I do not own RWBY or Tokyo Ghoul or the content of either one. Trust me, things would go VERY WRONG if I did.

Just note that this will be VERY OC heavy, with several completely new teams added to the Canon ones. The main characters will still be integral to the plot, but for what I'm aiming for, I need a larger cast that I'm familiar with for it to work.

Dedicated to Monty Oum.

NARRATOR

They say that one person is incapable of changing the world. That one stone cannot change the course of the river or hold back the ocean tides.

Why, then, are so many of the great changes of the world contributed to the actions of specific people?

It is true that they would have had supporters. They would have had some form of influence and power. But they would have had to earn this somehow, likely on their own merits. Be it gathering enough charisma to attract great numbers beneath their banner or simply building up enough strength to crush any who opposed them, all the great changes mankind has undergone, from the Great War sparked by the Kingdom of Mantle to the founding of the Huntsmen at Vytal, have been attributed to singular figures throughout history, great and terrible both.

In that sense, wouldn't that make the idea that one person can't change anything utterly worthless? Less than obsolete, but entirely-

A sigh sounded in the shadows as the page came to an abrupt end, once more disappointing the boy who held the journal. The following breath was a sound of disappointment that his expectations had once again been fulfilled; no matter how many times he read through this entry, it always ended right there. The vast majority of what remained of the entry having been torn free.

Shaking his head, he flipped the page, repeating the final words of the journal's previous owner in his head.

You don't have to be a great hero or conniving villain to change the world.

You just have to care enough to take action.

- Vigil

He shuddered as he read the name aloud.

"Vigil."

So familiar, yet so foreign, like a long forgotten friend whom you can no longer say you know.

Putting the journal aside, he instead turned his attention to the world around him, making one last check to make sure that he had not been followed. Upon confirming that he indeed had not been tailed, he sighed, slumping against the brick wall and sliding into a sitting position.

This night was a cold one.

That much was obvious, with the black clouds obscuring what should have been a flawless evening sky, and the cold rain pattering against the concrete.

The boy sighed once more, drawing his knees to his chest in an attempt to conserve the heat of his body in vain, his hair interweaving, tangled strands of white and sky blue beneath the shadows of his hood, stretching to his lower neck, like shreds of sky peeking through a sheet of clouds. Staring blankly at the brick wall before him on the other side of the alleyway were eyes reminiscent of bare, fertile soil - carved obsidian set in spheres of marble.

As the hours crept by, he slipped his hand into the depths of his hood, and pulled out the small stack of slightly crinkled papers that would decide his fate... if he wasn't caught first.

Emblazoned across the top of the page like a proud title was the name Vic Drakul. The picture on the left side displayed him in full - a black vest over top of a blue and white hooded coat that stretched all the way down his arms to his wrists. His skin was pale - almost unnaturally so - and had been burned in places by the sun when the picture was taken. His legs and hips were obscured by the worn jeans he'd become so accustomed to, his shoes worn to near ruin. Across his chest hung a plain white t-shirt, stained to some colour he was fairly certain Mankind wasn't supposed to be able to recognize by countless messes.

The only thing that seemed out of place to him on this picture was the smile he wore.

If it had been a confident smirk or a legitimately friendly grin - perhaps if it had even been a mischievous chuckle - it wouldn't seem so... alien to him.

Instead, what stared at him through the window granted by the ink on the paper was a carefree smile - an expression of innocence he no longer possessed.

He wasn't convinced he ever had that kind of innocence to begin with, at times.

Carefully tucking the paper away once more, Vic directed his gaze upwards, allowing the rain to hit his face.

He wasn't quite sure how he felt about this kind of weather. At times, it had its own form of charm, the raindrops washing away the sorrows of life, the chill in the air breathing renewed life and passion into the lungs of those it embraced like the refreshing breeze of the mountaintops.

Other times, however, it simply gave off a depressing aura, dampening the spirits of those beneath its reach and putting out their fiery passions.

He perked up slightly as some of the clouds began to clear, the storm thinning slightly...

Then he heard it.

The sound of airships descending upon the town.

Turning his head to stare out the alley and at the immense aircraft, the engines extended like the wings of a majestic Nevermore Grimm, a low hum resonating through the air as they lowered themselves from their lofty perches in preparation for the flood of students that would come with the dawn.

The airships that would take this year's graduates to Beacon Academy.

Pursing his lips, Vic stood, a sky blue dragon's tail twisting itself in a knot across the back of his vest; he twitched as his hand brushed by the folded weapon that he had strapped to his belt, hanging on the right side of his waist and strapped further to his leg.

There was no more room - and more importantly, no more time - for doubts. Or for fears of what might happen in the future.

For better or for worse, he was getting on one of those ships.

It wasn't like he had anything else to lose at this point.

Nothing he hadn't already given up on, anyways.

Professor Bartholomew Oobleck idly stirred his coffee about as he stared down the face of the cliff, the light breeze thankfully doing little to chill his piping hot beverage – at least, in comparison to the great green spikes that made up his hair, as though someone had planted elephant grass in his scalp. Though chills continually ran across his form due to the cold atmosphere of the mountains, it didn't particularly bother him; how could it, when almost all his attention was focused on the seemingly frail old man before him.

In comparison to most men, he was fairly short; in comparison to most people who had their Auras unlocked, he was positively diminutive, even with his ripe old age of nearly nine decades. Dressed in thick beige robes that swaddled him in a similar manner to a blanket, his heavily tanned skin was wrinkled, almost cracked like centuries old parchment that had been crumpled up before any ink had even touched the surface, as though the artistry for whatever the parchment had been planned for was scrapped before the project had begun. Clean shaven and bald, he possessed a warm smile, most of the wrinkles on his face seeming to have come from nearly a century of laughter rather than actual old age, his bloodstone coloured eyes warm and inviting.

"You're certain you want to send Miss Anima along with me, Elder Anu?" Oobleck asked, "I am willing to take her with me as a student at Beacon – as per your agreement with Ozpin - but she has never seen the world beyond your monastery. Don't you think it might be wiser to have her integrate into society through means other than an academy to train warriors?"

"I am quite certain, Doctor Oobleck," the old man replied, the crinkled edges of his eyes giving him an almost amused expression, "It is very rare that any of us venture beyond the walls of our home. Ours is an existence that is very much closed off from the rest of the world. As you know, most of us are content to remain here and pursue enlightenment through meditation, contemplation, and training. A simple existence, but a peaceful one nonetheless, untroubled by the turmoil of the world below."

"I see," the green haired man nodded, "And she is not content to follow suit?"

"My student possesses an… eagerness, so to speak. A sort that only appears a few times in any given generation," Anu spoke, "She wishes to learn of what lies beyond our walls, beyond everything she knows. And more importantly, she possesses the strength of will required to overcome the adversities that will come with this journey," he looked across the mountain range, towards the distant Kingdom he could not see, "If it were anyone else, I would be taking your counsel, and send them somewhere else to learn and study… but I believe she is up to the tasks that attending Beacon will present her."

"… If you believe that she can do it, then I will take her along," Oobleck sighed, a small smile creeping onto his face, "At the very least, she seems eager to learn."

Before either one of them could continue, the sound of footsteps crushing through the snowbanks pulled their attention away from the steep cliffs and back towards the community behind them.

A long shock of leaf green hair found itself being lightly tossed in the wind, the girl it belonged to keeping a hand atop her head in an attempt to keep the hood of her thick robe in place, the other hand holding onto the large, thick bag that hung at her side, baggy pants slipping into large, thick boots that didn't seem to complement her all that well. On the right side of her chest, emblazoned in emerald thread, was her symbol; three objects shaped like teardrops, one appearing to be made of stone, another, flowing like water, the last, shaped distinctly like flame. The tomoe, if Oobleck recalled, albeit stylized from the original symbol it was derived from. Her breaths steamed in the cool morning air, and her shivering made it seem as though it were much colder than it really was. Nonetheless, her eyes, an eerie shade of deep green with an almost unnatural focus to them, betrayed her enthusiasm; they were quickly joined by a large smile, her voice physically mature, but the tone rather innocent for her age, "I'm not late?"

Anu smiled in turn, "Not at all, Enki. You are right on time," he gestured back to the monastery, "You have said your goodbyes?"

The girl nodded, "I have."

Oobleck took in a final swig of his coffee before speaking up, "Then we'd best get going," he turned his attention to the Elder once more, "Thank you for your hospitality, Elder Anu."

Anu gave him another smile, "Be sure to give Ozpin my regards."

With that, he turned, and started off down one of the many steep slopes of the mountain, "Come along, now, Miss Anima. The Bullhead can't make it all the way up here, so we have a walk ahead of us."

However, Enki did not move.

Instead, she met the gaze of her Elder, her teacher, for a long moment.

Finally, she bowed.

"Elder Anu…" she started, then paused, seeming unsure of what to say.

He walked up to stand before her, placing a hand on her shoulder; even bowed, Enki stood more than a foot taller than her teacher.

"There is no need for you to say anything, Enki," Anu spoke, his words warm; though there was a small undercurrent of sadness, it was drowned beneath his joy and pride for the girl before him, "You and I will meet again. This is simply a temporary parting of ways."

"I…" she swallowed, then straightened back to her full height, towering over him. Finally, she nodded, "Thank you. For everything."

With that, she turned, and started after the green haired doctor, the Elder staring after them as the wind slowly began to howl, almost as though in protest to the girl's departure…

The rain fell.

A constant, unending thrum of beats that rolled together into a consistent sound as millions of drops of water struck the earth at any given instant.

In the forests not too far from the city of Vale proper, but not nearly far enough to be beyond the Kingdom's borders, a lone man sat in the center of a grotto atop a stone, not making any attempt to even seek shelter from the constant spray from the heavens above.

In fact, he hardly seemed to register that it was raining in the first place; though soaked to the bone, his expression was strangely serene, as though caught in a trance, eyes closed and lips drawn up in a slight smile, even as small rivers poured across his pale skin. His legs were crossed in a somewhat painful looking position, and his hands were open in his lap, palms up, right atop left. His long, purple hair was tied back in a ponytail that extended directly from the back of his head; his top was not unlike that of a kimono, but only extended halfway down his thighs before cutting off, tied in place around his waist by well-worn obi, the frayed edges of the indigo item displaying the gradual change of master to novice, the unending cycle. Hanging from the side of his obi, a large, plain, curved knife with no guard or ornamentation was fastened in place, its wooden grip and sheath stained dark. His robe was a lighter shade of purple, though it was stained significantly darker by the rain, and had a pattern not unlike the wings of a bird down the side of each sleeve, though it was swallowed up by the dark arm guards that adorned his arms below the elbows, extending to his knuckles, but leaving his palms and fingers bare. His pants were significantly darker, long, thick, and baggy, but flowing neatly into his boots; some strange mix of combat boots and sandals, only reaching about halfway up his shins. Not too far away, a simple bag held shut with rope lay on its side beneath one of the many trees surrounding the grotto.

Before him sat a sword of absolutely bizarre proportions; an eight inch long hilt wrapped in rayskin and bound in regal indigo silk lined with threads of gold, with a pommel of bronze that gleamed through the veil of water that coated it. A four and a half foot long blade with a graceful curve, sealed away in a dark purple stained wooden sheath, lined and tipped with inlaid bronze. And hanging from the pommel by several intwined threads of silk, was a charm; more specifically, the man's symbol. A royal purple swallow with its wings outstretched… and dozens of swords in place of its feathers.

Breathe in…

Let the thoughts come.

Breathe out...

Let the thoughts go.

Your mind is the sky.

Breathe in…

Your thoughts are the clouds.

Breathe out…

Do not try to grasp them.

Notice them

Examine them.

Be with them.

And then let them go.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

He'd been sitting out here for hours, repeating this simple, but at times, difficult process a thousand times over. He examined each thought and emotion as they came; he did not attempt to puzzle out why they came to mind or to heart, as contemplation was neither his goal nor his domain at this moment. Rather, he simply acknowledged each and every one as it came into his grasp, and then slowly slipped away. He did not attempt to chase them down, restraining the eager and easily distracted mind, but nor did he bind himself to a single concept.

He simply sat, enjoying the constant thrum of the rain.

At least, until a sound pulled him free from the depths of meditation.

A rolling crash from upon high, accompanied by a bright white crack tearing open the dark clouds above before disappearing as soon as it came.

Slowly, the man opened his eyes, rings of teal casting their gaze skywards. It wasn't long before another thunderclap broke the relative quiet.

He let out a long, slow sigh, "It seems the storm is getting worse."

With his concentration broken, he took a moment to think back to what exactly brought him out to the city of Vale in the first place. He had heard of the Huntsmen and Huntresses; extremely powerful warriors dedicated to the protection of their homelands, the "Kingdoms," as his fellow travellers called them.

Hailing from a small settlement far to the west, the man had naturally taken an interest in the tales of these brave people, laying their lives on the line for the sake of the greater good. Having reached seventeen years of age and therefore being able to do as he pleased, he had left his home in hopes of joining their ranks.

It wasn't out of any motivation to protect others or anything quite so noble; though he considered himself to be fairly moral, he could not deny that his motives were, in a word, selfish. He did so primarily in hopes of improving upon himself; the pursuit of self-betterment is what drew him from halfway across the continent to the city known as Vale.

He had known from the start that this would not be an easily surmounted task by any stretch of the imagination, but he had found the entrance exam to be almost disappointingly easy. Really, that was the test that separated the plebs from the elites among the Kingdoms' warriors?...

No. There had to be more to this. Something he had either missed… or something he was yet to see.

That was part of what had brought him out here, beyond Vale's walls. Aside from the irritating brightness and noise of the city, there was something nagging at the back of his mind. And so, he had left the city limits to meditate and reflect, to lay his worries, whatever they might have been, to rest.

For another long moment, he remained silent, as though waiting for another flash of lightning.

And as soon as it came, he was on his feet, the ring of his drawn sword echoing in his ears as he swiped at the air before him, seeming to lash out at nothing.

"There is no foe before me," he breathed, slowly pulling his sword back into position, ready to slash again, "Regardless, I, Sasaki Sekkaiken, accept this challenge."

Drip.

Drip.

Again and again, the cold, salty liquid struck the concrete floor.

Drip.

Drip.

In time with each of the armoured figure's movements.

Drip.

Drip.

As time went on, it became more and more consistent as sweat began to build up in their shell of plate, the shade of lightless shadows.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Hidden from view, the muscles in the figure's arms flexed with each movement, slow and tightly controlled. Lowering and elevating their owner's form with nary a flinch, even supporting the full weight of not only the person, but their armour as well.

The only part of the figure's body that was exposed was its hands and lower arms, heavy gauntlets set aside for the exercise. Hands so calloused that they couldn't be mistaken for anyone's but a fighter's lay stretched out, holding their owner at a perfect ninety degree angle to the floor, back and legs held straight, arms only bending to accommodate the demands of the current exercise as they lowered and lifted the rest of the figure. Though shrouded in the darkness, the armour was all heavily edged and bevelled; though the person's breaths were inaudible, sweat dripped from the visor with a steady rhythm, and slipped down the figure's arms in rivers – the only indication that it was truly human.

Needless to say, Jersey Bolt, who had been dispatched to check on the hotel basement was absolutely terrified of the dark figure.

For a long moment, he simply watched, too scared to do anything but stare as this… person continued to do push ups. There was something about the atmosphere they gave off; the very air around them seemed cold, almost hostile. Jersey was honestly surprised his breath wasn't steaming.

That said, he found himself with no choice but to work up his courage; it was either face this person's wrath or the wrath of his boss. And had no intention of making that man angry ever again.

He cleared his throat, "E-Excuse me?"

Abruptly, the armoured one stopped; slowly, its form bent at the waist, legs lowering and knees bending, before they tilted backwards entirely and gracefully pulled back into a standing position, the only sounds being the clinks of the armour as the few loose pieces it had clicked about like thin chains. The figure slowly turned to look at Jeremy, the intense glare from behind the visor making him shudder even though he could not see it. The flexing of its hands did nothing to help matters, the gleaming sweat on their bare palms accentuating every callous and making the fearful and grim part of his brain wondering just how much it would hurt if they were to wrap around his throat.

He swallowed, "Y-You made… a reservation?"

For a long moment, the knight-like figure did not respond, only standing in silence. Finally, it gave a minute nod of its head – confirmation, Jersey assumed.

"Y-Your room is finally ready," he stammered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a key card, "Room 302. I'm sorry for the i-inconvenience."

Again, it did not respond. Ultimately, it looked away, walking over to where it had set its gauntlets and affixing them to its form, covering its arms entirely and making it as though they were a construct of metal rather than a human being in a coat of steel. It then grabbed hold of a large black duffel bag and what looked like an overly thick longsword, hoisting the former onto its back and affixing the latter to its waist before approaching the hotel employee.

He found himself having to raise his head higher and higher as it drew near, towering over his comparatively tall five foot nine frame from a height that drew very near to six and a half feet tall…

"U-Um…"

Before Jersey could say another word, it had snatched the card from him and started up the staircase without so much as a second glance.

He almost deflated entirely with relief when its footsteps faded into nothingness, prompting him to slump against the wall, then slide down it, sitting sideways on the stairs, "God, I hate people like that," he muttered, "Seriously… what do they get out of scaring the hell out of people? It's not funny."

He sighed, bringing a hand to his head… then a gleam of metal caught his eye.

A square mat sat in the center of the floor, obscured by the shadows, exactly where the armoured one had been training.

He groaned, standing up, "Great… looks like I have a delivery to make," he slowly walked to the mat, kneeling as he reached to pick it up, "Why am I always the one who gets stuck with the freaks-FAGHCK!"

As soon as his thumbs touched the edges of the mat, he immediately pulled his hands back, hissing as his eyes shot to his palms. With his eyes finally adjusting to the darkness, several deep, thin cuts were now visible on his thumbs.

His eyes shot to the mat; now that he was paying more attention, he could clearly see the multitude of blades that stuck out of its surface, each gleaming with what little light they could catch, thin and sharp as a surgeon's scalpel, jutting out over half an inch from the black surface.

"Fuck," he cursed, sticking one of his thumbs in his mouth, "What the hell…?"

A bead of sweat fell down his brow as heavy footsteps echoed from above; he turned to face the stairwell, and the knight-like being stood at the foot of the stairs, silhouetted in the dim light and almost seeming to glower at Jersey.

He felt his breath catch as it began to approach once more, its intimidating height now approaching outright terrifying in nature.

However, it only knelt, grabbed the mat, and then went on its way once more, disappearing up the stairwell.

It took Jersey a moment to process exactly what had just happened.

It took him another to process what exactly the knight had been doing earlier.

"… But its hands…" he managed, looking down at his palms again, "There weren't any cuts…" he looked to the empty stairwell again, swallowing.

What kind of person could train like that?

In the meantime, the armoured figure had finally reached their room, this time without incident. Silently slipping in, it locked the door before setting the mat back on the floor where it belonged.

After wiping away the stray drops of blood from the foolish boy who had tried to pick it up, the knight removed its gauntlets, once again exposing its heavily calloused hands.

Slowly, gracefully, it set their hands down atop the razor sharp blades, and put more and more weight atop them. Before long, it was once again in a perfect handstand atop the razors, and it began the exercise anew.

Down.

Up.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.