In the loving memory of Monty Oum. You are forever and dearly missed, and your legacy shall be continued by those who have the will to make the impossible, a reality. Special thanks also go to Mark Zang, who has also been inspired by the brilliance that is Monty Oum in his fan-made RWBY Trailers.


"Can you match my resolve? If so, you will succeed."


"Noir" Trailer


The night was cold. The wind lapped and brushed against the trees, a leaf being broken away from it's lush and into the air, dancing as it flowed through, swirling around as it climbed higher and higher. The sky was pitch black, with only the cracked moon as it's only illumination. The cityscape was lit up brilliantly, as from below a towering sky scraper, it appeared to look like a sea of stars, whining and bellowing sounds echoing from all across. People went about their lives, ignoring the daily plights that transpired outside of their daily routines. Past the cities, past all traces of civilization, was the wilderness, vast and untamed, where black beasts that snuffed out any trace of life roamed freely, eagerly searching for new prey.

Here, in Aspluth, a small-scale city in Atlus, so revolutionized by technology that it also seemed like a technological heaven, there was other danger to be found. Rather than the peril of the beasts of darkness, evil and malice lurked in the form of man. Those with and without animal characteristics. The fear of losing one's life was still present, even in this industrialized city, as weapons were traded among hands.

Atop the sky scraper, one could see it all. In Aspluth, there was no shortage of petty crimes. Even now, a transaction was being held between two men: one a man with orange hair dressed in a stylish suit and hat, cane in hand with a lit cigar in his mouth, and the other, the typical mobster: scarred face, ruggish looks, beady eyes, black suit, and a lot of muscle, standing two heads taller than him with several men behind him.

"So gentlemen... do we have a deal?" the man in the bowler hat grinned.

"Give us the goods first...then we'll talk..." the massive figure stated, bearing a gruff, imposing, and Russian accent.

he orange-haired man chuckled as he moved over to the table, motioning his hand. One of his flunkies, dressed all in black with a few pieces of red clothing, followed, carrying a large briefcase. He set it down on the table, shifting it to where it would face the massive figure. The man undid the two locks, and opened it up, revealing a large sum of money, easily in the millions. The mobsters behind their boss ogled at the large amount whereas their leader remained stone-faced, arms folded over his chest. "Now, keep in mind, big guy," the man said, keeping the briefcase open. "This is one of twenty briefcases, each with a total amount of 1 million. You can count the money right here if you want. You'll receive ten cases right up front, and if you agree to help me in my little," he chuckled at his own choice of words. "Business venture, shall we say, you'll receive the other ten at a later date, five days from now." He twirled his cane around before it hit the ground, leaning on with a smile. "So... what do you say?"

The large man moved closer, taking the case into his hands, and taking a hold of one of the large wads of money. He gave a close, but brief inspection, as it to ascertain it's authenticity, before tossing it back into the case. He then closed the lid, and locked it in place. "It is a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Roman." the figure said, taking hold of the case. "I am curious, though... Why do you need my assistance?"

Roman chuckled, tipping his hat. "Let's just say that I've got quite the annoying, bossy 'partner' who's got big plans." he replied, being sure not to give any details. It wasn't that he was under orders not to say anything, and risk being punished for spilling them. It was just that he had no idea what sort of plans his 'partner' had in mind, keeping him on a very strict need to know basis. "And I mean big."

"How big?"

"About the whole damned world of Remnant big."

"...I see..." The man let out a chuckle. "That IS interesting... Just about suicidal!"

"Hey, like I said, I have quite the eccentric partner. Everything was their idea."

Roman smirked as the two made a quick handshake. That was it, the deal was sealed. Now they had the Arpeggio Cartel's aid in the matter. His 'partner' was going to be pleased with the additional back up. Well, then again, they did put him in charge of matters relating to mafia, so that was a plus. Besides, with muscles as big as this, he really doubted that they needed the White Fang's help in the matter. After all, what use were a bunch of simple-minded terrorists who couldn't fight worth a damn? Now, don't get him wrong, he didn't have anything against Faunus in general, he just thought that they wouldn't be able to hack it here. With the Arpeggio Cartel's cooperation, there was little need for them to actual be of use.

What could possibly go wrong?

Play "News From The Front," by Bad Relgion

Then, without warning, the hinges of the metal door were thrown back, as were several of Roman's own men. The door went flying through the air, scraping against the earth while the black-clad thugs fumbled on the ground, rolling about like dolls before slowly coming to a stop. Roman clucked his tongue in annoyance as he snapped his fingers, his men pulling out batons and guns. The boss of the Arpeggio Cartel and his men also became preparped, holstering tommy guns and katanas. "Alright," he called out to the idiot who decided to have a death wish. "Who's going to pay for wrecking my pad?!"

The intruder stepped forward. To Roman's mild surprise, it was a kid, probably eighteen or nineteen, with messy black hair, dressed nearly all in black. He had on a black, denim jacket with short sleeves over a simple dark v-neck shirt, a fingerless glove on his left hand with a wristband on his right. At the bottom, he had on a pair of dark gray, faded jeans that were pulled up to the calves with heavy black boots, which seemed to echo softly in the warehouse as he stepped inside. Around his waist were three, leather intersecting belts, two forming into an "x" while hanging lazily off to the sides, while the third seemed to be some kind of holster with a sheathe, likely for a knife or something with a blade. Resting in both of his hands, directly behind his head, sitting on his shoulders, was a black spear with a mechanical-like design, a gear-motif on the hilt while the blade was a black, obsidian edge, a cog sitting at the other end of the ivory shaft. Staring at the group of mobsters was a pair of calm, almost icy blue eyes.

"...am I late to the party?"

Roman nodded as he removed his cigar and crushed it with his cane. "...Oookay."

The Arpeggio Cartel nodded his head to his cronies. "...kill 'em."

In the next second, gunfire hailed through the entire warehouse.

Screams of agony and fear soon followed. But not from the teenager's mouth.

As the bullets came close, he weaved around the line of fire as he rushed in towards the armed men. When he got to the closest one. He shot his hand out and grabbed him by the throat. In a swift movement, he ripped it out, blood spurting all over him. The bastard was paralyzed in shock as his words were replaced by incomprehensible garbles. He fell over dead.

The mobsters were surprised by the sudden action, but soon recovered, aiming their guns at him. The black-haired youth jumped up, avoiding the spray of bullets, his spear twirling about in hand, knocking away any shots that came at him from above. His feet landed right on top of the black van that Roman arrived in, taking up a comfortable position with his legs dangling over the edge, and leaning on his spear, which was now lodged into the roof. He gave them a mocking, almost bored smile. "...that it?"

Roman scowled, and in response to the teen's words, aimed his cane at him. "How about this?" A crosshair popped up from the end of the cane. A second later, a flaming blast shot out.

The black-haired boy jumped up from the van as the blast rammed straight into it, sending it right off of it's wheels, and skidding through the ground, hitting the metal walls. Once he landed back on his feet, three of Roman's goons ran up to him, batons in hand. He shook his head, as if disappointed in them, and held his spear in one hand. The shaft retracted, and the blade began to morph, shrinking down in size while the hilt churned and whirled about. When the closest thug jumped up, he swung up his baton down.

A sword met it head on. The teen smirked, as the spear had now changed into a one-handed blade. The hilt and guard retained their gear and cog-motif, but the blade become slightly larger and longer, reaching as long as his arm.

With a swift swing, he sliced the baton in two and cut through the man's face. He screamed in pain but was silenced with a kick to the throat.

The other two goons followed up but as they came close, the teen swung once more. But he didn't cut through their batons, but through their arms.

They cried out in pain, recoiling and falling to the ground with bloody stumps while limbs fell to the ground, holding the weapons in question. The boy whirled around, defending himself against a pair of katanas, their owners belonging to none other than the Arpeggio Cartel goons. The boss himself looked at the boy with respect, noticing the cold edge in his eyes. Those were not the eyes of a mere boy. Those were the eyes of a man who would end any and all who stood in his way that he deemed a threat to his mission. Truly, he found no signs of a mere child, but a trained warrior. Roman, however, was fuming. Everything was going so well until this brat showed up.

His 'partner' was NOT going to happy.

"Well?" he growled at the rest of his crew. "Get him!"

The men were reluctant, but obeyed orders nonetheless. They brandished their weapons and charged. The boy just looked at them in anticipation, and smirked from his own bloodlust.

For a brief moment, his eyes flared dark crimson. The Arpeggio Cartel charged in as well, any with guns tossing them away in favor for cutting or beating him down like a dog. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest, blood pumping at an irregular rate. He could feel it, the anticipation, the overwhelming urge to stain this warehouse red, to cut them all apart. Voices in his head were screaming in his head, chanting their names as offerings as if they were sacrifices to a deity that demanded to be worshiped with blood. He would kill them all, no questions asked. He would not hesitate, he would not allow so much as a single one of them to leave.

Slowly, all around him... time began to slow to a crawl.

His opponents were moving so slowly that it looked like they were standing still. He couldn't wait for them. He refused to wait for them. They would be taking foooreeeveeerrrr.

They were all too slow. He needed to fight now, dammit!

Without wasting another moment, he charged at them.

The first one was one of Roman's thugs. His body moved so quickly that it was almost like a blur to him, that he was accelerating beyond what should have been possible. His sword dragged along the ground, creating a scar in the concrete before it swung upward, and slashed the poor bastard's chest open.
Blood splashed out, but the teen did not remain to admire his work. He moved to the next one and lopped his arms off. He didn't even let him so much as scream, as while his body was still in motion, he whirled around and cut off his head, silencing whatever scream was going to be released. He continued on to the next one, only to find two men charging up to him, katanas in hand. He grinned wickedly as he put both hands on the blade. The hilt expanded, and the sword began to grow longer. Once the two soldiers were close, he swung the blade.

Instead of slicing their arms off, the blade ran right through them, splitting their limbs down the middle. The blade had also become larger and bigger. Instead of a one-handed sword, it was a giant claymore, which was bigger than even he was. The crippled goons screamed but were silenced ad their heads flew off their bodies. Blood gushed into the air as the black-haired teen moved on to the next target. This time, he was greeted with two goons. They had forfeited close combat for their guns, and tried to gun him down. The teen smirked at their folly. Bullets failed to do anything before. So why would they work now? Using his massive sword, he deflected each incoming bullet as he ran at them.

His giant sword created sparks as it ran along the ground, bobbing and weaving between each bullet that came straight at him. When he got in close, his claymore retracted back into it's original form: a simple one-handed blade. Tilting his head to the left, a bullet grazed at his cheek before he threw his arm up, slicing off the arm that held the gun before he rammed the blade right into his chest, causing the mobster to cough up gobs of blood. An Arpeggio Cartel grunt aimed his tommy gun at him, and opened fire. He moved quickly, pulling the still-alive mobster in front of him, blade still in his chest, and used him as a meat shield.

As a result, his body became riddled with bullets.

Once the projectiles ceased, he tossed the body aside and rushed in once more. The goon tried to reload quickly, but he was still too slow. The sword was wretched out from the "very" dead thug, and ran across the goon's neck, slicking it open and causing blood to gush. Even more blood was splattered all over him as another body fell. Now it was getting difficult to distinguish the real colors of his attire and hair as they were soaked with crimson. By now, Roman and the boss of the Arpeggio Cartel couldn't help but feel as if the person they were looking at wasn't just some random kid. His skills, his talent, his weapon, even his ability to kill a man... they were all signs that he was striking down monsters, instead of humans. That's how he saw them all. Monsters that must be put down. The though unnerved them, but only slight. This boy is a murderer, plain and simple.

Then again, so we're they.

And that in itself was worth respecting, though something about the way he grinned wickedly with those deranged eyes told Roman that this kid needed some serious mental help. He sighed as he looked at his fallen goons. "Worth every cent," he said, taking out another cigar. "Truly, you were."

"I suggest you get their money back," the leader spoke. "If only they came with death coverage."

"Eh," Roman shrugged. "I wasn't the one who paid for them, but I'll pass it along to Junior."

The decapitated head of one of the Arpeggio Cartel thugs flew past them; the last of the fools. Now, only the black-haired teen stood in the middle of a massacre, colored in black and red. The fanged grin he sported was terrifying, as was the menacing red glare. His sword was completely bathed in blood.

His gaze shifted to the remaining two. "...Anyone else?"

The boss walked up, cracking his shoulders. "Don't wait up for me, Roman." he told the mobster. "You might want to keep the money."

Roman sighed, shaking his head. Dammit, everything really was going to shit. "If you die, my 'partner' isn't gonna be happy."

"Tough shit," the Leader scoffed. "We are all fated to die. It doesn't matter when or how... but we will all die in the end. Just another thing about being human."

Roman sighed again, rubbing his forehead as he whirled around. The black-haired youth didn't make any moves to follow him, and instead turned to the leader of the Arpeggio Cartel. "You've killed much more than this, I take it?" he asked, but earned no reply. "That skill... I've heard rumors. So, you are the one they call the Blade Dancer." The boss closed his eyes as he undid his jacket, throwing it to the blooksoaked ground. Beneath the jacket was a thick skin of muscle, a hard body of nothing but mass of strength. "I've wanted to fight against someone like you for a while..."

He opened his eyes, revealing only dark violets with slits.

"Do keep this enjoyable."

"Oh don't worry... I will...!" the teen grinned as he flicked his blade, the blood splattering across the floor.

The Arpeggio Cartel boss slammed his fists together, veins bulging. "I am the head of the Arpeggio Cartel, Richard Sun." he announced him. "Come, Blade Dancer... Let us dance to the melody that sings our death!"

"Hehehe... you mean your death." the one known as the Blade Dancer cackled, a maddening gleam in his red eyes. "I already died a long time ago!"

With that, the two charged. Richard attacked first. He rammed his fist down to where the teen was. He leaped back, performing a swift backflip as the earth where he once stood was obliterated, shards of concrete flying into the air. There was a large crater at his feet. "Not bad..." The teen whistled. He then changed his weapon into its spear mode. "But you will need more than that to stop me."

Richard gave him an impassive, intense gaze. "...then come."

He smirked. "Gladly."

He jumped up and extended his spear forward. The spear shifted, and returned to it's claymore appearance. Richard caught the blade in between his hands, keeping it in place before he twirled about on his foot, throwing the teen quite a ways. The young man tumbled in the air before he shifted his weight and reoriented himself. He landed on his feet atop a crate. Richard was already in front of him, bringing down his arms. He brought up his claymore, using it as a shield, but the impact was enough to cause him to crash into the ground, which broke apart and created a cloud of debris. He soon leaped out from it, his sword back into it's shortened form, but the leader of the Arpeggio Cartel was already after him, arms outstretched, as if ready to kill him. Richard reared his arm back, as if trying to punch him, but the black-haired youth easily evaded it, grabbing hold of his wrist and flipping himself around him, whirling about and ramming his heel into the back of his head, and thereby sending him flying into the ground. Richard was quick to recover, landing on the ground with small cracks underneath his boots.

The teen landed a bit away from him, crouching at first before standing up at full height, resting his blade on his shoulder. His eyes glared at the man, still bearing their cold red gaze and that terrifying smirk before he whirled about into a new stance; feet spread about, crouched, and the blade flipped into an underhand fashion.

Richard took a moment to observe. An underhand sword style? He rarely saw those as they were unorthodox and quite difficult to use. But, then again, given who his opponent was, he should not have been surprised. He has heard many stories about this talented fighter, this seemingly killer of killers. His prowess with a blade was something to be feared. Truly... he had been waiting for a fight like this. Ah, but now was hardly any time to be admiring his opponent. This was to be a fight to the death, where both would fight until one was beaten, broken, or dead. He cracked his index fingers, then his middle, and finally, his ring and pinkies. He put one foot back, and braced himself.

This would be it... the final strike. After this... one would be dead, and the other, would be the victor.

The teen pulled himself along the ground and propelled himself forward. He was moving at greater speeds than before. The sword in his hand whistled through the air. Richard shot forward like a bullet, his arm outstretched, as if ready to ram him through. Both were closing in on one another quite rapidly. What happened next would decide the outcome.

They reached each other. A loud crack was heard, accompanied by a flash of silver. A large cloud had enclosed the moon, ceasing it's illumination, and shrouding the warehouse in darkness. Several seconds passed, with only a pregnant silence as the only true form of sound. It seemed like hours as the clouds slowly moved about, pulling away from the shattered moon. The teen had moved out of the warehouse, no longer drenched in blood. It was an oddity how he was now devoid of any stains of red, given the passage of time. His eyes had returned to their cold, dark blue luster, and his grin was gone. His weapon was now only a mere dagger, resting in it's sheath. As he exited the warehouse, he slipped his hand into his pant's pocket, and pulled out a Scroll. As it lit up, revealing the holographic blue board, his hand danced around it, dashing in a few keys before a black image appeared, accompanied by a mark that read "AUDIO ONLY."

"Elaine..." the teen stated, his voice now much calmer than before. "It's me. The operation is complete. The Arpeggio Cartel has been incapacitated."

"Excellent job," the feminine voice resounded. Despite the slight static from the device, the voice itself was smooth and melodious. "I knew you could do it."

The teen shrugged his shoulders before he looked over his shoulder. The warehouse looked like nothing short but a slaughterhouse now, with corpses sprawled all over the floor, blood splattered everywhere, limbs cut off, and heads still on the concrete. In the center of it all was Richard, who had been cut in half. His legs were over by the other end of the warehouse, his severed spine clearly visible, as was the lingering entrails. His upper torso was right in the most heavily diluted of the bloody warehouse, his expression showing nothing but content with facing a powerful opponent, his arms still clenched in defiance. His organs were slowly spilling out from the open wound, and a large pool of blood was slowly growing underneath it.

The black-haired youth showed visible regret, as his eyes winced before he looked back at the Scroll in his hands. "...could you add something in the report?"

"Sure. What is it?"

He grimaced. "...tell the Headmaster I did it again."

"..." the voice was now silent. What seemed like hours to him was nothing but the cold silence, with only the blaring sounds of the wailing alarms and cries of Aspluth crying out all around him like a chaotic symphony. "...I understand."

"Sorry about all of this," the young man apologized. "I'll see you when I get back to Beacon."

"Alright," the female voice replied, slightly solemn. "Elaine, out." With that, the communication came to an end. As the blue screen died out, the Scroll returned to it's slim form, and was slipped back into his pocket before he walked away. Unknown to him, standing from atop a neighboring building, an unknown individual watched his battle with great interest and glee, adorned in only a black cloak. From beneath the hood, strands of white hair could be found, while the figure in question had pale skin, and black, vein-like marks across their cheeks, obviously feminine by the giggle that escaped them. It was a marvelous sight, seeing him cut them all down. There was no hesitation, no stopping himself. His bloodlust guided him, his innermost instincts, his truest self laid bare for all to see. Yes, what she saw was his true self, one who demanded only bloodshed to appease his quelling anger that beat in his heart.

It was exhilarating to watch. It was exactly how humans should be. "It's rather ironic of you, Ozpin..." the figure said, a coy smile on her face. "You believe that victory and hope can be found in a simple, more honest soul... and yet, here you have this child, who goes against everything you believe in. Is that hypocrisy, or something more?" Another giggle escaped her. "At the very least... You've made this entertaining." The female figure knew that she was going to enjoy this. Especially how things will play out from here on.

"I will look forward to see everything you built collapse and burn..."

She grinned wickedly, as her burning red eyes watched the young man who had her interest so dearly walk away. "I'll be watching you closely... young Zack."

And with that, she was gone... as if she were never there.


"Noir" Trailer, END


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