Hey all.
Not gonna lie, been a bit depressed and restive despite not being much affected by the quarantine or anything else going on in the world ( I compartmentalize this grief in its own section along with my horror about the climate and global conflict, politics, etc.).
Most of it has to do with the feedback I've been getting on my other story(ies). I'm not going to accuse anyone of flaming and I've got no one to blame but myself, because there is still a minority of my readers who seem to enjoy it despite its faults. However, I began to feel like I was reaching a point of diminishing returns and questioned whether it was worth it to pour any more of my heart and soul into something that only a handful of people were going to bother slogging through even with all the time in the world on their hands. So, rather than make a decision now on whether or not I should continue Not Worth Fixing, tear it down and start over or just throw it in the scrapheap and walk away, I'm distracting myself.
-Which is what this is.
Those of you who don't know or don't care about me, this is where you start paying attention (or just skip the Author's Note entirely and throw caution to the wind).
This story is mostly a cathartic exercise for me, so I make no promises about its continuity or quality. It will also likely be put at a secondary priority to any other stories that happen to escape my caffeine and anxiety-fueled mind. That being said, it is something I have been thinking about for quite some time, and have some idea of the direction I want to take it.
So, here we go:
Summary: Our favorite (arguably) team of huntresses is exposed to real war. In this world there are no Grimm, no Huntsmen nor Huntresses, no Magic and little hope left after three long years of fighting on a front line which stretches for thousands of miles but rarely changes. Perfectly reasonable, empathetic people on both sides are changed into viscous monsters with but a word from their commanding officers and the promise of an end at long last. Not just to this seemingly pointless struggle, but an end to all wars.
Will RWBY be able to convince the adversaries of its pointlessness, or will they be swept up in the desperate fight for survival?
[Just a note for those who are history buffs (which, you shouldn't have to be to enjoy this story), but I've taken a lot of excerpts from real diary entries, contemporary reports, etc. along with some of the lore developed by Tolkien of his own experience in WWI. I WILL be taking some liberties with the details and timeline, so you don't have to worry about having a wiki page open to follow the progression of the war. But, hopefully, I will stay true to the spirit- at least until our spirited huntresses come in and F**K everything up.]
'We are all monsters.
'This is probably obvious to you. But in the beginning, I did not understand. During training they taught us that the enemy were brutish, hairy beasts with horns, that they sacked and raped the innocent without remorse. We already knew they spoke in tongues and ate human flesh. Fear only attracted them, and so we could not be afraid. I fought them with a passion that could only exist at the distance of 500 meters.
'No less, and no more.
'The others used to brag about their kills, how they bashed one's head in with a rifle butt or ran another through with their bayonet so that the guts spilled out like sausage- le boudin. At the time I celebrated with them, my fellow soldiers, laughed the laugh that only men who had stared death in the face could- though at the time I was just a boy. A naïve boy.
'Now, I know, and the thought makes me sick.
'I lied about my age when I signed up. I was just sixteen when I saw the enemy up close for the first time. My unit was mere months out of boot camp, leaving behind a tropical coast for what can only be described as hell on earth- that is the only word I have for it, but it was worse; Hell only contains the guilty whereas war burns the innocent as well.
'Was the enemy I killed innocent? I do not know. I don't even know how many lives I took before then, having fired a few odd shots in anger at what looked like ants and seeing my target drop behind the horizon. However, since then I have had no choice but to keep track.
'They won't let me do otherwise. The eyes of that young man still live inside of me, bulging, bloodshot red as I squeezed his neck and he clawed my face with his hands caked in black mud. He couldn't have been much older than me, I might have gone to school with that face- now, it just haunts my nightmares.
'Dearest mother, I hope you never read this! What would you think of having given birth to such a thing? You might be glad that I was the one to walk away; but I still march, I still take orders and I still pull the trigger when the silhouette crosses those iron posts. What would you say? The veterans in our unit sooth us with the lullaby that it was 'him or me'. And perhaps this is the truth.
'But because it was me, I am forced to live with this dark thing I have done, what I continue to do in the name of protecting my far-away home and my brothers-at-arms.
'At times, it is easier to believe that it is the spirit of that young man, demon eyes leering over my shoulder and rotting black flesh which conduct my actions.
'Because the alternative is unthinkable; that this ugly, monstrous thing inside, is the real me.'
"Yup! That was me…and, uh you can call me Crater if you want…er, or maybe don't..."
What? Oh. That's right. Those two were still here. Yang and… Ruby. Blake had been so engrossed in her book that she'd hardly noticed the two interlopers, answering on autopilot while her mind was mired in the trenches of a gifted writer's imagination.
"Nice night, don't ya think?"
"Yes - it's lovely!" No guns going off, a ceiling above their heads instead of flak, and the most violence they'd seen since arriving at the school was the girl in front of her who'd accidentally caused a minor explosion. But compared to the passionate writing, such a trite question appeared ugly. "Almost as lovely as this book... That I will continue to read... As soon as you leave..."
'…I left on a ship bound for Algiers in the summer of '14, full of dreams about foreign lands and glory. The money was also good. We were poor, and my little sister was sick with consumption. But, at least she was alive back then-'
"Yeah, this girl is a lost cause."
It was just a stray shot by the blonde that managed to injure Blake's pride. She hated that term- Not enough for her to wish them harm, however. And it was better this way, the elder sister already on the retreat.
'No retreat! March or die! More than words, it was a philosophy of life-'
"What's it about?"
"Huh?"
Ruby smiled down at Blake, the very picture of a dove holding an olive branch- too kind for the type of life they were about to embark upon. They were aspiring to be huntresses, warriors without parallel. Blake guessed Ruby couldn't have been older than the main character at the start of her story, bright-eyed and hopeful- although, this girl had silver eyes…
"Your book. Does it have a name?"
"W-well," No one knew the author, and Blake doubted if this naïve-looking girl would understand what it was about. Her interest was honest, though, and deserved an honest answer. "… It's about a man with two souls, each fighting for control of his body."
The age-old tale of man against beast. A constant struggle to do what was right, it was the story of them all, Blake included.
"Oh yeah, that's… real lovely…" Oh, blondie, if you only knew the half of it…
"-I love books," Ruby pushed forward despite her sister's derision, charging headlong into the mire with a clean conscience. "Yang used to read to me every night before bed. Stories of heroes and monsters. They're one of the reasons I want to be a huntress."
"Why is that? Hoping we live happily ever after?"
Blake already knew this wasn't that kind of story- neither the one she was reading or the one in her hands. Yet, she didn't quite have it in her to be cynical- why else would she be here?
"Well, I'm hoping we all will. As a girl, I wanted to be just like those heroes in the books, as someone who fought for what was right and protected those who couldn't protect themselves."
'How many flocked to the recruitment offices when news of war broke? So many bright young men trading their futures for the opportunity to defend civilization from the barbarous Huns. These ambitions lasted until the first artillery barrage…'
"That's very ambitious…" And something else that was shared between them. It made Blake wonder how many young fools marched happily towards their deaths. "For a child. Unfortunately, the real world isn't the same as a fairytale."
It was just a story, a fictional account about a war that never was in a land just different enough from Remnant that Blake knew it couldn't be real. However, its truth had still struck a chord. The young woman had already read it several times over but was never satisfied. It always ended so abruptly, without any mention of what happened to the narator- to say nothing of the anonymous author. Supposedly, the original, unsigned copy had been found decades ago by chance in a farmhouse basement. It had then been meticulously transcribed and published by its discoverer who had been equally enraptured by its fantastic detail and, Blake was guessing here, frustrated by its lack of ending.
"Well, that's why we're here, isn't it? To make it better."
Opening her mouth to retort, Blake found that she didn't have anything to add.
"-Ooh! I'm so proud of my little sis'!"
"Yang, quit it!"
But some people didn't know when to leave well enough alone, Yang dragging the mood onto the ground along with her sibling as the two descended into a sisterly squabble.
"Just what is going on he- oh, no, not you again!"
And then the Schnee showed up to finish it off, her voice like an air raid siren.
It seemed history was destined to repeat itself- or perhaps it was just a few individuals who were prone to conflict. Blake wondered if Weiss Schnee was such a person or if she was innocent of her family's prejudices. From what she had seen so far, there was no cause to think so. Ruby might have been sprightly and accident-prone, but that was no reason to blow up at her- Blake had seen the whole thing and the explosion was only half the girl's fault.
Why did Blake put herself in these situations, anyway? If only she could just look the other way.
It was obvious she wouldn't be able to do any more reading. So, she closed the book and set it aside like the animosity she held towards the Schnee. That was a battle which could wait until morning.
Little to know that the next day would indeed be a trial by fire.
But for now, the rest of the hall had already turned out the light, so when Blake blew out her candle everything became as black as ink on the page.
'… I must stop writing now, the commander has ordered light's out. There is talk about a German barrage starting in the early morning again. The Huns do not seem to sleep; perhaps it is because they fear that if they close their eyes they will not wake up.
'I no longer fear dying nor the brutality of death. You make think this bravery or fatalism, but it is not that.
'It is because now, even in sleep, I am no longer alone.'