Hello one and all! Welcome to my very first RWBY fiction! (Applaud) Thank you, thank you. I must admit, the ideas for this have been bouncing around for years now, and I finally had enough. I had to write something. I hope you all enjoy it.

According to legend, Remnant has been the home of Humans and Faunus for as long as time had existed, and that the two brothers, the original creators of both peoples, had left this world to their children, to rule as they saw fit. The God of Darkness had also created the Grimm, before helping to create Man and Fanaus, to destroy what his brother created and it was this creation that became the gravest threat the children of the Two Brothers faced. Under the leadership of Salem, a perfect hybrid of Grimm and Human, lead the ferocious creatures, hoping snuff out the light of civilization and plunge the world into darkness.

It was after the discovery of dust, that the Grimm were pushed back and life began to grow once more. Kingdoms rose on the continents, protected by the natural barriers of the wilderness, and safe from Grimm. The four kingdoms of Vale, Vacuo, Atlas, and Mistral had lived in a time of peace, war and conflict few and far between as such negativity would assuredly attract the Grimm, but beyond the explored world, beyond the lands taken by the Grimm, lies a Kingdom that has of yet been watching as the world around them grew, advanced, and, in their eyes, failed in its duties. They watched as their brethren squandered what they had, ignorant of the looming threat that was even now creeping forwards to strike. It was the blood of this kingdom that held it at bay for centuries, their lives that had been sacrificed to stem the hordes of Grimm that threatened to overwhelm the Kingdoms with sheer force of numbers. It was during these countless battles that their technology, their very society, had grown and come to understand the one truth in the world; they must stand united, Mankind and Faunus, if they were to have any hope of defeating the darkness. They are the Kingdom of Virtus, and Their Will is Iron.

For thousands of years, the Kingdom of Virtus had stood as a force of peace, order, and protection in the lands it governed uniting all under its banner with the will to survive and thrive alongside their fellows. While most in the world would see the Kingdom as strange, and utterly mad in some cases, it would never be said that bigotry and hatred had ever gained a hold within the nation. There were disputes, arguments, but there was never an issue with citizenship or rights. As early as their history stretches, Virtus' citizens had believed in the community above all else, for the community was family, and family stuck together.

Unlike most of the world, Virtus had no laws against Faunus, nor any favoring one race or another, for within the kingdom's walls, all were equal in life and all had to support the community in some way. As such, it was unsurprising when a mandatory three years of military service was required for all at the age of 18, that all farmers were to donate a portion of their crops to the local garrisons and ration warehouses for storage and use in time of crisis, or that a portion of the money people earned at their jobs was collected with the intent on supplying the military and government with the funds necessary to maintain the nation's infrastructure, defenses, and research into the sciences. With the accumulation of finances with this system, research into the military, health care, and other necessities saw to a prosperity that only the wealthy enjoyed in the rest of the world, and it was now time to share what they had gained with the other nations of Remnant.

For the past twenty years, Virtus' leadership had been preparing the nation for the time they revealed themselves to the world and now that time had come. A small fleet was assembled, representing the best and brightest among the military diplomatic, and societal fields, and all escorted by a fleet of warships, led by Admiral Argint Sky. Renowned throughout Virtus as a military and tactical prodigy, she quickly rose through the ranks of the officer corps, becoming the youngest to reach admiral at the age of thirty-seven, and having earned an undying loyalty from her commanders and crew. Now at the age of forty-nine, she was close to having to retire from the field and being stuck behind a desk to make way for a younger, but still equally qualified commander to take her place. She stood at an impressive 1.8 meters, her physique was devoid of unnecessary fat, scarred from years of service in the Fleet, and her chest was adorned with awards she had earned in the fires of combat against the Grimm hoards. Her uniform, all black with a neat, bright red lining on the cuffs, collar, and edges, was freshly pressed and her matching officers cover sat smartly upon her head. Her hands were embraced by black leather gloves, dress shoes freshly polished, and the saber that all officers of the Fleet wore was attached at her hip, her left hand resting upon its pommel. She was the exact the picture of what an officer in the Virtus Royal Air Fleet should look like.

Letting loose a near silent, weary sigh, she lifted her cap and ran a hand through her greying hair, a pair of equally grey wolf ears popping up from her hair before being covered once again by her cap. The clacking of boots on the deck of the Combat Information Center's deck signaled the arrival of her executive officer, Commodore Daniel Westerland. A man of forty-three, with silver hair and wearing a similar uniform to his superior, he stood next to her as she stared at the main view screen in the center of the room, displaying the landscape ahead of them as a camera on the ship's bow adjusted the view for its occupants. Their destination, the Kingdom of Vale, was not yet in sight and it would be another seven hours of cruising before they would begin to see the continent, and even pick up the radio broadcasts. But that was not what the subordinate officer was concentrating on. Instead, he focused on his superior, who was beginning to show slight signs of just how exhausted she was, "If I may say so, ma'am, you don't look so well."

"I had expected you to say that, Daniel," she answered as her hand massaged the sleep from her eyes and fell back to her side. "I haven't slept since we left, making sure we-"

Commodore Westerland decided then to interrupt his superior, something that would normally not be tolerated on board any warship, but having been friends with your superior since the academy had its advantages, "You know that's just an excuse Argint. You just let your work take over and forgot to stop again. Go get some sleep, I can handle the watch till we reach Vale's borders."

This had been a recurring conversation between them ever since they were cadets. She would always work herself to the bone, only stopping to take a quick nap and eat before throwing herself back into her work. He would then come along, and convince her to go get some rest, where he made sure she got eight hours of sleep before he even let her near any work again. She never did figure out how he always convinced her, "I knew you would say that too. Any way I could convince you I'm fine?"

Westerland gave a short chuckle at her response, "You know you can't. Go get some rest, I'll call you if something happens." Sky gave one last tired sigh before she began to walk back to her quarters. Westerland waited until she was around the corner and out of sight, then checked the security cameras just to be sure, before he turned his attention back to the screen and watched as the waves and clouds drifted by his craft's view, "This is going to be a long seven hours."

His attention was called to a young officer sitting at one of the many stations lining the walls of the command room, as an alarm went off on her console. She was young, barely out of the academy and most likely on her first deployment, but her posture was firm and alert, a testament to the training instilled into their recruits, unlike Atlas' military force, "Sir, I've picked up a distress call on the emergency channels."

What a way to start the day, though Westerland as he dialed up the Admiral's personal communicator.

Three decks below the ship's main command center was the marine barracks, an entire deck dedicated to the equipment, housing, and training of the Virtus Marine Corps servicemen and women stationed aboard. Walking down the passageways of the mighty ship was Mathew Donneley, a fairly new face to the crew, but not one that was unknown to the Corps. He had served in the Marines for as long as he could remember, nearly nine full years of service to his people. At first, he had joined as part of the mandatory service that all young men and women were obligated to, barring any disabilities or medical reasons that prohibited their enlistment, and got out to help his family with their small shop in the country, but as days turned into months, he began to feel empty, like he was missing something in his life. That was the military. He missed the structure, the camaraderie, the knowledge that each man or woman beside him would be there for him until death. He had talked it over with his family and they had come to the same conclusion he had, and helped him prepare for re-enlistment. Once he put on the iconic green camouflage and combat boots, he had felt complete once more.

Now, here he was, bright red hair cropped at regulation length, uniform freshly pressed, the silver collar devices of his promotion to gunnery sergeant gleaming in the low light, and his standard issue M-3 Predator handgun folded into the holster on his right hip with the two spare magazines on his left. His face and fair skin marred with scars from past battles, his heart and mind heavy with friends lost to the Grimm.

Grimm. A name that soured his mood whenever he heard it. For as long as they had existed, the beasts had hunted everything and everyone that had walked the planet. They could not be bargained or reasoned with, they did not feel pity, remorse, or fear and would never stop, ever, until they were all dead. Donneley had grown to hate the creatures for as long as he had existed and like every other service member, vowed to never let a single one of the hell-spawn into their home.

He shook his head to clear the depressing, anger filled thoughts from his mind as his new superior walked around the corner ahead of him, steel toed boots clinking away at the deck plating as he approached. The silver bar denoting him as a first lieutenant gleaming and his side arm also at his side. On his left breast, his name was stitched into the fabric of his blouse, "Gardner" it said, and on his right, just under the pocket, was a spread eagle clutching a rifle and a arrows in its talons. His face was not as scarred as the gunnery sergeant, his head shaved and his skin tanned from the years he spent in the dessert regions of their continent. His gait was that of someone who was on a mission, his face determined and grim, "Walk with me Gunny."

Donneley fell into step beside his superior as they trudged deeper into the ship, towards the armory, "Something going on sir?"

Gardner gave his second a grunting reply with the voice that brokered no argument or rebuttal, "I've had a mild shock from my semblance. I want you to gear up and get the platoon ready to move out, now."

The man's words had immediately put the non-commissioned officer on alert, picking up his pace slightly. Semblances were, as far as Remnant had been able to discern, an extension of their souls, fueled by Aura, the lifeblood of all life on Remnant, except the Grimm, who lacked such a thing as a soul. He had read up on the files for his new unit, with the lieutenant's being quite the anomaly as his semblance was only described as premonitions, quick images of the near future. Those who served with him had learned to trust the man's instincts and semblance as it had led them all out of situations that would have assuredly led to their demise. The fact that his commanding officer was telling him to ready himself and the men sent warning bells off in his head, "Expecting a fight,sir?"

"Yes Gunny, I am."

He needed no further convincing and gave a firm nod to the man as he took off down the corridor, leaning into the on board birthing area for their unit and giving the order to don their gear, when the alarms started to go off and the voice of one of the crew sounded throughout the ship, "General quarters, general quarters! All hands, man your battle stations. This is not a drill. Repeat, general quarters, general quarters!" The voice continued to ring in his ears but he and those around him paid it no mind as they all rushed down the passageway to their assigned stations to combat whatever threat lay ahead and carryout their superior's orders to the letter. What a way to start the day.

Information Database:

-Military Designations:

-Commanding Officer (CO): the highest ranking officer on a post or in a unit.

-Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO): an enlisted serviceman that is bestowed with the ranks of the upper echelons of enlisted service men, and serve under officers as section heads or squad leaders.

-Warship Design:

-Combat Information Center (CIC): the brain of all Virtus warships, and the main command center where the ship's officers issue orders to their subordinates. Located deep within the hull of a ship, it is the safest place on board, as it is protected by thick hull and armor of the warship.

Thank you all for partaking in the first ever chapter for my first ever RWBY fic. I hope you all enjoyed it. Just a heads up, yes, Virtus will be using Mass Effect based weapons and ships, with a few twists as they will still use dust based ammunition and fuel. The only thing I'm using is the aesthetics, which is why it is not being placed in the crossover section. I'm only using the looks, not the actual tech, with exception of the folding weapons. It is perfect for this world. Leave a review if you please!