Through We Endure. (RWBY x OC)

Hadryn VS Juane

'--///Hadryn: "This world is cold and dark, It will beat you to your knees until you are dry of blood. Its only... up to you whether you endure the torture or not"///--'

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((Opening))

Am I lost in a somber dream's embrace, Or simply numbed by stone's cold trace? A sliver of sense clings to my right hand, This throbbing power, my life's lone strand. In dreams, you linger, ever so near, Will my hiraeth bring forth your tear? Embrace me close, dispel my fright,

Erase the future once foretold, End this sorrow that I hold. Dreams of youth, now chains that bind, Drag me down, leave marks behind. In shadows cast, my form is etched, By your presence, forever sketched.

My blood's hue, a mystery untold—Red, black, or white, it's bold. Prepared I stand, foes yet unseen, Should chaos reign, will you intervene?

if I closed my eyes and tried to think again, Would i be stained with blood?
In my grasp, Deep rooted anger grows. . .

((Opening close))

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The city lights of Vale twinkled below, a stark contrast to the tension crackling on the rooftop. A cool wind whipped around Jaune, carrying the faint scent of ozone and the metallic tang of fear. He squared his shoulders, a newfound determination hardening his features, a stark contrast to the nervous tremor in his hands.

Juane: "I understand,"
he finally rasped, his voice hoarse but surprisingly steady. He didn't know what he was getting himself into, but backing down now wasn't an option. He had lied his way into Beacon, but he wouldn't lie his way out of this. He would face this challenge, this test of his will, head-on.

Across from him, Hadryn stood cloaked in shadow, his imposing figure a silhouette against the fading light. With a flourish that seemed to echo the desperation in Jaune's heart, Hadryn drew his weapon. It wasn't a sleek, high-tech marvel like Crescent Rose, but a massive, scarred greatsword that whispered tales of countless battles.

A massive, jagged cleaver, its surface marred by countless nicks and scratches, bore the weight of a warrior's past. A path thats been quite literally etched within every crack. The setting sun, casting long shadows across the rooftop, caught the metal, sending a glint of cold steel into Jaune's eyes. The reflected light danced across the chipped edges of the blade, sending chills down Pyrrha's spine as she watched, a silent observer caught between two immovable forces.

Hadryn: ". . .Good,"
Hadryn rumbled, his voice a low challenge.

Hadryn: "This won't be a sparring match, Arc. This will be a baptism by fire, a glimpse of the path that lies ahead. Now show me who you are, that you aren't a mere shadow, a mere instrument of your grandfather's sword. Fight me, Jaune Arc, not as some relic of the past, but as yourself. Show me that you dont need a paper to tell you who you are."

Jaune gulped, but a surge of determination replaced his momentary fear. He wasn't entirely defenseless. Reaching beside him, he unsheathed his trusty blade, Crocea Mors. The familiar weight in his hand was a source of comfort, a symbol of his dream, however naive it may now seem. It felt as if his Grandfather's hand grasped the sword with him, A spectral guide. He knew his family believed in him too much. As an afterthought, he gripped his shield tighter, its smooth surface a reassuring presence on his arm.

Hadryn didn't wait for Jaune to react. In a movement that defied his imposing stature, he lunged forward with the speed of a charging bull. The greatsword, the obsidian monstrous cleaver easily twice the size of Jaune's own weapon, whistled through the air with a sound that tore through the night. Jaune, his eyes wide with a mix of terror and newfound resolve, barely had time to react. With a desperate heave, he brought his shield up to block the blow.