The Games We Play

DISCLAIMER: This story is NOT MINE IN ANY WAY. That honor has gone to the beautiful bastard Ryugii. This has been pulled from his Spacebattle publishment. Anyway on with the show...errr read.

The Final Round

My disorientation lingered for a second before fading, whether because of the Gamer's Body or my current, spiritual existence. Even so, I didn't look up yet, trying to gather my thoughts. He—whoever 'he' was—had me by the literal throat which meant my instinctual desire to act might be ill-advised. A strong enough opponent could do a fair number of horrible things to me and I didn't know how my spiritual form would react to such an attack.

Because the man holding me by the neck felt…real. Like more than a mere image, a creation in my father's thoughts and soul. I could feel him in such a way that seemed more solid, more dangerous. I didn't know the rules here, didn't understand the situation, but I felt pretty damn certain I was in dangerous territory.

Should I try a sneak attack and attempt to break his grip? Or should I do nothing and play along? I knew the power of appearances, especially the appearance of strength, but appearing weak could have its own advantages, especially in a situation like this. People tended to have looser lips around defeated enemies, at least in games and movies and such. Would that work here?

Seemed worth a shot, considering that I had absolutely no idea what was going on. I'd just have to hope that I wasn't actually as defeated as I seemed.

That in mind, I looked up at him slowly, lifting my head as much as the grip on my neck would allow. At first, I seemed to be staring into what seemed like a dark, twisted vortex—not an emptiness like Conquest had been underneath it all, but more like something hungry, devouring everything around it. Dark, but more like how a Black Hole was dark; something with such gravity that nothing around it could escape, not even light. The fabric of my father's very soul seemed to bend around the outline of that pit, straining at the edges.

And then that image was gone and a young man stood in his place. No, more than a young man—for a second, I thought I was looking at myself again. We had the same hair color, same eye color, same height, even the same clothes. In many ways, it was like looking into a mirror, but there were enough differences to draw the eyes; probably deliberately so. He looked like me, but…

Well, he was better looking. Enough that I couldn't help but notice, even with the confident smirk on his face. Though our features seemed the same, they were…perhaps arranged was the word? Arranged differently. His hair was better kept, his smile a bit more natural on his mouth, skin just a tad better in a way that was hard to pin down. It was like someone had deliberately designed him to be me, plus one.

Which…was probably exactly what had happened. He couldn't look like this naturally, but he'd adopted the form of my…better looking twin just to make a point of some kind. It kind of made me want to punch him in the face. A lot.

What he'd said though…'old friend?' I had no idea what he was talking about—but I couldn't let him know that, could I? Or would he tell me more if I seemed confused? No, the hand on my throat, the better looking thing, the smirk, it all screamed 'enemy.' Probably better to play the defeated enemy then the defeated moron, to preserve…whatever connection there was supposed to be between us.

"And you're still an asshole," I grunted, meeting his eyes. "I wasn't going to mention it."

He chuckled and gave my neck a shake. My body tried to resist before I controlled it, but it didn't seem to matter; he shook me like a stick in the wind regardless, overwhelming me with sheer strength.

Except…that couldn't be true, at least not in a physical sense—because we weren't physical. He overwhelmed me spiritually, forcing me to move with his will. His soul. I suspected it from the moment I noticed the difference between him and Conquest, but now I was sure; whoever this bastard was, he had a soul, however twisted it might be.

And if he had a soul, he couldn't be a Grimm. He was human, then? Or something similar, at least; he could be a robot like Penny or something stranger, but whatever he was, he was alive.

I knew something else, too—that this guy was the source of the Grimm or at least tied to it closely. I'd summoned him unintentionally when I'd tried to sever Conquest's link, confirming in the process that there was a link, and he was…not at all what I expected, but…the implications…

Was he a mad scientist? Some wannabe god or dark spirt or ancient warrior? I had no idea, but if he was tied to the source of the Grimm, if there was a source of the Grimm and it was something alive, than this could what the people of Remnant had been searching centuries for; an enemy, perhaps ludicrously powerful, but definite and real—something that could be fought.

Could maybe even be beaten.

I could very well be looking at something people had only dreamt of before now—a solution. An answer to the Grimm, a way to save Remnant from the endless, nightmarish hordes that ruled it. A way to overcome Humanity's ancient, unbeatable enemy. This was…groundbreaking.

If I defeated him here and now, destroyed the source or whatever he was, would that be the end? Could things be that simple?

Probably not. But the mere knowledge that such a thing existed, the idea that I might be able to do something against an opponent we'd long since given up actually defeating, it was…hard to even imagine. If Ozpin knew, if the Kingdom's knew…

I'd found something unbelievable.

But I still couldn't leave. Not without my father. I knew that was stupid—what I'd just stumbled across was something beyond my father's life, beyond my life, beyond anything. This information…this could save not only every man woman and child in Remnant, but countless future generations. If there could, one day, be a world without Grimm, if people could grow up without having to worry about attacks or staying within the Kingdoms or drawing down the Grimm…that was a future that was…

Logically, I knew I should retreat, do everything I could to get this information to Ozpin where it could do the most good. Inside my father's head, he had no way of knowing what might be happening, no way of knowing what was going on, so I had to get the message to him somehow. I knew that I should cut my losses here and now, try to escape and retreat without taking any risks, because the knowledge I carried now was just worth that much, but…

I didn't move, couldn't move. I couldn't leave my father behind. Even if I knew it was foolish, to take any risks now, I…I had to do everything I could to save him. Just because—even though I knew it was stupid and selfish and shortsighted—that amazing future…it needed to have my father in it. I couldn't settle, not over this.

So I kept talking.

"I got your gifts," I said, taking a shot in the dark as more pieces fell into place. Might as well make the most of this horrible decision. "Crom Cruach, the Goliath, all the others—that was your doing, right?"

He chuckled.

"It's rare that I can express my will so directly," He said, sounding amused. "But my children are smart and they listen to their father. I was actually doing something else, but…well, I always have time to help an old friend."

'Help,' he said. The Goliath, Conquest, he called them 'help.'

No, I realized, going back further. It went beyond that.

"And that Beowolf," I remembered. "And I suppose it was rather lucky that Ziz woke up when he did, chased off my pursuers, and whisked me away to safety. Must have been hard for you, waking him up like that."

"Perhaps a bit," His smile widened. "Really, the lucky part is that you were nearby. You were even weaker back then; those children that had been chasing you probably would have run you down."

I wanted to say something to that—that I'd had it under control, that the White Whale would have been able to escape. It might even have been true. Of course, if I'd gotten away and flown to Atlas as I'd intended without being waylaid by Ziz and forced to train, that fight with Penny probably would have gone a lot worse.

Assuming it had only been Penny. If not for the international terror inspired by Ziz, Atlas might have been able to mobilize more forces. At the time, me against a Hunter or two or three or five…

That probably would have gone pretty badly. I guess I'd really had a guardian angel watching over me.

Just my luck that he was probably a fallen angel, though.

"You've been a good friend," I noted, staying calm. "But friendship goes both ways. I assume there's some way I could help you? To repay your kindness."

He chuckled and patted me on the head.

"That's very kind of you," He said. "But the best way you can help me is to just do what comes naturally. In fact—"

He was interrupted by a sudden crash that drew my gaze to the utterly ruined wall on the other side of the room. I could see my father in the distance—and I meant the distance. The blast that had thrown me across the room and left me reeling must have thrown my father down the street instead. Nearly a kilometer away, if distance mattered here, I could see his glowing.

"Get your hands off my son," The world around of growled, words echoing through the earth and sky alike.

My evil twin looked bored in response.

"This flesh you've attached yourself to—this is its father?" He asked, barely giving my dad a glance. "He's rather impolite, isn't he?"

He lifted a hand almost absentmindedly, but somehow managed to convey as must of a threat as if he'd summoned up a fleet of airships and called in the army. The words had seemed casual, but there was a confidence in his voice that made it obvious that he thought he was armed far beyond his enemy's ability to bear.

I caught his wrist, jerking into motion sheer instinctual knowledge that if I didn't, my father might not survive.

He needed me, I told myself. Whatever it was for, he needed me to do something. That in mind, I took a meaningless breath and spoke when his gaze fell upon me.

"If you hurt him, I'll kill you," I said. "I doesn't know when, I don't know how, but I swear to god I'll kill you someday. You, Conquest, Ziz, the Grimm—everyone on your side."

He smiled then, breaking my grip with a twitch of his wrist and lifting his freed hand to my face. It was an almost gentle gesture—that, more than anything, told me I should be worried.

"Good," He said. "Kill. Kill everyone and everything that gets in your way, because in the end…killing is all that matters."

In that moment, I felt as though my greatest fears had abruptly become inevitabilities.

In that moment, I tried to stop them anyway. My body shifted as I drew up the crystal that beat in time with my nonexistent heart, pulling power from it until I felt like I was burning and thought I would explode. Light rose within me like I'd swallowed the sun, shining through my skin as if it had been clear as glass, and then I felt myself change. If this world was a construction of metaphor and image, then I had become something more than that—something realer, perhaps, deeper. Once again, I became light, both in a physical sense and a metaphorical one.

And it still wasn't enough to let me get away. Even when I became something that he should not be able to grasp, he held onto me, changing neither his touch on my neck nor his expression. I pulled the power of White Dust into my father's heart and soul, set it against the will that kept me bound, and didn't so much as make it budge.

I kept trying. Reaching behind me, I grabbed his arm and tried to push it away even as I sought to tear free from his grasp, but it was like an ant trying to lift a mountain. I kept trying, kept struggling, but for a moment I was sure that the only thing I'd tear out was my own spine. I felt the power of his hold and knew I'd break long before his grip did.

So be it.

I grit my teeth and pushed anyway, only for him to release me abruptly, lips twitching upward as he looked down at me. I didn't question it, didn't bare waste a moment, but was suddenly by my father's side without crossing the space between, reaching out to grasp his hand.

The moment I did, something…'hit us' didn't describe it. Nothing I could think of described it, because nothing seemed to happen. There was no change in lighting, no display of power, no motion in the world around us, no sign that anything had changed at all. There was no vector to the attack that I could see, no aspect of it that I could feel, nothing. In that moment, I was certain my father was going to die because…he was going to die. There was no reason for it, no cause, but he wished it to be so and so it would be.

And so I felt my father's soul dimming, felt some vital spark start to flicker. I felt a flash of something horrible, knowing he was going to die and that there was nothing I could do about it—

No, I thought. Fuck that noise.

As my father's soul began to go out, shadows crept over the land—but they just as quickly faded as power flowed out of me. What he took, I returned, drinking even deeper from the white Dust crystal. If he was a hungry darkness, I made myself a giving light and channeled my power into my father's hand.

It was like trying to fill a black hole my dumping water into it; even an ocean of power wouldn't be enough. But for a moment, transient though it might be, I kept my father's light from going out by fueling it with my own.

My lookalike tilted his head at me but didn't let up on the suction as I'd rather hoped he would. In fact, he mainly just seemed bored.

"Don't hurt yourself now," He said like he was talking about the weather. "We wouldn't want to lose anything important, now."

"You better stop trying to take my father, then," I snarled, the light around my rising and falling at an increasingly irregular pace.

"Now why would I do that?" He asked.

"Because," I ground out, doing my best not to bow under the…God, I still didn't know what I was defending against. As far as I could tell, the laws of physics had just updated with 'Jacques Arc must die' and the universe was trying to carry it out. "You need me, still. And the only way you'll get to him is over my dead body."

"Please," He snorted disdainfully. "We both know you won't be able to keep this up."

Damn it. We did both know that. I'd been drawing from the white Dust for a long time now and I was pushing it hard trying to defend my father. It was only a matter of time until that faded, and then…then I wouldn't have the power to keep doing this. As soon as it ran out, I doubted I'd be able to continue doing this. Trying would probably cost me my life.

I drew a deep breath

"It doesn't matter," I said. "Didn't you hear me? The only way you'll get to him is over my dead body. If my Dust runs out, I won't stop trying—"

He tilted his head to the side and quirked an eyebrow, abruptly seeming amused.

It pissed me off, but that was neither here nor there.

"I'll keep fighting until die. I'll kill you if you try to hurt my father—or at the very least, I'll make you kill me."

"I rather doubt that," He chuckled. "Considering what I know, it seems very unlikely that'll happen."

"You don't know me," I said, meeting his gaze seriously. I wasn't afraid—well, okay, that was a lie. I was terrified of losing my father or dying…but it wouldn't stop me. Some things are worth dying for. "You don't know a thing about either of us."

He lifted a hand to his heart and pretended to be hurt.

"That's a cruel thing to say to your best friend. I mean, I've only known your father there for a little while, but hell," He paused to chuckle again and winked at me. "It's seems like I know him better than you."

A hand came down on my shoulder, stopping me before I could reply. My father, who'd frozen the moment I pulled out all the stops, now seemed as unaffected by the act as my evil twin. Was it because we weren't in the real world and time didn't matter here? Had he overcome it himself, felling the conflicting forces that were acting on his soul? Or had he—

No. This was my evil twins work—and it only took me a moment to realize why. I felt my heart fall and knew what he would say before he even opened his mouth.

"Jaune," He said, looking past me to keep his eyes on my duplicate. "That's enough."

"Dad," I whispered. "Don't. You can't win this fight."

"Shh," He said, just as quietly. "I know. I felt it. I feel it."

"Then let me handle this," I insisted. "He won't risk killing me. So he can't…"

"We both know he's just toying with us," My father said, shaking his head—and damn it, we did both know that. He'd literally barely lifted a hand against us and was just standing around looking smug. I'd have to be a fool to think he didn't have anything up his sleeves, that I'd truly stopped him; it was all but certain that he had some other way to get to us. But…even if that was true…

"Dad," I said and then stopped, for once having no idea what to say.

My father smiled at me gently.

"It's okay," He said. "I saw it—how hard you fought to save me, how strong you've become, how much you've grown. You came this far for my sake, down into my very soul, and I was the one who had to lean on you."

"That was just because of my power," I said, shaking my head helplessly. "I was…I still…"

"You don't need me, anymore," He shook his head.

"Yes, I do," I denied immediately. "There's still so much I have no idea about and there's Mom, my sisters, everyone. I still…I'll…"

"You'll be okay," He continued. "Some days you'll be uncertain or lost or confused, but you're strong and you're smart—smarter than your old man, at least. It'll be hard, sometimes, because it always is, and some days it'll hurt like hell, but you're strong. Even stronger then you think, Jaune; I know, because I've seen it. Everything you did, how hard you fought, what you were willing to do to save me…you'll be okay. And there are people who need you more than me."

I swallowed once, looking down.

"Someone needs to tell Ozpin about this," He said. "And someone needs to keep your mother safe and your sisters and the world—and someone needs to make bastards like Conquest and this asshole pay. And it might sound like a hard job, but you're up to it; you might be the only one who is. Son…I always knew you'd do great things, but you surpassed all expectation and I knew you'll just keep going. So don't go wasting your time on me."

"I failed," I said. "I…I couldn't save you."

"What are you talking about?" He raised an eyebrow. "You came down here to free me—and I'm free. Even got to beat up the asshole who locked me up, avenge my team and who knows how many other people. It turns out there's an even bigger asshole, but that's not your fault. You saved me, Jaune, like I know you'll save everyone. So how about you let me save you? One last time, so I don't feel quite so old."

I had to take three breathes before I could force out the words.

"For old time's sake, then," I swallowed. "And, uh…I'll take care of everyone. Everything. And I'll work hard—I'll protect people and help them and…and live up to your example. And I'll make you proud. I'll become a man you can be proud of, so you don't have to worry about me anymore."

"Idiot, haven't you been paying attention?" He snorted but gave me a smile. "You already are. After today, I couldn't be prouder."

I blinked twice, wondering if tears would come. They didn't, so I simply took another breath and nodded.

"I love you dad." I said. "I'll…see you later."

"Later," He nodded and then raised his voice. "So you're my son's ugly clone, huh?"

"Please," He drawled. "I'm beautiful and everyone knows it."

I looked at him as he said the words. He hadn't moved at all during our exchange, hadn't so much as twitched in our direction. But the look on his face…he was smiling like he'd won. Like the words my father had spoken meant nothing, like they made no difference, like nothing could—that he had and would always get what he wanted.

And I decided then and there that I'd prove him wrong—and break that smug looking face while I was at it.

"We'll see what they say after I break your face, you smug little shit," My father snorted. "You aren't catching me off guard like Conquest did. This time I can fight back."

"I'll keep that in mind," He said dully, eyes still on me.

"Jaune," My father said.

I closed my eyes and felt myself falling away, up and down at the same time.

"See you next time, Jaune," My evil twin called out. "You bring the friendship bracelets, I'll bring the murder."

I didn't dignify that with a response and after a rising tide of sensation, I felt my senses expand. My Elementals, my Clairvoyance, everything; it all came back as easily as opening my eyes.

Then I opened my actual eyes and looked down at my father. His body was still adorned in twisted Grimm armor, his skin still blackened, but with his mask torn away I could see his face. It seemed like no more than a short time had passed on this side, though I couldn't be certain of how long. But…looking at his face, even twisted as it was…for just a moment, I dared to hope.

His eyes opened and our gazes met.

"Jaune," He said quietly. "I…I beat him. I won."

For a moment, I didn't move.

"That's a lie, right?" I asked at last, remaining impassive.

His lips twitched once and then he began to laugh.

"Yeah," He shrugged a shoulder, smirking. "Sorry; I was just messing with you. But what are a few games between friends, right?"

"I don't have time to play games right now, ironic as that may be," I said, leaning back. I kicked him hard in the stomach, cutting off his laughter. He fell to his hands and knees, choking, but I watched him carefully even as I lifted my sword high. "I'll remember that I owe you one, though."

His smile widened and he made to say something, but I brought Crocea Mors—my sword now as it had once been my father's—down upon his neck, blade burning as it cut through the air. I felt it pass through flesh and blood and bone and watched as my father's head came free, as it fell, as it hit the ground and rolled away. I watched the entire thing and knew at last that it was over.

God help me.