RWBY is not mine. If it was Nora would be eating waffles.
The hateful roar shook the very skies, but it barely registered through the ringing in my ears. I stared down at my bloody, mangled hands. Pain. So much pain. But it was a pain I was accustomed to. The ruins of my beloved weapon, Hamrammer,clattered as I dropped it. It had served me well, but finally gave to the abuse I'd been subjecting it to. The old girl deserved to rest. I watched with numb fascination as the blood flowing from my hands trickled to a stop, a push of Aura realigning the shattered bones and stitching the flesh together. I flexed the fingers experimentally, as I'd done so many times before.
There was so much screaming around me, all coming through as a muffled thrum. Cries for help, cries for family, cries of despair. I'm fairly certain my own name was among those being called. But I heard none of it as I stared up at the monstrosity in front of me. A body as black as night, protective bone white plates, and hateful red eyes. The crimson orbs bored into my own blue ones. When the behemoth bellowed again, the earth trembled. When it raised its massive paw to swat me, the city's gaze followed it. Followed it past the fire stained red and up to the pure azure skies.
"LAZ!"
They told me stories of when I was born. In a tiny hospital on the island of Patch. When the doctor pulled me from my mothers womb, I had been quiet until the first blow came to my bottom. I had given a healthy cry and gripped his sleeve so tightly, that I had actually hung from it by my own strength. The first time I supped, I drank so heartily that I caused my mother pain, and from then on was fed from a bottle. My parents had thought me part Ursa, eagerly welcoming me to the Ulfheon family, and were ecstatic at my vitality.
I was a quiet child despite my strength, difficult to upset, even harder to anger. Save for one incident where I turned over an armchair to get at a toy, I had been gentle growing up. But it's never that easy. It happened when I was three.
A couple of boys in the daycare, a year or two my senior, had taken to taunting me due to my docile nature, and the lack of reactions was quickly aggravating them. What started off as harmless insults quickly escalated. The first push barely moved me, so I ignored it. The second shove annoyed me. The third came from my back, and the unexpected force had me stumbling, and the boys laughing.
I am still a child. Even if I am a patient child, I had limits. My pride pricked, I finally responded.
"Stop." I said quietly, eyes narrowed into a glare. The biggest bully laughed.
"Why don'tcha make me, stupid." Another shove. "Or what, you gonna tell on us?"
"What a rat." one of his cronies jeered.
"Not like it'd matter." the last one added, "He's so dumb I don't think anyone would believe him." My temper flared.
"I said STOP!" I shouted, pushing back. The ringleader was pushed back a few steps from my hands and his friends let out an 'Ooooh'. He didn't appreciate that I stood up to him in front of his friends.
"Stupid punk." He seethed, "I'm gonna send you home crying." He charged to tackle me, but I caught him with another shove to his chest, this time with enough strength to stop him mid-charge and throw him to the ground. His friends weren't laughing anymore. This was no longer funny to them, and I was no longer just another target. I was a threat.
"Get him!" the one on the floor cried out. The boy on my left lashed out, his fist cracking into my temple. It was my first time getting hit. In fact, it was my first time getting into a fight. I felt tears well up and threaten to spill over. Pain. My first experience with pain. My heart was pounding, yet I felt as if there were an ice cold grip on it. Don't cry. My mind whispered. Don't cry and hit back.
My fist slammed into the jaw of the boy who struck me. The punch was amateurish, a hasty imitation to recreate what he'd done to me. But the boy collapsed, eyes glazed as his brain was rattled in his own skull. He didn't get back up again. The pain was still there, but it was numbed, pushed back. The tears were gone.
The second boy watched his comrade fall before letting out a war cry of his own, attacking with a kick to my side. Catch it. the voice whispered, its words flooding my mind with ice. Catch it and make sure he can't do it again. I grunted as I caught the kick, my body threatening to fold over from the force even as my arm wrapped around the limb and trapped it. The boy and I stared at each other for an awkward moment, neither of us sure what to do in this situation. Break him. Power flushed through me as my tiny palm slammed into the side of his knee. There was resistance, but not enough. With a crack, he fell to the floor with an ear splitting shriek. Tears and cries as he begged for his mommy.
I looked up to the last boy. The ringleader and the reason for my torment. He was trembling as he stared at me, a stick held in his hands. No, not a stick, one of the wooden weapons we used when we were playing Huntsman and Huntresses. He'd always hogged the sword, said the sword was for heroes, and since he was the strongest he was obviously the hero. Always cruel because he was the hero, and the others were the Grimm.
He brought the stick down upon my head. I felt the skin break and warm liquid flowed from my wound. Pain. It stuck me again. So much pain. Enemy. My body moved. I brushed his blade aside and flipped him over my shoulder. He gave a shout of pain as he landed on his back, but I wasn't done yet and I still had his hand. I dragged his body closer before I flipped him onto his stomach by twisting his wrist til he turned himself over, locking his arm in a painful hold. My leg snapped out, and he screamed as jagged bone tore out from the inside of his limb.
I still held his arm, hesitant. Take it. Take what? Make sure he never hurts you. Never again. He has to fear you. I have to make him. So that he never forgets. A permanent reminder. A scar he'll forever see. He wants to play the hero. Then you can play the Grimm.
The screams intensified as I dug my foot into his shoulder. He squealed as I tightened my grip on his arm, slowly twisting and pulling. I watched as the sinews were stretched taut. Focus. Focus. Watch it tear, bring home the prize.
"Stop it!" I faintly heard. I looked up. "STOP IT!" I stared. A tiny girl, probably the same age as me, golden locks that reflect the sun flowing to her tiny shoulders. She pointed an accusatory finger at me "You're hurting him!" I blinked and looked down at the sobbing lump beneath my foot.
"He started it..." I mumbled quietly, averting eye contact. The whispers were still there, dulled.
"It's already over. You're just hurting him now." She took a careful step closer. I took a careful step back. The boy whimpered.
"He hurt me too..." I said, slightly offended. They had attacked me, I was just protecting myself. Was that wrong? Not wrong.
"And he's a bully." she spoke softly, still advancing. Threat. I could see the tear streaks on her face."But right now you're just bullying the bully. And that makes you a bigger bully." I blinked and my heart clenched at her words.
"I'm a bully?" my voice cracked with the question. The voices roared to life. SHe's WrOng! Is she? LieS!Are they? I looked down at the boy beneath me. The boy. ThE ThreAT. Not anymore. SHE LIES! ShE iS thE ENEMY!Or is she the hero? SHE WANTS TO HURT YOU!Because I am the monster.
"I'm the monster?" my words came out a whisper. My eyes dilated, my heart pounded, my head throbbed. Confusion, hate, the ice in my mind, the fire in my chest, a frozen, calculated rage that I had never experienced before. When I was fighting, this saved me, cleared my mind, every move made obvious. But now, I couldn't think. The girl, or the voice, who do I listen to? Which one is right? My breathe hitched as my mind raced. I don't understand. I want my mommy. I want my daddy. I just want to go home.
"You're not a monster." the girl said softly. "You're just a kid. Like me." She jut her thumb at herself with a grin. "And you can stop being a bully just by letting him go." I looked into her eyes, stared into those brilliant lilac orbs, searching for deceit, finding none. She was like the very sun above our heads, fiery and warm, blinding in truth.
"...Okay." I took a shaky breathe and released the arm of the crying boy. "Okay." The voices raged at me but I pushed them aside til I could no longer hear them. My eyes roamed the fallen, taking in the destruction I had wrought. Two feeble forms, sobbing and broken, with a third that had yet to move. I heard a shout, and looked up, the teachers that were supposed to watch us were running over, their shock obvious, even from here.
I swallowed the saliva I had not realized gathered in my mouth. This was my fault. I did this to them. They'll lock you away. The whispers are back, softly in my mind. Fear coursed through me, freezing me in place. I was a criminal. I would go to jail forever. Fight. I don't want to fight. Then you will die. My body tensed and I could feel the cold seeping back into my mind. I would run. I'd run far away where nobody could find me. I turned to flee, only for a pair of pale arms to wrap around my waist. WE ToLD yOu She LIES! It was a trap. She would hand me over to be imprisoned and I had trusted her. BREAK HER!
"Shh" I heard her voice, felt her breathe on my ear. What was she doing? "Everything will be okay." I stiffened as something touched my hair. "Nobody is going to hurt you." Her fingers wove through my auburn strands, and I could feel the tension bleeding out of my body. The urge to run left me, as did any strength I had in my legs. I allowed myself to sit down on the ground, legs crossed, and just focused on the touch of her hand. A tear fell on my hand, and I held it up, observing it as it reflected the light from the sun. I don't know when I had started crying. I felt her arms wrap around my neck and a weight settled on the top of my head. "Just a kid..." she sighed.
"Like you?"
"Like me." That smile will always be as radiant as the sun.
It didn't end that easily of course. Paramedics were called and I was taken into custody for questioning until my parents arrived. The families of the three boys were furious, and filed several lawsuits against my family, as well as demand that I be locked away in either a prison or an asylum. Lots of yelling and lots of finger pointing on every end. After months of politicking, it was decided that I would not be punished, although we had to help pay for the hospital bills. A very light punishment indeed.
It was ruled that as the three boys were the instigators of a physical encounter, any damages could only fall on their own shoulders. However as the self defense was rather excessive, it was almost decided that I would be placed under watch in a correctional facility to look for behavior issues. But the issue was quickly resolved when my father brought up a very important detail.
Blood traits. In a manner almost similar to Faunus, for clans that have been bred over generations for a specific purpose, certain traits are genetically passed along, much like how Faunus traits are passed from generation to generation. And my family was not the only one. Ranging from the incredible reflex of the Nikos, to the battle lust of the Valkyries, or even aesthetic ones such as the pure white aura that every Arc seems to possess, blood traits, while uncommon, are hardly unheard of.
In the case of the Ulfheon clan, we had served at the frontier of every engagement for longer than Vale stood as a kingdom. Our family was the vanguard that carved a bloody path through Grimm and armies alike, specifically breeding our kin to be powerful warriors with large Aura reserves to man the front lines.. Although the practice has died down, and the Ulfheon clan has fallen to simply my small family, the blood line was exceptionally strong in me, bringing forth my superior strength and durability. Along with a less physical change.
Father called them Whispers, something that's spawned within every Ulfheon ever since it showed up nearly a thousand years ago. He explained that our very blood remembers battle, and when stressed, our minds go into overdrive, identifying and analyzing threats, as well as manners to eliminate them. The thoughts are then processed as a separate entity that whispers into your subconscious. An incredible boon in the heat of battle, as it forces your mind to be calm even as the body rages and helps guide you through life or death conflicts. But it had a very bad downside.
Whispers are your very subconscious speaking to you, and it is very difficult to differentiate from Whispers and your own conscious thoughts. And Whispers believe everything to be a threat. Paranoid and violent, Whispers always crave blood in order to ensure your own safety. Ulfheons are trained to think carefully in order to avoid mistaking a Whisper for a conscious thought. They constantly suppress the malicious spirits into the corners of the mind, only releasing them for carnage. In my case, I had failed.
In my first conflict, my blood trait made itself known, and having never encountered the phenomenon before, I succumbed to my Whispers every desire. It was due to sheer luck as well as my own lack of skill which saved those three boys that day.
The first boy had been in the most danger, with a moderate concussion, half of his jaw had been obliterated. He would require extensive plastic surgery to return to his original condition. Even for an Ulfheon, my power was overdeveloped for one of my age, and had I hit him properly, there was a very good chance I would have done irreparable damage to his brain or spine.
The second got off relatively light. While in the past, a shattered kneecap would have resulted in a permanently lame leg, current medicine would be able to repair him completely. He wold walk with a limp for a few months after he healed, but full recovery was expected.
For the ringleader, while his pain was tremendous from having the bone pierce through his flesh, a similar prognosis was given. While the mental trauma would remain forever, he would eventually regain full use of his arm. However, had the girl not stopped me and I had gone through with my Whispers intentions...let's just say not many hospitals can regrow a limb.
My subconscious would have had me permanently scar those boys, maybe even kill them, just to ensure no other child would dare to threaten me again. It was terrifyingly brutal and efficient for one that had just awoken, especially at my age. When I told my father that I had heard my Whisper, he immediately began training me to identify it.
"It's impossible to simply ignore your Whisper" he told me, as we ran through the meditative exercises. "It is a part of yourself. It is something you have created and it only thinks what you think, somewhere deep within your mind. It can not be blocked, and it's whispers will always creep into your thoughts when you are distressed. You have to consider its words, filter them from your own in order to weigh the merits and demerits." He held my gaze solemnly, before repeating once more, "To think before you act is not something of whim, for if an Ulfheon does not, they are no better than Grimm." He'd let out a tired sigh at the time. "You must consider your every action carefully my son. It is no longer an option, it's a way of life."
It was also the time I started my basic training. If I learned how to fight on my own, I wouldn't have to rely on the Whispers the next time something similar happened. It hadn't been planned for me to begin either Whisper or combat training for several more years, but this incident had accelerated the schedule. During the months leading up to the trial, my days were spent with the Ulfheon patriarch, honing my technique and more importantly, calming my mind. It was an invaluable time of bonding in which Father completely removed himself from Huntsman duties in order to teach me.
The trial was finally over. It had taken months of lawyers throwing themselves at each other, but I was finally back. I gulped audibly, my heart racing as I took in the daycare. Children who saw me stared, some being ushered away by parents, and the teachers whispered behind their hands. While the trial had ruled my actions in self defense and beyond my control, the damage was done. They thought me unbalanced. Violent. Dangerous. Parents had rallied for my removal, but the center, without legitimate reason, could not. Instead they strongly suggested to my parents that perhaps their program was unsuited for me.
I felt a large hand close on my shoulder, and I looked up at Father as he knelt beside me. Built like an Ursa, he drew his gaze around the room impassively, before looking down at me with a warm smile. "You asked to come back, my child." He said softly. "This is the penance you must pay for your actions. Do not hide from them." His hand left me as he stood, before turning on his heel and walking away, not looking back once.
I took a deep breathe, and squared my shoulders, mimicking the man who helped bring me into this world. A confident stride, just like Father. The children openly stared, yet refused eye contact, shuffling away as I drew closer. I have been ostracized by my peers, even now I could tell. I have no friends here. Except perhaps one. A flash of gold.
"Heya! You're back!" Lilac eyes peered into my own. I gave a stiff nod. "Cool!" she chirped, "Well, come here and help me with this stupid puzzle." She extended a hand to me, an offering. I stared at it, waiting for the Whispers to come. I searched my mind, contemplated every thought, every action, every breathe. But they never came. I blinked. The Whispers were quiet now where they hadn't been before. They didn't view the girl before me as a threat. I didn't view the girl before me as a threat. Blissful silence.
Her cheeky grin turned into a beaming smile as I hesitantly took her hand into my own. I allowed her to tug me away toward a scattered mess on the floor. One of the day care workers looked as if she wanted to interject, but held her tongue. "I think it's supposed to be a forest or something, I can't tell." she complained with a pout. The lump of green pieces did seem like they would make up some sort of forest, but you'd never be able to tell with how they were placed. Pieces were mashed together regardless of how the edges fit or the picture they contained, strewn across the floor. "Darn thing is impossible." she grumbled. I felt a small smile tugging at my lips.
"Start from the corners." I suggested after a bit of thought. She looked at me with surprise. "Build the frame, and start connecting from there." She let out a small 'Ooooh.' as I gently shifted through the pieces, separating the ones with smooth sides from the ones that made up the middle.
"Are you some sort of genie?" she asked with wonder in her voice. I paused at that. Genie? What was a genie? I'd never heard that word before.
"What's a genie?" I asked confusedly.
"It's like, a really really smart person." She replied, pleased that she knew a word I didn't.
"I don't think so..." I wasn't particularly smart, but Whisper training basically required that I think over everything really carefully. Did that make me a genie? Maybe I should ask Mother. "Where's the box?" I asked, "I think they usually have a picture of the finished puzzle."
"Psh, where's the fun in that!" she scoffed, "C'mon, we can do this on our own just fine, we don't need no stupid box to tell us how to play." She plopped down and started sifting through the pieces, occasionally flicking a puzzle piece into my small pile. We whittled the time away on the puzzle, and when we finished the forest, she pulled out another and insisted we start from the middle.
"It'll be fun!" she promised. And as frustrating as bumbling through the puzzle was, it was indeed fun. We made more of a mess than we did a puzzle by the time her father came to pick her up.
"Yang!" so that was her name. "Your dad's here!" one of the other kids yelled, only to be nearly bowled over by the yellow blur that launched itself at the man in the doorway.
"Daddy!" She cried out, rocketing into his midsection with a flying tackle and forcing an 'Ooph' out of him. She dangled from his waist giggling as he let out a laugh.
"Well hey there sunshine." His grin was almost identical to his daughters as he ruffled her hair before hoisting her into his arms.
"Daddy I made a new friend today!" I froze as she pointed at me and pulled on her fathers hair.
"Oh? What's his name?" he asked as they walked towards me. The man was...big. Not Father big but still pretty big. I guess that was to be expected since he was an adult, but it still made me a bit nervous. I could feel the Whispers rousing.
"It's umm..." She scrunched up her nose in thought. "Uhh..." pleading eyes locked onto mine. I forced myself to relax.
"My name is Lapis, sir." I greeted politely. "Lapis Ulfheon." His mouth made a small 'O' as realization washed over his face.
"The Ulfheon boy!" he said happily as Yang whispered my name and made a face. "I've worked with your parents in the past. My name is Tai Yang Xiao Long." I perked up hearing that. I was always eager to hear more about my parents hunts. "I think Garn and Jade both took the transit to Vale today, they had a mission outside the kingdom." I visibly deflated. My parents have only taken smaller missions since I was born, and Father stopped altogether during the trial to train me. If they were outside the kingdom then they would be gone for a day or two at the very least. Which meant I would be staying at the day care. Where everyone was still afraid of me.
"Sorry kiddo." Mr. Xiao Long looked sympathetic. Either he assumed I didn't like staying away from my parents, or he'd heard about the incident and knew I wasn't very welcome here. Probably both, and he would be correct either way. Yang looked between her father and I before a look of understanding dawned on her face. She pulled the mans hair again and whispered into his ear. He blinked before giving her a toothy grin.
"That's my girl." he chuckled, before pulling out a scroll and typing out a message. He knelt down in front of me and placed his daughter on the ground, where she was practically bouncing. "How would you like to come stay with my family for a few days? Just until your parents get back." Yang let out a squeal of delight and hugged his leg before running over to me and grabbing my arm.
"C'mon Laz! It'll be fun" she wheedled. I arched an eyebrow at the nickname. Laz? I was tempted to say yes right off the bat. It was my decision to return to the day care, but I didn't want to stay any longer than necessary. But I paused as I thought it through. For whatever reason I trusted Yang, but I didn't know this man, and he had no reason to offer me sanctuary. He's being too nice. Was it just good will? Or maybe he wants something.
"Mother says I shouldn't run off without permission. It could be dangerous." I stated hesitantly. Mr. Xiao Long let out a guffaw.
"Smart kid." he commented.
"He's a genie." Yang whispered loudly to her father. He blinked at that and looked at me. I still had no idea what a genie was and just shrugged my shoulders.
A/N: Sup. So, words go here. Yay. Anyways, if you've gotten this far, I'm going to assume you read everything above. So thanks, seriously. Means a lot to me. I'm brand spankin' new to this whole bidniz so if anyone has advice, my inbox is open and it's greatly appreciated. Any comments, praises, criticisms, flames, yadda yadda, lay em on me, my delicate ego can totally take it.