RWBY: LUCID

Jaune didn't waste time.

The moment that pincer shattered the concrete pillar like a fat man jumping onto a glass coffee table, he turned and ran. Bolted, really. Legs pumping, arms slicing through the stale, air of the dream world. His footsteps echoed across the ruined tile of the station floor, but he barely heard them over the thundering clang of the creature's limbs as it shifted.

That thing was huge.

Bigger than any dream creature he'd ever seen—bigger than the Ursa-like beast that had once nearly tossed a car like a soccer ball. The scorpion wasn't just monstrous in size, the presence it gave off felt oddly heavy.

It was a... familiar sensation. One that he had felt before, in Ansel.

Worst of all, Jaune had the sinking suspicion that he couldn't even scratch it.

He might have had a Body stat of six which gave him strength that could lift a sedan and legs fast enough to outrun a sprinter's soul, but his sword? It was still a normal blade, regardless of how well his dad's craftsmanship was. Against that thick, gleaming carapace, it might as well have been a butter knife.

As he hit the exit stairs and leapt the last few steps in one bound, the building behind him convulsed.

KRRAAAAAAAAASSSHHHHH!!!

Half the station exploded.

Not figuratively or metaphorically. The entire front façade of the building—arched steel supports, cracked tile flooring, the skeletal remains of old signs and flickering lights—detonated outward like a bomb had gone off from within. The beast launched itself through the opening it had made, claws gouging out chunks of the wall.

Jaune felt the concussive force of the shockwave and bits of small debris slam into his back as he sprinted down the street. He stumbled forward slightly, only regaining his balance through pure reflex.

Jaune couldn't help but idly, and stupidly wonder if that damage would also be restored by the next night.

In any case, the beast didn't stop its pursuit.

The scorpion burst free from the ruined station in a grotesque display of power and speed. For a beast the size of a small building, it moved fast. Too fast, perhaps. Its claws punched into the ground with thunderous cracks, sending chunks of asphalt into the air. Its legs—dozens of them, segmented and jointed like insectile pistons—pounded the pavement with unnatural rhythm. Every time it shifted, something shattered.

Jaune risked a glance back.

Bad idea.

The thing was maybe thirty meters behind him, closing fast. And worse—it wasn't just chasing him.

It was hunting.

As Jaune sprinted deeper into the crumbling urban decay, he darted between long-abandoned vehicles and broken-down street signs. Some cars were flipped, others half-melted, their tires rotted away. With practiced agility, he vaulted over a wrecked taxi and kicked off its hood to launch himself over a collapsed light post. Debris blurred past in his peripheral vision.

Then, a terrible noise behind him.

The screech of metal.

The thunderous crunch of something massive being crushed.

Jaune twisted his torso mid-stride and caught sight of the monster—its pincers had grabbed a rusted delivery van and thrown it.

"OH COME ON—!"

He dove into a clumsy roll just as the van soared overhead, crashing into a long-dead billboard and exploding into flaming, rusted debris.

By the time he righted himself and kept running, he was out of the residential district and into what once might have been a commercial zone—rows of shattered shops, empty marketplaces, torn awnings that fluttered in a wind that didn't exist. The place looked like it had been evacuated centuries ago, consumed by whatever force twisted the dream world into this apocalyptic nightmare.

He spotted a delivery van ahead—intact, mostly—and made a snap decision.

Jaune vaulted onto the hood, planted his foot on the roof, and leapt.

His fingers caught a broken window ledge on the second story of the building beside him. Then came the climb—fluid and powerful, but also full of panicked dread. Ledge to outcropping, window frame to gutter, his body responded instantly, as if he were weightless. He scaled the five-story building like it was a playground jungle gym, parkouring up like a storm of limbs and movement.

He reached the rooftop, rolled into a crouch, and turned around just in time to see the creature slam into the storefront below.

The building shook.

Concrete buckled. The street-level façade caved inward as one of the creature's massive claws tore through it like paper. A sound like grinding bones echoed through the air as dust and brick spewed outward. Cracks spiderwebbed up the building's face.

Jaune staggered slightly as the tremor reached him. He didn't hesitate.

He sprinted across the rooftop and leapt toward the next building over, landing in a roll and rising into a run. He didn't know if this one was more stable, but standing still wasn't an option.

Then, just as he reached the midpoint—

Chittering.

A high, alien-like sound resounded, sharp and screechy, like knives being scraped against metal. The sound came from below.

Jaune skidded to a stop and looked back in horror.

The beast was climbing.

Neither jumping nor charging but climbing.

It was hauling its grotesque mass up the face of the building like some deranged spider, its pincers punching into the stone like ice picks. Each impact sent shards of concrete tumbling down the side. Its dozens of legs gripped the edges of broken windows and ornamental ledges, using them like footholds. It wasn't elegant, but it was fast—and it was rising.

"Oh no no no no—!"

Jaune sprinted for the edge.

The next rooftop was ten feet away—maybe twelve—but he didn't care. He launched himself, legs kicking off the crumbling stone, arms pumping forward, his body soaring through the misty red darkness that came from the light of the broken moon.

Behind him, the creature screeched.

Not like before. This one was frustrated. Perhaps angry that he was able to elude it for that long.

He landed on the rooftop with a solid thud, staggered, and turned to look back.

The scorpion had reached the edge of the last building. Its front limbs reared up, claws snapping open and shut like they had a mind of their own. Crimson light pulsed across its bone white mask.

Jaune stared for a heartbeat and grimaced.

The scorpion was gaining on him. He could feel it—each thunderous crash it made as it leapt, each shriek of concrete giving way to those bladed legs. The rooftops had failed him. What he'd thought was a smart move—a vertical route with clear visibility—had turned into a death trap. The scorpion moved across the skyline like a nightmare skipping between fever dreams, arcs of shadow against the blood-colored clouds above. It wasn't just fast. It was predatory in a way that mocked his every effort to run.

Jaune cursed aloud, his voice swallowed by the unnatural sounds it was making and the distant echo of crashing rubble behind him.

No choice. He had to get off the roofs.

He couldn't go back to his neighborhood, not again. Not like with the Beowolves. That had nearly ended in disaster when they had waited in the area for him to reappear. If this scorpion also stayed in the area of his neighborhood, then the next time he entered the dream he would have to escape from it all over again.

He couldn't risk that.

Worse still, he hadn't seen a single lesser dream creature nearby—no easy exit. The mist area that had been dubbed a nightmare had clearly changed since his last visit. The fog had become oil-thick and pulsing with malevolent red light, and the dream ecosystem had shifted. Adapted, maybe. That scorpion was the result.

Jaune couldn't risk going back to the station and attempting to find one in the area. If it spat out another creature like this scorpion, Jaune would gee pincered in, and probably get smashed to pieces.

That left only one option: escape laterally. Run and survive long enough to flee into a safer zone—if such a thing even existed in this choked corner of reality.

And then, like a light flicking on in the back of his mind, a thought sparked.

Alleyways.

The beast was massive and wide. It might have been strong enough to burst through walls and leave claw-gouged buildings in its wake but force took time, and time was something he could steal. If he dove through narrow alleys—concrete labyrinths too tight for the beast to easily navigate—it would slow it down. Maybe even lose track of him if he weaved enough. That was a better plan than trying to outrun it in open space. He couldn't outpace it, but maybe he could outmaneuver it.

Without another second of hesitation, Jaune sprinted for the building's edge, then launched himself over. He dropped fast, landing squarely on the rusted hood of an abandoned car. The metal crunched beneath his feet, sending a shudder up his spine. His knees screamed in protest and his back jolted, but he gritted his teeth. He could take it. Body 6 wasn't just a simple number, it was improvement given numerical status.

And pain was a signal, not a stopper.

He shot forward across the cracked road, barely catching his breath before diving towards the narrow alley between two leaning buildings. The heavy sound of the beast crashing down behind him reverberated through the street like thunder.

Then suddenly, gunfire interrupted it.

Rapid and repeating. Ringing off the walls like a drumline of steel.

Fast.

Too fast for his eyes to follow. A streak of silver—or was it blue?—launched toward the creature midair. It latched onto the scorpion's stinger and opened fire. Muzzle flashes flared in staccato bursts, lighting up the beast's carapace. The shots were pinpoint accurate, striking the joint where tail met stinger.

The scorpion screeched, convulsing in agony as ichor sprayed from the wound. Its tail thrashed, spasming uselessly. The blur flipped away with fluid grace and landed cleanly. The now-detached stinger fell beside it with a wet, meaty thud.

Before Jaune could even process that—

BOOM.

A second figure crashed down from above. Not as fast, but heavier. Deliberate.

The ground erupted beneath the impact.

The shockwave blasted outward, tearing up the street and sending debris flying in every direction. Jaune had only enough time to gasp before the pressure slammed into him like a freight train. He was flung back, limbs loose, crashing into the alley wall hard enough to rattle his teeth.

Dust billowed.

He coughed violently, chest rattling, eyes wide. And through the settling fog of cracked earth and floating cinders, he saw her.

It was a woman. She wore sleek futuristic armor, that had seams of shifting pink accents which shimmered under the red light of the broken moon. In her gauntleted hands, she held a massive avant-garde war hammer, all sharp lines and dense weight, its head was embedded in the crushed exoskeleton of the scorpion. Black dream-blood dripped from the weapon as its last remaining embers of resistance faded.

Then the beast disintegrated.

Not with a scream or a flash—but with a silent unraveling. Like ash being caught in an upward breeze, it crumbled, disintegrated, and vanished into the nothingness of the red night.

The woman straightened. She stood there calmly, letting the gravity of her presence fill the crater she had created.

A moment later, the blur from before reappeared at her side, as if teleported. It was a man—also clad in armor, his visor retracting with a quiet hiss. From the back, his long shoulder length hair... seemed oddly familiar. His weapon, some kind of hybrid pistol-rifle, still smoked from the shots he'd fired.

Jaune, still slumped against the alley wall, could only stare. Heart thudding. Mind spinning.

What... who were they?

Before he could process anything more, a voice spoke directly behind him.

"Those two are pretty cool, huh?"

Jaune startled. He whipped around—instinctively ready to fight or flee—but instead saw a boy. No older than fifteen, maybe younger. He had tanned skin and black hair with a messy fringe. Freckles across his nose and cheeks. He was also wearing the same sci-fi armor that the other two were adorned in. The visor that should have been covering his face had been retracted into his suit. His arms were crossed casually over his chest, and a small, almost smug smile tugged at his lips.

Jaune blinked, speechless. The boy tilted his head.

"You're not wearing regulation gear," he said, frowning slightly. "And... where's your squad?"

Regulation gear? Squad?

Jaune opened his mouth but no words came out. His brain couldn't quite wrap around the rapid shift in tone—from desperate survival to sudden company. Company that seemed... aware. Structured. Like some kind of dream military unit. Like Raymond.

But before he could stammer a reply, movement pulled his attention back to the crater. The two armored figures were walking toward him now, their visors down. The woman had orange hair and a the suit did little to hide her strong, curvy figure. The man was leaner but Jaune could see hints of strong corded muscle sculpting his frame. His shoulder length black hair had a very familiar pink streak running through it and his sharp eyed stare bore into Jaune almost painfully.

He knew those faces.

Nora Valkyrie. Lie Ren.

His classmates. His friends.

They weren't smiling. They weren't yelling or laughing. Nora wasn't talking about pancakes, and Ren wasn't quietly exasperated.

They looked… stunned.

Like they'd seen a ghost.

"Jaune?" Nora said, her voice a cracked whisper.

Ren's eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you doing here?"

Jaune couldn't answer. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum. He looked at them—really looked—and realized it wasn't just armor they were wearing. It was purpose, given form. Functionality, worn with experience.

'They're just like me.'

.

.

AN: How is the chapter? Did you enjoy it?