This is probably going to be a very short story about a Ronin and a Beowolf in Rwby.

To be honest, I just had a fun idea after seeing the artwork of a YouTube video.

Chapter 1

Throwing a handful of Cats down on the bar, Hanza checked his weaponry, then left the seedy bar, wincing as he righted his straw hat against the sun.

The Hub was a safe place for him, the inhabitants far too busy surviving against Dust Bandits and Bone Dogs to care that a disgraced Ronin was amongst them. The few that did take umbrage to his presence quickly found their ends at the point of his Katana, or the sweeping lines of his Naginata. After the first dozen Outlaws found their deaths by his emotionless hands, the others now merely abided his presence.

It helped that the Shinobi Thieves, whilst uncomfortable at the idea of allowing the presence of an ex-Samurai, were all too happy to accommodate him after he threw a bag of Cats their way. He cared not for them, and they gave the same courtesy, merely ensuring that the peace was kept between himself and the other Hub residents.

He tugged on the binding of his long raven-black hair, the pony-tail reaching down to the small of his back, whilst the rest, which usually would be framing his face, was held up out of sight by his hat. A brown scarf of leather wrapped around his throat, over a cloak of light-gray fabric, breathable and providing shelter against the elements in the event a dust-storm blasted through the area. His right arm, scarred from years of combat, was wrapped in clean white wraps, leading up to black under-robes which were frayed at the edges.

His left arm hummed quietly as he raised it to shelter his faintly-glowing red eyes from a blast of sand, the metal servos and joints of the masterwork construction barely making a noise. The cost him a very pretty penny, to the tune of a hair over 32,000 Cats, but for someone who relied on his own skills to survive, lacking an arm would be extremely detrimental, whilst lacking eyes would be a death sentence. And while he hated that he no longer had feeling in that arm, the durability of a metal arm, and the strength afforded to him now, off-set the loss somewhat.

His eyes, on the other hand, were a very special sort of equipment. If not for those he once knew and called friends, he would be blind. A blind Samurai was a dead Samurai. A childhood issue degrading his vision until he could barely fight, even with his immense skill wielding a blade. That was his one trip to the Deadlands, to the Skeleton Workshops there, sent when those he once could call friends demanded that he do whatever he could to keep himself in fighting condition.

Sure, it drained them of Cats, an act he believed of friendship and generosity, but a few weeks after he ventured into those acidic lands, he left stronger than ever before, with eyes that looked just like normal human eyes, aside from the red irises. While at first he was angered at the Skeletons actions, he eventually accepted what they had done, which was to...optimize his brain, under the guise of having to re-work the connection between eye and brain.

As it turned out, they didn't have to, but those he knew had paid the Skeletons extra to ensure he would come out stronger than ever before. If only he knew what they had planned for him once he became so strong, he would have torn those eyes out and stomped them underfoot. As it was, after they were implanted, it didn't matter what he did, removing his eyes at that point was useless, it wouldn't do anything. His brain itself had been modified, manipulated by those Skeletons who had been paid extra under the table to improve him.

"Oi!" A yell called out, drawing his eyes as a Dust Bandit got up from one knee, having bumped into someone entering the town. "Now look here boyo, what the fuck kinda guy d'ya think ya are, bumpin' into a man like that? Why I-" Whatever the bandit was going to say was lost as the other man drew a Tanto from within his clothing, slashing across his throat swiftly, then re-sheathing the blade, setting his shoulders and continuing into town, heedless of the corpse that just fell.

Hanza raised an eyebrow at the foolish bandit, he shook his head in exasperation as he made his way beyond the gate and up the hill towards the Shinobi Thieves tower. A brief nod to the man at the door allowed him entry. It helped that a sum of ten cats somehow found their way mysteriously from his hand to the other mans palm in the blink of an eye.

As long as he kept the Cats coming, the Shinobi thieves had no problem with him.

"You know, I like you Hanza."

Pausing from his ministrations down his blade, he raised an eyebrow, laying down the blade he had been working with onto his thighs and looking at the man that had just spoken to him. "And why is that?" He asked simply.

"Simple. You pay well, you keep our own activities secret, and you keep the town rather...benign, peaceful. Nobody starts bar-fights when a Ronin is drinking there, not if they want to stay in one piece. That's why I'm talking to you right now." The Shinobi slapped down a sheet of paper, Hanza's visage on the page, with a number listed below. "Now, I don't ask questions. In this line of work, that's obvious. I damn well want to know why you have a six-figure bounty from the United Cities, but I won't ask. What I will tell you is that even with our protection, there'll be bounty hunters here within a week to hunt you down."

Sighing, Hanza wiped his blade down with a clean rag, inspecting the edge keenly. "Let me guess, you want me out?" The man nodded. "Damn. Well, any idea where I could perhaps go to get away that doesn't involve going through the Fog Islands or across the Great Desert?" The thief tapped his chin a few times in faux thoughtfulness, then snapped his fingers, pulling out a small roll of parchment.

"There is one place. Brink." Hanza raised an eyebrow. Brink was controlled by the UC. "The ruler there, Lady Tsugi, is corrupt as they come in those cities. If you can slip into the city, put some Cats in her pocket and the pockets of her guards, they'll turn a blind eye to your presence. No bounty hunters go into the UC unless they have to, which means they go to the Bounty Offices, then leave again after they get paid. You'll be about as safe there as anywhere in this blasted land, long as you keep your head down, don't make waves, that kinda thing."

Nodding, Hanza took the parchment. Or at least, he tried to, but found his hand stopped by the thief before he could grasp it, who was looking at him expectantly. Exhaling forcefully, he took a pouch of Cats out, the pouch being dropped onto the table. "Well, I'd say it was a pleasure, but I feel you'd be offended, so I'll simply say my stay here was...adequate." The two clasped hands together, they shook, then parted ways, the thief to deposit the money somewhere, whilst Hanza gathered up his belongings.

They were fairly basic belongings, he had no need for more. He had a bed-roll tied to the underside of a black Shinobi Backpack, the useful design made wearing it whilst fighting a plausible idea. Inside, he had some food packs, several canteens of water, a medical kit, a bunch of assorted useful items like a Fog Mask, and his most treasured possession. He lifted the small pendant necklace from its place in an isolated pouch of the bag, bringing it to his lips briefly before replacing it, his eyes closed.

"I'll be going then..."

The parchment had two things.

Firstly, it had a route into Brink, through a secret passage the Shinobi knew of. He highly doubted it was the only passage they knew of, but the fact that he was trusted to not speak of it was...nice. The parchment also had information on a trading caravan due to head that way. They were swamp traders, having gathered a large crop of Hemp and Riceweed to trade in the United Cities. They were due to stop at the Hub to take on water, where they would then head due east through Skinner's Roam, a brief stint in the Deadlands, before passing through the Grey Desert and The Eye, finally arriving in Stormgap Coast.

Joining the convoy was actually remarkably easy. Apparently, during their last journey, an Iron Spider had caught them unawares as they hurried across the Deadlands, spearing one of the guards through his chest. They didn't have the means to defeat such a foe, so they fled, leaving the Spider behind, the corpse still stuck on its leg. As such, they needed an extra guard.

After demonstrating his skill against their remaining guards, he was 'hired'. He needed no pay, only safe passage, food and water for the journey. As such, they were all too happy to have him along, considering they were saving a large amount of Cats in pay. Any sane guard would charge a fortune in danger pay to guard a caravan brave or stupid enough to travel through the Deadlands, heads pelted by Acid Rain the whole journey. The group set off in high spirits, making good time across the Border Zone, then again across Skinner's Roam.

Their woes began though, as they set foot in the blasted hellscape of the Deadlands.

"Fucking acid rain."

Covering his body with his cloak, Hanza grimaced beneath his fog-mask, having replaced his Straw Hat, which now hung from the back of his backpack. He shook his left arm clear of acid, the liquid being too weak to do any damage to his skeleton-made arm. His fleshy right arm was protected by wrappings, but he still kept it concealed within his cloak. He could fight with both arms for a short while, but the acid would swiftly burn through the wrappings and start to burn his skin.

As such, he had a Wakizashi strapped to his left hip this time, his Katana hanging from his right. It irked him that he couldn't use his right arm, but for once was thankful that he would still be able to fight with one arm, which meant he would be using his main weapon in his second hand. While backwards, it would mean he wouldn't have to awkwardly swap when he lost the wrappings of his arm to the acid.

"Oh shit." One of the guards up ahead cursed, then called for silence. The flattering of rain gave way to the rhythmic clanking of an Iron Spider. "Again?!" He hissed, walking over to the Caravan Master. "Well, you heard that fucker same as I did, now what? He's still there from last time!" The Caravan Master palmed his chin, looking over the convoy.

The Spider would probably target one person again, meaning the convoy could escape. but if they weren't careful and it instead kept following, the convoy could be forced away from their pack-animals. They also couldn't remain long, each animal had a layer of treated leather over themselves to stop the acid from harming them, but even leather would wear away over time.

For a brief moment, the Caravan Master stared at Hanza, but a firm glare dissuaded him from the idea of trying to get Hanza to lead the Spider away. He wasn't being paid to stay, so for him, the best plan of action would be to abandon the convoy, seeing as they were halfway to Stormgap Coast already. He just didn't want to run the risk of running out of food or water on the way there, but there was no way he would let himself be used as bait.

Blinking, Hanza turned to the side, peering north with keen eyes, his ears listening carefully..."What's up?" The guard beside him asked. He raised a hand for quiet, scanning the area but only seeing frozen spiders. He was about to turn away, when he heard the sound again, but coming from the west, behind them this time. He turned, just in time to see a spider freeze in place, imitating one of the many de-activated robots littering the Deadlands.

"They're not all frozen. They're hiding amongst the broken bots." His words sent a chill down the spines of everyone who could hear him speak, sending them all to repeat his words to the other members of the convoy. Unfortunately, this alerted the spiders that their ploy was up, leading more than two-dozen spiders to begin clanking towards the group. The convoy broke into pandemonium, everybody running about in a frenzy. Hanza looked around, then with a grimace, he settled for the only direction which didn't have any robots.

The South-east, towards Venge.

Hanza could see the giant beams of light intermittently striking the ground.

But, pressing him on was the swiftly-dying yells and cries of the convoy he'd just abandoned, amidst the clanking of patrolling spiders who were hunting down the survivors mercilessly. Looking over his shoulder, he could see a pair of the hulking mechanical monsters trailing after him, forcing him further and further towards the colossal beams of death.

Removing the mask on his face, he shook the last remnants of acid from himself, then threw the mask in his bag and donned his hat. The mask wouldn't provide any protection if he were to get struck by one of those infernal beams, so if he was to die, he would die comfortable. Flexing his arm, Hanza began running through Venge, each beam of death hammering the ground a grim reminder that every second he stayed within the area was another second where his luck held out.

From his own past, he knew his luck was at best absent, and at worst an active evil hindering his life. Another beam began streaking towards him, guttering out not a hundred feet away and leaving a wave of heat for the Ronin to charge on through. On a whim he looked behind himself to see the two Iron Spiders walking away from the area, their programming having decided the risk of hunting one survivor not worth entering the region. That was at least one bonus, if he made it through only to be attacked by a pair of spiders, that would be...displeasing.

Sheltering his eyes from another blast of sand across the desert, he peered upwards. Nobody really knew why Venge was blasted by these beams so consistently. Some speculated that it was an Ancient machine in space, which had a small area designated for targeting, but it had malfunctioned. Others said it was Okran's judgment for heretics who lived in the region in the time before his own, his wrath everlasting.

All he knew was that it was dangerous to spend a minute longer than he had to within the area. Another beam touched down, this one running perpendicular to his own path and heating him immensely from the furiously-focused heat the lasers used for damage. They didn't act like electricity, instead, at least according to the more intelligent people who came through the United Cities, they focused an extreme amount of heat, which was why they were strong enough to very temporarily set fire to the sand.

Why it didn't turn into glass, Hanza didn't know, but what he did know was that another just touched down, and it was coming right for him. He gripped the straps on his bag tightly and ran directly to the side of the oncoming beam, wincing as his back felt absolutely seared with heat, even as he avoided the beam itself by a scant few meters. Taking a brief moment to breathe and gulp down water, Hanza peered onward, trying to see the edge of the beams.

As such, he never saw the beam that struck him, vanishing in bright light instantly.

Cold air met his lips, a far cry from the scorching landscape he was just roaming.

His mind immediately jumped to the idea that he had passed out and somebody retrieved him. He remained motionless for a few moments, carefully controlling all of his emotions as well as he was capable, his brain itself forced to be emotionless as he listened out carefully. He didn't want to open his eyes just yet, wary that somebody was observing him.

He could faintly hear footfalls, but they sounded heavy yet distant, approaching quickly. Deciding that it was worth the risk of observation, he snapped his eyes open, his blank face observing his surroundings carefully, a memory of curiosity slipping into his mind. He was in a region almost like Okran's Pride, trees growing with crimson leaves, the floor matted with a thin layer of green foliage.

He pressed a hand against the tree he had been sleeping against, slowly rising as quietly as he could, one hand resting firmly on his Wakizashi. He decided to swiftly draw the two weapons on his hips, switching them around so his katana was drawable to his right hand. He checked his back, relieved to find that his Naginata had not vanished in the confusion, then patted himself down.

Aside from a little acid-burning of his cloak, he was in pretty solid shape. His robotic arm was still pristine, the robotic 'muscles' and motors contained within whirring quietly as he flexed his hand. His other hand had no new blemishing, that was good. His backpack was built sturdy, it hadn't been affected by the acid, nor had his bedroll, wrapped up within a thin film of acid-resistant material to protect it.

The time he spent checking himself, he could hear the heavy footfalls approaching still, though they'd slowed down and stuttered for some reason before continuing at a slower pace. He drew the Naginata from his back, the Edgewalker-made weapon gleaming in the sunlight as his hands wrapped around the shaft confidently, his stance firm as he pointed the blade backwards over his shoulder, ready for a powerful downwards stroke, already mentally preparing himself to pivot into a stab, then retreat.

His thought process stuttered to a halt momentarily as a large creature, slightly taller than he was, trundled into the area, sniffing curiously. He brought his Naginata around point-first, the base close to the ground, his plan being to wait for the creature to charge before planting his weapon on the ground then aim the tip at its head, making it use its weight and speed to impale itself.

Said plan fell apart when the creature sniffed a few more times, plodded along a few more paces, then came to a stop a few feet outside of the reach of his weapon, then sat on its hind-quarters, looking at him curiously. Realizing the creature wasn't inherently hostile, Hanza rose the point of his weapon a little, taking the time to closely observe the large creature in front of him.

It had a large bony mask covering its face just like a bonedog with, its eyes positioned similarly, though rather than the dark eyes of a bonedog, this creature had glowing crimson eyes, with red vein-like designs spiralling across the mask. It was covered in fur which was not merely black, but instead almost midnight-coloured, seeming to nearly absorb the light which touched its body. More pale-white bone spikes protruded from its biceps, thighs and forearms, whilst smaller little plates of white were speckled across its body seemingly at random.

The creature had similarly observed him, its two red eyes peering closely at him, but not once did it show aggression, so Hanza, despite his Ronin status, was similar in his stance and holding of his weapon, which now was upright and being used as support, the end firmly in the ground. It might have been folly to show so much trust to a creature so large and dangerous, but he had not yet been attacked by the creature, it even going so far as to be seated in his presence, and so he, in turn, showed it the same courtesy of trust.

Taking a single step forward, Hanza watched as the large creature shifted slightly, then moved forward of its own accord, dipping its head down slightly to be at head height with him. Wary of any tricks, he extended his right arm, his left surreptitiously ready to draw his Wakizashi. The beast tipped its head to the side, much as a tame bone-dog would do in confusion, before it nosed forwards, pressing the clean bone-white mask against his outstretched palm, pushing up against it firmly.

Thus started the strangest partnership in the history of Remnant.

This was a fun little idea I had.

Probably won't be very popular or anything, but it's fun to write, and that's all I care about! Just wish that Kenshi had some more stories to read, there's 5 on the whole site right now (6 after you include this one).

Oh well. Reviews are love! And please, if you do leave a review (With an account, sorry guests) check your inbox maybe a day afterwards! I do honestly respond to as many reviews as I can!