A/N: I do not own RWBY, RVB, Ghost Rider, or the songs I suggest for scenes. Rights go to their respective owners.
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Song: Bad Company- Five Finger Death Punch
York
In his skeletal form, York stepped up the stairs of the police department, shotgun in his hands. He kicked the door open, then began firing, even tossing in a Molotov he'd picked up from his previous skirmish.
As soon as he entered, the two people that remained opened fire. York killed them with two blasts from his shotgun, then continued on.
"Ruby!" He yelled through the hall, then flipped around to shoot an approaching man in the stomach. He flipped around to see a man flying towards him, a kick aimed for his skull, and York batted the man aside before breaking his neck.
York entered the cell block and called again. "Ruby!"
"Help!" He heard her call out hoarsely.
"Ruby!" He rushed over, placing his shotgun next to the jail door.
The little teen looked up and then shrunk back instantly. "What are you?" She asked, scared.
York looked at a nearby mirror, then sighed. "Ruby, it's me, York."
"Oh, no, York's dead and now he's haunting me!" She said despairingly as York tried to shut off his semblance. Finally, with a whoosh, the flames extinguished.
"It's my semblance, Ruby." He said, then looked at the cell door, classic jail cell, bars and a locked door. "Stand back, kiddo."
Ruby was huddled in a corner when York blasted the lock off the door, letting it swing open. "Let's get out of here."
"I have to find Crescent Rose." Ruby told him. "I think they put her in the evidence room."
York bent down and picked her up bridal style. "Then let's go get her."
The evidence room was unguarded, perhaps York had either killed or scared off all of the bandits. York opened the door and immediately saw their weapons, his Battle Rifle, SMG and Crescent Rose. He had Ruby take those items in her arms, then proceeded to walk out of the precinct. Once outside, he received no opposition from bandits, even when he got to the horses.
After helping Ruby onto her horse and handing her the sack of small cookies, York mounted up, replacing his weapons to their proper places, and looked back one last time to the town of Western Skies, the inferno caused by his Semblance still devouring the city.
And with that, York urged Diesel on, letting the town burn to the ground.
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Song: The Last of Us (You and Me)- Santaolalla
York
"We're halfway to San Rojero." York said to the girl behind him, receiving almost no answer. He looked back just in time to see Ruby, now unconscious, slip off the saddle and fall on the ground.
York leapt off the saddle and to Ruby's side. He examined her wounds as Delta gave her his own analysis and options. The sun had set, leaving him in darkness as he tended to her injuries. He laid out her mat and his duster as a pillow after he was done, then worked on a fire, getting it going as the coyotes began howling. Cookie nickered nervously.
Sighing, York began inventory, reloading his .30-30 and shotgun, filling the clips for Firestorm's Barrett-form. Next, he analyzed his Semblance, going over the process of today's events in his head.
At first, he tried to simply call it forward, but that same feeling didn't come. In fact, it seemed to retreat, almost like it needed an offering.
It dawned on him: He hadn't transformed until after the fire had touched him! He looked to the fire, which burned welcomingly, a tongue of flame almost beckoning him. York took a deep breath, then took off his gloves and reached for the flames.
Gently, they began to lick him, then his hand caught fire, and the rest of his body followed, faster and less painful than before, but it still hurt like hell. He discovered that his entire body went to skeleton when he transformed, and that he could create fireballs and pillars of flame.
I could get used to this. York said to Delta, I feel like Ghost Rider.
Indeed, it does seem useful for future cases. Delta said.
York practiced for hours on his new ability, and also found that he couldn't do it in his armor, that he always needed a fire source unless he had just 'flamed off', and that when he used any gun, it would fire explosive Fire Dust with the lead bullets.
And when York activated his semblance, he felt like he could take on the world.
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Song: The Path-Santaolalla
The next morning
Ruby
As soon as I woke, York already had the horses saddled. My throat felt dry, and my side was sore. All my wounds were bandaged, and I looked to York.
"Ruby!" He sighed, hurrying to my side and wrapping me in a warm hug. He smelled like smoke. "I'm glad I got you out of there. They didn't take you, did they?"
"Take me? What do you mean?" I questioned, not knowing what he meant.
"Did they only beat you?"
"Yes. And it hurt really bad." I whined, holding my stomach.
York looked to the skies. "I know that sounds bad, but they could have done a lot worse. I'm just glad I got there in time."
I cast him a questioning glance, wondering what could be worse than being beaten for no reason. "York, can I get some water?" I asked him.
York grabbed his canteen and held it out to me. I took it and drank gratefully, the cool water soothing my dry throat.
"Come on, we've got an hour's ride until we reach San Rojero, then you're going to rest in a real bed." York told me. I sighed at the thought: A real bed! "And we'll eat breakfast there, all I have is biscuits."
"Any food sounds good right now." I told him, "Can I please have one?"
York smiled and nodded, handing me a cold biscuit from his bags. "Eat on the way, Ruby, we need to get going."
I stood with a groan and collected my things, Crescent Rose immediately back in its formal place, comforting me. I finished and tied everything to Cookie, then swung into the saddle, pain shooting through me as a cried in pain.
York finished deconstructing camp and mounted his own horse, and we began the long ride to San Rojero.
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Song: The Quarantine Zone- Santaolalla
Just outside San Rojero
York
Agent York thought of San Rojero as a Western boom-town, a lot like Tombstone. All it was lacking?
The Boom. The finest buildings were the saloon and the tavern, all others seemed older, some worn down and others barely usuable. York rode into town, and only a few people were out of the street. All carried guns, usually revolvers at their sides, though a few carried long guns. Everyone was dressed as if in the Wild West, too. York looked back at Ruby, who was intently gazing at this novelty of a town.
York looked at the people of this town. Each seemed curious, and of course, the big-wigs seemed fine, but York recognized the look.
Fear. Fear and anxiety clouded each face, almost as if threat hung over them constantly.
York approached the saloon, knowing that North would probably meet him there. He slid off his horse and tied him to the posts. "Ruby, stay here."
Ruby nodded, and York stepped up to the swinging doors, pushing one forward. All eyes turned to him, gauging what his intentions. York approached the bar, looking around for North or Rowan.
"What'll it be?" The bartender asked warily.
York glanced to the man on his right, a black-haired goatee covering his mouth and a long scar lining his cheek. "Whiskey." York said, slapping a few lien cards down.
The bartender laughed. "Lien don't hold no account here, mister."
York nodded, then drew a few silver coins. "Will this suffice?"
The bartender nodded, then continued to pour the glass. York drained it in a second, then felt a hand on his shoulder.
"I was wondering if you'd make it." North said into his ear. "Rowan's taking Ruby and the horses to the place we're staying. I came in to take you with me."
York took another shot of whiskey. "Then let's get going."
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Song: Winter Palace- Trans-Siberian Orchestra
Somewhere in the Wilds.
Maine
Snow fell gently around me as I traversed the mountain alone, wind howling around the pine trees. It seemed almost serene. I curled the long winter coat around my body, looking for shelter before this blizzard came to life.
Up ahead, I heard Beowolves howl, others screaming in pain, and immediately, Brute's Regret was out and ready.
I hurried forward, fearing that a human was in danger, and there was no time to don my armor. I rolled my neck, which crackled and popped, then saw a clearing up ahead, the trees thinning out and a horde of Grimm coming into view. I dropped my duffel bag, which held my armor, and slowly approached, not eager to let my presence be known by the evil creatures., and saw the person at the center of the storm.
This figure wore a black trench coat with silver trim, a hood covering his head as well as a cloth mask with hard sections on the jaws, chin, nose, and neck. A glowing rectangle hovered over his eye, and in his hands were two blades, a rapier and a longsword, which he wielded wickedly fast, slicing into Grimm all round. I also saw a case on his back, attached to a quiver and open at the top, revealing the stock of a rifle, and a silver pole attached to the case
This form sliced quickly into the horde of Grimm, massively reducing it as fire seemed to emanate from him as black-gloved hands returned his swords to his left side, in a double scabbard at his belt, and grabbed a Beowolf by the throat, slammed him into the snow before sliding a combat knife out from the back of his waist, plunging it into the beast's skull.
From a bandolier, the man drew a throwing knife, sending it whizzing into an Ursa's eye. He held his hand there, and the knife slid out of the dead Grimm, and he flung his arm to the other side, the knife following through the air, inserting itself into a Boarbatusk's neck before it flew into his hand.
The man turned, and drew his longsword, slicing into the Beowolf who had approached from behind.
With a roar, I entered the fight, leaping into the air and slicing the blade of Regret into a Beowolf, then turned and blew away an Ursa with Fire Dust grenades.
A huge Deathstalker thundered into the clearing with a rattling hiss, and it charged towards the man, aiming for a swipe with its pincer. The man leaped and mounted the beast, then slid a Desert Eagle Mark XIX out of a holster and fired again and again into the beast's skull and eyes with one hand, dodging the stinger without looking. Finally, the beast fell to the ground, and the man stepped off, simply loading another clip, red in color into the pistol before aiming at the approaching Grimm.
The man flipped over an approaching Beringel shooting it in the exposed section of neck, and landed feet away from me. That glowing rectangle, all that could be seen in the shadow of his hood, stared at me for two seconds, then he simply nodded, sliding his pistol into its sheath and reaching for the rifle on his back.
He turned to face the horde behind him, and I turned to look at the ones on my side. I heard the rifle begin firing, a bolt I could hear being slid back and forth. I sent a hail of grenades into the Grimm, howls and the smells of burst fur rising through the air, until my current rack of ammo ran out. I hurriedly replaced it, hearing that the rifle was now semi-automatic in nature somehow, firing round after round behind me. I slid the grenades into the Brute shot, and began firing again, the mass before me already significantly reduced.
Soon, all was silent, massive piles of disintegrating bodies surrounding us, as well as a nearby tree aflame.
I slowly turned to the figure as reloaded his rifle, a graveyard of Grimm in front of him, as well. Not a single Grimm had gotten six yards away from his position. Empty clips lay on the ground, about seven of them. With a wave of his hand, all the clips levitated into the air and liquefied before disappearing into his sleeve.
"You fight well." I told him, and he turned and nodded, then pointed at me, then approached, fist extended.
Awkwardly, we fist bumped. "Do you have shelter?" He asked, voice light and welcoming.
I shook my head. "Do you?"
The man nodded. "Follow me."
I went to retrieve my bag, pulling the strap onto my shoulder, and began to follow.
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No song
Ain ranch
York
North led York out of the town, about a mile to a stone-walled estate that was acres wide, horses grazing in a green pasture up at the front and a large, two-story house made of bricks in the center, surrounded by a second stone-wall. A young man sat on the front porch cradling a rifle on his lap, and stood when he spotted them, starting to walk towards their position, preparing to meet them at the iron gate that allowed entrance to the house section.
After unlocking the gate, the young man, who had brown hair and eyes and an extreme farmer's tan, and wore a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved flannel shirt. "Welcome to Aera Ranch, Mr. Grey. I'm Forrest Ain." The man said, extending a hand.
York shook it firmly. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Ain. And call me York."
"Yes, sir. And as long as my father's around, I'm not Mr. Ain yet, Forrest will do just fine." He told them. York guessed he was about twenty. "Why don't you come inside, my mother's baking fresh cookies for that Ruby girl."
York smiled. "I'm sure she'll love that. How's she doing?"
"My sister took a look at her, said her wounds were all healed up." Forrest told him.
"Alright, let's get you inside and washed up, you stink." North hurried, holding his nose for effect.
York laughed. "You don't smell any better." He joked.
North lifted his arm and smelled his armpit. "Oh, geez, you're right." He played along, and Forrest shook his head.
"City folks…"
