This is an update of this chapter. It is basically identical to the first draft, but I added a paragraph. The main point is the AN.

This is the prologue. It will influence heavily the rest of the story, but it has a different writing style too. It is mostly just for information. I just felt like the initial draft of Ch1 was not really good, and pushed people away from this story.

Now, let me tell you, if you're new: this is not an OP!Jaune story. I hate those. He will be strong, but no stronger than many others. He will get stronger later on, but this power won't come freely. This is not a UnderPowered!Jaune story, either, though. His main strength will be in his physical stamina, and his ridiculous amount of Aura.

Before you scoff and look away, thinking 'just another superJaune story', please consider at least what I just said. It is appalling how this story has less followers than Demonic Redemption, since this is both better and longer, but now that I think of it, maybe it's because this story's first chapter turns people away. So, I'm just telling you not to judge the story just by the first chapter.

If I'm wrong and you still hate this story after reading the chapter, my bad.

A nine-year-old Jaune Arc was sitting outside the door, waiting for his parents. His mother had just returned from a journey to Atlas she had to do for work, and his father John Arc had decided to, for once, drive her home instead of making her take a taxi.

Finally, his father's grey car arrived and parked in the usual parking lot in front of the house. The child smiled. One of the perks of living far away from any city or town was that they had their own parking lots, allowing them to invite many guests at the same time. From the car a tall man climbed out, with a slight resemblance to the child: apparently, the young Jaune Arc had taken more after his mother.

His father had black hair just as messy as his son's, and penetrant green eyes now obscured by stress and sorrow. He walked out of the car like a zombie, passing by the child without a word.

"Dad, where's Mom?", asked Jaune, following behind him. The man didn't answer. "Dad? Where's-".

The child was cut short as the man suddenly turned and slapped him hard across the face, sending him tumbling to the ground, tears of pain ready to drip form his eyes. "She's dead! She's nowhere!", he shouted at the terrified child. "The Bullhead crashed! She's dead and she's not coming back! Ever!".

John Arc then stormed to his room, leaving a frightened child behind him and seven little girls peeking into the room from the stairs, curious as to why their dad had just lashed out like that. He never hit them. Not even to punish them for misbehaving.

Jaune Arc looked at them and dried his tears. Dad wasn't going to come out of his room for a good while, and given the mood he was in, that was probably for the best. But someone had to break the news to his sisters. They had the right to know.

John Arc stayed in his room for a week, eating what Jaune brought to his door every day. When he finally exited the room, he stank of alcohol and dirt. He exited the house without a word and took the car to drive to the town. The eight Arc siblings sighed in relief at that, and continued with their usual routines. Jaune Arc had to take over the role of both his parents since his mother was dead and his father refused to exit his room. Even if he was still mourning his mother, he couldn't let the family fall apart because of that. His mother wouldn't have wanted that. The Arcs were fairly wealthy, not rich but surely not poor. Apart from cleaning the house, cooking, and playing with his sisters, Jaune decided to try and cultivate the fields around his house, that were technically property of the Arc family, even if they had never been used.

But when their father returned, they had a very nasty surprise.

John Arc stumbled into the room, drunk like never before, and Jade Arc, one of the youngest girls at the age of five, actually made the mistake to try and greet him with a hug. The man, having drunk his brain away, replied by grabbing her hair and hurling her across the room to crash into Jane, seven years old. As everyone cowered, he growled and stormed over to the two terrified girls, but something put itself between him and the girls.

Something called Jaune Arc.

"Stop!", he shouted, trying to get the man to regain his mind. "Dad, please, stop! Pl-". He was cut off as the man backhandedly smacked him across the face, sending him to the ground. The young boy only had the time to shout "Run! Hide! Go!" to his sisters before a kick hit his ribs, robbing him of all his air.

His screams didn't last long, turning first into pained groans and gasps, and then into silence.

A few hours later, a heavily bruised Jaune was making dinner for everyone. His sisters were gathered around him, worried.

"Is dad angry at us?", asked Jean, Jane's twin sister.

"No, Jean, he isn't", smiled Jaune, or at least his lips stretched up. "He's just mourning Mom. Of all of us, he was the one who knew her for longer. One day he'll be back who he was, and he will still love us".

"Are you sure?", asked Jinn, five years old and third in the triplet Jade Jay Jinn.

Jaune lost his smile and looked down at the pasta he was cooking. "Set up the table", he said, shamelessly changing subject. "Dinner's almost ready".

Several years later, the situation hadn't changed.

Jaune, now thirteen, stood in the middle of the living room, a now nine-year-old Jade sleeping with her head on his lap. He was frowning at a piece of paper he was holding in his right hand, while in his left he held the monthly bill. All over his body, uncountable bruises and cuts littered his skin, courtesy of his father. While the man had never been able to touch one of the Arc daughters for years, Jaune had taken all the hits that would've gone to his sisters. He had never wavered, not even when the pain became too much to even scream. Every time, he only had to look at the sister he was standing in front of, protecting her from the hits, and his resolve would come back untouched. But the paper in front of him was beating him in a subtler, but no less brutal, way than his father.

"It's not enough", he finally stated, careful not to wake the girl up. She had had nightmares that night so it was only fair for him to let her sleep in the afternoon. And since none of his sisters was able to sleep without him, he had to be there too. Luckily, he had to do some counts, so it was fine. Unluckily, those counts had revealed him that the Arc family had been in constant loss of wealth ever since the death of his mother. That was understandable, but he had hoped to have a bit more time before their money ran dry. Apparently, his father spent on alcohol a lot more than he had imagined. He had hoped it to last at least three more years, thirty months actually, until he could work at a shop in the city. Give a hand in unloading the new stocks. But now? Every single shop owner in the town had told him they'd take him only at sixteen.

He'd have to improvise. He couldn't do it illegally, since even his previous deals with the shop owners was illegal. He'd have to do something even more illegal. Fortunately, he already knew what would be able to support the family enough for him to reach the age in which he would be able to work. Unfortunately, he knew he would hate that job, and he knew he would need to keep it a secret from his sisters. He just hoped nobody ever found out. There was only one thing that was worse than being the disgraced son of a drunken former Huntsman, who was rumoured to have an ongoing incestuous relationship, a false rumour by the way, with all his sisters? Exactly what he was going to do.

Selling themselves for money.

And so he did.

Now, he did not become a straight-out prostitute, but he offered himself for any kind of jobs, from moving things to splitting wood. Of course, though, the best-paying jobs were the sexual-related ones, and they usually became regular after a while.

Some say that, with time, you get used to it and it becomes less horrid of a job, but for Jaune it didn't. He took every sort of customers, from the sadists to the extremely normal, earning just enough money to sustain the family. And even after almost three years of basically continuous slavery, he couldn't help but feel disgusted by his customers every time.

It never got less horrid. He just got used to it.

His sisters never found out, thankfully. He wouldn't have been able to withstand their shocked and disgusted expressions. But thanks to his efforts, his sisters had grown into intelligent and beautiful girls. His younger sister Jane, now fifteen, looked like an authentic angel. His little Arc Angel, he called her.

But, just like all things, even that period of relative peace ended.

It ended with his father finding out about his less-than-respectable job, and insulting him in front of everyone in the town square. The town citizens, who feigned innocence as they threw insults at him, were vicious in their harsh judgement. But worst of all in front of his sisters, who were shocked by the news, even more so when the truth was forced out of him, letting them know he had been prostituting himself for the last three years.

But, instead of hating him and being disgusted by him like he'd expected, they dragged him away and made him swear he wouldn't sell himself ever again. He had promised not to, unless in a dire situation. It had been the best they had gotten out of him. Left without prostitution to earn money, he turned to even shadier deals.

After all, illegal deals are way more profitable than legal ones.

He had never promised not to subject himself to scientific experiments. So he used those to earn the necessary money. His father was even drunker than usual, and someone needed to earn some money. If the legal world was giving him the cold shoulder for what he had done in his desperation, he would turn to the illegal world. He contacted a famous criminal in Vale, a certain Roman Torchwick, with the false name Archangel, to get in contact with a few scientists who needed subjects for their riskier experiments.

Somehow, by sheer willpower, great stamina or pure luck, he managed to survive six months of beatings from his father, who even while drunk was still a Huntsman, and dangerous scientific experiments by mad scientists. But every sun will, one day, be clouded over.

It only took him one particularly twisted experiment by a doctor called Arthur Watts.

The experiment had been a failure. The Grimm essence infusion Doctor Watts had injected him had hurt like hell and, for the first time in five years, he had screamed in agony, every nerve in his body set aflame by the monstrous substance as his organism tried to get rid of that poison. Watts had injected vial after vial to make sure his body couldn't fight it off, but even then the experiment failed.

He was still utterly human.

Watts had refused to pay him and instead had kicked him out, revealing himself to be a Huntsman. When Jaune had returned home, he was exhausted, and had made the mistake to fall asleep before John did. In his defence, it was more correct to say he lost consciousness as soon as his body touched the couch. He woke up to a sound he hadn't heard in seven years. He woke up to the terrified silence occasionally broken by sobs only heard when John beat one of his sisters.

His sisters were in danger.

He jumped to his feet and ran into the living room, from where the sobs came. There, all his sisters were gathered around a figure on the ground, in the middle of a small pool of blood.

His blood froze.

He dashed to the figure. It was Jinn. The smallest, most innocent, most defenceless of them all. He touched her cheek. She was cold. Terrified, he pressed a hand to her chest and one to her neck, searching for a pulse. He sighed in relief when he found one, weak but steady. His relief slowly but steadily turned into rage. He picked her up and brought her to the bathroom, washing the blood away and checking her wounds. With a little luck, she would be okay. Also, she didn't seem to have suffered internal haemorrhage nor mental trauma. He brought her to their room and told them all to stay there no matter what. Even if they heard screams.

Then he exited the room to face the man who had beaten an innocent twelve-year-old little girl to an inch of her life.

John Arc was, as usual, drinking his brain away in his room, when the door was kicked out of its hinges to reveal Jaune Arc on the threshold.

Only that he wasn't Jaune Arc any more.

His skin was now ghostly white, his eyes red like blood and his hair whiter than snow. His hands now had sharp claws, and his mouth was split into a monstrous snarl, revealing rows of deadly fangs. He looked not dissimilar to the vampires in the tales. In his right hand, he was gripping Crocea Mors, the family blade. The sword that never failed to protect the Arcs and slay whoever or whatever was threatening them. And now it was time for it to protect.

John Arc barely had time to stand up before the sword went straight through his neck, silencing his scream. Then Jaune flicked his sword and beheaded the man. Many would've stopped there, having killed the man, but he wasn't many. He would pay him back for the eight years he had made him live. And then for the eight years of hell he had made his sister live. He had sixty-four years of misery to answer to.

Mercilessly, he continued hacking at the body, screaming in mindless fury, until of John Arc only a puddle of blood and hacked pieces remained.

Jaune then grabbed a spare shirt of John's and cleaned the sword before calling his sisters in the living room. There he told them his plan.

He would find them an apartment in Vale. He would find a way to get into Beacon. He knew Beacon could pay students with familiar problems to help them out. Also, so he wouldn't need to find another place for him to live in.

They left their house and their town the following day, never looking back.