Hello everyone!
This is my first fan fiction in English ( I'm italian ) and I am very excited.
It will be a sort of crossover between RWBY and the universe of horror movies. And I stress, a sort, because this story is not only a crossover. It is a remake of RWBY with elements taken from the world of slasher movies.
Enjoy it and, if you like, feel free to review.
I don't own RWBY and the Universe of Slasher Movies.
Prologue : A new age
The horror started on the eve of Samhain, in a foggy vale in Northern Ireland at the dawn of the Celtic race. And once started, it trod the earth forevermore, wreaking its savagery suddenly, swiftly, and with incredible ferocity. Then, its lust sated, it shrank back into the mists of time for a year, a decade, a generation perhaps. But it slept only and did not die, for it could not be killed. And on the eve before Samhain it would stir, and if the lust were powerful enough, it would rise to fulfill the curse invoked so many Samhains before. Then the people would bolt their doors . Scant good it did them, for the thing laughed at locks and bolts, and besides, there were the unwary. Always the unwary.
Samhain. The Druid festival of the dead.
The summer had passed, and so too had that outburst of early fall warmth now know as Indian summer. The green had gone out of the land, the crops harvested, and the chill of winter had descended like an angel of death. The people, fearing the sun might never again warm the land, held their festival to appease Muck Olla, their deity. On hillsides and in the caves and daub-and-wattle huts great fires were lit to which the spirits of the departed were invited by their kinsmen to warm themselves, to be cheerful before the snows blanketed the earth. Druid priests divined who would live and die in the coming year, who would marry, bear children, wax rich, enjoy good health. And they attempted to hold at bay, through sacrifices and other rites, the witches and goblins that ran amok at that time, stealing infants, destroying crops, killing farm animals... and sometimes worse.
Salem was the third and youngest daughter of the Druid king Gwynnwyll. Her hair was sandy brown with amber highlights, her eyes sea green, her complexion cream and wild rose. She was already taller than her older sisters, and her early development had been the cause of much concern in the tribal community.
The other virgins tittered with envy; the married women voiced disapproval and counseled her mother to marry her off before the girl yielded to her budding impulses; the young warriors eyed her yearningly, and the old warriors thought forbidden thoughts and reflected on their faded memories.
His name was Enda. He was fifteen, and he loved Salem with a secret passion that tortured him and at night caused him to cry out in his sleep.
When it became rumored that Salem's father, the king, was preparing to offer her hand in marriage, Enda consulted his kinsmen and asked if they thought his suit would be looked upon in favor. He suspected what the answer would be, but his longing overcame his embarrassment.
"Ho! Salem marry you?" his father cackled.
"With your shriveled arm and your twitching mouth?"
For Enda had presented himself wrong end first when his mother birthed him, and the midwives had made a botch of his delivery.
"She would as soon marry my goat!" howled his uncle.
"Or Bulech!" his brother added, pointing to the runty dog worrying a greasy bone in the corner of their hut.
"Besides," said his father, "I'm told she's but betrothed to Cullain."
"Now there's a lad worthy of that wench's pretty hole!" his uncle burst out, raising his wineskin to his fat lips, and they continued to discuss Salem's charms as Enda retreated miserably from the hut into the cold night.
The boy suffered tortures such as only the adolescent can.
At length, he determined on a plan. If he could somehow get directly to Salem, he would convince her that though he was illfavored physically, he was in every other respect a fitting candidate for her hand. This was easier said than done, however, because virgins were closely watched by their mothers or by truculent warrior brothers.
Nevertheless, one day Enda seized an opportunity when Salem went to fetch water from the stream at the foot of the hill.
He followed her furtively, darting from tree to tree until he found her stooped over the stream, singing softly to herself as the water filled her clay pitchers.
" Salem?" he called timidly. She turned and gasped, eyes round with fright.
"You! What do you want?"
Her body tensed, and she seemed ready to bolt.
"I... I want to..."
The panic in her face alarmed him. He had expected to startle her, but had not imagined she would greet him with such revulsion. He stepped forward, hand extended pacifically. But she jumped back, misinterpreting the gesture. She stumbled, almost falling into the stream, and Enda moved swiftly to rescue her.
"No!" she shrieked.
"Get away from me, monster!"
She found her feet and burst into a run, crying, "Help! Help! He means to rape me!"
Enda's body had been deformed at birth, but not until that moment had his soul been formed...
And now it was Samhain, and Enda humiliated beyond reason, stood on the perimeter of the celebrants dancing and chanting around the bonfire.
In his left hand he held a fat wineskin, from which he drank often. In his right he held a foot-long butcher blade which he used to cut the throats of pigs and chickens.
His eyes were fixed bitterly on the figures of Salem and Cullain, whirling exuberantly around the fire, to the immense approval of the tribe. For their betrothal had been announced, to the joy and relief of all.
Enda's legs shook and his body trembled in the cold night, though the heat of the fire was intense. And when the couple pirouetted past him once more, he leapt like a wildcat on his twin prey. Unarmed, their elbows linked, they didn't have a chance. Enda's blade sliced easily through Cullain's jugular and windpipe. His legs kicked out in a grotesque finale to his dance of life. Then he fell like a slaughtered bull, dragging Salem downward. Her head turned away, she laughed, believing that her drunken partner had merely stumbled. Enda's blade caught her with laughter on her face, the same laughter that had mocked him after she had run safely into the arms of her tribesmen the day he had approached her at the stream.
The highly honed weapon plunged into her breast up to the hilt. In the clamor, no one heard the explosion of wind from her lungs, the gurgle of blood, the whimper, or saw the look of dreadful recognition as the light faded from her eyes – except for Enda.
The thrill of revenge was the last emotion Enda knew, for a moment later he was literally torn apart by the enraged tribe. Only his head and his heart were preserved, gathered up after the frenzy had subsided, at the request of the grieving king. After Salem and Cullain were buried on the hallowed ground the following day, Enda's head and heart were carried to the summit of the Hill of Fiends, where cowards and other outcasts were left to rot unblessed. The king asked his shaman to pronounce a special curse over the remains of this vile murderer.
"Thy soul shall roam the earth till the end of time, reliving thy foul deed and thy foul punishment, and may the god Muck Olla visit every affliction upon thy spirit forevermore..."
The sky darkened and lightning flashed. The day suddenly grew black and cold, and out of nowhere gusts of snow lashed the tribal party. In the history of the tribe, it had never snowed so early in the year. Satisfied that Muck Olla had heard his prayer, the shaman summoned his people to turn their backs on Enda and return to their bereft village...
The celebration of Samhain's eve was transmuted over the centuries. The invading Romans carried the tradition back from the English Isles with them in the form of the Harvest Festival of Pomona, and the early Christians deemed their celebration Hallowmas. The popes of the Middle Ages consecrated November 1 as All Saints' Day, and All Hallow Even slurred into Halloween as the holiday was transmuted over the next millennium.
With the coming of modern civilization, the superstitions and traditions of the original festival lost their meaning and vitality. Token recognition could be seen in the custom of lighting candles in jack-o'-lanterns, hanging effigies of witches and goblins outside homes, and playing goodnatured pranks that were a feeble cry from the mayhem of the old times.
Children paraded about in costumes whose significance hand long ago lost their correspondence to the terror of evil that had once gripped the world at the onset of winter. Halloween, like many of the holidays, had become an empty shame.
Except that from time to time, the innocent frolic of All Hallow Even was shattered by some brutal and inexplicable crime, and the original spirit of the celebration was brought home to a horrified world. Then the people would bolt their doors. Scant good it did them... and besides, there were always the unwary.
Civilization slipped into its second dark age on an unsurprising track of blood, but with a speed that could not have been foreseen by even the most pessimistic futurist. It was as if it had been waiting to go.
1000 years ago, God was in His heaven, the stock market stood at 10,140, and most of the planes were on time . Two weeks later the skies belonged to the birds again and the stock market was a memory. By Halloween, every major city from New York to Moscow stank to the empty heavens and the world as it had been was a memory.
The event that came to be known as The Grimm Hour began at 3:03 p.m., eastern standard time, on the afternoon of October 31, 1999.
The term was a misnomer, of course, but within ten hours of the event, most of the scientists capable of pointing this out were either dead or insane. The name hardly mattered, in any case. What mattered was the effect.
A powerful global earthquake fragmented the earth's crust, creating new continents and killing more than 3/4 of the world population. And then it happened.
Monsters. Grimm. They came from the earth like worms crawling.
And now...the land belongs to the them.
Present
It was October 31, 1000 in the Renmant calendar. This day should have been one of great joy for the birth of the third child of the Arc family, if not was the fact the child was born one month early. Adam Arc paced in the hallway just outside the bedroom where his wife had been bedridden for the past several months.
He had every good reason to be concerned. The first three beautiful children were born with no complications to the pregnancies. Perhaps since his beloved was in her mid forties that she had complications for this child. But looking into her family history however, it was common to have healthy babes even at this age.
So, Damien had to wonder, why was she having trouble with this babe?
A few times Jupiter almost miscarried, but the fetus had proven to be stubborn and strong. Even the family doctor was amazed that she had not lost this child when he has made inquiries that it might be for the best for an abortion to save Jupiter from such pain. He knew first hand that the chances of the child being born prematurely were extremely high. Even with such an advance of technology not all premature babies survive their first month.
It was best not to have Jupiter have a rise of hope for the survival of her third child. But the woman was just as stubborn, expressing whenever she could that so long as this child wanted to see the light of day then she will not take away its chance.
And although he feared for her health more than ever, Damien supported her decision all the way. He learned very early in their relationship that it was impossible to make her change her mind when she was like this. His love for her was far greater than his large amount of pride, which was something that was rare for any noble, especially for the head of the family.
"Father," a young voice stopped Damien in his tracks. "Is mother and the baby going to be okay?"
The hunter put on a brave face as he knelt down, hands on the tiny shoulders of his eldest. "I dearly hope so, Joan"
"My baby brother or sister is being born too early, isn't it? That's what one of the nurse maids said. Father, will the baby live?" Joan frowned, her concern growing as his mother's screams reached a higher pitch.
Damien eyed the head maid who held his frightened four year old daughter tightly in her arms. His little girl was on the verge of tears not because of the screams, but because she knew her mother was in pain. Little Arabella was a sensitive girl, and it hurt him to see her like this.
"I apologize, sir, I tried to keep the other girls quiet. They are all for the gossip than keeping such worries from a child. I tried to explain as best I could without hurting him when he asked me questions." The young woman nervously bit her lip.
Damien sighed, shaking his head.
"You did your best." then, he turned to his daughter. "I can't lie, but your little brother or sister may or may not survive."
"But there must be something we could do! As the eldest, it's my job to be sure my younger sister and the baby to be safe. Isn't the family doctor the best of the country? Couldn't he do something to help the baby live?"
Damien almost broke down and cried. When little Arabella was born, he made sure to raise Joan to be caring for her little sister. He knew Joan meant well, but not everything was all fairy tales with heroes coming in to save the day in the last possible moment.
"I am sure he will do everything he can. All we can do is pray that the baby will live to grow up with us. If it is God's willing that the baby will not, then I am sure your little brother or sister will be well loved in heaven."
Joan looked away. "You sure? Can babies be accepted even though they haven't lived for very long?"
"Didn't you know? All babies are Oum's children. I am sure He will accept this baby with open arms. And the baby won't be alone. There is your grandfather, remember? I am sure he will be happy to smother the baby with all the love in the world."
By now Damien couldn't hold back his tears. His father had died just this year, and the wound was still healing. Thomas Arc showered Damien's children with much love, as he held the same equality of love with his other grandchild by his deceased eldest daughter. There was no doubt in his mind that the old man would do the same with the one grandchild he couldn't be around at the birth.
Damien pulled his girl close into an embrace. He sincerely wished with all his heart that this new child will survive. If not for him, then at least for Jupiter's sake. His beloved wanted to bring this babe into the world. He knew she loved the child too much to have it dying in her arms for all she had gone through to this point.
In a moment the screaming stopped. Damien let go of his daughter as he straightened, anxiously staring down the door into the bedroom. In what felt like an eternity, when it was probably a span of a few minutes, one of the nurses stepped out.
"So? What's the news? Is Jupiter going to be fine?"
Damien couldn't bring himself to ask about the baby.
"Do not fear, she will be fine with some rest. But she is demanding to hold her new born son."
Of course, Damien wasn't really surprised at his wife's stubbornness. But there was something the nurse would not say that bothered him.
"Why is my son being held away from her? Is he even alive? I don't hear any screaming that usually takes place with this event." Concern bubbled in his chest.
"The babe is alive, but very weak. Dr. Coleman recommends not naming the boy until he is one hundred percent clear he will survive." The solemn expression across her young face gave Damien the idea the doubt was seriously high.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, the earl turned to the maid.
"Mary, could you please take the children to bed?"
The young woman nodded. With little Arabella in one arm, Mary reached out to gently pull on Joan's smaller hand. As he was snapped out of his little trance from the shock of the news, the girl started protesting.
"No! I want to see my brother. Please, father? I want to see my brother!" Tears were finally rolling down his round cheeks.
Mary wordlessly glanced at the hunter, not knowing what to do. Under normal circumstances she could easily calm the eldest child down. Suffice to say these were no normal circumstances, which she understood no amount of gentle words or sweet lullabies could ease Joan's pain. Life has been hard enough for her since her mother had been bedridden, rarely able to see her two healthy children.
With a sigh Damien knew he would regret this, but he knew if he did not then Joan would not rest and would attempt to sneak into the room. The earl dismissed Mary, holding his daughter's small hand. Together they stepped into the room to see a tired Mrs. Arc, and the profile of an anxious Dr. Coleman with a bundle in his arms.
" Jupiter!"
Damien rushed to his wife's side.
"Are you all right?"
Her red hair was damp and her skin had paled from the birthing process. She smiled weakly at him, all the love they shared could be felt all around the room. Damien took her hand in his, gently squeezing.
"I'm fine, dear. It's not like this is my first time giving birth you know." Jupiter laughed a little. "How's our new son? Can I hold him?"
The hunter glanced over at the doctor to see the man had sat down and reluctantly revealed the little face for Joan to see. Both parents watched as their eldest tentatively reached out to her little brother's cheek.
"How come he's not crying? Bella cried when she was born." Joan frowned when all her brother did was wiggle from the foreign contact.
"Because your brother is very weak, Joan. He doesn't have the strength to cry like other babies do." Dr. Coleman answered in his gentle manner.
Ethan looked over his shoulder to his parents. "Does he have a name yet?"
"I would like to name him Jaune." Jupiter offered.
A sigh from across the room expressed disappointment as the doctor shook his head.
"I have told you before, Mrs. Arc, not to name him just yet. The chances of him surviving until morning are slim."
"That does not mean I shouldn't name him!" Jupiter sat up. "He is my son, and he should have a name before he is taken from me!"
"I understand, but in doing so would make it harder for you to accept his death." Dr. Coleman barely whispered, reminding the others another child was present in the room.
"Father, is he going to die?" Joan stared with horrified eyes.
"I think it's time you go to bed, my dear."
If only he hadn't brought his son in here in the first place, Damien thought.
"But what about my brother?" The girl grew defensive. She was already emotionally attached to her youngest sibling.
"I'm sorry, daughter. All we can do is pray for a miracle."
For his wife and daughter's sake, Damien hoped more than anything that the newest addition to the family would survive the night.
Several hours later Jupiter was dozing with the small bundle in her arms. In a chair next to her bed Dr. Coleman didn't appear too comfortable as he slept, but she will make up for it in the morning. The man has been on duty during her time she was bedridden. It would do him some good to see his own family after so much strife and struggle these past few months.
As the mother of three began to fall asleep, she became aware of another presence in the room. One glance at the doctor sound asleep and still breathing put her in a sense of security.
But the room was still too dark for her eyes to see nothing more than an outline of a figure in the darkness. From the silhouette she guessed this was a man. Normally, she would have assumed it was her husband, for the silhouette was about the same height as Damien.
There was just something not entirely human with the shadowy figure. Jupiter's whole body tensed when a hand reached out in her horror towards her new born son.
Jupiter came from a large family in Mistrial where they could trace their roots for many generations into the mid sixteenth century. As a farm girl and second to oldest sister of four other girls, the woman grew up being a second mother and driving off arrogant boys away from her sisters when they were barely into their teenage years.
Those same instincts to protect her family were carried on to her children. Right now she wanted nothing more than to reach for a hidden dagger from her bedside table to drive off this strange entity. It was then to her horror that she couldn't move.
She couldn't do anything but watch as the hand lightly pressed onto her son's stomach. To her fascination she realized just how tiny her youngest son was, for the palm of the stranger's hand was bigger than his little round belly.
She could hear a faint chanting. Her ears almost couldn't recognize the words from her native tongue. With growing interest Jupiter stared at the shadowed figure in wonder. Even though her eyes were fully adjusted to the darkness she still couldn't see any definite features.
In what seemed to be an eternity the silhouette removed his hand from her son. Jupiter was about to ask the figure his name when the same hand that treated her son affectionately touched her forehead.
Words spoken in a language she had not heard in years whispered in her ear.
"Sleep well, Jupiter Arc. Be happy, because your son will save this world from damnation."
And with that ,Jupiter knew nothing more than darkness in sweet slumber.
The next morning she woke from the sound she had been praying for. Her son was wailing with all his might, the first real sign of a healthy life. Jupiter blinked away tears as she rocked her son as she cooed at him not to worry.
"Shh, little one. There's no need to cry, you're safe and sound here." She giggled at the sight of her youngest moving his little arms about.
Dr. Coleman was startled awake. He nearly fell out of his chair from the unexpected sound of crying. The doctor gasped in surprise when his eyes found the source of the wails. Dr. Coleman couldn't so much as breathe at the strange miracle he was witnessing. Just last night the child was too weak!
Within no time her husband was by her bed. Katalina smiled at him lovingly. She saw the relief and fatherly love of a new child between them in his blue eyes. There were dark circles under his eyes and his blond hair was in slight disarray. Yet the smile Damien had reflected he was truly grateful and delighted to welcome a new son to the world.
"Oum bless this child! It's a miracle he has survived. He's as healthy as a horse now!" Dr. Coleman exclaimed.
"Maybe my father has been watching over him." Damien spoke fondly.
Jupiter watched her son with a knowing smile. He might be the smallest child she had ever seen, but he had a strong set of lungs. As the boy calmed down and his dark hair fluffed from turning his head from side to side he opened his eyes for the first time.
She gasped at the strange eye coloring. At first she mistook the color as royal purple, like her favorite cotton soft bed sheets. But after the initial shock she could recognize her husband's blue in those eyes.
In all her life she had never seen the prettiest violet blue eyes as this child. Jupiter was amazed she had helped create such a beautiful creature into this world.
"Wow,Ju. His eyes are really beautiful"
" Yes,they are" the woman replied, her eyes never leaving her son as he blinked curiously at the world around him.
"He'll grow up to be as handsome as me." Her husband chuckled. "We'll have to watch out and keep the nobles off of him. They'll be lining up on our door to offer their girls."
"One look from me and they would be running back to their mothers." Jupiter promised.
That moment the maid Mary opened the door and Joan came rushing in. A sleepy Arabella yawned as she rubbed her eyes. The eldest sibling crawled onto the bed to get a closer look at his little brother.
"Look, he's opened his eyes!" Joan grinned like a kid in a candy shop.
"And it looks like he will live a long, happy life." Damien added. He kissed his wife on the cheek. "So, are we still going to name him Jaune, love?"
Jupiter thought for a moment before shaking her head. "No, an angel came by last night and gave him life."
"A real angel?" Joan stared at her mother wide eyed. "You saw a real angel? Did he have wings and a halo, mother?"
"No, the angel had nothing of the sort." the woman a laughed. "But I think he was our family's guardian."
"We have a guardian?" The girl tilted his head.
"In my family there is a legend of a guardian always watching us, ready to step in and protect us." The mother of three lowered her soft gaze to the son in her arms. "I never truly believed in those stories until now."
"Well, angel or guardian, I am grateful for the extra help." Vincent said as the young maid passed Arabella into his arms.
"Look, Bella. Your new little brother." The hunter introduced the pair.
"Brother!" Arabella pointed at the baby.
"Yes, you have a brothers now."
Damien then turned to his wife. "So his name will still be Jaune?"
Jupiter shook her head. "No, I have a better name in mind now."
"What's his name gonna be, mother?" Joan pressed.
" Micheal. Like the angel "
Damien nodded
"Micheal Arc. This is a good name. Welcome to the world, Micheal."
The newly named infant only stared at his father in wonder.
DUM,DUM,DUUUUUM !
Yes,Jaune is going to be the Micheal Myers of the RWBY Universe.
