Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY, but I do own all OCs here.
City of Rust: Chapter 2
Several years ago, during The War…
Pain. That was the first thing his brain could register in that moment. The world was still shrouded in darkness, even as his eyes opened up. He coughed and sputtered, feeling a great weight being lifted from his chest. His vision returned after a few fits, finding a maroon sky above him. Black clouds loomed above him, yet there wasn't any thunder or lightning. Behind it all, he could see a burnt-orange sun.
He rolled over, coughing out more water. Whipping his mouth with his armored sleeve, he noticed grains of sand on his armor. He turned his head around, spotting the ocean behind him. Several miles off, he could see a great fog circling around the island. He spotted a few wrecked ships here and there, of varying designs and age.
Looks like I wasn't the first one here. He noted.
A glint of light caught his attention. He turned his head towards the source, a good distance from himself. He squinted his eyes, noticing a blur behind the flash. Could it be a survivor? He checked his holsters, noticing that all of his gear was missing. The man cursed his luck. Reluctantly, he strode across the beach.
The sound of water crashing against the shore echoed across the beach. He casted glanced at random directions on occasion, expecting some Grimm to jump out and maul him. Instead, there was nothing. No monsters, no seagulls, no crabs. If anything, the whole place seemed… well, dead.
He reached his destination. He found himself standing before what appeared to be warehouses, tough most of them were just metal skeletons. The largest stood near the water, still standing proud and strong. A ship was near-by, though hardly seaworthy. Much of it had rusted away, and seemed to be on the verge of sinking.
He walked towards the warehouse, spotting (what he presumed to be) the main entrance. He grabbed at the handle, but it wouldn't budge. He tried pulling and pushing the door, but he got the same response. Releasing a frustrated sigh, he looked back at the boat. Maybe it had some supplies there? One half of his brain thought so too, but the other one was against the idea.
Sighing, he made his way over to the ship. It seemed to be a steamboat, judging from the paddlewheel and smokestacks. Its white paint was already chipping off, with what remained to be covered under a sickening pale-yellow. Some portions of the ship was also coated in pitch-black, likely remnants of smoke. It was rather large, probably some type of luxury cruiser. It must've been… what, over three hundred feet long and sixty-five tall?
The man crept across the landing stage, stepping over at least one or two gaps in it. The deck was a faded crimson, riddled with rot. Close by was a crane, its worn ropes attached to the walkway. There seemed to be another landing stage in the water, thought its own crane was nowhere to be seen.
Something caught his eye. There, sitting limply behind a stand, was some type of automaton. It vaguely resembled a Caucasian man, with well-kept brown hair and a curled mustache. Its body seemed to resemble a tuxedo, though much of it was covered in mold. Portions of the shell had seemed to have been smashed off, revealing gears and clockwork beneath it. One of its optics was missing, sparks occasionally leaping from the opening. Its remaining eye emitted a dim, haunting sunny-yellow.
The machine stirred, straightening itself. The back leapt back, surprised.
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen," Spoke the machine. "To the-"
The automaton paused mid-sentence, twitching in an unnatural manner. It repeated its words for a brief moment before it could finish.
"-to the Father of Innovation." It finished. "We are honored to have such fine guests aboard our humble ship. If you have any questions, feel free to speak to me or any of the other staff members. Please, enjoy your stay."
The machine went limp, the optics dimming out. The man tapped the thing, yet he got no response. He glanced down at the hole, noticing a glimmer from it. He raised an eyebrow, crouching down. Bring his face before the gap, he could make out something glowing behind the machinery. He recognized that glimmer anywhere.
Is that… Dust? He thought to himself.
Fintan slipped his hand through the hole, bending and twisting it around gears. He felt a jolt as his fingers brushed against the crystal. He grabbed the object, slowly removing it from the automaton. He smiled as he inspected his prize.
Judging from the yellow glow, it seemed to possess the Element of Lightning. He was no mage, but he did know some of the basics of utilizing Dust in combat. Reaching down to his right leg, he managed to open up a hidden panel in his armor. While it was intended for hiding knives and rations, one can fit other stuff into it. Placing the shard inside, he closed the panel and began exploring the ship.
It appeared that his assumption of it being a luxury was correct. There was hardly any place for cargo, and what room there was seemed to be orientated towards the passengers. The odd thing, though, was that all of the rooms were bare, lacking any sort of furniture. Even the largest one (which he presumed to be a saloon or ballroom) was a wooden void.
Climbing his way to the top floor, he stumbled upon the ship's calliope. The organ hadn't faired that well against the river of Time. Many of the whistles were missing, the rest still rusting away. A number of keys were gone as well, wires dangling out of where they once were. But what caught his attention was its occupant.
There, slouched on the keyboard, was another mechanical figure. Unlike the last one, it bore little to no resemblance to a human. Its body was a dull brass, covered in soot and grime. The head resembled that of a bullet, with a filter-like piece in place of a "mouth". The optics were an emerald-green, while the shoulders seem to have some type of vents built into them. A large pipe was welded onto its back, chest possessing what appeared to a furnace or stove. Judging from all the cobwebs, it hadn't been active for quite some time.
He kept his distance from it. For all he knew, it could've been rigged with a bomb or something. He crept into the pilothouse, finding himself before a series of switches. In the center was the ship's wheel, rotting away. To his left were the remnants of a woodstove, the door hanging on a single bolt. On the opposite side was a last bench, with a skeleton laying on it.
The remains bore what appeared to be a sailor's attire, the cap laying on the floor. Wine bottles were nearby, collecting dust. What caught his attention was the hole on the skull's left side. He glanced down, spotting a pistol in the figure's hands. Fintan removed the weapon, examining it. Apart from the dust and grime, it appears to be just fine. He checked the pockets of the captain, claiming whatever bullets the poor man had left. He also relieved him of his knife.
He grabbed the bottles, setting them atop on the stove. He loaded the pistol, taking a deep breath. He fired, scattering glass across the room. Another bang sounded off, blasting another one of them. He smiled, placing both weapons in his holsters. He turned back to the stove, spotting a glint of light in it. He raised an eyebrow, reaching his hand in and yanking something out.
To his surprise, it was a handheld radio. Or at least, it seemed to be. The half of the front seemed to be some of screen or door, with what appeared to be a cassette inside. At the bottom seemed to be some type of speaker. He tilted it by its sides, noticing a few buttons. He pressed the largest one, the top half of the front side popping open. Inside was a cassette tape, its cover long since faded away. He slipped it back in, closing the slot. He flipped back to the buttons, pressing the green one.
He expected it to play some type of recording, maybe music or something. Instead, all he got was a puff of smoke and the tape being launched into his forehead. He grunted in pain, retrieving the cassette. The magnetic tape was spilling out, caught in jumbles. He cursed his luck.
He paused, feeling a grove on the other side. Closing the door down, he spotted another odd sight. There was a flip switch, one half being green and the other red. Two dials were beside it, one with a megaphone-like icon on one of them. The other possessed a dot with two crescent lines above it, bending around it. He flipped the switch to "on", and watched as the player's window turned to a lime-green.
Some squiggly line appeared on the makeshift screen, followed by static. Some numbers appeared in the top right corner, though he had no idea as to what they represented. He glanced back at the dials, twisted each of them a couple of times. A voice came through the speaker, though much of it was drowning in white-noise. Whatever did make it through the sound was nothing more than gibberish.
A hoarse ringing clawed its way into his eardrums. He clenched his ears in pain, trying to block it out. He ran out of the pilot house, following the sounds. He was surprised when he discovered the source to be the calliope's whistles, spitting out rust and steam. He was even more shocked to see who was playing the instrument.
Sitting in the chair was the automaton from earlier. Its fingers danced across the keyboard, playing the decaying rhythm. The drone rotated its head around in a 180 degree turn, catching the man off-guard. Its eyes glowed a dim forest-green, burrowing their way into his. It stopped playing the pipe organ, and lifted one of its arms. A narrow finger pointed towards the smog, the man's head following suit.
There, beyond the black haze, was a group of towering shapes. The tallest of them all was the most complex in design, bearing spike-like structures on it. Another seemed to be a great ring, twisting and bending in the air. But one in particular grasped his attention. One of the silhouettes was producing flames.
Fire… Fire meant life. Life meant people. People meant help…
Or death. After all, he and his homeland were at war. Given the situation, though, he was willing to take the risk.
An earthquake went off within Fintan's head, causing him to kneel. When the pain subsided, the automaton was lying on its faceplate again, cobwebs and all. He raised an eyebrow. Didn't that thing just move earlier?
Before he could answer his own question, the instrument exploded. A claw seized the machine as it flew upwards, its owner following suit. The being in question was a lycanthrope-esc entity, with black fur and blood-red eyes. Bone-like structures were growing all around its body, often in the form of spikes. The only exception to that was the skull-like casing around its head. The man recognized this beast as a Beowolf.
The Creature of Grimm flung the drone at the human, who ducked in response. The monster charged forth, grabbing the soldier by the throat. It brought him to its face, snarling and bearing its teeth. The beast threw him off the ship, sending him face-first onto solid earth. As he lifted his head up, he noticed his shadow changing shape.
Alarmed, the man rolled to the side, narrowly dodging the claw that came down. Another one nicked his shoulder as he rose, draining a bit of his Aura. The beast lashed out with its jaws, the man strafing around it as it struck. He fired a few rounds into its back, staggering it. It spun around, slashing across his chest.
Fintan recoiled in pain, watching his Aura flicker. The Grimm used the opportunity to pounce on him, trying to sink its teeth into his throat. The soldier grabbed onto its jaws, trying to keep it from closing down on him. Still holding his pistol in hand, he shoved it into the monster's jaws and fired away. The thing went limp and collapsed on him, a shadowy mist rising from it. The man shoved the fading corpse aside inspecting himself. So far, his Aura and armor absorbed the majority of the damage. He silently thanked his drill sergeant for that.
He reloaded the gun, glancing around for signs of any more Grimm. To his relief there weren't any more around. This one must have split off from his pack or something. Right now, though, he wasn't in the mood for a welcoming party. He cast his gaze towards the sky, towards the hidden giants.
Follow the flames. He told himself.
He slipped his gear into their respective holsters, his hand still hovering over the gun. His eyes caught sight of a gravel road, scared and broken. He smiled. Looks like he has a lead now. The soldier began his trek again, following the ash-grey pathway.
If only he knew what lay ahead…