A major rewrite of Paleblood Requiem
Re-read a lot of the feedback from the first one, and decided to change the whole damn thing, trying to make it just a lot better than before, so hope ya guys like it! I know, I know, same old RWBY crossover cliché random guy gets sent to Remnant and shit happens, but I will try to make mine just a little bit unique if at all possible… or fail miserably who knows!
Will be a partial Cthulhu Mythos Crossover, cause there's no such thing as having to many eldritch abominations.
Also Big thanks to Mobiusu14 and Daemonstar for letting me use their self-designed weapons! Check them out on Deviant art; seriously they make some good stuff! show those glorius bastards some love!
Sorry I haven't been able to update recently, been busy.
Also constructive criticism people!
Talk- Great Ones
Talk-self/telepathy
Talk- normal
That which is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die
Prologue: What was Dead Lives Again
"...Throughout countless ages, man has crafted itself innumerable tales. Some of which are Fairytales, born of mans dreams of impossible worlds, of knights and of gods, carrying meanings and lessons between its words. Others are of a harsher sort; of death and of pain, of struggle and of hollow triumph, born of mans nihilism, and to remind man of its demons and of consequences to action. If one may dream it, then such a world is possible...
So know I shall tell of a tale...
One of Dreams...
And of nightmares...
In the depths of an ancient forest, entombed in a great stone sarcophagus suspended by great chains of steel a lone figure stirred, as if waking from a long dream.
Consciousness fading in and out at random intervals, vision transitioning from shadow-filled reality to nightmarish worlds of the dreamscape, a half conscious mind pulling in and out of wakefulness and eternal dream in a viscous cycle that plagued the dreamer to no end.
Even then a will that shattered gods struggled to pull itself out of the delirium, a fractured mind it was, but a strong one none the less. A broken ego moved from the mire of half formed psyche within his cage of a mind, trying to coalesce into some semblance of a being.
A thousand other voices cried out for control as well, not all wholly human, most were blasphemous caricatures of man's voice horrifically mixed with the cries of myriad other creatures, and a great many belonged to things the likes of which no being of the sane mind should ever have to witness.
Yet still the remnants of this will struggled on, till finally enough had come together to, at the very least rouse the sleeper from the dream.
Groggily, the figure moved his arms, and was meet with the rough-hewn stone of his prison. It did not deter him in the slightest, and he began to beat his fists against the rock, despite his limbs aching in protest, till finally it gave and burst open, quite literally, as the old stone cover was ripped free from rusted iron bindings, launching thorough the air and crushed the vegetation before it, causing the dreamer to fall out of his prison, straight to the cold earth below.
He could feel the cold winds rushing past, biting at skin even through the leather coat. An odd smell wafted through the air, a queer scent not wholly alien, yet not a familiar one either, it wasn't unpleasant though, it smelled… alive, a welcome scent. Tired hands felt something soft beneath the, past the dingy gloves that shrouded them; they ran smoothly beneath the dirty white cloth, in a surprisingly gentle manner.
And that was all before he even opened his eyes. Unsteadily, he forced himself to open them, to gaze back at the new world before them. Darkness shrouded the gnarled, antiquated wood that surrounded him, the great oak trees snuffing out what sliver of moonlight that managed to slip through, crumbling stone ruins stood like graves amongst the foliage, evident of some bygone structure that once enclosed the small clearing.
Digging his feet into the earth below, the dreamer forced himself to rise, albeit unsteadily, to his feet, panting heavily as muscle and bone that had not moved since gods know when ached in response to the sudden action, he fell more than once during the endeavor, but it mattered little to him; all that did, however, was to leave this place.
Something, some instinctual presence at the back of his mind, told him to, a frantic fear that descended upon him as his consciousness returned to him, jumbled thought raced across his mind, memories and images, to terrible to even utter disappeared as soon as they came. But that was not the cause for such desperate action; no, it was another urge that demanded he move, one far greater than any simple fear. No, no it was the impulse, the damnable craving to hunt. And he did, without really knowing why.
Finally getting to his feet, the dreamer allowed himself a small measure of pride at his rather pitiful triumph, only to have the ember of joy quashed almost immediately after by the sound of feet upon the undergrowth, followed by the low guttural baying of their bestial owners. The dreamer was given no time to react as the beasts tore through the thick copse before him, hideous things, perversions of nature's creations, flesh so dark he was sure they were formed from the very shadows that surrounded them, their midnight flesh draped in bone, their slavering faces vailed with twisted masks, their glowing red eyes seemed to burn with hell-fire, glinting with nothing but sheer hatred for life. They drew closer, forming a tight circle round the dreamer, howling in glee as they pawed their way ever closer to their prey.
To most, such a situation would have brought with it overwhelming despair; dozens of the demons crowded the clearing now, more and more joining their brethren with each waning second, but he felt no fear. No, as the monsters came he stood in calm and watched. He shot another glance at his foes, crimson meet crimson, and the ones under his gaze faltered, for when those hate filled eyes met his, they saw something far worse. He swept his gaze through the swarm, and sighed.
He would not revel in what would come next, that would damn him as it dammed those before him.
He would not falter either, it would be sacrilege; an act that stood against everything he was, everything he'd done.
No, he did what came naturally to him, even as a haze washed over his mind; it had not dulled the memories of his actions, of his purpose. His hands flexed as he released his favored weapons, a twin blade that sundered enumerable monstrosities in his right, a masterfully crafted flintlock in is left in his left.
He filtered out his mind, the haze helping empty it from all distractions, all that mattered was what lay before him, the whole world was naught but him and the beasts, his hands were no longer hands, they were the very blades and bullets themselves now, he was the weapon now. Experience from a thousand battles filled every muscle every nerve, setting his mind a flame.
This was duty, his Le désir de vivre. He was a Hunter, and his prey had so graciously brought themselves forward. The beasts flooded the world, and he would purge them; by the fire of wrath, by steel forged in adversity, by all the arcane energies he could muster, by the very blood that gave them form, he would Hunt.
Yes, the sweet grasp of the hunt, it all came so naturally to him.
The beast surged forth, mouths frothing, foaming their claws hungry to draw blood.
He responded in kind, striding forth to join the dance of death.
He raised his arms and charged.
And the beast screamed, as his blades cut through sable flesh, through their bloodless bodies. He didn't stop cutting. Even when there was nothing left to slaughter.
He was alone with his thought again, the Hunter clad in shadow, as he stood midst the decaying corpses of the bloodless ones. With his broken mind slowly mending, he allowed himself a short respite, allotting some time to think "What am I doing again?" he asked himself. The question rang in his mind. What had he been doing? The hunt, the battle was long since over, still the beasts persist, as they did now. Why had he done it again?
His head was a haze, a jumble of thoughts and flickering memories, but it was clearing, giving enough clarity to at the very least ask, to think of the situation. He understood his role, but would he still do it? Doubt festered, in his mind it was all he could do no other path was to be allotted to his kind, those ken to the darkness, the evil blood within their veins.
Fresh blood came. Voices hushed and cautions, with a hint of fear, in tongues not known to his spheres of knowledge. He raised himself from his stupor. Drawing himself to full height, weapons clacking as he did, he stared blankly at the strangers.
A squadron of them, men and women, all in the same attire, black garb and strange masks mimicking those of the beasts he'd slew, oddly each seemed to bare the forms of animals. He swept his gaze over them, testing, prodding for any sort of action on their part. All he saw was fear and uncertainty.
They spoke again; their voices were loud and vehement, barking orders in the same strange language.
He pressed onward dangerously, blades scraping the ground below.
His foes drew their own.
So it was to be this way, eh?
Well, it mattered little to him; they would fall none the less. He'd made up his mind.
Adam Taurus wasn't happy. The mask wearing leader of the White Fang glowered in annoyance at the mess in front of him.
First that bitch of a woman forced him into an alliance, and now here he was, freezing in a ramshackle camp that straddle far too close to the Grimmlands for his liking. A week earlier, his 'ally' had informed him of something that could potentially tip the scales in their favor.
More like chasing fairytales.
"Damn that Cinder!" he cursed to himself, as he sat their listing to the lieutenant, a wolf faunus, explain the current problem.
"So, let me get this straight, you mean to tell me that those idiots haven't reported in for over an hour, and only NOW do you suspect something went wrong!"
"Boss! You gotta understand, it was a pretty big pack of grimm, we just thought they got bogged down!"
"Fuck it" Adam growled as he stood up "I'm tired of sitting around. You clowns hold the fort" he ordered them "the rest of you follow me, were off to find those bastards"
"You got it boss… T-the hell!" on of them screamed, face contorted in fear and horror, hand pointing over to the camps entrance.
Wasting no time, the Fangs leader unsheathed his blade, Wilt, and turned to face whatever had entered their camp, the other members soon following suite.
Adam would never forget what happened next, the image burned into his mind. Courland, the deer faunus he'd appointed leader of the guard forces staggered in through the gate of the walled compound, haggard and bleeding, his mask shattered in half, revealing a face of horror and pain, one of his horns was missing. The man looked like he had one foot in the grave already.
"By the Brothers man!" the lieutenant bellowed "The hell happened to you? Where's everyone else?!"
"G-gods h-h-HELP!" he screamed in response "The forest… the squad… all g-gone… t-that monster… Eyes like fire… the devil in t-t-the flesh …oh GODS HELP!"
"THUNK"
The mans fevered screams were cut as an iron arrow stuck out through where his right eye used to be, the corpse keeling over seconds later. The killer stood calmly in front of the gate, unfazed by the sight before him, he was clad in a leather long coat, a tricorn cap and mask obscuring most of his face, a beautifully crafted bow in hand, which looked too have been made of metal?
The first thing that Adam noticed the moment it recovered from the shock was that the stranger had appeared without any of them noticing, the next thing he noticed was how none of the guards posted outside had responded.
"How in the hell did he sneak through!"
He unfortunately got the answer to the latter question first, in the form of two limp bodies just barely visible besides the gate, one cut nearly in half the other a pincushion of arrows.
Almost immediately the rest of the terrorist trained their guns at the man, their shock forgotten replaced with burning hatred. All except Adam, who looked rather unimpressed by the stranger's appearance.
He clicked his tongue in annoyance "And who are you supposed to be? Ironwoods new attack dog? Or just another one of Ozpins pets?"
"…" was his only response, just gazing at them all, his eyes the only visible part of his face, as both a tricorn cap and face mask obscured all else, those crimson eyes cutting through like a knife, eyeing them the way a predator looks at cornered prey, an almost hungry, amused look, as if savoring the last moments of the poor fool he'd soon rip apart.
"Well? Say something! Or are just too scared to talk" Adam taunted.
"… Weak" he responded so quietly they barely heard him, he stepped forward, transforming the bow into a curved blade with a metallic snap; the White Fang backed off in fear of the man who'd so casually slaughtered their comrades, save Adam who glowered back at the stranger
"What did you just say?"
"They wear weak" stepping forward blade leveled at his face "Will you be any different?"
Before the Fangs leader could strike, the White Fang member beside him roared in fury and charged a longsword in tow, ready to murder the fucker who had the gall to insult his friends after slaughtering them. The Hunter simply sidestepped the clumsy blow and smashed his fist into his enemy's side shattering the man's aura instantly. He fell to his knees, gasping from the strike; his pain was cut short when a blade bit into his neck, lopping of the head.
Adam leveled Blush at the Hunter, who turned just in time to parry the attack with his Bowblade, knocking the blade right back at its owner. Barely managing to duck under it, the weapon impaled the unfortunate henchman behind him, impaling him in the chest, killing him instantly.
With a roar of fury, Adam retrieved his sword and charged in blind anger. The Hunter however had other ideas; reaching out to his side, the space around his hand distorted, wreathing it in pale mist. With slight tug he withdrew another blade, a vicious saber-katana, brought it to bear against the Fangs leader, locking both blades in place.
"Interesting" he mused as Adam struggled against the blow "You are unlike your peers"
"The hell do you think I am!?"
"Someone with the potential to be an actual challenge" the Hunter answered back "I tire of such banal foes, so I hope you don't disappoint"
The power clash soon turned to favor the Hunter, as he swung with such force that Adam staggered to his knees. The rest of his men seeing their leader down charged hoping to save him. The Hunter buried his boot in Adams gut and sent him flying, and turned his attention to the now not-so-eager band of terrorists. Feeling himself skid against the ground, he was grateful for the fact his aura held, and looked back in time to see his men butchered. He was used to seeing the fools flung around as their aura protected them against the worst of the attacks.
He was not prepared to see a dozen good men cut to literal ribbons in mere seconds against a foe a full head shorter than them, his blade dancing through the air as it cut and cleaved through flesh and bone, sending pulpy viscera and gore flying everywhere, cutting through their aura like wet tissue paper. the Hunter ducking and dodging their blows with practiced ease.
The last remaining White Fang screamed in fear, driving his blade trough the man's skull, a last desperate attempt to put it down. His hopes were soon dashed, smashed thrown into a blender and shat on by the gods, as the monster before him casually yanked out the blade, and returned it to its owner, via sheathing it in the poor fool's stomach.
"WHAT THE HELL!" Adam growled as he scrambled to his feet, seeds of fear blossoming in his stomach "How did that thing survive that! It can't be human, no living being would be able to survive that even with aura-" his eyes widened in shock "he doesn't have aura" his legs trembled at the thought, the monster in human flesh before him that had butchered his men didn't even have any aura!
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU!?"
"…Death" was the things only reply in a voice so hollow and bitter, that Adam Taurus, the White Fangs leader, the ruthless monster that had murder hundreds in cold blood, felt true fear in a long time. The same fear resounded in the men around him, their weapons shaking in their jittery grips.
"Is that so?" Adam replied coldly, this fucker was going down here and now. No one looked down on the Fang; no one looked down on HIM! His fear forgotten replace with white hot rage, he stood his ground, wilt griped tightly in his hand, adopting the Iaido stance.
"Get the Paladins!" he roared "this bastard ain't leaving this place alive"
From beneath his mask, a ghost of a smile tugged on the Hunter's lips "This might be interesting after all"
And there's the first chapter!
Character stats for the Hunter just clarify a few things
Name: Hunter
Class: Troubled Childhood
Level: 544
HP: 99
Endurance: 99
Strength: 99
Skill: 99
Bloodtinge: 99
Arcane: 99
Insight: 40
Trick weapon: Simons Bowblde, Rakuyo, Chickage …(more weapons coming soon, he'll be wielding ALL the weapons from the game, though I already have a preferred load out for him to use)
Side Arm: Evelyn(more coming)
Yeah, ridiculously OP I know, but I grind a lot in the Chalice Dungeons and PVP a lot in this game so yeah, don't worry tough he'll have plenty of challenges ahead of him soon enough!
So good or bad? Let me know and review, or PM if you have anything to say!
This has been N3Ber1us and thanks for reading!