The clash deepened.
Jaune's blades carved through the air with movement honed through an entire year of repetition, carrying the weight of instinct and survival. Across from him, Grise answered in kind, his single blade weaving a lattice of steel that intercepted, redirected and countered with frightening elegance.
There was no wasted motion between the two of them. Every clash rang out like a bell struck in a storm, and beneath it all, something fragile lingered.
A feeling that had no place here.
Melancholy.
Jaune felt it each time their weapons met. It slipped through the cracks of his focus, threading itself between the violence. It made his grip weak and his breath heavier than it should have been.
Because he remembered.
He remembered a quiet dojo floor, rough from by years of practice by students. He remembered the sound of wooden blades striking in controlled rhythm. He remembered the gray haired teen, only two years older than him, standing across from him and correcting his stance with calm precision.
"Too stiff," Grise had said once, stepping behind him and adjusting his shoulders. "You're thinking too much about the next strike. Feel the flow instead."
Back then, Jaune had been desperate.
Desperate to survive and desperate to grow. Desperate to not be a victim in a landscape of rotten death and despair.
The Dream Realm had been a nightmare that never ended. Every step forward had been earned in blood and fear.
And yet, in the middle of that chaos, there had been moments of clarity.
Training with Pyrrha and Blake in the simulation chambers. Sparring with Ren, Nora and Oscar. Testing himself again and again, chasing something he could never quite reach.
But there had always been one constant.
Grise.
The man who had met him not with pity, but with expectation. The man who had seen his growth and acknowledged it.
Jaune had always believed that Grise was a regular civilian, albeit an abnormally skilled one. Back then, Jaune hadn't yet unlocked his weakness sense, so in essence, he had never known.
He had... been fooled.
Steel screamed as Jaune twisted his wrist, redirecting a blade that came from above. Another struck from the side, then another from behind.
Grise's swords filled the air like a storm.
They came from every direction, conjured and launched with terrifying ease.
Weakness flared.
Several blades dissolved mid-flight, their structure collapsing into harmless fragments. Others were deflected with sharp, controlled movements, each impact sending vibrations up Jaune's arms.
Still, more came, as relentless as a storm.
Jaune pushed forward.
His foot slammed against the air itself, Will anchoring him as he surged through the barrage. His blade flashed, cutting a path straight toward Grise.
For a moment, their eyes met.
Jaune's strike came within a hair's breadth of Grise's face.
And this time, it connected with the mask splitting cleanly. Fragments of Grimm's visage fell away, tumbling into the molten expanse below.
Grise's face was revealed.
Time seemed to slow in Jaune's eyes. Jaune saw it clearly now. Not through Weakness or through any other supernatural sense.
Just with his own eyes.
There was no hatred or bloodlust in the man's eyes. Only something quieter.
Something heavier.
Grise exhaled softly.
"You've improved, Jaune." he said.
"Shut up," he replied, jaw tightening..
Their blades met again.
Faster and harder than before.
Even as skilled as he was, there was hesitation buried beneath Grise's movements. The fraction of restraint that didn't align with the ruthless precision of his attacks.
It made everything worse.
Because Jaune could not afford that hesitation.
Not here and certainly not now.
A blade came down toward Jaune's shoulder. He deflected it but the moment his sword made contact, it changed.
The blade expanded and twisted... and it became another Grise!
Jaune's eyes widened as the duplicate swung down instantly, forcing him to raise Lux Aeterna to block. The impact drove him downward, heat roaring up from the molten ground below.
Behind him, the original Grise's body exploded.
Into steel.
His flesh transformed into a storm of swords that launched outwards, each one piercing into Jaune's body before he could fully react.
Blood sprayed and pain followed.
Jaune gritted his teeth and forced himself forward through it. His body surged upward, breaking free of the barrage as he launched into the air.
Below him, more blades rose and above him, Grise appeared again, standing effortlessly on a hovering sword.
Like a sword cultivator from some distant myth. Dozens of blades floated behind him, orbiting slowly like a halo of execution.
Jaune's breathing steadied.
His body screamed at him and his weakness sense flared the map of damage across his form from the entire fight.
It was too much. He couldn't sustain this, at least not without recovery.
He reached his aura to the one of the imbued healing runes that was on his bracer. When he triggered it, warmth flooded into him again.
Healing and knitting his wounds in a few seconds. Blood stilled and pain dulled. When it finished, he exhaled sharply.
Three of those left. That was all he had now.
Across from him, Grise tilted his head slightly. "You know Jaune, I've always had this thought in my mind. You're... amazing with a sword, but... for some reason, I feel as if you are limiting yourself." he observed.
Jaune didn't answer, because he was already moving.
He ran across the air itself, each step anchored by sheer force of will. Grise met him halfway, descending like a blade given human form.
They collided again.
Steel rang out in rapid succession, strikes exchanged faster than the eye could track. Aura Echo infused Jaune's attacks, each blow detonating with layered force.
Grise answered with the same, every strike matched and every rhythm mirrored.
Throughout the fight, Jaune had been analyzing the different type of runes that Grise was using. The runes that were affected by the infinite duration of Perpetuity.
There were at least three imbued runes which were giving Grise the strength to outright ignore Jaune's Plunder and Weakness Runes, strengthening his body to be on par with Jaune's own,
Jaune's stomach twisted.
This was one of the greatest weapons that Sleepless had been building.
Not a single use creation which was the rule that all imbued runes followed. But permanence. The ultimate effect of Perpetuity at Mastery, born from a genius unlike any other.
With the help of those runes, Grise's body moved like a perfected weapon, every limitation stripped away.
Even using his runes of Grise, Jaune was only barely keeping pace. Then again, he himself was being Suppressed by a very special meta rune.
Their blades locked and for a moment, they stood face to face.
Jaune's voice came out quieter this time.
"…Why, Grise? At the very least, give me a reason."
Grise's eyes flickered but his answer came with motion. A thrust aimed directly at Jaune's throat. Jaune twisted, the blade grazing his neck as he countered with a slash that forced Grise back.
"Why are you here?" Jaune pressed, his voice colder now, though something beneath it cracked. "I thought you were…"
"Not awakened?" Grise finished.
They separated, both hovering in the air.
Grise sighed faintly.
"This again, Jaune? Come on now. You really didn't realize?"
Jaune didn't respond.
Grise continued, almost conversational.
"You fought in the Dream Realm and you've survived things most people can't even comprehend." His gaze sharpened slightly. "And yet you never questioned why I could still beat you as a normal human?"
"I trusted you, you know?" Jaune's grip tightened.
Grise's expression didn't change.
"That was your mistake."
The words landed, but they lacked cruelty. If anything, they sounded… tired.
Jaune let out a short, hollow breath.
"In Vale," he muttered. "Were you at Beacon High to keep an eye on the operations of LUCID?"
Grise didn't deny it.
"Then... all of those ambitions that you told me about. The dojo in Mistral or whatever that was hiring you, and you working as an instructor... it was all a cover up?"
Grise looked to the side and watched the rest of the battlefield. Jaune's gaze shifted to follow his.
Sun and Neptune were struggling against two opponents now. The red-haired swordsman pressed them relentlessly while Mercury struck from blind angles.
Grise then sighed.
"Adam and I... we knew each other since kids. We were always close you know? Rivals, you might even say."
The name settled like a weight.
"Well... you've met him before, after all. I don't even know why I'm telling you all this." Grise shook his head.
Jaune closed his eyes for a fraction of a second.
Grise watched him quietly. "For what it's worth," he said, "I really didn't expect things to go this far. I only learnt that you'd be on this expedition quite recently. So... I'm sorry."
Jaune let out a quiet laugh.
"Sorry huh?" he said. "Seems like that word has been a running theme lately."
Jaune understood. More than he wanted to.
He was sorry too.
Grise lifted his blade.
The air around him shifted as the swords behind him aligned, their tips all pointing toward Jaune.
"That's enough, reminiscing, wouldn't you agree, my... wayward protégé?"
Jaune raised his own weapons in response.
Lux Aeterna and Crocea Mors.
Their edges gleamed faintly even in this distorted world.
No more words and no more past.
Just the present.
Just the fight.
"Come on then," Jaune said quietly.
Grise moved and Jaune followed. They collided again in a burst of motion that split the air.
And then—
Something changed.
Far beyond them, across the broken horizon, the clash between Rank 3 entities shifted and the pressure of their domains vanished.
The only domain that returned was stronger and heavier.
Overwhelming.
Velik.
His domain surged outward like a tidal wave and crashed into everything. A crushing force that pressed against Jaune's body and mind alike, causing his control to shatter.
The Will beneath his feet disappeared and he fell, struggling to push against the pressure that man's presence.
Across from him, Grise faltered as well, his footing collapsing under the same immense pressure.
But even as they dropped—
Grise attacked.
His blade drove downward, aimed straight for Jaune as they both plummeted toward the molten abyss below.
Jaune's world narrowed to a single line of steel.
Grise's blade drove straight for his chest, clean and merciless, a strike that had ended countless spars before it even began. Only this time, it wasn't a lesson. It was meant to kill.
Jaune crossed both swords in front of him on instinct.
The impact rang out like a bell struck at the center of a storm.
Force rippled through his arms, jarring his entire body as the tip of Grise's blade stopped inches from his heart while they were falling through a sky that no longer held them.
Grise's eyes were steady and focused.
Jaune's teeth clenched as he pushed back, muscles straining against the pressure. Even suppressed, even dragged down by Velik's overwhelming domain, he could still feel the strength behind that strike.
Their blades ground against each other, sparks scattering into the void below them.
And then—
The world tore open.
It wasn't a sound at first but pressure. A rising, suffocating wave of heat and power that flooded the battlefield like a second sun igniting somewhere far too close.
Jaune's head snapped toward the source.
Light.
Blinding, searing light carved across the horizon.
A beam, massive and incandescent, tore through the sky like a god's breath unleashed. It stretched impossibly far, scorching everything in its path as it cut across the battlefield.
And at its origin—
A dragon.
An enormous eastern dragon coiled through the sky, its body wreathed in storm and lightning. Clouds spiraled around it like a living mantle, thunder cracking in its wake as it unleashed that devastating breath. Its scales shimmered with power, each movement sending ripples through the air itself.
Taiyang.
But he wasn't alone.
Coiled within his grasp was something grotesque.
A massive black mass of flesh, writhing and pulsing like a diseased heart. From it, colossal tendrils erupted, each one ending in enormous, malformed hands.
Those hands moved.
They struck the dragon's head mid-breath.
The beam twisted.
What had been aimed at the monster had been forcefully veered sharply, dragged off course by that titanic interference.
And it was heading straight for them.
The redirected beam tore toward the Rank 1 battlefield, dragging with it a tidal wave of molten shadow and shattered terrain. Lava surged upward, pulled by the sheer force of the attack, forming a towering wall of destruction that swallowed everything in its path.
The heat hit first and it burned.
The shockwave followed ripped Jaune and Grise apart instantly, flinging them in opposite directions like leaves caught in a hurricane.
Jaune's vision blurred as he spun, the sky and molten ground bled into a chaotic smear of color and fire.
Then—
A pull of runic energy threaded into his veins. His blood responded before he could even think.
It surged, tugged by a familiar will, dragging his body violently sideways. The world twisted again as metal formed around him in an instant, enclosing him within a protective shell just as the wave of molten destruction crashed over his previous position.
The impact thundered.
Heat roared around him, metal groaning under the strain as lava cascaded over the surface like a burning ocean.
Inside, it was dim and tight. Yet safe.
Jaune coughed, the taste of iron still lingering in his mouth as he steadied himself.
"…Pyrrha," he breathed. "Thanks."
"No problem," she said, though there was tension beneath it. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Jaune replied, exhaling slowly as he rolled his shoulders. "Good save."
A brief pause.
"…How did you even know I was in trouble?"
"I was keeping a close eye on your fight," Pyrrha admitted. "That man… the one you were fighting. He was the previous instructor from the Sword Arts Club, wasn't he?"
Jaune's expression tightened, even if she couldn't see it.
"…Yeah," he said quietly. "Grise Leos. He used to be my mentor."
The word felt strange now.
Distant.
"He left for Mistral after graduation, from third year" Jaune continued, voice flattening. "But… I guess that wasn't the whole story."
Silence lingered between them for a heartbeat.
"…I'm sorry, Jaune. Are you... will you be alright?" Pyrrha said softly.
Jaune closed his eyes briefly. The memory of clashing blades. The familiarity. The hesitation in Grise's movements.
All of it pressed down on him.
"…It's fine," he said at last.
And he meant it. Not because it didn't hurt, but because there wasn't space for it to matter. "I'm sad," he added, more quietly. "More than I thought I'd be."
His grip tightened around his swords.
"But this isn't the time," he continued, voice hardening. "Grise is my enemy now. If I hesitate… I die. We all do."
Outside, the roar of molten chaos began to fade as the worst of the wave passed.
The metal casing peeled away, folding outward and dissolving into a stable platform beneath their feet. Around them, the battlefield had transformed into a sea of molten shadow, broken only by scattered fragments of solid ground and drifting debris.
Above it all, the oppressive weight of Velik's domain pressed down like a mountain. Pyrrha stood beside him, her expression conflicted for a moment before it settled into resolve.
"…Understood," she said.
She glanced at him, then asked, "Can you still impose your Will into the world?"
Jaune tested it.
Nothing.
It was like trying to push against an ocean with bare hands.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Velik's domain is suppressing everything. Its likely that I can't use Aura Echo either."
Pyrrha grimaced.
"That's… not good."
"No," Jaune agreed. "It's not."
Before either of them could say more—
Space shifted and a small rift opened ahead of them, slicing through the air with unnatural precision.
From it, a figure emerged.
Floating and balanced effortlessly atop a sword. Red hair. Grimm mask and a presence like a drawn blade.
Adam Taurus.
He drifted forward, the molten world reflecting off the crimson edge of the weapon at his side. The air around him felt charged, coiled tight with barely restrained energy that pulsed beneath his skin.
Jaune felt it immediately.
Kinetic energy of some sort. It wasn't the same as Yang's and her father, Taiyang, but close enough that the resemblance sent a quiet alarm through his mind.
Their runes were likely similar.
Beside him—
Another figure stepped out.
Grise.
Also standing on a blade, composed, as if the chaos around them was nothing more than background noise.
Jaune's grip tightened.
So this was how it was going to be. Two against two. Suppressed, outmatched and surrounded by molten death and the crushing weight of a Rank 3 domain.
He leaned slightly toward Pyrrha, his voice low.
"…Sorry," he said. "I don't mean to be rude, but…"
His eyes stayed locked on the enemies ahead.
"Will you be able to keep up?"
Pyrrha didn't hesitate. Her aura flared faintly despite the oppressive pressure. Molten metal fragments rose subtly around her as if responding to her will alone.
"I can handle it," she said, her voice steady and unyielding.
Jaune nodded once.
"Good."
Across from them, Adam's hand moved.
He gripped the hilt of his sword, drawing it just enough that the blade caught the molten light around them.
Then—
He sliced.