Thunder
It is early spring, early enough that it could just as easily be late fall. A teenage boy walks along a woodland path, stepping lightly over roots, stones, and dried-out creek beds. He wears black boots, khakis, and a gray vest with a navy-blue shirt and justaucorps, the jacket buttoned around his waist and folded down to create lapels. On his back, a white symbol stands out in relief: a hexagon with a lightning mark connecting its top and bottom vertices, interrupting lines that would connect the other four to the mark's center. His blond hair falls a little past his shoulders, and his brown eyes hide behind rectangular glasses.
He passes into a clearing, continuing along the path as the moon rises. He stops without warning, a short staff—perhaps two feet long—flashing into view in his right hand as a hooked blade snaps out of one end. The staff extends itself more than double, to four and a half feet, while the blade lengthens as well. The boy twirls the staff and points what would appear to be the weapon's pommel behind him, then pulls a hidden trigger.
A white-blue bolt flashes from the end of the staff and slams into an Ursa that had begun following its wielder. The Ursa bellows in pain and falls, dead, after the bolt explodes in a flash of lightning, gouging a sizable chunk in what is suddenly a fast-disintegrating corpse. More Grimm follow it out of the woods, Ursae and Beowolves, and the boy turns, sees them, and smirks.
Rounds flash from his weapon again and again, thinning the herd before the first Ursa reaches him. He backflips twice, out of the way, then dashes forward again, cutting hard across the beast in the blink of an eye. He turns his staff, pressing the barrel against the monster's stomach, and it is dust on the wind before it can growl.
The Beowolves advance next, charging forward in a group, and he leaps into the sky, gathering his Semblance. When he falls, it is with his staff held in his off hand, his right crackling with electricity. He strikes the ground in the middle of the pack, and the lesser Grimm explode into nothing. More rush toward him, but he collapses his staff, puts it away, and holds out his hands. Electricity leaps from his fingers, annihilating the Beowolves as they close in. More follow, and he strikes with his staff, spearing one with the hook of his staff before slashing left at a second and following through to blow away a third. He jumps high and lands with his blade in a Grimm's back before launching into a lightning-fast series of slashes, blasts, and stabs, concluding with a thrust through the neck of a rearing monster. At last, only one remains; two more Ursae lumber just behind the trees.
He pauses for a moment, assessing the situation, and charges. This Beowolf must have been the leader of its pack; it dodges his first strike with uncanny agility and apparent foresight. He fires his staff behind him to knock the creature off balance even as he turns, the blade of his weapon lopping off an overextended paw. He darts forward again, cutting low, and the monster is down to two limbs; before it hits the ground, he has reversed direction and blasted it to smoke.
The remaining Ursae move out of the trees, and he wonders how such stupid creatures have reached the size that these have. In a moment, however, he darts forward, holding his staff almost like a sword, and cuts the first Grimm with a hurricane of slashes against its thick-furred chest, forcing it back without allowing it to retaliate. Then he jumps, planting both feet and the butt of his spear against the monster's stomach, and fires as he falls off and rolls away.
The final Ursa is enraged by its partner's death, and, charging, it directs a crushing swipe at the boy before he can regain his feet. Undeterred, he plants his blade firmly in the ground, and the enormous paw shakes the weapon as the monster scores a direct hit on the mouth of the barrel—immediately before it recoils, abruptly minus one arm. It swings again with its other arm, and the boy again leaps into the air, the time landing on the creature's back, his blade lodged just behind the armor on its face. Acting quickly, he withdraws the blade and presses the gun end of the spear to the wound, pulling the trigger and using the recoil to gain additional distance from the monster as its death spasms send him flying.
He lands upright, his blade digging a furrow along the path as he uses it to slow himself down. He nods to himself as he collapses his staff and puts it away, then draws a torch and, with a momentary crackle of electricity, sets it ablaze. He walks on.
So, here it is at last. My fourth story, but whatever. The self-insert fanfiction. Darn it, it's a fun scenario to think about, and I'm still salty over V3E12. There's a whole new team coming, and I'm going to try to avoid the more godawful tendencies of the self-insert genre, but all in all it's going to be a fun and potentially painful romp through Monty's wonderful playground.
And having just said I'm going to try to do something actually clever, let me now turn around and say that the inspirations for this character (he has a name, as does his weapon) are Red vs Blue's Agent Washington and Destiny's arc-based subclasses. Like I said, I'm doing this for me. (Please do note that Nora's Semblance is based on absorbing electricity, whereas this involves projecting it.)