A bit shorter than usual, sorry

So, this chapter is a little different and is told mostly from Death's perspective.
Tell me which perspective you like most, Third-Person or Death's POV

Chapter 9:

A knock sounded out, filling the small room with a new sound to drown out the old sound which would only be described as silence. In the center of the room sat a small, rectangular table made of metal, lit by a single light bulb hanging precariously from the tall ceiling. On the table, a blocky rifle with blue LED's on the barrel and magazine sat.

"In." Bastian's voice rung out through the compressed room as he stared blankly at the rifle on the table in front of his chair.

The door swung open to reveal the slender figure of Cinder Fall. She spoke as she stepped into the dimly lit room.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Tell Roman that somebody will be taking over his place in the next dust robbery. It seems his last string of robberies weren't as smooth as I would have liked them to be."

"Of course."

"Now, we must discuss phase two. Sit." He motioned over to a chair in the corner of the room. A wicked smile danced across his lips.

7855 years prior to current events

Things were getting extremely out of hand down on Remnant.

Death

Death everywhere

So much death

Too much death and only one hand to manage it all

Bodies lay strewn across the baron deserted landscape. Blood caked the earth below the inanimate corpses, weapons lay rusting in the light drizzle of rain. The souls of brave men rattled their cages, their bodies, some unable to escape, some unwanting, others simply wandering and looking upon the madness.

God's own two hands couldn't keep this up for much longer.

Too much to cope with

God needed a new pair of hands, one to manage the death, to guide the souls of the brave and valiant, the kind and caring, to heaven and the cruel and misguided to hell, to shovel them up and throw them onto a carriage, one way trip.

And he had those hands, he just wasn't aware of their existence yet.

The victors of the carnage, a faction known only to themselves as the Strange Folk, stood amongst the army of corpses, once men, no longer men.

5 Strange Folk warriors emerged victorious out of the 300 that dove into battle that day. The army that stood against the small force was like an ocean washing against a beach.

Thousands against hundreds, like the Persians against the Spartans. This journey had a different outcome though.

Perhaps it was the fear factor of seeing warriors which could only be described as alien, perhaps it was the superior training or lack of training, perhaps it was the technological advantage, perhaps it was the secrecy of an entire underground civilisation.

'Strange Folk'… what a strange name

But it was fitting. They were strange folk indeed

But who were these five who emerged victorious amongst their fallen comrades?

They were heroes

Nothing more, nothing less, in the eyes of war

The Reaper stood amongst the souls of warriors, visible only to those who were deemed 'dead'. He earned suspicious glares from the dead as he walked amongst them, almost seeming to appear human himself. The spirits felt an irresistible attraction towards the scythe-wielding figure that weaved in and out between the men's souls, heading away from the remains of the great battle which had taken place mere minutes ago.

The spirits followed the hooded figure like mindless zombies shambling after something to call food. They followed in the thousands. Death led the souls away from their bodies, away from their deceased human vessels, and further into the clearing ahead. Fog gathered in the clearing until it became thick enough to block the view from a man's head to his feet.

A distant gallop could be heard for near a minute, constantly growing louder before it drew to a close.

Death ushered the spirits forward and they obeyed.

One by one, they filed into the Dullahan's carriage, each seeming to disappear as they stepped through the door.

Death held his hand out to the Dullahan who sat perched on the front of his carriage, horse reins in hands.

The Dullahan gripped Death's hand firmly.

The Reaper felt the power of a thousand souls, a thousand deaths, pulse through his body. It felt like a pulse of electricity at first but soon felt as if the entire universe ran through his fingertips. He nodded to the Dullahan. The Dullahan set his horses forth into the mist, dragging the carriage of souls to their next destination.

Death

They say war is death's best friend. Allow me to offer a different point of view on that. In my eyes, war is like the boss who stands over your shoulder and repeats one thing over and over, 'Get it done.' He always expects the impossible. So you strive, you push harder. You get it done. The boss, however, does not thank you, he just asks for more. And he persists for the next few years. The next decade.

Good times

Strong times

Painful times

Better than now

But maybe not

I am unsure

Time will tell…

In war, not everyone is a soldier.

I have been observing this 'Yang Xiao Long' girl. As much as I would try and deny it, this girl intrigues me. Her family, past, intrigues me greatly. Perhaps I will continue observing; maybe I would talk to her one day. Maybe.

Maybe sooner than expected

But I expected it all too much

Certainly a very… positive girl, despite her somewhat… drastic past. Even more so when you speak with her. The first time I had physically spoken to someone in the past few thousand years, and that person was her. And she immediately ceased. It felt like speaking to a bad mimic, although I believe the amount of said people died down quite drastically since my last forced period on Remnant.

I suppose I would consider this a holiday. Though, I'm sure the mortals wouldn't consider a struggle for your life a 'holiday'.

Can I call it my life?

Sure, why not

It was certainly a holiday from the dreaded hell I considered war to be. Constant work, non-stop, no breaks.

Either way, I seem to fit in quite nicely amongst the hunters and huntresses, as I predicted. I am not all that bothered about Ozpin gaining more insight as to who or what I am; he seems like a man to keep a secret when it shouldn't be revealed. If word gets out that Death is roaming the streets, the one who uttered said rumours would likely be considered insane. It's a shame how little the mortals know of what happens behind the scenes.

It is similar as to how nobody seems to know who the Strange Folk are, though I suppose they were quite good at keeping themselves a secret. If my memory serves me correctly, there is only one Strange Folk descendant left alive on Remnant.

The Question: Who is this?

The Answer: I don't know

They seem to have kept themselves rather well hidden over the years.

Hiding

That brings me on to the corrupt of this world. The criminals. I frown upon society, I frown upon government. The criminal underworld seems to be largely out of control on Remnant, specifically Vale. And what do they do about this? Nothing.

Oh well. Not my problem.

At least a few hunters seem to be looking into it.

Four of them, that is.

At the moment, only one, but all four will be in on it, I guarantee it.

I could feel it in her soul, Blake Belladonna, completely centred around her burning hatred. Was it hatred? Maybe it was a misunderstanding. Anyway, she wouldn't be keeping her secret for much longer. It surprises me that nobody else knows her secret, even though it sits blatantly on her head. A shame. It will certainly be a shame when her team finds out, though. I'm sure they will understand.

Maybe they will be the heroes of this new era. It certainly has been a while since a true hero existed. I may finally be able to expand my arsenal of war heroes. Amsterdam is getting lonely, all by himself. At least I managed to gather him some company that benefits me more than it does him.

Might get another soon

I recently picked up Ulius Schnee, brother to Weiss and Winter Schnee. Died via gunshot wound, killed by… someone. I do not know who. Odd…

Switching subjects now.

Earth.

An alternate dimension, a different planet, completely different people, different wars, different everything. But that's not what I want to talk about.

The funny thing is, an Earth band, the Gorrilaz, managed to knock up a track that told a story of two different towns, one with a surprising resemblance to the Strange Folk that I know.

'Happy Folk' and 'Strange Folk'

The Happy Folk were completely undisturbed, living in harmony. One day, Strange Folk arrived; they came in camouflage with technology far more advanced than that of the Happy Folk. The Strange Folk found riches and soon began to mine them, fuelling their greed, fuelling the chaos of their own world.

Now, I'm sure this song was meant to represent religious earthen tribes and industrial civilisations. But I find it funny how these 'Strange Folk' are so similar to the Strange Folk of Remnant.

(Song) Gorillaz – Fire Coming Out Of The Monkey's Head

But enough about Earth, that place is ancient history. History to me, to God, to others like us. Not the mortals. They know nothing.

Fate is calling to me, twisting the world around me. I can feel it. Fate is telling me to let it do what it does. I suppose that means something will happen soon, probably to a member of Team RWBY or JNPR. Fate is calling to me to tell me that it wishes to go undisturbed.

I will follow the calls. I will no longer intertwine myself with fate.

I'm sure she'll understand why

It's not like I cared anyway

A little bit on the Strange Folk this chapter

Tell me which perspective you like most, Third-Person or Death's POV

Alright guys... gonna get some R&R, I should return to the land of the living by next week. Have a good week folks!