RWBY: LUCID

Jaune shifted the steel bat into his left hand for a moment, giving his fingers a brief rest from the tight grip. His arms felt slightly numb from the repeated impacts—but what drew his attention more was the state of his weapon.

Deep marks had now, scored the metal.

Ugly gashes had torn onto its surface, some long and jagged and others, thin and precise like knife wounds. The bat was still holding itself together, but only just. The sheen of steel had dulled into something raw and used. If it had been wood, it would have splintered by now.

Even so…

He wasn't sure how many more hits it could take.

Jaune exhaled, steadying his stance and his nerves. "Hang in there, buddy," he muttered to the bat. Unfortunately, the Beowolves didn't wait for him to finish gathering his thoughts.

They charged him, and this time, their coordination was unmistakable.

One pounced on his left and the other bolted straight down the center.

Jaune twisted away from the first swipe, his boots scraping against gravel and barely brought the bat around in time to redirect the second Beowolf's claws. He couldn't afford to block it, this time, with his bat in the state it currently was in. Instead, he forced a redirection counter—angling the bat like a lever and knocking the creature's strike off course with a glancing block.

His arms shook slightly from the exertion but he persisted.

'Shit, they're getting smarter,' he realized. 'Learning from my other fights..'

The two predators circled him in sync, jaws slack and claws twitching with anticipation of the hunt. They had adjusted well and Jaune had to put in even more effort to make sure he didn't screw up and die.

So he adjusted with them.

His movements shifted even further, instinctively refining themselves into tight, efficient maneuvers. Every dodge that he performed was a breath away from death and every step he took felt like a dire calculation to keep them from boxing him in. The moment one of them tried to flank, he stepped around the other, forcing them to reposition or lose line of sight, and risk fighting him one-on one.

But it was harder now. With only two, they had more space to maneuver and many more opportunities to flank him. Worse—neither of the creatures were wounded.

Jaune's bat met claws again—but this time, instead of taking the brunt, he let his arms absorb the motion and rolled with the impact, letting the momentum carry him into a side-step and counter-swung against beowolf 1's limb to knock it off balance for its next attack.

He didn't aim for power, rather, he aimed for control and he seemed to be doing just fine.

Another claw passed within inches of his face. He ducked low and rolled behind one of the beasts, coming up on its flank—but the second Beowolf was already leaping in.

He raised his bat halfway, then twisted his body instead of meeting the blow head-on.

The claws scraped past, missing his ribs by less than an inch.

Jaune panted, as this new exertion was rapidly depleting his stamina. His arms started to burn again but fortunately, the bat was still intact. Barely. He flicked his gaze between the two beasts and flexed his grip.

"Gotta think of a plan" he muttered, voice low. "Or this is going to get nowhere, real fast."

He glanced around and spotted streetlight about five feet away from him.

Jaune flicked his eyes toward the rusted streetlight five feet away. Its base was cracked, likely from years of neglect and the slow decay of this world. The pole leaned slightly toward the ground, its top drooping like a tired sentinel—but it was still standing.

More importantly, it was solid.

'I can use that,' Jaune thought, already calculating the spacing in his head.

The Beowolves didn't give him time to think. They fanned out again—low, swift, and hungry—pressing in while he was cornered.

Jaune loosened his grip on the bat and began backpedaling toward the streetlight, angling his steps to bait them in while keeping their movements staggered. One hung back—the smarter of the two—while the other, more impulsive, snarled and lunged in a full pounce.

Exactly what Jaune wanted.

He spun on his heel and bolted, feinting hard left before ducking right behind the pole. In one fluid motion, he released his bat, letting it spin in the air, then caught it with his teeth by the handle.

With the grace of an acrobat—or maybe a very determined stripper—he grabbed the pole with both hands and swung his body around it, feet leading into an almost textbook-perfect double chest-kick.

The Beowolf, mid-lunge, couldn't shift its angle in time. It had committed to the attack.

Jaune's boots struck its chest with full force.

Thud.

The impact sent the creature stumbling backwards and howling, its balance now broken.

He didn't waste the opening and kicked off the pole behind him, using the rebound to launch forward. Mid-sprint, he dropped the bat from his mouth and back into his hands. He cocked it behind him and spun once with full torque from the hips.

A strike that was almost equivalent to a hit from a sledgehammer.

CRUNCH.

The bat slammed into the side of the Beowolf's jaw. Bone cracked and the beast dropped like a sack of bricks, snarling as it struggled to rise again.

But the second Beowolf was already in motion, claws flashing toward Jaune's spine.

This time, he wasn't fast enough to avoid it completely.

The claws raked deep into his jacket.

Jaune grunted in pain, but before the jaws could close around his shoulder, he tore off the jacket and twisted free. The Beowolf bit down on fabric instead of flesh, snarling as it shredded apart the padding. It spat out his jacket and growled at him.

Jaune hit the ground in a rough dive, his bat slipping from his hand, blood now seeping through fresh claw marks across his back and shoulders. They weren't lethal—but they burned.

'Just a flesh wound,' he told himself.

He rolled into a crouch and snatched up his bat again, breath coming in ragged gasps, heart pounding like a war drum. His muscles ached and his adrenaline was still shooting high—but he was alive.

And more importantly, the fight had shifted in his favor.

The wounded Beowolf struggled upright, its mask cracked nearly in half.

Jaune saw it—and was ready to press his advantage but the uninjured Beowolf growled and bounded forwards to attack him, effectively spoiling his plans. The other beowolf was clearly unwilling to wait its turn any longer.

He didn't flinch. Instead, he reached up with his off-hand and unstrapped his half-helmet, sliding it free. He gripped the inner rim and raised it like a makeshift buckler, angling the metal shell in front of him.

'Let's see how you like this.'

The Beowolf surged forward with a vicious double-claw swipe, arms sweeping wide.

Jaune stepped back—just half a step—but it was enough. The claws sliced through the air in front of him, close enough to shift at the fabric of his shirt.

Then he moved.

In one explosive burst, Jaune launched forward, leveraging the full power of his new body stat, and planted both feet onto the Beowolf's overextended arms. Using them like a ramp, he kicked off and vaulted over its head.

The creature snarled and snapped up at him, jaws wide.

Jaune shoved the helmet between them like a shield—and the Beowolf's teeth clamped down hard, locking onto the curved steel instead of his torso, crumpling it, almost like paper.

In midair, he grunted, twisted as much as he could and swung his bat down toward the back of its skull.

Thunk.

The blow landed solidly, but it was more disorienting than damaging. However, it was enough to stagger the beast.

Jaune hit the ground in a rough landing, knees bending to absorb the shock. The Beowolf spun immediately, lashing out with another wide claw.

It was too slow.

Jaune ducked and slid forward once more in a move that had already worked before—baseball style. And as he slid beneath its belly, he cocked the bat back and—

CRACK!

He struck the Beowolf's digitigrade leg cleanly. The beast let out a guttural snarl and stumbled as its weight shifted awkwardly.

Another swipe came in response to his attack.

Jaune didn't have room to dodge this one because his footing was off, still mid-recovery from the slide. He had no choice.

He raised the bat and blocked—but rather than take the full force, he pivoted into the impact, shifting the momentum just enough to turn it into a parry. The Beowolf's claw slid off the bat harmlessly, but caused more damage to the bat than before.

Jaune didn't waste the chance and surged forward without hesitation.

THWACK.

The bat slammed into the side of its head.

CRACK.

Another strike. This one to the jaw.

CRUNCH.

The third hit snapped the remnants of its mask and sent the beast reeling.

It tried to defend itself, but it was too late. Jaune was already inside its guard. Already committed.

WHAM.

WHAM.

WHAM.

He kept swinging until the creature collapsed, snarling one last time before its body burst into black ash and scattered across the broken street.

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[Rank 0 beast, Beowolf, slain]

[Runes received: 10]

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The message chimed in the back of his mind, but he paid it no heed, as there was another that needed to fall.

The final Beowolf—its mask cracked and half-caved in from their earlier skirmish—was still trying to find its footing. Its head swayed, red eyes unfocused and its snarls were much weaker now.

Jaune didn't rest, rushing forwards with glorious purpose.

He raised his bat high over his head, muscles tense and eyes locked onto the beast. The Beowolf reacted sluggishly, bringing up both claws to block as if it were mimicking a human trying to shield themselves from a falling blow.

That was exactly what Jaune had hoped for.

He shifted his grip mid-stride, slid one hand closer to the knob of the handle and pivoted his hips.

The overhead strike was a feint.

He twisted low and brought the bat upward in a vicious uppercut.

CRACK.

The steel connected cleanly with the Beowolf's jaw. A howl erupted from its throat, guttural and broken. It stumbled back, legs wobbling like jelly before it collapsed onto its side, dazed and vulnerable.

Jaune didn't stop.

He pressed the advantage—another hit, then another—until the final blow cracked through the remnants of its mask and the beast went limp.

A beat passed.

Then, like the others before it, its body dissolved into curling black ash. Blood, fur, bone—everything vanished, swept away like dust in a breeze that didn't exist.

Jaune stood over it, panting, bat still in hand.

Snap.

The handle broke with a hollow pop. He looked down and realized the grip had finally given out. Deep gouges and impact stress had torn the bat nearly in half. Splinters of twisted metal jutted from the grip, sharp enough to shred skin.

It was done.

"Figures..." he muttered, letting the ruined thing clatter to the pavement.

For a long moment, he just stood there, watching the ash drift around him like burnt snow.

Then he sat.

Right there in the middle of the empty street, he let himself drop to the ground with a sigh, arms resting over his knees, helmet still hanging loosely in one hand.

Silence.

The air was still again, heavy and thick. Only the faint sound of his breathing remained. His body ached—his shoulders felt tight, his arms were sore, and the claw marks on his back throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

"God, that sucked," he whispered, tilting his head toward the sky. "But... at least I'm still alive."

He flexed his fingers slowly, feeling how stiff they were, how raw his palms felt from gripping the bat too tight. Jaune had won. That should have felt good and it really did but, all he could focus on was the slow creeping ache of exhaustion that was setting in.

His muscles were tight with tension that hadn't quite faded. His legs burned from the repeated slides and dodges, and his back was pulsing with soreness where claws had torn through the jacket.

Still, beneath the fatigue was something else. Something sharp. A small ember of pride. That had been a good fight. Not one he barely survived by luck—one that he won. With grit, instinct, and smart positioning.

He leaned back and let out another breath.

"…Two levels of Body, and I still feel like I got thrown down a hill," he muttered dryly. "Hope the other stats, Aura or whatever gives me some type of regeneration or something."

There was no one to hear him.

But the act of speaking out loud made him feel better, a small comfort in this strange, rotting world. He closed his eyes for a moment and let the silence wrap around him like a blanket, just long enough to catch his breath.

Then, slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at his hands.

One broken bat gone. Now he had no weapon and his gear was...

He looked back at the shredded pieces of his jacket and his half crumpled helmet.

...No gear.

"…Yeah. I should probably exit the dream now."

But for now, he let himself sit a moment longer. Just to remember what it felt like to breathe. The quiet, however didn't last.

Scrrk. Scrrk. Scrrk.

Jaune's ears twitched at the sudden, familiar scrape of claws against stone—distant but closing fast.

He turned sharply, eyes scanning the ruined streets behind him.

There.

Across the street of houses and gutted shells of a neighborhood, something moved—bounding from rooftop to rooftop like a black-furred missile. A Beowolf.

Its silhouette flickered between gaps in the broken skyline, leaping with powerful, ground-devouring strides, its eyes glowing faintly red in the shadows.

"Goddamn it," Jaune hissed, pushing himself to his feet. His muscles complained, but he was already alert—pulse kicking up again, exhaustion washed over by instinct and tension. Jaune had completely forgotten that in the station he had seen six of those creatures. Not five.

He hadn't had time to think about it during the fight but now it was clear. The problem was, he was out of weapons. But that didn't mean he was out of options.

"Status," he muttered, willing the screen to appear before him.

It shimmered to life in his vision, ghostly and as red as the broken moon in the sky.

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===

[Jaune Arc]

[Rank: 0]

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Aura: 0

Will: 0

Body: 2

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Runes: 38

===

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[Body: 2>3]

[Cost: 30 Runes]

[Y/N]

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His eyes darted to the number.

Thirty runes.

It wasn't doubling which mean that the growth rate was probably linear. A rush of relief hit him.

"Perfect."

He didn't hesitate.

"Confirm."

The moment the words left his mouth, the change tore through him like wildfire.

Jaune barely had time to brace.

His heart kicked into overdrive and his blood rushed like a flood through his veins. Every muscle in his body clenched, stretched, then settled. He gasped, staggering slightly—not from pain, but from sheer force of power.

His senses sharpened again.

Not just clearer but more precise.

His depth perception refined even further. He could now make out tiny fractures on the broken pavement around him. Hear the way wind passed through cracks in the stone. Smell more of the iron tang of dried blood that still lingered in the air.

His entire nervous system felt like it had been rewired, like he wouldn't just be reacting anymore instead, instead, predicting.

Even the ache in his limbs started to fade, replaced by a faint tingling—strength, waiting to be used. Jaune clenched his fists once then looked up.

The Beowolf was almost upon him now, claws scrabbling for purchase as it leapt across the final rooftop. Its body arced high, midair, lit briefly by the pale red glow of the broken moon.

It had seen him. And it was coming to kill him. Jaune stared at it with a solemn confidence.

He had neither, bat nor blade but Jaune had still his fists. Just his fists, and a cracked helmet in his other hand.

"Alright then," he said, voice low and steady. "Let's see what Body 3 can do."