The shadows beneath Jacques' feet bubbled and exploded outward like tar. They latched onto everything in their path and slammed toward the laughing maniac. A strange glow surrounded Tyrian's feet, causing whatever tendrils touched him to dissolve.
Jacques growled, his hand curling into a fist as he surged forward.
With a single swing, his palm bashed into Tyrian's face, lifting him off the ground. The Faunus swung his arm. Jacquers weaved out of the fist's way, before snatching Tyrian by his tail and hurling the madman flying like a comet, slamming into a half-collapsed wall across the clearing with enough force to shake loose debris tens of meters away.
'Fucknig twat...' Jacques didn't have time to savor the moment. He could feel the sudden added weight of three other people pressing against the back of his mind and on his metaphorical shoulders as his shadows stretched inky tendrils found his children and Nachri and yanked them back, pulling them toward where he and Willow stood.
"Oof!"
The shadows retreated after dumping them at his feet. They slipped away, fading back into their usual stillness. Willow, bleeding from a gash on her forehead, pulled Winter and Whitley into a tight hug. Winter was already checking Whitley for injuries. Whitley did the same for their mother, glancing at Winter every so often, unsure which of them to worry about more. All the while, Jacques stood watching protectively over them.
To the outside viewers, it was a touching display of worry and family, spoiled only by a wide-eyed, dirtied Nachri latching onto Jacques' leg.
Jacques quickly looked at Nachri over to see if there were any injuries. He found little that would worry. Once satisfied that it was simply nothing more than a couple of light bruises, he met her gaze with a blank expression and shook his leg. "You'll live."
Nachri looked back at him, her lips twitching into a forced smile. And she stepped back with a nervous laugh. "Apologies."
Jacques straightened up, turning his eyes to his family. Willow and Winter, still focused on Whitley, were startled when they realized he was looking at them. For a moment, they seemed genuinely surprised to see him standing there like he wasn't the one who actually saved them.
He knew he was right to rush when he felt both his dogs get unsummoned, not killed. Unsummoned, just like what happened against Tranquill Deer. And as fucked as his recollection of canon was—which was very fucked, all things considered, Jacques was pretty sure he only knew of one dickhead on the whole planet who could pull it off.
"Sup,"
"Jacques..." Willow muttered, shoulders slumping in clear relief.
"Father!" Whitley's eyes lit up,
Jacques gave Willow a small smile, ruffled Whitley's hair, then looked down at Winter. She was on one knee, one hand pressed over her stomach.
"He stabbed you. How bad is it?" he asked, nodding toward the hole just under her ribs. The skin around it was starting to darken. He wasn't a doctor, but it didn't look good.
"I'll live." Winter forced a smirk, but it faded fast when her eyes dropped to his side. "And... sh-should you really be worrying about us when you're bleeding like that?"
The other three turned to look. All of them saw the blood soaking through his coat.
"Your stomach!" Willow exclaimed.
Whitley panicked with her. "W-We need to get you help, now!"
Oh. Right. He got stabbed.
Ow.
He looked down at the wound, then back at them. Honestly, he'd forgotten. He'd gotten so used to getting hurt that it barely registered anymore. Probably not a great sign.
He'd be concerned if it wasn't so bloody(heh) badass.
"No, it's not fine!" Whitley said as he pointed at the wound. "You're bleeding. A lot!"
Jacques gave a half shrug. "Just a bit of stabbing. Builds character. Don't worry about it." He waved him off and stretched to show how completely fine and not-fucked he was, "Tis but a flesh wound."
"Like hell it is! The blade went clean, you're bleeding through the other side!" Willow's hands moved like she couldn't decide where to grab him and not make things worse. Her voice cracked. She looked one second from screaming
"Just muscles and skin," Jacques said. The grin stayed on his face like nothing was wrong. His eyes lingered on the cut above Willow's brow, but he didn't bring it up.
He raised a hand when Whitley opened his mouth to protest. "I've reinforced my organs. The blade veered off them. Nothing vital's damaged."
Which sounded good. He wasn't totally sure how he had done it. But he did.
And if anyone asked him to explain it, he'd just start saying words until they stopped asking
Something about kinetic redirection or muscle layering or aura density, and whatever sounded smart.
The answer was simply he was fucking HIM!
"Reinforce your organs...' Willow looked at him weirdly for a moment before sighing. "As long as you're fine, I guess." She muttered, more than likely trying to convince herself. She was failing from the looks of it, too.
Whitley's face tightened, but he nodded reluctantly, his grip on Willow's sleeve tightening.
"I'm seriously fine. But you're not. "Jacques turned to Winter with a frown. "Just hold still for a second. I'll patch you up quickly," he said, raising his hand to form the sign for Tranquil Deer.
"Don't," Winter interrupted firmly. Her voice was calm, but her tone brooked no argument. "It's not life-threatening. I can hold out for hours if I have to. Save your Aura for something more important."
Jacques paused the ritual, the faint glow of his Aura dimming as he studied Winter closely, his hand still hovering in the summoning gesture. His eyes searched hers, silently questioning her. Are you sure?
Winter held his gaze without flinching. "I'm sure," she nodded. "All Atlas operatives are trained to build up immunity to venoms and poisons. My life isn't in danger."Winter said firmly while she was wiping the blood from her nose. Her eyes hardened. "Don't waste your Aura. Your priority should b—" Her speech stopped when a fit of coughs erupted from her throat suddenly.
"Winter..." Willow pleaded, hands on her daughter's shoulder.
"I can endure," she said. Her little breeze shook her head slowly but firmly. "Even I accepted it. As long as the scorpion's alive, healing me is pointless. He could just do it again. Worry about me after he's dead."
She looked up at him
"Beware his Semblance. It can mess with Aura. It messes with Summons, too."
Then she gave him thatlook; the kind of look you only saw on people who were ready to break themselves before they let someone else fall.
That "Nothing Happened" look
That "Protect Soul Society" look.
Fucking shonen characters...
Jacques' lips thinned as he lowered his hand, the faint glimmer of the summoning sign fading away. "Fine," he said gruffly. She made a good point, he admitted begrudgingly. "But if it worsens, you will let me handle it."
Winter inclined her head, accepting the compromise. Whitley stepped closer, slipping a hand under his sister's arm to help Willow steady her. He kept glancing at the wound on his father's abdomen, his lips pressing tighter with each glance, but he said nothing.
Jacques rummaged briefly through his coat, retrieving a small chip he'd received from a guard earlier. Without hesitation, he tossed it at Nachri, who caught it with a startled look.
"Jimmy says communications should be back on any minute now," Jacques explained, glancing between their confused expressions. "If her condition worsens, you tell me. Is that clear?" He directed the order at Nachri, knowing Winter wouldn't say shit to him if her health actually became worse.
Nachri quickly nodded, snapping a sharp salute. Was she always this kind of character?
Jacques straightened his back, his attention shifting toward where Tyrian leaned lazily against the collapsed wall, watching him with a manic grin. "I'll deal with him," Jacques said, raising his hands. "Make sure to stay away and stick together."
Luckily, there were no objections or interruptions this time. He raised his hands and curled his fingers. "Rabbit Escape."
Thousands of murder bunnies burst from his shadow like a deranged tidal wave of fluff and knives. The homicidal fluffballs swarmed his family in seconds. However, before he could send them off, Willow's hand grabbed his arm.
Jacques looked at her.
Willow's face contorted, and her brows furrowed as she met his eyes. "Promise you won't die."
Jacques blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the desperation in her voice. The shadowy, distorted murder bunnies froze, waiting for his command.
A slow smirk spread across his face. "Ooh, you do care," he teased.
Willow's grip on his arm tightened, her nails digging into his skin. Her voice cracked as she repeated, "I'm serious, Jacques. No matter what happens out there, you can'tdie."
Jacques grinned wider. "Silly girl," he said with a soft scoff. "As if I'd leave you with such a dull memory of me." He pulled his arm free with a flourish. He raised five fingers. "He pulled his arm free, lifting five fingers. "Five minutes. That's all I need. You'll see his body hanging from the streets soon enough."
He leaned closer and whispered softly in her ear. "I'll make sure to show off since you're going to be watching."
Willow hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching his face, trying to read something that Jacques didn't really know. After a moment, she seemed to find what she was looking for, and she sighed.
"Don't make me regret this," she pleaded with a tone that was barely above a whisper.
With that, Jacques had the protective, stab-happy cloud whisk them off to safety.
Somewhere in the blur of white, Whitley's voice echoed one last time.
"Break his spine, Father!"
"You bet!" Jacques couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. Oh, he definitely planned to.
He put a hand on his abdomen and pulled it away. It was all red. The smile that appeared on his face turned into a vicious grin. He cracked his knuckles.
Why? Simple. Jacques was in pain, and pain always had a way of putting him in a great mood.
Not the pain itself, mind you.
He'd tried that scene once back in his younger, stupider days when he thought goth girls and eyeliner were the peak of human evolution. Spoiler alert: he was not into being on the receiving end. Still, every misstep has its silver lining, and Jacques learned quickly that dishing out pain was far more his speed.
So, no, he wasn't thrilled about the stab wound currently lodged in his gut. Vitals or no vitals, a stab wound hurt like a bitch. But Ol' Pa hadn't raised a bloody pussyo, and Jacques wasn't about to start whining in front of his family—or worse, the hoes.
Besides, as any self-respecting Brummie hooligan knew, getting stabbed was practically a rite of passage. He'd dealt with worse, walked it off, and done it with style.
What did put him in a good mood was the very simple, primal satisfaction of having someone to take that pain out on.
The laugh that escaped him was low and sinister, the kind of laugh that would have fit perfectly in a cartoon villain's Saturday morning debut. Only this wasn't a cartoon. Well, it was, but not really...This was different!
And Jacques Schnee was about to make sure Tyrian learned that difference.
But first, he needed to set the stage. He felt the tide of rabbits leave the premises, and with a mental command, he unsummoned them.
He clapped his hands in the shape of wings. "Nue,"
Plus
He formed the shape of a rabbit's head. "Rabbit Escape,"
Jacques closed his eyes and visualized the shape and shikigami he wished to create. He'd already done this combination once, so it came much more easily now that he had a clearer picture of what he wanted.
"Thousand Bird,"
His aura surged into his expanding shadow, growing until it formed a massive circle with a radius of several meters. It bubbled lightly, and then with a pop, a blue and white sparrow appeared, followed a second later by hundreds and hundreds of its kind that flew out and took to the sky.
Gotta love plagerizing shit. Luckily, there was no one who would call him out on that move.
With that, Jacques continued his saunter until he reached where his next victim was waiting for him.
"I've kept you waiting," Jacques said, stopping just a few feet away from the mad Faunus.
The scorpion didn't answer right away. His eyes followed the birds as they vanished into the clouds, raising an eyebrow for a moment before looking down at Jacque
"Perish the thought," Tyrian drawled, his smile shifting into something unnervingly close to normal. He tilted his head, almost like he was admiring him. "All the finer things in life are worth waiting for, and you, my dear monster, are a fine thing indeed."
"Straight to the dick-riding, eh? Guess foreplay isn't your strong suit. Can't say I hate it though." Jacques let out a small whistle.
Tyrian's grin widened, his eyes glittering with manic glee. "Oh, but why waste time with pretense? You, Jacques Schnee, are a masterpiece of fury. As calm as you wish to appear, I can see it clearly. That hatred you hide so well: it's intoxicating! I could drink it like fine wine, and trust me, I've sampled some exquisite vintages." His voice dipped into a breathy and almost reverent tone. "You're a work of art, Jacques Schnee. A living, breathing ballet of blood and rage."
Again with his aura?
Jacques snorted, crossing his arms. "Ballet, huh? Can't say the same about you, cunt. You're giving me more interpretive dance vibes. Like that weird one with the lady rolling on the floor pretending to be a sad potato. This whole act of yours? Real 'art school dropout trying too hard.' "
Tyrian gasped, clutching his chest like Jacques had physically struck him. "How cruel! And yet, your venom only makes me love you more. That sharp tongue, that raw disdain; you wound me so sweetly!"
This was getting real fucking weird.
"Mate," Jacques said flatly, "if you're about to moan again, I'm breaking your face." He was planning on doing that anyway. "Don't test me. I've had enough weirdos breathing heavy at me for one lifetime."
"Oh, but why deny me the pleasure?" Tyrian purred, his grin somehow growing wider, and his head rolled backward. "Your hatred—no, your pain—is a symphony! Every stab of your anger is a note, every glare a crescendo. You don't just hate, Jacques; you perform it. You're a maestro of malice, and I'm your most devoted audience!"
"You really are just dying for me to kick your teeth in, aren't you?" Jacques furrowed his brows. He let out a sigh, shaking his head. "I almost pity Salem."
Tyrian's laughter cut off abruptly. The scorpion's head lolled forward, his eyes wide and unblinking as he stared into Jacques. "What did you just say, dear monster?"
"Oh you heard me. Salem. That crusted-up sack of whining flesh you call a goddess. Skin like week-old meat. Voice like a clogged drain. Walks like rigor mortis finally kicked in and no one told her."
He didn't stop there.
"Face like roadkill left out in the sun. Hair like drowned straw. And tits so sagged they probably scrape the floor when she crawls out of bed. Assuming she even sleeps and doesn't just marinate in her own rot."
He tilted his head slightly.
"...You know her," Tyrian muttered.
"Know her?" Jacques' voice was dry as ash. "Tyrian, I've seen what's under the mask. I know exactly what she is."
"My name..." Tyrian whispered under his breath.
"I'd give you a message to pass on." Jacques took a step forward. His eyes narrowed.
"But you're not leaving here alive."
The ground under his boots cracked, as his aura detonated across him. It ballooned violently as it engulfed his surroundings in a clear show of power.
Unfortunately, Tyrian just stood there breathing heavily. His hands twitched at his sides. His pupils were blown wide. He looked giddy. Worse, he looked turned on.
Okay, not what Jacques was going for.
"You know her!" Tyrian repeated.
"And somehow, I still pity her." Jacques let his voice drip with mockery, shrugging as though the mention of Salem was barely worth his time. "Poor woman is stuck with you as one of her top lackeys. Must be exhausting. I mean, having a lunatic on the payroll probably sounds fun on paper, but I bet the novelty wears off once you start licking the furniture or screaming poetry at the poor Grimm."
Tyrian's breath hitched, and his arms rose and hugged his body. His tail stood straight behind him.
"But let's be real, you're not exactly competing with titans of intellect, are you? Between a cowardly fraud who threw hissy fit cuz Atlas didn't buy his shit as the "kewlest and tottes heckin bestest scientist' and that brainless dust-huffing moron with a victim complex the size of Mantle who blamed everyone but the one actually responsible for his sister's death, it's not like the bar was set high." He gave an exaggerated shake of his head. "Still, the poor bitch deserves better than having you groveling at her feet."
For a moment, Tyrian was completely silent. Then, to Jacques' surprise, instead of shutting the fuck up and attacking him for insulting his leash holder, Tyrian's mouth stretched into an even wider grin.
"RRAAAAAGHHHH-GREEAAAKH-AEEEAAAAGH-!!!!!!"
His head snapped back, and his shrieking laugh echoed across the clearing. It was louder, higher-pitched, and more deranged than ever before if that was even possible.
"YOU KNOW HER!!!!"Tyrian screamed for the third time while his laughter bled into a piercing wail as he spun in place. "You know our Goddess! Oh, this is beautiful!" He threw his arms wide, addressing the heavens—or maybe just the madness within his own head. "He knows you, my Goddess! He sees your glory, your magnificence! This one understands!"
"Swear you've got more red flags than a commie parade, don't you cunt?" He dropped his hand when he felt a bit of annoyance creep into his voice.
"Oh, you're special, my gorgeous abomination," he hissed as he dropped from the wall and his tail swayed behind him in erratic, twitchy movements as his voice rose in pitch.
"You speak of her so casually, so flippantly, yet you see her. You know her name!" His laughter erupted again, high-pitched and deranged, echoing like nails dragged across glass. "Oh, your tongue, dear monster, is sharper than your blade! It cuts, it sears! I'd almost be offended—if I wasn't so completely, utterly, madly in awe!!!"
He threw his arms out, spinning in place like a lunatic caught in a manic spiral. He moaned. "Ah, perfection! I didn't think you could get any more beautiful! Ahn! But here you are—"
CRACK!
Tyrian's praise was cut off abruptly as Jacques slammed his fist into Tyrian's face with a force that sent the lunatic flying through the crumbling wall. Tyrian's body skidded along the dirt, leaving a shallow trench in his wake. He finally stopped himself by slamming his feet into the ground, his claws digging into the earth to stabilize his momentum.
Jacques didn't give him a second to recover. He shot forward, the ground cracking beneath his heels as he launched himself at Tyrian, obliterating the spot where the Faunus had stood just moments earlier.
"You're so damn annoying! What'd I tell you about moaning?!" Jacques roared with fury and exhilaration. He charged forward, throwing a punch so telegraphed that Tyrian couldn't help but grin as he sidestepped, already imagining the counter strike. But what hit him wasn't Jacques's fist—it was something worse.
The air itself seemed to explode against Tyrian's face, like a phantom sledgehammer had followed Jacques' swing. His head snapped to the side, stars dancing in his vision. The grin faltered for just a moment, replaced by confusion as pain radiated from a blow that should have missed entirely.
Tyrian twisted his body, instincts taking over as he folded in to avoid the follow-up—a jab aimed low at his stomach. But again, without contact, his gut convulsed as if Jacques had driven his fist straight into him. Tyrian staggered back, a strangled laugh escaping his lips. "What... is this?" he muttered, his eyes darting toward Jacques.
His answer came in the form of another punch. Tyrian's wrist blades whipped forward to intercept, but something unseen slammed into them, sending them off course. Jacques ducked under the slowed strike. An uppercut shattered the sound barrier a moment later. The blow connected with nothing but air—yet Tyrian's ribs felt like they had been hit with a sledgehammer.
Another dodge. Another phantom strike. Another burst of pain.
Tyrian's manic grin spread wider as he coughed blood onto the ground. "Ah, so that's it!" he howled with elation. "You clever beast! You're cheating!"
Jacques didn't bother to reply beyond a smirk. His left fist pulled back. Tyrian felt it before he saw it—his own body shifted unnaturally f,orcing him into the path of Jacques' oncoming strike.
"Shit!" Tyrian's grin never wavered as he recognized it too late—Jacques' Aura latching onto his movements like a puppeteer pulling strings. The realization barely formed before Jacques' right fist smashed into his chest with bone-shattering force.
A crack echoed through the air as Tyrian's body crumpled around the blow. Blood sprayed from his mouth, and he was launched backward like a cannonball, skidding through the dirt for hundreds of meters before slamming. He lay in the rubble, coughing and laughing through the agony.
Tyrian's vision rolled back as he saw the distant lights of the city, now far too close, surrounded by the long-dead bodies of the White Fang idiots.
"He sent me flying..." Tyrian wheezed between gasps and crooned in disbelief. Just like he did with the Gorilla.
His chest felt like it had been crushed under a boulder. Shards of broken ribs stabbed into places they shouldn't be stabbing, but the pain didn't bother him as much as it should. Not now. Not when he was so close.
"But I saw it…" he muttered, a laugh slipping through his words. "I figured it out… that fucking thing."
He straightened up, his body jerking as adrenaline fought through the pain. He snapped to his feet, focus narrowing down to the monster sauntering toward him. No. He was fixated, eyes locking onto the distortion that wrapped around Jacques like a cloak.
He was too consumed by the sweet nectar, that divine taste of bloodlust and hatred emanating from his Aura. In his obsession, he missed the finer details, lost in the pure image of it all.
"Ahhh…" Tyrian breathed."How… beautiful," he moaned to himself. "Such a dark, twisted soul. And it's his…"
The tendrils of Aura lashed out across the ground, demanding to crush, to submit, to die. Yet, like a raging hurricane, its center remained dead calm, sticking to Jacques' flesh and shifting in patterns that obeyed his will. It expands when he attacks so that his range becomes much greater, and retracts when attacked to weaken and slow any incoming blows. That was why he felt like he was punching though mud whenever he got close.
A divine feat of control and mastery. To be able to mold his soul into two contrasting sides like this.
Tyrian wanted to embrace it, feel it, as Jacques tore through his flesh.
He wanted to crush it all.
His semblance sang, glowing a brilliant pink as it surrounded his hands. Then, like a comet, he burst forward, laughing as he tore everything apart.
Tyrian lunged, throwing a punch straight for Jacques' jaw. Jacques blocked, his fist crashing into Tyrian's forearm with a loud thud. He nearly felt his arm snap in two, but still the grin on his face stayed. It worked.
Even then, it wasn't enough.
Tyrian grinned, using the force to spin around, pink glow around his heel dispersing tendrils that tried to slow, and landing a kick to Jacques' side. Jacques grunted, the blow forcing him back a few steps.
"Bastard,..." Jacques scowled, feeling his Aura slip out of control.
But he didn't waste time. Jacques charged, shoulder-checking Tyrian hard, knocking him to the ground. Tyrian hit the dirt, but rolled with it before the boot crushed his head, jumping back to his feet and throwing a low kick at Jacques' legs. His leg snapped into Jacque's knee, and he felt the blow reverberate through his own shin.
Tyrian felt as if he was trying to uproot a fucking tree. He punched again, his semblance parting the Aura, but only partly.
Jacques dodged, slamming an elbow into Tyrian's shoulder that brought him to his knees.
Tyrian cackled, swinging a fist at Jacques' ribs. A clap of his palm, focusing the shadows between them and spreading them again, his fingers dragged a sheet of darkness, Jacques had the scorpion's fist sink inside it. With a twirl of the shadowy sheet that twisted Tyrian's arm and brought him up, Jacques crashed his forehead into his face.
Tyrian's semblance freed his arm just in time for Jacques's palm to bash into Tyrian's face once more and send him to the ground. Tyrian took the hit but kicked Jacques off, scrambling to stand.
It simply wasn't possible, he realized with a laugh.
Both of them moved without hesitation, no wasted motion. Tyrian threw a series of jabs, each one smashed by Jacques' aura. Jacques countered with an uppercut to Tyrian's chin, the hit rattling his skull, before driving his forehead into Tyrian's. The pain almost made him black out.
It was too much.
Tyrian ducked under a haymaker, his glowing hand clearing the berserk aura, and slashed his blade across Jacques' face. A deep gash appeared, but Jacques' grin only widened as he hammered the side of his fist on Tyrian's collarbone, the force cracking the bone and slamming him into the path of his raised knee.
With a laugh that bordered on a roar, Tyrian spun, his tail glowing pink as he slashed across Jacques' side, tearing flesh from hip to shoulder and leaving a trail of blood.
But Jacques just barked out, "It's shallow!" His palm slammed into Tyrian's head, smashing him into the earth so hard that the ground cracked beneath him. The impact sent the entire clearing tilting, the ground crumbling away as they fell off the edge of the hill, tumbling toward the abandoned streets of Atlas below.
It wasn't even a fight.
Tyrian slammed into the ground, his aura flaring in protest as tons of debris piled on top of him. But nothing hurt as much as the kick that slammed into his stomach, folding his spine and sending him flying across the city, skidding into a distant building.
"Great serpent!"
Tyrian groaned, laughing through the pain. His vision blurred, but he could just make out the massive anaconda slamming into the side of the building. Its maw grabbed his aching body, tearing through the support pillars with a deafening crash. The structure groaned, buckled, and started collapsing, but Tyrian didn't care.
His grin stretched wider.
No matter how much he pulled his Semblance, no matter how injured and full of poison the other was.
It was simply too much.
"This is it!" Tyrian laughed, his hands breaking free as he grabbed the serpent's jaw. "This is what I wanted!" With a cry, he snapped the creature's jaws, twisting them to the opposite side. The serpent thrashed violently before it dissolved, slipping back into the collapsing shadows.
No different than a child trying to overpower an adult.
But before Tyrian could catch his breath, a freight-train-like impact hit him in the shape of a massive, dark oxthat crashed into his body. The shock of the hit splintered what ribs hadn't been broken already. The ox let out a guttural bellow as it barreled through the debris, dragging him through the floors and out the other side of the building.
The two of them sailed through the air, breaking through the wreckage of the building before plummeting toward the empty traffic of the already evacuated streets below. Finally getting his bearings together, Tyrian pressed his semblance into his palms, collapsing the ox into shadow mid-bellow, leaving it to vanish into darkness.
Suspended in the air, Tyrian's heart pounded. The distant sound of helicopters and the rush of wind were the only things that filled his ears. But before he could process it, his leg was snatched, and he was slammed back into reality as he was thrown into a truck below, his body crashing through it with a sickening crunch.
Tyrian groaned, laughing manically as blood soaked his clothes.
He didn't care.
"Not so chatty now, are ya cunt?!" Jacques rocketed from the distance into Tyrian, tearing the street in half as they collided, sending vehicles into the air and nearly bringing the damn bloke over their heads. His hands snatched Tyrian's arm and face, twirling him headfirst across the concrete before spinning and throwing him into the air.
Tyrian's brief flight was cut short when Jacques followed, grabbing his legs with a brutal grip. The force of the spin flipped Tyrian mid-air before he was hurled back down, crashing through a billboard and slamming into the wreckage of a hotel roof.
Pain surged through Tyrian's body as shards of debris punctured his lung. His chest heaved desperately as he tried to suck in the air, but it was useless.
His aura was barely holding on.
"Fight back!" Before he could recover, Jacques was on him, diving feet-first from the sky into his face. The impact sent a jolt through his already cracked skull while Jacques dragged him down the side of the hotel, his head grinding through concrete and steel beams, leaving a trail of destruction on the structure. "You was talking all that shite! What happened?!"
Every inch of Tyrian's body screamed in agony, but still, through the haze of pain, he managed to laugh. "Give me more!"
Tyrian's head bounced off the concrete, a sickening crack following the impact. His vision blurred, but the laugh still came. He shot to his feet, wrist blades slicing across Jacques' chest, leaving another gash, only to receive another concussion in return.
He ducked again, letting the fist sail over his head, and slammed his glowing stinger into Jacques' side, unleashing whatever venom he could. But it dripped harmlessly to the ground. From the shadow beneath them, thick purple tongues were wrapped around his tail, holding it from reaching Jacques' body. They bulged and hurled him by the tail across the ruined hall of the hotel.
A touch of his hand, and they disappeared.
"You have a really annoying ability, you know?" Jacques said with a smile, bringing his palms together. "But let's see how you handle this."
"Demon Dogs."
The shadow beneath Jacques' feet bulged violently before it exploded outward, taking the vague shape of a dozen snarling dogs with distorted heads and limbs.
Tyrian raised his palms to intercept them, pushing his semblance to the limit. But the shadows rammed into his hands hard and unaffected. He tried to collapse their form as he had done to all other summons, but to no success. How could he undo something with no actual form to undo?
The shadows dragged Tyrian back into the streets. Their distorted limbs clawed at him. They tried tearing at his aura. Each blow shook him, but he hit back just as hard.
His tail lashed out, snapping through their heads. The shapes scattered for a moment before reforming. He ducked under a swipe, throwing a punch that dispersed the nearest shadow. Another wrapped around his arm, dragging him down. He snarled and tore himself free, slamming the shape into the ground.
A bite through the leg brought him back to his knees. Another wrapped around his biceps and dove back into the shadow. A third bashed him on the chest, trying to smothe himr. Little by little, more and more of the dogs piled on him, pinning him in place until he could no longer move.
Jacques didn't slam into him. He didn't punch him or throw another summon at him.
He merely jumped, landing gracefully and moving again from rooftop to rooftop until he stood atop the tallest building in the vicinity.
He pointed upwards.
Thunder roared above like the war drum of an angry god. The night sky lit up, flooding everything in white for a moment. Tyrian groaned under the weight of the shadow beasts holding him down, and did his best to tilt his head back as he tried to see through the glare.
The clouds above churned. Lightning slashed through them, each bolt brighter than the last. Flickering lights started to appear, small and scattered at first, then spreading like fire until there were hundreds. They moved erratically, darting and colliding, but each time they struck, they grew stronger. They grew angrier.
Some broke through the clouds for a fraction of a second, and allowed Tyrian to see what they actually were. Electric charges in the shape of a small bird.
"The birds," he muttered, laughing through the pain. "Those damn birds..."
It had been gnawing at the back of his mind. Why exactly had Jacques summoned them if not to attack him? Why waste Aura? He had his answer now.
Jacques had sent them into the sky with a clear purpose—to let them circulate between the clouds, building up more power and energy.
The lights began to gather. Piece by piece, they drew closer, fusing into a single colossal bolt of lightning. It grew larger with every second, until it became a massive streak of energy that dwarfed the buildings below in Atlas, twisted through the clouds, and coiled like a serpent.
Jacques' hand was still raised high toward the storm above. It glowed with an aura that sparked and crackled like raw electricity. Was there anything he couldn't do?!
A single spark surged from his palm and shot upward into the sky.
The spark connected with the swirling lightning storm above, linking Jacques to the churning clouds. Even through the thick cover, the connection was instant. The moment it struck, a massive bolt of lightning tore free. It lit up the ground below—a raging dragon of pure energy peeked through the dark sky. The crackling of a thousand birds of electricity mimicking a roar.
"Thousand Bird." Jacques declared with his cape bellowing in the wind behind him, and the dragon roared again, seemingly responding to the calling of its name. Like a spider web, blinding blots of lightning cross the clouds of Atlas.
"Kirin!"
Seeing the spectacle and hearing it being called by that particular name, Tyrian laughed harder. His chest heaved with the glee of a man witnessing the divine. How arrogant!
"Magnificent," he rasped, his voice cracking with exhilaration. The laughter returned, louder and wilder. "What a monster... what a beautiful, magnificent monster!" He threw his head back, screaming into the chaos above. "No, you're not a monster! You're not a human, either! Tell me, Jacques Schnee!"
He barked at the figure standing tall on the nearby building, arm raised to the heavens, the storm itself at his command. Jacques moved his hand slightly, and the whole of Atlas saw the dragon above twist in response, bound and subjugated to his will.
"Tell me," Tyrian shrieked, his voice tearing through the air as he asked the question the whole world wished to ask, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?!"
Jacques's eyes narrowed, and his hand snapped down.
The dragon surged downward with a roar.
"God."