Well, guess now is as good as any time for a new chapter. Again, not sure when this will come out, my schedule is more fucked than Qrow Branwen at the end of Season 7. So, for those of you who are patient and waited for this stuff to come out, here's your cookie, enjoy it. For those who commented and gave constructive criticism for the last chapter, here's my little shout out to you!
Sm0keyPanda: Good to know you're interested, here's that next chapter and your complementary cookie. We hope you continue to fly with Depressed Dragon Slayer Airlines in the future. But in all seriousness, thanks for sticking around to read this and actually get interested in my work. It means a lot to writers like me.
Guest A: They most certainly don't know he's alive. In fact, I'd wager a great sum of money (If I had any) that most if not all think he's dead. He did take a good tumble off Beacon Tower after all. Also, here's your cookie.
Anyways, the moment you all have been waiting for- Oh, right, shit, got to do ANOTHER disclaimer, cause people complained about it.
Anyways, blah blah, disclaimer, blah blah, Rated M for a reason, blah blah, Don't own anything, blah blah, Rooster Teeth and Monolith and Tolkein, blah blah, {Redacted}, blah blah blah fuck it, lets get this show on the road.
Winter. It is everyone's favorite and least favorite time of the year, depending on your age and opinion. Children and Teens love it, one for the snow to play in and the other for the Snow Days it brings about. Adults dislike it, as they have to shovel up snow and kids sometimes stay home. Elderly hate it, as it messes with their joints and mobility. But, all sorts of Huntsmen have a different view on snow.
Tracking becomes easier with foot prints now buried deep into the snow, but stealth becomes less viable for the same reason. Rations and Fire Dust become invaluable due to the cold and windy storms that Vale's surrounding forests and mountains bring. And then there are the Grimm. Mid-Winter always brought out the worst Grimm for both Solitas and Vale's bit of Sanus. While Beowolves and Urza were common throughout the year, more dangerous Grimm came with the new year. Solitas got the Sabyrs, Teryx, and Megoliaths, but Vale got some terrible Grimm of their own; Gryphons, Graugs, and Nemians.
The terrors of the skies, Teryx and Gryphons. Teryx are raptor-like Grimm with wings, covered in spines and feathers, and claws and teeth that can rip bulkheads out of the sky just by themselves. Gryphons are similar to Griffons. Where the first is a sort of mix between bird and horse or stag, the second is more like Mistral's Manticore, with a lion body and eagle head and wings. The difference being, one shoots fireballs and has horns and a scorpion tail, the other are twice their size and shoot feathers from their wings like Nevermores.
Nemians are in a weight class of their own, sporting the strength and durability of an Urza, the speed and armor of a Boarbatusk, and the agility and ferocity of a Beowolf. They resemble heavily armored lions, the size of vans. Their alpha versions, the Numinor Nemians, are legendary for requiring almost an entire year's worth of trained huntsmen or a bombing squad to bring down due to their near invincible armor and seemingly impenetrable hide.
All feared the monstrous Megoliaths, which are massive mammoth or mastodon like Grimm that bear extra tusks than the originals, and the Graug, a hulking troll-like monster with massive fists and feet and a maw of teeth, covered in grayish white armor plating and black scaly skin. Many in Atlas swear that an Alpha Megoliath is a challenge above any, comparable to an elder Goliath, most in Vale scoff and point out the Alpha variety of Graugs; the Horned Graug.
Which comes to where our hero stands, questioning his sanity.
"Remind me again why I'm on a cliff face above a Graug, holding a warhead strong enough to take out a Bullhead?" He questioned the voices in his head. "By the way, where did we even get said warhead?"
"See, we don't know what you are able to 'control' with your semblance. We know it works on humans and faunus, but what about the Grimm? That, and I also want to know how quickly you come back from the dead." Declares a voice inside his head. "Also, I got illegal stashes everywhere, bucko. So don't question my methods, or madness." The boy, who's carrying said warhead along with a sword, cane, and sheathe with a shattered blade, frowns at the remark before sighing.
"What about you, any advice against his stupid plan?" Questions the young man, hoping the other voice in his head, one of the two souls that aren't his own that reside in his body, would be a voice of reason.
"... Aim for its eyes or calves. You want to either blind it so it doesn't hit you, or cripple it so it can't chase you in case you aren't cut out for this. You'll survive a few punches. And you might make it out of this… probably." Is the decision of the other voice, who seems to take a bit of pleasure in our hero's misfortune.
"Fuck you both," Declares the blond boy. "And for the record, if I do die, one of you is telling me your account information so I can buy a new outfit."
With that, he jumps.
The wind whistles as he falls, descending upon the unsuspecting Grimm, dropping the warhead and kicking it further down with his feet, letting it hit before he does.
Of course, the warhead only hits and embeds itself into the beast's hump like back, not exploding on impact but rather digging into its thick hide and the white armor plates. The massive beast roars, rearing back its ugly face that looks like a mix between a rat, a boar, and an inbred man's face filled with massive teeth the size of the sword the boy carries.
The boy reaches for the sheathe with the shattered blade in it. He grasps the handle of the shotgun sheath combo known as Blush, shooting the broken blade into the air as he unloads the entire clip at the titanic beast, aiming for the warhead on its back.
The first shot goes wild, scattering in the blizzard of snow and brushing against its armor. The second and third are more aimed, slamming into its plate like armor, causing it to bellow and turn to the hoodie wearing huntsman in training. The fourth shot went low, due to the muscles in the young Huntsman's arm not being used to the recoil of the gun, unlike it's previous owner, and the scatter shot went right into the Graug's eyes. The troll like Grimm bellows out, the noise like a serrated tire iron dragged along asphalt, as it leaned down and covered its wounded eyes.
The fifth shot hits its mark, the shrapnel tearing into the missile within the back of the Graug. The sixth shot gets flung back at the gunman in training, tearing into what remains of his armor and hoodie and knocking him back.
"SONVABITCH!" Cries the teen, who tumbles back into an outcropping of stone and ice. The Graug roars out in agreement, tumbling back with a smoking wound on its left shoulder and a deep crack in its armor and mask. The black flesh smokes lightly as the red markings on the white and charred bone armor gleam as it stumbles.
"Good, it's wounded, attempt to use your semblance on it, as soon as possible." Instructs the calm voice of the first soul the blonde claimed, the excitement clear in his voice despite the indifferent walls the Bull puts up.
"Yeah, sure, let's do that, after I regain feeling in my limbs… Ow…" Groans the young man, standing as the Graug shuffles back to its feet, its body slowly becoming less lopsided as it regenerates a bit.
The young adult holds out his hand, and for a few seconds, everything seems… quiet. The blizzard howls, the Graug roars, but no sound is heard… then… shattering, as the Graugs skin grays into a dark gun gray color, the plate armor became as white as the ice and snow, the red marks on it's armor and mask becoming gold and it's eyes shining an ethereal blue.
Moments before;
Jaune's Pov.
"Hey, wise asses, what the fuck did I do?" I yell at the two beings within my head, staring at the misty landscape around me in confusion.
Clearly, this ain't the snowy crack just outside Vale's Dead Land, near the mountains. This is… flatter, with much more rolling hill-like mountains than the sharp cliffs and towering peaks of Vale. The landscape is grayed, with no grass or moss to be seen for miles. The sky is dark with low and heavy clouds, and the gravel beneath my boots is far from normal in these amounts.
"We are in your head, boy." Comes a groan, and the ghastly Adam Taurus emerges from the fog, followed by a hatless Roman Torchwick, who despite the roughed up coat looks decent enough, for a guy who was swallowed by a Grimm. "This is your mindscape… and honestly, I expected something much… different from what little I know about you."
"What the Lord Commander of the Faunas is trying to say is that your mindscape looks nothing like your personality or soul. Something is in effect here, and it's not just your semblance being Soul Oath." Jabs Roman, walking forward so he's shoulder to shoulder with Adam.
Right… getting exposition from the villains in my head, good to know…
"Wait, how do you know what the name of my Semblance is?" I ask Roman, staring at the hardened criminal.
"Kid, when you're stuck in this place with Mr. Dark and Edgy over here, your only options are analyzing your host, talking to your fellow soul resident, or going insane. I like my mind as it is, and I might be a gambling man, but I don't like my chances of becoming buddy-buddy with the 'Face of Revolution' and drinking isn't an option in this place, so I am making do with what I got. Also, as for the name thing, I made it up on the spot, sounded cool and it does fit the bill in a way." Rambles the criminal in his funeral attire. Two can play the name calling game, uh… shit... I'll need to think up insults for him without him knowing.
"As wonderful as all this is, our host was just in battle and did SOMETHING with his Semblance, thus drawing him here with us. I, for one, would like to know the situation." Adam gruffly retorts, "I'd also appreciate a weapon if you could provide one. This fog is making me… uneasy."
"Wait, the fog is not normal?" I question, looking around the dense mist that surrounds us.
"Normally, no. The clouds, sure, the gravelly bleak landscape, yep, but this fog that looks like we're in a Mistral bog? This is new." Acknowledged Roman, who takes his cane from my back and twirls his old weapon. Despite him being very dead, Melodic Cudgel still seems like an addition to his arm instead of a weapon in hand. Goes to show how much more experience he is compared to me; not to mention Adam who has rearmed himself with the shards of Wilt and the shotgun scabbard of Blush is also a feared swordsman himself.
A loud roar echoes through the landscape, and the fog clears its way to a familiar being… The Graug I was facing not even a minute earlier, fully healed with a rather interesting twist.
"It's… really…" I stammer, staring at the Grimm in shock.
Roman leers, stepping back in mock appall. "Why the hell is it so tiny?"
The Grimm, now only two feet tall at best, charges at Adam, who successfully halts it at bay by planting the heel of his boot on it's head as it pinwheels its arms around, trying to hit the Faunus Ronin. I snort out and cover my mouth as I watch the ankle biter sized Grimm get man handled by Adam, who picks it up by its oversized hand, leaving it flailing its legs about like a squirming baby or wiggly badger.
"So… what are we supposed to do with it?" I ask, the other two turning to look at me. "Hey, I am just as confused about this as you are! I mean, why is it tiny? Why is it here? What the hell am I supposed to feel about the fact that I got a baby Grimm in my mindscape! Am I supposed to tap it and say 'Be mine my child?'" I rant, flailing my arms in emphasis at my point.
Adam sighs, and holds out the flailing Graug, who is struggling to reach up and bite his fingers with what little shoulder strength the slouched creature has. "I don't know, put your hand on it or something, like you did with the Loyalists." Growls Adam, moving a bit so his elbow wouldn't get swiped by the massive clawed fist by the shrunken Graug.
I groan before approaching, hesitantly extending my hand before retracting it back in order to avoid getting swiped. I tentatively reach out again, before snapping back my arm like it was on a spring to avoid the flailing arm.
I regret informing everyone… This continued for longer than any of us would like.
Roman, who is holding his head in his hands, throws both up and lets out a yell that would make any Grimm shit itself stomps over to me, grabs my hand and snarls "Quit pussy footing about and actually touch the damn thing! You have Aura for fuck sake, and your a Huntsman in training, so suck it up, drop your balls, and fucking do something!"
Honestly… if I was still trying to sneak my way into Beacon or was the kid at Orientation… I would have also shat myself. But… I'm not sure if it was just being one with Adam and Roman, or it was from me dying, or something else entirely, but I felt like I needed to… prove something. Show them who is the one running this ship. Part of it scared me, the other part, excited me. Like I flipped over a coin to see the other side for the first time, and was entranced with the design on it. This felt like being the Team Leader of JNPR, but with more power and danger added into it. The white hot rage mixes with the cool calculating thoughts I get when I lead the team, forming a whole new searing cold thought process that I never knew I had until this moment.
"Listen here, chucklefuck, touch me again and I'll find a way for you to get eaten by a Grimm a second time." I growl, wrenching my hand free from his grip, clipping my armor with my elbow on the back swing.
"Uh… Arc… You're touching it." Comes the voice of Adam, who is looking at my palm, which somehow is firmly placed on the slimy snoot of the Graug. The Grimm, for it's part, is also equally confused, looking at me with eyes that say 'What in the fuck are you doing with my nose, meat sack?'
I would like to pride myself on not panicking for touching it. However, I would say that all pride I earned immediately vanished with the yelp I made as soon as my hand and the blood red lines on the Grimm started to glow gold as its eyes started to burn an ethereal blue.
Back in Remnant, about two hours later
Unknown's POV:
I lick my lips, trying to get the slightly dampened and warmed up in this unbearably dry and cold wind storm Vale is getting. My ears perk up at the crunching of snow, and I sharply turn, rifle head in the direction of the noise, expecting an enemy of any kind; Human, Traitor, or Grimm. Instead, I see the smiling face, red nose and frosted over mask of one of my brothers in arms. In both gloved hands, he has piping hot disposable cups of what I pray to the Brothers is coffee. I lower the gun, sighing as I approach him, leaving my post for a second for some much needed warm fluid to keep me going.
"Guard duty is brutal tonight, huh?" He chuckles, holding out the cup for me to take. I flick him off with one hand as I take the cup with the other, downing the scalding liquid with gusto in a futile attempt to warm myself up. It works… kinda. My throat, chest, stomach and fingers are warmer, but everything else feels like it's still getting frostbite.
"P-Piss off m-mate… d-don't joke a-about th-th-this shit!" I chatter, stamping my feet slightly as I look at him through the slits of my own mask. "Th-this wind cuts t-to the b-b-bone! And w-we ha-haven't gotten a-any winter gear y-yet!"
He barks out an inhuman laugh, the cackle resonating in his throat as I remember he was a Spotted Hyena Faunas. He takes a sip of his own coffee, before responding, "This shit wouldn't have happened under Adam's reign. But, then again, he did lead us into enemy territory on this suicide charge, now we're all sitting ducks, especially with the pig headedness of High Overlord Gungam. Surprised that neither of the Commanders have challenged him or his authority yet, with all the unease in the ranks and with the captains and all." I sigh, knowing full well his words have some truth. We were pretty much low on everything here at this Command Outpost. We were one of two on the border of the Deadlands, supplying three outlying outposts that served as scout bases and alert stations in case Vacuo decided they were gonna try and come to help out Vale. But due to the few supplies we do get, those outposts went dark within a month, one after another. The first was a two story farmhouse, run down by the Grimm not even a week after they set up shop. The second was the ruins of the old walls of Vale, before they expanded after the Great War. It went dark after everyone there starved and froze to death. The last was a Dust Station, after it was stripped of the dust, that was. They suddenly went dark about fifty hours ago; the major theory is they ran out of ammo or food or both and simply died in the cold. We are barely holding on as well; the Grimm attacks are few but are heavy. We haven't had any casualties from the Grimm yet, but executions of deserters are almost daily. People are sick of freezing, starving, the gloomy atmosphere, or some combination of the three, and leave almost in droves. The outpost almost hosted a hundred fifty men strong when we first came into operations, this morning twenty guys deserted; now we have less than half than when we started.
As for the Captain, he just enjoys having our prisoners, as he took it as a challenge to make the little one scream and for the old man to squawk. Both were taken from the area in Vale outside Beacon… one was recovering from a long fight trying to get a human girl out of the city, and the other was desperately digging through the rubble of an Atlesian Ship. The captain seemed to take great pride in his catches, and enjoyed torturing them to relieve stress.
I bring the cup of joe to my lips and take a sip, but get splashed slightly in the face. I frown, only to feel another shake, as if the earth was… rattling. I turn, grabbing my gun, the cold in my body long forgotten as adrenaline rushes through my veins. My ears perk, and I glare through the white fog, trying to find the source. Another shake, but a boom follows. Then another. Grimm.
"Tell the captain to call off the search for the deserters, we got bigger fish to fry." I declare, glaring into the snowy haze as I turn and yell. "WE GOT A GRAUG COMING IN ON OUR SEVEN!"
The courtyard, filled with other White Fang Members idling about or getting ready to go searching for the traitors, arm themselves, and rush to their stations. Our captain emerges from his command office, two other faunas trailing him as he goes to my post, and nods to me. He is an older Faunas, a brute of a man with a thick mustache over his lip. He is broad with a massive build, and he gives a tusked smirk, one of the long saber-like teeth broken half way up giving him a lopsided grin.
"Get the heavy guns up and running. We have repelled a Graug before, we will do so again." He declares loudly. "I want everyone focusing on the big boy, as they hunt solo, not letting any other Grimm near their prey. Focus on the soft spots behind the knees and the mouth when it roars, and for the love of the Brothers, don't waste bullets on it's head until we know what kind of Graug it is. Don't want to waste shot's on its eyes if it's an Elder Horned Graug."
The rumbling and crunching of the feet of the Graug suddenly stops. I stare into the thick blizzard winds, looking for the beast. A roar sounds out, a guttural and throaty noise. Blue eyes and golden runes appear in the haze, not the red associated with Grimm. Then come the howls; Beowolves. Smaller blue eyes and golden runes appear, but some are stranger and smell familiar… and it becomes obvious why once the shouting and screaming starts; a battle cry made by humanoid lips and tongues. These people are working with these strange Grimm? We did it with Adam, sure, but that was because he had an ally that supplied us with captured Grimm… these look… tamed, or domesticated.
I can't think long on this prospect as a man, no, a boy, walks from the white blur of snow and frost. A tattered hoodie coats his body, littered with cuts and claw marks, stained with blood and the shreds of leather and metal that once were armor, now are scrap. A sword is held limply in his hand, an odd sheathe that seems to already hold a blade is at his hip, and a walking cane on his back. The hood of his hoodie is down, but it is so torn up that his blond hair sticks out of it in certain places. His head is hung low, and his feet drag in the snow as he comes further into view. He doesn't look up nor does he raise his voice over the wind, but I can hear him clearly, like he was in front of me.
"Surrender… or meet the fate of so many before you." Comes a chilling voice, one that cuts deeper than any wind or blade. I couldn't tell what kind of voice the boy had, as it seemed like three voices garbled together. I can already feel myself shiver with each raspy syllable, and one look at my comrades shows they are equally disturbed. Our captain on the other hand…
"Aye, you may have killed or captured many of our Brothers and Sisters in arms in the past, but you are battered, beaten, and no crafty semblance showing off illusions in the snow will make us cower like beaten dogs in the snow! We are the White Fang! We brought Beacon to ruin, and will claim it as our fortress in Vale in due time! You are one broken huntsman in training, and compared to this fortress, are nothing!" Bellows out the throaty voice of our captain, who pounds his fist on one of the rails, glaring at the ragged blond. He turns left, then right, looking at all of us on the wall. The speech was rousing and a few of us cheered, but I can't get the feeling of the cold that his voice held out of my ears.
This kid…
Something isn't right.
"Do they seem like illusions to you? Either way, you sealed your fate." The boy whispers, before lifting up his head, showing the burning blue eyes that glow with power. He extends the sword to the fort, and the Graug and Beowolves roar, drowning out the cheer of the humanoids as they all charge through the haze.
His words rang true as the first Beowolf cut through the snow, lunging at one of our Bruisers on the ground and tackling him to the ground, tearing into his throat. Gunfire rings out, and I realize it's not our own guns, but the guns of the humanoids rushing through the blizzard. The Traitors… and some more. All faunas wearing our own uniforms but with black masks trimmed in gold instead of the white ones with red. I aim down my rifle and return fire, aiming for a gray Beowolf with a dulled mask and gold markings and blue eyes that was about to scale the wall.
I regret not turning to my left as I heard the crunch of snow. I regret assuming it was my fellow White Fang coming to the battlements. I don't have time to regret it as I am turned to make eye contact with the burning blue eyes of the boy… who puts a scalding hand on my cheek and roars out "You WILL serve!"
Then… nothing.
10 minutes later
Jaune's Pov.
I glare at the captain, a beaten and bloodied man who still holds his weapon, a burning axe that also doubles as a flamethrower. I learned quickly that I couldn't just dominate him like I could the others, I had to beat him down first to weaken his resolve… Thankfully, Adam and Roman inside my head had an idea of when he would be broken enough to 'brand him' as Roman puts it.
The walrus roars out, hefting up his axe as he glares at me. "So… you got some fancy semblance, Huntsman… able to turn brother against brother, not to mention the shiny Grimm. No matter. Your sorry head will make a fine trophy to present to Overlord Gungam for my promotion!" He bellows, before charging at me.
I respond with my own growl as I look for the semblances I mimic from the others; Yang and Adams in particular. I channel the energy I have been getting from either blocking or taking hits, either from the Grimm I conquered on the way here or the White Fang I forcefully recruited to my cause and wait for the axe wielding terrorist to get in range.
He brings his axe down, his roar ringing in my ears as I slam my fist into his stomach, letting all the energy out into the punch as I side step his axe. The man doesn't last a minute as I send him flying back, slamming into the large building we were fighting next to. The wall and window he hits give way, sending him sprawling inside, and I get a good look of what kind of man this Captain is.
Four cages line the left wall, and tables covered in torture instruments line the wall directly in front of me, which he is using to pick himself up with. The right wall has two doors, one labeled "Closet" and the other looks like it'll lead to the rest of the indoor compound. A barbaric prison and interrogation room. I hear Adam scoff in disgust.
"My men would have never been allowed to make such a cruel room under my reign. This captain is taking full advantage of his hatred to humanity by being a sadist, not by being a cause of revolution like I intended. No wonder this outpost was having so many deserters and having their scout posts swamped with Grimm and death… the negative emotions in this room alone would drive the Grimm mad." Snaps Adam, his voice like venom. "Such arrogance and pride that he was untouchable…"
A whimper comes from my left, and I look over to the noise. A girl… a bit older than a fourth year at Beacon, huddled against the bars stares at me. Her hair is matted to her face, dirty and bloody. A cut on her cheek looks infected, and her heterochromia eyes seem to contain fear, pain, and… hope? Her eyes shift, and widen more as a new emotion is seen; rage. I look to where she stares, and see Roman's cane. I don't have time to puzzle as a howl of rage comes from within my head.
"We aren't recruiting this captain… We are putting him to the sword." Comes the snarl from Roman Torchwick's ghost, who materializes next to me, staring at the girl. "That… is my old partner in crime… and he dares lay a hand on her?" I can almost hear his teeth grinding as he glares at the walrus faunas with his one non bang covered eye, the whites of his eyes almost glowing like one of the soldiers I recruit.
"For once, I agree with the thug. This one won't do well in our army… It's a sad truth, but not everyone is savable, even with your semblance. This one… this one must be made an example of." Declares Adam, who also shimmers into existence next to the Crime Boss.
I glare forward, as the monster wearing the skin of a man gets up, coughing up blood, but is still ready to fight. Compelled by the spirits that share my body and aura, I charge forward, and slam into him. He raises his arm up with his axe, and I slam my fist into his nose, breaking what little of his aura remained. I then slash Crocea Mors through his arm, taking it off, before spinning and lobbing off his other one as he tries to punch me, only to turn and smashing the tip of the blade down into his ill protected chest, sinking it through his flesh down to the hilt, and pin him to the ground with the white and gold blade.
A choking gasp sounds through his lips, as he tries to grasp what little of his life he has, clawing at the blade stuck into him with his fingers in a desperate attempt to remove it, and I reached out, extending my hand and feeling a twist in my gut, letting me know I am using someone else's semblance. The man lets out a pained wail as his head glows then bursts, exploding his brains and bits of his face everywhere. Apparently, Ren's technique of pouring aura into Grimm to make them explode also applies to people with Aura. Note to self, don't shove my aura into anyone if I don't want them to explode. I guess my father was right, all those months ago… Killing does get easier the more you do it. After all, it was his main reason why I shouldn't become a Huntsman; Huntsmen may have to kill people, and become the very monsters they hunt if they get lost in it. His main example was the infamous serial killer in Anima who once was a Huntsman, Tyrian Callows.
I turn, looking at the two ghosts… The first with a look of reassurance and relief that the deed was done. The second, grim determination and pitiless rage. Adam goes over and kicks the corpse, only succeeding with putting his spectral boot into his torso without moving it an inch, much to his anger and rage.
"You are not a monster, Jaune. Killing is necessary in this line of work, whether you like it or not. What makes you different from the likes of him or any other heartless murderer is the fact you regret taking lives that didn't need to be taken, ones that you could have saved." Adam's voice ebbs as he walks up next to me. "But also remember this, by taking his life, you save ten others from horrid fates, death or otherwise. Some men can be saved… others can't. I see this now, Faunas and Humans are alike in this aspect, life is valuable and can't be replaced… Those of us that can die continuously must push forward to keep the lives that can be saved or changed for the better, and show those that truly can't that not even death will stop us from seeking out justice."
I turn away, unable to stomach looking at him any longer in favor of doing something more productive and distracting that the murder I just committed. I look around the room, before going to the closet, opening it and hoping that a key might be in there for the prisoners here. I open it, and see weapons and other tools and knickknacks, probably from the prisoners, such as a segmented gear sword and an umbrella, but also… something familiar. A small object that resembles a microphone in size and shape, with the other end looking like a bulky circular crossguard. A long trigger comes from this crossguard, and intricate floral designs cover the silver object, with hints of gold on it and two bronze gears on the circle crossguard. I reach out, unaware of my surroundings, and grasp it.
I take a deep breath, as the object… seems to call to me… sort of like Wilt and Blush, or Melodic Cudgel.
"Well, this is certainly a new experience for myself…" Comes a soft, wise, old but young sounding voice. I turn, and see a smiling man, ashen hair and brown eyes slightly hidden behind spectacles. He wears a dark suit with brass buttons, and a green scarf with a silver cross pendant on it. The very familiar man walks forward, and motions to a key hanging on the door.
"I recommend unlocking the cages holding Roman's associate, the dusty crow, and any other prisoner that may be here. I will acquaintance myself with the other two inhabitants of your soul. Once things among the living are settled for the moment, we may speak." He reassures, before walking over to a slack jawed Roman Torchwick and a self-conscious Adam Taurus with intent.
I grab the keycard, and run toward the cages, unlocking the first, letting an older man with salt and pepper hair slump out, catching him slightly and letting him lay down. He doesn't look that roughed up… his Aura seems to be working wonders on his body despite the stink of blood, alcohol, and the need to shower on him. I open the next, letting the faunas man within taste freedom, he nodding to me before going to the closet to look for his things. I go to the last cell that contains someone, and look at the woman, who despite being rather short is probably only two or three years older than me. I raise my hand to unlock it… Only to be stopped by a hand.
"Let me… let me speak through you for a moment. She might try and kill you cause you got my cane." Murmurs Roman, his eyes never leaving the girl. I look at him, and nod to him to explain. "We weren't ever an 'item' but… there were moments when we got rather close. She was close to me, and I, her. Love isn't a thing criminals get tied down with, it only serves as a weakness… but… I almost let it become one." He exhales. I swear, this semblance makes everyone a bit more loose-lipped. What is this, the exposition of a tragic backstory written by a teenage Dungeons and Death Stalkers Dungeon Master? I say this as I used to be one… or am I still one? Meh, details for later when I don't have a war to fight.
"Fine, but you owe me an outfit, after we get her help. Between you and Adam, I know you're loaded with ill gotten funds." I mutter, grabbing Melodic Cudgel, and letting the late thief take over.
Let me be clear to anyone who ever wants to know what it's like to have someone take over your body; DON'T. Imagine your limbs moving on their own and you have no say in the matter, not to mention you don't feel you are doing any of it. It's almost like watching a movie in first person… and the main character is your severed body.
"Neo…" A whisper comes from myself, in a voice not unlike Roman's. The woman perks up, and makes a hand motion. I recognize it as Valian Sign Language, or VSL, as I had a cousin who was 75% deaf. Sadly, I am barely conversational in it, so I can't make out the fast moving motions she is making. "No no… this is actually me talking, and I am dead. Jaune here has… relinquished control of his body so the small fragment of myself connected to this," I hold up the cane, "Can speak with you. It is me… After all, I know your actual name."
She signs once more, but this time slower so I can make out 'Prove it'. While I can't feel anything going on in my body, I can feel what Roman feels internally. He is hesitant. He knows what he will say is going to be a weakness exposed. "Don't worry about me. I know when to keep a secret, dead man, after all, I'll probably take it to my grave several times if I let it get out." I joke inside my own head.
I feel Roman relax, and the next words flow out of his… er, my mouth. "Trivia Vanille." The woman, who is Trivia but prefers to be called Neo, shutters, and glares at me. She then signs rather fast, making me unable to understand her, despite me recognizing smaller words in there like 'you' and 'how' or 'could'. I see my hand raise up, as if to shush someone, despite no words being exchanged.
"Neo, I get it, you don't need to tell me another thousand times not to call you by that name. And I'm sure the kid knows it now as well… or at least I will beat it into him if he doesn't. Neapolitan is the only name you accept now, and that's that." I can feel relief flow into him. "Now, let's get you out of here and let you talk to my host."
He unlocks the door with my own arm, and I feel myself return to my body with a sudden jolt. Imagine having your whole body fall asleep, like if you sat on your leg and no longer felt it. Now regain all the feeling in your body, including the pins and needles, all at once. Yeah, that would sum up how it feels to return back to being myself. Note to me; only let people take over if I really need to, as this is HIGHLY uncomfortable.
I roll my shoulders and shutter, trying desperately to return the feeling to my limbs. This almost feels just as bad as when I woke up after I was killed. I then feel a small hand grab my wrist and drag me down, forcing me to look into a pair of pink and brown eyes. This view is immediately replaced with a scroll pressed in my face, showing a wall of text to read.
"Listen here, bub. I don't know what kind of semblance you got, nor do I care. All I know is, you're the only thing that is keeping my Roman alive in some way. If I find out this is a trick, ruse, or you're mimicking him, I will enjoy painting the snow the same color as your insides. I am not a slave, servant, serf, underling, minion, or anything like that. I am just someone who is looking out for her interests, and that just so happens to be that cane and whatever shred of Roman is left inside you. I don't have to follow your orders, nor do I owe you anything. I can leave when I want, for whatever reason I want. Capisce?" Was what was typed on the cracked screen. I blink, before looking at Neo.
"I won't force you to come along. No one in these cages will be forced to come with me." I looked at the other two who were among the living, the first was a man with salt and pepper hair that was wiping the drool from his stubbled chin as he dusted off his dress shirt and crimson tattered cape. The second walked out wearing a White Fang uniform, the tall man was dark skinned with a tribal tattoo covering his entire left arm. His hair was once military cut, but now was a jungle of thick short curls of dark hair. He has a White Fang mask in hand, his arms covered with black sleeves and metal guards… or should I say his mask is more of a helmet due to the fact it looks like a knight's visor that resembles a Grimm mask? His face is flat but wide, bearing a strong jaw but soft green eyes. His Faunus trait is clear as day, though it wouldn't be if he wore his mask; Tan Scales and small horns surround his eyes, which remind me of a desert lizard. On his back, a massive chainsaw, worn and battered from use. Whoever these two are, they look tough.
"You. The blade on your hip, how did you get it?" Declares the second man, putting on his mask. Seeing as this is a White Fang I am speaking to, I assume he is referring to Wilt and Blush, not Crocea Mors.
"It was in the hand of a dead man, who spoke to me after I touched it as I was banished from death. With my Semblance, Soul Oath, I can make connections with people, living or dead. By forming a bond with someone, I can mimic or reinvent someone's semblance or ability, hence as to why I was able to come back. This bond can let me either passively make one, by forming a friendship with someone and gaining a semblance from them, or by dominating them and controlling those whom I call enemy but forsaking any form of semblance to be gained from them, or claiming their weapon and having a part of their soul be merged with me, so long as I possess their weapon or a significant amount of it in any shape of form, so long as the soul can still recognizes the weapon." I state, looking at all three as I explain. "So far, I have three men who speak to me from beyond the dead."
I look at the White Fang soldier, tapping Wilt's hilt with my left hand. "Adam Taurus."
I glance at Neo, and gesture to the cane on my back. "Roman Torchwick."
I then turn to the last man, who has claimed the collapsed blade from the closet, and hold out Ozpin's cane. "And Headmaster Ozpin of Beacon, who is a new resident."
To say some jaws hit the floor would be an understatement. I grin, and clench my fist, summoning some of the White Fang and Grimm to my side, their masks of white and gold, and their eyes burning azure. I look at the three with my own burning eyes as I smirk, thinking I looked badass enough to drop a one liner.
"And with their help, I'm going to go take back Beacon and the White Gang from a certain Overlord. Care to join the White Crusade?"
AND DONE! FINETE! I am done with this chapter for now!
I am sorry it took so damn long for me to make it, but here you go! Comment, like, subscri- Wait, this ain't YouTube. How does this go again?
Review, Favorite and Follow? Meh, guess that works.
Again, I own nothing but the characters I make and the story line. Everything else belongs to their rightful owners.
Now, for you lot, I got a challenge for you guys to help me out a bit, and to make this a bit interesting. I want you to give me White Fang Captains for Jaune to fight. I want a name (remember the RWBY naming quirk of colors or color based), a physical description (As basic or detailed as you want), and a weapon of choice (Nothing overly fancy or super powerful.) I will choose who I like, and who I think will be interesting to push the story forward. As for the Commanders and Overlords, I got most of them filled out, but I have a few slots open for those who really impress me. So, give me your best shot.
With all that said and done, I will say this: I hope to have another chapter out before Spring of next year. I can make no promises, but it is my hope that this happens.
One last thing before I go, I know some of you will say "Oh, but isn't Neopolitan's name just that? Neapolitan, or Neo Politan?" Wrong. It's her new name that she has taken for herself, but her birth name is Trivia Vanille, according to comics and the RWBY Wiki, link down below. So, I will go with what those sources say, and let it add depth to the plot.
The Link, as promised: wiki/Neopolitan
-DSoNaH