Chapter 1

Departure

Disclaimer: I am quite rusty, and haven't written in months. Enjoy.

This is a very different world from the RWBY you're used to. I hate the concept of Salem, and this BBEG shtick she has going.

Jaune hit the ground running, aura rolling off him like steam off a kettle. The world around him was painted in rich, lucid color, with flickering spots of darkness in the distance. Beneath him were vast plains and rolling hills, blanketed in what once was lush greenery and foliage. Above him was the gloaming sky, clouds dyed with the red of sunset, and the sun, half-hidden within a mixture of clouds and Nevermore.

There was much to do, and little time to think. The world around him was thick with the scent of destruction- fire, smoke, blood. He had to make it out of this alive- no one else could do it but him. No one was coming to save him, not in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

His eyes stung, whether from the event itself or the smoke he couldn't tell. Dragging his arm to wipe across his face, he looked around alertly. No major obstacles, beyond the tree line, and some straggling Grimm.

No reason to fight them.

He ran on.

The rhythm of his boots hitting the ground was oddly calming, a constancy in the very rapidly moving river that was his life right now.

It was four in the afternoon, and his life in the morning was drastically different from his life now. A few hours ago, he had parents. And a village. And friends.

But Remnant was cruel, and the hand of fate came with the swarming tide of Grimm. And in the middle of the day, the horde came without any warning. One moment, the bucolic. The next, tragedy.

Keep running, the small voice in his head said.

His brain worked, if only to distract himself from the traumatizing situation around him.

The air smelled like destruction.

The air smelled like gunfire and ash. The village he lived –past tense- in was set up due to a dust-rich cave system found nearby a few decades back. Companies sought to mine the valuable resource, and with their executives and foremen, came industry. Laborers had to live, eat, and die somewhere, and the rest, as they say, is history.

The reason why the air smelled like gunfire was most likely due to the drones brought as security for the town. With industry came thieves and necessity was the mother of buying things, so the robots were brought in. A hail of bullets met Beowulf and bandit alike. They did their job just fine, but you cannot expect a measly cohort of spider droids and wall mounts to protect a village from a never ending tide of darkness. With that, the walls fell.

The reason why the air smelled like ash was the fire's fault. An explosion had occurred in one of the manufactories, and the fire spread quickly with the authorities preoccupied with the onslaught of Grimm. Given that this was an industrial town, with many warehouses storing dust and many repositories of complex, flammable machinery, the fire did not want for fuel.

His thoughts plagued him while running, and while he remained vaguely alert, he had entered the dreamlike fugue one enters when all parts of the brain except for the parts need to operate a certain task shut down. A rustle, from his left.

A Creep, tearing from the underbrush. Coming at him. There. As if waking a sleeping limb, his semblance came to life. Radiance spilled forth from Jaune's soul, and coalesced around his hand. An unshakable warmth filled him with hope and courage. With a languid, almost lazy motion, his light-covered hand tore through the Creep's oddly-shaped center, and knocking it to the ground.

Shaking from his reverie, Jaune ran on, sword in hand. The attack to his home came quickly, and Jaune fended them off valiantly -not valiantly, they're all dead now-. But his parents, defending their home while he had been outside the gates by chance, had urged him to leave, before the attack could kill them all. "At least," they said, "there would be someone to remember us." His sisters were all huntswomen, each away on some mission. Now, they'd come home to rubble and two graves. But he had to survive first.

And so he ran. And when the roar of a Tyrant Scale tore through the air, he didn't look back.

He was running, and running, and running, and running. His body ran more on aura than food, and he could not feel the tiredness in his legs. Something about lineage, how he was the fastest and strongest in class by a mile. That mattered little to him now. Survival was imperative. With a flash of his longsword another Beowulf fell, bisected by the glowing light. It had scarcely hit the ground when he trod past it.

The hills were beginning to roughen up, and make way for less scenic landscape. He was seeing trees more and more often, and the air gained a sharper quality. He had to have been running for at least four hours. Jaune knew that the direction he was running in lead to a forest, and a mountain pass. But he remembered the trade caravans and airships of his childhood coming from this direction. Trade meant civilization. That meant survival.

The sun was gone. The same could almost be said for his aura, but it seemed that he had outrun the Grimm at last. He could no longer see the smokestacks from his village, or the surrounding roads. He was well and truly gone from his home.

He knew in the back of his mind that forcing himself to continue was suicide. His heart told him to keep running, to distract him from the shattering realization that everyone he knew and grew up with is likely dead by the hand of the Grimm. Rationality rebutted with the idea that prolonged physical exertion in the wilderness would likely leave him dead. He was exhausted. Fine. Rationality won over.

With that settled, the last step in his plan was to execute. Find shelter, and fast. While he had escaped the tide of Grimm, that did not mean the forest did not hold the denizens of the night themselves.

He stalked forward, footsteps silent and with bated breath.

There. The radiance from his semblance brought a marking on the rock face nearby. A circle attached to an arrow, and the shape of an open square, opening upwards, marked in charcoal pigments. He knew what these symbols meant. The arrow-circle meant that it was safe to go in the direction of the arrow, and the open square meant that it was safe to stay there. He carried on, along the side of the rock face.

A rusted metal door, cleverly concealed with tree growth and rocks. It spoke to him of shelter, and perhaps resources. It gave way with a shove.

He found his place for the night.

His shelter, as it turned out, was particularly threadbare. It was one room, carved into a rock face. The stone walls were layered with animal fur and pine needles to keep the room insulated, and the floor was stone, not dirt. It had one bed, with a ratty mattress and a tattered pillow. A table, and a chair. For Jaune, this was enough.

Now that the first night was over, it was time to take stock. On his person was a backpack, containing rations and water for five days. It also contained a bedroll, -not that he needed it- a lighter, two vials of dust, and a picture of his family. In his pockets he found his scroll -no signal- and wallet -500 lien-. He had his sword, shield, and pistol, and five full magazines of bullets. He had seventeen years of experience- training under his family, and with the guardsmen who manned the walls. In his heart, he held hatred, and hope.

He assessed his options. There was the coastline, but that was far, and required going back the way he came. It was too perilous- the Grimm horde was probably still there, and no less dangerous.

To the south were the forests, but he knew like any other child of his village, that dangerous things lived in the forests. King Taijitus, dark, sinuous beasts with sharp teeth and sharper eyes. Lotus Eaters, immobile Grimm with hallucinogenic pollen that destroys the brain from within. Arachnes, spider things with poisonous fangs and a maze of webs miles deep. Worse still, there was always the Myrkvior to consider. That closed off that option.

To his west was a mountain range, perilous, and craggy. The outcroppings likely contained Nevermore nests, and where there were Nevermores, there were Lenores. But beyond that was Vale, the most populous and developed of the cities on the continent of Sanus. It was probable that there would be Bullheads flying past, or outposts to monitor Grimm populations. All options were vastly dangerous, but it was only heading west that gave hope of salvation.

That settled that. He'd figure out what to do when he got there later. His aura was low, and he could feel wakefulness leaving him. Lying down on the bed, he closed his eyes, and tried to forget the shrieks of his friends and family.

His was a dreamless sleep.

He awoke to birdsong. That meant that the outside was clear, because most animals were hypersensitive to large concentrations of Grimm. The presence of birdsong indicated that the horde had not reached him. Good. He had time to think.

The area outside his temporary shelter was harsher than his home. Given the sharp change in temperature, and the difference in both plant and animal life- pine trees and snow foxes instead of oak and squirrels- , it meant that he was quite far from his origin point. "How far did I run?" was the unsaid question. It made little sense- he was physically fit and talented, but that certainly did not explain the sheer distance he traveled.

Attempting to bring back the memory of the events in between his departure and his arrival at his shelter left him blank. He remembered the vague sensation of his semblance filling his legs, and the courage that came with it, but he could not remember anything else.

His semblance. From the media that Jaune consumed in his childhood, he knew that semblances could be powerful things, displays of power that shook the ground we stand upon. He watched a video once, of a hunter, raising vast formations of earth and stone to form walls as a defensible position against the Grimm. Naturally, the semblances of his peers were clear cut- fire, speed, clones. His was not so.

It was called Luminance, and it allowed Jaune to create light and emanate it from his body. He could exert aura, and the light would turn corporeal, shearing through Grimm flesh and aura. However, he could only control the physical light when it was coiled around his arm or sword, and only on his hand could he control it with finesse. In addition to destroying aura, it could restore aura, and improve the physical condition of the body. Again, it required equivalent exchange in the form of his own aura expenditure. He didn't know what to make of it.

Amongst his peers, his semblance made him both strong and popular. With the hard light, he could best any of them easily, tearing through their aura without restraint. With the healing light, he could patch them up afterwards. With his strong constitution, natural talent, and a large pool of aura, he was a big fish in a small pond. His teachers had recommended him for Beacon.

Jaune shook his head. Thinking about them now would hinder his efficiency, slow his movements with grief or make him reckless with anger. Either was liable to kill you.

He went through his morning ablutions without much zest. He had a long day ahead of him, after all. There was a stream nearby, and he bathed with one eye open. Grimm have a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it, and have none of the compunctions of humans when it came to nudity. He ate his rations without much enthusiasm. They tasted like granola and self-hatred. Mostly like granola.

Shutting the door to the shelter behind him, he marked the door with searing light of his aura. Open square facing upwards. It is safe here. Two parallel lines, and a circle in between. Thank you.

Idly putting on his boots, he wondered about the person who owned the shelter. It was insulated, meaning that it was created either for long stays, or made specifically for winter time. Either way, it meant that the person who created it both had the survival expertise to know how to insulate a room, the power to carve out a shelter from solid rock, and the need to create something like that. It also meant that the temperature would get much colder. He needed to hurry.

He traversed the boreal forest with practiced ease. His feet stepped lightly over fallen logs and around rock formations. The soil in taiga was thin, much thinner than the nutrient-rich dirt of the plains and fields, but no less easy to walk over. A rustle from the right, slightly to his front. Another directly from behind him. One more from his right, this time much heavier and louder.

Ursai are large, dark, bear-like Grimm. They are black-furred, with bone spikes running along their backs and arms. Possessed of brutal strength, Ursai are familial Grimm, resembling the social structure of bears. There are known to be two varieties: the smaller, weaker Ursa Minor, and the larger, armored Ursa Major. To Jaune's luck, he encountered three of the weaker kind. One, however had splotches of the white armor of Ursa Majors along its neck and legs. That meant that it was old, old enough to gain the power to force metamorphosis.

Escape was no longer an option. He was unfamiliar with the geography of his location, and attempting to run would likely lead him to more Grimm, or a dead end. Fighting now, while he was well-rested was a smarter choice than leaving himself tired and vulnerable to a pack of Grimm. Drawing his sword from its sheath, he turned to face the Grimm. His other hand brought up his shield. Using the gun would make combat awkward, the terrain did not lend itself to accurate nor safe shooting.

There was no need to waste Aura using his semblance; if he fought efficiently, then he could win easily.

The three Grimm lunged at him, claws outstretched. Slow as they are, they were large, and they barreled through rocks and trees to get to him. The smallest of the three reached him first. Ducking under the first swipe, he brought his shield upward in a swift motion, knocking the Grimm off balance. A slash with his sword tore through its unprotected neck, and the body fell, limp.

He turned in time to fend off the other two Grimm. They arrived at the same time, and held some level of coordination to prevent themselves from running in to each other.

He walked backwards, shield bearing the brunt of the attacks. Strikes with his sword kept them back far enough to wait for them to make a mistake. He searched for an open neck, or a vulnerable tendon.

There. An opening in the form of an over-extension from the larger Ursa. It left behind the other with a lunge, leaping at Jaune. With almost vicious satisfaction, he slammed it to the side with his shield. He attacked its neck while it was on the ground, with repeated strikes already having weakened the armor. The large Ursa found itself decapitated in the same fashion as its brethren.

The last one was child's play. Without the threat of being ganged up on, he could be as aggressive as he wanted, viciously forcing it back with each swing of his sword. It fell, missing half an arm and both legs. Just for good measure, he tore its head from its neck as well.

This occurred in under a minute. Most battles did, lacking the drawn-out struggle that books portrayed them to be so. In the world of Remnant, the best fighters were ones that ruthlessly exploited mistakes, and created errors in their opponents. Once a Grimm was vulnerable, it was the responsibility of the hunter to kill it as efficiently and swiftly as possible, in order to conserve energy and maximize lives saved. This was what Jaune was taught in the school he attended, but he was not so sure about the hunting philosophies of other kingdoms.

The last time he saw a hunter contracted for a mission by the village, she and her team were flashy, and comported themselves with an exaggeratedness that befitted a movie star more than a professional soldier. But they did their job, and were paid.

Returning his sword to his sheath, he continued his trek.

He had been walking for around six hours, and the sun was beginning to descend from its noontime peak. After the first encounter, he hadn't faced much resistance in the forest, with the exception of a particularly pernicious itch on his left thigh.

Now, his surroundings were gaining a rocky appearance, and the trees were giving way to large rock formations, and stone mounds. What once was just a sharpness of quality now was a shortness of breath. He slowed his pace, careful not to strain his lungs. He knew the effects of heavy physical exertion at high altitudes. Your body has to work harder to take in more air, and as a result, you become sluggish and tired more easily. Aura can counteract some of the symptoms, but there is always acute mountain sickness to consider- headaches, nausea, and lethargy. That would be dangerous. Better to play it safe.

Working his way up the mountainous area, he found his first sign of civilization. Rusted, yellow, and metal, the sign stated that there was a path that would lead to an outpost five miles westwards. That was better than nothing.

He walked on. Signs of civilization were rare, especially in the wilderness. He could see why. The eternal threat of the Grimm meant that the position you chose to settle down in had to be defensible and arable. The rocky mountains he found himself in now was hard to defend- it was dangerous, and had many openings through the caves and between the peaks, meaning that both Grimm and bandits could enter easily in the night. Not much could be said of its agricultural potential either. The air was thin, and the dirt was poor in nutrients. Mountain Glenn was destined to fail, regardless of how many hunters or robots they sent to protect it.

Vale -the Kingdom and the city- was a metropolis because it found itself between shallow waters and steep mountains. Proximity to the water meant a sustainable industry of both fishing and agriculture, allowing for population to boom. Because the waters were shallow, larger aquatic Grimm, such as Hydras or Akheilon spawned farther off into the ocean, or were killed by the daily patrols.

The steep mountains formed a steep barrier to prevent the horde of Grimm from entering through the east and south. Nevermores were loathe to leave their nests, and those that did were shot down easily.

Speaking of Nevermores, the avian-type Grimm were beginning to come closer. He doubted they could see him, but it seemed that their migration cycles had led them to this location of the mountain range. This wasn't safe. His sense sharpened to alertness, and kept on walking.

True enough, he found a beaten path, with a circle attached to an arrow inscribed on the wall beside it. Go this way, it meant, and the markings in the traveler's language had not failed him yet. The road led him through a wending path, around deep ravines and through dimly lit caves.

He wondered what it would be like to get lost here. The terrain was dangerous, and it felt as if a single misstep would lead him tumbling to his death. The cave system had many forks and branching paths, and there were traces of human occupation within. Miner's hats, pickaxes, bones. Probably human.

He walked on.

Coming into view, just at the edge of his vision, was the outpost. He could see it- a short, squat structure made of metal built into the mountain. His pace sped up, forsaking stealth for swiftness. He could hear it now, the cry of a Nevermore, far off in the distance. He needed shelter, or help.

The door to the outpost opened easily- the inside of the outpost indicated that there used to be people stationed here. Empty wrappers and dirt littered the floor. A desk and a computer, probably to transmit messages to wherever central command was. His eyes followed the wires coming from the back end of the computer to a second room. The door was marked with a jagged arrow facing downwards inside a triangle. Voltage.

The second room contained a voltage generator that required dust to run. Wordlessly, he poured the contents of the dust vial into the funnel at the top of the black, squat machine. He had seen these before in the manufactories- a 500 gram vial of dust could power a lightbulb for a few hours, so he doubted using the computer to transmit a message would take that much.

The plan was simple- send a "Save Me" message to Vale, and hope they follow through. He pressed the button on top of the generator, and it released a low, whirring noise. Almost instantly, the lights in the dilapidated outpost flickered open, and the computers began to boot up.

It didn't take Jaune long to find the communications application. What surprised him was that someone had messaged him.

It read: "SYSADMIN_VALE: Who is this?"

His fingers tapped quickly on the keyboard. "OUTPOST_24: Jaune Arc. Am refugee from village. Need help."

"SYSADMIN_VALE: Requisitioning a Bullhead to your location. ETA in 2 hours."

Just then, the cry of a Nevermore rang out, louder and clearer than the others. Others joined the chorus, the shrieking, keening cry of imminent death.

"SYSADMIN_VALE: Turn off generator. It produces high-pitched noise. Aggravates Grimm."

Jaune looked outside the window, and found himself a full flock of Nevermore, at least 20. With wings outstretched, they fired a salvo of feather spears directly at the shelter. With the lucid clarity of a man facing the sublime power of a typhoon, he threw himself away from the generator. The onslaught of feathers tore through the wall, and ripped apart the desks and computers within. Including the generator.

An explosion blew through the walls of the shelter, knocking Jaune even further back and taking a decent chunk of his aura. Without the metal walls of the outpost, he was completely exposed. With a slow, almost mechanical movement, the eyes of the Nevermore flock swiveled towards his form.

He awakened his semblance once more, courage and warmth filling him to his core. He ripped his sword from its sheath, and pulled his pistol from its holster. To be honest, it was more of a handcannon, firing powerful, recoil-heavy shots at a slow rate. For close-combat, it was dangerous. Against Nevermores, it would do just fine. Better than his shield, which was too small to fully protect his body from the assault of a Nevermore, let alone 20.

The light of his semblance coalesced around his body, forming a shroud that made him look more divine than human. It provided no protection, but the warmth and liquid power that flowed through his body was enough to justify enveloping himself in aura. From the explosion, he had seventy percent of his aura left. The Nevermores, having decided that he was prey, dove towards him, hunger overcoming caution.

He bared his teeth. Fine. If these oversized pigeons wanted a fight, he'd fuck them up just fine.

Ozpin was having a stressful day. Beacon was receiving a gigantic influx of students, due to the Grimm horde that rampaged through Haven and Shade. Both schools were destroyed by the massive onslaught of high-level Grimm that was seemingly without end. The largest group of Tyrant Scales seen since, well, ever, and even fucking Leviathan showing up at Shade to sink part of the school into the ocean.

The most surprising thing, however, was the total lack of casualties during the attacks. While credit must be given to the evacuation teams for being incredibly efficient, it seemed as if the Grimm weren't seeking out the people themselves. Beowulves forsook vulnerable in prey in search of rooting through classrooms and dorms. Nevermores targeted buildings, not students. Of course, when the schools were destroyed, they returned to their base natures, and now, the formerly populated areas are now Grimm territory.

Currently, hunter squads were being prepared to clear the area to make it safe again.

Regardless of the odd nature of the Grimm attacks, however, there were still campus-less students to teach. Ironwood did not volunteer, citing logistics problems regarding teachers and dorms. Of course, no one in the meeting wanted Atlas Academy to be the backup school, anyway. Mantle was cold, and nobody liked Ironwood anyway.

Thus, the burden fell to Beacon, and therefore Ozpin. Already, new dorms and classrooms were being built by Glynda, and "volunteer" students with requisite strength or helpful semblances. In addition, it was the start of the school year, and he had yet to fulfill his quotient of Machiavellian planning: i.e, getting Miss Rose into Beacon two years early, or letting a former terrorist into the student body.

A notification popped up on the bottom of his screen- one of his informants in the Vale Cross-Continental Transit System Tower, or Vale CCT for short, had sent him the details of a rescue mission regarding a seventeen year old boy in the mountains to the south-east of Vale.

Mission ID: V_SEM_R_0123

Classification: Rescue

Date: 5/14/49

Requisitioned Materials: 1 (One) Bullhead, 3 (Three) Units of Bullhead fuel, 10 (Ten) Meters of rope

Hunters Contracted: [REDACTED], [REDACTED],

Details:

Signal received from Outpost 24, an outpost known to be abandoned due to logistical problems, as well as the looming threat of a Nevermore horde.

Operator [REDACTED] sent a query regarding the nature of the signal transmitted. The target replied, stating that his name was Jaune Arc, and was a refugee from his village. The Operator, after informing him that a Bullhead was requisitioned, informed him to turn off the generator, due to the model of the generator being a known irritant to common Grimm in the area. The signal cut short soon after.

Mr. Arc was found in critical condition and low aura by the hunters shortly after their arrival at the destination. Stating that they arrived late to see him defeat a horde of Nevermores and a Lenore, he entered the contracted Bullhead without coercion. Medical analysis shows Later inspection of the area (heavily damaged outpost, trace amounts of Grimm residue, and feather tracks on the ground) indicates that his claim is likely true, and that the horde contained upwards of 50 Nevermores. While Mr. Arc's claim that he killed a Lenore lacks proof, both the condition he was in, and the observed migratory cycles of avian-type Grimm lend credence to this claim.

Conclusion: Successful.

"Well, it appears that I have an interview to schedule. A Lenore, now that's impressive."

Grimm Files: Nevermore

Nevermores are a large avian species of Grimm.

The Nevermore is an avian that has features resembling those of several other bird species. Two notable examples of this are its resemblances to condors and ravens. Like other creatures of Grimm, it has a mask-like, white bony structure overlaying the upper front of its head. It also has four glowing red eyes, two on each side of its head. The headpiece also includes a dorsal spine or fin, reminiscent of that on the heads of Leviathans and Fell Albatrosses.

The Nevermore is capable of throwing feathers from its wing, which act like a volley of arrows with an effective range in the hundreds of yards. These feathers are sharp, and are capable of doing damage to an unprepared hunter.

The Nevermore seems to primarily resort to swooping mid-flight towards its target and leading in with its beak, then returning to flight using the downward momentum it gained during the attack. Nevermore also bear talons which they tend not to resort to, most likely relying on their momentum to keep mobile during combat.

While Nevermores vary in size, it is important to note that its feathers are incredibly durable, and sharp around the edges. Size commonly denotes age, and corollary to that, intelligence.

After several decades, Nevermores are known to grow to wingspans of upwards 50 meters. After this point, the Grimm begins to grow armor around its feathers, and gains a massive increase in density, becoming much harder to kill. At this stage, it is called a Lenore, or a Giant Nevermore.

Their growth can be speed up through feeding on dust...

AU: Hey, I'm not dead!