Author's Note

Hello, and welcome to my- ...Wait I feel like I did this before...Oh, wait.

Okay, so as some of you may or may not know there is a story I was writing called "WIN the GAME", which crossed over RWBY and Battle Royale. And honestly...I have a lot of issues with it, mainly with its frankly terrible pacing and half-assed introduction to the majority of the cast. I feel like there is a lot that can be done with this sort of idea that simply wasn't used to its full effect, and thus, I wanted to give this another try. So yeah, this is a remake.

On that note, I am going to be going a lot further into the "Alternate Universe" territory here. I feel I'll still be representing both franchises accurately, but just be aware; these are not the same characters developing in the same ways. Some of them have had backstories, goals, and even names changed. Despite this, I hope those who read will enjoy it.

For those worried about missing out for...Some reason, I left the story up in its original version on the Fanfiction account, "FuzzboyAlternative", which I'll now be using as my dumping ground for old work. With that said, I have a lot of work to do to catch up to where I originally was, so...Time to get started.

Silence rang out across the small battlefield, the only semblance of life radiating off the fresh corpses spread out across the mud, as flies and rats feasted on their bodies. Most were close to unrecognizable, their once youthful faces and endless bounds of energy long gone, and instead replaced by realized horrors, with their bodies now mutilated beyond comprehension. And as the rain began to pour, the blood only grew thicker and washed further into the shredded landscape.

However, one soul stood out from the rest, laying on top of a small hill, as she let out short-lived screams, one after the other, while swinging down her hand. Her raven black hair was covered in carrion, the supple flesh trapped between her strands of hair, though some managed to slip off and land atop her pale skin, her shredded clothes giving way to her mostly exposed body. In most situations, she'd be quite a sight, but in such a place as this, she gave off a different impression. One of a ravenous beast, more animal than human.

In her hand was a dull blade attached to wood, perhaps some sort of antique hatchet. It was dull and had rusted far beyond it's prime, and yet with each sloppy chop, flesh flew through the air, and crimson was left indented into the creases and tears in the metal. The body below the girl stood out amongst the greys and browns around her, with her platinum blonde hair, bright snowflake skin, and her once angelic beauty. But now, as the axe embedded itself into her forehead, it became clear that the once grand sight had been reduced the pungent mess.

With each swing, the speed slumped more and more, as the beast began to lose her spirit. Soon, she came to a stop and simply stared down at her hacked up prey. If the body had been investigated, most would assume a bear had done the handiwork before that of a mere human. Certainly, no rational being could do such a thing, correct? And yet here they were, the battle over, a victor decided, and a body mutilated, and sure enough...The beast was human. If barely.

As she stared down though, her mouth began to shape itself into a disfigured grin, her chipped teeth and puffy red eyes transforming her into something far beyond our reality. And in one swift motion, horrid laughter burst forth from her frail form, the rhythm of each chortle becoming more course and forced by the moment. Tears ran down her face like waterfalls, each convulsion physically straining every muscle in her mouth as she shook in place. Saying she was in pain felt wrong. It appeared to be far beyond pain by this point, or even just emotion. Perhaps this was nothing more than instinct...

The human mind can break so easily if given just enough tension.

The lighter twitched as it sparked to life, a flame forming in the cupped hand, which rose to lit a cigarette hanging from the man's mouth. Taking a drag off it, a smirk formed on his face, as he pressed down on the pause button of his remote. He loved rewatching that footage. The footage of girl number five and her infamous dark horse victory over Salem Grimm. A classic if there ever was one. If only he had gotten to see it in person...Then again, he was probably around eight when this was filmed, but nonetheless, Roman Torchwick couldn't help but dream.

It was sometimes hard for him to believe how long this game had been going. Over a hundred and fifty games since 1947. An impressive number to be sure, and he had gotten the honor of hosting over fifteen of them now, with the upcoming one being his sixteenth. He had sent so many children to die for their country, to prove they deserved to live, and despite that, he had never lost a wink of sleep. He had even earned a nickname from the dark web for this; "Charon", also known as the ferryman of Hades. Perfection.

Standing up from the worn-out seat, he looked across the room. Soldiers, at least two dozen of 'em, some going about their duties while others simply played poker in the back of the room under a single hanging lightbulb. Most of them were nothing more than brutes, perhaps the worst the military had to offer, but then again you had to be a little on the strange side in order to handle this sort of work. Unless you were a Torchwick of course. They were just naturally perfect for any position after all.

Roman walked up behind one of the soldiers, one of the few in the room who appeared to have an IQ over ninety, as he typed away at a computer. A wicked smirk spread across his face, as Roman leaned down and asked, "So, we got our next batch, yet?"

"The computer's still deciding, s-sir," the soldier choked out, his lips quivering as he watched the screen in stunted fear. Quite an amusing sight to be sure.

Soon enough though, text appeared sprawled across the screen, and Roman couldn't help but feel a sadistic twinge of glee as he saw what it said. "Well...If that's not a pleasant surprise, I don't know what is...Guess I'm gonna see that old spitfire a little sooner than I had thought." He patted the soldier's shoulder, his grin having grown substantially, "Good work. Now, inform Neo of the chosen class. Preparations are in order!"

The soldier got to work as soon as he was ordered, standing up from his seat and racing toward the nearby phone on the wall. Meanwhile, Roman couldn't help but chuckle under his breath, the cigarette hanging loosely off his lip as he turned to stare out the window. To stare out at the island that had been used so many times. That had claimed so many lives...An island of death. Of torture. Of blood. Truly, it was quite the battlefield. The perfect place for war! And during a war...You always show your true self.

Yeah...If it wasn't obvious, this story is gonna be a lot different from our last attempt at this. Buckle up, cause there ain't no brakes on this rollercoaster of emotions...Wow, that sounded so fucking dumb- ANYWAYS, unlike before chapters here are gonna be relatively short (about 1K to 5K), with each one focusing on an overall narrative, and not just a bunch of barely connected scenes getting crammed together. In my opinion that'll greatly fix the pacing, and likely make people a lot more interested in the characters.

Anyways, with that said...Ciao.