AN: Hey guys, had a wierd idea for a fic. this one was heavily influenced by many different titles, the most notable being Mahouka.
Disclaimer: I would like to state that I own neither RWBY nor Mahouka.
Prologue.
Nikos and Arslan from Mistral, Schnee from Atlas, Gayle and Porfirio from Vacuo, Styx and Sustrai from Mantle, Winchester, Alistair and Arc from Vale. These were the most powerful bloodlines on Remnant, the original members of the Ten Prime Families. Families whose power and influence towered above the rest.
Eighty years ago, the Great war consumed Remnant. A war spanning across all five kingdoms between nine of the ten Prime Families. The war was sparked by the Styx, who, together with the Sustrais and the backing of the upstart kingdom of Mantle attempted to enslave the rest of remnant with their superior numbers and more advanced technology.
For a large portion of the war, it seemed likely that they would succeed, the Alistairs, who were leading the charge from the south, and the Porfirios who were holding the lines in the west, were nearly wiped out and the rest of the Primes were too uncooperative with each other to effectively combat the threat. With internal struggles pairing up with the main conflict, it seemed a certainty that the world would fall into the grasp of the Styx's tyranny.
It was then, however, that they made the mistake that cost them the war. On an attack against Vale, the Styx overran and captured a block of the city, using the citizens as hostages, they demanded the surrender of the Valean council. To display their full intention of killing the civilians should their demand not be met, they executed a young girl and broadcast the scene live to the rest of the world. Unfortunately and unbeknownst to them, the victim was a member of the Arcs, the only Prime family who up until this point in the war has remained neutral, more out of disinterest than anything else. The Arcs were a secretive clan, aside from the leader or representative, no other members of the family were publicly known. Completely opposite the Schnee who bask in their fame, the arcs opted to live in the shadows, blend in amongst the common population. Not much was known about them aside from their strength and their power behind the scenes. And on that faithful day, another important piece of information about the Arc family was revealed. They were fiercely protective of their kin. And the death of one of their own brought the wrath of the secretive Arcs crashing down onto the Styx. Within hours Vale was freed, and withing days Mantle was obliterated. The truth of the war's end was never revealed publicly and only the Prime families and a select few knew the truth about the Fall of the Kingdom of Mantle. Of the total 40 members of the Arc Family, they lost 20 people that day, but in return, killed everyone of Styx, Sustrai and their supporters. For a mere 20 people, the Arcs singlehandedly ended the Great War. And for those who knew the truth, the Arcs were dubbed as 'Untouchable'.
Drip… drip… drip… Jaune reached up to wipe the blood off his chin with the back of his hand. His teacher was going hard on him as usual. His entire head was throbbing after Cyan Arc swung his hammer straight onto the younger blonde's jaw.
"You need to steady your footing." Cyan Arc was a tall and well built man with the Arc's trademark blonde hair. A few scars were adorning his face, the most prominent being a cut from the outer corner of his left eye, down to the edge of his mouth. "Stand up!"
"Man, you're really not going easy on me today, are you?" Jaune asked his teacher as he got to slightly wobbly feet.
"You are the heir to the Arc Family, and you still have a ways to go, so stop complaining and raise your shield." Cyan charged so quickly and Jaune barely had enough time to raise his left arm and block a swing from his master's massive hammer. The loud thud reverberated throughout the training arena as the young knights feet slid across the solid floor. He remained upright however as he tilted his shield shoving against his opponent's weapon forcing the hammer's head to drop low and slam onto the floor, cracks appearing where the hard stone met the even harder metal.
Jaune was gritting his teeth at this point. He was confident in his swordplay, but how was he supposed to fight when he was too preoccupied blocking that oversized construction tool?! It would have been alright had he been allowed to use his semblance, or at the very least, his aura, but even that was forbidden. What was even worse was that his teacher was using both of his. This was hardly a fair fight! The young knight raised his sword after finally finding solid footing only to see Cyan's hammer already making it way towards him forcing him to abandon his attack and clumsily roll backwards.
The young knight tightened his hold on his sword as he flipped back to gain some distance. His teacher was not letting up however, the massive hammer already swinging his way the moment his feet made contact with the ground. Their bout continued on like this, Cyan pressuring and pushing while Jaune did all he could to block and dodge.
An agonizing twenty minutes later saw Jaune sitting on the ground with his head bowed slightly between his knees, his clothes drenched in sweat. The many bruises he acquired during their spar, or beating, whichever word you prefer, were already fading as his teacher finally gave him the go ahead to use his aura. The massive reserves within his body easily flowed down his limbs and repaired all the damage he sustained.
"So," his teacher started as he handed his student a bottle of water. "have you decided on which Academy you would like the attend?"
"Yeah." Jaune leaned back supporting his body with his arms.
"Well?" Cyan prodded.
Jaune tilted his head back to gaze at the domed ceiling of the training arena. "Beacon." came his simple response.
"Congratulations to Pyrrha Nikos, the four time winner of the Mystral Regional Tournament!" the speakers blared overhead, the domed shape of the arena carrying the commentator's voice over the stands.
Pyrrha was in the middle of the platform, her fallen foe pinned to the ground beneath her knee. Both we're panting, one harder than the other. Groans of pain mixed in with his quick breaths as Pyrrha lifted her weight off of him.
She regained control of her breathing as she turned around to look at the audience filling up the circular stadium. A small, sad smile graced her face. She should have been happier, but she wasn't. Pyrrha Nikos disliked the attention her past victories have brought but she lived for the thrill of the fight, it was a Nikos thing. And yet, each tournament was easier than the last. Her opponents falling quicker, her wins more decisive, the matches less and less challenging.
This was why she was adamant about a change in scenery. Someplace she has never been before, in search of people who could stand up to her and give her a challenge. Next year, she will be in Vale. Next year, she will attend Beacon Academy.
She curtsied low as the audience applauded around her. The pure white of her hair swinging with the motion.
It was her last concert for a while. The theater filled with the most prominent of figures from members of the Atlesean Council to her own father, Sulyvahn Schnee, one of the most influential men on Remnant. She let her eyes sweep across the mass of people before turning around and heading back stage.
She enjoyed singing. It took her mind off of other things, things she'd much rather not think about but nonetheless plague her thoughts. The life of a Schnee was complicated. A family so involved in the affairs of the world, whose name alone holds more authority than most politicians. They were family living in the spotlight, raised to be prim and proper, taught how to present themselves in public. They were feared and respected in equal measures. Weiss found herself always having to watch what she said, reciting lines drilled into her since childhood.
"What a marvelous performance!" her manager greeted as she returned from the stage.
Erica Sands was a rather short woman in her late twenties with black hair and a small pair of glasses perched atop her nose. He was wearing her usual white blouse and gray pencil skirt with her hair tied into a neat and tidy bun.
"Thank you, Erica." came her reply as she moved over to her chair. She stopped mid step as she noticed a bouquet of flowers right by her mirror. She reached her fingers to grasp the stalk of a white rose that bent slightly away from the rest of the flowers.
Erica immediately noticed her confusion and supplied an explanation before Weiss even got a chance to ask.
"Your father sent them, he must be quite proud of you miss Schnee." Weiss' fingers tightened around the stalk, the flower bending even more as the part of it which supported it was crushed beneath the heiress' fingers. 'My father' she bitterly thought.
The public knew Sulyvahn to be a wonderful and caring parent to his two daughters, a man supportive of their dreams.'Liar' her fingers started to move back and forth, grinding the green piece even more between the pads of her fingers. 'Fraud' her fingernails were no diffing into the lone stalk. 'Fake' the flower finally loosened and fell to the ground.
'Soon, I will leave this place. I do not belong to him. I am not an object to be displayed'. The young Schnee looked up to gaze at her own reflection through the blooms that were perched in front of her mirror. Her light blue eyes gazed back at her. Soon she will find herself in Vale, away from her father's clutches. She will leave without his knowledge, nor his approval, but she felt like it was something she must do. She already had a talk with Headmaster Ozpin. That crazy old man was oddly more than willing to accommodate her in his School. 'Beacon… I wonder what it will be like.'
Prologue end.
lemme know what you think of the concept and the writing style. any feedback would be much appreciated.