The beast barreled toward him—faster than Jaune thought was possible for a creature of its size. It galloped low, on all fours, massive limbs slamming into the ruined pavement with terrifying grace, a blur of black-furred bulk and bone plating.
Then, with barely a beat between steps, it pounced.
It should've been impossible. That kind of mass didn't leap like that. And yet it did—hurling itself through the air like a freight train unshackled by physics.
Jaune threw himself into a roll, the ground scraping beneath his pads. Mid-motion, he twisted his torso and slashed outward with his sword—aimed right for the beast's exposed flank.
Clang!
His blade skittered off its armor plating like metal on stone.
"Shit," Jaune hissed, landing hard and spinning to face it.
The creature crashed down a few meters away, its landing cratering the already broken road. Dust rose in a choking cloud and bits of shattered asphalt cracked beneath its paws.
It didn't pounce again.
Instead, it rose up to meet his gaze. A slow and deliberate motion.
It's massive shoulders holding thick arms braced, standing tall and looming like a nightmare from some twisted folklore. A walking war-beast, balanced on two legs. Its crimson eyes locked onto him as it began to advance.
Step.
Step.
Step.
It neither rushed nor charged.
Just a low, rumbling growl that bubbled out from deep inside it—like it was chuckling at him with murder in its throat.
Jaune's fingers tightened around his sword.
"This thing's different..." he whispered.
A thought came to his mind from some old folklore that came from Native Valean culture. Shapeshifters. Skin walkers.
Spirits wearing the shape of men and beasts—unnatural hybrids that didn't behave like animals or humans but something in between. Jaune wasn't sure why that thought came, when clearly this was just another stronger dream beast variant. But it niggled in the back of his mind like an unbidden thought that refused to fade away.
Something about its gait... that slow, dreadful prowl—it wasn't just predatory. It was taunting. It wasn't a fight to the beast, rather a game.
There was intelligence behind those red eyes. Cruel, deliberate intelligence.
Jaune's body tensed, instincts burning to full alert.
Then the beast lunged—but not like before.
It didn't leap with a pounce. It rushed forward, arms wide, like a human trying to grab him. Like it was trying to tackle him. Like it expected him to dodge.
Jaune's breath caught in his throat. He jumped back, springing with everything his upgraded body could muster, shoes hammering against the pavement as he backpedaled again and again.
The beast followed.
Not in a sprint—but a bound, still on two legs.
Another tackle—arms swinging wide in a mimic of human grasp, almost mockingly so.
It didn't just want to maul him. It wanted to hold him. Pin him. Crush him. To cruelly stamp the fight out of him like a child squeezing a toy until it broke.
Jaune's mind scrambled for plans, patterns or openings.
But all he saw in that moment was the bounding shadow of death rushing toward him again.
The creature never let up.
It lunged again—arms out and claws wide, slamming down with the sheer weight of a falling tree.
Jaune darted left, pivoting on the balls of his feet. Its obsidian paws gouged into the pavement where he'd stood, carving deep trenches into concrete. A moment later and he would've been pulp.
The bear launched another swipe—this one horizontal and just as deadly.
He ducked low, breath held, the wind from the swing brushing the strands of hair escaping his helmet.
'Shit! This bear is too fast!'
Jaune's lungs burned. He couldn't get space. Every time he tried to create distance, the creature was already there, bounding with a speed that mocked its size.
It didn't move like a bear, but a seasoned hunter.
"Damn it, let me breathe!" Jaune snarled, twisting around another incoming strike. This one came in high, but he dove under it and rolled—scraping his pads against scattered debris.
The beast anticipated his moment. It pivoted with him.
Jaune barely straightened before it spun with a kick, eerily humanlike—its massive heel slamming into a rusted light pole beside him instead, sending it crashing to the ground like broken matchwood.
'Damn it, why is it smart too! Why is this one different from the other dream creatures?!'
Every one of its movements were tight and deliberate. The way it baited him and cornered him, this wasn't a wild beast lashing out. This was a seasoned predator that enjoyed the chase. The hunt.
He could see it in the way it slavered hungrily at him, eager to feast on his flesh.
Jaune's breath came quick now, sweat slick on his neck and stinging his eyes. His legs ached and even his arms started to burn. Every fiber of his body screamed at him to run.
But he couldn't run.
It wouldn't let him!
He should have never gotten close to that mist!
A series of bounding steps—closer, closer—another low pounce, claws raking along the ground as it tried to take his feet out from under him. Jaune leapt back, blade flashing down in a warding motion.
Sparks flew as metal clanged off claws.
No damage. Again.
The monster pressed on.
Jaune's feet skidded back along the gravel. He tried to pivot, to dash toward the open street—but a crushed fire hydrant and an overturned bench blocked his route.
"Shit!"
He turned, bolted for the only remaining escape route: a rusted, half-destroyed sedan. His heart pounded as he sprinted.
If he could vault over it—just get to the other side—maybe he could create some distance and force it into a narrow alley. This would give him space to maneuver and it, less.
He leapt.
His body coiled and sprang like a cat, legs powerful, perfect—
WHAM.
The beast slammed its paw against the side of the car. Not a claw swipe but practically a shove. The entire vehicle moved. It skidded sideways with a shriek of metal and cracked glass, tires scraping, pushed by the sheer force of the creature's strength. Jaune was still midair—and suddenly his escape route was gone beneath him.
His heart dropped.
"Ah, hell—!"
The second arm came in from the side. A blur and a streak of black fur and red-marked bone swept towards him.
It was a backhand. The hit was swift and violent. Precise in nature. But Jaune managed to raise his sword in time, blocking the attack.
CLANG.
The impact was like being hit by a small freight train. Pain exploded across his forearms and shoulders. The shock traveled down his spine and tore the air from his lungs. Jaune could have sworn that he heard and something crack in his ribs. The full force had launched him backwards, spinning head over heels into the direction of a half dilapidated restaurant.
He smashed painfully into the wall. Plaster and the broken shards of a window rained down on him from the force of his impact.
His body slid into the siding and collapsed in a heap among shattered bricks and broken chairs.
Silence followed, for just a breath. Jaune groaned—his limbs shaking, his vision spinning. The sword had saved him from the full brunt of the attack, but his body felt like molten iron. It throbbed painfully, and for a brief moment, his mind buzzed with the static feeling unconsciousness.
He lay there, winded, staring up at the broken ceiling of the restaurant, jaw clenched and teeth gritting, painfully.
"…shit," he gasped out. "I'm gonna die."
Jaune forced himself to his feet, staggering from the broken wall, dust clinging to his pads and sweat dripping from his temple.
His muscles might have been screaming and his ribs might have been aching but he wasn't finished.
Jaune refused to simply sit still and die.
With a grunt, he reached behind his back, fingers brushing against the taped grip of the steel bat. His knuckles curled tight.
Dual wielding.
It was a stupid idea. But everything about this fight had gone past smart three broken ribs ago. He pulled the bat free.
His sword hung low in his dominant hand, surprisingly still solid despite the strong hits from the bear. And now in his other, the familiar weight of his old companion, perfectly pristine.
He set his stance. One weapon raised for control. The other for power.
The beast didn't wait.
It surged toward him, roaring again—not just loud, but deep, vibrating through the wreckage like a war drum. Its claws came first—two swipes, one high, one low—and then a snap of its jaw that was all teeth and hunger.
Jaune didn't flinch.
He pivoted sideways with everything he had, using the momentum to whip his bat up against the incoming claw. Steel met bone with a jarring clang—and the impact rattled down his arm like lightning. But he held firm, twisting through the follow-through—
—And brought his sword down in a brutal arc onto the beast's exposed shoulder, a part that wasn't covered in plating.
Slice!
The blade bit deep.
Not enough to cleave through—but enough to hurt.
The bear-creature howled.
Not a grunt or a snarl like before—but a full-throated, rage-choked roar that shattered the windows of the restaurant behind him. Glass exploded outward, shards raining down like brittle snow. The sound alone forced Jaune to reel back, clenching his eyes shut for half a second as his ears rang.
'God, that roar, again—!'
When he opened them again, the beast was staring at him.
It wasn't charging nor was it moving. It just… stared.
Red eyes locked on him with a fury so intense, Jaune felt the chill pierce his bones. Its breathing came harsh through cracked bone plating, a plume of steam rising from its maw.
That look said one thing and one thing only.
You will die here.
Jaune's grip on the bat tightened. He took one deep breath, then another. The sword in his other hand trembled slightly, but he brought it up again anyway.
"…Guess I pissed you off," he said quietly, the ghost of a grin tugging at his lips. "Good."
Perhaps it was the fury of being hurt by something weaker than it. The unchained, mindless rage of a creature that no longer thought—but reacted. Something in the bear beast snapped after Jaune's last strike. It stopped circling and baiting. Instead, it started attacking wildly and brutally. Like a rabid dog that had decided thinking was beneath it.
Jaune dodged the first swipe by inches, his shoulder dipping low, boots grinding against crumbled concrete. His sword came up in the same motion—quick and precise—scraping across the beast's paw in a shallow strike that barely nicked bone.
It roared again and launched another swipe.
This time, Jaune dropped low and let momentum carry him forward, knees bent, the world narrowing as he slid like a baseball player stealing second. The movement had become instinct by now—his new favorite trick. It was fluid, fast and proving to be very reliable.
The sword arced out, trailing silver like a comet's tail, and sank into the back of the monster's knee.
A deep cut. Crippling, in fact.
It might not have been a killing blow but it was a meaningful one. The beast faltered. Its weight wobbled and it roared louder.
But Jaune was already moving again. Something had changed. Not just in the beast—but in him.
He was in it now. That feeling—the one that he'd heard athletes chased, the one fighters trained years for—it had taken over.
The zone.
The feeling of adrenaline pumping through him and begged at him to run. But Jaune refused. he hungered to fight the creature. To pay back what was done to him. To hunt it back. To win. So he twisted it from flight to fight.
Every breath felt like it came with a second of extra time. Every twitch of the monster's shoulder, every subtle shift in its footing, lit up in his mind like a map. He wasn't stronger than it. Wasn't even close. But right now? Right now he was smarter, faster, and perfectly attuned to every rhythm of the fight.
The beast crashed its claws again, shattering concrete with its sheer weight—but it didn't matter. Jaune was already ducking under the blow, sword carving another thin line along its ribcage. Sparks flew. He spun away, rolled up, pivoted again.
Another swing came—too high. Jaune ducked and slashed the beast's flank. It bellowed. Blood, thick and black, sprayed like oil. Jaune's arms ached. His breath tore out in ragged gasps. But he was alive. Alive in the purest way.
'One more move!'
The creature rose on two legs again, its roar splitting the night sky. Then it slammed both of its monstrous paws into the ground with enough force to crack the street in half. A shockwave trembled through the pavement.
Jaune feinted left, a blur of motion—
Then changed course mid-step. He ran up the beast's arm, using the limb like a ramp. The monster barely reacted in time to lift its head.
But it was too late.
Midair, Jaune released his bat—letting it fall behind him—and gripped his sword in both hands. He flipped over the creature's back, upside down for a heartbeat that stretched into eternity.
And as the beast turned its massive head, Jaune drove the blade down—right into the base of its skull. Straight through the unarmored neck.
The steel pierced cleanly, slicing through flesh and vertebrae, erupting out the front of the monster's throat in a gory bloom.
The creature choked on its roar in gurgling black blood. Then it stilled.
The sound died before it finished. Its weight shifted… and then slowly slumped forward.
Jaune hit the ground on his side, shoulder-first, his landing far from graceful. His sword was still in his hands, blood coating the hilt and running down his arms like ink.
But the bear was dead.
The massive body began to tremble—then disintegrate.
Just like the others dream creatures did before it. Ash, black and fine, rose into the air like dust on the wind.
Jaune laid tiredly on the ground, chest heaving and vision blurry but a tired, cracked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"…Holy shit," he whispered to no one.
He didn't even try to get up yet. Probably couldn't, really.
In any case, he didn't want to. That victory felt good.
The weight of exhaustion crashed down on him all at once now that the danger had passed. He coughed heavily, rough and raw, the taste of blood in his mouth—not a lot but enough to remind him he was still human. Still hurting.
Around him, the black ash of the creature's corpse drifted lazily into the air, joining the decaying scent in the air and the crimson-tinted sky. His fingers twitched, still clenched around the hilt of his sword, slick with rapidly dissipating blood.
Then came the chime.
.
.
[Rank 0 Beast, Ursa, slain.]
[Runes received: 10]
.
.
[Dream Authority exit granted]
[Exit?]
[Y/N]
[Cost: 1 Rune]
.
.
Jaune laughed. Or maybe he groaned. It came out like both.
"Ten? That's it?" he wheezed, still flat on his back. "You could at least increase it up to twenty!"
He rolled onto his side, one arm clutching at his bruised ribs, the other reaching to brush away the fading ash in front of his face. His whole body throbbed from impact—his shoulder ached, his muscles burning from overuse. His spine was surely going to hate him tomorrow. Well... that was if his body didn't reset like it seemed to do every time he came back here.
He mentally pulled on his status, seeing the changes.
.
.
[Jaune Arc]
[Rank: 0]
.
Aura: 0
Will: 0
Body: 3
.
Runes: 27
.
.
He felt a little better seeing his runes increase but that beast...
That, 8 feet tall, bone armored, demonic bear-beast was called an Ursa? Jaune didn't want to fight one of those ever again. It was... probably the hardest fight of his life. But then again... that feeling that he had acquired, near the end.
It felt amazing. If fighting another Ursa was guaranteed to bring him back into it...well… he'd won once, maybe he could do it again?
As Jaune was entering deeper into fantasy land—
"Damn, kid."
The voice was sudden. Older and crisp. Casual in tone, but edged with something harder. Like gravel laced with a smirk.
"That Ursa really put you to work."
Jaune froze.
The pain in his chest was still there and so was the weight in his bones, but now...now there was a spike of something sharper—alertness.
His hand shot toward his sword. He winced, pulled it closer, and rolled onto one knee, ready to react.
"Who's there?" Jaune rasped, eyes scanning the surroundings.
From between the twisted wrecks of old cars and rusted signs near the gas station's edge, a figure stepped into view.
It wasn't a dream creature.
It was a man.