weapon on an angle, causing its heavy blade to skid off.

"Blocking is but one option. To turn the attack aside is often the better answer. It diminishes the force of the blow, you see, and in one fell swoop we seize control of the encounter." Solaire swung his shield arm, slapping away a second slash before the Hollow could build momentum in its attack. The action left the thing completely unguarded for him to run it through. "Then, there is the parry. A well-timed one wards off harm to ourselves and opens our foe to a riposte. A shield provides opportunity."

Was the idea revolutionary? No. Jaune had learned of parrying from Pyrrha, and understood the necessary motions. He hadn't received a live combat demonstration on the merits of it, nor the philosophy behind the act. His Beacon partner taught him the what but not the why. Perhaps she assumed that he already understood something so basic; he certainly gave the impression, never realizing there were finer points that he should have asked her to clarify on. The technique made sense in hindsight.

The remaining Hollows reached the pair, and Jaune used them for practice. His habit of hunkering behind the shield whenever he saw an incoming attack worked against him here, requiring that he fight past the impulse more times than he cared to mention. Observing Solaire in the periphery spurred him on to keep at it. Where Jaune's progress flowed in a series of starts and stops in response to the Hollows bashing on his shield, the other man retained fluidity of motion from start to finish, allowing him to finish off his opponents long before Jaune concluded things on his end.

As they reconvened, Jaune said, "You know, you might be right. That fight wore less on me than the previous one." His admission got a good-natured laugh from Solaire. "Anyway, is that the last of them?"

"I dare say it is. The world has grown quiet."

"Nice. In that case…" He looked back the way they came. "Tattletale, the coast is clear!"

Far down the street, a blonde head popped out around the corner. The rest of the girl appeared in view as she jogged to them. Her eyes flicked along the ground, going from slain body to slain body, but this time—despite a flash of ill unease—she made a visible, if poor, effort to ignore them, traveling in a straight line instead of shying from the blood and viscera. Then, she made an effort to ignore him, her power noticing that he had noticed the strange behavior, and that he now noticed that she noticed, which since she noticed thereby necessitated she play it off to avoid his notice, which only led to him noticing the oddness all the more, meaning that—

She resolved the conundrum by walking behind him, and when he spun towards her she sidled out of sight to escape his scrutiny again. How mature of her.

"Tattletale, what are you doing?"

"Why are we wasting time? Go look for the sun or whatever already!"

He and Solaire shared a glance, and they both shrugged. Obvious attempt to force a subject change was obvious. They weren't likely to receive an answer, though, and she had a point. This was a big place to comb over. They best get a move on.

Built into and around the wall, the district that they were passing through was designed to house a military force, long defunct. Storage rooms, barracks, cellars, guard posts. They lay abandoned, filled with dust and decay.

Solaire searched them with a careful eye, heading up to the highest watchtower and down to the deepest basement in the hope of finding his sun. His process…didn't seem to follow any sort of reason. Jaune followed along, watching as the man would sometimes walk into a room and walk out in the span of five seconds, but then spend half an hour checking every cabinet and crevice in a different room.

Jaune focused his own exploration on items of value. He was met with a whole lot of disappointment there.

The area stocked weapons and armors aplenty, all of low quality. How low? Let's put it this way: Jaune was convinced the higher-ups intended the soldiers assigned here to serve as a warning system, in that their dying screams would alert everyone else of danger, and armed them accordingly.

As for the mundane goods, age had rendered them of little use. Rotten food. Moth-eaten clothes. Even the bed in the barracks was not worth taking, meaning he'd continue sleeping on a blanket spread on the floor of the apartment for the foreseeable future.

Swinging off the last cot in the room, Jaune grumbled, "This one's no good either."

"I told you!" Tattletale snarked. "If you want the good stuff, we need to loot a bigshot's house. A noble—Ooh! Or a king!"

"Yeeeah, I'm just going to hope we hit a modern universe next. It's so much easier when there's a store for everything."

The cellar door slammed open to interrupt their riveting discussion. Out of it strode Solaire, sword in hand, breathing heavily. He was covered in blood.

"Rats," he explained to them.

An hour earlier, Jaune would have scoffed at the notion of rats posing a danger. That was before seeing one in person. Something must be in the water around these parts, because those 'pests' went up to his knees. At a start.

"Are you injured?" he asked.

"Thank you for your concern, but never fear, for this blood is not mine. Alas," Solaire clasped his hands over his heart, "my sun is also not mine." A laugh. "I suppose we shall press on!"

"Sounds good to me. Maybe we'll have better luck upstairs."

At a glance, the second floor held promise. The decor of paintings and carpets indicated that people of greater import might have occupied this level of the barracks. Officers and the like, Tattletale helpfully provided as if it were a startling revelation.

"Grrr."

"What?" Jaune said. "I'm not wrong. Who else would be living here? It's obvious, no superpowers needed."

To emphasize the point, he swept an arm across the room. Oh, the valuables have long since been looted to leave a bare-bone space littered with rubbish but the quality furniture, the bookshelves, and the empty jewelry boxes spoke of the outpost commander's well-to-do life. His body lying on the bed with a sword in his gut, a sword of similar manufacture to the ones in the armory downstairs, suggested his subordinates were quite jealous of his wealth.

It was such a nice bed, too…

"His soldiers didn't do it. See how the body is splayed? He was resting, and died without fighting back. Poison, likely. The sword's a red herring to draw attention away from the real cause. An assassin did this, or a spurned lover."

"I don't know, that seems a stretch."

Tattletale flapped her mouth wordlessly, shocked and offended. Finding her voice, she retorted, "Like hell it is!"

"Well, what if the killer brought help? His buddies held the arms and legs—"

"Wrong. Totally wrong. Even if he was restrained, he still would have struggled, and the wound would look a lot messier. The bloodstain is also too small. The body had gone cold hours beforehand. It's obvious."

Jaune glanced back at the body. Lacking her ability, he saw none of the things Tattletale claimed.

"...I'll take your word for it."

She grinned. "Yeah, you had better."

A lull fell over the pair, the conversation topic exhausted. Jaune scanned the empty quarters of the commander. The inspection yet again failed to uncover treasure, and he decided to ask the question on his mind.

"Do you think you can turn that superpower to finding us some loot?"

Because while interesting, the detective show was none too useful—

Tattletale winced, her grin gone.

—and he'd prefer an actual payoff for the last few hours.

"I would have if there was anything here, it's not my fault this place is empty!"

"On the contrary…" Solaire, heretofore spending his time tapping on the wall for unknown reasons, interjected. "I am sure…perhaps here…ah hah!"

Jaune rubbed his eyes. At his side, Tattletale stared blankly, her mind having short-circuited. Between the bed and a dresser, where there had once been solid stone blocks, now sat an entrance to another room, one filled with odds and ends.

"Bwuh!? But how—that couldn't—there was a wall there!" spluttered Tattletale in confusion.

Solaire crossed his arms, nodding in sympathy. "Do not blame yourself. For centuries, illusion sorceries have befuddled the senses of gods and humanity."

"Fucking sorcery!" Tattletale spat, raging. She spun towards Jaune. "I would have figured it out eventually."

He snickered. "Sure you would."

"I would!" she insisted, before gasping. "The floor plan! The size of the second floor didn't match the first, and the wall in the adjacent room is spaced out too far from this one, and…and…"

Jaune's smile faded. Her bewilderment amused him at first, but he was starting to get the sense that she may be, in fact, taking it very badly. He put a hand on her shoulder, stopping the spiel of deductions.

"Look, don't worry, I get it. I believe you."

"You don't!" she snapped back.

Ouch. He kept forgetting that lying didn't work well against this girl when [Blank] was shut off.

"I'm serious. Don't mind it. Solaire found the illusion anyway, so it's fine." Though he said that, from her expression it was not fine. "Hell, a treasure chest is lying on the ground right over there, isn't that great? We're in business."

In truth, it appeared the only object of note here. The papers and reports on the nearby desk no doubt contained critical information back in the days, and were as important as toilet paper now. The stash of wine bottles on a shelf bore an odd color that Jaune was leery of. Aside from those, the room saw use as a repository of broken junk. The commander had been the type to shove his trash in a corner to make space and forget about them.

But the chest, oh, the chest beckoned to Jaune with its promise. Crafted of smooth, polished wood, it occupied pride of place at the center of the hidden room, untouched by the ravages of time. He put it down to magic to have a hand in the fine condition of the chest, and if that was so, then who's to say that the contents did not enjoy the same benefit.

Solaire, at least, seemed to agree with the sentiment, lending the chest his full attention. Slowly, he moved towards it, one hand fishing in the pouches at his belt for something.

"Wait a minute." Tattletale tilted her head, puzzled. She peered closer, observing the chest for a while. Abruptly, her eyes widened, and she piped up, "That's not a chest! It's breathing! Look at the floor, there's traces of a struggle!"

Solaire grew still. Silence befell the room.

"Oh, dear," the knight whispered. "Why must you tell it?"

No sooner had he spoken, the chest launched itself at the group. A body sprouted under the container, a lean torso on two long legs. Up top, the lid swung open to reveal rows of sharp teeth, two arms springing forth from around a giant, drooling tongue to grasp for a target.

Jaune had worked his way up to that point, the visuals. He was experiencing a bit of trouble with what to do about it; life has failed to adequately prepare him for an ambush from living pieces of furniture. Tattletale was likewise frozen, having undergone a mental crash again.

Solaire was the one to act, intercepting the lunge with his shield raised high. His posture suffered for the hasty maneuver, though, and he was taken off his feet by the sheer weight of the monster, slamming into Jaune and Tattletale to knock the party back out to the main quarters in a mess of tangled limbs.

The living chest thrashed about in a frenzy, its maw trying to snap on the closest person and nearly catching Jaune with a swipe as he scrambled to his feet. He pulled Tattletale away before the thing could grab her, shoving the girl out of its reach toward the exit.

"Down! Go down and get out of the building!"

She hesitated for a second, scared expression giving way to regret and self-recrimination. Then, heeding his command, she vanished around the corner. After confirming her safety, Jaune spun to face the danger, Crocea Mors at the ready.

The monster had Solaire lifted in the air, and was currently feeding him headfirst into its mouth.

"Oh, crap! Solaire!"

He rushed forward, sword slashing. The blade bit deep into flesh, and while the monster released Solaire with a shriek of pain, to his consternation it failed to cleave straight through the arm. The spindly frame and awkward limbs granted the monster an illusion of weakness, and belied a body that was all corded muscle, tough to a degree Jaune would call supernatural.

The chest looked(?) down at its arm to the bleeding gash there, then looked(?) up at Jaune. He got the feeling that, despite the complete lack of eyeballs, the thing was sending him a baleful glare full of hatred.

"I have a sword and I'm not afraid to use it."

"Ssaaaaaaa!"

He did not speak furniture, but the translation probably went something like this: I have a mouth full of fangs and I am eager to use them.

"Glad we reached an understanding. Rahhhh!" He charged the monster.

"Ssaaaa!" It responded in kind.

The creature batted his sword aside. He bashed it in the chin with the shield, the treasure chest head snapping back from the force of the blow. It rode the momentum, leg swinging up to kick him into the ceiling, the wood cracking from the impact. He fell down towards a waiting maw. Solaire tackled it out of the way, and Jaune landed on the floor without meeting harm. Once he climbed upright, the other man was locked in combat with the monster; even with two cuts on the torso and one more on the thigh, it was barely slowing.

"Jaune, I dropped my Lloyd talisman!" Solaire shouted over his shoulder. "It is the surest method—" He ducked under a fist. "—to defeat a mimic!"

"I'll look for it!" yelled Jaune.

He dropped to his hands and knees, padding along the floor as he sought the Lloyd talisman.

Wait. Hang on.

"I have no idea what that is! Solaire, you look for it, and I'll keep the chest busy!"

The knight disengaged from the mimic and Jaune switched in, unleashing a series of wild swings to force the monster to evade. The huge head and elongated limbs worked oddly well together, changing directions and bending around the sword in ways that defied common sense.

Seizing an opening, it clocked him in the face. Aura prevented actual damage, and he shook off the pain to put up his shield in answer. It grabbed the top edge with the other arm to pull the shield down, then punched him again. The fist winded back, and as it launched, Jaune returned the shield to sheath form, his sword stabbing through the space that the shield used to occupy. The blade buried itself a few inches into the belly of the mimic. A roar of pain shook the room.

The mimic stumbled back, letting go of the sheath which Jaune redeployed to shield form. Rushing after the monster, he pressed the opportunity with a slash of his sword. A bare-handed block robbed the mimic all five fingers on the right side.

"Ha! How'd you like me now?" he mocked.

The giant tongue slapped him on the cheek so hard it spun him to face the opposite direction.

"Owwww," he moaned, holding his face. "Owwww. Does this count as a kiss? Did I get kissed by a treasure chest?"

There was no answer—maybe the mimic was too shy to admit it—but movement on the other side of the room drew his notice, and he spotted Solaire pulling an object from under the bed. The man held it aloft in triumph before tossing the silvery medallion past Jaune. He turned to watch what it did.

The talisman hit the floor, breaking into pieces and releasing the smoke held within. The effect was instantaneous, albeit likely not what Solaire desired. With a howl of panic, the mimic scurried to the side in order to avoid the smoke cloud, jumping up near the ceiling and splaying out its arms and legs to hold itself in the corner.

Hearing Solaire give a sheepish laugh, Jaune asked, "What was supposed to happen?"

"The fumes contained inside a talisman of Lloyd bears a most curious effect on the mimic clan, inducing a somnolescent daze," commented the knight, observing the mimic with a careful eye. "Of course, that only takes effect when it inhales the substance. If otherwise…"

"I don't think I like where this is going."

"...the creature may become enraged at the attempt, believing that we mean to abscond with its treasure while it slumbers. What a misunderstanding. Hah hah hah."

Jaune chuckled, weakly. "Thought so."

The cloud thinned out, and was soon dispelled altogether, leaving utter stillness in its wake. The onset of evening had cast the room into shadows, and from the darkest corner the mimic peered out at the pair of Jaune and Solaire with a malevolent gaze.

"Ssaaa…Ssaaa…Ssaaa…"

I'll kill you. I'll kill you. I'll kill you, was the impression Jaune received.

It let go, landing light on the balls of the feet. The slobbering tongue ran along the edges of the chest, licking its chops.

"Pheh. Quit posturing," Jaune ordered. "You don't scare us."

The mimic pressed its lid almost shut, leaving a thin line; the equivalent of eyes narrowing, Jaune realized. An expression of one who had been challenged. He pointed Crocea Mors at the monster.

"Hell, you're downright cute in comparison to some of the things I've faced. This sword has killed a drake. Can you claim the same?"

His words froze the creature where it stood. The mimic studied the weapon with a critical gaze. Drool started pouring over the lip of the chest. Waking from the stupor, it leveled a finger at the blade before pointing to itself.

"What? Give you my sword?" Fat chance of that.

The mimic curled the intact fingers into a strangling gesture. It exuded anticipation. Glee.

"Ahhh. You're taking Crocea Mors from my cold, dead body."

It nodded.

"Got it. Looks like we can't both walk away from this. You want to kill us for our stuff, we need to kill you to live, so let's drop the tricks and mind games, and just fight. May the best man— uh, person—warrior win."

"Ssaaa…" It took a step forward, then pushed off to rush at them. "SSAAAA!"

Jaune met the charge with his own. The mimic winded up for a punch. He brandished his sword. He gave a sharp thrust. It leapt over the blade.

Wut?

Tucked in a ball, the mimic soared, having canceled the fakeout punch in favor of the true attack, one utilizing its great weight. It launched both legs straight, catching Jaune in the chest. Five hundred pounds in motion crashed against a running human, and won. The dropkick blasted Jaune across the room. Glass shattered in a million fragments as he flew out the window.

Flipping end over end, he knew neither sky nor land, and [Third Arm] grabbed hold of empty air. Jaune slammed into pavement. Before he could do anything, Tattletale chose that moment to exit the barracks, tripping and falling on top of him.

Blue gazed into green.

"Hi."

"Hi…? Did you just drop from the second floor?"

"Ugh, yeah. That mimic's got moves. Guy could have been a champ."

"L-Look," Tattletale suddenly said, voice quavering. Jaune raised a brow at the odd tone. "I wasn't wrong about that thing. How would I know that it can hear us? A-And think about what might happen without my warning!" As he listened, Jaune gazed past her to the sky. His eyes bulged in shock. "You could have walked too close and been eaten! So…so…"

"Hold that thought."

Jaune wrapped his arms around Tattletale, and rolled the both of them out of the way. An instant later, the mimic struck the ground in a three-point landing, a fist leaving cracks in the stone right on the spot where their heads had been.

A beat, and the creature turned in their direction. The mimic slowly straightened to its full height, slender figure casting a long shadow over the road.

"Sssaaaaa?"

Hoh? You're still alive? it seemed to say. Gravel crunched as the mimic pivoted on its heels to fully face them. It began walking.

"Stay behind me?" Jaune said to Tattletale. They disentangled themselves, and hurried to get in formation.

He needn't have worried. The treasure chest only had eyes for him. Er, lid. Wood.

…He's going to just call it eyes, and stop thinking too hard about it.

As they prepared for contact, a shadow overlapped with that of the mimic. Jaune snapped his head upward, a motion copied by the monster. He did not regret it, but it certainly did. A plain, steel sword rammed through the roof of the chest.

A piercing screech rang out over the Undead Burg, pained and tortured and wrathful.

Jaune grinned, and would have cheered in victory. His euphoria died as the mimic refused to fall. The blade puncturing its head was stuck fast, and ichor flowed from the wound, but the attack had failed to put the thing down for good. It was yet alive. It was angry as hell. And, it had a target.

He came to a terrible realization. People with Aura can fall out of buildings fine. People without…they break. Paling, he sprinted at the creature, hoping to force it away from the knight who was rolling off his back nearby. One leg was clearly broken.

"Solaire! Why would you do something so reckless!?"

"Not to worry, I am—"

What he was about to say will forever remain unspoken, because Jaune was too late. The mimic lifted one foot high, and stomped down. With a sharp crack that sickened Jaune to hear, Solaire was driven into the stone pavement. The knight laid still.

Vengeance attained, the mimic fell to its knees, and punched a fist towards the sky.

It did not retaliate as Crocea Mors staked it, through the lips, through the tongue, impaling into the very depths of the chest.

The mimic gave a gurgling, choking noise. It reached out a hand, grasping for Jaune, who dodged from it. The stubborn thing held the hand in place, still reaching, until the effort became too great. It tipped over, crashing to the ground with a dull thud.

Jaune gazed down at the dying mimic, watching it take its last breaths.

"Ssaaa…"

Translation: You have bested me. Now my end draws near. Heh, it's funny. The sky is so bright, yet the world grows dark. Farewell to you, the better thief. know that…that…

Mimics never die.
These treasures mine, yours to claim.
The cycle lives on…​

Probably. He's not really an expert on furniture language or anything.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god!"

Tattletale's stricken sobs shattered the moment. Jaune whirled around to see her unbuckling Solaire's helm, the attempt hampered by her shaking hands. He skidded to their side in the next second, helping her. As he pulled the armor off, she jabbed the man in the neck with a stimpak, administering the healing cocktail.

No movement. She injected another. Then a third, to no effect. She was a wreck by the time she raised the fourth stimpak. Jaune grabbed her wrist to stop her.

"It's no use, Tattletale. He's gone."

Solaire was younger than Jaune expected, a clean-shaven man in his prime. In death, he still wore a smile. It suited the affable knight.

The stimpak Tattletale was holding slipped from her grip, and the girl cradled her head between her hands. Muttered curses, apologies, confessions, they poured from her lips in an unending stream.

Jaune stayed silent, struck dumb by the abruptness of it all. The minutes ran together. In his mind, he thought over everything that led to this moment.

What if they hadn't set off the mimic? What if he had succeeded in killing it sooner? Or treated the fight more seriously, retaining the awareness that he fought alongside an Auraless person?

Why hadn't he awakened Solaire's Aura? In hindsight, the man had earned their trust ten times over. Why did the knight jump out that window? He had to know how dangerous it was.

He wanted to scream at Tattletale. At himself.

Solaire…

"He was—he was such a good guy," Jaune murmured. "A real hero. I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

"Oh, that is quite alright, Jaune."

"AHHHH!"

"AHHHH!"

Jaune and Tattletale screamed bloody murder, hugging each other in terror as a dead man loomed above them.

"A ghost!"

"I'm sorry!"

Solaire threw back his head, and laughed. The man stood upright, with nary a scratch on him.

"Hah hah hah! Did you forget, perchance? Like most those who come to Lordran, I am one of the Undead."

Jaune twisted to look at where the body of Solaire formerly laid. At some unknown point in the last hour, it had disappeared without a trace. Then, that meant the Solaire here could be the original, and no illusion.

"S-So, you're alive?"

"Of course not. I am Undead. Hah hah hah!"

This bastard.

"Solaire."

"What is it, my friend?"

"I'm unlocking your Aura. No arguments."

-o-​

An hour later, resting around a bonfire, Jaune reiterated his stance.

"I said no arguments!"

"And not one of us here gainsay you."

They sure were thinking it, though. That was a dozen tries with nothing to show for it. What was going on?

The process started well enough. Normal. His chant was on point. The Aura flowed smoothly.

Except, the instant it pushed from his hand and passed over to Solaire, he received a sensation as if the Aura that should awaken the soul was instead vanishing. Consumed by something, becoming other and no longer under his control. Deeming it a matter of quantity, he added more Aura, to the same result. The motes were falling into a bottomless pool, mere drips touching on something vast and hungry.

"Again."

"I wish you luck."

"Again."

"Take heart, perhaps this time it will succeed."

"Aga—Oh, forget it. This isn't working." Jaune wiped the sweat from his brow, and dropped to sit on the pile of sheets that were his sleeping arrangement for the night; they had appropriated supplies from the barracks for their camp. "I'm sorry, Solaire."

"Hah hah hah. Do not fret. I am of a hardy constitution in my own way."

"I wouldn't call dying over and over a good thing."

Solaire finished stoking the flames, and scooted back to his bedroll.

"The Undead Curse is no curse to me. Without it, I could never have made it this far."

This guy was too blasé about being an abomination of nature. If asked, Jaune would opine that the prospect of turning Undead carried with it existential questions not easily brushed off. There's no convincing the man of that, though. Life as an Undead allowed him to quest for his sun, and to Solaire, that one merit quashed all other considerations.

"Is there no downside?"

The smile Solaire wore somewhat faded. He rubbed his head, pondering the question.

"Not to me," he said in the end.

"But there are?"

The knight dropped his gaze to the bonfire, hesitating. He did not like this line of question. Before Jaune could pivot to a lighter subject, Solaire heaved a great sigh.

"In the fading of the First Flames, the curse arose. It does not allow us to pass on, and should we perish, from the bonfires we rise again. In exchange, food ceased to sate our hunger. Wine loses its taste. Life, its luster."

"That sounds…" Unfulfilling. Empty.

"You need not say it. All Undead knows. Everything fades." Solaire looked up to meet Jaune's eyes. His voice grew somber, grave. "Even memory. A warning to you. Should I cease to recognize you and Tattletale, and behave as if you are my enemy…do not hesitate to end my life, as many times as need be until I am one of those unfortunate fellows. Otherwise, I fear I might pose a danger to you, my friend."

Jaune gulped.

The conversation soon fell off, leaving each to their thoughts. In time, they each retired for the night. Sleep, at least, still belonged to the Undead, and soft snores rose from the other side of the fire.

Jaune tossed and turned for a while longer, pondering the notion of living forever. Unlike most, he would not have to accept a curse or, say, the bite of a vampire to achieve it, merely the press of a button. The Company put it on sale for an appropriate price. As in, outrageously exorbitant. Yet, both he and Tattletale had seen the offer, and none-too-secretly marked it down in their respective notes.

Up until now, he hadn't considered that immortality might not always be a boon. Who knew.

Did Tattletale?

He looked to where she had settled, a short distance apart from the fire and the group. Tattletale sat framed against the night sky, idly stroking the ring resting in her palm. It was their prize purloined from the mimic treasure chest.

The ring dampened sounds made by the movement of its wearer, their footsteps and the rustling of clothes. For the one who needed to avoid notice when a fight breaks out, passing it to her seemed a no-brainer, was his thinking.

She didn't look at all happy with it in her hand, and has yet to ever put it on.

---

Author's Notes: Really thought this arc would fit into two chapters. Ah well, one more next week to round it out.

.

I buffed that mimic to hell and back. You know, to capture the feeling of terror from one's first Dark Souls mimic fight.
.

Nothing so sweet as an unearned reward.
Or was it bitter?

 

[LazyAutumnMoon]

The heat of the furnace cast the room in a warm glow, almost unbearably so. The steady clang-clang of a hammer striking metal was accompanied by the occasional growl coming from the direction of the stairs leading below, and a shaking as something large prowled around. Were one to descend those steps, they would encounter a headless demon born of stone. Harmless, the blacksmith of the forge called it, so long as no person disturbed its domain.

Aside from the blacksmith—Andre, a stocky man of unkempt hair and beard—the room hosted a number of visitors. A staircase led upward and on the top steps sat Tattletale, who preferred the cool air of the nearby open doorway as she observed the scene. At the bottom, Jaune stood leaning on a wall, arms crossed and a little smile on his face; he was listening to the conversation between Solaire and the blacksmith.

The two men hailed from the same kingdom, and each had heard of the other. Their meeting revealed much of their home, Astora. To Jaune, it resembled a storybook, with kings and queens, beautiful princesses and questing knights. The people there liked their humor a tad dark, though the jokes were by no means malicious. Laughter came easy to them.

"...just like a pig-wrestling bout at a village fair, I tell you," Solaire said, slapping his knee in mirth. "Complete with the screaming and falling off at the end!"

"A lunatic, then. Same as all the others." Andre shook his head in exasperation, but could not quite hide the grin.

"No, no, do not misunderstand. The tactic succeeded, and he escaped with his life beside. What would you call him? Inspired, I say," insisted Solaire.

He was something, alright. Jaune broke out in cold sweat, remembering the encounter.

/​

Man and pig screamed at each other from a distance of inches.

The buildings blurred as the sharp-tusked boar sped by, bigger than a car, and as fast as one too. Armored from snout to tail, the beast was an unstoppable juggernaut, thundering hooves bringing it ever closer to the shut portcullis behind which resided a cathedral.

Not that the boar realized it. Those red eyes, overcome with hate and hunger, were trained on the persistent nuisance that was Jaune Arc clinging onto its face, using its tusks as handholds. Hollowed soldiers manning the parapets above rained down arrows and rocks on them both, going ignored as their staring contest raged on.

The clash of will culminated with Jaune blinking first, blanching upon recalling what awaited at his back and that he was probably a second away from impact. To save himself, he leapt upward, and the armored boar triumphantly tossed its head to whack him with a tusk, sending him cartwheeling through the air. Its gaze then turned forward, and what followed was a squeal of utter surprise, a resounding crash of metal on metal, a busted gate, and an even more busted pig. Oh, plus a Jaune caught out in the open as every Hollow there now had a free shot at him.

What a great plan.

/​

And there was much screaming.

Sticks and stones might not break his bones, but the pain transmitted just fine. Similar to bullets, a few dozen arrows eventually made for a bad time. All in all, it could have gone better.

What he said out loud, however, was a little different. Sometimes, a person has to own their mistakes…by twisting it into success!

"Inspired is right. It worked like a charm, didn't it? Man, I'm amazing."

Jaune held up a fist, which Solaire obliged with a bump. The gesture was one he had taught to the knight, and one the other man quickly grew to enjoy using. The connotations of it meshed with his outlook on life.

The blacksmith snorted in derision. "And here I always reckon the Undead Curse was what drives men mad. I suppose we find fools everywhere no matter their state." He placed the sword he had beaten into shape aside. "Still, I'll admit you done me a favor. That pig's been in the way of me scavenging trips for too long."

"No big deal, we had to fight past it anyhow. And if you're looking for material, then the boar's just lying there wearing a ton of armor. Pretty sure you could get good use out of that."

Andre answered him with a grunt, and an evaluating glance. He searched Jaune's expression for a hidden trick, finding none. "Mighty generous, that. I think I'll take you up on the offer. But later. I hate owing, so tell you what, hand me that sword of yours. I can improve on it for a favorable rate."

Jaune perked up at the proposal. An opportunity to upgrade Crocea Mors? He checked over the area. The shield may require modern technology, but the sword component lacked mechashift. It was simple, meaning a medieval blacksmith possessed the full complement of tools to work on the weapon.

From the stairs, Tattletale called down, "We helped you and you still want to charge us? Boo!" A surreptitious thumbs-up let Jaune know she had a plan, and that he should leave it to her to negotiate. Voice sweet as sugar, the girl wheedled, "Come oooon, the job should be free. It's only fair! Whatever happened to Astoran hospitality?"

"You obviously never set foot in Astora, girlie," replied Andre, annoyed.

"And I probably won't be able to if you refuse to make Jaune a better sword. We wouldn't survive long enough," she shot back. Trying to guilt trip the man was…bold. "Why do you even need compensation? The Undead don't eat. They don't drink. And unless I miss my mark, there's no entertainment in Lordran to spend money on."

Uh-oh. Jaune sensed the changing mood in the blacksmith, and he waved at Tattletale to indicate that she should drop it. Nearby, Solaire cleared his throat in an exaggerated manner to convey the same. She was focused, though, the Thinker putting on her Thinking cap and sinking deep in the throes of her deductions, her eyes flitting over Andre to note each minute tic that meant little to other people, but revealed to her the pieces of the man's story. They came together to form an incomplete picture, hinting at secrets that Tattletale craved to uncover further.

"It's not like you have long lines of customers coming to you anymore. There's no business to run! You're already gaining the benefit of more available raw materials because of us, and this job costs you nothing, so—"

"Price just doubled," Andre said, idly.

"...Eh?"

Tattletale froze stock still, while Jaune palmed his face. The girl studied the blacksmith to understand that, yes, he was serious. Whatever goodwill they garnered had blown off with the wind.

"W-wow, is this really the level of integrity you bring to your work—"

"Triple."

Jaune walked over to the wall, and began banging his forehead against the stone.

Meanwhile, Tattletale flapped her mouth open and shut, unable to form words. She spotted a smirk under Andre's beard, and it caused her to flush red with anger. Before she could retort, Andre held up four fingers, and the rebuttal on her lips was replaced with a pout. Tattletale stamped her foot on the steps, and crossed her arms, letting everyone know of her displeasure.

A lull in the conversation ensued, broken by Jaune.

"Well, thanks for the offer, Andre. I think I'll hold off on that. The price seems a tad high, you know?"

"Like I said, favorable rates. Hand me the blade."

He blinked in surprise. "Huh? But you just increased the price."

"You aren't the girlie, lad. I'll provide the titanite. That, I have plenty to spare. 'Tis honest pay for me craft I be needing. As all me customers know."

Halfway through, Andre had slipped, his tone taking on a trace of pride, and it occurred to both Jaune and Tattletale—quite late—that the blacksmith set his terms not for profit, or not entirely so, but rather for reasons of a sentimental nature. To be Undead was to exist in a state of 'don't have', deprived of home and connections and fulfillment. Perhaps, due to that, some may want to cling to their memories of the past, going through the motions of the time they were alive. A proper sale was one of those things that Andre desired to experience.

Up in her spot, Tattletale tapped a beat on her crossed arm with her fingers, irritated at herself and refusing to meet anyone's gaze. As for Jaune, he could not present his sword fast enough. His other hand brandished a fistful of gold, taken from Dunwall and stored in a money pouch for use in their journey.

"That sounds a fair trade to me. Here! Would this work to cover it? Or, hell, if you prefer dealing in favors, I can go fight that monster in the basement for you."

Andre peered at the coins and the anxious expression on Jaune's face, flicked his gaze up to the miserable Tattletale. Through their actions, he seemed to have noticed something off about them—Jaune dared not ask what, lest he confirmed it—and after a moment's deliberation, he gave an amused huff to dispel the last of the tension in the room. His gruff demeanor returned, and he waved a hand in dismissal.

"Bah! What hovel did you two crawl out from? Take those useless soft metals away. And you leave that beastie alone. Where do you think I harvest titanite from?"

"Gold will do you no good here," interjected Solaire to explain. "Souls are the currency of Lordran."

Jaune leveled a skeptical look at the knight. Buying and selling souls? If they bring out contracts that he has to sign in blood, then friendly or not, he was taking Tattletale and bailing.

Yet, it also explained much. Offering Andre their coins revealed them to be outsiders, faraway travelers who did not know of how life works in these lands, and were lost. Did the blacksmith sympathize?

As for Solaire, he accepted the incredulity with good grace. "Here, allow me to demonstrate."

He held out a palm, inviting Jaune to observe. Above, Tattletale peered between the banisters, curious at the claim.

At first there was nothing. Then, a spark ignited. It floated above Solaire's hand, a small flame that spun and danced, growing with each passing second as more wisps coalesced, until a roaring fire blazed in his palm. Tattletale stared at it, jaw dropping as she struggled to comprehend what she beheld. Jaune, coming from a society that already knew the soul was a malleable thing, simply admired the fine control. There were Huntsmen—Ren, for example—who spent years honing Aura techniques to enable a number of esoteric uses. His teammate never showed a move like this.

A very important question: Can Aura be shaped in a similar form, and slung about as if they were fireballs? Inquiring (and videogame-fueled) minds demanded an answer. Jaune put a pin on it to mess around with later, and tuned back to Solaire as he proceeded with his explanation.

"Undead, Hollows, mortals, beasts. We all leave a part of ourselves behind in death, echoes of our experiences and thoughts. An Undead absorbs these souls, whether taken from foes or picked up from those who met with fatal misfortune, and becomes grander for it."

"You get stronger as you kill. That's…a bit morbid."

And yet, the soul looked beautiful.

Also, it glowed, meaning it was good for the body.

"Is it? I do not think so. To me, it seems a wondrous thing. Those who fall entrust their will to those who continue on and from this act great deeds are done, and legends are born."

Jaune doubted that it was that simple. When souls become currency, theft equals murder. The greedy would have an incentive to turn against their fellow man, necessitating that people watch their backs and defend themselves.

"Bandits must be a problem," he remarked.

"They receive their just due in time," was Solaire's blithe answer. Abruptly, he moved his hand closer to Andre, offering him the souls. "Will this suffice?"

Jaune protested, "Whoa, hey, you don't have to pay for me!"

"Ah hah hah! You forget, you deserve an equal part in souls for the felling of the drake. This is my chance to return to you your share. Andre, hurry!"

Solaire laughed again as, before Jaune could argue further, the blacksmith swiped the soul from him. Andre rolled it in his hand like he was judging the weight, then let the orb sink beneath his skin.

"That'll do. The sword now."

"...That's quite sly of you, Solaire." Jaune passed the sword half of Crocea Mors by the handle to Andre, who studied it with interest.

Solaire was unrepentant. "And how else would you have made the trade? It is a shame your Aura cannot be drawn forth in this manner."

Understatement of the year. His soul regenerated, thus in theory translating to an infinite source of wealth in this realm, no killings necessary. Without a viable method to hand it off, though, he might as well be the world's richest pauper.

"Good steel. Not a speck of titanite. Yes, I could…nine ought to do it…" Andre, who had abandoned the ongoing conversation the moment he received a new job, murmured to himself. He turned to the furnace, and as an afterthought called over a shoulder. "Should take me no more than an hour or two."

Jaune frowned at the comment. That turnaround sounded way too fast. Beacon allowed their students to skip combat class for days on the excuse of a weapon upgrade because rarely did it finish in a shorter interval. The technology available at the academy shortened the process up to a point, no further. Certain steps required time, simple as that.

In moments, he received his answer. Having removed the hilt from Crocea Mors to leave just the metal blade, Andre grasped his hammer. A strange light entered his eyes, casting a radiant shine. His breaths emitted steam, the heat of which seemed to flow into the furnace, stoking the flames. He raised the hammer high, and brought it down on the blade to shatter it to pieces in one mighty blow.

(Jaune could not help a keening whine of pain and loss at the sight. He might have understood the idea in broad strokes, that the metal would need to be melted down, but to witness it happen was terrible for his heart.)

Andre then swept the fragments together to form a stack out of them, and proceeded to plunge a hand into a nearby pile of ores and chips. Shards of the dark metal practically leapt to the blacksmith's grasp of their own volition. He joined them to the heap of broken steel.

From a small casket came a brightly glowing fire, burning near golden. Andre plucked at it with his bare fingers, and to Jaune's uncomprehending gaze succeeded in grasping the immaterial flame. He flicked it at the furnace. Fire met fire, and exploded with energy, roiling out of their confines, the heat scorching even from a distance. The room thrummed with a pulsing heartbeat, centered on Andre of Astora.

This was blacksmithing in the land of gods and sorceries, and Jaune had never seen its like.

In a matter of minutes, the room grew inhospitable to the point of driving Jaune and Solaire to the stairs. Tattletale had already escaped to the floor above, and they joined her there to avoid the heat, and to not disturb Andre's work. Even that proved insufficient, leading to the party exiting the building altogether to gather on the path that connected to the Undead Parish.

"Well, that's…" Jaune searched for a good word.

"Impossible?" suggested Tattletale.

"Amazing. Magnificent. Magical."

Magical. Yes, that fits. Jaune looked to his hand, and the scroll he had used to take a picture of the scene. There on the screen, a person faced down an inferno, and commanded it to do their bidding. That'd be a story to tell his friends.

"So," Tattletale walked over to a crumbling wall, hopping up to sit atop it, "I guess we're stuck here for a couple of hours? Please don't tell me you're running off to fight with only a shield."

To her alarm, Jaune contemplated it. "I mean, I can probably nip back down to the forge and borrow a sword."

He wasn't that keen on wielding an unknown weapon, though. How can he trust it?

A chuckle from Solaire drew their attention. With a flourish, he presented a sword not his own, before tossing it to Jaune. The scabbard hit his palm with an audible smack. The knight then drew his sword, and took up a stance.

"Andre has agreed to lend us a spare for the time being, and while it lacks the same quality as your blade, it should suffice for a spot of practice as we wait. What do you say? Are you amenable to a few lessons?"

Jaune grinned.

Soon, the sound of metal striking metal rang out across the ruins. Rather than a proper spar, they hosted a series of exchanges, the two fighters going through the motions with far gentler intent than if they were serious. It allowed Solaire to observe the technique and footwork of Jaune, and remark on points where he could afford improvements.

Although Jaune received the lion's share of the payoff, the affable knight learned something new, too; namely, the dirtier moves prevalent in Mistral's tournament scene. Pyrrha was not above sweeping out her opponent's leg or obscuring their vision with her shield, and Jaune employed those tactics judiciously in order to gain an advantage during the bouts.

In one such exchange, they locked blades, and Solaire managed to suss out another of his secrets. Their contest was even at first, Undead strength clashing with Huntsman strength. Little by little, however, Jaune began to overwhelm his opponent, until the other man stumbled and was forced to yield.

"How odd!" exclaimed Solaire. "Your arms carry a strength that does not fit your frame. You are not cheating, are you? Hah hah hah!"

Sunlight glinted off the bonecharms tied to a string around Jaune's neck.

[Strong Arms] did what it said on the tin, and lent him a little bit of extra force in his blows and grip. A 7% increase or thereabout according to Tattletale's uncannily accurate intuition, following an experiment that involved pelting rocks off the bridge with the drake. The effect was useful enough for him to keep the charm, and subtle enough that he had not experienced much trouble acclimatizing to the difference.

"I wouldn't call it cheating. I just got a boost from an accessory, sort of like that ring Tattletale has."

"A rare treasure, indeed. Hm." Solaire tapped his chin in thought. "I recommend you acquire weapons suited to leveraging that advantage. A hammer or a mace. Do consider it."

He did not fancy himself as the Nora-type, but the advice held merit. A crushing strike utilizing an enhanced strength may do wonders on his foes. Jaune filed it to the back of his mind.

Advice given, and taken, the two of them reset their stances, then clashed again. Thus they passed the hours on that little stretch of the path, trading pointers until Tattletale alerted them that Andre had finished his work.

Crocea Mors was whole once more, the metal a shade grayer than previous. Jaune raised it aloft to test the weight, finding it heavier in his hand; not unduly so, but he can imagine an easier time breaking past drake scales and mimic flesh. Running a finger along the blade, he marveled at the keen edge that shaved at his Aura despite the lightest of touches.

With arms crossed and a proud expression on his face, Andre nodded in satisfaction. "Your steel was good. This alloy is better. I've reinforced the sword with titanite to the very limit that I can take it at this time. Only way it can be better is to get me hands on a proper Ember…nevermind, this will do. May it serve you well."

Jaune performed an experimental slash. The blade whistled through the air, the sound different from usual. Sharper. Deadlier.

Giddy, he spun towards the blacksmith and, with one arm, pulled the gruff man into a half-hug. It earned him a punch to the gut, but Jaune was unfazed, laughing in delight.

"Thank you for doing this, Andre. I appreciate it!"

A chance detour had led to a fortuitous turn. Call him sentimental, call him an idiot, he was not truly ready to let his family sword go, and had dreaded the inevitable day he must replace it for something better. With this, he would be able to wield Crocea Mors for yet a while longer.

"Bah! It was hardly a challenge. Now, away with you. Leave me to ply me craft in peace. Thanks for the business."

"And thanks for the help! I won't ever forget what you did!"

-o-​

The Undead Parish, long abandoned, still exuded a strange, forlorn beauty. The statue behind the pulpit glowed with an inner light, brighter than could be given by the flickering candles or the sunbeams which filtered through from the broken gaps in the wall. The depicted woman wore a crown, and while Solaire could not place the figure, he ventured a guess that she was one of the goddesses of Anor Londo, long vanished from these lands.

A body laid before the statue. Jaune and Tattletale knew not what to make of it. Their companion again provided the answer. A brush upon the soul lingering within the remains and he proclaimed her one of the firekeepers, revered by the Undead for their tending to the bonfires from which the slain wake up anew. When a firekeeper dies, another refuge fades to ashes, and the world becomes just a little more unwelcoming to the Undead.

Perhaps that was why, when a bolt of blue sorcery missed their group and lanced through the body, Solaire—atypical to his easygoing self—roared a great cry of fury that deafened the ear, and charged the stairs to meet the horde of Hollows assembled on the level above.

One among their midst donned ornate robes, and a mask depicting many eyes; in its hands it held a trident that spewed magical arrows. The zombies moved as a unified force at its command, marking it the leader.

As Tattletale took cover and peppered the horde with her crossbow bolts, Jaune rushed up the steps to support Solaire. He arrived into a narrow corridor teeming with hostile forces, the numbers such that the knight was hard-pressed to advance another yard despite his skill. Some carried swords or spears, others had their hands to fight with and rags for protection; it mattered to them not, the zombies stumbled forward in a great mass.

Bracing behind his shield, Jaune met the charge with one of his own, ramming into the horde to create some breathing room for Solaire. Soon, though, he slowed down, then stopped altogether, unable to shove the zombies further due to the crush of bodies. Skipping back a step, he set himself abreast with the knight to form a defensive line, and they began hacking away at the Hollows positioned at the vanguard.

It seemed tenable at first. Then, a barrage of magic bolts started flying at them, aimed between the openings along the side of the passage. One hit Jaune in the shoulder. Whatever weird substance that sorcery was made of, it lingered and it burned.

Through gritted teeth, Jaune hissed, "Solaire! The one in the mask. Do you have any idea who that is?"

"No. They must be a sorcerer, that much is evident, though I recognize not their sigils." Solaire grunted as a Hollow crashed into his shield. He rebuffed the attack, yet had to exert greater effort than either of them would expect.

"The Hollows are stronger than usual." Odd, and worrying.

Solaire said, coldly, "But not enough. They will move aside, or perish."

The knight bade Jaune to cover for him. Sheathing his sword, he focused on his empty hand. The air crackled as electricity coalesced, shaping into the length of a javelin. Solaired winded back his arm, and let loose the lightning.

The thunderbolt speared a Hollow, went through to pierce the one behind it, then the one after that, and the next, and so on to devastate an entire column of the horde, scorching the zombies on either sides to boot.

"Hell yes!" Jaune cheered. He advanced, thinking to capitalize on the opportunity.

That was when the chant reached his ears.

The sorcerer had ceased their attacks. The trident now jabbed at the air, and they kicked their feet in a rhythmic stomping beat, singing at the top of their lungs.

Before Jaune had much time to wonder, a soft blue glow settled on the Hollows. As one, they threw back their heads, and howled. Their cry drowned out all noise, drowned out Jaune's very thoughts, and once they were done, they glared at Jaune and Solaire not with the blank countenance of those who have lost all traces of their ego, but with maddened snarls akin to wild animals. A stampede followed, the horde throwing themselves at the group in reckless abandon.

"What the hell…"

Why was he in an actual zombie movie, all of a sudden?

Tattletale was shouting as loud as she could. The din of battle prevented Jaune from catching a single word. Flicking his gaze over the scene, one thing of note stuck out to him. The trident shone in the same blue color. A simple conclusion, then. That, and the ritualistic dance, were the likeliest cause for the frenzy.

"The trident is the lynchpin. We need to reach the sorcerer!"

Of course, that was easier said than done. [Third Arm] fell short of the remaining distance to their target. Meanwhile, the force arrayed against them threatened to overwhelm their line, with the balance liable to tip either way on whether they would prevail or must retreat.

"I see no recourse except to persevere," Solaire replied. "Have you a different plan in mind?"

He had, in fact. Or the inkling of one. It was by no means certain, and involved great risk beside. Only a fool would agree to make the attempt.

Solaire was all for it.

On Jaune's signal, they broke from the engagement, withdrawing to bait the horde deep into the corridor. Once they had created some space, Solaire dropped to a knee with his shield pointed to the ceiling.

Lightly, Jaune hopped atop the impromptu platform, then leapt again off of that. As he did, Solaire shoved upward with his whole strength, imparting further momentum to send Jaune soaring above the incoming Hollows. At the apex of the jump, around midway to the other side, he thrust out his left hand. Shadows formed an arm that launched toward the ground at the end of the corridor, the fingers latching onto the stone. A tug, and the arm slingshotted him past the rest of the zombies.

Being a novice still in the finer points of using [Third Arm] to maneuver, Jaune flubbed the landing, skidding on the smooth floor. Upon regaining his footing, he hurried to dispatch the nearby stragglers that had stayed to guard the ritual. With mere seconds until the horde overwhelmed Solaire, there was no time to hesitate, and he raced at the sorcerer. The moment Jaune entered striking range, his sword flicked ahead and succeeded in hitting the trident with the very tip, knocking it to the ground.

The flow of the battle behind him underwent an immediate shift in Solaire's favor as the Hollows weakened, losing cohesion and tripping over each other.

Pressing his advantage, Jaune closed in, swinging his blade again to attack directly at the sorcerer!

He whiffed empty air.

His voice came out as a shriek, surprise and distaste rolled into one. "Teleporter!"

Give him giant beasts. Give him a zombie horde unending. But, dammit, can the universe stop putting teleporters in front of him?

Looking around for the sorcerer, he spotted them at a balcony, located down a corridor on the opposite side of the cathedral to the one Solaire was fighting in. They now wielded a plain wooden staff in their hand. A wave with it, and another magic bolt darted for him.

Jaune ducked below it, and sprinted in pursuit of his foe. Flashes of blue light missed him by scant inches. The few Hollows standing in between him and the sorcerer fell without being able to put up so much as a token resistance. Nothing could stop him.

Except for the sorcerer teleporting.

"Oh, come on!" Jaune whirled around, shoes squeaking on the stone, and ran back the way he came.

This time, the sorcerer found refuge in a nearby storage room, and to reach them Jaune had to climb onto a pile of crates, shielding against shot after shot of magic. All that effort, only to see the sorcerer vanish into thin air.

Taking up position within the horde now, they aimed their staff at Solaire. Jaune carved a path through the Hollows, thinning their numbers while the knight evaded both blades and magic. Having learned the game, he simply groaned when the sorcerer escaped before his arrival.

His elusive foe reappeared in their original spot. A pause to regain their bearings, and they bent down to grab the trident. A slide tackle from Jaune sent it flying off the balcony, hitting the ground floor with a clank.

Aaaand the sorcerer was gone again. He had an idea of where. A flash of movement below confirmed it.

At this point, Jaune did not even blink before taking action. Repeated clashes had clued him in that the sorcerer would spend a couple of seconds reorienting himself. That gave Jaune a short window where his target stayed in one place. He took a page out of an old favorite, a page that Solaire had also read, and with a running start he leapt over the balcony.

The sorcerer was not expecting him. Was not even facing the right direction. That drop measured so high, it would have shipped an Undead back to a bonfire via the afterlife delivery service. So, the sorcerer paid attention to the stairs, the route that a normal person would use to continue their pursuit. The sword driven into their head from above therefore came as a complete surprise, and if that did not do it to end the chase, then the weight of Jaune crashing onto their shoulders finished the job. The sorcerer was smushed flat against the ground, where they laid motionless and ceased their teleporting forevermore.

Jaune pumped both fists in the air, screaming his victory.

"Fight's still ongoing," Tattletale reminded him whilst sighting down her crossbow.

"Right. I knew that."

Sheepishly, Jaune sped off to help Solaire neutralize the remaining Hollows. In the absence of the sorcerer, the last of their intelligence seemed to drain away, rendering them easy pickings for the party.

After it was all over, the knight clapped him on the back. "A fine gambit, my friend. That sorcerer stood no chance."

"Couldn't have done it without you, Solaire. Nice job holding the Hollows at bay. I doubted you had an easy time of it."

"I was but a shield, whereas you plunged into the midst of our enemies. My task was akin to a stroll through the garden in comparison," so said Solaire, waving off the compliment with his good arm, the one that wasn't broken and hanging limply, facing the wrong direction. Jaune directed a pointed look at it.

In response, the knight unslung a flask hanging on his belt, and shook it. "Do not worry. A sip of Estus, and I shall be right as rain." He uncorked the bottle, taking a gulp of the orange substance.

Jaune let out an impressed hum as he observed the arm snapping back into place, and proceeding to move without issues. At a glance, Estus exhibited greater efficacy than stimpaks. It may be worth buying from the Marketplace, or for him to secure a supply here in the case of high prices.

"How does that taste?" he asked.

Solaire opened his mouth, closed it, and pondered the question for a while.

"It is a taste that is unlike water, unlike wine, unlike ale, and unlike milk."

"What is this, a riddle?"

"Hah hah hah! I swear I am speaking honestly. Estus is best described by what it is not. You would have to try for yourself to understand."

Well, now he's curious.

"Of course, if anyone other than an Undead partake of this brew, they quite possibly would find themselves becoming Undead…or just dead."

His curiosity died with a whimper. Jaune scooted away from the flask.

At that time, Tattletale made her appearance from the staircase. She carried the trident on a shoulder, and practically skipped along the corridor. Reaching them, she presented to him the weapon. The sight called to mind the image of a cat showing off the dead mouse it brought in from the yard.

"Oh, cool, I almost forgot about that. Thanks for picking it up!" said Jaune as he accepted the trident.

"You're welcome~"

He started studying the thing, thinking to check its value on the Company scroll. The persistent presence at his side, however, caused him to peer down at Tattletale again. She was sporting a cheeky smile, hands clasped behind her back as she twisted her body back and forth, gazing at him with a sense of expectation.

"You sure are chirpy. What's up?"

"Good thing you got my warning, huh? "

Her warning? Jaune tilted his head in confusion.

"You knooow, when I told you about the trident. That it had a Master effect causing the Hollows to run wild."

For a moment, Jaune stared at her in blank incomprehension. Then recognition dawned, and he thought he hid the truth rather well as he decided to play along.

"Yeah, that was really good info. You saved us there, Tattletale. Thanks!"

The lie failed to pass muster, and Tattletale began to look a little lost. "You…didn't hear me?"

Jaune averted his eyes, scratching his cheek. This was going to be awkward.

"It was way too loud and chaotic at that point, sorry. I think it would really help if we set up a way to communicate over long distances. About the sorcerer…I just kind of figured things out for myself."

"Oh."

Like he said, awk~waaard~.

Seeking a distraction, Jaune suggested they search for a way to forge onward and access the Bell of Awakening. The task turned out to be not that difficult. The storage room at the back featured a ladder that he missed during the battle with the sorcerer. After stashing the trident in a safe spot for later retrieval, they set to climbing. Reaching the top put them on a narrow platform, one that opened onto the wide roof.

And far, far at the opposite end of that roof stood a tower. From this vantage point, they could see a bit of the bell up there, sheltered under a dome.

"Finally!" Jaune exclaimed. "Man, am I glad it's over."

He hopped down to stand on the ridge part of the roof. Despite the general state of disrepair, a test of the slate tiles showed that they held firm under the weight of the group. The slope was gentle, too, so even with the lack of railings he expected they could traverse it easily enough. And in the case of an accident, the gargoyle statues lining the roof at regular intervals provided handholds.

On the whole, he's feeling pretty good about this.

"Does anybody else hear that rumbling?" Tattletale asked.

*Rumble. Rumble. Rumble.*

"...I do, yes."

Stone chips tinkling against the tiles alerted them to the source of the noise. Just below where the bell was hosted, there rested more gargoyle statues, each perched atop a corner of the tower. One among them differed from the rest. It was twitching. Jaune was quite certain that's not normal behavior for a statue.

With a sharp twist, the stone gargoyle fully shed the thin outer layer hiding its true nature. Sharp claws scraped on the ledge. Two wings unfurled. An earthshaking bellow resounded across the sky.

Jaune heaved a great sigh, and waved Tattletale back inside the building. "Don't know why I thought this would be simple. It's like everything wants to kill us here. The people. The animals. The furniture. And now the garden gnome."

The gargoyle dove from the tower. The flapping wings slowed its descent, but not by much. Rather than a landing, it crashed onto the roof, shattering the tiles and nearly buckling the floor beneath its feet.

Rising to its full height, the monster peered across the distance at their party. One hand gripped a halberd, the other was strapped down with a shield. Its tail ended in a battle axe. The demonic visage snapped from Jaune to Solaire, assessing them. Formed of stone, it moved in stilted motions. Stilted and limited.

"It's not alive!" called out Tattletale from the doorway. "The actions are set—programmed? Stone skin, stone teeth, stone tongue— probably stone everything, including organs."

Parsing that, Jaune gained two insights. The thing might be less adaptable, since it was an automaton, and there were unlikely to exist critical weakpoints he could stab. He scanned the gargoyle from head to foot, searching for the best place to attack. Statues…they tend to snap off at the joints, don't they?

The monster raised its halberd and shield, then took a step forward.

"It's hostile!"

Thanks, Tattletale. No way he would have noticed that otherwise. Really.

Solaire added, "Gargoyles are the creation of Anor Londo. This one must have been set here to test our worthiness!"

"That so?" Jaune twirled his sword in lazy circles. "Then I guess it's up and at 'em for one last fight. Unless the bell wants to take a shot at us, too."

"Can you imagine? Hah hah hah!"

Jaune and Solaire spaced themselves apart, and started advancing across the roof. Their very first step, the gargoyle took as confirmation to commence the battle, and it jumped straight up. The wings held it aloft in an ungraceful flight, bringing the monster closer and closer.

The two fighters watched it carefully, on guard for the opening strike. Which will it be? The halberd? The tail-axe?

Halberd.

Held in a two-handed grip, the weapon rose high. Tick, tick, tick, the wind-up comprised three separate snappy movements instead of one fluid action, belying the artificial nature of their opponent.

Abruptly, the wings stopped beating. Whatever magic that allowed stone to fly cut out, and gravity reasserted itself. The gargoyle dropped out of the sky.

"Solaire!"

The knight was already diving to safety; the halberd missed him with room to spare. Though not caught in the attack, Jaune took a knee for the sake of stability, bracing for the gargoyle's landing. The subsequent impact shook the area.

Once the shocks subsided, Jaune kicked off to rush the gargoyle, ending up next to a leg, where he whacked it behind the knee with Crocea Mors. The attack tore away fragments of stone, not even a handful's worth, but was sufficient for the thing to change targets.

The construct had an aggro mechanic. Good to know.

Polearms fared poorly at close range, and Jaune pressed that advantage by hacking at the same spot a few more times while keeping an eye on how the gargoyle would respond. If this thing was designed for combat, then its maker would understand this exact situation, and prepare accordingly.

An orange flicker emanating from its throat was his warning, and Jaune realized he had underestimated the creator of this thing. He backpedaled as fast as could to avoid the blast of fire that struck where he previously stood and flowed over the roof to chase after him. Licked by the flames, his Aura flared, fighting to keep him safe.

The sensation of burning alive remained, though.

"Ah! AH! Ahhhh!" Jaune scrambled to escape, screaming.

A lance of lightning saved him from the torment. The bolt slammed into the chest of the gargoyle, gouging out a chunk the size of a person's head and driving the construct back a step. Solaire then entered its range, and unleashed an onslaught of blows.

Tick, tick, tick, that same jerky windup. Rather than employing the firebreath, the gargoyle opted for for a horizontal swing. Wildly telegraphed, the attack missed the knight as he ducked under the slash.

It wasn't the end. The halberd swung the other way. Solaire blocked the strike, and scraped two long furrows in the roof in his attempt to resist the monstrous strength of the gargoyle. It placed him perilously close to the edge, and with nowhere to go as the tail-axe whipped around.

Hurting still, Jaune rejoined the battle. [Third Arm] plucked Solaire from the path of the attack, and set the two of them side by side, in position to charge the construct during its recovery. Solaire went low for the knee, Jaune went high for the arm.

A two-man team seemed to confound the gargoyle. It would fixate on one person, and ignore the other. Then, when the second man dealt a certain level of damage, it switched focus to him. The predictability allowed them to chip pieces from the gargoyle, the debris bouncing and rolling along the slate tiles in a steady stream.

There was some kind of intelligence within the stone head, however. Two cycles of that routine, and the gargoyle changed tactics, spewing another torrent of flame that had Jaune and Solaire beating a hasty retreat, running in different directions.

"This is working," Jaune said when they met up again. "It's following patterns, and we can lead it to react to what we do instead of taking initiatives."

Solaire nodded in understanding. "And thus we shall always enjoy the advantage. My, my. I must remember this trick for similar foes." He pointed. "How would we answer this maneuver?"

The gargoyle was flying, preparing to dive-bomb the pair.

"Ehhhh. Run?"

"Ah. A classic."

For the third time, a stone meteor struck the cathedral roof, and Jaune thought it a miracle the entire thing had not collapsed yet. There were definitely craters forming, places that had been stressed to the critical point. The hypothetical consequence of falling from this height spurred Jaune on to fight harder in the hope of ending this fast. As tough as the gargoyle might be, gravity was an enemy for whom he had no good answer.

Their first breakthrough arrived with Jaune and Solaire literally breaking through one of the gargoyle's arms, a lightning spear shearing off the last bit of stone connecting the elbow to the bicep. It left the construct with one-handed attacks reduced in power that Jaune and Solaire could block on a consistent basis, which let them press the offensive; the thunderbolts drew the greatest effect, removing chunks at a time.

It was slow going, but it was going. They were finding their rhythm.

Jaune changed his mind when the tail-axe slapped him against the ground, then smacked him once more for good measure. Owwww.

As he staggered upright, Jaune spotted a figure skirting the periphery of the battle, on course for the belltower and utterly silent under the effect of the Slumbering Dragoncrest Ring he gave her. He hesitated on whether to be worried or pleased.

The idea was not difficult to comprehend, and simple in execution. Tattletale wanted to ring the bell before getting out of here, no battle needed and worthiness be damned, and she had seized the chance while the gargoyle was distracted. He could get behind a plan that spared him from burning alive—experiencing that once was enough—except he would rather it was him taking the risk; they were standing in the thick of battle, where a Thinker did not belong.

Those feelings grew to outright panic as a shadow fell over her.

Tattletale had a split second to realize what would happen. She looked up to a snarling visage carved of stone. The second gargoyle performed a flip to lash its tail in an underswing, the full brunt of the massive axehead smashing into her dead on, blasting her away with the force of a cannonshot.

She came down on the ridge. Bounced off, flying in an arc. Struck tiles; they shattered apart. Rocketed by the battle of Jaune, Solaire, and the first gargoyle; Jaune could not catch her, his fingers grasping empty air. With a sickening crunch, Tattletale crashed against the wall, just next to the doorway they crossed to get here. The impact kicked up a cloud of dust and debris.

Terror. Fright. His mind, a mess. It has happened again. He had failed the person by his side again.

He started to go towards her. Solaire was fighting solo, the thought made Jaune spin around to the battle. Tattletale needed help, his hand plunged into his pocket, fumbling for a scroll. Movement at the corner of his eye, he turned to the second gargoyle bounding closer and closer. What was the right course to take?

Solaire's voice cut through the webs of confusion which clouded his thoughts.

"My friend, get a hold of yourself! Does not ephemeral Aura protect her? Your companion may yet live, but these creatures would surely harm her lest we defeat them! Fight on!"

Right. That's right. She has Aura. U-Unless she had switched on her power-nullifying choker at the time. She couldn't have, could she?

…No, Tattletale preferred to have her superpower at hand in the field, and definitely would during an ongoing battle. Her Aura was activated. She'd be okay as long as it held.

The gargoyle making a beeline for her could change that.

Jaune raced to intercept the monster, skidding to a stop between it and Tattletale. Unable to help a glance, he turned to look behind him for a hint of her situation.

Within the obscuring cloud, there flickered an apple-green light. Jaune breathed a sigh of relief.

Emboldened, he refocused on the galloping gargoyle. [Third Arm] brought him in close to keep the fight at a distance from Tattletale. Once there, a quick combo of slashes triggered whatever protocol or enchantment that commanded the monster's targeting priority, forcing it to change its aim from her to him.

The second gargoyle was smaller than the first, but not by much. The same hard skin, the same firebreath, it matched the other to a tee and Jaune quickly found himself on the back foot.

After removing a few small chips off of a joint, he ducked to avoid a swipe of the halberd going from right to left, then jumped over one that traveled left to right. He fell back, flat on the roof, to escape another. The halberd went up, up, up and dropped like a guillotine, cracking the spot he occupied a moment earlier.

Changing tack, Jaune rolled between its legs, putting him in a position to attack the tail. Remove that, and he'd take out an essential part of the gargoyle's arsenal.

It jumped high, and stomped down, nearly squashing Jaune in the attempt. He darted out of its range to catch a break.

"This is not going well, is it?" he muttered under his breath.

Two on one, Jaune and Solaire enjoyed the advantage. One on one, victory hung by a thread. The knight, too, was currently facing troubles. His lightning spears had ceased flying at its previous pace, opportunities now chosen with care.

The person that built these gargoyles was a sly one. Resistant to blades, capable of flight, spitting fire as if it was going out of style when you get too close, the creature served as a perfect counter to a warrior, the likes of Solaire and him. Facing them in a fair duel was a losing proposition from the very start.

So, don't fight them straight.

As Jaune ducked and weaved, his mind ran a mile a minute, wrapping itself around that concept. They were constructs. Programs. Robots. Despite the level of sophistication, they won't truly behave like people would. Can he exploit that?

An idea sparked behind his eyes.

Up until now, he had kept his battle apart from Solaire's. It seemed obvious, since one murderous stone statue was already one too many. Nobody wanted to deal with two at the same time.

They had assumed the gargoyles could work together. There was no proof of that yet.

Jaune began retreating, guiding the second gargoyle towards its kin. No, not kin. The copy. They weren't family or friends or what have you, just another unit that had been stationed at this location.

"Solaire, I'm crashing the party."

"I…do not understand. What are you doing?"

Oh. They must not use that expression here.

"Player two is dropping in."

"I am so very confused."

"...Anyway, I'm here. That was my point. Please take care where you throw lightning, because I'm trying something."

So saying, he commenced his plan. A shadowy arm latched onto the first gargoyle's face. Jaune was there a moment later, grabbing hold on the ears.

The construct responded without hesitation, shaking this way and that to get rid of him. The wings opened, about to take flight.

Before it could, Jaune swung off the neck, dodging the tail-axe of the second gargoyle by inches as it slammed into the stone-carved face of its ally. An entire side of the facade crumbled to powder under the devastating blow.

He extended a supernatural hand, and repeated the ploy, climbing all over the second gargoyle. A halberd came whistling through the air, pulverizing a shoulder.

Their architect had not, or was unable to, imprint teamwork onto the design of the gargoyle. They fought in one arena, but they did not fight together.

Strategy established, Jaune pinballed between the two monsters, jumping when he could and utilizing [Third Arm] otherwise. The gargoyles continued their inadvertent fight, slapping back and forth. Swathes of the roof would light up in an inferno as they breathed flames at each other.

A particularly daring (and slightly accidental) decision to hang on while the gargoyles took flight resulted in a midair collision. One of them lost a leg in that exchange, and became easy picking for Solaire to drive a blast of lightning down its mouth, rendering the fire attack mechanism null. Wracked by fractures and cracks, it dragged its body across the ground to chase after Jaune. Then, it struggled to grab him as he tapdanced on its head. The unfortunate thing met an end when the blade of a halberd cleaved its neck in two.

Jaune reappeared atop the gargoyle still standing, stomping on the head to taunt it. After a couple of duds, either a useless swipe of the tail or a stream of flame, the construct performed the action he desired, flapping its wings to carry him skyward. Hooking a leg around the neck, he chopped at the base of a wing with his sword, sawing bit by bit. Below, Solaire waited, his finest bolt of lightning yet at the ready.

The sudden listing to one side by the gargoyle was the signal for him to let loose the shot. Above, Jaune let go of his grip, rolling down the stone back and catching the tail. Crackling energy passed over his head to shatter the weakened spot on the wing, severing the limb. The gargoyle dropped out of the air with Jaune trailing behind.

As before, the slate tiles broke beneath the impact. This time, the roof went with it. The gargoyle tore a massive hole in the cathedral as it fell through. Not wishing to accompany the thing to their deaths, Jaune released the tail. An application of [Third Arm] pulled him to safety.

He hit the roof running, paying little attention to the almighty crash far below. Vaulting over the other slain gargoyle, he slid the last few yards to end up at Tattletale's side.

"Tattletale, are you alright!?"

Her Aura was up, pulsing in that manner telling of a near broken state, with weak beats and a dull glow. Near broken, but still there. The attack had not depleted it in the entirety.

Yet, something was awry. Unresponsive to his question, she had curled into herself, and was crying. Frantically, Jaune searched her over for an injury, finding nothing at all. Aura had done its work to turn aside what would have been catastrophic damage. Why then, did she cry?

"Tattletale, tell me what's wrong!" The scroll was out in an instant, the medical page loaded. Blood Replenishing Potions, stimpaks, he added both to the cart. "Is it internal? Hang on, I'll find something!"

Finally, Tattletale responded, managing to shake her head in refusal. Jaune did not understand the insistence when tears were still streaming down her face, and she struggled to form words.

"I-It…"

He leaned closer to catch what she was trying to say.

"...h-hurts!"

Relief warred with concern. He had discovered the answer. Aura had saved her, but…people with Aura still feel pain.

That was something he got used to during Beacon. Months, it took him to adjust. Tattletale possessed her Aura for a week, and did not experience combat training on a daily basis the way a Huntsman-in-Training would. Her pain tolerance measured at the level of a civilian.

Worse, even, because people from Earth Bet were fragile in a way that people from Remnant were not. He had seen it firsthand during the battle against Leviathan. They bleed easily, they break easily, sometimes losing their lives to incidental blows that—to his estimation—bore just enough force to incapacitate instead of kill.

"I'll find a pain reliever."

She shook her head.

"Take a stimpak, at least."

Again, Tattletale denied the offer. Pain was temporary, and she'd weather it to save them on Points.

Jaune knelt there, feeling useless, unable to do a thing to help. Frustrated, he sought to understand.

"What made you run out there, Tattletale? If you had told me the plan, I could have handled things from then on. Why did you do it?"

Between sobs, she answered, "I'm c-c-carrying my weight!"

Because she had not contributed much. Because in this world, she had stumbled again and again, being nothing but a burden. Because she was afraid he'd leave her behind. It was what her old team would have done in similar circumstances; in a heartbeat, without hesitation. Her fears and worries, they spilled out in a stuttering rush, the girl all but demanding that he just render judgment on her fate and be done with it.

He tried to soothe her panic. "C'mon, you have your strengths, and I have mine. We carry each other past obstacles that would defeat each of us alone. That's what it means to be a team."

"That's bullshit! You think I don't know how people see me? Everyone thinks I'm an irritant. That bitch who gets the group in trouble with her mouth. If I have nothing to contribute…If I can't…"

Jaune tapped her on the nose. Tattletale went cross-eyed to look at his finger, then flicked her gaze up to look at him. The suddenness of it had interrupted her runaway distress.

Sitting down on the roof, Jaune collected his thoughts. The things she said…well, they sort of made sense, and sort of didn't. He can imagine a society that lived as she described. It probably would not be a place he wished to call home.

"I think…I think that there's a disconnect between our universes, Tattletale. My dad taught me this growing up on the frontier—" He cleared his throat, mimicking the tone his father liked to use when he imparted advice; it always seemed to match better to the words than Jaune's own voice. "On Remnant, it's us against the world, and to be alone is to die. So, we stick together. We don't abandon one another."

It was as simple as that. Most people that he met got it.

Life could never be called peaceful, whether that was outside or inside the settlement walls. Crime exists, and jealousy abounds. Still, there's a line. A limit.

A person can be disagreeable, mean, or an outright thief. But were the Grimm to beset the settlement, they manned those barricades if they could and fought alongside everyone else. And if they saw somebody lying injured on the way to the shelters, then they had better pick that person up and run with them on their shoulders, the risks to themselves be damned.

It's why the likes of the White Fang and Torchwick were unforgivable to so many. Acting as bad as bandits, they lurked outside the city walls, and tried to tear it down for the Grimm to take.

"Even when you don't get along, or even hate someone, making the choice to turn your back on your people is what makes you the enemy, nothing more than Grimm." Other. Not of us. Them. Monsters to be slain. "Never do that. And if you make a friend, treasure them."

Upon ceasing to channel the older man, the energy and confidence that bolstered his words tapered off, and Jaune slouched in his seat. He averted his eyes and rubbed his head, embarrassed at the way Tattletale was looking at him. She refused to say a peep, so he filled the silence by rambling on.

"Well, ideally. The line seems so blurry at times. Everybody's out for themselves, me included. It…It wasn't like that in the stories my father told me, of himself and my grandfather and great-grandfather. They were different. They saved everyone in need of help, and they never fail their companions. Bona fide heroes, that's my family. I wanted to be like them."

A better man.

The apple fell far from the tree, a traitorous part of his mind whispered.

Silence passed for a time. Until, at last, Tattletale spoke, her voice a murmur.

"You're so dumb. The world isn't that nice."

He shrugged. "Alright, sure, you might think it idiotic of me. Still, I'm not leaving you behind. That's fine, right?"

"…Do whatever you want."

And so, he did, staying by her side until she was well again. Maybe his parents would have been proud of that, if they knew.

"I bet your dad sanitized those stories before he told it to a kid…probably fluffed himself up to look good, too. You were lied to. They're no better than you are."

Annoyed, he pinched her cheek. "You really are not cute at all."

On Tattletale's face, a little smile bloomed.

"Bite me."

-o-​

"You're so slow!"

"My apologies. Take heed, a ladder is no place for a suit of armor. Hah hah hah!"

"Whatever. Just hurry up, my arms are getting tired. If I slip and fall to my death, I swear I'll haunt you."

"Eh. No worries about that. I can probably catch you."

"Is that why your eyes are locked on my ass, Jaune? For my safety?"

"Pft. What? They're not!" They were. "Don't go making baseless accusations!"

"Oh~, is that so?" She wiggled her hips. "Guess you didn't see that then."

Below her, Jaune choked on his spit. Tattletale cackled the rest of the way up the ladder. The cocky attitude stayed with her even after they exited to the top of the tower.

All that was quickly forgotten, as they beheld their prize. A massive thing, taller than a man, the bronze bell appeared simple and worn down with age. Yet…

Clang. Clang. Clang.

A pull of the adjacent lever, and it chimed with the clearest notes to reach the corners of Lordran. The peals resonated with the sound of the bell below the earth, forming a melody.

And the city awoke.

Signal fires lit up along the walls and castles. Sorceries and fireballs rocketed into the sky, exploding as though in celebration. From every throat—Undead or Hollow, man or beast—shouted a great cry. The twin Bells of Awakening have at last been rung. They resided in a time of legend.

Nearby the Undead Parish, the gates of a fortress slowly rose up, opening the path to Anor Londo.

The first inside was an odd warrior dressed in armor that resembled an onion. Then followed a comically large wizard hat, its owner slinging spells at a group of pursuing Hollows. A dark suit of iron armor came clanking after them.

From their vantage point, the party watched as throughout the city old monsters roused from their sleep, serpents and golems and things Jaune had no words for. Between the gaps in the buildings, he would spy flashes of scales and claws, bloody cleavers and eldritch fire. Hollows poured out of dark, hidden corners to stalk the streets.

Those who had traveled to Lordran set upon these creatures with steel, and fire, and sorcery. Squads of soldiers engaged a giant rat. A priest traveled a graveyard, casting the skeletons that arose from their coffins back to eternal rest. A samurai charged a horned ogre alone.

Often, the battle ended contrary to their favor, heroes and scoundrels falling victim to deadly monsters, misfortune, betrayals, and any number of other calamities. They won't stay dead for long, Solaire has taught Jaune and Tattletale that.

To the pair from another universe, this scene…

"It's awful," Tattletale muttered.

It's so like home, Jaune thought.

The sight was too familiar, a mirror to Remnant in how the stories went. Again and again, the monsters were battering at the gates. Again and again, the defenders rose to the occasion. And now, standing on the outside looking in, he saw how twisted it was.

"Is this what life is like? Fight. Kill. Die. Repeat..."

He wondered if these were the natural beats of the universe, that more often than not they will see it in some form. Conflict without end, or purpose. Just simple survival against a hostile world that wanted them dead, and on some days appear to spiral on an ever downward turn to a darker age.

"I will not lie. It may often seem a hopeless endeavor." Solaire swept his hand, the gesture encompassing a drake draped over a bridge, a treasure chest lying upturned in the middle of a city street, a boar smashed into a broken portcullis, a hole in a roof. "The little victories help. The good company helps. And…look up, my friends."

Above them stretched an endless sky, bathing the land in a golden light, warm and kind.

"The world is bleak, yet the sun still shines. Every morning, it rises. What beauty! What wondrous radiance! I am here to seek my very own sun. Will I? Who can say. But a sight like this, is it not worth getting up for? Just one more time? I would chase it forever, if I could! And were I to find my dear sun around the next corner, why, I shall be the happiest man in the world!"

Let others laugh. Let them scoff. They see a fool, questing for something he may never find. Yet, Jaune got the sense that Solaire had struck upon the key to it all, and would be able to go further than any Undead.

So long as Solaire knew hope, he would never turn Hollow, turn empty.

Caught in a trance, the knight took a step forward, hands grasping as though to take the sun and pull it into his embrace, and treasure forevermore.

Then, his arms extended up on either side, as far as they can go, like he himself had become the sun and his hands the rays of sunshine spreading outward to the horizon.

Solaire paused in the motion as Jaune strolled over next to him.

"Mind if I…"

"Hah hah hah! Of course you can!"

Jaune set his feet together, and pushed onto tiptoes. He made to raise his hands in imitation of Solaire. Because, to Jaune, he was someone worth imitating.

A moment's thought had him turning his head, sending a glance to Tattletale behind him. He hopped one spot to the right, and beckoned in invitation.

"No," she rejected the offer. "I don't care about the sun."

"It's not about the thing itself. We both have something we want, don't we? Come on over here."

She huffed, and scoffed, and sneered. She walked to stand by his side, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Wonderful! Simply wonderful!" Solaire cried out. "Now, do as I do. Praise the sun!"

"We did it! We rang a bell!"

"What the fuck is even my life!"

Atop a belltower, as the light of day shone upon the world so grossly incandescent, three people stretched their arms to the sky, and praised the sun.

-o-

Universe: Dark Souls. Location: Undead Burg. Event: Bells of Awakening.
Loot: Crocea Mors +5, drake sword, channeler trident…​

"Wait, is this all that we're going to bring back?"

"Not the best haul, is it?"

"Yeah. What a shame."

"Hm. Allow me to render you aid in some small manner. Take these scrolls, and this talisman of my own make. Then, with but a spark of faith, perhaps you too will throw lightning."

...Great Heal scroll, Lightning Spear scroll, Sunlight Talisman.​

"Or, we could sell them. Just saying."

"That you can, hah hah hah! Farewell, my friends. And may we find many more chances to engage in jolly cooperation!"

---

Author's Notes: Praise the sun!

Solaire's quest can take him straight to hell, or carry him all the way to the First Flame. Thing is, his fate depends on our efforts, just as our own journey in Dark Souls so often relied on him. He helps us with the boss fights, we save his life in turn, and after it all he would stand with us at the final battle. What a bro.
.

If Tattletale cannot prove she is useful, what stops Jaune from cutting her out of the share of Points, or kick her out altogether? Her previous teammates would certainly do it. Her boss and parents, too. For Lisa Wilbourn, life was supposed to be transactional.
.

Tattletale—Oh, I get it! You're saying the sun is a metaphor, for—
Jaune— *daydreaming about a sunny blonde* Yeeeah, a metaphor. That's totally what I meant.