Wow I haven't really been on recently. I've been sort of fiddling with a couple of original stories over on RR. I won't bother linking or advertising - I'm just explaining my absence here. I'm debating hopping over to continue Deku 10 in addition to this, but I sort of stumbled across that legend of RWBY fanfiction Couer Al'Aran, and even though I was trying to get the first 'book' in my original story done I was just compelled to come back to my own whimsically started RWBY fic. In other news, I hope this chapter kind of explains why Archer didn't start with Structural Grasp. I admit that I did somewhat forget about it when I first started out but after the fact I find the idea that Archer is just flatout a shitty teacher highly amusing and somewhat accurate to the man himself. I'm still not sure where I fall on the balance of Fate stuff to RWBY stuff in the story and setting, but I do hope to include a fair mix. I'm taking suggestions on pairings and appearances from other possible Fate characters though so let me know how you feel about that either in a review or a private message. I do try to answer them when I get the time. And as always, Thanks for Reading.
-ooo-
I woke up on the floor - exactly where I was when I'd fallen asleep the night before. The sun still wasn't up, and contrary to my luck nothing terrible appeared to have happened over night. Which was a blessing - because despite not remembering much of my dreams, I could taste the coppery tang of blood in my mouth, and the thick stench of a battlefield clung to me like a reapers cloak. I quickly rose from the floor, and jogged to the bathroom closing and locking the door behind me.
Staring in the mirror, I poked around my mouth, trying to find any sign of blood - raising and lowering my tongue to see if I had bitten it in my sleep. By the time I was sure nothing was out of order the stench had faded as well, nothing but a memory of a memory. I frowned, and ultimately filed it away under 'things to ask Archer about that he probably wont answer'.
It wasn't that I was sure it was something magical in nature. It was just stupid not to ask Archer about anything abnormal. Speaking of the wayward servant.
Where was he?
A quick glance around the bathroom told me that he hadn't followed me in, and backtracking to my bedroom provided no more insight as to Archers location than I had before.
"Archer?" I tried, calling out into the quiet house in what was ultimately a futile effort. Frowning, I quickly eyed my bedroom. It was a mess. I might be decent at managing the house in my families absence but that didn't mean I enjoyed chores any more than the average seventeen year old. I did my sisters laundry religiously because they regularly came home from weeks in the field caked in blood and sweat.
I on the other hand was not so engaged most of the time. So doing my own laundry always felt like a much more thankless task. I could argue that I was in school and therefore apt to be tired from all the learning and homework, but the truth was, I was a shitty student. I scraped by on minimal effort and barely passing grades. I simply didn't have the focus for topics so unrelated to what I wanted to do with my life. When I was younger I would try to fill that void with hobbies I told myself I would be dedicated to - but they rarely lasted .ore than a month at best.
In the end it all came down to one thing; I wanted to be a Huntsman. Playing the guitar didn't help me with that. Art didn't help me with that. Nothing the track I was on in school helped me with that.
Which is why I - bumbling slacker I was - hadn't done my laundry in weeks. .
Hey, it's a good excuse. I'm a teenager not a philosopher.
The thought gave me pause. In this one specific case couldn't my chores help me be a Hunstman.
I took a minute to focus then with the sharp tang of drawn steel, felt Prana rush through my body, not quite hardening my skin so much as making it better... making it more. A grin broke out on my face, even though I was moving no faster than a turtle. I methodically began shifting about the room, separating and stacking my clothes.
It took nearly an hour, but eventually I was able to lug all of my laundry down to the machine. Which wad lucky, because I ran out of prana at almost the exact moment I started the washer.
In that moment, when the molten flow of energy coursing through me cut off, a wave of exhaustion like no other washed over me. A part of me desperately hoped no one woke up to find me panting this hard alone in the basement. It was like Id run a marathon and the entire exertion had caught up with me all at once.
Note to self, stop using magic before you're completely out of prana.
Seriously, would a mana bar be that hard to make? I'll even take it as my semblance. This really sucked.
Despite my inner complaints I was grinning like a moron when I went back up the stairs. Oh yeah! Who can do magic? This guy! Come at me grimm! I calmed down - slightly - as I returned to the second floor of the house, stopping in front of one of my sisters rooms. Now I had to wait - and see how long it took my Prana to refill. Archer had said 'fast' but I had no frame of reference for that. It had to be slower than the rate it was consumed while I was reinforcing myself, otherwise I would never have to stop. The question was, could I check?
Hesitantly, I closed my eyes and gazed inward. There was... nothing there obviously. I wasn't a monk or ascetic capable of determining my inner reserves of strength. I frowned and started bonking my head on the door to Olivia's room in self recrimination. Obviously that wouldn't work. Come on! It's an ancient traditional art you idiot, if children could figure it out overnight then they would. The only time I could even feel my Prana was when it was circulating through my circuits. I could...
The thought made me pause. It couldn't be that simple could it?
Could it!?
I quickly put my idea to the test, drawing Prana from my reserves to circulate through my body. I didn't do anything with it though, even though the simple act of drawing the energy forth was enough to have me laying my metaphysical hand on the pommel of the sword formed off nothing but my force of will.
And awkwardly at first, I felt it. The slow trickle of energy from the depths of my being to my circuits slowly increased its flow as I regained my strength, until my circuits were fit to burst with mystical energy. I nudged the door to Olivia's room and took a guess at how long I'd been standing in the hallway. It was only 5:30 am, the wee hours of the morning, still just a bit before the sun or either of my sisters would willingly be roused from bed. So it had taken me maybe fifteen minutes to get back to what I'd guess is at least close to maximum capacity.
I slid into Olivia's bedroom and returned to my practice, grin once more plastered to my face, and Prana once more rushing to toughen my flesh and protect me from attacks. When I moved to begin gathering clothing, it was just that bit faster. Just that bit closer to my goals.
And that? That was something I could work with.
-ooo-
It beggared the imagination how a society could develop to be so... self deceiving. I had never really told Jaune because it seemed obvious to me - but I didn't exactly disappeared when he went to sleep. If he assumed I would always be there when he woke up then he was in for a rude awakening.
I stood on the roof of an electrical tower of some kind, leveraging the full might of my abilities as an Archer class servant to survey the small settlement of Ansel. Calling it a settlement was somewhat erroneous - because it was well within what I could make out of the tremendous walls surrounding the City of Vale. Honestly, Ansel was like like a settlement or village and more like one ward in a huge mega city.
Which makes sense if this is literally the last city. I shivered at the concept, at the idea of a humanity pushed so far to the edge of existence that this was what was left. I hadn't had a huge opportunity to examine how the people here acted, but Ansel had a sensation of... forced happiness about it. People that came into conflict swiftly mastered their tempers and moved around each other. Children that dropped their ice cream or broke their toys rapidly moved past their problems, or acted like they had never happened in the case of older children.
Almost every resident of Ansel - and if I had to guess, Vale - was like that. Curiously resistant to negative emotions, almost willfully ignorant of them. I'd have to ask Jaune about it later - assuming someone who lived here could even tell how strange the behavior was. Presumably this had something to do with how Jaune's Grimm were supposedly attracted to negative emotions - but that creature in the woods really hadn't been strong enough to warrant this type of societal masquerade.
I was pretty sure Rin could competently have taken the thing apart with little to know wasted energy. That might be saying a lot about her - but said a lot more about the beleaguered teenager who could no more have defeated it without my help than he could have flown to the moon under his own power.
The thought of the diminutive magus brought a wry smile to my lips as I continued to examine Ansel and its environs. In some ways, this world wasn't that different from his own. There were cars, or vehicles that certainly behaved enough like cars as makes no difference. There were supermarkets, schools, police officers and even guns. In almost all things it was an entirely modern world.
Except it wasn't.
For one thing, pretty much every conventional form of fuel or energy had been replaced here by something that - no matter how much I tried to use Structural Grasping on it - I couldn't identify. It was in everything. I cooled refrigerators, moved vehicles, sparked weapons, and even seemed to somehow provide running water in places where there simply was none. It came in all shapes and sizes, from engravings on things, to canisters of dust to gems of the solid substance. That last part was of particular note. Rin would kill to have practically infinite access to seemingly magical gemstones of great power.
And yet these people treated it like a household commodity.
My eyes slid over the settlement of Ansel once more in my quest for understanding, my search for any other signs of Magecraft that I would have to either assault or defend my ignorant Master from. Every object my eyes passed over, over thing that even remotely entered my vision, my mind and my magic tore apart. Blueprints for anything and everything passed through my thoughts as I searched, my usage of Structural Grasping so automatic, so ingrained into my default method of being that it was closer to a type of Mystic Eye than the simple starter spell that all Magi must learn before progressing to...
Something about that thought wrenched my mind from my current task and back to the house on the outskirts of Ansel where even now I could feel my Master practicing reinforcement. Practicing reinforcement, the second magic any competent Magi learned. Practicing reinforcement without a working knowledge of Structural Grasping.
My shock was quickly overcome by horror. How by the Root had that dumb, dopey, kid, managed to avoid killing himself?
I shook off the headache that trying to understand this worlds strange power source had given me and immediately made a mad dash for my Masters home. Of course I had forgotten to teach him Structural Grasping - after all it wasn't like I consciously had to cast it anymore. Heck most of what I was teaching Jaune was just regurgitated information from Rin - I had neither learned nor cared about most of it in my time walking the earth.
After all, while I was many things - Hero, Servant, Wielder of a Reality Marble.
I was a shitty Magus.
-ooo-
I hummed an of key tune as I work. I was into my third load of laundry now. I had shifted from pausing between chores and practice to examine my Prana as it restored to performing the action while I was working. Reinforce, Recharge, Laundry. That was what my world had narrowed down to, and for good reason. Switching mental tracks and trying to multi task was like juggling while doing push ups. In a word - stupidly difficult.
I was smoothly pulling the second load of laundry out of the drying machine and folding them while measuring the return of my Prana when Archer appeared in the room. He wasn't sweating - I wouldn't think that was possible for someone who is essentially a ghost - but he looked like he'd exerted himself getting here. I was instantly on alert, fear racing through my veins at the urgency in his expression and body language. Almost without thinking about it, the sharp tang of drawn steel heralded my Prana as it rammed out of my circuits and into my skin. Mentally I judged myself to be at about half capacity, able to keep my defense up for about thirty minutes. Unfortunately I could barely move while reinforced, I had improved somewhat in the case of casual movement, but Archer was right - fighting like this was going to be something of a long term endeavor.
But I didn't really plan on staying reinforced for the full thirty minutes. I just wanted to make sure I was protected from any surprise while Archer reported. If something burst into the room I was going to shunt everything I had into Archer and keep it there until he killed the problem.
"What is it?" I said, managing to hold back my panic admirably, even though the half folded shirt that had fallen from my lap more than demonstrated my state of mind.
If anything my sudden reactions, something I would have thought Archer would be at least passingly proud of the caution behind, seemed to alarm Archer even more than he had been when I had simply been folding laundry.
"Jaune. Stop reinforcing right now." Archer said gravely, recomposing himself as though nothing had been wrong in the first place. The only sign that something was wrong was the slight tightening around his eyes.
Tentatively, I released my stranglehold on the theoretical safety of my iron skin and looked at Archer quizzically.
"Okay..." I said, cautiously. "Whats going on?"
"There's something you need to learn. Give me the body." I bristled a bit at 'the' body instead of 'your' body. Obviously we were going to have to have a conversation about who was in charge of who here. I shuddered to think what a jerk like Archer could get up to if the only way he could interact with the world was through me. But I filed it away as a complaint for later. Archer was clearly disturbed by something and there was no reason for me to believe he was being flippant about it.
With another exertion of will I was once more an observer in my own body. It wasn't as jarring as it could have been. But it was still pretty damn jarring when I knelt to the floor and retrieved the half folded shirt on the ground where I had dropped it.
"What I am about to show you is a spell called Structural Grasping. Your going to need to learn to do this and Reinforce at the same time, but it has a number of other uses. Think about this spell as an analytical tool you can use later in life to create your own spells and tools." my voice spoke, and I could detect a tinge of guilt in it that immediately left me feeling suspicious.
'Why did you need my body for this.' I queried.
"Because you should be able to feel what I do and replicate it. It's easier than explaining the workings of a spell with no physical analogue to someone with no idea how magecraft works." Archer chastised me.
That made sense. It also explained by Archer hadn't felt the need do this to teach me reinforcement. That at least was easily explained. Make prana, shove it into your target, profit. Something more esoteric however, might be somewhat harder to describe - like trying to tell somehow how purple sounded.
Prana began to flow through my veins, supplemented by something... something greater than my own meager reserves. The sensation of molten metal shifting about in me was both different than when I utilized my circuits of my own accord, and somewhat disconcerting. The click of a gun firing went off somewhere in my mindscape and the Prana rushed forward, not into my skin, by towards the shirt in Archers - my - hands. Instead of releasing the Prana, cementing it in place to reinforce the shirt and make it somehow more, the energy shifted about the shirt in a tight formation, taking on a tint that forced it to match the existence of the shirt, and then flowing backwards into me. As the energy returned it brought with it information. Small details about the shirt in my hands began to fill Archers - my - mind. How many times it had been washed, every nick and tear in the fabric, the exact composition of the shirt. And then, just before the sensation had caught off there was more, something more detailed - like my mind was sinking in to the shirt.
But Archer stopped the magic there, and my mind snapped violently away from the connection - the sensation of becoming one with a t-shirt somehow repugnant to me in a way that caused physical pain.
Archer quickly cut off the flow of Prana through me, the short moment of his presence draining me noticeably as he stepped out and away from my body. I quickly began to cycle my Prana to determine exactly how much the drain was, and determined that the short moment of possession had probably eaten through a small chunk of what I had when he arrived. It made me frown - because to all accounts Archer really couldn't be expected to possess me for more than a handful of minutes even if I was at full capacity.
"Now. Reinforce your skin, but start with Structural Grasp." Archer said imperiously, distracting from my thoughts.
I did as he bade without comment, sending my Prana into my body and shifting it about until I had a comfortable loop of energy passing back and forth from my circuits to my body and back again. Information flooded me, as it had with the shirt. I needed to eat, I had a cavity, my skin could tolerate exactly 5 units of Prana before -
I blinked.
Now that I could sense it, I could much more accurately move Prana to reinforce my skin. It was simply a matter of creating pathways of Prana that fell away from the original line created by Structural Grasping. I could widen or thin those branching paths as appropriate to achieve more or less reinforcement, and more importantly, I could detect the places where I was sending Prana but not focusing hard enough to actually reinforce anything, thereby wasting the precious energy.
Curious, I released my reinforcement but continued to examine my body. Because the energy was returning to me almost as fast as I was moving it about, Structural Grasping almost cost nothing to maintain, a fact which left me several minutes of Archer patiently watching me to focus and eventually achieve my goal.
I could tell exactly how much Prana I had. Or... Od, since I was measuring the energy that wasn't being converted for use by my circuits. I could even tell how much I could potentially hold. Suddenly a thought occurred to me.
"...Archer?" I asked patiently, but with mounting fury.
"Yes?" The lackadaisical Servant replied, clearly satisfied with his teaching and no longer paying much attention to me.
"Why didn't you teach me this before you taught me Reinforcement?!" I cried out. Archer's gaze snapped back to me, as though he hadn't expected me to notice the obvious benefit of knowing how much energy to use without killing myself.
I'll give him this, he had the good grace to at least pretend to be chagrined.
"I forgot." he said, without a shred of shame in his voice or on his face.
I eyed him for several moments, waiting for a greater explanation than that.
"To be a Magus is to walk with death?" He tried again.
I summarily chose, in that moment, to walk to the open dryer, shove my head in it among the sound dampening influence of the freshly laundered clothes - and scream.
-ooo-
I spent the rest of that day ignoring Archer and practicing my reinforcement. I also changed my routine to include practicing Structural Grasp. Since the spell cost nearly nothing to use, I spent much of my downtime between hour long attempts at reinforcement on grasping the unique composition and makeup of pretty much everything I came into contact with. All the while Archer peppered me with questions about Ansel, Vale, and the Grimm.
Questions that, while I would answer eventually, I wasn't going to answer right now. I had realized that there was really only one way to 'punish' an untouchable, invisible, man. Ignore him.
"I wonder what size bra your sister wears." Archer finally spouted, when I had finished doing all the laundry and moved on sweeping the house. I froze, my broom stopping mid motion.
"I'm sorry?" I asked in that special threatening way only a brother can respond to someone asking after his sister.
"I said, 'I wonder if this is all thats left of the human race.' " Archer replied cheekily.
I returned to ignoring him.
"What'd you say her name was? Bianca? It's this one right?" Archer continued unimpeded, his phantom form drifting up the second floor hallway I was in and slipping through the door.
For a second, I considered jumping down the stairs face first and shunting mana at him so he had to endure the impact just as much as I did. It was the second thing I had though of for getting at the white haired bastard after 'ignore him' but the fact that I would probably have to suffer the same pain as him made the plan some what unpalateable.
"No. Vale isn't the last place on Remnant with people in it." I bit out in answer to his question. I was going to remember this. I didn't know how, but I was going to have my revenge.
"Huh. Where else is there?" Archer asked companionably, slipping out of my sisters room and coming to a halt in front of me as I furiously took my rage out on the specs of dust dotting the floor.
"Vale, Vacuo, Mistral, Atlas." I answered, practically spitting the words.
"Does everyone use the same stuff to power their machines?" Archer asked carefully. The question was casual but it was... too casual. Like he was trying to downplay its importance.
"What, dust?" I said snorting. "I suppose in your time you just ran on hamster wheels for power or something?"
Archer stared at me perplexed. I didn't know why. I mean, of course everything was powered by dust. What the hell else would we be using?
"What... is dust though. " Archer said, gesturing for me to continue my explanation. I paused to think about my answer for a second.
"Magic." I eventually said, both a demand and an answer to his question.
"...I'm sorry?" Archer replied, evidently annoyed by the one word response.
"Magic. Magecraft. Whatever. Teach me more and I'll answer your question." I said snarkily. I know it was petty, and I had barely mastered what he'd already taught me - but Archer had a curious way of constantly being just annoying enough to be mad at, but not enough to truly hate.
"...I can't. I only know Structural Grasp and Reinforcement." he answered with no a single iota of shame in his voice.
"You can do Tracing can't you?" I spat rudely at him. I wasn't stupid. I'd only seen him do or say it a single time. Or maybe he hadn't said but merely thought it while possessing me. But regardless I was more than aware of the power he had access to - and I wanted it.
"I can't teach you that." he answered flatly, a hard edge to his voice.
"Then- "
"No. I mean, it's literally impossible for you to learn. Its a magecraft unique to me, and you lack the means or the upbringing to utilize it let alone replicate it." Archer snapped at me. I blinked once.
"So... its your semblance?" I asked cautiously.
"I - sure. Yes. That."
"You don't sound very sure of that." I pointed out.
"Tell you what kid, explain to me what Dust and Semblance's are, and I'll explain a kind of magecraft Im aware of that might be safe for you to fiddle with." Archer said with some exasperation. I thought for a moment about it. It seemed like a fair enough deal. And its not like I was going to get any examples of what magecraft could do from anyone else.
"Fine. Dust is like... pure elemental energy I guess is the best way to describe it. A blue dust crystal is what provides all the water in the house since were so far away from the town that we can't use the normal water lines." I started, trying to think of how to explain a universal power source to a caveman.
"It's pretty much how everything works. Stove? Red Dust. Lights? Yellow Dust." I finished with a shrug.
"As for a semblance, I think its supposed to be the special power everyone who has their aura unlocked gets." Archer shot a contemplative look at me for a few seconds, then muttered something about 'sorcery traits' before nodding.
"Then yeah, Tracing is my semblance." Archer allowed with a shrug. Damn but would summoning swords that could dice through Grimm like a hot knife through butter would be useful. Oh well. That's cleared up at least.
"So..." I prodded, knowing that if I didn't bring it up Archer would happily 'forget' his end of the the deal. He rolled his eyes at the prompt and took on his lecturing pose.
"It's not my area of expertise, but a friend of mine specialized in a kind of magecraft called Jewelcraft. She could store power in gems of a sufficient rarity and use it later. Or blow them up. I admit she did that with relative frequency too." Archer said with a shrug.
"You probably won't be able to do it, but Im confident that with Structural Grasp you won't blow yourself up at least, so theres no reason you couldn't experiment." If I didn't mind wasting time on something that might not work, was the unspoken sentiment behind the statement.
"Are you sure I couldn't learn -"
"Um." the sound of a girlish voice caught me off mid sentence. It had come from behind me, about half way up the hall, and hearing it had reminded me that I had to stop talking to Archer out loud so often. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed Jasmine in her school uniform staring at me with a worried look on her face. I scrambled for an explanation about why I would be nattering about Dust and Semblance's in the hallway to myself. Blessedly, there was an easy explanation to hand.
"Hey Jas." I said nervously. "I was just doing some review while I cleaned."
"You've been doing that a lot recently bro. " Jasmine noted, taking the last few steps forward to pull the door to her - newly cleaned - room open. She was still looking at me with a hint of worry that I didn't like seeing on my youngest sister. I was older than her dammit - she should be relying on my, not worrying about my sanity.
"Ah... Yeah. I just... don't have a lot of time before Beacon opens..." I said, grasping for something to say, and realizing too late that I had spoken a real worry instead of a banal placation.
"Because of Bianca right?" Jasmine said calmly, disappearing into her room and closing the door. No doubt she was going to change out of her school uniform. Unlike me, Jas was considered a genius when it came to hunting, she didn't really have a summer break the way I did. She just moved from normal school to prep school. It was pretty much just a change of uniform and curriculum to her.
"Yeah." I said, raising my voice and sitting down by her door so we could talk.
"Do you... want to train with me?" She asked tentatively.
"I doubt they'd welcome me at your middle school Jas." I said dryly, ignoring Archer's raised eyebrow and muttered insinuation that someone of my intelligence level would fit perfectly into such a setting.
"We could spar!" Jasmine said enthusiastically. "After school!" she added.
That... that could work. Granted, fighting my twelve year old sister probably wasn't the best way to practice but, as I've previously mentioned it's not like she was weak. At the very least it would give me the chance to practice getting punched in the face while reinforcing.
"Sure." I acquiesced. "Tomorrow?" I asked, knowing I would have to get a bit more practice down and get a hold of a weapon to practice with.
"Mm!" came the pleased voice of my sister through the door.
That night, after I had pointedly refused to allow Archer to cook, or taken even a single piece of his advice in the kitchen, I crept from my bed and into the hall once more. Quietly - so as not to wake my sisters - I pulled on the rope that brought the stairs to the attic down.
They were positively covered with dust of the mundane variety, and I winced as some of it fell on the floor where I would have to clean it tomorrow. Ignoring that for the moment, I tiptoed up the decrepit wooden planks into the attic. The room was just as dusty and unclean as the stairs up had been, and I made a mental note to clean and organize the place. I came up here often enough for my own reasons, but I wasn't obliged to clean the place - nobody used it often enough for anyone to bother telling me to do it.
With practiced steps I moved through the unending mountain of junk my family had collected over multiple generations. Old weapons, spent cartridges, family pictures and memoirs. The type of thing any long running hunter family kept to honor their ancestors. Finally I came to a halt in front of a single traveling chest. I knew this object better than anything else in the attic. It belonged to my great great grandfather - and had once contained his magic book in addition to his ancient weapon, rusted and under used.
Opening the chest - the lock had long since rusted away - I drew my scroll from a back pocket, shining a light on the contents. There, amidst the letters and journals of a man who had once been known as one of the greatest Huntsman of all time, sat a sheathed sword.
The sheath looked like it had once been white, but was now a faded brown where rust and age had eaten away at it. I could just barely make out the splash of gold on it that was once the Arc family crest. Putting my scroll down on the floor I drew the whole thing, scabbard and blade together, out of the chest.
This would be my weapon. I was already following in great great grandfathers footsteps. In a sense, I was the true heir to his knowledge, so it was only fitting that I would take on his weapon.
Crocea Mors. The Yellow Death. My blade and shield.
I blinked once as a thought occurred to me then looked back down at the sword again, still held in my two hands like a newborn child.
"Yellow Death? Man Grandpa, way to pick a bad guy name for your weapon."
Quietly, I held the sword under one arm so I could delicately close the chest with the other. I had a lot to do if I was going to be ready to start sparring with Jasmine tomorrow. Best I get some sleep.
Once more I stealthily padded through the halls of the Arc family home, a passive part of my mind registering the absence of Archer, even as a more exultant part of me reveled in the progress I was making.
Tomorrow I wasn't going to be weak, defenseless Jaune Arc. Tomorrow I was going to take my first steps onto the path of a true Huntsman. Of a hunter of Grimm. Of a Magus.
Of a Hero.
