Blake wasn't really getting how this whole 'interdimensional travel' thing was of any help to Remnant.
Ever since that portal opened, other people have been coming through from a different world entirely. Sure, Remnant got new technology, she could honestly say she enjoyed her new gaming PC. And sure, more advanced weaponry and equipment could be given to Beacon students due to Remnant's governments collaborating with Earth's governments. In return for the development of artificial intelligences and combat tools on Earth, Remnant was given a huge amount of the technology they had missed. 4K screens meant that the auditorium battles could be watched outside the building in super high definition...
Oh, speaking of the auditorium and Beacon, that was another thing.
There were new students.
Like, a lot.
Where there once may have been one or two people per bench watching training matches between students, there were now filled rows with new teams and new faces. She was certain that some of the new students were all going to just put into practice something everyone had seen before, and judging by how one of the new humans was being thrown about by team CRDL like a ragdoll as he futilely tried to fight them off with a dagger and sword, she was probably right.
Though, Yang seemed to be enjoying herself.
"How many watching?" Blake sighed to Yang, reclining and clicking her back slightly. Her busty blonde bombshell of a partner tapped her new iPhone's screen, and checked how many were watching her stream of battles. After a brief consideration, she turned to Blake.
"Well, we've got viewers from Earth and Remnant," she replied, "But which number was it that has twelve numbers again?" Blake was about to reply, when a yell much louder than normal came from the center of the auditorium. Many people watching winced as the young lad with the sword was non-metaphorically catapulted into the wall by one of Cardin's swings. There was an audible snap, and the loser just lay there, groaning. There was silence in the hall.
Suddenly, someone piped up in what Blake understood to be a Midlands accent from 'England'. "GET FUCKIN' SHAT ON, NERD!" The male voice shouted. People began laughing as the student in the arena was escorted out by a paramedic. He noticeably limped; people from Earth seemed to have much weaker auras than those from Remnant, making them a bit more prone to injury. However, many of the new students had their own counters to the weaker aura. Many had followed in Cardin's footsteps and worn armour plating of some description. A few more cautious students wore much heavier armour, and those less inclined to be hit wore no armour at all for mobility reasons.
Blake smiled despite Cardin proudly presenting himself to the crowds in the arena floor as he made his way out. Truly, Earthborn humans could prove to make her time at Beacon even more interesting. After a few moments as the lights flicked themselves back on, Professor Goodwytch made her way to the middle of the arena, Scroll tablet in hand. "That certainly was a rather...one-sided...battle," she said calmly, adjusting her glasses but not taking off either her bored expression or her eyes from the screen in front of her. There was a collective murmur of agreement as students quietly whispered to each other, yet keeping eyes on the screen to see who was up next. "Now," Professor Goodwytch continued, "Do we have any volunteers for combat?" No hands raised, and quite a few people kept their heads down for fear of going against someone that could beat the shit out of them.
But not Blake.
Smiling, she raised a hand and waited to be noticed by her teacher. The rest of team RWBY smiled at her enthusiasm: She'd really come out of her shell since the rift opened. Professor Goodwytch finally noticed the black-haired student, and tapped on her Scroll a few times, bringing up a large picture of Blake and her aura levels on the large banner-screens above the arena. It was a relatively normal picture of her: No smiling, flat expression, and probably the only thing that might interest any of the Earthborn students would be her nearly luminous gold irises. Apparently, that would be a good conversation starter on Earth, but on Remnant, vividly coloured hair or eyes would be normal. Just a few more differences between the planets, but nothing that bothered Blake. She was mostly just anxious to have a battle with one of the new students.
"Certainly, Mrs. Belladonna," Goodwytch said calmly. "I'll find you a suitable partner." Blake reclined, and waited. Yang tapped her shoulder.
"Looks like someone's not in a Blake mood today," she grinned. Blake rolled her eyes and Weiss cringed beside her. "What's up with you?"
"It's just exciting," Blake replied in her usual tone, but carrying a slight more cheerfulness. "It's not often anyone gets a chance to fight a Huntsman from a different world entirely. They might have different tactics, combat styles, methods, and motivations than someone from, say, Atlas."
"I suppose," Weiss noted. The heiress was wearing her normal combat skirt with her white hair tied back. "But the only way it's affected me is that there's just been a rush of boys trying to get on my good side. Blegh." Yang laughed.
"I don't have a problem with it," she smirked, reclining and winking at a few boys on the other side of the auditorium that were looking her way. Almost all of them immediately looked away awkwardly, except one, who pointed two fingers in the universal gesture of 'call me'. "Gotta admit, Earth boys are not too harsh on the eyes." There was a synchronized eyerolling from the rest of RWBY.
"Of course you'd say that, Yang." Blake began to stand up and get ready to move downstairs. Just as she began to make a move, Professor Goodwytch spoke again.
"Mr. London, why don't you challenge Mrs. Belladonna? We haven't heard from you thus far." A massive number of eyes turned to a bronw-haired lad in the middle of the rows of seats. He was wearing a brown suit jacket with a dark brown tie, with a white shirt beneath what looked to be a simple black jersey. His face took on a worried expression as he looked around at everyone, with one side of his face bearing very noticeable burn marks that gave him a facial structure similar to an undercooked piece of meat. His facial structure gave him quite a harsh appearance, contradicting how worried he looked to be. "Mr. London, please make your way to the arena floor," Professor Goodwytch ordered.
"Alright, fine," London replied in a fairly strong British accent. He stood to leave, giving the three other boys next to him fist-bumps as he went past. A fresh rise of chatter arose whilst the other students waited for the two combatants to be prepared, Blake making her way down at the same time as her opponent.
However, in the locker room, she started having second thoughts. He looked absolutely petrified. What if she hurt him unnecessarily? Human aura wasn't that strong, so she ran the risk of causing potentially lethal damage. "I'll get him into the red," she told herself as she moved through the dark, benched area, tying Gambol Shroud into her hair as she entered the arena. There was a small cheer from her friends, followed by the usual small amount of applause from everyone else as she took her place in one end of the arena. The black-haired girl looked to Professor Goodwytch. "I'm ready, Professor." Her teacher nodded.
"Excellent," she replied flatly, "Now we simply wait for Mr. London." Her response was near immediate.
"You won't be waiting very long," called a voice. Stepping out of the locker rooms on the other side of the auditorium, there came a set of heavy-set footsteps as London exited into the arena. He was wearing the brown suit he had been wearing moments before, plus a set of black metal shinguards and bracers. Upon closer inspection, the 'black jumper' was actually a bulletproof vest, and underneath the jacket of the suit, there was a small bandolier of munitions.
Additionally, slung over his body was a black sling with a green and black bullpup rifle hanging by his side, and his face was completely obscured by a mask. The mask was split down the centre, half-bright yellow and half-blood red, with the red side bearing gold tribal markings and vice versa. Blake also noticed that the left side of the mask, the same side which London's burn markings were on, was blackened and burnt slightly, giving her the understanding that he had been wearing it when whatever burned him, burned him. The eyeholes seemed to be a completely black void, not allowing Blake to see his eyes. Normally, that let her see if her opponent was feeling confident about the upcoming fight.
Now she was going to have to guess.
On the banner screen above, his school photo involved him pulling a rather unnerving grin, almost predatory. Seems cocky, Blake thought. That doesn't mean he's skilled. London looked at Blake, swung his rifle into his hands, and made his way to the opposite side of the arena.
Yang scoffed. "Oh, the tough guy act," she quietly muttered, smirking. "This should be fun."
"Will OP deliver?" someone whispered behind. Yang chuckled.
"I'm gonna guess he'll be a faggot, as usual," she grinned. Before she could make any more smug comments, a loud burst of gunfire from the centre of the ring caused her to look back. London was already firing his assault rifle at Blake, sidestepping the cat faunus' shots from Gambol Shroud with seemingly impossible ease. Blake had to dive out of the way as a few shots pinged off her aura, chipping away at her meter on the screen above. She quickly got to her feet, sprinting around the arena to avoid as many shots as possible, all the while listening for her opportunity to attack.
"Fuckin' hold STILL!" London yelled, beginning to step towards the direction Blake was likely due to head in. But, as she was nowhere near done, Blake continued moving, choosing to snap off a few shots in his direction. Almost all of the four shots missed, except for one, which slammed into his stomach. The Earthborn stopped firing for a moment and doubled over slightly, steadying himself with a leg, before quickly raising his gun again and pulling the trigger.
Clik.
"You're kidding me," he muttered. Blake smirked, running at the wall and using it as a way to quickly change her direction in order to move and attack London. She whipped Gambol Shroud out of its sheath, and leapt up, quickly swiping at her opponent. London barely had time to dive backwards, letting go of his rifle in the process. Blake was, however, lucky enough that she successfully cut the sling of his rifle in half, sending it flying backwards across the arena and prompting a cheer.
London stepped back, and without even skipping a beat reached into the armpits of his suit jacket and pulled out a pair of large pistols. The moment he had them out, a pair of green laser pointers started shining from small modules beneath the weapons, the safety catches clicked into the 'fire' position, and he was already back to firing, emptying half of each pistol's clips before Blake could even react. The force of the large rounds smashing against her aura caused both considerable damage, and for her to go flying backwards. As she quickly corrected herself, she threw Gambol Shroud upwards, embedding it into the ceiling and using it as a way to swing around above her gunslinging opponent. As she soared, she quickly checked the aura bars; She was, to her surprise, in the yellow, meaning that the few shots that actually hit her had cut her aura in half. However, London's aura had reached the point where it was only three-quarters full, despite Blake only shooting him once and possibly scratching him with a sword strike. That meant she just needed to land three more shots.
Easier said than done, as a different gunshot rang out. She looked down as small pellets stung at her, causing her to disconnect Gambol Shroud from the ceiling and drop to the ground. London had put his handguns away, and was now marching towards her with a black, short-barreled shotgun, firing it off and quickly chambering rounds. As he was holding it at the hip to fire it, many shots were going wide of Blake. She quickly rolled on impact with the ground, snapping off two shots from Gambol Shroud. This time, since they'd both hit their mark, London was knocked onto his back and his shotgun was knocked away. Blake was quick to begin rushing him, victory in sight as the crowd cheered for a well fought battle! London staggered to his feet, placing his hand against his stomach to wipe away the smoking dents in his armour, before realising that Blake was rushing him and beginning to pat himself down. "Deagles..." he patted the holsters. "Out of ammo...um...no A2, no Mossberg...shitshitshit..." Blake smirked even more. He was out of ammo, making her job easier. He didn't even pack a melee weapon.
Amateur.
She lowered her form as she ran, allowing her to prepare a finishing strike that would probably finish off London. As she approached with her sword in hand, she considered that this was probably one of the best fights she'd had for quite a while. He'd actually landed a few good hits, and casting a glance to the bar beneath her name, she realised that he'd managed to get her at least three-quarters of the way down to losing the fight. In comparison, London was lingering on the orange that came just before the red, and she'd only landed three gunshots onto him.
Pretty impressive.
In her moment of consideration, she was drawn out of it by the sound of a sudden snapping coming from London. Now approaching her was her opponent, carrying a thin, black, telescopic baton. So he did have one more trick up his sleeve. Clever. "Let's have a go, ya twat!" London yelled, lowering his figure slightly and swinging the baton as he ran. Blake narrowed her eyes, and prepared Gambol Shroud; She locked her arms by her side, almost dragging the blade along behind her. They both came close enough, and lunged. Blake raised her blade, reeled back, and...
...nothing. A brief moment of blackness. It was as though the film of her life was missing footage. When she began to get her hearing and vision back, she realised that there was a dull roar.
No.
Not a roar.
Cries of dismay.
Her vision slowly came back to her, along with muscle control, and she slowly began to get back up. Steady, carefully. When she was on all fours, she coughed a small amount of blood onto the floor, and looked up and around. Her aura wasn't depleted. She was still in. She smiled slightly, before realising something.
She couldn't see London anywhere. Nor could she see Gambol Shroud.
Where was her opponent?
Her answer came in the form of a sudden force in her ribs as she was kicked onto the ground, face up. She grunted in reception of the pain, squinting and preparing to try and get up again. Instead of the kick she was expecting, a sudden weight fell on her chest as London's heavy boots held her down. She glared up at the masked figure above, and he stared down at her. Looking up at him, it became apparent that he'd taken a beating. His body armour had two large dents in it, and the left arm of his suit jacket bore a hole that displayed bloodied skin beneath. He was dragging it slightly; it hung limply by his side. Slowly, London raised his right hand to her throat, taking his boot off her chest, and holding his black baton towards her face.
So.
Kicking her whilst she was down.
She supposed it's what she got for being cocky about him: He wasn't too bad, after all.
She sighed. "Go on," she muttered. "Hit me." London tilted his head.
"Why the fuck would I hit you? You're already down," he calmly replied. "Grab the baton, I'm helping you up." Blake held her hand in front of her face.
"...why?" she asked cautiously. "I thought this was the bit where you knock me out and steal all the glory."
"Why not?" he replied. "I've done my bit. Besides, I was raised better than that, I'm English." He twitched the baton again. "Grab it, I'm helping you up." Blake stared him over again, before carefully wrapping a hand around the black steel weapon. London stepped back, and pulled, which put Blake back onto her rather uneasy feet. Her nose was already bleeding, so she carefully put her hand against her bloodied upper lip. London stepped forward again and patted her on the shoulder. "You good?" he asked. Blake nodded, and checked her hand. Yeah, she was going to need first aid. London nodded in return, and began to travel across the arena to collect his rifle and shotgun. Blake watched the curious Englishman as the audience began discussing the fight. He didn't start parading himself, showing off, or gloating: Instead, he simply bent down to pick his shotgun up, and dusted it off, before putting the strap over his shoulder and slinging it over his back. Then, he collected his rifle, and even with his mask on, Blake could detect the look of disappointment that his body language carried as he realised that the sling was damaged beyond repair. "Ah, bollocks," he muttered, giving the strap a few test tugs before putting the gun into his hands, and beginning to idly pace around whilst waiting for Professor Goodwytch's review of the fight.
There was something different about this Earthborn. Blake just couldn't figure out what it was.
After a moment or two, Professor Goodwytch stepped into the arena, looking more interested at a student than normal. "Well, congratulations, Mr. London," she remarked, adjusting her glasses and raising a brow...was that a smile Blake detected tugging the corners of Professor Goodwytch's mouth? "That was a rather unexpected turn of events, and you came out on top. I expect to see great things from you in the weeks to come." London removed his mask, and wiped his face with a hand before sorting his hair out.
"Uh huh," he replied rather bluntly. He winced as he put a hand to his body armour. "Listen, is it alright if I go and pass out in the locker rooms, Professor? Because I think I feel my kidneys shutting down." He cast a glance to Blake. "Good shot, by the way." Blake didn't know what she was meant to say when somebody complimented her aim after she made them bleed considerably. She carefully nodded, and Goodwytch nodded to London.
"O-Of course. We have a medical officer in there, ready and waiting."
"Sweet," London replied. He turned to the audience, and called up to the three boys he had been sat next to. "See you lads later, I need to go and have emergency surgery." He also, to Blake's surprise, turned to her team, despite the glare he was being given by Yang. "Sorry I hurt Blake, I'll buy you all something later to apologize." Yang's glare softened. Why the hell was he apologizing? Normally, an Earthborn gloats considerably under those circumstances. London gave Blake a quick nod, turned to leave, took two steps, and collapsed onto the floor in a heap.
"Y'know, I think I might just lie here and slowly die, actually."