Author's Notes: Hey people, I'm pretty sure you all might have a feeling about why this was written.

There's really not much to say other than the whole situation sucks. Monty was a contemporary genius in a field unlike any other. His creative spirit is one that has reached millions, and I am personally grateful him for creating something that I've now been writing about for going on a year and a half now.

There's more I want to say, but I'll put it after the piece of writing (not sure I could call it a story). I just felt like I had to do something in tribute to the creative legend that was Monty Oum.

I hope you'll all join me in celebrating his accomplishments. Thanks for everything, Monty.

- Vex out

Creation of Colour

A single speck.

In the entire vacuous void that was the world, he knew it was there. Sitting. Waiting. Eager for the day that when someone would come to bring it to life. He didn't know how he knew. It was just a feeling. In the world where the laws of physics were alien, where feelings were inconceivable, he felt it. It called out to him like an infant to its mother.

When his fingertip brushed against the single particle, it felt like all the power of creation was held in that hand. He could make it whatever he wanted. The speck changed, its existence becoming that of intense heat, love and hate and anger and power. It had no name, but he could feel it spirit, its soul beating.

With that first birth the void began to ripple. It broke itself down and built back up time and again in an instant. He could feel more of the children waiting to be born, calling out for their conception. With deft strokes he brushed away the nothingness that obscured the specs, each one exploding into existence.

One was smooth and cold, yet so beautiful in its simplicity. The next was similar, yet so different – its deep, gaping image projecting a troubling aura, with so much potential. The following was brighter than all others, glaring in its brilliance; it was not blinding, rather warm, filled with emotion at its production… happiness.

He brought them together. They were all different, each one an entirely new entity, and yet they were so similar. Sisters born of their single creator. They were Colour. That was what they were, but who would they be? What would he name them? The question should have been impossible in a world where nothing was or ever should be, and yet their names rolled from him as if they had been waiting inside for this moment.

Red. White. Black. Yellow.

Those were good names.

With his newfound powers the void began to fill. At first his method was one of madness, filling the empty space with any and all Colour he could imagine and name. They became a huge collage of pixels spanning from one end of eternity to the other. It was here that he began to see patterns in his creation. Shapes and swirls and other nameless products that had some significance. All of it born by pure chance, but each one as significant as the next. They expanded his mind and his vision in ways he never thought possible.

It was at that moment that creation evolved. Creation became design. Colour was put together in ways that made them meld together as one, or set against each other – the contrasts bringing life to his creation in ways he could never achieve himself. Not every colour interacted well with each other – some clashed, bringing each other down in their spite – but every meeting taught a lesson.

The Colour could achieve together that which he could never do himself. He could see the potential, but they needed guidance. How could he guide them?

He walked and contemplated this for an incalculable time. With each step he left behind a trail, meandering with his wandering and before he knew it he had returned to where he had begun. A complete shape with no beginning or end had formed, but gave no answer to his question. Then he saw it. In the area he had created, the Colours within were moving. He did not have to flick his wrist or nod his head in dictation: they moved on their own power. Their own choice.

He had given them the gift of existence, but nowhere for them to exist in!

His strides had now found a new purpose, each one dedicated to giving his children a world to exist. The outlines were done, and the Colour gravitated to them, but he felt displeased. Unsatisfied. There was nothing wrong with he had built, but he felt it could be better. And so he waved his hands, filling in these outlines with colour of its own. He swept his hands up and down, and the area began to distort, entering three dimensions. He filled the space between areas with a deep blue that ran for miles, cascading to and fro like the tides.

He had created a world: land and ocean. He called it Remnant. He grew weary and felt that almighty power seep from his body. His control began to wane, but it was no longer needed: his Colours took to their new world like fish to water. They grew, learned, and built. His Remnant was evolving before his eyes.

And it felt good.

But something went wrong. Some of his colours faded, others lost their alluring lustre and grew dull - their negative tone attempting to contaminate others. Worse still was the darkness. Some of the black had mutated, become something less than they once were. They became ravenous, attempting to feed their insatiable gluttony with other Colours.

And he could do nothing, his control gone, save give himself to the world. He felt his body break down - everything that he ever had been or could be – into a storm of vivid light. Reds and Whites. Green and Pink. Brown and Purple and Black and Yellow. His form fell into a rain of gems in every Colour he had named in his time of creativity, precipitating through the skies and burying themselves into the world.

There they would lay dormant waiting, hoping, praying for the day that the Colours would discover them, and make use of them.

He had no idea if this would help… but he could hope. As the dust of his body disseminated to every corner of the world, he smiled, and faded into nothing…

''Ren… Hey, wake up!''

Lie Ren awoke with a deep, silent yawn. His back felt sore from the uncomfortable position he had fallen asleep in: bent over his desk with his scroll in hand still showing the project he had pulled and all-nighter working on. He would've loved to spend a bit more time resting, however his boisterous partner had other ideas.

''C'mon Renny! We gotta get to class! Hurry up and get dressed!''

Ren pulled his eyes from his partner to look at the other pair in team JNPR who stood a few paces behind. They gave a helpless shrug of apology, though didn't have the grace to hide their amused smirks and the red mark down half his face – the result of using wood as a pillow.

The bright expression on Nora's face showed no remorse at having woken him… but he didn't condemn her for it. In fact, that attitude of hers was one of the things that made life worth living. He wouldn't change it for the world.

They left for breakfast after he assured them he would be right behind them. Standing, he stretched his body, producing a satisfying crack in his spine.

His usual green garments were laid out neatly on his unused cream bed sheets, awaiting the one who would put them on. The orange morning sun shone through the dorm room windows and, outside, a single rusty red leaf fluttered by – the colour of Fall.

Post Script: So yeah, that was what I came up with. I wanted to go extra creative and not so narrative-heavy for this one. Felt more appropriate as a tribute piece.

Anyway, from here out is me just talking about my personal experiences (Just accidently deleted the paragraphs I had written so that's a tad annoying...). It's fine if you want to stop here, but thanks for reading the main piece at any rate.

I still remember that moment in RVB season 8 where the warthog burst through the wall of Valhalla. It was as if that single moment was a signal of just how huge the show and Rooster Teeth would become in the future. I actually started watching a bit before season 8 came out - it was my first full new season so I would consider myself one of the 'Oum Generation' watchers of RVB, and it was his work on the show that really made it amazing in my mind. The perfect natural evolution.

When I saw the Red trailer at the end of season 10, I immediately knew that this show was going to be a huge part of my life. It is not a perfect show by any stretch of the imagination, but it does on thing better than any other show (excluding music of course). Passion. Spirit. Community. It's hard to give it an exact label, but if you've watched RWBY then you know what I'm referring to. It's something that helps you ignore the reused assets and character models, the not so incredible voice acting and all the other issues that have been brought up.

When I heard of his passing, the honest emotion I felt was shame. I was ashamed of myself when I thought of Monty and how hard he would work, giving everything he had to his creations. Then I would look at myself: a slacker. Someone who had natural talent but never gave a damn enough over the past 18 years of life to really dedicate myself to anything and give my all. I would complain about things that really weren't that bad, procrastinate in the face of work that really didn't take that much effort to complete. Then I see that someone like Monty has left us, and I felt ashamed. Who knows how much longer each of us have left, so we should use our time doing what we love, and furthering ourselves every day... at least that's what I think now.

We are a family. Those words were never more clear in the RT community than right now. We all feel the sadness of losing a beloved family member. But rather than waste our time grieving, we as the community should redirect out emotions into creating. Doing something creative is the best tribute we can offer at this time I believe. All the artwork and stories I've seen so far say far more of our love than any words ever could.

We will always remember Monty as a legend of the internet age. His name and his work will live on in our hearts for many years to come.

Here's to you.