Author's Note: Well, I just realised that the acronym for the first 'book' of this story spells StD... XD. So, how are you my fellow RWBY fans? It's a pleasure to be back to regular writing again; I honestly forgot how fun it is to write. Anyways, the prologue and first chapter for the first 'book' in the Spectre Chronicles is here! Hope you guys enjoy this re-vamped version of my original stories, which I will actually keep up for a little while longer (viewer discretion is advised where spoilers are concerned).

Any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated and if you have any questions please ask.

See you in a couple weeks!

De4thstopper


Spectre: Scouring the Darkness

Chapter I: To Start the Story of a Dead Man

"There are many ways to start a story. Some start with action, confusion or a moment of great suffering, tossing the reader into the deep end and making them lose themselves in the plot. Others begin with normality, tranquility or just a peaceful atmosphere, subtly hinting that something is bound to go wrong, the very suspense killing the reader. But what of this one, you ask? How does one start the story of a dead man?"

I take a moment to shift in my stone cold seat, the freshly fallen rubble of what was once the wall of a tower that barely stood around me. Much of the Kingdom was like this now, a dull and desolate place with no safe corner to turn. But the one thing that set this place apart from the rest was the isolation; no Grimm, no people, just the lonely ruin, the camera I had brought and myself - or whatever was left of myself anyway.

I glance at my scroll briefly, noting the time before continuing. The night was still young and it would be a long one at that. I could just about hear the cracks of gunfire in the distance, where the defenders of the refugee camp had formed firing lines in an attempt to hold the Grimm back. Under different circumstances I would have taken every opportunity to stand beside them, fighting for every man woman and child, or dying to the last in the attempt. My friends were amongst them too, no doubt playing their part while I stand aside and do what must be done.

I never asked for them to come with me, I actually discouraged it in fact; and yet, there they were, risking their lives so that I can complete the tasks that I deemed to be my last. They didn't know that I would die here today; I don't think I could tell them because I know they'd never stand for it. They'd waste their time finding another way that simply wasn't there, or even putting their lives aside for mine in vain. There were enough people who had done that for me over the last seven years and I was not going to have that list grow longer. Twenty three lives lost was enough for me; whether it was in recent times or stretching far back into my distant memories, their names were inscribed in my head forever more. I guess now I can at least return the favour, in my time of dying.

I return my gaze to the camera lens, unsure of how long I had been hesitating. "Well," I said, "It starts with a question that I ask to you, the listener, the reader, or viewer." I study the blank and dark look that the camera gives me, waiting all too patiently for me to speak. And I answer it.

"Have you ever lost someone close to you?"