Pilot Trailer

Obsidian Ashes

"Though the maze within your heart and mind is laced with masquerade and heavenly lies, do not let it absorb you, for it would erase the remnants of purity and loyalty within."

"Through this, you will find a haven in both darkness and light, and stronger than both. Forever chasing courage and strength, while gifted with wisdom and illusion, I let your soul fly unbound from the chains of destiny, and through your gift, protect you for eternity."

The snowflakes fell silently across the empty fields which were laced with cold ice, black mountains in the distance, the clouds forever dyed in an unwelcoming grey until the first day of summer. Despite the emptiness and peaceful air of the landscape, it was treacherous. The snow was not heavily packed, and one misstep could lead to one being imprisoned under feet of frigid death. There was no source of water, and strange creatures, with fur darker than a bottle of ink and armor plates that were harder than steel roamed the plains. In the distance, the glaring yellow lights from a nearby city glowed harshly. The wind seemingly scattered the snow like sand, and that was what made it worse. When the wind picked up, mother nature unleashed an unstoppable cloud of snow that covered what once was and could make one lose their vision, or worse, their life.

In the middle of one of the plains, the glint of metal that was tinted purple could be seen for miles around, rolling along in a set of wheels that had the same metallic shine, pulled by a lone figure with ease. The person seemed unfazed by its surroundings, continuing its march alone, the sound of its shoes crunching against the snow accompanied by the whistling wind. For a second, the snow gave in under the suitcase and the figure was forced to pull it up, grunting as the twenty-ton weight on wheels barely made it out of the hole of ice before continuing it's long, heavy walk.

Funny how destiny has such a cruel sense of humor. Like the figure's past life, the suitcase was a burden, a totally awesome burden, but still a burden. It longed to be able to fly across the skies with ease, nothing to worry about. Those days were so long ago, and here he was, just like the suitcase. Without energy, barely chugging along thanks to whatever twisted deity's version of fate pulled it along. Sighing, the figure started to carry on, it's nearly eternal march continuing, while the willpower that fueled it slowly declined.

Every second it glanced behind it, and its footprints were gone or nearly gone, blown away by the constant wind. Any trees that the person found were a dark ash black, crowned with white snow, not a single leaf in sight. Bushes were bare sticks, and rivers turned into cold and unyielding ice.

The figure had curly hair which seemingly shined silver against the moonlight, but was a dark black during the day. The figure also had brown eyes, tanned olive-toned skin that had started to pale with each passing day as the cold made it necessary, and an elvish face. It's masculine features clearly said he was a boy, not having reached the age of 18. His cheek bones were thin, and despite his scrawny figure there were the small hints of muscle, that were barely noticeable under the grey jacket that seemingly clung to his figure. Right beneath the jacket was a white shirt, and a set of black jeans, and dark brown boots. Right in the middle, there was a brown leather tool belt, with various pockets, some ranging for the average compartments, to one for an extremely large hammer. Completely unorthodox for this type of weather the boy knew, but the clothes were the only thing on his back, aside from the suitcase.

In the middle of his clothing, there was a seemingly small golden pendant, which was encrusted with four precious stones on both sides: carnelian chalcedony, jade, and moonstone. Right in the middle, there was a fleur-de-lis, coated in pure obsidian. The chain was coated in black obsidian much like the fleur-de-lis, the stones connected in a series of swirls that curved without pattern.

When the boy opened the pendant, there were two pictures. One of a woman with black, curly hair, and olive-toned skin. She wore an oil stained white vest, a green army jacket, and navy blue jeans. Her hands were heavily calloused, as if she had been working ever since she could walk. Her brown eyes gleamed with intelligence despite the bright flash of the picture, and her arm was wrapped around the figure next to her. Right alongside the woman was a younger version of himself, smiling and careless, his cheeks tinged with baby fat. The picture was lined with burns at the edges. In the other picture, there was another woman. She had the same black hair, but the face was more regal, and she wore a beautiful white dress. She radiated a sense of power, like a queen in her court. Her eyes were also brown, but her eyes carried the discipline of a stern mother that had seen everything the world could throw at her. He couldn't help but stare wistfully at the two pictures, a mix of nostalgia and vertigo flooding his mind.

Mother... Hera... would you wish for this to be my path?

He hated fairy tales. They were too optimistic, and realistic properties were practically frowned upon these days. He loved the novels that ended with bittersweet endings, because life wasn't a candy store. He listened to that simple optimism one time, the one clinging on maybes and what-ifs. And now that had returned to bite him in the ass with drill bits that could pulverize titanium. He even believed that every hero lived past the fight to vanquish the evil and preserve the good.

I was foolish again. I thought I already stopped that. He thought, only to chuckle cynically. Ah, the one who acts foolish is the one who pretends to be a fool.

He wanted to be a good person. He constantly tried to do so when he could afford it, when he could survive after everything his good actions caused.

But then again, he probably shouldn't be thinking that way. He had lied many times through his life, deceived and manipulated. He made allies - not friends, getting friends meant they were emotionally connected - for the sake of power and survival. An ally meant possible favors to reclaim, strength that they could give him, and protection from the other bullies in the playground.

So, for the sake of his survival he designed a jester's costume, since everybody loved the fool. If one believed him to be funny, naive, likable, and generally not a threat at all (both in social and street terms) he was safe from harm. When that didn't work, he ran away. It always worked, because if he was faster than everyone else, the bullies couldn't catch up, and if even they tried to catch up, they couldn't find him. And if that didn't work...

He felt a warmth fill his fingertips, but he closed his hands into a strong fist. That naivete had become his downfall, his desire for someone to relate to him disarming him from his tools of intellect and emotional restraint.

The boy who walked against these white fields, had only one name that did not matter to those in his past. He was fading, a remnant of old glory that was forgotten among the millions of rewards, diplomas, temples, monuments, and possibly even storybooks. Everyone remembered those with the flash, the style, the bravery and the name to fame. The right sword, the right power, the strings of fate always sending them into the flash of the spotlight. Nobody respected the hard workers, the ones who made the spotlights behind the scenes, the ones who made the swords, the so-called sidekicks. When one wanted to be recognized, working every single minute for just those little five minutes of fame, a prodigy would swoop down, eat it as if it were a worm, and get the fame to last a life time, and the hard workers would be forever end up in the shadows.

And his current fate was the result because he had tried. He had tried to do the right thing, to dash into the spotlight. Alone, with nothing but the clothes and weapons in his back, brought here for the sake of escape. In the shadows, free from the chains of self-deception, people who he thought were his friends could possibly care the littlest about him except for a few.

He just wanted to save an innocent soul that he might have fallen in love with. And now it was gone, permanently erased when he had bent the rules. Would anyone blame him? He just wanted to save someone, someone who was just like him. Someone who was dumped, abandoned, and spited several times. He sympathized with her since he had been abandoned several times. First, his mother. Then his family. The foster home system. And his former friends who probably thought he was dead and were throwing a party about it. And he had done so, carrying their hopes with his sacrifice which was spent in vain.

Their hopes have become my burden, shattering my dreams and erasing my liberty. I will find my own liberation.

His march against the snow had grown, the crunching of the thin ice growing louder as each step he took grew heavier, until he sat down, the snow seemingly melting under him, dropping the suitcase and resting against the ice-cold snow, his head using the suitcase as a pillow. Strangely, the boy was unfazed to the extreme cold of the ice, head against the metal suitcase. The moon that shined on him from above was strange, almost like it was in the process of being shattered, slowly breaking down.

He was suddenly reminded of another day, the sun covered by clouds, the sky a strong, bloody red. Instead of the empty wasteland, there was a tropical island, unspoiled by man's inventions and exploration. The very memory brought a wave of bile up his throat. Another set of memories, ones from brighter and more hopeful times. Nostalgia, euphoria, and lava-hot fury filled his mind. Those clear days... they were very little and few in between, laced with lies and imprisonment.

He was alone, a thing he rarely liked. He preferred being in the crowds, were he played masquerade with naive fools who believed that he was innocent and pure. Dirty secrets were told to him, favors were gained, and he could even screw with them while they wouldn't have a clue. In a way, he was both the court jester and the chess master. But those he did get connected with, he cared about somewhat. Though there was this one time...

He shook his head, focusing back into the shining moon. The soreness of his knees had started to fade, but he was in no shape to continue his trek towards the city in the distance. It had been at least six hours ever since his last meal. Reaching into his tool belt, he pulled out two things that shouldn't have fit into the tool belt's small pockets. A small pizza box, and a rather large thermos.

The boy opened the pendant and looked at the photo of the regal woman. Well, at least she had the decency of sending me with meals.

The sky rumbled above him, almost as if responding to his comment.

Rolling his eyes, he unpacked the pizza box and opened the thermos, taking a long, heavy sip. He licked his lips appreciatively, the sweet juice still in his lips. He then took a bite of the pizza, digging in eagerly. While he ate his dinner, his posture calmer. For a moment, he could picture another scene, a long, wooden oak table filled with laughter and cheer. His eyes glinted with anger as he took another bite, this one more aggressive. After finishing the first slice, he ate the next one, before taking off without even bothering for his stomach to digest the food, stowing away the box immediately

His mind still fueled with anger at remembering them. They didn't care about him, much less actually look for him. They barely considered what he wanted, and if he didn't know better, he would say that they were not even bothering to look for him on purpose. He knew that the reason was worse compared to whatever an author could write up. And he had read the most messed up fates any author could create.

Lock them in other dimensions? Please, they were safe right there. Send them to the literal incarnation of Hell? Two friends of his had gone to hell with just a touch of PTSD. The Gary and Mary Sues could take it. Kill everyone and everything they love? They would see them in the afterlife.

But socially isolate them from all their loved ones, knowing that one cared about them dearly whether it was in the battlefield or in times of peace, but never receiving any amount of care, consideration, or friendship in return? Knowing that they were yet so close yet so far? That was colder than anything. Betrayal was more merciful at best, since one at least knew that there were emotions pointed at them, rather for allies to focus on their romance and tea table affairs than those who aided them during their worst times.

In the end, optimism had been crushed. No good deed goes unpunished, price paid, the so-called 'power of friendship,' righteous cause, all those tropes be damned.

He was getting closer to the city now, just a few minutes. The suitcase moved behind him, leaving a trail of cold white snow behind him. He just needed a few more seconds. Everything would be erased and new. It was only the shifting of metal that warned him that something was wrong. Red lights flickered from the distant walls, and his shoulders tensed as the red lights were aimed at him, glaring harshly on top of the red walls. The gates from the nearby city opened, revealing a large squadron of soldiers. They wore cold, black and white uniforms, their movements nearly robot-like. He could feel the turning of gears from the distance, and sensed that these were not ordinary soldiers. They were soldiers of gears and wires, unfeeling and cold. Each one had strangely designed weaponry, from the archetypal sword to what was a seemingly modern rifle.

I've already done my share of the fight. I paid for every life that was spared. And still, why must it be me who does the fighting?

The soldiers charged at him, each one holding their own weapon, swords, knives, spears, and they swung them at the him from different angles. Just as the swords were about him, the soldiers hit nothing but air, a spray of ash remaining where the boy was, the suitcase on the floor.

The soldiers looked around, only to finally look up, the boy seemingly floating from above. The boy pressed the moonstone in the pendant, and it grew, the metal dashing into his hands and shifting into knives, the photos making up part of the hilt, while the various gemstones were carved into the hilt, while the chain seemingly wrapped around the edges of the knives, giving them a sharpness that could slice through diamonds. He threw one down at the robots below him, striking one right in the heart.

(Battle Music: Ash Like Snow, English Version by GeekyFandubs)

Then the boy then threw the next one at the rest of the soldiers, knocking one out into the snow. The boy began running around the soldiers, dodging bullets when the soldiers began to open fire, twirling between each bullet with an unnatural grace. The boy slid down when the soldiers had to reload, tripping two of the soldiers into the ground and picking up one of his knives from one of the fallen soldiers. He started stabbing and slashing in a frenzy, gears and some sort of red dust falling out of the robot's machinery before continuing to run forward while deflecting another round of bullets. He jumped over one who tried to slam him with a shield, slicing a robot's spear and picking up his other knife. He slashed off one of the robot's arms before removing one of the legs, finally cutting the head off. He tossed them at two other soldiers, pulling them off the dead machines' corpses.

He sliced through a blocking robot's swords, cleaving it into four pieces and removing it's two legs in rapid succession, kicking another one into the snow before stabbing it right in the chest. He rushed forward and dropped his knives, crushing a robot's shield with his bare hands, grabbing another robot's head along with the one right in front of him. For a second, the robots tried to reach him before his hands filled themselves with that familiar heat, tinting the robots a hot white before they exploded in a blitz of flame, then turning swinging his knives wildly, cutting a robot right behind him.

He blocked a robot's sword swings, before twirling around and decapitating the robot in a clean slice, leaving no trace of robot except a rolling head and its body. He intercepted a flying spear with a throw of one of his knives, the knife glowing white hot and slicing through the spear in a quick motion and then impaling itself in the robot's head. He blocked the slice of a bayonet, parrying the blade twice before jumping around the robot and bisecting it from the temple to what would be the groin area.

He went towards a group of six and slashed his knife through the robots, electricity crackling through them before they exploded. He made a practice throw for one second at one of the robots' heads before not hesitating. The heel of the knife knocked one down, but not before bouncing off the robot's head and clashing against another one right between the eyes would be, then hitting another one in the head before hitting two others in the side of the head. It wasn't long before the knife was back in his hand, taking out two more in the process.

He blocked the strikes from two other robots before jumping on a robot and using his knees to push the robot down while propelling himself backwards, doing a back flip before landing gracefully into the snow. He pressed the jade buttons on the knives, and the metal seemingly started to bend, slowly curling and shifting until they were long, circular whips, each black tendril connected with golden metal links on both sides.

The boy snapped the whips at one of the robots, pulling it closer in an instant until they were face to face. He pretended to stroke one of the robot's face, fingers tracing cold metal before slamming it down with his whips, the robot shattering into pieces. Another robot charged at him, and he snatched the robot's sword with a flick of his whip, swinging the whip once again downwards, the sword still attached to the golden plates, stabbing it right into the robot's chest. Two more charged him, and he swung the whip once again, letting the sword go before the black tendrils wrapped around each robots' foot, and slamming it into the snow. The sound of whistling wind filled his ear, and he dodged a large swing of a spear, blocking another one before jumping backwards, doing a back-flip in the process and landing gracefully.

He dodged a lunging robot while sidestepping the following knife trying to go at his throat, waving it aside with his one of his whips while he dropped the other one in his hand, a flame flickering in his hand before it turned into a brutal inferno that turned the rest of the robots and the ones behind it, into piles of molten metal. He swung his whip towards one of the robot before bashing its head in, tossing its weapon into a running robot that was about to body tackle him.

As the robots charged towards him, he snapped his whips several times, the robots falling as he struck them down, their bodies shattering into gears and that similar red dust, the few who made it past the whips getting thrown upwards and slammed into the ground. One lucky robot threw him into the sky, but his face was fearless, some would even say calm. He faced downwards as two robots jumped upward trying to intercept him. He swung his whips, swatting one aside while using the other one's face as a platform for another jump. A third ran at him with a sword, and all he could do was cross his shoulders in a block, pushed backwards a few yards. but not before wrapping his whip around the robot and eviscerating it. A group of robots surrounded him and tried to pile over him, but the boy's body glowed a deadly orange before launching the robots into all directions, the robots falling apart when they collided against into the snow.

He spun around, the whips wrapping themselves around the robots, crumpling their bodies and turning them into piles of crunched metal. For a second, everything was silent except his whips whistling around the silent air, devastating any robot who tried to reach him, only for the whistling wind and the sudden flare of heat made him snap out of his attack tossing himself into the snow as something loud zoomed nearby, nearly making him deaf with all the noise.

The size of the squadron of robots was now a large sixty, and he frowned at a much larger mech running behind the squadron of robots, nearly two stories tall. His fingers lingered on the obsidian fleur-de-lis, only to pass it and press the red chalcedony. The metal shifted back again, this time solidifying, the whips returning to their original form of the pendant while the steel suitcase he had dropped long ago zoomed towards him, glowing a glassy red.

The suitcase clung to his back, losing its glassy red glow while turning into a deadly masquerade mask, with two, glowing yellow eyes, a purple face, with golden trims in the edges of the mask, while the mouth of the mask was open. Two twin protrusions appeared on the back of the mask, almost as if they were wings. Several hilts of swords appeared from each protrusion, glowing a dark amethyst purple. Right where the mouth is open, there was a single, lone white flower. (It looks like Lucifer from Devil May Cry).

He gave an unimaginable dash of speed, running faster than he had ever done so, the snow trailing after him in an immense spray, followed by black ash that dyed the ground black and white, while flames that were hot white sprouted from his boots, propelling him forward as he threw a sword right in the head of one of the robots, before doing the same towards another robot. Time seemed to flow faster, and he began throwing swords wildly without mercy.

Heads were split with. Chests were impaled. Clockwork arms were shattered. Knees made of cables snapped, and weapons melted into smoldering piles. Everything was filled in the hot-white of the flames, and for once, he felt alive, unstoppable, all fading into the reliable beat of combat which he never had the chance to experience. He focused on the mech and started to throw the swords, more growing out of the machine to replace them, jumping as the machine swung a large mechanical arm, running across the limb while he was covered in the harsh blanket of heat and thermal energy, leaving a trail of flames. He climbed on top of the robot's head before leaping up high, bombarding the mech with swords and fire from above.

One to the head.

Two to the left arm.

Two to the right arm.

Four for the torso.

Five for the right leg.

Another five for the other leg.

And a large ball of fire that swamped the entire mech's body, making it crumple into the snow.

Right there, on top of the sky, with the cold, lonely moon shining behind him while he glowed like a supernova with his fire, the boy's face looked for one single moment, at peace. While landing softly into the ground, the boy pulled out the sole white flower from the mouth of the masquerade mask in midair, lifting it towards his nose. He sniffed it delicately, before throwing the flower right into a sword that was right in the center of the robot. Like fire following gasoline, the first sword exploded, other explosions following in quick succession, stretching from the center of the mech to swamping the rest of the robot's their remains tossed into the sky, their ashes falling into the sky like snow.

(Battle Music Ends)

He looked towards the remaining ashes of the former metal, his eyes having an orange glint as his flames faded away, his clothes unmarked, the snow below him melted into a soft lush beneath his feet, boiling into a fine mist when it got too close to him. The wind blew once again, and all the ashes seemed to circle around him, until he himself seemed to shroud him in darkness, the only things flickering against the dark black was the glint of the obsidian fleur-de-lis as he started walking toward the city.

Amid the lonely night, Leo Valdez still did what he did best. Keep moving forward. Never look back, and whatever you do, never let anyone in.

There are four panels, each one coated in a specific color. The first one was an obsidian black. The second was a dark crimson. The third one, a dark purple. The fourth one, a pale jade. The first one glows a sudden white, and Leo's image is printed into the background, holding his pendant in its knives' form while his suitcase was in its weapon mode.

Right below him, there was a single L.

The second one had an A.

The third one had an R.

The fourth one had another L.

In the end, all four letters formed into LARL (Laurel).

Author's Note: Okay, first time I'm doing this. I'm going to do a legitimate RWBY x Percy Jackson crossover that I hope will not suck. Note that Leo Valdez is going to be the only character from the Percy Jackson and the Olympians Universe (regarded by fans as PJO for short). I will not bring the self-titled novel's main protagonist, Percy Jackson, into the fold since I feel that Jackson has been too main-centered and diluted in various crossovers, and find it interesting if it were another protagonist a chance in the limelight.