Inspired by KingAccel

This is Jaune Arc after leaving Beacon Academy because Pyrrha and Weiss left him for Neptune and Alister. During the time he left he became a campione

Name: Jaune Arc

Age: 19 (Was 17 when he became a Campione)

Height: 6'2" (188 cm)

Hair: Golden Blonde (darker at the tips from black flame corruption)

Eyes: Azure blue, shift to ember-red when channeling power

Personality:
He is kind, loving, and caring. Despite being calm, cool, and collected, he carries an air of nobility and grace—reflecting both his status and position as a leader and king

Affiliation: Order Of Flames

"From ash, we rise. Through flame, we judge. For the fallen, we burn

Origin: Vale

Status: Campione (7th known slayer of a Heretic Gods)

7th King

Aura Color: Originally light white; now tinged with burning black and crimson hues

Mana Type: Draconic Fire Mana (unstable, highly potent, soul-anchored)

Semblance (Before Becoming Campione): Aura Amp – Jaune's Semblance allows him to amplify his own Aura and that of others. He can amplify someone's Aura and Semblance, effectively increasing the effects of Aura to improve defensive and offensive capability and after his rebirth as a Campione the potency increased and depending on how Jaune uses this on his target he can force the semblance to evolve

Current Semblance Status: It also now provides flame-augmented physical resistance and aura-based flame backlash against attackers.

Element: All

Campione Ranking System

(Among Campione and Divine Combatants)

Physical Power: S

Divine Energy Output: S

Authority Mastery: S-

Tactical Intelligence: S+

Mental Resistance (to divine influence): S-

Overall Threat Level: S (Declared "high priority" by surviving gods and Sealed Church factions)

Reputation: The Black Flame Sovereign by the magical world, respected by mages, feared by several entities,

Affiliation

Ruler of the Shadow Inazuma (Renamed after Inazuma was free) Location Teyvat

Arcadian Trading Corporation/A.T.C (Leader) teyvat and Remnant

7th KING

Baby brother: (Arc Sisters)

The True ruler of Mistral

Skills:

Master Swordsman – Exceptional skill in both one-handed and two-handed sword techniques, capable of dueling gods and Campione alike.

Expert Marksman – Highly accurate with ranged weapons, capable of precision shots even under pressure.

Master Martial Artist – Proficient in multiple hand-to-hand combat styles, combining speed, strength, and precision.

Mana Burst – Able to channel explosive surges of mana through his body or weapons, dramatically increasing power, speed, and destructive potential in short bursts.

Conqueror's Haki (Or Demon King Haki): A rare form of Haki that allows the user to exert their own willpower over others. This type of Haki cannot be attained through training and only one in several million people are born with this ability (With the outside exception being Campione) Jaune instinctively uses this power when he gets angry but over time learned how to control it at will

Observation Haki: Jaune unknowingly was using this haki even before learning the of existence of magic grants him a sixth sense that allows him to sense the presence, strength, and emotions of others, as well as gain limited precognitive abilities

Armament Haki: Allows Jaune to use his spiritual energy to create, in essence, an invisible piece of armor around himself, providing incredible offensive and defensive capabilities and learning two advanced techniques one called imbuement that allows him to coat his weapon in haki to increase its destructive power and the other called emission allowing one to manipulate the energy shooting and bypassing aura hurting the target from within

Haki: A power that allows the user to utilize their own spiritual energy for various purposes. All living beings in the world are capable of learning Haki and they are three types

Instinct: All Campione has sharp instincts Jaune included that lets them see "the best personal course of action" and lets them dodge projectiles without a problem

Brilliant Tactician – Jaune possesses a sharp, analytical mind capable of assessing battlefield conditions in real-time. He excels at turning disadvantages into advantages through timing, positioning, and unorthodox strategy.

Master Strategist – Skilled in long-term planning, Jaune can orchestrate large-scale military campaigns, anticipate enemy movements, and deploy his forces with precise efficiency. His plans often blend misdirection, psychological insight, and overwhelming force at critical moments.

Adaptive Thinker – Able to read opponents and adjust mid-combat, Jaune thrives in high-pressure scenarios. He exploits patterns, weaknesses, and environmental elements to shift the tide.

Leadership Aura – His calm, composed demeanor and noble presence inspire loyalty and confidence. Soldiers fight harder under his command, knowing he values every life under his protection.

Backstory How it all started

They say betrayal burns deeper than any flame. For Jaune Arc, that truth became his origin.

Once an idealistic student at Beacon Academy, Jaune believed in loyalty, friendship, and love. Though he had no prestigious heritage, no godlike semblance, he fought twice as hard to earn respect. He trained in silence, bled in shadows, and trusted those closest to him—especially Pyrrha Nikos and Weiss Schnee, two people he believed in most.

But the truth shattered his heart like glass under steel.

Jaune hadn't meant to find them he was just walking back, heart light with thoughts of tomorrow from training. But what he saw stole the breath from his lungs and left his soul hollow.

There, in the quiet corner of Beacon's courtyard, Pyrrha rested in Alister's arms, her head nestled against his chest like it had always belonged there. And just beside them, Weiss leaned into Neptune's touch, her laughter soft and intimate unchained, familiar.

For a heartbeat, Jaune stood frozen.

They hadn't seen him yet. Maybe it wouldn't have mattered even if they had.

It wasn't just betrayal it was annihilation. The ones who once clung to him, who whispered promises and reached for his hand in the dark, now held others with the same tenderness they had once offered him.

They hadn't loved him. Not truly. They had loved what he gave them comfort, attention, devotion. But the real Jaune? The one who cared deeply, who tried so hard to be enough?

They had tossed him aside the moment someone shinier came along.

And in that moment, something inside Jaune broke quietly... and began to burn.

He didn't lash out. He didn't scream. He simply... vanished.

So he did. He vanished from the people that was supposed to care and be his friends

Jaune wandered far from Vale, eventually stumbling into the Ruins of Yltheim, a forgotten village scorched by time, plague, and celestial fire. Here, among crumbling towers and broken idols, he found peace in silence—and agony in reflection.

But fate was not done with him.

In the heart of a blackened temple, he uncovered an ancient forge—still burning despite the passage of centuries. And within its flame stirred a presence: a Heretic God awakened by Jaune's pain, rage, and lost purpose.

Vulcan the Black—the corrupted god of forge and flame—emerged from molten shadows, offering Jaune a chance at vengeance... if he could survive the trial.

Their battle was cataclysmic.

Steel shattered. Fire bled. Vulcan wielded flame not to warm, but to curse. Yet Jaune, broken but unbent, fought with a fury that surprised even the gods. His grief became his sword. His heartbreak, his shield.

In the end, it was not strength that felled Vulcan. It was conviction.

When the dying god collapsed into a furnace of divine essence, Jaune was reborn.

He rose from ash and agony not as a huntsman, but as a Campione—a God Slayer.

Weapon:
Ashen Oath

Jaune Arc Campione Authority

1st Authority: Nigrum Ignis Draconem – The Black Flame Dragon of Ruin

After slaying the corrupted draconic god Vulcan the Black, Jaune inherited the terrifying Authority of black flame—a cursed divine fire that consumes not just the flesh, but the soul. With it came dominion over a sentient flame dragon, Umbryth, and the power to command apocalyptic destruction or soul-purging judgment

Core Abilities:

1. Blackflame Dominion

Effect: The user can summon and control unnatural black flames that ignore conventional barriers and burn divine essence, not just physical form. These flames consume not just bodies—but memories, curses, and magic itself.

Drawback: The flames are indiscriminate. If not carefully controlled, they can harm allies or the surrounding environment. Usage taxes the soul, causing mental fatigue and emotional numbness if overused.

2. Ashen Dragon, Umbryth

Effect: Summon a colossal, semi-corporeal fire dragon made of pure black flame named Umbryth, bound to the user's soul. It can fly, fight independently, or merge with the user for a temporary power boost.

Modes:

Independent Mode: Umbryth battles alongside the user, unleashing flame storms and fire lances.

Fusion Mode (Wyrmheart Sync): User absorbs Umbryth, gaining draconic wings, claws, and flame-charged strength.

Drawback: Fusion shortens lifespan slightly with each prolonged use. If Umbryth is destroyed, the user suffers intense spiritual backlash and loses all fire-based abilities temporarily.

3. Flame Coffin

Effect: Encase enemies in an unbreakable sphere of black flame, trapping them in total sensory darkness and pain. The flames slowly eat away their mana and Authority.

Drawback: Requires stillness and full focus to conjure. Vulnerable while active. Can only maintain one coffin at a time.

4. Dragon's Cursebrand

Effect: Inflict a brand upon any divine being or magical foe struck by your flame-based attacks. While branded, the target suffers from uncontrollable overheating, spiritual corrosion, and cannot heal by divine means.

Drawback: The curse is only active for 2 minute unless reapplied through direct contact or another flame-based strike.

5. Wings of Eternal Cinder

Effect: Fiery dragon wings sprout from the user's back, enabling flight and flaming feather projectiles. The wings also serve as defensive barriers, scorching anything that strikes them.

Drawback: If too many feathers are fired, the wings vanish until recharged through combat.

Ultimate Authority: Apocrypha Ignition

Effect: The user transforms into the Black Flame Dragon Incarnate, becoming a godlike avatar of ruin. Their body is wreathed in roaring void-fire, their voice commands infernos, and their mere presence scorches the air. All flame attacks are massively empowered, and time around them feels slowed for weaker foes.

Drawback: This form lasts only 20 minutes. Afterward, the user enters a "Burnt Repose"—a coma-like recovery period where all Authorities become dormant. Using this more than once a day risks death.

Incantation

"I invoke the curse of the First Flame—
The dark fire that consumes even the light of creation.
From ash, I rise. From ruin, I rule.
He who defied the gods and scorched the heavens now walks once more.
Let the false divine be consumed... in sacred shadow and wrath."

2th authority

Authority: Wyrmflame Sovereignty

"The Dragonfire That Devours Kings"

Heretic God Origin: Fafnir, the Eternal Flame Dragon

Once a dwarven prince cursed by greed and divine wrath, Fafnir shed his mortal skin and became a terrifying dragon of endless flame and hatred. Twisted by centuries of guarding his treasure hoard, he transcended into a Heretic God—a creature of divine madness, whose fire did not bring warmth but incinerated existence itself.

When slain by the Campione, Fafnir's soul erupted into a firestorm that reshaped the world around it. The victor absorbed his core Authority: Wyrmflame Sovereignty—the absolute dominion over draconic flame, greed-born fire that consumes not just matter, but ambition, memory, and spirit.

Nature of the Authority

Type: Elemental + Conceptual Flame Control

Aspect: Dragon, Flame, Destruction, Greed, Wrath

Theme: Fire as judgment and legacy; flame that punishes the corrupt and preserves the worthy.

Abilities Granted

1. Crown of Cinders

Effect: Upon invoking the Authority, a glowing crown of flame appears above the user's head. While active, the user becomes the "Dragon Emperor"—granting passive control over all flames within a radius. Enemy fire magic is instantly extinguished or turned against its caster.

Bonus: This also increases intimidation and pressure; weak-willed enemies may collapse or surrender.

Drawback: The Crown intensifies the user's desires and ambition. Prolonged usage can corrupt one's sense of restraint.

2. Fafnir's Maw

Effect: The user can manifest a colossal dragon's mouth of black and red flame in midair, unleashing a continuous blast of divine fire that erases enchantments, magic, and defenses.

Drawback: Massive mana cost. Overuse causes throat burns and temporary speech loss.

3. Scorching Avarice

Effect: A flame curse that infects divine or magical targets upon contact. They begin to feel overwhelming greed or jealousy, losing coordination and turning on allies or their own powers.

Drawback: Only one target can be cursed at a time. Cursed beings may resist with strong willpower or purification magic.

4. Draconic Dominion

Effect: Summon spectral draconic limbs (wings, claws, tails) of fire to augment your own body. These manifestations move with your will and can swat aside magical or physical attacks.

Bonus: While active, basic attacks carry fire-based knockback and soul-scorching properties.

Drawback: The user begins to lose distinction between self and the dragon's essence, risking partial possession.

Ultimate Authority: Throne of the Ash Lord

Effect: For 15 Minutes, the user becomes the living avatar of Fafnir's divine flame. Covered in draconic armor of molten fire, their steps leave trails of smoldering ruin.

All flames obey their command, and their mere presence causes divine beings to stagger or weaken.

Their voice becomes a "Command of Incineration"—what they name shall burn.

Drawback: After the form ends, the user suffers intense flame withdrawal, losing all fire-based abilities for a full day and requiring mental stability to avoid madness or memory regression.

Incantation

"Greed gave him wings. Flame made him a god.

I am the one who devoured the devourer.

From fire, I command.

From ruin, I rise.

Let all who claim divinity burn—

in the name of Wyrmflame Sovereignty."

3rd Authority: Breath of Aeturna

Aeturna, the forgotten goddess of twilight and rest, who stood between life and death. She was neither reaper nor savior—but the keeper of memory and the silent breath of final mercy. Upon slaying her, the Campione inherits her sacred duty: to occasionally give back what the world has taken

"To breathe again, by the will of the one who defied death

A passive Authority that grants the user the rare ability to return the recently dead to life by sharing a portion of their divine essence.

The revival can only be triggered under specific emotional or situational conditions: the user must willingly choose to sacrifice something—a memory, a power, or a bond—to breathe life back into another.

When activated, the user's eyes briefly glow with silvery light, and the fallen individual inhales sharply, as if waking from a dreamless sleep

By the hush of twilight, where memory sleeps...

By the mercy of she who stands between worlds...

I give what was mine, so another may rise.

Let death falter, let silence break

And breathe once more, by my will made divine.

Aeturna, Keeper of the Last Light... grant this soul one final dawn

4th Authority

Phoenix of Light

Solara, the Lightborn Phoenix

1. Solar Mantle (Passive)

Jaune's body emits a soft, warm glow when invoking this Authority. His presence boosts morale, enhances regeneration for allies, and dispels minor curses or shadow-based magic within his aura range.

Drawback: The glow makes him easier to detect and a priority target in stealth scenarios.

2. Flame of Purity

Unleashes a blast of golden fire that burns not flesh—but corruption, lies, and evil intentions. It sears away illusions, mind control, demonic influence, and even divine enchantments.

Drawback: The fire does not discriminate; if allies harbor dark secrets or curses, they may feel pain.

3. Wings of the Dawn

Manifest shining wings made of living flame, allowing flight and protection. The wings can also unfurl in battle, creating a flare-storm of radiant feathers that blind, burn, or heal depending on Jaune's intent.

Drawback: High energy cost; cannot be sustained for long periods.

4. Ashen Rebirth

Should Jaune or a nearby ally fall in combat, he can invoke Solara's divine rebirth once per battle. The fallen will rise, cloaked in light, restored with enhanced strength for a brief time.

Drawback: Can only be used once per day. After activation, Jaune's body becomes frail for several minutes.

5. Lumenus Will (Light Manipulation)

Jaune can bend and shape light at will—forming lances, shields, barriers, or even illusions. His control ranges from focused beams of precision to blinding solar bursts that overwhelm entire fields.

Drawback: Light constructs weaken in total darkness or corrupted environments unless empowered by his own flame

Incanation

"From flame I was born—

From light, I endure."

"O Solara, radiant one, your ashes rest within me."
"By your final breath, I command the sky to shine."

"Let my enemies be blinded, let my allies be healed."

"I summon wings of dawn and a halo of judgment!"

"This is the will of the undying flame—

The Phoenix of Light rises!"

Origin

Solara, a radiant divine beast revered as the First Light at Dawn, was a being of fire, rebirth, and purifying brilliance. She soared above the world as a symbol of renewal and endless hope. But corrupted by humanity's despair and turned Heretic, she began incinerating entire regions in her obsession with "cleansing" the impure.

Slain in a sky-igniting battle by Jaune Arc, her ashes did not fade—they fused with his soul, blessing (or burdening) him with an Authority of overwhelming light.

5th authority:

Covenant of the Last Blade

1.Saintslayer's Insight (Passive)

Grants divine tactical perception—instantly recognizing enemy formations, weak points, and magical patterns. The user's instincts are honed to near-perfect clarity in any combat scenario.

Bonus: Can predict and counter divine abilities after seeing them once.

Drawback: Insight brings empathy—Jaune sometimes feels the emotions of those he defeats.

2. Warmaiden's Echoes

Summon phantoms of fallen warriors—echoes of Monica's past legions. These spirits strike once before fading, each whispering a fragment of their final memory.

Can be used to overwhelm, distract, or delay opponents.

Limit: Only three can be summoned per battle. They do not speak—only fight.

3. Blade Oath – Last Stand

Temporarily boosts the user's physical and magical power when fighting alone or outnumbered, reflecting Monica's endless last stand.

Effect: Movement speeds increase, wounds dull, senses heighten.

Drawback: Once allies arrive, the effect fades immediately.

4. Honorbound Halo (Aura)

An ethereal golden ring forms behind Jaune when the Authority is active. While visible:

Enemies within a certain radius cannot lie, hide intent, or retreat easily.

Allied morale surges—magic amplifies and fear is suppressed.

Drawback: If Jaune acts dishonorably (e.g., deceives, betrays), the halo shatters and the Authority is locked for a time.

"By the blade that fell gods, by the oath that outlived glory—
I carry your burden, Monica. Let this be the war that ends war

Origin Monica, the Fallen Warmaiden

Once revered as the Goddess of Just War and Sacred Valor, Monica was a divine figure born from battlefields soaked in righteous blood. Her sword brought peace. Her strategies were divine doctrine. She blessed soldiers who fought for honor, not conquest.

But as centuries passed, mankind's wars grew hollow—motivated by greed, vengeance, and pride. Monica pleaded with the heavens to intervene, to cleanse the rot. They refused.

Betrayed by her fellow gods and disgusted with the mortals who once prayed to her, Monica descended from the Celestial Throne, casting aside her divine title and becoming a Heretic God. She now wages an endless campaign across worlds—a one-woman crusade to annihilate both corrupt gods and unworthy mortals alike.

6th Authority

Shadow of Control

1. Umbra Grasp

Effect: Jaune can extend his shadow to entangle, bind, or pierce enemies. The shadows move independently like tendrils, spears, or blades, following his will and reacting to aggression automatically.

Bonus: Shadow limbs can extend over long distances or shape into walls, spikes, or chains.

Drawback: Light-based environments weaken range and precision.

2. Black Dominion (Area Control)

Effect: Jaune can expand his presence, blanketing the battlefield in divine shadow. Within this zone:

Enemy perception is clouded.

Movement is slowed.

Jaune can teleport between shadows or create phantom illusions.

Drawback: Costs focus and drains stamina. Can only maintain for short periods (3 to 4 minutes).

3. Shadeform Mantle

Effect: Allows Jaune to become partially incorporeal—his body melts into darkness, allowing him to phase through attacks or vanish into shadow briefly.

Bonus: Grants invulnerability for 1 minute during transitions.

Drawback: Cannot attack while phased; overuse destabilizes aura.

4. Penumbral Arsenal

Effect: Forms weapons of pure shadow (blades, lances, chains, throwing spikes) mid-battle. These weapons are weightless and can be reshaped instantly.

Bonus: Shadows retain memory—repeating an attack makes it faster and more efficient.

Drawback: Cannot bypass divine or radiant wards without being empowered.

Origin

Nocturon, the Forgotten Sovereign of Shadows and Subjugation. Once a silent guardian of secrets and balance between light and dark, Nocturon fell from grace after attempting to bend mortal free will "for their own good." He ruled not through destruction—but through obedience, manipulating truth, desire, and perception from behind the veil of shadows.

7th Authority

Veil of Mnemosyne

Effect: (Passive Authority)Omnisophic Mind

Jaune's mind operates in multiple layers simultaneously. While this Authority is active (passively), he:

Instantly understands any language spoken, written, or encoded—divine, ancient, or forbidden.

Gains intuitive understanding of magical systems, divine patterns, and complex logic without needing to study them.

Sees truths hidden behind lies, illusions, or altered memories.

Gains flashes of possible futures based on current decisions (brief intuitive glimpses, not full prophecy).

Knows when others near him are withholding critical knowledge or manipulating facts.

Secondary Ability: Archive Invocation

Jaune can project temporary glowing glyphs or spectral books containing knowledge of places, people, or events he's seen—even if only once. These can be shared with allies or activated to teach techniques or languages instantly

Origin

Mnireya, the All-Knowing Seraph, once sat at the center of the Celestial Archive, watching history unfold like rivers on parchment. She was worshipped not for war or flame, but for truth—for the wisdom to see, understand, and rememberwhat others forgot.

But when mortals began to twist knowledge into weapons, lies, and control, Mnireya severed her ties to the world. She hoarded truth behind divine riddles, punishing those she deemed unworthy with eternal confusion. In time, she became a Heretic Goddess, believing that only through absolute solitude could knowledge remain pure.

When Jaune Arc bested her trial of logic, memory, and mental resilience—and proved that wisdom tempered with empathy is true strength—he was granted her final gift: the Authority of Divine Understanding.

O Goddess of Thought, I bear your burden."
"Let memory be my armor, and truth my blade."
"By wisdom, not wrath—I see."
"This is the Veil of Mnemosyne."

8th Authority

Cradle of Stillborn Stars

1. Frozen Genesis

Effect: Jaune can create crystalized life constructs—flora, fauna, or icebound creatures—from the environment. These are semi-sentient, guided by his will and forged from nearby moisture and ambient energy.

Bonus: They can be defensive (crystal wolves, shielding trees) or offensive (ice lances, frost serpents).

Drawback: Too many creations strain his soul and drain his aura quickly in warm environments.

2. Eternal Cocoon

Effect: Envelops an ally or target in a time-frozen chrysalis of ice. While inside, the subject is preserved—wounds halted, time suspended. When the ice shatters, they emerge fully healed or shielded from death.

Drawback: Can only protect one being at a time. Once shattered, it cannot be recast for several hours.

3. Stillheart Pulse (Passive)

Jaune gains a deep emotional clarity and calm. His thoughts are slowed in battle, making his reactions precise, calculated, and detached from panic.

Divine illusions and mental interference are greatly weakened.

Drawback: Extended use causes emotional detachment—he must reconnect with humanity to stay grounded.

4. Crystalline Bloom

Effect: With a touch to the ground, Jaune causes a vast bloom of divine frost and living crystal to erupt—freezing terrain, encasing enemies, and releasing restorative life energy to allies standing within its radius.

Drawback: Cannot use in fiery or desert environments unless already empowered by divine frost.

Incarnation

"O stillborn star, cradle of silence, frost of the first breath

From you, the world awoke in silence."

"Now by your name, I birth stillness and bloom."

"Velystra, I carry your will. Creation... begins again."

Velystra was once known as the Primordial Dragon of Genesis, revered in ancient civilizations as the source of the first breath. Unlike gods of fire and fury, she birthed worlds not with violence, but with silence, ice, and patience.

From her scales bloomed forests. From her breath came snow that preserved what fire could not. And from her tears, oceans once frozen melted into rivers that gave life.

But in time, the world became too loud, too fast, too greedy. Life no longer honored her cycles. Mortals defiled the balance of death and rebirth.

Betrayed by time and forgotten by her own creations, Velystra closed her heart, freezing the last of her divine womb and encasing it in endless glacial storms. She became a Heretic, no longer guiding life but encasing it in timeless, perfect stasis.

When Jaune Arc faced her deep within a frozen realm untouched by the sun, it was not just a battle of power but of philosophy: between the need to preserve, and the will to evolve.

9th Authority

1. Aegisheart

Jaune becomes a living bulwark. While active, his body and aura resist all non-divine physical damage, and divine damage is greatly reduced when protecting others.

Bonus: If Jaune physically interposes himself to block an attack for someone else, the damage is further reduced and absorbed as divine charge.

2. Oathflame Core (Reactive Passive)

Whenever an ally near Jaune is wounded, a flame rune ignites on his armor. When three are active, they burst outward, releasing a shockwave of divine fire that knocks back and burns enemies within range.

Drawback: If Jaune fails to defend anyone for too long, the runes fade and cannot activate.

3, Unshaken Vow

Mental attacks, illusions, and fear effects are drastically weakened. He cannot be mind-controlled, and will never flinch from divine intimidation or terror.

Visual: His shadow always appears armored and kneeling behind him, like a silent guardian spirit.

4 Sanctuary Breaker

Jaune charges his shield or sword with divine flame and slams it into the ground, releasing a forward wave of knightly will that destroys barriers, banishes illusions, and knocks back enemies in a holy arc.

Often used to protect a group or drive enemies off an ally.

Incantation (Medium Form):

"I am the sword that stands between hope and ruin."

"I am the shield that does not break."

"By vow unshaken, by flame unyielding

I rise as the Knight of the Guardian Flame

Origin

Sir Eidolron, the Eternal Warden

Once a divine sentinel known as The First Shield, Sir Eidolron was a celestial knight tasked with guarding the Gates of Creation. For eons, he protected the divine realms from chaos, corruption, and betrayal but was ultimately forsaken by the gods he served. Abandoned and betrayed, his oath turned into an eternal, hollow vigil.

He became a Heretic, no longer a guardian of gods but a punisher of the divine who forget what duty means.

When Jaune Arc clashed with him, it wasn't merely swords that met but convictions. And when Jaune's shield held, even as his body broke Sir Eidolron yielded, not with rage, but relief.

10th Authority

Pillar of Ascendant Might

1. Titan's Core (Passive Empowerment)

Jaune's physical strength, stamina, and durability are passively enhanced to superhuman levels even without using mana or aura. His base power scales with the emotional weight of his convictions: the more he fights for others, the stronger he becomes.

Bonus: Grants incredible endurance he can keep fighting long after his body should collapse.

2. Authority Amplifier

Gravos' power acts as a divine conduit, boosting the effectiveness and stability of all Jaune's other Authorities:

Flames burn hotter

Light shines brighter

Shadows strike deeper

Guardian defenses hold longer

Wisdom processes faster

Creation shapes more vividly

This Authority does not overpower it elevates.

3. Unbreakable Will (Mental Fortitude)

Jaune's mind and soul are fortified against spiritual attacks, divine pressure, and despair. He can face godly intimidation or psychological warfare unflinching a mental anchor for others around him.

4. Resonant Strength (Support Passive)

Allies fighting near Jaune gain a minor version of his strength enhancement boosting their morale, stamina, and resistance to fear.

Incarnation

"I do not rise for power."
"I rise for those who cannot."

"Let my body be the shield. Let my soul be the flame."

"Let the weight of the world rest on these mortal shoulders."

"By the vow of strength unbroken by the will of the god who knelt..."

"I awaken the Pillar of Ascendant Might!"

Origin

Gravos, once revered as the indomitable God of Strength, was a titan whose name echoed in legends of impossible feats lifting mountains, halting disasters, and defeating dragons with his bare fists. But as gods began to rely more on divinity and less on discipline, Gravos walked away from Remnant, disgusted by their decadence.

He became a Heretic, wandering the cosmos in search of a being who understood that true strength was not just muscle but soul, resolve, and sacrifice.

Lovers: Note After Beacon He started to fall in love again

Rias Gremory childhood friend personal mage user

Raiden Shogun (Ei): Fallen Goddess of Eternity (Bodyguard)

Elena Saki (Personal Knight) Second childhood friend

Scáthach

Velgrynd

Velzard

Himeko (Third Childhood Friend)

How Jaune dealt with each Hertic goddess and god

The world trembled.

The forge-temple of Vulcan the Black, a crumbling monument of obsidian spires, chained stars, and molten rivers, collapsed under the weight of divine reckoning. What was once a sanctum of godhood and flame now roared with chaos. The sky above had split from the battle, bleeding ash and streaks of black lightning. Mountains in the distance were reduced to slag. The winds howled with the sound of a god brought to his knees.

At the heart of it all, standing upon a scorched platform of melted stone, was Jaune Arc.

His sword, Ashen Oath, glowed with a fire never meant for mortals. Its edge flickered with cursed light, the black flame of a dying god still clinging to its steel like an echo. Jaune's entire body screamed with pain. His aura pulsed erratically, scorched and cracked by the sheer magnitude of the divine power he had just faced. His breath was ragged. His heart pounded.

But still... he stood.

Before him writhed the broken form of Vulcan, the Dragon-God of Black Flame, once a master of divine fire and smith of heavenly armaments. Now, he lay defeated, his serpentine body coiled around the heart of the forge. Scales the color of volcanic obsidian shimmered weakly, chipped and glowing from inner fractures. Lava bled from his wounds, boiling into steam as it touched the cold cracks in the temple floor.

He was immense. Ancient. Powerful beyond reason. And yet, he was dying.

Even in ruin, he radiated awe.

The dragon's six wings, once great and burning like banners of war, now hung low and tattered. One had already fallen away, reduced to glowing embers that scattered across the battlefield. His molten mane hissed with cooling magic. At the center of his chest, the divine furnace that once powered the stars flickered like a dying ember, no longer eternal.

And then Vulcan did something unexpected.

He laughed.

A deep, earth-shaking sound, like molten stone breaking open.

"So... you endure," Vulcan said. His voice cracked the air around him, a blend of grudging amusement and buried pain.

Jaune raised his blade slightly, the tip trembling from exhaustion. His stance was steady, but he remained wary. Gods had a habit of striking from beneath their defeat.

But Vulcan did not attack.

Instead, the great dragon lifted his head. Smoke drifted from his nostrils. His one unbroken eye glowed crimson as he fixed it on the mortal who had done the impossible.

"You are not the strongest who challenged me," Vulcan rumbled. "Not the fastest. Not the fiercest. But you are the only one who understood the flame."

He paused, watching Jaune with something deeper than curiosity. It was recognition.

"Not just its power... but its burden."

Molten blood spilled from the sides of his jagged mouth, hissing as it struck the stone. Still, he did not waver. There was pride in his tone. A kind of reverence not often offered by gods to mortals.

"You fought with fury... but never hatred. With fire... but never chaos. You tempered your flame, as a sword must be tempered. Through pressure. Through pain. Through purpose."

Jaune's grip on his sword loosened slightly. His heartbeat began to slow. The fury that had fueled him all this time fueled by betrayal, by heartbreak, by loss began to melt away. What was left behind wasn't vengeance.

It was understanding.

"You could have let it consume you," Vulcan whispered. "As it did me. As it did all those who came before you. I forged flame to create... and in time, I burned all I loved to ash."

He turned his gaze to the ruins around them. Blackened chains that once bound stars hung broken. His forge, where he crafted weapons for gods, was now nothing but slag.

"You held your flame. You did not let it devour. And for that... I see now, you were worthy."

The great dragon moved slowly, his head lowering to the stone with a heavy breath. The sky above cracked again, casting dark light across the scorched ruins.

And then Vulcan, God of the Black Flame, did something no one had ever witnessed.

He bowed his head.

Not in mockery. Not in desperation.

But in respect.

"You are not the heir to my flame. You are its rebirth."

"I see now... this fire was not meant to die with me. It was meant to live. To rise again in the hands of one who knows what it means to be burned."

Vulcan's chest glowed.

A deep, golden-black light pulsed from within him as his molten breastplate split apart. His divine heart, a core of swirling obsidian and sunfire, began to emerge. Each pulse of it radiated pure Authority.

He looked at Jaune with a final, steady gaze.

"Take it. The last breath of Vulcan the Black. My soul. My fire. My name."

"And let the world remember that even the darkest flame can light the way."

"Use my fire well, Jaune Arc. Not to destroy blindly. But to judge. To cleanse. To remake."

As Jaune approached, his sword still low, Vulcan's massive form began to unravel. Not in agony, but in release. His wings dissolved into ash and light. His mane faded into ember and wind. The chains around the forge snapped, releasing their final magic.

"You are the last forge now," Vulcan said. His voice was barely a whisper, yet it thundered in Jaune's soul.

"And the first flame reborn."

"Nigrum Ignis Draconem... is yours."

With a final, echoing roar that split the broken sky, Vulcan's divine flame surged. It leapt from his heart and engulfed Jaune entirely, not to incinerate him, but to bind with him.

The black inferno wrapped around Jaune's chest and arms, spreading into his aura. His armor cracked and reshaped, glowing briefly as the flame sanctified it. His sword shimmered, absorbing the fire like it had been waiting its whole life to carry it.

And Jaune screamed not in pain, but in awakening.

In that moment, everything changed.

His soul cracked open, and something ancient poured into him. Power. Authority. A name carved into the fabric of reality. His heartbeat slowed, and then thundered with new strength. The sky seemed to bend toward him.

He was no longer just mortal.

He had become something else.

A Campione.

A slayer of gods.

A wielder of divine power.

But more than that... he was a man who had survived betrayal, faced divinity, and earned respect not through wrath, but through restraint.

He had not inherited Vulcan's madness.

He had tamed his fire.

_____________________

The sky wept fire.

High above the mortal world, amidst the fractured remnants of a floating city now swallowed by lava and time, Jaune Arc stood on a platform of glowing obsidian. The ground beneath him cracked with every breath he took, shimmering with molten veins. His chest rose and fell, each breath labored but full of purpose. His eyes, no longer just mortal, blazed with golden flame and unyielding will.

All around him, ancient gold lay warped and melted. Vaults, thrones, and once-glorious hoards treasured by kings and empires were now reduced to slag and ash. What had been symbols of power and wealth were now silent monuments to obsession and ruin.

And at the center of it all lay the fallen colossus the dying body of Fafnir, the Eternal Flame Dragon.

Once majestic beyond measure, a creature of gold-crimson majesty and mythic hunger, Fafnir now lay broken. The Devourer of Gold, the Wyrm of Endless Hunger, brought low not by another god or greater beast but by a mortal.

By Jaune Arc.

Fafnir's massive frame was half-submerged in a sea of molten ruin. Scales once so radiant they blinded the unworthy were now blackened and brittle, flaking off like burning parchment. One of his colossal wings had been torn free in the final clash, now drifting like a broken banner on a current of heat and smoke. Deep cracks ran through his armored chest, each one pulsing dimly with the remnants of divine fire.

And yet, in the dragon's massive eyes, there was no wrath. No hatred. Only clarity.

A knowing stillness.

"So," Fafnir rumbled, his voice deeper than the mountains, laced with heat and age, "even a dragon must fall... to fire not his own."

The words echoed like prophecy through the air, carried on embers and memory.

Jaune said nothing.

His sword, Ashen Oath, remained buried in Fafnir's chest, its hilt vibrating from the weight of the divine flame still coursing through its blade. Black fire hissed and danced along its edge. Jaune's armor, once shining, was cracked and scorched. His cape hung in tatters. His aura flickered like a candle in a dying storm.

And yet he stood tall.

Unshaken.

The silence between them was ancient, sacred.

Fafnir exhaled, a final plume of molten breath that melted the stone beneath him. Steam hissed upward, wrapping the air in glowing mist.

"You carry greed, Jaune Arc," the dragon said, his voice softened now, introspective. "Do not pretend otherwise."

His eye gleamed, not accusing, but understanding.

"You wanted to prove yourself. You wanted to be seen. To be loved. You desired strength, power, vengeance, and legacy. The fire that burns in you is not pure. It is not selfless."

Fafnir shifted, his massive neck curling slightly as he looked directly into Jaune's flame-lit gaze.

"So did I."

His claws dug into the earth, trembling. Not from pain, but from effort. Even dying, his presence still warped the air.

"I, too, desired everything. To be worshipped. To be feared. To be remembered." Fafnir's voice cracked, yet he did not falter. "I devoured kingdoms, melted vaults, and swallowed history, believing that possession would make me eternal."

He growled low, not in anger, but regret.

"But where I was consumed by that hunger... you held the reins."

"You fed your fire with meaning. With restraint. With purpose. You burned, but you never lost your form."

"You are not without greed, Jaune Arc... but you are not its slave."

A low rumble filled the ruin as Fafnir lifted his chest slightly. His claws scraped sparks across the molten floor. Every breath was harder than the last, but there was something noble in his struggle to rise.

"You are fire," Fafnir said slowly. "But tempered by purpose."

"And for that... I respect you."

The words hung in the air, heavy with finality.

Jaune lowered his sword slightly, his hand trembling. Not from weakness, but from the weight of what he had just been given. A dying god's blessing. A dragon's respect.

The silence that followed was not empty. It was full. Brimming with understanding. Forged in combat. Sealed in flame.

Then, slowly, Fafnir's chest began to glow brighter. Not with rage, but release. The divine fire within him, long imprisoned by obsession, now flowed freely. It rose from his heart like a miniature sun, swirling in hues of black, red, and deep gold. The flames did not lash out. They did not consume. They rose upward, gentle and steady, drawn toward Jaune's soul.

"Wyrmflame is no gift," Fafnir growled, his voice now a whisper of thunder. "It is a curse. A hunger. A crown of ashes."

"It will whisper to you. It will tempt you. It will beg to be used recklessly."

"But if you carry it as you carried yourself here today... then the fire shall serve not your greed, but your will."

The spiral of divine flame hovered before Jaune's chest, pulsing, alive. It was not warm. It was weight. Heavy. Sacred. Waiting.

Fafnir's voice, now faint as falling ash, drifted upward.

"Take it."

"And wear it well, Sovereign of Greedless Fire."

With that final breath, Fafnir exhaled one last time.

His body, colossal and ancient, began to collapse inward. His golden bones turned to coal. His once-mighty tail curled. His wings folded over his chest like a burial shroud of ember and ash.

The flames rising from his heart surged forward, wrapping around Jaune. They did not scorch. They did not devour. They entered him. Burrowed into his soul. Became part of him.

His aura roared.

His body convulsed with divine pressure.

And then... it stilled.

Jaune dropped to one knee, breathing hard. His sword pulsed with new life. Black and gold flame flickered from the seams of his armor. His soul had been branded. His heart reforged.

_____

The battlefield was quiet.

No flames.
No thunder.
No screams.

Only twilight.

Muted purples and silvers bathed the crumbling ruins of what had once been a sacred sanctuary. The air was still, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Petals of moonlight drifted gently like weightless ash, suspended in an eternal dusk. A forgotten temple, half-drowned in a sea of memory and stone, lay beneath Jaune Arc's boots. Its marble floor, cracked and worn, whispered stories of prayers long since silenced.

Time had claimed this place. Now, it would claim its goddess too.

Jaune stood at the center of it all, sword low, his armor barely scorched. Yet the weight that pressed on his chest was heavier than any wound. He was not panting. Not bleeding. But something inside him had broken all the same.

Before him, knelt the Goddess of Twilight, Aeturna.

She was not like the others.

There was no hate in her final hour. No roar of defiance. No divine lightshow to announce her fury. Only sorrow. And a smile so faint, it felt like a memory.

Her once-violet gown now unraveled into starlit mist, flowing around her like a dying nebula. Her skin shimmered faintly, thin as moonlight, delicate as a candle's final flicker. Her eyes, silver and ancient, had once closed the lids of kings and cradled dying soldiers in silence. Now, those same eyes were dim, flickering as her divinity faded with each breath.

And Jaune, godslayer, warrior, protector, did not feel victorious.

Only still.

Aeturna knelt at the edge of a crumbling altar, surrounded by glowing wisps of souls she had once guarded. Gentle lights that once clung to her robes now drifted from her, like birds leaving a dying tree. Souls she had guided into peaceful sleep... and in her fall, had torn from their rightful rest.

"You did not come to destroy me," she said at last. Her voice was soft, like dry leaves dancing in wind, fragile yet steady. "You came to stop me."

Jaune stepped forward. His gauntlet trembled. His grip on Ashen Oath remained firm, though the blade no longer flared with wrath. Instead, it shimmered faintly with silver light, as if mourning her even now.

"You started killing the innocent," he said quietly, barely believing it himself. "You. The goddess who once cradled the dying."

Aeturna closed her eyes, her face filled with a bittersweet ache.

"I was forgotten. My temples buried beneath stone and time. My name erased from prayers, replaced by gods of fire and gold. Mortals began to fear me. Not death itself, but what I represented. And the gods... they chased glory while I kept vigil in silence."

Her voice grew distant.

"So I gave them what they wanted. Rest eternal. I let the world sleep."

She looked at her own hands. Wisps of memory drifted between her fingers, like the dreams of the dead returning to the void.

"But rest became silence. Silence became rage. I forgot what I was... and what I was meant to be."

She turned her fading gaze to Jaune again. Her lips parted in a fragile smile, kind but full of pain.

"And you reminded me. In our final moments. You reminded me that I was never meant to take life. Only to return it."

A breeze passed through her hair, lifting strands of it like silk caught in the wind. It smelled of lavender, rain, and old pages. The scent of dusk. Of the space between endings and beginnings.

"You carry grief," she whispered. "I can feel it in your steps. You've lost much. Too much."

Jaune clenched his fists.

Pyrrha. Weiss. The betrayal that shattered him. Neptune. Alister. The friends who abandoned him. The girl who promised to believe in him. The world that once looked down on him. The pain was still there, coiled in his chest like a sleeping flame.

"But you never let it turn you cruel," Aeturna said.

Behind her, her halo flickered. Once broken and dim, it shimmered now with renewed light. A single ring of dusklight hovered behind her head, elegant and solemn, glowing for the first time in centuries.

"Jaune Arc," she said, her voice gentler than moonlight. "Slayer of gods. Keeper of flame. Heir of sorrow and bearer of hope."

She stepped closer, her feet barely brushing the ground.

"Promise me something." Aeturna asked

He looked at her, his throat tight.

"Promise me you won't become like us."

She reached out, her fingers trembling, and lightly brushed the hilt of his sword. She did not try to take it. She only touched it with reverence, as if blessing it with her final breath.

"Don't just burn. Don't just fight. Don't just rule."

Her fingers glowed with pale light, and the snowflakes drifting through the temple began to move again. Time stirred.

"Give back."

Her voice cracked, a single tear falling down her glowing cheek.

"Restore what is broken."

"Return the light to those who've lost it."

"Let the dying breathe again."

"Not because you must... but because you can."

Her body flickered like a dying star.

Tears shimmered in the air around her as stardust swirled in gentle spirals, weaving through the sanctuary like lullabies for the dead. Her light was dimming, not with fear but with peace.

"Protect what is important, Jaune," she said. "Even if the world forgets you. Even if it names you monster, or slayer, or king. Protect them. Because it matters."

And then, without scream or thunder, without violence or vengeance, Aeturna dissolved.

Her form unraveled into a cascade of soft twilight mist, fading into the sky like the last breath of a dream fading from a sleeper's lips.

All that remained was silence.

And a single white feather, falling slowly.

It glowed with soft silver light. As it touched Jaune's chest, it ignited in a quiet spark and sank into his heart. His aura shifted. The stillness within him was no longer heavy.

It was calm.

Jaune stood alone, surrounded by drifting feathers and fading light.

He bowed his head.

A single tear slipped down his face, freezing in the gentle air before falling to the floor like crystal.

He heard a whispered from the sky that had no sun.

"Thank you... for remembering me."

And far beyond the veil of dusk, beyond the stars and the hush of death,

He felt her smile one last time.

__________________

The sky was burning.

Golden flame danced across the fractured horizon, swallowing clouds and splintering the firmament into radiant shards. The sun itself seemed to bleed brilliance, light cascading in ribbons across a world held in awe. Above, the floating spire of Solara's Sunforge, once a citadel of divine rebirth and eternal flame, cracked apart like a dying star. Its obsidian and gold foundations crumbled, spilling celestial embers down to earth in slow, majestic descent.

Everything glowed.

Ashes fell like snow, not grey and cold, but luminous and warm. Each flake a whisper of forgotten light.

In the heart of that crumbling heaven, Jaune Arc stood.

His blade, Ashen Oath, was buried in a phoenix-shaped crest of golden glass. It pulsed with residual fire, humming with the Authority he had just claimed. Jaune's breath came heavy. His body ached. His armor steamed from celestial heat, scorched and broken. The halo above his head had fractured in battle, split by divine radiance. And yet, his grip held firm. His stance did not falter.

He looked not triumphant, but thoughtful.

The flames that raged around him were reflected in his eyes, but they did not consume his soul. Instead, he stood still, surrounded by falling solar ash, his heart wrapped in silence.

And in front of him, rising from molten ruin on broken wings, stood the fading form of Solara, the Lightborn Phoenix.

She glowed not as a god, but as something more ancient and vulnerable. Her divine form, once impossibly radiant, was cracked with golden fissures. The haloed sun behind her was dimming. Her wings, once woven from pure celestial flame, flickered with instability. Feathers fell from her in streaks of fiery gold, each one spiraling like a dying comet.

She was beautiful in the way only a dying star could be. Brilliant. Blinding. Broken.

Yet her eyes...

They were smiling.

"You... you actually did it," she laughed, breathless and disbelieving.

The sound echoed through the ruins like wind brushing stained glass.

Jaune didn't answer. He tightened his grip on Ashen Oath, watching her carefully. The pain in his body was immense, but what weighed heavier was the quiet emotion in his chest. He hadn't expected this moment to feel like mourning.

Solara placed a trembling hand against the wound in her chest. Light shimmered between her fingers, fading like a sunset.

"You freed me."

Her voice trembled with something ancient. Not rage. Not pain.

Relief.

Her laugh came again, soft and radiant. It echoed off the burning fragments of the Sunforge.

"I've burned for so long... I forgot what it was like to breathe." Solara said with happiness "Endless rebirth. Endless purity. Endless light. It sounds beautiful, doesn't it?" she said, her tone wistful. "But it became a prison. A cycle of perfection that left no room for growth. No room for darkness. No room for rest."

She staggered forward, her steps graceful even as her body unraveled. She fell to her knees before him, wings dragging behind her like the torn banners of a fallen empress.

"And you, little flame bearer," she said, looking up at him with soft wonder, "you struck me down with something divine gods always fear."

Solara eyes sparkled, not with divine judgment, but with awe. "Imperfection. Humanity."

Golden tears trailed down her cheeks, each one dissolving into warmth before reaching the ground.

"You didn't fight to erase the dark. You didn't crave my light to be worshipped. You fought for balance. To remind me that light without shadow is blindness."

A breeze moved through the sky, warm and gentle. The storm of flame had quieted. In its place, feathers of radiant fire unraveled from her shoulders and dissolved into motes of golden warmth. They drifted down around Jaune, caressing his face like sunlight through the leaves of a spring morning.

"You are no tyrant. No thief of flame."

"You are worthy, Jaune Arc."

She placed her hand gently over his chest, above his heart. Where the new Authority had taken root, a soft golden light pulsed in rhythm with his breath.

"Let my flame guide you... not to judge the world, but to heal it."

"Let my wings lift you, when yours falter."

"Let my light be your strength when shadows rise, and when all hope dims."

Her voice began to soften. Each word felt like the closing of a book. Not an end, but a promise.

"This... this was a good death."

Solara looked to the sky. Her glow was fading, but her expression was peaceful. Her body trembled like a candle preparing to go out.

And then, to Jaune's surprise, she laughed. A full-hearted, joyous laugh. One filled with freedom.

"Gods... I forgot how good it feels to lose."

There were tears in her voice, but no sorrow.

"Thank you, Campione. Thank you for reminding me what it means to shine."

She took one final step back, raising her face to the sky.

And then her body burst into light.

Not violently. Not like an explosion. But joyfully.

Her divine form unraveled into long, swirling ribbons of golden fire. They danced around Jaune like celebratory streamers of dawn. They weaved through his hair, wrapped around his arms, and soaked into his soul. There was no burn. Only warmth. Peace. Love.

The flames did not scorch. They sanctified.

They blessed.

And as the last of Solara faded into the sky, Jaune felt something stir inside his spirit. A presence. A final goodbye. Her voice, now no louder than a whisper behind the stars, spoke directly to his soul.

"Shine well, Jaune. I'll see you at sunrise."

_____________________________________________________

The battlefield lay broken beneath a sky of weeping flame.

Crimson clouds drifted like bleeding wounds across the heavens, their slow churn casting blood-colored light over the shattered earth below. The sacred arena, once a divine sanctum of valor, was unrecognizable. What had stood for millennia as a monument to justice and glory now lay ruined, drowned in scorched rubble and blood-soaked ash. Pillars were shattered. Statues of forgotten heroes had crumbled. Weapons lay twisted and broken in the dust. Banners once proud were reduced to smoldering threads, their symbols devoured by fire.

And at the center of that sacred ruin stood Jaune Arc.

His chest heaved with every breath, each one dragged through lungs bruised by the weight of battle. His armor, once gleaming white trimmed with gold, was now charred and fractured, edges bent from divine strikes. Cracks webbed across his chestplate. Blood traced a line down his cheek from a wound just above his brow, now drying into a crimson smear. In his right hand, Ashen Oath trembled. The sword, its blade once burning with the light of gods, now glowed with fading divine fire its power spent, its fury quieted.

Behind him, radiant halos shimmered. What remained of Nigrum Ignis Draconem, the Black Flame Authority, flickered in the hot wind like dying stars. They hovered faintly, casting a dim twilight around him as smoke rose in waves from the cracked ground.

And before him... knelt a goddess.

Monica, the Fallen Warmaiden, the last general of heaven, rested on one knee. Her once-flawless silver armor was torn and blackened, holy etchings scorched by divine flame. One wing remained intact upon her back, the other shattered into drifting motes of crimson light that vanished with every second. Her once-pristine blade was driven into the ground, used now not as a weapon but as a crutch, barely keeping her upright.

And yet, she smiled.

It was not the smile of the defeated. Nor the desperate.

It was peace.

"So... this is how my war ends," she whispered, her voice soft like wind rustling through autumn leaves.

Her golden eyes, eyes that had seen centuries of conflict, rebellion, betrayal, and godhood, looked up at Jaune. But there was no hate in them. No bitterness. No shame. Only awe. Only a tired kind of serenity.

"You've grown strong, Campione," she said quietly. "But more than that... you've remained humble."

Jaune did not answer at once. The divine flame in his soul still smoldered from their battle. His grip on Ashen Oathremained firm, knuckles white, his body still poised for another strike if she should rise again. But his eyes... they did not harden. They softened.

Because he had seen her strength.

He had felt her blade crash into his, her will radiate across the battlefield, her divine presence pierce the sky itself.

And he had respected it.

Monica lifted her head slightly, unafraid of the death he now held in his hands.

"I once believed mortals had no honor left," she said. "That war was just cruelty repeated. That salvation could only come by cleansing the world in fire."

She coughed, golden mist escaping her lips in soft bursts, like feathers scattering in the wind. Her divine essence was unraveling, leaking from the cracks in her fading form.

"But you..." she continued, her voice fainter now, "you carry grief. I saw it. In every swing. In every cry. But you do not wield it as a weapon. You carry it like a vow."

"Your fire does not destroy. It protects. And your sword... your sword was not forged to conquer."

She looked down at her own cracked blade, her reflection faint and broken in its gleaming edge.

"It was forged for those who cannot lift one themselves."

Jaune finally lowered Ashen Oath. The blade tilted downward, no longer a threat. He stepped forward slowly, exhaustion pressing on his spine like chains of steel. The battle had ended. She had surrendered not in fear, but in acceptance.

They both knew it.

Monica placed a trembling hand over her heart. Her halo, cracked and dim throughout the battle, now flickered. For a brief moment, it shone as it once had a perfect ring of burning light behind her head. And then, it splintered like glass, dissolving into golden strands that melted into the wind.

"You are not a false king, Jaune Arc," she said. "You are a warrior of truth."

She moved her arms with care, laying her blade gently across her palms. Her hands trembled under the weight, though it was no longer physical. She lowered her head as she extended the sword toward him.

"And for that... I kneel. Not in defeat. But in respect."

Light burst around her. Not a violent explosion, but a warm, slow flare. Like the sun rising after a long winter.

Jaune's steps faltered. He lowered himself before her, kneeling in return. He did not take the sword. He merely looked at her, this goddess who had chosen to yield not to a god, but to a mortal who refused to be anything less than just.

"You were worthy," Jaune said at last. His voice cracked, but his tone was clear. "I never fought you to win. I fought because I had to."

Monica smiled again. Faint. Beautiful.

"Say nothing more," she said. "Words are for the living."

She looked upward, to the fire-touched sky where her kind once ruled.

"But remember this..."

Her body began to fracture at the seams. Shards of divine light peeled away from her skin like burning paper. She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She simply accepted the end with the same grace she had once marched into war.

"When the stars realign... when the gods rise again... when the world cries for warriors once more..."

Her eyes met his for the last time. They held no regret. Only hope.

"I hope to meet you again. Blade to blade. Not as enemies."

She exhaled, her last breath carried by wind and flame.

"But as equals."

With that final whisper, Monica's form dissolved completely. Golden ash swirled upward, caught in invisible currents that carried her essence back to the heavens. Her sword remained behind, humming softly with residual power, now silent. Now still.

Only Jaune remained.

Kneeling.

Breathing.

Remembering.

He rose slowly.

The battlefield around him was quiet now. The fire in the sky began to fade. Only drifting ash remained.

He looked down at her blade, then raised his eyes to the heavens.

"I'll see you again," he whispered.

"And I'll be ready."

And somewhere, beyond the veil, among the ruins of the divine... the last general of heaven smiled.

Not in grief.

But in hope

____________________

The world had gone black.

Not silent, not still but black. A shifting, writhing ocean of shadow loomed in every direction. The stars had been swallowed, the ground forgotten. For anyone else, this void would have been suffocating.

But not for Jaune Arc.

He stood at the heart of the abyss, his cloak torn, his armor scorched. Around him, flickers of gold and red embers of the flame within held the darkness at bay. Ashen Oath was planted firmly in the shifting stone beneath his feet, glowing with faint divine fire.

And before him...

Rose Nocturon.

The Masked Sovereign of Shadow, tall and robed in darkness, his form constantly shifting between noble god and shifting phantom. Behind his mask, his eyes glowed a cold violet. His voice echoed like whispers from a thousand deceivers.

"You are defiant... for a mortal," Nocturon hissed. "Even as my shadows tore through your soul, you stood."

Jaune didn't speak. He simply stepped forward.

And the darkness recoiled from his presence.

Nocturon raised a hand, cloaked in shadow, as tendrils rose to strike. But this time, Jaune swung his sword, and the black flame of Nigrum Ignis Draconem burned the tendrils to nothing.

He stepped again.

From his back, two wings of radiant gold and crimson spread wide. The light of Solara's Phoenix Authority flared.

"You are not just a god-slayer," Nocturon muttered, staring at Jaune. "You are fire. You are light. You are... conviction."

He lowered his hand.

"And I... am hollow."

The shadows began to fall away. Nocturon's divine armor cracked, revealing a frame that was once proud, now weary, worn by centuries of manipulation and silence.

"I built a world from whispers. I ruled through silence. Control was my breath, my belief, my truth..." He looked up at the light pulsing from Jaune's soul. "But you are the opposite of everything I am."

"Your fire... it never wavered." "Even when betrayal gutted you. Even when gods towered over you. Even when the world turned away."

The darkness collapsed around them like dying stars.

"I have bested gods of flame, steel, and soul. But you..." He smiled faintly behind the mask. "You burned my very purpose."

Nocturon fell to one knee.

"And that, Campione... I accept," Nocturon said with pride.

With a slow breath, he removed his mask, revealing a face pale and empty, yet peaceful, for the first time in millennia.

"I lived for control. But in losing it to you, I am finally free."

He stood one last time, placing his hand over his fading core.

"Take my Authority not to conquer minds... but to guard truth in shadow," Nocturon said as he glowed. "Let the darkness you wield never control you... as it once did me."

As his body dissolved into a spiral of mist and obsidian ash, Jaune watched, unwavering.

"May your fire burn clean, Sovereign. May your shadow never consume you."

And with a final bow, Nocturon was gone.

Jaune stood alone in the void, the remnants of Nocturon's essence swirling around him. The shadows no longer pressed in with malice but danced gently, as if acknowledging their new master.

He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the new Authority settle within him. It was not a burden, but a responsibility a promise to use the shadows not to deceive, but to reveal; not to control, but to protect.

Opening his eyes, Jaune looked into the darkness, now a canvas upon which he could paint light. With a deep breath, he stepped forward, the shadows parting before him, guiding his path.

He walked not as a conqueror, but as a guardian a beacon in the abyss, carrying the legacy of those he had faced and the lessons they had imparted.

And so, Jaune Arc moved forward, his fire tempered by wisdom, his strength guided by compassion, and his path illuminated by the very shadows he now commanded.

_____________________________

Silence.

No flame. No roar. No sword clash.

Only the turning of a single page. Its echo thundered through a realm where sound did not belong.

The Library of Mnireya was not built, but woven. Each step echoed across a floor of forgotten prayers. Each breath stirred whispers from books that had not been opened in a thousand ages. Columns of pure light held up a ceiling of drifting constellations, stars still being born above shelves older than creation.

Scrolls floated lazily through the air, drifting like fireflies on windless breezes. Books opened and closed themselves without touch. The air smelled of ink and dust, of candle smoke and the ozone of pure memory. Languages long dead hummed through the floor in forgotten hymns. Wisdom was not stored here. It lived.

And in the center of it all stood Jaune Arc.

His body was battered. His armor, faded and dented. Blood dried at the corner of his mouth, and the faint glow of his aura shimmered inconsistently, like a lantern almost spent. Ashen Oath was in his hand, but the blade had not been used.

Because this battle had never been about strength.

It was memory. Emotion. Logic. Pain. Philosophy. Self-doubt. Faith.

And truth.

He had stood in silence for what felt like years, facing the illusions of a life fractured. Versions of himself where he had failed to save Pyrrha. Where Weiss had never forgiven him. Where he never became a Campione. He had relived every betrayal, every hesitation, every doubt. The questions were endless.

"Why did you think you were worthy?"

"Why do you fight for people who left you behind?"

"Who are you without your sword?"

He had screamed. He had fallen. He had begged.

And then he stood again.

Because no truth, no illusion, no pain could erase the fire he carried inside. The belief that no matter how much he faltered, he could still move forward. Still protect someone. Still matter.

And now, across from him, stood the goddess who had orchestrated it all.

Mnireya, the Goddess of Wisdom.

She floated a few feet above the floor, wrapped in flowing robes made of parchment and glowing ink. Her silver eyes shimmered with galaxies, each blink revealing a different constellation. Her long hair, dark and endless, trailed with runes that shifted and changed with every breath, drifting like smoke through starlight.

She was not armed. She never had been.

And yet her presence pressed down heavier than any sword or flame he had ever faced.

She closed her book. The last page turned itself, revealing a blank sheet, and the echo of that moment stilled the entire library.

"You have passed," she said at last.

Her voice was not cold, not cruel. It was contemplative. The voice of someone awakening from a thought that had lasted an eternity.

"You solved my riddles. You endured the memories you wished to forget. You saw through the illusions. And even when the truth hurt... you did not turn away."

She descended slowly, her bare feet now touching the ancient floor lined with impossible texts and forgotten wisdom. Her form was more solid now, more grounded, as if the trial had anchored her spirit as much as his.

"Jaune Arc," she said, her voice growing gentler, "I have watched you. I believed you were another fire-bearer. Another reckless slayer who would burn through wisdom to seize power. Another Campione who would silence knowledge for glory."

She paused, her eyes piercing into his soul.

"But you... you sought understanding."

"You wanted not to win. You wanted to learn."

Jaune dropped to one knee.

Not as a servant.

But out of respect.

His sword tip tapped the ground. His hand opened. His breath was quiet.

"I didn't want to destroy you," he said, his voice hoarse. "I wanted to earn it."

"I wanted to deserve it."

Mnireya regarded him with something close to tenderness.

"Few come here seeking worth," she said. "Most come demanding answers. Demanding proof. Demanding right."

"You asked not what... but why."

"That is the mark of a true mind."

Her hands rose.

From above, the shelves stirred. Books began to shift. Scrolls whispered. Symbols in ancient languages shimmered and came alive. Dozens of glowing tomes floated down from above, each trailing divine light and soft echoes of knowledge long silenced.

They circled Jaune slowly. They did not land. They passed through him. Into him. Symbols pressing gently into his chest, golden letters slipping into his veins, his aura, his soul.

He gasped as one touched his forehead. Visions poured in. The shape of thoughts. The structure of language. The weight of decisions made in ages long past. He saw the invention of mathematics. The collapse of empires. The heartbreak of a scholar who burned her final book to keep a child warm.

He saw his own life from above. From below. From the perspective of those who had wronged him. And those he had wronged.

He did not fall.

He accepted.

Mnireya lowered her hands.

"With this, you gain the Veil of Mnemosyne," she said. "The eyes that see what others cannot. The memory that spans lifetimes. The mind that walks between gods and mortals alike."

"But remember this..."

She stepped closer, and now her gaze was heavy.

"Knowledge without compassion is ruin."

"Wisdom without humility is tyranny."

"Carry my Authority not as a crown, but as a mirror."

"To reflect. To remember. To question."

Her voice trembled then, and Jaune, still kneeling, lifted his head.

Mnireya's form was beginning to dissolve.

Not like death. Like completion. As if her presence had fulfilled its final truth, and she could finally rest.

"You are not the first Campione to seek me, Jaune Arc," she said quietly. "But you are the first I respected."

"You bled not from wounds, but from doubt. And still, you stood."

"I accept my defeat. With grace. And with gratitude."

She placed a single hand to her chest.

"I was made to protect wisdom. To guard knowledge from the unworthy."

Her eyes shimmered once more.

"But perhaps... knowledge is meant to be shared. Even with those who suffer."

She smiled.

Her final smile was not divine. Not distant.

It was human.

Soft. Peaceful. Free.

"May your fire be tempered by thought."

"And may your thoughts be ignited by purpose."

Then, like a page caught in wind, her form began to unravel.

Her robes turned to parchment.

Her hair to glowing ink.

Her skin to drifting runes.

Her essence scattered across the library, becoming the words she once spoke, the thoughts she once shielded, and the truths she once held too tightly.

Only the silence remained.

And the stillness.

And Jaune.

Jaune rose slowly.

The books that had once circled him now rested on nearby shelves, glowing faintly, pulsing as if acknowledging their new bearer.

He looked around the endless library.

Nothing stirred. And yet... he felt her still.

In the quiet. In the structure of his thoughts. In the gentle correction of a flawed idea. In the question he did not yet know how to ask.

He turned, facing the exit. A path opened before him, lined with floating words and shimmering phrases from thousands of languages.

He took one last look at the place where Mnireya had stood.

Then he bowed his head.

"Thank you."

And walked forward.

Not just as a Campione.

But as a seeker of truth.

A guardian of thought.

A bearer of the light that does not burn.

But reveals.

___________

It was cold.

Not the kind of cold that bites the skin, but the kind that erases, that buries memories beneath layers of frost, stills hearts, and silences the soul. It was the stillness that came before the first breath of life, the hush that came after the final one. Here, time itself felt suspended, frozen in the breath of a world that chose not to exhale.

Jaune Arc stood at the center of that silence.

A vast sanctum of ice and crystal stretched endlessly around him, a cathedral sculpted by creation's earliest sigh. Glacial mirrors towered like spires to a sky long forgotten, refracting fractured images of himself. A warrior cloaked in gold, crimson, and sorrow. The air shimmered with suspended snowflakes that refused to fall, as if waiting for permission from a god who no longer ruled.

Life here did not die.

It simply never began.

And before him, looming like a divine monument to both beauty and fear, was Velystra, the Dragon of Eternal Ice, the Cradle of Stillborn Stars. Her body was a masterpiece of flawless crystal scales, every inch of her crafted from silence and frozen starlight. Her wings stretched wide, composed of drifting auroras and divine frost that painted the void in shimmering hues of blue and violet.

Her breath once summoned glaciers.
Her voice had once spoken the first word that willed life into motion.

But now, she stood fractured.

Cracks split her perfect form like spiderwebs across stained glass. One of her great horns was shattered. Her wings drooped like wilting banners. From her ribs bled streams of divine frostlight, the essence of creation itself. Wounds that Jaune had made.

Their battle had not been loud.

It had been a storm of opposites. Fire against frost. Light against stillness. Evolution against preservation. Every clash was a question. Every strike, a challenge not to Velystra's strength, but her purpose.

And now it was over.

Jaune stood with his sword, Ashen Oath, lowered. Its edge flickered with golden flame, radiant snowlight, and the whispers of the Authorities he bore. He was not triumphant. He was breathing hard. His shoulders were heavy, not with pain, but with the weight of her sorrow.

Velystra, the Eternal Cradle, lowered her head slowly. Her enormous eyes, like twin moons, vast and mournful, looked upon him not with hate.

But with awe.

"You... burned through me," she whispered, her voice not trembling from rage, but revelation.

"With flame that didn't rage, but warmed. With light that didn't blind, but revealed. With wisdom that did not command, but understood."

Snow began to fall.

Real snow.

Not frozen memories or suspended time, but the kind that carried weight. It landed softly on Jaune's pauldrons, melting instantly against his radiant warmth. A warmth not born of conquest, but of care.

Velystra gazed down at him, her massive body trembling with the effort to remain standing.

"You... Jaune Arc... are everything I once hoped creation would become."

She lowered her head completely. Not in shame. Not in submission.

But in acceptance.

"I see now... my stillness was not preservation. It was fear. Fear that the world would forget beauty. That time would twist my children into monsters."

She blinked slowly. Snowflakes traced her crystal lashes.

"And here you stand. Godslayer. Flamebearer. Healer."

She exhaled. Not a freezing wind, but a blessing, a sigh of surrender and serenity.

And then, like falling snow meeting morning light, Velystra vanished. Her form unraveled into a spiral of shimmering frost and celestial aurora, which coiled around Jaune's chest and sank into his core."You are my son... if not by blood, then by soul." Velystra said with motherly loveHer lips curled into a soft, radiant smile. The first since the dawn.

"You are the greatest gift I was never given."

Velystra's body began to break apart. Not violently, but gracefully. Like a glass sculpture returning to light, her limbs dissolved into frostlight and drifting aurorae.

She spoke again, her voice filled with maternal love.

"I leave you my Authority, Jaune Arc. Not as a weapon, but as a cradle."

"Protect the weak. Preserve wonder. Birth new hope into this world."

Her luminous eyes never left him.

"I know you have a human mother, your second mother is pandora,but to me you  are my son Campione whether you acknowledge or not"

She smiled one last time.

"And I am proud."

And then, like falling snow meeting morning light Velystra vanished, her divine form unraveling into a glowing spiral of frost and shimmering aurora that wrapped around Jaune's chest.

The warmth and weight of her farewell settled in his spirit.

Jaune stood, surrounded by falling snow and glimmering frostlight, a single tear freezing on his cheek.

He whispered to the sky:

"Thank you... mother."

And somewhere, deep within his soul he felt her smile again

____

The battlefield was still.

The final clash had ended. Flame against steel. Light against vow. Now, only ash and silence remained.

What had once been a fortress of sacred resolve was no more. The shattered citadel, a temple devoted to eternal oaths and divine order, stood in ruin. Walls that had stood for millennia now lay in broken heaps. Pillars of white stone had been scorched black by divine fire. Runes of protection once etched into marble glowed faintly before flickering out for the last time. Its great banners, marked with the symbols of guardians past, had burned to cinders. Hallowed halls, which had echoed with the prayers of the faithful and the war chants of divine sentinels, now spoke only in the hush of memory.

And in the center of it all, a lone figure stood.

Jaune Arc.

Ashen Oath was planted into the ground before him, scorched into the fractured stone. His armor was dented and torn, scorched by sacred heat and dulled by endless strikes. One shoulder pauldron hung half-broken, and his blue mantle was in tatters, stained with ash and streaks of blood. His gauntlets trembled faintly, not with fear, but with exhaustion. And yet, even in that battered state, his presence radiated strength.

Flickers of light danced around him, the remnants of his god-forged Authorities. The burning wings of the Phoenix of Light shimmered faintly behind his shoulders. Threads of dark fire from Nigrum Ignis Draconem coiled around his boots, still crackling as they cooled. Symbols of wisdom from Mnemosyne's Authority hovered in spectral rings, now dim, but ever-watchful.

They circled him quietly, like tired soldiers at rest.

Before him, on his knees, knelt a giant of iron and oath.

Sir Eidolron, the Heretic God of Guardianship, had fallen. His great armor, once a flawless masterpiece of silver, steel, and divine sigils, was shattered in half a dozen places. His once-pristine cape, the banner of countless wars waged for the divine, lay in the dust beside him. His massive greatsword, carved with the crests of the gods he once served, had broken in the final clash. Its blade lay in fragments across the battlefield. His towering shield, the same that had withstood the wrath of gods, was cracked in half and thrust into the earth like a fallen standard.

The guardian of the heavens, the eternal sentinel of divine law, had been defeated.

But there was no shame in him.

He had not spoken during their entire battle. No threats. No boasts. Only silence. Each clash of steel had been a conversation. Each blow exchanged had carried the weight of meaning far beyond words.

Now, battered and dying, he raised his head.

His helm fell away with a soft clang, revealing a face weathered not by age, but by burden. His eyes were heavy, not with pain, but with years of memory. They were the eyes of a being who had seen kingdoms rise and fall, who had watched the noble turn cruel and the faithful abandon their vows. They were eyes that had once burned with purpose but now dimmed with clarity.

And still, he looked at Jaune Arc with peace.

Jaune lowered his gaze. His voice was quiet, trembling not from weakness, but from respect.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm not a god. I'm not holy. I'm just a Campione. A slayer."

Eidolron was silent for a long moment. The wind stirred. Ash drifted like snow. Cracked walls groaned around them as divine energy slowly dissipated.

Then, finally... Eidolron smiled.

It was small. But real.

"I know what you are," he said, his voice deep like the echo of a war drum in an empty cathedral. But there was no anger. Only acceptance.

"You were never a god. And that... is why you won."

Jaune blinked. His heart beat once, slow and heavy. There was no triumph in his stance. Only a weight pressing down on his shoulders. The battle had ended, but the burden had not.

Eidolron placed one hand on the ground and began to push himself upright. He knelt, not in collapse, but in choice. His broken armor groaned as he shifted. Shards of steel fell from his shoulders like autumn leaves falling from a dying tree.

"I was forged to protect the divine," Eidolron said, his voice steady, even as his body crumbled. "Told that Campione were monsters. Beasts. Slayers of the sacred. Eaters of gods. Tools of destruction with no honor."

"And yet..."

He looked not at Jaune's blade. Not at his flame. Not at the divine symbols orbiting him.

He looked at Jaune's eyes.

"You were betrayed," he said, his tone quiet but unwavering. "Humiliated. Abandoned by those you trusted most."

Jaune remained silent, but his jaw clenched. The memories surged unbidden. Weiss. Pyrrha. Neptune. Alister. The people who should have stood beside him, who turned instead. Who lied. Who broke what they swore to protect.

"And still," Eidolron continued, "you did not seek to rule. You did not seek to raze the world in vengeance. You did not build a throne from ashes. You did not burn for dominion. You burned to protect."

The god's voice softened, warmed by reverence.

"A demon... with the heart of a knight."

Eidolron's head dipped ever so slightly.

"Despite being a Campione, and all the arrogance that name carries... you showed a heart of gold."

"You are more of a knight than the gods I once served."

His lips curled upward, not with irony, but something deeper. A smile of sorrow. Of joy. Of peace.

And then, slowly, with every ounce of strength he had left, Sir Eidolron bowed.

His back bent forward. His head dipped low. A god bowing not out of submission, but respect. A warrior kneeling not before a tyrant, but before a sovereign of purpose.

"Jaune Arc," he said, voice breaking. "I see you now, not as a slayer, but as a sovereign of duty."

He lifted his gaze once more, locking eyes with the Campione.

"Take my Authority. Not as a weapon. But as an oath."

The wind picked up. The flames behind Jaune flared one last time. From Eidolron's cracked chest, a pale silver light began to rise. It swirled upward, like the smoke of a burned banner. It was not hot. It was not bright. But it pulsed with something deeper than power.

Purpose.

"Protect them all," Eidolron said. "The weak. The wounded. The forgotten. The ones like you used to be."

The light circled Jaune's body. It drifted into his chest, embedding itself deep within his soul. The cracked halos around him pulsed, realigned, and reshaped. His armor straightened. His heart steadied.

And then, with his final breath, Eidolron closed his eyes.

A weary smile lingered on his face.

"I hope I see you again..." he whispered.

"...when the banners rise once more."

And then he was gone.

His body faded not in agony, but with grace. His armor crumbled to dust. His sword shattered into light. His shield melted into the ground like a candle offering its last flame.

Only silence remained.

___________

The ground trembled beneath the clash of titans.

Fissures spread like lightning through the divine arena, a place not forged but carved into the bones of a dying star. Pillars of light and obsidian spiraled into the sky, now fractured, crumbling. Molten rivers spilled from ruptured channels, lighting the earth in hues of red and gold. Stone and stardust rose in the air like suspended debris caught between time and divinity.

The sky overhead wept shards of falling constellations. The roar of gods echoed in the distance, fading slowly as one by one their voices fell silent.

And at the center of it all stood Jaune Arc.

His cloak was shredded, barely clinging to his shoulders. His armor was cracked and burnt, seams leaking blood and light. Across his brow, dried crimson marked a trail from an unseen wound. One leg trembled, his stance unsteady, yet he did not fall. There was no arrogance in his posture. No glory. Only the unshakable resolve of a man who had refused to break.

His sword, Ashen Oath, was buried deep into the pulsing heart of Gravos, the God of Strength.

The war titan knelt before him. A towering mass of divine muscle and burning power, once crowned in volcanic iron and haloed with celestial fire. Now, that fire dimmed. Cracks spread through his bronze-like skin, glowing with dying embers. His blood, thick as molten bronze, spilled from his chest in glowing rings, searing into the blackened floor beneath him.

Even on his knees, Gravos was a giant. His presence still held weight enough to make the air shudder.

But his eyes those eyes forged in war, sharpened by centuries of conquest and sacrifice no longer held fury.

They held disbelief.

"How...?" Gravos rasped, his voice like mountains splitting open. It trembled through the ground, shaking stone and soul alike. "How can a mortal... still stand... with all the weight you carry?"

His gaze dropped to the blade in his chest, still glowing with Jaune's will. Not a blade of vengeance, but of promise.

"You've been betrayed," he continued, more quietly. His voice grew gentler, like an old drum finally falling silent. "Scorned. Torn from love. Dragged through pain. Cursed by the very gods you now slay."

He inhaled slowly. Smoke drifted from his lips.

"Why? Why keep fighting, Godslayer? What drives you when everything has been stripped away?"

Jaune did not answer immediately.

He stepped forward. The ground beneath his boots cracked further, but he did not waver. He reached out with one trembling hand, placing it firmly on the hilt of his sword, steadying the steel and the weight of all that it represented.

His voice came at last. Soft. Steady. Unflinching.

"To protect the girls who still believe in me."

He raised his head, looking Gravos in the eye, his expression unreadable but filled with quiet fire.

"To shield the ones who gave me their hearts, their trust... and still see me as something more than a weapon."

His voice grew stronger.

"I fight for the people I love."

"For the ones I couldn't protect before..."

He paused, chest rising slowly.

"And the ones I still can."

The arena held its breath.

Even the broken stars above seemed to pause in their fall.

And then, the war god laughed.

Not a cruel laugh. Not one of mockery.

A real laugh.

Deep. Soft. Full of a thousand years of weight being let go.

Gravos, who had crushed mountains. Who had broken gods. Who had wrestled storms and shattered celestial beasts.

Gravos, who had once held the world on his shoulders like a test of pride.

He smiled.

"So even with your soul scarred," he said, "you stand taller than any god I've known."

He lifted a massive hand, slow and deliberate, and grasped Jaune's wrist. Not in resistance. But in recognition.

His fingers were trembling.

"You are not a king by title. Not a god by right."

He breathed again, slower now.

"But you... are the strongest man I have ever faced."

His voice dropped to a whisper, just loud enough to shake the flame of the divine forge beneath them.

"I see it now. You are not carrying power."

"You're carrying purpose."

Jaune didn't speak. He simply listened, his breath caught in his throat. Because these words did not come from arrogance, or pity. They came from one who understood what it meant to bear something more than strength.

Gravos' body began to fade.

Not in pain.

Like a mountain letting go of its last snowfall.

His arms lowered to his sides, his head slowly tilting back to look up at the cracked ceiling of the celestial arena. His divine frame, once glowing with wrath, began to peel away in gentle flakes of starlight and ember.

"Then take my strength, Jaune Arc..."

"Not for domination. Not for pride. But for protection."

The wind shifted.

Molten light rose from the god's chest like a reverse meteor, spiraling upward then coiling around Jaune's shoulders like a mantle. It burned with an ancient energy. A divine fire of weight, not destruction. A symbol of burden, not glory.

"Let your strength lift the world."

"Let your back bear burdens no one else dares carry."

He coughed once. A sharp burst of heat bled from his lips and vanished into the air.

"And when others fall, when gods fail, when the stars fade..."

"Let your heart be the Pillar that never falls."

The light swirled tighter, funneling into Jaune's chest. It sank into his core. His knees buckled slightly as the power filled him. Not violently. But heavily. As though a forgotten mountain had been placed on his back, and he chose not to collapse beneath it.

Gravos looked up at him one final time.

"You are the forge now," he said. "You are the weight. You are the shield the world forgot it needed."

And with that, his hand fell limp.

His chest stilled.

And Gravos, the God of Strength, the final bastion of divine endurance, the titan who bore the sky itself, faded into ash and golden mist. His form dispersed into tiny motes of light, each flickering like a dying star before merging into the still air.

Only Jaune remained.

On one knee.

Breathing.

Holding the memory of a god who had once carried the world.

____

Opening

https://youtu.be/uFDkYBKUc3Y

A black sky cracks open, stars falling like tears.

A single black feather with a glowing gold core floats down.

Rias walks alone through a crimson-lit cathedral, her wings hidden beneath a cloak.

Ei stands on a cliff above a thunderstorm, hair and ribbons whipping in the wind.

Elena sits beneath a tree in a glowing meadow, staring into a broken mirror.

❝ I've been walking down this road of dreams
Where hope and pain collide in between ❞

Velgrynd flies through a volcanic sky, wings ablaze, fire trailing behind her smile.

Velzard walks through a frozen battlefield, her hand brushing over a shattered throne.

Scáthach spars alone in a dark realm, spears striking echoes of herself.

Himeko stands atop a ruined wall, the wind catching her cloak as sunlight pierces clouds.

❝ Through the scars and silent cries
I still chase the morning light ❞

Jaune Arc, alone, staring at a glowing sword fragment in his hand.

Memories flash: Pyrrha's smile. Weiss turning away. His team fading into shadow.

Flames erupt around him but are steadied by a golden hand reaching out: Rias.

❝ Lost in the dark
Still I reach through the ache
Even if the world forgets my name ❞

Jaune and all seven heroines appear together, facing outward in a protective circle.
The battlefield behind them is cracked between light and shadow.

❝ We rise, we fall, but we shine
Through every tear, we still climb
Hearts broken, still aligned
Burning through the night ❞

Cut to:

Jaune leaps into the sky with flaming wings.

Velgrynd & Velzard, back-to-back, unleash fire and ice.

Scáthach and Ei strike down shadow creatures in tandem.

Elena uses healing magic to protect civilians as Himeko cuts down enemies before they reach her.

❝ This love, this pain, this fight
It makes our bond ignite
Together we survive
Our everlasting shine ❞

Jaune & each heroine, one-on-one moments

Jaune walks beside Rias, hand-in-hand in a ruined sanctuary lit by red petals.

Elena smiles tearfully as he places his hand on her shoulder in a field of memory spirits.

Velzard and Jaune sit in silence on a snowy ledge overlooking the stars.

Scáthach trains Jaune, both smiling—until they spar with fiery grace.

Himeko drinks tea with him beside a campfire, resting her head on his shoulder.

Ei watches lightning dance in his palm, her eyes soft with understanding.

Velgrynd clutches him in midair after battle, smiling fiercely through tears.

❝ And even if we break, even if we fall
You were the reason I stood at all ❞

All seven heroines launch into the sky together, forming a radiant crest of flame, frost, light, and lightning.

❝ We rise, we fall, but we shine
Through every tear, we still climb
Hearts broken, still aligned
Burning through the night ❞

Jaune draws Ashen Oath, now blazing with every Authority.

His aura ignites into a crown of light and shadow combined.

❝ This love, this pain, this fight
It makes our bond ignite
Together we survive
Our everlasting shine ❞

The war fades.

All of them rest beneath a cherry blossom tree on a quiet hill.

Jaune sits beneath it, Rias resting against him, the others nearby, peaceful.

A single black feather with a gold core drifts by and lands softly in Jaune's palm.

❝ We still shine...
Our everlasting shine.

New Authorites he gained

King's Legacy]: An authority obtained from Gilgamesh allows Jaune to access Gilgamesh's treasury and use it as his own and due to Jaune's talent in tactics and strategy

The Chains of Heaven: As a secondary ability, Jaune can utilize Enkidu, the Chains of Heaven, to restrain his opponents. If he possesses sufficient knowledge of a god and their Authority, he can use the chains to temporarily seal that Authority. This power stems from Gilgamesh's treasury, to which Jaune has limited access. However, while Enkidu is active, Jaune is unable to summon any other weapons or artifacts from the treasury.

Gate of Babylon: This primary ability grants Jaune access to the vast wealth and legendary armaments within Gilgamesh's treasury. While many of these treasures can be launched as projectiles, the Gate of Babylon is not optimized for sustained, close-quarters combat, and is best used for ranged engagement and utility.