Time a for a time-killer episode!~

Trust me, I need this one badly...

Chapter 12: The Stresses of Saving the Doomed

"If the road is easy, the destination is worthless." —Saint Sabbat, Warhammer 40,000

Okay, okay, so now that that assignment's done, I think I've got enough time now—No, wait, dammit, I've got that essay to finish for Port! What if I try my usual late-nighter? No, no, no, that'll never work; I have yet to pull an all-nighter in years, and now is not the time to try it! Damnit, damnit, damnit, DAMNIT!

The massive thunk his head when it met his desk made was probably audible to Ozpin's office, judging by the resounding pain it sent back into his skull.

"Ow."

A knock on the door; 4 taps in quick succession. Pyrrha's distinctive pattern.

"Jacob? Are you okay?"

"Ow... I'm alright Pyrrha, just... just getting a little aggravated with my schedule. Nothing to worry about."

Christ, he bemoaned mentally, I've got training with her and Jaune tonight.

"Are you sure? Ren was offering to help if you need—"

"I appreciate the offer, Pyrrha," Jacob shouted back, "but I've just gotta get this figured out of my own accord. Tell Ren thanks, but I've got this one... I think." He cradled his head in his left hand, wanting to shake off the headache he was working on. The sore elbow he was sporting from leaning on it for the last half hour didn't help either.

No reply came back, though the sound of a door closing could be heard. He was safe... for now, at least.

He looked back at the massive mess of a schedule spread out atop his desk; assignments still needing the finishing touches, reports needing to be filed, personal evaluations he had been taking of his solo sparring matches, strategies for the Battle Of Beacon—now closing in on 5 and 1/2 months away—And even a prayer or two taken from his King James Bible scribbled onto a piece of paper to help his motivation. God knows how much mileage he was getting out of Psalms...

"Christ, why am I even bothering! Lion El'Jonson said it best, no plan survives first contact with The Enemy!" He lobbed a crumpled up piece of lined paper off the side of the wall and directly into the bin beside his nightstand; If it were a basketball hoop, it would have been nothing but net. At least I can still throw an accurate shot, he sighed mentally. 2 weeks had passed since he had begun his late-night training sessions with Pyrrha and Jaune, and while he had to admit her lessons were giving him a greater level of skill with each passing day it was nowhere near fast enough to be able to be a fully-capable combatant in time for the Battle of Beacon. It just wasn't gonna happen; Sure, Jaune was taking to her style pretty well, and her lessons were doing him a ton of favors, but both Jacob and Pyrrha had come to the realization of Muller's biggest problem pretty quickly.

Jacob and his weapon were... well, to quote Pyrrha two nights previously... "not in-sync".

She never explained it all that well, but from what he had heard from her, it sounded to him like his fighting style didn't match with his weapon; admittedly he was hesitant in his swings, the ever-nagging concern of losing control of the weapon hanging over his head. Jaune had the advantage of owning a simple broadsword, only so dangerous if he swung and stabbed with it; Jacob on the other hand had essentially self-tasked himself with a weapon that simply squeezing the pommel at the wrong time in the wrong form could send someone to the hospital, or worse still the morgue. He had to be cautious with Cadia, lest her teeth be buried in an undeserving victim.

He glanced over at the weapon, now sitting in her gun form alongside Titan. If there was one thing he was good at, it was marksmanship. It had gotten to a point where he had challenged Ruby to a marksmanship competition late next week, so long as their papers for Professor Port were ready.

Muller cradled his face with his hand in a Picard-esque facepalm as the weight of his schoolwork also was laid bare before him. I forgot how aggravatingly-tiresome being a fulltime student was. So many Goddamned assignments, so many bloody things to practice, so little time. I haven't felt this fucking stressed since Junior year. Granted most of the stress was created of his own accord, what with his modus operandi being that he essentially has to flip destiny the concept a double bird, but still. And what was worse was that his normal de-stressors of games or model painting were kinda missing in action at the moment. He had started reading some of the novels he had found hiding in his backpack, thus far getting some decent mileage out of Flight of the Eisenstein, and Blake had offered to let him borrow some of her books as well. Granted the most compelling book in her library involved a man with two souls—that got a legitimate laugh out of Jacob thinking of poor Oscar Pine and his soon-to-be cerebral roommate only to realize the implications. Come to think of it, he and Ozpin hadn't really discussed much after those initial few days when he first arrived. God, that felt so long ago now yet it was only about a month, almost two technically.

Not seeing home or family for two months wasn't exactly a comforting thought either. He'd since then had two more panic attacks, both times pissing him off on a personal level the following morning; He was supposed to be Huntsman now, and more than that a member of the Ozluminati. Panic and fear where his enemy, attractors of the Grimm and the stormclouds of the mind.

Ironically enough, in this position he would have to learn to know no fear.

And still yet there was that nagging in the back of his mind after the Ursa Major in the Forever Fall Forest. He had frozen up without even really attempting to do so; something about the situation forced him to freeze in place. A panicky part of his mind wandered to dark and semi-mystical places, that hit was but the first show of power by some quasi-divine force exerting its will over his own. But that was his panicky mind, always on about conspiracies and their ilk.

Just with everything piling atop everything else, Jacob had yet to truly relax for a while now. He needed to get out and relax; he couldn't fight if his mind was running in circles.

But if there was one thing that he did enjoy, it was letting loose on a target with no bars held back.

Picking up his phone and his Scroll—recently gifted to him by an "anonymous individual" with a name starting with the letter O no doubt—he plugged in his earbuds and holstered Cadia and Titan in his belt.

Jacob began towards the door, breathing in exasperation under his breath, "Daddy needs to express some rage..."

I don't wanna know your name~

BLAM!

'Cause you don't look the same~

BLAM!

The way you did before~

BLAM! BLAM!

Damn, I'm off to the left a bit.

The click of a new magazine entering the gun reached through his earbuds.

"Reloaded, re-engaging targets."

Okay then, let's try 4 rounds rapid.

Fox on the run~

BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM!

You scream and everybody comes a running~

BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM!

Take a run and hide yourself away~

BLAM!-BLAM!-BLAM!-BLAM!-Click!-Click!

The gaping hole dead center in the Beowolf-shaped target said he had at the very least maintained his accuracy. Sadly his precision was off, as every one of those shots was meant to hit along the target's horizontal meridian but only one it seemed managed to make that happen. Still the shots were only being snapped off at at the very least one every second; that wouldn't fly when life and death were on the line.

Granted in a real battle he wouldn't be standing in one place opening fire. Nor would he be standing there with his hearing muffled by the sounds of Sweet's Fox on the Run, but that was hardly relevant here on a gun range.

Pulling out his earbuds, he took a look at the ammo he had requested. Fortunately the casing of Dust rounds actually worked in Titan, despite the Bersa being built on another fucking planet, and Cadia's pistol form was capable of carrying a decent count of bullets. Thus far he had only stuck to one pistol at a time, since it was much easier to aim at the time. Today was Cadia's day to shine and thus far she was landing every blow asked of her.

Muller couldn't help but smirk a little at his handiwork. Had that been a real Beowolf it would have looked more like Swiss cheese in a lupine form. Strangely he had found that he had the easiest time training against the image of Beowolves than most others. Sure Creeps were equally as numerous, but they were easy pickings even by his standards with their Hormagaunt-like headlong rushes. Fortunately for most Huntsmen, Creeps weren't sporting Scything Claws that could Rend on a good swing, nor were they super fast either. Beowolves were the standard Grimm most thought about, and rightly so; The Beowolves he had encountered that were on the smaller side had brute strength to their advantage but not enough brains to even fill a soup can, and the larger ones—though he had not yet encountered an Alpha—combined that strength with a much more tactical mind.

That would also better known as a better challenge.

Footfalls and the sound of something tapping on the ground alerted Jacob to his new companion. "Very impressive, Mr. Muller. Your marksmanship certainly is to Huntsman standards."

Jacob tensed up slightly. Ozpin.

"Professor Ozpin? What are you doing here?" He holstered the metamorphosing firearm as the Headmaster came up to him, wearing a pleasant smile along with his usual attire and toting around his mug, now boasting hot cocoa instead of his morning coffee.

"Oh, I was simply out and about for my midday walk around campus and I heard from Glynda that you might be here. At least, according to her you seem to spend a lot of time here." Ozpin was studying him intently, though he was doing a good enough job of hiding his observations that only those who knew what to look for would know it. "Something tells me that you're not here to practice your already well-sufficient aim just for the sake of practice," Ozpin said as he looked over Muller, arching an eyebrow.

Jacob breathed a deep sigh, leaning into the back wall of the room with his hands tucked behind his back. "It's... it's just that these last few weeks have been... such a blur really. I mean it was a little over a month ago I was living a... relatively normal life, earning a paycheck, going home to family, the usual. I mean, sure I didn't really have a large social circle outside one or two of my co-workers, what with a lot of friends moving away to start their own paths... and I was stuck on the homefront, keeping the coals burning as it were... no real great ambitions or great roles to aspire to that was within reach... besides that it was just kinda... life, y'know? And now, now I've been thrust forth—by my own volition mind you, I'm not blaming your lot or anything—into this... insane position. A Huntsman in training... a savior of lives, a vanguard against the Grimm, the first and last line of defense." He scoffed at himself, hanging his head and adding, "I was so not prepared for this. And to top it off, I'm nowhere near as proficient as any of the rest of these students; Sure I've got skill at range, but every single student out here in a 1-on-1 melee matchup could send my ass to the floor. Fucking a, I'm so out of my league. Not to mention with all the assignments squeezing in time for training as well as some cool-down time is becoming a leviathan-like undertaking. Then again, I've never been good at making a schedule, so there's that I guess."

Muller looked back at Ozpin as he came down from his soliloquy. Ozpin simply stood there, sipping his hot chocolate, now well and truly unreadable; whatever was going through the Wizard of Oz's skull at the moment was as much a mystery as D.B. Cooper's stolen fortune.

"I'm sorry," Jacob began, "I go off on rants too often. Feel free to block that all out of your memory if you'd prefer."

"Hardly," Ozpin replied, "If anything as you are part of our student body—among other things," he added under his breath just loud enough for only Jacob to hear, "And any concerns you have are of our concern as well. While I do admit that we have been in need of a counselor for some time," he continued, placing his hand on Muller's shoulder, "I know someone who despite his occupation has always been happy to lend an ear when someone needs to talk. Someone you've already met."

Muller put two and two together fairly quickly. "You don't mean—I-I mean, surely he's busy tending to his forge and all—"

"I'm certain Vulkan would be happy to hear you out, Mr. Muller. Talking with someone about your concerns is a lot more productive than pouring your frustrations into ammo expenditure," he added with a faint smile. "And if anything, if he is not available, feel free to talk with me. I am the Headmaster of the this Academy after all."

"As well as the head of other things," Muller muttered with a laugh. Ozpin shot him a dangerous look. "Sorry, sorry, I know, top secret and all." He sighed heavily, resigned to the notion of meeting the Forgefather lookalike again. "Okay. I'll head over in a few minutes," he said with a smile.

"Excellent," Ozpin said, before maneuvering over to Jacob's weapons, both set out on the table before them unloaded but still warm from the raw count of ammunition expelled from their muzzles. Ozpin set his mug down and picked up Cadia in his free hand, studying it closely. "I had yet to see your weapon outside of some cursory glances from afar. Cutlass, chainsaw and pistol all in one; quite the combination. However, seeing as you have two pistols ultimately, perhaps it would be a prudent strategy to look into fighting akimbo."

That caught Jacob's attention. "Akimbo? You've got to be joking Oz," he said with a laugh, "I can barely handle one pistol at a time, what makes you think I can dual wield? I mean sure it'd be pretty cool, but I doubt I have the capacity for it."

Ozpin simply stood there, no response to be found from his lips. It actually felt kinda creepy at this point. "I wouldn't say that you don't have the capacity for it; if anything it seems to me that you are limiting yourself based solely on what you are familiar with."

Jacob would have come up with a witty comeback had Ozpin not hit the metaphorical nail on the head.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"I... I..." Jacob stammered in response, really unable to come up with any counterargument. "I-I better get going, Oz-I mean Professor. I'll, uh, I'll catch you later." Muller swiped up his guns and phone before quickly exiting the range.

He looked back behind his shoulder. Ozpin was watching him as he was leaving.

I'm not that complacent to stay only in my comfort zone, he mused mentally. I mean sure I tend to do better on a routine, but I can adapt pretty well.

Shaking his head, Jacob banished the thoughts to elsewhere in his mind. Honestly, Muller didn't even care at the moment, he had a Forgefather to go speak with anyhow.

An hour later, Muller was out in front of Firedrake Forgeworks, hesitating on whether or not he should go in and speak with Vulkan's doppleganger. The early afternoon sun was beating down from above, the summer temperatures of Vale closing in on the kind he encountered when he visited Disneyland every summer: boiling hot and humid like a sauna. Granted, if he stayed out in this heat much longer he'd probably drop dead then and there what with his bad experiences in the past with extreme heat.

"...Maybe Lord Vulkan-I mean Forgefather Vulkan-I mean Forgemaster He'Stan's busy with a project. I mean sure it's a Sunday, but the door's open and the sign's on, so that must mean he's inside. I probably shouldn't disturb him... but," Jacob said, stopping in his tracks as he began to mull about the situation, "I guess Oz's got a point."

Once more through the door, Muller was met with the store entry, now sporting some noticeable changes; Several weapons and pieces of armor had been replaced or swapped out, though now strangely the Cataphractii Armor lookalike had taken a spot on the right wall, standing proud yet menacingly atop a low pedestal.

"Mr. He'Stan? Are you here sir?" Jacob shouted perhaps a might too loudly for his own taste. "It's Jacob! Professor Ozpin sent me over... I hope I didn't come at a bad time or anything!"

Just then, a thunderous sound blasted its way into the display floor from the back room, sending Jacob's heart pounding with the sudden burst of adrenaline. Then 2 seconds later, another booming sound; This time Jacob could hear the slight ring of metal making impact with metal. 2 seconds, BOOM!, 2 seconds, BOOM!, and it only went another 3 times before Jacob put two and two together. Vulkan must have been in the middle of forging something new.

"Well, into the belly of the beast," Jacob whispered to himself, inching to the door to the forge itself. The heat was palpable, the mouth of a dragon to his skin. Had he not been prepared for such heat, he would have waited and come back another time, but it was more or less now or never at the moment. Through the doors he went, not sure of what he would meet.

Once again he found his breath hitching at the sight of the plethora of weaponry and armaments adorning the wall; he doubted that he would ever get over the sight. But in truth the biggest thing in the room had his attention the most. Working at an anvil the size of a coffee table, Forgemaster Vulkan He'Stan was pounding away at a massive and intimidating slab of metal, just beginning to take the form of a sword. At that size, it was without a doubt a buster sword, one that would make Cloud from Final Fantasy blush in envy of it and its owner. Once again, He'Stan was adorned in his leather apron and canvas pants, though this time the shirt underneath seemed to be a short-sleeved green T-shirt. His brow was drenched in sweat, at least judging by the way the light of the forge was bouncing off his forehead, and while there was some labour to his breathing he seemed to be in control of his motions, every swing controlled and precise.

The guy must have been doing stuff like this for years if he's got the focus and control to work in this kind of heat, Jacob thought to himself as the sweltering burn of the forge's flames incited a downpouring of sweat. He continued to watch from a distance as the powerful strikes began to shape the red-hot steel to the mould of He'Stan's will. The metal, though strong as ever in composition, yielded ever so to the massive strikes from the Forgemaster's hammer, weakened by the heat and force exerted upon it. It would succumb to his whims with every strike, the edges flattening out to become the razor edge of the buster sword, the body taking it's forger's ordained shape—judging by the silhouette it was casting it was vaguely akin to the flamberge zweihanders found in Medieval Germany, the blade having a slight undulation throughout the body. Either Vulkan was creating this weapon for fun or some nutjob actually wanted a flamberge, a weapon that most people couldn't even begin to take seriously. Even still, He'Stan continued to pound away at the metal with his hammer, ever concentrated upon the task at hand.

No wonder so many called it an art form.

"I hope my labouring has been of interest to you, Mr. Muller," Vulkan said in between strikes.

The hairs on Muller's back followed in the footsteps of a cat's back before he jumped back with a start. "Jesus Christ! How long have you known I was here?"

"Ever since you walked through the door," the Forgemaster replied as he set down the hammer and laid the blade to rest atop the anvil, the metal still glowing red with heat.

"Well, sorry to disturb you in the middle of, uh, your craft," Jacob said with a edge of nervousness, "I'll go wait outside."

"No, no, it's quite alright," the hulking weaponsmith said, "I was just about to take a few minutes break anyhow. I've been working on that blade for about 2 hours now and I was hoping to have her done early today. So," he continued, patting his apron to clear off the dust on his hands, "First of all, how have you been? It's been nearly 2 months since we last met, and Ozpin hasn't exactly been keeping up with me as much as I like."

"Oh, well, I've been, uh, pretty good as of late," Jacob started awkwardly, "Just been training and... studying... and surviving." The two had migrated back outside, the cooled air of the lobby feeling divine on his forehead.

Vulkan shook his head and chuckled. "No, no, no, I mean what have you been doing with life, hmm? Any hobbies, friends perhaps? We're not all about saving the world and training up, we need time to relax and compose ourselves. And you my friend," he added while reaching out to take Jacob's shoulder in a firm grip, "look as though you have run yourself ragged."

"...Well, uhm... I... I've really not done as much as the old me would prefer," Jacob said with a defeated sigh. "I haven't stressed like this in years, and the demands of everything have been really running me about. But how else am I supposed to keep up? I mean, I'm at Beacon; I have to be able to be the best Huntsman I can possibly be, and that means that I have a metric fuck-ton of training to do before things..." He struggled to complete his sentence as his mind wanted towards future events. "Before things really take off," he fibbed.

Silence consumed the room. Vulkan had taken to observing Muller closely out of the corner of his vision while Jacob had taken to fidgeting with a satin tag on the bottom corner of his shirt—a long-time nervous tick of his so long as there was a tag there to begin with—and was looking down towards the floor with a thousand-yard stare.

Jacob felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder. He looked up only to be greeted by a warm smile from the titanic weaponsmith.

"You need to slow down and relax for a bit," Vulkan said quietly. The smile he was offering was genuine, almost scarily so; Jacob had only met him once before, and yet He'Stan was genuinely concerned for his well-being.

It was like being in the same room as Ruby... if Ruby were a 6'8" facsimile of the Forgefather of the Salamanders chapter.

Muller was quiet for all of a few seconds before he returned Vulkan's smile. "Okay."

He'Stan's eyes enlivened with mirth. "Excellent. Now, tell me, what do you enjoy doing the most?"

Muller pondered for a few seconds before giving his answer. "I've always been partial to drawing and painting; the latter I'm okay at for more impressionist styles, but drawing with me has always been about getting the basic layout and then going back in for the details."

"Ah, an artist. Have you done any paintings thus far?"

"Well, no, but with my workload and such it's been a bit of challenge to even begin to try—"

"Nonsense!" Vulkan cried out in amusement, "There is always time to add some beauty to this world! Why, look about my shop! Though every item here I do make certain to be in tip-top combat shape, I don't simply rinse and repeat the designs over and over; each one is a piece unto itself, much like your sword there."

Jacob looked down at Cadia, the blade resting cozily in her scabbard. He had to admit, in a strange way it was a masterpiece in it's own right. A weapon that had even 2 "forms" was nigh-impossible back on Earth, 3 forms was about as likely as reaching the Moon with a man-sized slingshot. Even then, the blade was designed with a simple elegance that hid within a terrifying beast of a weapon, beautiful in its own right as well. "I... I hadn't thought of it like that, Vulkan. But you are right in all reality."

The Forgemaster simply gave him a satisfied smile. "Well, besides that, is there anything else you do for fun or to relax?"

"Well," Jacob continued, "I do enjoy a good novel here and there—actually I had talked with Ms. Belladonna in passing about 2 weeks ago in regards to a book trade between the two of us. Besides that, uhm, I don't exactly meditate or anything like that. I mean as of late I've been pouring my relaxation into sending Dust charge downrange at the school range and whatnot...but come to think of it that's not necessarily relaxing; I mean every time I end up just practicing my marksmanship, I don't just shoot for fun like I used to with..." he stopped as memories of home returned in force, "...with my family." He swallowed the sob in his throat and closed off the floodgates mentally so as to not seem weak before Vulkan.

"Oh... I see. I'm... I'm sorry to hear that." Vulkan's tone had taken on a dour turn after Jacob mentioned his own family.

"Well... there's no use in crying over the past," Jacob said as the mental floodgates threatened to buckle, "I can only look to the future and fight for a better one, right?"

Vulkan smiled at his response, as if he had heard all he needed to hear. "Exactly. It's what they would want."

What they would want... the words echoed about in Jacob's mind as if attempting to make a point. Vulkan's right... in a way. I don't know if I can ever get home... but it will do me no good to make myself keel over worrying.

If not just for my sake, but for Pyrrha's too... and Penny's... and, hell, even Oz's sake.

But even with those words in mind, a part of Jacob's mind nagged him about being too optimistic. After all, his subconscious sneered in the voice of Fyodor Karamazov, Hope is but the first step on the road to disappointment. Muller in retaliation imagined Krazypantsoff being chased off by a pack of Jurassic Park raptors, a very fun image to have about in the back of his mind.

"Now, perhaps what would be the best thing for you to do right now," Vulkan continued calmly, "is to head back to Beacon and just calm down. Focus your mind and regather yourself before tomorrow. Who knows, maybe you'll find the key to your success once you've found time for clarity."

Muller pondered over his words as he also went about scratching his beard in contemplation. About then, a metaphorical lightbulb went off in his head. "I think I have an idea... thank you Vulkan. I really do appreciate your help."

"It's not a problem at all, my boy. I have a feeling you are destined for great things, but it does you no good to rush towards them with reckless abandon."

The two sat in silence for a few seconds before Jacob began to walk for the exit. "Well, I should probably get back to Beacon here, I know someone who can help me with this task if he's still up for it. Thanks again, Forgemaster." He turned around and began to walk towards the exit, but stopped just before he reached the door. "By the way, while I'm still here, I was thinking of having something engraved on my blade, and I was wondering if... maybe... you'd be willing to teach me one of these times?"

Vulkan's mirthy grin only widened. "Of course! That's an excellent idea, just let me know beforehand. Ozpin has my Scroll number, just ask him next time you see him for it. By the by, what did you name your blade?"

"Oh, right, I decided to give her the name of a mighty... fortress of legend. A bastion against the demons of old as it were in the stories," he said with an intentionally grandiose inflection in his voice, so as to play up the grandeur of his tale. "They called it Cadia, and so too have I named this blade Cadia."

Vulkan's smile dipped ever slightly so, but Muller payed it no heed. "...Cadia, hmm? An interesting name. Sounds like a mighty bastion indeed..."

Some nagging part of Muller's mind was reading warning flags in his actions, but Jacob simply passed it off as nothing of importance. "Yeah. Well, take care of yourself, Vulkan. I'll see you 'round." And like that, he was out the door. The sun was still high in the sky, but since then some sparse clouds had begun to hang low in the sky overhead.

For the first time in ages, Muller felt like the sky may be just a little brighter a color today.

"...Caribbean, that's what Vulkan's accent is like."

"Okay, so a bullet train in Mistral leaves for the outer colonies at 4:00... going 70 miles an hour... Weiss, you gotten to that one yet?"

"I passed it about 10 minutes ago, Ruby. The answer is 4:00 the following morning, here's my work to prove it."

"Yang, I don't think that Professor Steele will appreciate us sharing like that."

"We're in a study hall, Pyrrha, it's kind of part of the idea. and besides, I showed all of my work so Ruby can see how it's done."

Beacon Academy's library was truly a gargantuan facility. Less a traditional library in size and more on par with a cathedral, there were books on practically every subject you could imagine for a burgeoning young Huntsman to read up on. A metric ton of books on Grimm studies, Several dozen on the history of the kingdoms of Remnant, even a few For Dummies-type books for those uninitiated in something or another.

Unfortunately for Ruby Rose, she was busy with the least fun subject on the roster of classes: Math.

Around her, the rest of Team RWBY and Team JNPR had combined their efforts for a study hall session and had for the most part gotten some decent headway into the subject at hand. Jaune and Pyrrha were collaborating together with Blake, while Yang, Nora, Ren, Weiss and Ruby herself had glomped together for the collective brainpower.

But Ruby's mind was elsewhere. With the approaching Vytal Festival, the buzz of excitement in the air was already beginning to manifest all over campus. Both teams had decided to compete once registration began, and they both had begun to look into practicing for the tournaments.

"I wonder if Jacob's gonna try and compete," Ruby said absentmindedly.

"He can't I'm afraid," Weiss replied, still looking at her textbook but visibly bristling, "He's a Lone Wolf student, he'd never even make it past the team rounds; Heck, I don't even think he's eligible."

"Weiss," Yang muttered, "You keep being a jerk about him and I'll laugh myself off the bleachers when he finally kicks your-"

"But he's not in a team, is he? And besides, I'll stop being so critical of him when he finally impresses me... which I doubt will happen soon."

Yang and Ruby shared a look of disappointment in the Schnee heiress before Pyrrha piped up. "I'll have you know," she began with some mild irritation in her voice, "that he has been doing much better as of late in combat training."

That got Weiss' attention. "Since when have you taken such a vested interest in him? I can understand Jaune, what with him being your team leader—" a sentiment that lit up a small smile on Jaune's face, Ruby noticed—"But Jacob? He's nothing! The most he's got going for him is that, surprisingly enough he's a decent shot with his pistols, but even then I've only ever seen him try one at a time. He wears no armor, he's not even remotely agile, he'd be better off as the meat shield than an actual Huntsman."

Pyrrha was about ready to give Weiss a piece of her mind judging by what Ruby could read. "Please don't argue," she whimpered as she covered her head with her textbook. Why does Weiss have such a hatred for Jacob?

Just then, a book slammed. Everyone turned to look at who did it.

Ren simply sat there, no difference in the expression on his face, no malice in his eyes, no change in his posture.

So how was it there seemed to be a horrifying chill down Ruby's spine?

"Weiss, I understand your concern," he began, no change to his calming voice, "and I know that you hold a grudge with him simply for having the stroke of good fortune that he had. But even then, consider this much. Wherever he's from, he..." Ren paused for a second, as though he were deep in thought. Out of the corner of Ruby's vision, Nora was giving her partner a concerned look, as though he was hurting himself in some way. It was enough to send another chill down her back before Ren continued. "...He lost everything by all indication from what he's told us. Friends, co-workers, family, his very home, all gone. Imagine for a brief second if you were to be separated from everything you cherished—even those things that you hated but were still part of your everyday routine—and thrust into a place without much help to get you into this new routine, and if you haven't noticed, as much as he clearly doesn't like it, he is a creature of habit; he thrives off of it more so than anyone of us would by comparison. Pyrrha and Jaune both have been willing to help train him, Ruby has been willing to call him a friend, yet he for the most part has been running himself ragged as of late. Whether some of his memories have spurned him on, perhaps it was observing our skills in combat, perhaps it was personal interior beratement or exterior beratement. Whatever it was, the least we can do is offer him a hand and help him. And that includes you, Weiss."

There was complete silence at the table. Though Ren had spoken as calmly as a summer breeze, for most it felt as though he had more than successfully buried some kind of seething rage. Nora was holding his hand defensively, while Pyrrha and Jaune had subconsciously leaned in on one another. Yang and Blake simply sat there, wide-eyed and lips sealed with shock, Weiss sat there slack-jawed and looking rather indignant, and Ruby...

Well, Ruby had been entranced by the whole exchange. Ren had more than just shut Weiss down, he had more or less silenced her with simple suggestions of cooperation and friendship instead of berating her.

Weiss simply sat there, as though there was a delay in processing everything Ren had just said.

"I hope you'll understand where I'm coming from, Weiss," Ren added with no change to his inflection. It was as though he couldn't even manifest a visual or audio queue of his annoyance and anger.

"Damn, Ren," came an all-too-familiar voice from around the bookcase. Jacob rounded the corner, wearing his grey shirt and tan pants but instead seemingly ditching his jacket most likely back in his dorm. "That takes some gumption sticking your neck out for me like that. I, Uh, I don't know what to say."

"Oh, Jacob, we didn't know you were here," Pyrrha said with a tone of surprise. Weiss had immediately gone back to her books, though she seemed to be far more... coiled, if that made any sense to Ruby.

"Oh, yeah I was just coming up to you guys when I heard that book slam. I decided I'd duck outta sight and get a bearing on what's going on before I barge in like a drunk rhinoceros." That got a laugh out of a couple people around the table, mainly Yang, Jaune and Nora.

"Anyhow, what brings you here? I thought you were done with this assignment like 2 nights ago."

"Yeah, as much as I hate advanced mathematics, This stuff is kinda old news for me. Anyway, I actually wanted to come down and ask you guys something. Namely Team RWBY."

JNPR all turned to look at the 4 girls, each one holding some form of curiosity in their eyes.

"Sure," said Yang, "What's up?"

Jacob hesitated for a brief second before he began, scratching the back of his neck much like Ruby herself did at times. "Well... I've been really thinking as of late that as much as I've been training... it would probably serve well to see how much my training does against an actual opponent. I mean, I've mostly been going and training against dummies and fairly brainless Grimm for the most part... but I've yet to actually fight someone. Maybe I'll get my ass kicked, maybe I'll win, honestly I don't care at the moment. I at the very least just... kinda wanna set a baseline if anything."

Ruby had to admit, she kinda liked the idea. He had yet to go into the sparring ring with anyone, and though she knew that he and Jaune were being tutored by Pyrrha, but at least Jaune had his teammates to spar with formally. Jacob was only familiar with Jaune's style—or lack thereof—and that probably wouldn't help him in the long run.

"I think that's a great idea," Pyrrha said with a pleasant smile, brimming with mirth.

Yang turned to her little sister. "Well sis, what do you think? I'm not opposed to it in all honesty."

"Same," chimed Blake, leaning forward in her chair with her hands together. "It would be a good idea for both him and for us; Jacob's style for the most part has been one of pragmatism rather than our more... graceful styles. No offense." Jacob simply shrugged and held up his hands in agreement.

All eyes were now trained on Weiss. The platinum blonde heiress was desperately trying to ignore the lot of them, drowning them out in a sea of text.

Ruby felt awful about her partner's behavior. It was starting to get perhaps a might aggravating. "Weiss, please. Just give him a chance."

With a sudden CLAP of her book, Weiss was up on her feet, staring daggers at their oldest companion.

Oh no, Ruby lamented mentally.

"Alright then, I'll give him a chance. I will be his first sparring opponent." She strode up to him, however only standing at 5'3" forced her to tilt her head up slightly to look him in the eyes. She was within inches of his face, enough that Jacob was actively recoiling slightly.

"Okay then Snow White," Jacob said with a nervous chuckle, "uh, wh-whenever you're up for it."

She pointed her index finger upwards into his chin, as if accusing him of something. "4:00 tomorrow, the auditorium."

Jacob started having that smile Ruby was too familiar with thanks to Yang; the smile that said he had a very bad joke he wanted to use.

"It's a date then," he said with a hesitant chuckle.

The room was dead silent.

Ruby looked to Weiss. She was looking about ready to pop a blood vessel in her temple. Without a word, she stormed off, head held high and chest adorably puffed outwards.

"...Hey, Ruby," Jacob spoke up after a few minutes, " I think I went too far. Could you talk with her and calm her down? I mean, since you are her partner and whatnot..."

Ruby sighed. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow, she moaned in her mind. "I'd say just let her be for a bit, then I'll talk with her."

The lot of them stared off in the direction Weiss had gone off in. Silence claimed the room.

"Women," Nora said with a resigned shrug.

CLANG!

...

CLANG!

...

CLANG!

...That boy...

CLANG!

...His weapons...

CLANG!

...His insignia...

CLANG!

The thunderous sound of metal shaping metal rang in his ears and shook his teeth. The searing heat of his forge cooked him from the outside in, but he did not yield to it. In all his years the heat had never bothered him, for it was part of him and he was part of it. Without it he could not forge his great works, and without him it could not boast to be the bearer of so many tools of war.

War... how that word was so bitter in his mouth now, when years ago he would have seen it no different from the rest of his vocabulary.

CLANG!

But for the first time in many years, his mind was preoccupied with something else. Granted it did nothing to forsake his skill, but still...

He brought back the hammer for another swing.

But the swing never came.

...It can't be. I mean, it is possible, but still...

He looked to the hammer he wielded. It was his pride and joy, the sire of a hundred guns, the father of a thousand swords. Firestorm was her name, and she had been built as both a weapon of war in the event his First Arm was destroyed, and as a tool of the forge as well.

But yet, what was it that I thought of when I forged that blade of his? of those who held the line, of course.

He set Firestorm down and dipped the flamberge sword—now truly completed—into the oil to cool, flames dancing off the surface.

"It's time to make a call," he said to no one in particular.

He dimmed the forge's flame to a campfire, then to nearly a candlewick. He would never put out the flame wholly, for it was his last true reminder of home...

Where he was from.

What he had left.

He walked out to the lobby of his store, the cool night air chilling him ever so. He and the cold did not get along as much as he did with heat, sad to say.

He looked at the clock. 10:37. Store was closed anyhow, he might as well call now.

He strode past the armor that he had forged, a reminder of times long gone as well.

There on his desk was his Scroll. Picking it up, he began to dial the first person he knew he had to call.

The other end rang 3 times before he was answered.

"This had better be good, Vulkan," a gruff, accented voice answered.

"Good to hear from you too," Vulkan He'Stan sarcastically replied, his tone low and somber. "Listen, there's been someone here lately that I think you might want to see."

"Vulkan, you're calling Mira and I at 3:00 in the morning here in Anima. Whatever it is can wait 'til morning."

"...There's a boy here... and he's bearing the Aquila."

"...Vulkan, there are only so many symbols in the world, I would chalk it up to coincidence."

"Oh?" Vulkan said, "Put me on speakerphone."

A blip. "...Vulkan," yawned a female voice bearing the same accent as the male voice, "As much as we enjoy hearing from you, I don't think now is the best ti—"

"AS much as it was my choice to give it to him," Vulkan continued, "I gave the boy one our patterns. The chainsword pattern."

A pause. "...And?" the female voice inquired.

"He named her Cadia."

The silence on the other end lasted what felt like an eternity. "Of his own accord?"

"He bears a local accent, to be certain," Vulkan continued, "But the intent of the name was clear; he said it was named for, 'a great bastion against the demons of old'."

Silence again. "Give us two days to pack. I'll call Celina, see if she can watch Kaleb for us. Will you call the others?"

"Does a Wolf run with The Pack?" Vulkan chuckled.

"Knowing Logan, that's a solid yes. I guess Team VLAT's getting back together again." The man breathed a heavy sigh on the other end.

"It will be good to see you all again. I'll call up Gabriel next, see how he's been."

"Right, right... Well then... I guess we'll see you here in a few days."

"I'll set up reservations at one of the local hotels; I helped the owner with the creation of the sculpture out front and I have yet to cash in my favor for it yet."

"That's greatly appreciated Vulkan. Take care, see you in a few days."

"You too. Bye."

The Scroll clicked off, and Vulkan was alone with his thoughts again. He turned again, looking to a green flamethrower holstered into the wall. It was an underslung flamethrower, mounted to the arm and the firing mechanism was placed much like that on a minigun. Picking it up, he pressed the button along the top of the grip, away from the firing mechanism. In a flurry of green and gold and steel, it had transformed into a mighty spear, his dragon insignia roaring defiantly into the night.

"Safe travels, Titus."

Okay, so that ending maaay be drifting into crossover territory now. Let me know what you think, whether I should keep my vanilla and chocolate separate or let them bleed together.

Also, I have to go back and retcon some size measurements; turns out Ruby's actually 5'2" according the wiki and Weiss is 5'3".

Anyway, besides that, this chapter took a while to write... and unfortunately I got canned from my job while I was writing this so it's been taking some extra time to do this all.

Hopefully I'll be able to get these out more frequently in the future.

So, Next chapter we get to see Weiss and Jacob go head-to-head; will he beat her, will she mop the floor with him? Tune in next time, same Batman—I mean RWBY time, same RWBY place!

Reviews are welcomed openly, follows and Favorites are a sign that I should continue and as always I will see you... in the next chapter. Buh-Bye~!

EDIT: changed Indrick to Gabriel... fans of Dawn of War may recognize that name.