An Author's note: Hello, friends! I want to say thank for checking out my story! It means alot! Now, as you may have guess, this is an AU fic where the main cast are boys rather than girls. I've chosen to rewrite their respective trailers for them, akin to the order they were introduced in the series. If you'd rather get right into the Main plot of RWBY, feel free to jump to chapter 5, Ruben Thorn, and begin reading. I hope you enjoy my story!
The soft snow crunched under his onyx boots. each step harder to follow up with. His crimson coat's tail slowly blowing in the cold air, the cool winds thrashing it against his thighs. These cold days always seemed to be the worst, it appeared. Seemed to be the coldest this time of year, especially. When the air's so cold, people go blind by holding their eyes open for too long.
He must have been walking for what seemed to be hours. His finger tips frozen twice over and his toes beginning to stop without feeling a thing.
Pulling his coat towards himself, he trudged on. Shoulders bunched up as he lowered his head. He could see his breath flow out of his mouth, his gums frozen and his teeth chattering a bit. Said chatter echoing for what seemed ot be forever.
He glanced at the cross ironed onto his iron black gauntlet, his anger peaking and his blood rushing once again. The images flashing in his mind warmed his body, fueling it to keep fighting and to trek on.
He stopped for a moment, his dark leather boots sinking into the light snow. He let out a long breath, watching the cloud of breath before him appear and disappear moments later. He gazed up into the sky above him, looking past the clouds and darkening blue sky. Almost seeing her once again.
Her pure white cape before him in a vision, once again. Taunting him for a time that well should have been forgotten. Reminding him of a day when he could remember smiling.
He recalled walking to her cliff, earlier that day. The futile efforts of his father and brother telling him not to. Warning him not to venture so far away from him.
Of course, he did so anyway. He had to see her. Once more, at least.
Standing before her tombstone, staring at the cliff before him. The cliff side that stood hundreds of feet above the land he has trekked. He could still hear her beautiful voice, her ever present loving smile still in his mind. He curled his hand into a fist, his primal instincts kicking in. That coat of white was stained with blood, and his teeth barred once more.
His slow walk turned into a sprint not even a moment later, his breathing heavy yet steady, and his mind focusing on one thing. His jacket fluttering behind him as he continued his sprint, blowing in the breeze behind him.
His mind was getting hazy as it should, and his blood lust was growing as it would. There would be blood, a lot of their blood to be exact. He wanted one thing. And one thing only.
Them.
Before he could even blink, there he was. He spent hours searching and searching. Looking for them. Hunting them.
He stood before an open field, or rather, the open field. The last battle ground for those would challenge him.
The gentle snow almost somber amongst the fury that ravaged his mind over and over again, the beauty of the moon that was above him relished in his pain and continuous anguish. He rolled his shoulders back, bringing his hand to his mouth.
His thumb and index finger in his cheeks, he whistled sharply. The lone whistled echoed amongst the cold wind and the falling snow. Weaving through the trees and fighting against the brush of the dead bushes.
He could hear them come out of the forest lines, moving towards him. Maneuvering through the cold to get a bite out of him. Hearing their snarls and their growls was almost music to his ears at this point. He could feel his lips fighting the difficult urge to smile, to show the sheer pleasure of what will inevitably happen next.
One of them, one of these unsavory beings, moved forward. It's eyes matching it's midnight black fur. The moon white fangs protruding, the slobber dripping onto the snow bank. Freezing over not even a moment later. The beast howled, as if to call it's pack for reinforcements. He simply chuckled softly.
Exactly what he wants.
He watched as the beast get on all fours and take point ahead of the pack. At that point, the point the animal knew that he wouldn't simple back down, it charge, it's massive paw out to swipe at him. To dig it's nails right through the man.
The man cracked his neck, a small smile forming despite his objection. As the beast hit it's mark, the man disappeared in a burst of rose pedals, the wolf howling in confusion. The others looked about to find him, wondering where he went. The petals fluttering up towards the sky.
They then turned their eyes towards the sky, as the man slowly descended towards them. Crimson coat against the dark skies, clashing against the moon as the man fell.
He reached behind his back, his smirk showing white fangs of his own. He grasped the handle of his weapon, ready to draw blood first.
He extended his arm, the weapon snapping and extending into place. He ran his eyes down the sights and bead, the heat vents along the barrel of the gun, the red metal shining against the moon light. The black metal dark against the evening sky.
He felt his finger on the trigger, the others curled along the lever. With the quick flick of his wrist, a shell was loaded into the chamber and a shot was fired.
The flurry of beads hit one of the wolves in the head, the skull sending out bone debris and coating the snow with it's blood. The man landed onto the snow floor, free hand gripping the handle as he begun flicking his wrist again and firing once more.
The shot hit another dead in the chest, the blood covering the snow behind it in splash of red and leaving a rather nasty hole in it's chest. He spun around, the wolf who missed him ready to pounce once again. He chuckled darkly, spinning the weapon in his hand. The handle smashing the wolf in it's lumbersome jaw, knocking it back as the weapon locked into place.
The weapon once more began it's extending and transforming, revealing a rather large curved blade emerging from the barrel.
The wolf felt the blade pierce through his neck seconds later, the beast falling onto it's paws. The man narrowed his eyes, staring into the beast's own eyes before jerking his scythe quickly up.
The attack caused the beast's head to become lobbed off, falling onto the ground beside the torso. The man turned towards the remaining wolves, his eyes burning in fury that would melt the snow around him into puddles. He reached for his hood, pulling it off with a quick jerk.
His smoky gray hair, his pale milk skin, the thick muttonchops that had grown on his cheeks covered in a thin layer of frost and the whiskers on his chin collecting a lob of the snow around his lips.
He cracked his neck, spinning the scythe around his shoulder and impaling it into the ground in a single quick motion. He reached behind his back, grasping the handle of the weapon's identical sister. With a quick flick, it transformed.
The weapon was locked into it's scythe form, matching it's other perfectly. The same weapon snapping and extending as the other did. He stabbed the blade into the ground along side it's twin, his trigger fingers aching.
He looked at the pack of wolves before him, before tightening his grip on both grips of both the weapons and swinging the levers out. The chambers were loaded and he was ready.
The wolves charged towards him, their mouths open and their claws out. Now it was time to play.
He shot both scythes, each one hitting a target. He swung open the levers once more and fired immediately after. One by one, the wolves fell.
He felt his eyes remain open with every shot, not flinching or shutting for any reason. He needed this. He wants to see the destruction he was causing. The pain he was responsible for. One particular wolf, however, managed to dodge both shots, lunging towards him.
The man pulled the scythes out of the ground, pressed the muzzles against the chest of the beast and shot. The shot propelled him back and the wolf forward, granted it was missing it's upper torso.
He spun back while in the air, landing onto his feet and sliding atop the snow and patched ice. He looked up at his remaining foes, before rotating the scythes back. The blades snapped into place, the handles once used for shooting now used to hold up his weapons. Holding the pair in reverse. The blades looming over his shoulder and blood on the mind, he charged forward. He spun around, the swinging the blades and chopping a wolf clean in half.
He threw one of the scythes, the blade spinning and cutting through a few of the wolves before stabbing one in chest. He ran forward, switching his grip with the remaining scythe into a traditional grip. He charged towards a wolf, swinging his weapon back and cutting diagonally upwards.
With a flourished spin, he cut through his opponent and left him as a bloody heap on the ground. He could hear his other scythe stab into another wolf, impaling him onto the dirt.
He turned towards the whimpers of the wolf, seeing the scythe's blade in the shoulder. He rushed forward, swinging the lever on the one in his hand, pressing the muzzle against the wolf's snout and pulling the trigger.
He felt a bit of the blood splatter onto his cheek, ignoring it. He picked up his other scythe, before hesitantly looking over his shoulder. He saw the pack converging towards him, their eyes beckoning for revenge and their jaws primed for slaughter.
The man, with a dark smile, turned towards them, swung the levers and roared.
The rest of his rampage was a vision for pure red. One that painted his mind, and snow beneath him.
He could feel his mind easing, his breathing slowing and his body stable. He stared up at the moon, his boot resting on the beard of the blade. He glanced around, the dismembered and eviscerated bodies of the wolves unrecognizable to him even.
The snow, in part, was soggy from the amount of blood it soaked. He could smell the blood in his hair, the dampness in his gloves and felt it clumped amongst his hair. He looked onward, his faint smile bright and glowing. He was content. He was free.
Ruben Thorn, Age 15. Red
