Fortune Snow Chapter 1 - Beacon Academy
Ruhe Stiert stood stiffly in the courtyard, erect like a statue with his eyes painted on his face, glaring forward directly into the rising sun. Manner stands beside him donning a solemn look on his face, one look of despair and agony at the passing of his old friend. Manner looks over at the young boy.
"Without anybody fit to run the company it will fade into nothing." Manner says, "This is the choice he wanted for you. I'm glad you made this decision." Ruhe doesn't break his gaze from the sunrise, hardly acknowledges Manner's words though he hears them clean and pristine as the daylight.
After several minutes of silence a black car pulls up and Ruhe gives his friend a gentle hug and a pat on the back before slowly opening the door and placing his briefcase on the unoccupied seat. A guard opens the trunk and loads his luggage in.
"If you ever need help," Ruhe says, "I'm sure you'll be able to find me." he smiles softly as he seats himself in the car and closes the door. He hears the trunk slam shut and the driver takes off commonly.
"An hour, sir." He tells Ruhe. Ruhe does not reply.
The journey is long and arduous – Ruhe spends most of his time gazing through the window, out into the streets of Atlas.
"How long will the flight be?" Ruhe asks the driver, his tone dull and depressive.
"Three hours, sir. You shall arrive at Beacon at around ten o'clock." The driver responds. Ruhe nods though the driver fails to see this, instead focusing on the road.
The flight is no easier for Ruhe. Once again most of his time is spent with his face pressed against window. Perhaps any other day he might have possibly taken a liking to the view. All he saw this day were seas of blood. His boot taps solemnly against the metal flooring and his fingers drum against his thigh.
As the airship lands he gathers his briefcase and exits his personal cabin and disembarks on the ramp. He eyes an abundance of figures wandering about the Beacon campus.
The sight of Beacon was magnificent, though Ruhe thought of it as no more than a building, glorified in all aspects yet little more than a school.
Two guards flank the boy from behind but he gestures to them with a flick of his wrist and says, "No guards."
One of the guards looks stares at him and replies, "We were ordered to accompany you until professor Ozpin's office." Ruhe sighs and his eyes stung from their dryness, "Get my luggage." The guard nods and turns to walk back into the airship as Ruhe begins his march towards Beacon's main hall.
He looks forward and sees nothing but a frustratingly white path. It glows in his eyes and there is nothing but blackness wherever he turns his head. His eyes are fixated on the path and he sees nothing but it. The guards vanish from sight and the grass turns to nothing.
He walks for minutes until something touches his shoulder and the world reverts back to reality. The sudden collision forces Ruhe to stop suddenly. He looks down.
A girl is lying on the floor rubbing her head, she looks to be disoriented. Ruhe's hand tenses around the handle of his briefcase to the point where he feels as though he is crushing his own hand. His arm becomes jittery with the tension in his hand.
A Faunus? He notices the pair of bunny ears on her head. He raises his head back to refocus on the path and continues his march towards the main body of Beacon, realising he is getting closer to the many groups of students wandering about. His eyes do not see them clearly.
He hears one of the guards shove the girl off to the side behind him.
Eyes turn to address the boy and he hears mutters amongst the crowds.
Hey, that's the Stiert kid.
What's he doing here?
Look at that prick
He ignores their words, subduing the temptation to lash out at them.
Degenerates, he thinks. He stands taller than most students at 6'4" and he scoffs at their seemingly feeble physique. The guards rush ahead of him and part the crowd; Ruhe drives through the stragglers the two guards were unable to detain. One or two students lashed out and tried to throw random confectionaries at the boy but they were unable to land their throws.
Ruhe blinks and the world around him turns to black, himself becoming the only thing to coexist with the pathway beneath his feet as he blocks out the unwanted noise. He lets out a soft sigh and follows the winding pathway.
He soon finds himself at a set of steel doors: an elevator.
"Leave me now." He addresses the guards without turning to them. Ruhe's free hand feels as though it is a dead branch hanging from a living tree.
The guards turn to look at each other momentarily and exchange wordless thoughts before turning and marching off down the hall. Now that the Stiert family empire was set to collapse without a new heir, each employee would be forced to find new jobs. Each and every guard had been assigned to the Atlesian military program (with their consent) as a final word of thanks from the final remaining family member.
Ruhe Stiert held his finger hovering over the buttons on the wall and eventually pressed down on one, hailing the lift. It took near to half a minute to arrive and Ruhe stepped on, unamused, his steel-sole boots clicking against the metallic flooring of the elevator. The doors slid closed and the contraption shut him in with its artificial lighting, barring any natural light from entering.
He felt almost unsafe in such an enclosed space and backed himself into one of the corners subconsciously. The vertical journey felt like an age of idling and the doors finally slid back open, Ruhe pacing out before they had time to open fully. A short hallway lay ahead of him with an old oak door located on the far end, directly opposing the elevator doors.
He walked.
The hall grew in Ruhe's mind, stretched further out and kept the door just out of the boy's reach until he was finally able to plant his hand firmly on the brass handle. He did not think to knock and instead opted to casually open the door and wander in.
How glorified can one building get? Ruhe thinks as he observes the room, a large, mostly open space with a view spanning the entirety of Beacon and further on. Above his head, the clockwork gears of the clock tower would grind and pound, though soundlessly and unnoticeably.
"Welcome," a man in green greets Ruhe from the far end of the room, seated behind a desk and back faced to the magnificent glass window that offered the spectacle of a view visible from the tower, "to Beacon Academy. Please have a seat."
Ozpin, Ruhe thinks, is not afraid to flaunt.
Ruhe sets his briefcase down beside the chair facing Ozpin before seating himself rather gruffly.
"Keep this short," he says, "today is not the best day for… this." His eyes glance about the room and briefly out the window before retaining eye contact with Beacon's headmaster.
"Of course," – Ozpin begins to pour a cup of tea – "I assume you would want me to tell you only necessary details then?"
"Yes," – Ruhe raps his knuckles against the golden buttons on his undercoat – "as well as anything you may deem necessary. I would also like you to set up a sparring match for me; I must gauge my skills and the skills of your students."
"I shall look into that for you." – Ozpin slides a cup of tea to the boy – "Due to a lack of residential accommodation, I'm afraid you will be rooming with a full team of four."
Ruhe gives him a look as if to say, are you serious?
"I'm sure you will all be able to appropriate proper sleeping areas and such, but I do intend to move you to a separate room come the opportunity." Ozpin takes a sip of tea and Ruhe sits staring at the man. Eventually, the boy takes a sip from his cup.
"As far as Beacon's traditional initiation ceremony goes, it would be most unfair to send a single new student through the process, so we shall be withholding on that until I find and appropriate substitute tom test your skills.
"Furthermore, since you are joining Beacon halfway through the academic year you will be expected to comply with all standards and regulations, this means that you will not receive any special treatment from myself or any other members of staff."
Ruhe nods, though he is far from giving his undivided attention to Ozpin. Ozpin reaches under his desk and produces a small rectangular device.
"This is your scroll, as appointed by the academy. This will be used to access your on-site residence as well as to keep up with any assignments or communicate with any friends or staff."
'Friends', Ruhe thinks, is an odd word
Ruhe slides his cup back to the centre of the table, only having consumed half of its contents. He stands and grasps his briefcase, sensing the end of the conversation.
"The room number is seventeen; as for your requested sparring match, please make your way to the arena as soon as you may." Ozpin gives a small friendly smile and Ruhe returns with a dull expression, leaving quickly without another word.
From a door at the side of the room, Glynda Goodwitch emerges carrying a scroll and donning her usual purple/black cape. She walks over to Ozpin's desk, talking to him as she journeys.
"Are you sure this is such a good idea, professor?" She asks the headmaster as she takes a seat in the chair facing him, "Given his psychological profile I can't possibly see him interacting well with Team RWBY."
"I assure you, Miss Goodwitch," Ozpin replies, "that rooming Mister Stiert with Team RWBY was the best solution in combatting his psychological issues."
"Honestly, I am more worried about the impact he will have on Team RWBY. His psychological profile deems him a threat to others, and not to mention that vile attitude of his-"
"I'm sure they will find a way to deal with it, they always have found ways around everything." Ozpin takes a sip from his tea.
"Well I'm almost certain that Miss Schnee-"
"Miss Schnee will have to deal with Mister Stiert as she has dealt with Ruby Rose. It may be a more heated situation but I am sure there will be a solution in sight by the end of the semester."
Goodwitch sighs, "Is there any preferred opponent I should pick for this sparring match?"
"Cardin Winchester." Ozpin replies firmly
Goodwitch gives him an odd stare, "Sir, reading through Mister Stiert's profile there is no way that Mister Winchester would last two minutes against-"
"I understand that, Glynda. Please set up the match."
"Should I call spectators to the arena?"
"Please do."
Ruhe Stiert stepped out of the elevator, steel clicking against pavement as he made his way to Beacon's arena grounds. He had never set foot in Beacon before, but he felt as if he knew every aspect of every path off by heart. He followed his intuition to the arena.
The people were whispering about him again, whispering violent words and hissing at him in their minds. He could feel their questions, their confusion and their anger.
Shut up, he scorns mentally
The gateway to the arena floor is a simple archway; Ruhe walks through and towards the lighted floor.
Spotlights are placed almost everywhere on the ceiling and walls, all angling to face the arena floor. The stands form a circular viewing platform around the arena floor of the same shape, making for a decent view from fair angles. He glares at one of the spotlights for a moment before setting his briefcase down and sitting cross-legged on the concrete, layering his hands atop one another across his lap. He closed his eyes and envisioned a clock; the hands turning much in relation to reality. Eleven minutes passed until he was broken from his state of mind by a vibrating sensation on his wrist.
Lazily, he pulled up the sleeve of his overcoat to reveal a rectangular device spanning the entirety of his forearm, secured into position with metallic claw-like braces dug into his arm. A caller ID showed on the luminescent blue screen. He swiped his finger over the touch pad and spoke.
"What do you want?" Ruhe slowly stood and slipped an earpiece into his ear, produced from a pocket in his overcoat.
"You don't sound too amused." A voice returned, feminine in nature, slightly sharp. Ruhe readjusted the earpiece so that the voice came through clearer.
"What do you want?" He demanded a second time, more stern. The person on the other end gave a light-hearted chuckle.
"The White Fang is getting restless again; they want more support."
Ruhe stared blankly at the ground beneath his feet, "No more funding. We are no longer collaborating with you or the White fang." He ended the call abruptly.
I ought to kill them all myself.
He returns the sleeve of his coat to its original position, obscuring the pad on his arm, and seated himself again, waiting for the crowd that would most probably be filing into the arena soon, knowing Ozpin's mind like he did.
Soon enough his predictions turned into reality and the first few students began filing into the arena and taking places in the seats of the observation stands. Ruhe recognises one of the students through a defining feature atop her head: a pair of bunny ears. More and more filed into the arena until at least half the stands were filled.
A middle aged female – whom he recognised as Glynda Goodwitch – approached from the arched entrance. She carried herself with a sense of pride and some sort of intimidatory, angry tone, neither bothering the Stiert son in the slightest. A scroll rested in her hands and she was constantly tapping away at the device's screen.
"Are you ready to compete?" She asks, still tapping at her scroll.
Communicating with Ozpin, Ruhe suggests, or organising something? Maybe this sparring session?
"Compete?" Ruhe replies, dull and monotone, "This is meant to be a sparring match. I have no intention to compete when gauging the skill of this institute's children."
The woman seemed to hold some fire in her eyes and she was seemingly directing that negative emotion towards him.
"Trust me, Mister Stiert," the woman glared at the boy, "you will be competing today." Ruhe swore he could see a small smirk rush over her face.
She intends to pit me against multiple students, Ruhe's eyes widened in realisation but quickly returned to their usual half-closed, unamused position as a smirk took over his lips. His thumb hovered over a small button on the handle of his briefcase, anxiously waiting for the upcoming bout.
His eyes shift slightly to the right as a quartet of students donning medieval-style armour step onto the arena floor. As they pass, Ruhe overhears one of them bewailing over some past event apparently related to current events, though Ruhe pays little attention to the details. The one heading the group – a tall brutish-looking kid who stood barely an inch or two higher than Ruhe himself – shot him an odd glare, delivering a silent message that Ruhe couldn't quite pinpoint. They took their positions at the opposite end of the arena floor.
"Good luck, Mister Stiert." Goodwitch takes her position at the side of the arena floor.
A holographic screen lights up on two of the walls opposite each other, portraying each combatant's name and aura gauge.
Cardin Winchester, Russel Thrush, Dove Bronzewing, Sky Lark. Ruhe's mind subconsciously matches each face to its subsequent name.
The tall boy at the front, Cardin, holds a hand out as the buzzer sounds to begin the match. He mutters something inaudible to Ruhe and his teammates back down for the moment and seem somewhat disappointed, having already drawn their weapons. The looks on their faces suggest they are used to seeing such behaviour from the boy.
The leader, probably. Ruhe analyses, It seems he may enjoy boasting. A small grin creeps onto the Stiert boy's face
"Are you a fool enough to face a superior opponent alone without assistance?" Ruhe taunts, clipping his briefcase to the specially-designed holster on his back as he marches head-on to meet his lone opponent.
Cardin smiles in response and raises his mace above his head, prepping for a vertical swing. As the mace rises, Ruhe's eyes catch the glowing red crystal secured in the head of the weapon.
Fire dust. Raised weapon ten metres out, vertical swing.
Ruhe quickly sidesteps the predicted ranged attack and continues his march to Cardin, still weaponless. Upon the failed attack Cardin charges ahead, taking a swing at his opponent's head which was easily ducked. Before Cardin could launch his next swing, he felt something collide with his gut and was pushed back a full metre.
Ruhe stood to his feet after dealing a solid blow to his opponent's midsection and took his signature fighting stance: left hand raised ahead of his face, open palm, and right hand lowered behind his back and slightly to the side as though ready to pull a gun from his waist.
Mace does not seem versatile
He advances slowly and steadily, his opponent doing the same whilst muttering the word 'lucky' under his breath.
Cardin spun and delivered a swift strike with his mace – seemingly too quick for a traditionally heavy weapon – and Ruhe backpedalled to avoid it. Cardin followed the distance created with another powerful overhead swing and Ruhe rolled left to avoid the column of flames and shattered concrete. Using Cardin's slow recovery time, Ruhe hastily closed the gap between the two with a pair of quick steps and a frontal kick that connected with the bridge of the taller boy's nose. Unlike Ruhe had wanted, the boy did not stumble back but instead took the brunt of the impact like a tank, so he followed his kick with a quick reverse hook that sent his opponent sprawling to the ground.
As Ruhe created more distance between the two, Cardin's teammates made to help him up, though he aggressively shoved them off and charged forward again. His teammates, taking initiative, decided against letting Cardin rush in alone again and outpaced their leader.
The fastest of the four, Russel, charged Ruhe blindly, swiping left and right with his dual daggers and stabbing at every possible opening his eyes to convey to his brain.
Daggers, dust capabilities
His brain was surely a small one, for his attacks were blatant and the Mohawk boy had left several openings for counterattacks. Ruhe dodged and redirected the boy's attacks with gloved hands, though, before being able to expose his weak points, was rushed by another member, Dove.
Sword-gun hybrid
Ruhe struck at Russel's face with his palm, momentarily stunning him and giving Ruhe enough time to slide between his legs to avoid the swing aimed for his head at Dove's hands. Having evaded one attack he had slid straight into Cardin's view; the mace reared above his head once more. Ruhe quickly tackled one of Russel's legs and pulled him over himself; a meat shield. Cardin hesitated and Ruhe delivered a swift kick to his knee, toppling the leader.
Ruhe quickly pushed Russel to the side and caught Dove's sword between his hands as he brought it down and swung his legs up, rolling backwards and onto his feet. The briefcase on his back made the manoeuvre difficult, but it was something he had performed countless times. With Dove's sword locked between his hands and between his legs, Ruhe spun and hooked his leg around Dove's neck, using his momentum to bring the boy to the ground.
Sky Lark approached from behind, thrusting his halberd. Ruhe anticipated the attack and rolled forward, leaving Sky to almost impale Dove by accident.
Halberd. Simple
Russel was back to his feet and tossed one of his daggers, Ruhe catching it fluently and spinning to gain momentum before returning the throw. The dagger strikes Russel in the face; he has his aura to save him, but he is out of commission.
Ruhe delivers a roundhouse kick to the advancing Sky lark with deadly precision and speed, catching him directly on the jaw and sending him flying a couple metres off to the side. Ruhe quickly rushes Cardin who rears his mace above his head for the third time. Closing the gap between them with inhuman speed, Ruhe finds himself too close to Cardin for his opponent to mount any offense and quickly delivers a rapid succession of punches to his sternum and midsection. His technique is a clever blend of Boxing, Wing Chun and Hung Ga, targeting Cardin's shoulder joints and unarmoured biceps as well as his initial assault on the boy's midsection.
Cardin, lost and with a broken body, is used as Ruhe's second meat shield to block Dove's bullets. As the ranged assault halts, Ruhe boots Cardin forward, sending him stumbling into Dove and the two collapse in a heap. Ruhe spins and brings his boot down on Dove's chest, dropping his aura into the red.
Anticipating an attack from Sky, Ruhe quickly steps back and into his arced attack, blocking the steel pole with his forearm. Sky spins and swings again, a horizontal attack of the same style but from the opposite direction. Ruhe ducks under the swing and delivers a strong fist to his sternum, stumbling Sky. A spin kick sends Sky's halberd flying out of the arena, lodging into one of the walls. Ruhe launches off his back leg and delivers a wild clothesline to the unarmed boy sending him head-over-heels. It wasn't part of his style, but he did it anyway.
He looked at his fallen adversaries. They lay scattered like dead sheep. A most unamusing battle, especially for a four vs one handicap.
Murmurs pass around the gathered crowd and slowly but steadily they break into applause. The half of the room who recognised him to be the supposed heir to the Stiert's business empire simply sat in bemused amazement trying to process what had just happened whilst the other half – whom had never seen the boy before – began gossiping. Even Professor Goodwitch looked impressed to some extent.
'That was amazing!'
'To think a Stiert could do this…'
'What the hell just happened?'
'He's so dreamy…'
"Is that it?" The chatter quickly died down.
"Is that it?" Ruhe repeated, louder.
"Is this Beacon?" – Ruhe's steel-soled boots rung out against the cold concrete floor as he jerked, picking up Dove's sword only to toss it away with violent intention – "ARE THESE WARRIORS?" He screamed, punting Cardin's head with the tip of his boot and eliciting a short cry of pain from the boy.
"Mister Stiert, that is enou-" Goodwitch was cut short by another scream from Ruhe.
"ARE YOU PEOPLE TO BE MY PEERS?" His vision flashed crimson as his heart began to race with anger.
His tone became slightly less aggravated, "Four against one… and I walk out unscathed…" He looked at the holographic screen. His aura bar was untouched.
"Mister Stie-"
"YOUR STUDENTS," Ruhe aimed his finger directly at Goodwitch, his tone rising once more, "ARE WHIMSICAL!" His head snapped to glare through the crowd of spectators elevated in the stands. His eyes were glazed over, a dead shade of grey.
"I am… disappointed." He began pacing the arena floor, "No staining of my blade… these are not warriors." He lightly kicked the beaten body of Russel Thrush.
"No use of my semblance… operating at sixty percent capability…" he muttered to himself.
In the audience, Blake Belladonna's ears perk up, the girl barely deciphering the boy's mutterings.
Briefcase bolted securely to his back, Ruhe made to leave the arena structure when Glynda raises her voice.
"Is there anybody else who would like to challenge Mister Stiert?"
His feet stop dead. His head turns to the audience.
Most of their heads were turned, centering their gaze on one area in the stands. Small chatter was present between the students as they begin glancing over at one student.
"Would you like to try your hand against Mister Stiert, Miss Nikos?"
Volume 3 approaches! ALL ABOARD THE HYPE TRAIN!