So...the sudden influx of reviews and people that like the story...damn. And only from...currently five – now six – chapters. Alright...I'm not complaining about that. You guys are awesome. 30 faves, 50 follows; I'm glad you all like it.
Now, reviews!
Catacus: 1. Glad you enjoy the story, sir or madam! 2. That gives me an idea…
Ddragon: ...wow, the influx of reviews from this one alone...jesus...SOMEONE likes the story a bit. 1. Glad you like the fic, sir or madam! And, she'll get her chance to squee over his influx of weaponry. 2. I like to think that at least Ozpin, the Maidens, and a few others do stand a chance against Johnny boy. Yang has a good chance, if she remains conscious enough in the fight. 3. He's worse than the goats are if he keeps snapping like a tree.
Guest (Arden Arwin Asha): Welcome, FP writer! I will try my best, and you still have a chance, as I am in the beginning stages of the story; I wish you luck as well!
Cheese PuffXx: 1. Paranoia; can be a bitch sometimes, and one of your best butt buddies on a blue moon… 2. I think Deadpool needs to take a few lessons from this guy...
alexkehling: Demolitions Expert would shed a tear of joy at John's display. And I'm glad you enjoyed that little bit; was wondering how I would include the Three Amigos seamlessly...Also, it's a 2D game going through the ground, with RE-LOGIC being extremely picky with who does what with their game, I'd be just as cautious.
Guest: Nah, they can buy more.
DarkElucidator: 1. WHELP. Best not let you down, then… 2. I'd say it's a bit of RE-LOGIC there, sir or madam!(I'm not sorry for that pun.)
gold crown dragon: I will not include characters based on armor types. Also, John is able to utilize all four types of end-game armor without problems occurring. Which reminds me, I need to post the weapon list so everyone can understand what he's packing.
Rakaan: That guy? A teacher? He may have a lot to learn, and he could teach a thing or two to the students of Beacon, but he doesn't trust himself to hold back against opponents, even if it's a sparring match. And though the offer WAS there, John did outright decline, and became a 'normal' Hunter to keep a guise against those wanting his talents, abilities, and strengths; even those that still aren't discovered yet...
So you might be wondering on how the hell I am able to keep up with your guys' reviews...actually, you probably know already, considering the massive window I give each chapter. Seriously, it's pretty obvious by now. I won't even say how I'm keeping up, you just have to figure it out.
And the guy above did have a good point about Ruby not reacting to John's weapons immediately. However...I feel as though every first encounter Ruby has with someone is asking about their weapons. WHICH! As we have seen, is not entirely the case. This rings true back in all the previous Volumes of RWBY. I won't even go into detail, as you could easily pull up an episode that has Ruby meeting someone new for the first time, and see that I'm correct in that regard. Showing off her weapon? Possibly, I'll concede there. As such, I might address that next chapter.
That being said, I won't have a massive A/N this time at the bottom, as I honestly don't have much to talk about this time, so ENJOY THE CHAPTER!
'Don't question the sanity-draining things; it'll just make your sanity drain so much faster than usual.' ~Me.
Now, John wasn't a racist asshole. Certainly, he has a few choice words for enemies of his that are of a certain species, but he was friends with a goblin, cyborg, dryad, and a few others. Hell, they even laugh at some of his rants when he's drunk – which, because of the Demolitionist, is almost impossible.
Which leads him to his stance on the Faunas as a whole; adoration and envy. Having additional traits that assist in perception is extremely useful, in his eyes. Them taking part in reconnaissance is a massive tactical advantage, as they'd be able to spot out irregularities or differing intel scouted out by humans from before.
So, his confusion as to why they're being degraded because of these advantages was short-lived, as words spoken by the Wizard were repeated to him: "Humanity, as a whole, has a distinct hatred for things that can perform better than they can themselves. It wounds their pride to ask for assistance from these higher-performing entities, and they'd rather bring them down to make themselves feel better than work with something that can out-wit them at a moments notice." Now, most of the time, he ignored the Wizard, as he was old, and made mistakes. But, there were times in which that old man was far more wiser than the Dryad ever could, and his words stuck.
'It's like Ozpin took the codger's place, but at least isn't as much of an idiot as that fool was.'
That was brought up, as there were four boys – calling them men would insult himself and every man alive – shoving around a rabbit Faunas; Velvet Scarlatina, if his memory serves properly. A second-year in Beacon, part of Team CVFY, led by Coco Adel, and an unknown weapon, the only thing noticeable being a box. For some reason, it felt...wrong. Almost as if it was…
"Exactly like me..." he muttered, eying the box. Immediately, he felt his weapons at risk. Every single one. 'If I'm to continue my work, she CANNOT be anywhere around me.'
But, that's then.
Now, he had work to do. He slowly got up, stretching out his spine, popping a few vertebrae in the process. Each pop made him exhale, and lightly groan in pleasure. John raised his arms, twisting them in each direction, popping his hands, fingers, shoulders, and elbows. He craned his neck to each side, feeling himself loosen up with each pop in his body.
Then, he focused on the neanderthals twenty yards away from him, and paused as he reached for a weapon. He had to decide carefully here; because of the box Velvet had, any extraordinary weapon he had would be at risk. Looking at his belt, he saw a black, gnarled hilt of a large sword, and smirked.
The Horseman's Blade. Of all the weapons he had, that one was a pain to try and modify. With help from the Guide, Tinkerer, and Dryad, they managed to make it collapsible for easier carry and use. If fate is fortunate, he wouldn't have to use it. But, knowing bigotry at it's finest, that hope is pointless to dwell upon.
He had his armor equipped during this time; his face was hidden carefully, the only ones to know about his look were Ozpin, Glynda, and Ironwood. Odds are, the idiots wouldn't even get a hint as to who he was, unless they're smarter than they look.
No time like the present, right?
He approached the group, and cleared his throat, calling for their attention. One of them passed a glance towards the armored figure, and immediately jumped back from Velvet in surprise and slight fear. Two others, one of them sporting a mohawk, noticed their comrade's movement, and immediately mimicked his own when they noticed they imposing figure. The last one, a redhead with armor equipped, turned around, releasing the second-year's ears, and sized up the Champion.
Already turning out to be interesting.
"You want something?" the boy asked.
"Depends..." the figure said. "Why...are you four...tormenting her?"
"It's not torment; she deserves it," he said proudly.
'I smell arrogance. And racism. And idiocy.'
"Oh? And...why's that?"
"Because she's an animal. She doesn't belong here."
OK, fuck reserved and calm. Time to teach a lesson.
"Neither do you," the Champion stated.
That caught him off-guard.
"What did you just say to me?!" he snarled.
And that was confirmation of two things right there.
"You. Don't. Belong. Here," the figure said, poking the boy's chestplate with each word. "In fact, allow me to quell your idiocy with some need-to-know information: Velvet Scarlatina, a second-year attending Beacon Academy," his words made the boy lose all color in his face. "Someone, given the opportunity, that could easily pound you four into the ground without as much as breaking a sweat if she ever needed OR wanted to. And you pulling on her ears is something that grinds a person's patience down to where someone WILL do that."
The boy looked nervous, but gathered whatever is inside him and pushed forward. "So? Even if she is, she's still a no-good animal."
Nail in the coffin.
The boy immediately raised his arms up in surprise as a gray sword appeared from within a black hilt, the tip almost piercing his throat. And, from the Champion's position, the right arm that wielded the sword drawn back, legs ready to move left, he was in a compromising position.
"And you're a no-good racist that can't see the humanity in everyone that isn't with or IS you," the figure spat out. "That tongue of yours will get cut out, alongside the rest of your head one day. It won't be today, but take heed in my words: The day in which you'll call for help from those that aren't of your race, do you know what will happen? Nobody will come."
Surprisingly enough, the boy slapped the sword away, his arrogance was stupefyingly resilient. "And what gives you the right to boss me around, huh? I can report you to the headmaster about this in my own personalized events."
"Oh? You'd report me? A Huntsman, who has the utmost faith placed upon by Ozpin, who happens to be my boss, and trusts my word more than any of his students?" the Champion shot back.
And now the boy sees his mistake. "Wh-what?"
"Yeah...I suggest you begin working on making yourself less of an asshole, and more of a Huntsman-in-Training worth something more than just 'the racist prick that somehow became a Huntsman.'" The Champion pointed the Blade towards the academy, and the four buffoons ran off in terror. Upon twisting the handle slightly, the sword began to collapse upon itself, and retracted into the hilt, the guard closing itself to seal the hole.
'As much as I don't like intervening in a situation that doesn't concern myself, I found that very, very cathartic.'
The Champion turned towards the second-year, who stood shellshocked by how the day's actions turned around within a few seconds. "Are...you OK?" he asked.
"...Yeah. I'll...I'll be fine," she replied.
"Good. Were...you headed someplace?"
Her eyes widened in realization. "Class! Oh no, I'm late; Professor Goodwitch won't-"
A gauntlet fell onto Velvet's shoulder lightly. "Leave Goodwitch to me, Miss Scarlatina," he assured. "For now, let's get to class, right?"
"Miss Scarlatina!" the professor called out, upon her and the Champion walking into her class. "This tardiness must not continue; how many times have I told you by now?" She didn't allow Velvet to speak. "I'm afraid I have no choice but to-"
"Glynda, hold for a moment," John interrupted. "I believe that Miss Scarlatina's tardiness was not her fault this time; a group of four cornered her because of her Faunas traits. I shooed them off with a few words, and brought her to your class."
She blinked for a few seconds; it wasn't usual for others to interrupt her, unless it was Ozpin or a few other figures of power. Glynda was about to tell off the Champion for interrupting her, but upon hearing the reasoning behind Velvet's late arrival, she couldn't continue her previous sentence.
"...very well," she amended. "Thank you, Mr. Osborne, for escorting Miss Scarlatina to class. If you could provide a description of the four that stopped her after this class, I'll take over this issue and resolve it."
"That...would be fantastic."
That was over four hours ago.
The blueprint for the Chargers were stolen twelve weeks ago.
During that time, the Champion began scanning over data of possible bases of White Fang storehouses. There were many options when it came to thieving for supplies, but two were prominent; steal from the 'misguided' organization, or from the producers themselves, the Schnee Dust Company.
'...I wonder if Weiss is in any way connected to that company, because of her last name,' he thought.
There was time to think about that later. For now, the analysis of both options:
The SDC was heavily fortified when it came to mining and producing Dust. From what he gathered, the shifts between guards was around five seconds total, and in-between, there were more guards than usual, both in the mines, factories, and shipyards. Electronically, it was a nightmare: a high-capacity generator over, equipped with over 500 fail-safes to prevent almost all assaults from Scrolls, weapons, Semblances, and/or other methods. In addition to the main generator, there were 100 back-ups, equipped with the same amount of fail-safes, all of which were around four miles underground, making it nearly impossible to kill all power to the facilities.
In estimation, it would take a crew with top-tier equipment 100 years to break the locks on the security the SDC had in place. Needless to say, John was rather impressed; a resource like Dust was powerful, and in the wrong hands, dangerous; having security beyond that of what most BlackScrolls have currently isn't joking around.
They didn't take into account of a few things, however: First, magic. The Champion wasn't a stranger to the magical arts, and was incredibly talented in it's use. A large torrent of the Lunar Flare spell can decimate the generators within two minutes, at least. He could also use the Arcanum to destroy not only the generators, but the wiring so progress could be set back a couple of years.
The SDC also won't expect someone to drill into the generators, and take them. It would bypass all fail-safes, and can be sent to other locations to be utilized for another purpose. Speaking of wires, they can also be removed, causing paranoia and a nightmare for the technology department.
Targeting the SDC, however, has another inlay of problems. Should the Champion succeed, it would cause mass panic across the planet, drawing the Grimm to their doors. Thousands of innocent lives, vanquished within the first minute of Day 0.
That option was immediately scratched off. Which left the White Fang.
An organization that once desired cooperation now heralds a role reversal between Humans and Faunas everywhere, starting with the SDC and other key racists' termination. Mainly a hidden group, the Champion hasn't obtained much information about them, except that their tactics were violent, messy, and, at one point, uncoordinated. What they lack in terms of operational discretion, they make up for in planned secrecy.
With heavy scouring over images of selfies, family photos, and...other pictures...there was a single discrepancy the Champion found common; three diagonal scratches on walls. Cross-referencing that with nearby robberies, slaughters, and kidnappings, it appears to be a callsign for the White Fang, which was based upon depth of the scratchings. Surface lines were meetings, thin depth meant a robbery would take place, normal depth – the size of bullet holes – was a kidnapping/ransom order. Grimm marks, the depth of Beowolf claw marks to be specific, were targets to kill/destroy. It was an intricate pattern, and hard to trace if one was inexperienced.
The last marks were actually the hardest to find, until he heard scratching outside his room five weeks earlier. Surprisingly enough, he couldn't find out who was making the noise, and when he checked out the window, those marks were to the bottom right of his window when looking down. He took a picture of the image, and made a connection quickly with mass murders across Remnant.
The Champion knew the patterns, so he could trace one of the members without being spotted. The only problem was this: Why would the Fang need so much Dust to begin with?
A few options came to mind. Roman Torchwick, a thief for over 20 years, could be directing them to steal the Dust. And, considering recent patterns of trashed stores and full Lien registers, it did seem very likely that Roman and the Fang were in cahoots together. But that also raised more questions that answers, such as why would a group of human-hating Faunas be working together with a human in the first place? If it was to further their own cause, and Roman just so happened to offer his services in exchange for his prolonged existence, then it would make some sense. It did fit the puzzle with little issue. But, it made a piece that didn't make sense for the whole picture. As cunning as the thief is, even he couldn't have planned that many possible targets to hit throughout a few months.
Which meant someone else was pulling the strings here. But who?
'It's that woman.'
Cinder?
...that would be troubling. As far as he was concerned, Cinder didn't seem like one to pull the strings of both the Fang and Roman with such little effort. She seemed sincere enough with offering a spot for-
Wait.
Her offer, four months prior.
"...heh. It looks like she played her hand a little too aggressively," John muttered to himself.
Most would have accepted that offer on a few options; either it be from the fact they have everything to lose, nothing better to do, know how to play the game, or because of the possible bedding opportunity.
For the Champion, however, he had nothing to lose, everything to gain, and knew how to play the game in his own fashion. Because of his deal with Ozpin, he would learn how the world works, and then eventually vanish. And, thanks to how he can process unexpected information, he can adapt to whatever can come forth. Hell, he survived against supernatural forces beyond what he can comprehend, and became a lot stronger because of it.
But, that's neither here or there.
John shook his head, clearing it of nostalgia, and refocused on his analysis.
Tracing a member of the White Fang wouldn't be a problem. Because of his numerous tools, he could track them without being spotted, unless one of them gets too close. Even then, the Champion had numerous options to dispatch those that find him, and could replace them with himself, should they be the correct gender. If not, well, he could make it work*.
A day in the city, then?
Hours later…
Everything went according to plan, with a larger harvest than John expected.
As it turned out, Snake Fauna did exist. And, because racists weren't picky, they targeted them more out of most other species, such as dogs, cats, rabbits, birds, and a few others. Because of this, a good third of many Fang brigades held Snakes, eager to get revenge.
Which is why a mutilated, dead one floated into the watery abyss.
John now wore the dead man's outfit, which fit him, unsurprisingly. Taking a few whiffs of it and of himself, it nearly matched when it came to blood. And, when he put on the outfit, the only way he could be found out was if someone could separate smells, and find him easily.
He also found a warehouse, chock-full of Dust. Which meant that if he could get a vehicle of some sort, John could easily empty the place, and make enough Armed Chargers to last a lifetime.
After securing a line to the GrimmNet, he found an information broker going by the name of "Junior." After cracking into his Scroll and triangulated his location, he reequipped his heist clothes, and set out to his nightclub.
I HAVE NO EXCUSE!
I played Destiny, Fallout 4, and a few other things a bit much, with barely any break in-between for writing. Also, I have another story running as well. Goes by the name of 'Wasteland'; it's a Undertale/Fallout Crossover, with a...different twist. I won't say much, so go read that if you are interested!
Soon – I'm not sure when – I'll begin livestreaming things! For exact times in which I'll begin, follow me on Twitter TehUnoman, on Facebook /teh . unoman, and Twitch /tehunoman. Remove the spaces for the Facebook address to visit my page.
That's all for now, guys! I'll see you when I'm not as lazy to update this thing.