The moment Crue woke up in Remnant, he didn't believe he was there. He couldn't. He couldn't be in a world that wasn't his own, a world that was made up by someone else on the other side of the planet. It was something he couldn't properly comprehend, he needed a way to cope. He decided to blame someone. Anyone.
Being in a world from fiction, in his eyes, he decided to place the blame on a person who could create fiction. An Author. It was only ever a coping mechanism for him, to deal with the fact he was stolen from his home.
It was easy for him to have someone to blame. To accuse of all his problems, even if in the back of his mind Crue knew the Author was just that. Someone to blame. Something to hold onto. An excuse. And now, that excuse was staring down at him with a smug smile.
"Well, I would say it's good to see you. But I think we both know how much of a lie that would be." The Author looked down to Crue, the smile never leaving his face.
"You. You, you bastard." Crue tried to sit up, his mouth forming a snarl as he looked to the being. "I, I knew it." He grit his teeth, pushing himself up as he felt the familiar hum of Aura beneath his skin. The fact it was back worried him.
How long had he been out? "Close to a week." The Author answered, looking at the book by his side, open and hovering beside him. "You should be dead. And I cannot begin to describe, how annoyed I am you aren't."
Crue looked up, his eye filled with rage. "How annoyed you are?!" He exclaimed, pushing himself up the tree he was against to stand at the same height of the Author. "You took me from my home! You, you controlled me!"
"I wish I could have controlled you." The Author scoffed. "Then, this story might have actually gone the way I intended." With a wave of his hand, he brought his book to him as Crue growled.
"I'M NOT A STORY!" He exclaimed, swinging his arm towards the Author. There was no movement. The Faunus stilled, looking to his left. There was a large gash in his shoulder, and even though he tried to lift his arm caked with dried blood, nothing happened.
"All feeling in that arm is completely gone. It has been for a while." The Author said it with a sigh. "You don't even realise how badly broken it is right now. It was going to be a wonderful arc about you learning to rely on others, but no. Your stubborn, bullheadedness got in the way of everything!"
"MY LIFE ISN'T SOME ARC FOR YOU TO DECIDE!" Crue brought his other fist back and attempted to punch the Author. The ethereal body moved out of the way, as Crue went sailing past and crashed onto the ground with a yell of pain.
"Oh please." He rolled his non-existent eyes. "Your life is a story. Everyone's is. In fact, why don't I tell you mine." He twirled his quill around in his fingers, the feather some garish thing that looked like it was plucked from the most opulent of peacocks.
"Long ago, there were Two Brothers." The Author brought his book to him, as two images sprung to life in the forest. He removed his quill from his book and turned to look at them, Crue doing the same.
Two glowing humanoid forms, not unlike the Author himself, stood still in the clearing. One, a glowing gold with a crown of antlers, and the other a purple so deep it seemed to draw in surrounding light with a pair of rams horns atop it's head.
"The God of Light, and The God of Darkness." The Author explained, before bringing his quill back to his book as the figures disappeared, replaced by a small window into another time. "They made this world, long before the Kingdoms, long before Huntsmen and even Faunus."
Crue sat on the ground, his lungs heaving as he stared up at the illusion before him. It showed a young man, standing before the two glowing figures. In tandem, they held their hands out above the person.
"And that, is where I come in." The Author said, holding his book in his hands as an identical one appeared in the image. "The Gods chose me. Me." His head tilted upward as his smile grew wider.
"I was to be the Scribe of the Gods. To record the actions of their world, their creations. It was the proudest moment of my life. And still is. A relic that recorded reality." He held the book close to his heart, before scowling.
"And then she had to go and mess everything up." His singular defining feature was twisted down into a snarl. "The Gods left. Abandoned me." The smile returned, but there was a maniacal edge to it.
"Or so I thought. They left me with their book." He held it aloft, his smile only increasing in width. "Yes, the very thing they gifted me with to continue to record their world, allowed me to alter it as well. Observe." He held out one hand, as with his other he opened his book and placed his quill against the paper.
A green helmet suddenly appeared above them, before falling to the ground. "Ah, yes. The helmet you were so fond of." He tossed it away with a sigh of annoyance. "So aggravating." Crue managed to push himself to his feet, standing with his claws out as blood dripped from him.
"The fuck does this have to do with me? Your sugar daddies abandoned you, boo fucking hoo-gh." The Author suddenly shot out a glowing hand, grabbing Crue by his throat and lifting him from his feet.
"Still. You interrupt the story. You've done so many times, each more irritating than the last." Despite the lack of facial features, Crue could make out a look of derision on his face. "I was able to alter reality, to change what the Gods had made. That in itself made me a God, so I changed myself to be in their image. And I decided that this world could do with some, modifications."
"I could only change small things. I could not Create or Destroy. Or impart Knowledge. And I certainly couldn't alter people's Choices." His mouth twisted into something that looked particularly annoyed at Crue in that moment.
"But… Small changes have large implications." The Author smiled dangerously. "I do believe you know that already though, don't you, Crue."
The Butterfly Effect. Crue had explained it to his friends before, but with the memory came rage. His friends. The ones who he failed. His teeth ground together as he screamed. "I WAS MEANT TO SAVE THEM!" Crue slammed his working arm down on the one that held him aloft.
It did nothing, save for angering the one attached to it. The Author hurled Crue away, sending him crashing through a tree as his Aura flared. It might have protected him, but the pain still seeped through, causing the Faunus to cry out in anguish.
"You were meant to play a role." He spat. "You were never meant to save them." The Author said the word with such revulsion, such disgust that it filled Crue with Wrath. "You weren't even meant to help them!" His words, while still fuelling Crue's anger, gave him pause.
"What?"
"I have recorded stories of the Heroes from here. Many, many times. It got repetitive, seeing the same people fighting the same beasts, even with my changes. So, I searched for other Heroes. Other worlds. I have brought so many Heroes into this world. All of them noble, brave, adventurers from different lands. And so many of them saved the day. It got boring." The Author said, idly looking at his hand as if checking his fingernails.
"With my book, I could travel to different realities. To worlds with magic the likes of which mirrored the time before the Gods left. Realities with such advanced technologies it would put Atlas to shame." He spoke of such power so casually that it set Crue on edge. "And from each and every reality, a Hero would be brought, so I had a story to tell. A character to watch. They would save the day. Stop the villains and save all of the characters in my story."
"I grew tired of such repeated victories. I wanted something different." His face turned, locking onto Crue's shaking form. "And then, I found your world. I thought it was amazing. At first. A dimension, where my reality was perfectly recreated as a fictional show. Well, save for yours truly, of course."
"And within that world, so many options. So many people who would jump at the chance to be taken from their world. To be a Hero in another. But I wasn't looking for a Hero…" His face, and non-existent eyes stared at Crue. "You stood out. Your rage. Your flaws. It was delectable."
"You, were the one I chose. You had such a deliciously terrible backstory. One ripe for becoming an Antagonist with the proper push. How could I not pick you?"
"I DIDN'T HAVE A BACKSTORY!" Crue roared, standing to his feet. "I HAD A LIFE! I WASN'T SOME CHARACTER FOR YOU TO TOY WITH!" He panted for breath as his shoulders shook in agitation.
"Oh, but you were. You still are." The Author said, pulling out his quill and deliberately writing. Before Crue could make another foolish attempt to fight back, a wound he had long ignored opened up. "What woun-ARGH!" Three claw marks suddenly burst to life across his chest, reddening the already stained shirt.
"NO!" Crue's hand clutched his chest, recognising the burning feeling of pain. The first injury he had ever acquired in this world. He fell back, leaning against a trunk for support as blood poured down. He tried to concentrate on his Aura, to stem the bleeding.
"You can't even die right! You made me lose my train of thought." The Author snarled, allowing the book to float, as words continued to appear on its pages, describing their actions. "I can only alter so much. Every time I tried to end this farce, you carried through. It would have been admirable, were it not so ridiculously annoying for one who was meant to be a Villain." Once more, the Author brought his book to him as Crue looked up with anger and surprise.
"You thought you were to be a Hero? What a joke. You said it yourself, if you grew up in this realm, you probably would have worked for the thief." His mouth tilted downward in a snarl. "Another thing you changed in my story."
"That was a character who was meant to die. To give motivation to another. But you, you had to go and fall in love with Neopolitan." He gave a disgusted sound, that caused Crue's blood to boil. "I gave you so many options. The rabbit, the fall maiden. Even Salem."
"But you had to choose the one character who could actually make a difference. What a waste." It was too much for Crue, who leapt forward with a snarl.
"IT WASN'T A WASTE! AND SHE WASN'T A CHARACTER! SHE WAS A REAL PERSON! IS ONE! I SAVED HER! I LOVED HER!" His roar was lost as the Author maneuvered his book out of the way and swung his foot, tripping Crue and sending him spiralling onto the ground.
Crue hit it with a cough, before pushing himself onto his hand and knees and staring at the Author. "I wore your damn glasses! I did it so you could have me save them!" He exclaimed.
"Ugh, this again." The Author made a motion with his head, as if he was rolling his eyes. "Those glasses weren't magical, you idiot. The reason you 'suddenly weren't able to fight' was because you were drunk! Hungover! Unable to fight properly!"
His words caused Crue to freeze. "Wha? But, but I…"
"But, but, but." The Author repeated mockingly. "But nothing! Did you forget you downed an entire flasks worth of rum? And drank the night before that. And then, your own self-doubt and overthinking made you think it was all me. That you could never have accomplished all that by yourself. It could only be someone else. All someone you never really believed in."
"It was a beautiful character flaw." He said with an air of entertainment. "Self-doubt, one that could be defeated with help from others. And finally, you managed that one. Only it was the wrong group of 'friends'." His mouth morphed into a sneer.
"Those friends. Do you have any idea how many trajectories you've altered? How many lives you've changed? Saved?" He looked annoyed at the situation. Doubly so when he saw Crue's self-satisfied smile.
"I saved their lives. Everyone's lives. Except Penny." His face fell, before looking up to the Author with a snarl.
"Ah yes, the death of the puppet." He said, placing a glowing foot on Crue's body to prevent him from leaping up and trying to claw him. "The thing that finally brought out the monster you were meant to be. So many situations where it could have been useful."
"Unfortunately, you were too good at fighting. The beast could only be brought forth when you were truly at your last chance. When your Aura was gone. When you could no longer tell friend from foe." His grin became feral.
"So much opportunity for destruction. For you to hurt those around you. But it never. Came." His mouth turned downward, and he increased the pressure on Crue's chest, as the Faunus gave out a yell of pain. "You stopped my story, and I doubt it can even continue now."
"The false maiden was the reason for their journey. And thanks to you," He twisted his foot. "She's alive. But there is no reason for them to travel to Haven, now." He lied, watching Crue's reaction.
His face froze, as he stopped trying to push the glowing limb off of him. "What? But, don't they think I'm…"
"Dead. Dead to the world." The Author smiled widely. "Oh, yes. The death of the Wolf. What a tragedy. What a shame. What a load of bull." Ethereal teeth shone brightly as he leaned down on his leg. "You really thought they cared about you?"
"They, they did. Didn't they?" Crue's eye tried to hold back the tears, but a small river of red dripped from his destroyed socket. "I cared for them. I, I thought they cared for me too." His body shook, as he tried to ignore the Author's words.
"Oh, you cared for team RWBY, yes. But their sister team?" He removed his foot, having felt confident enough that his words had an effect. "They are the ones who join the reaper. What did you do with them, to make them care for you?"
"I-I…" Crue concentrated, trying to think as his doubts swirled in his mind. His eye suddenly hardened. "No. It wasn't just RWBY. I sang with Jaune. I was friends with Nora." He pushed himself to his feet.
"I trained with Ren, I comforted Pyrrha!" His body shook in anger and pain. "THEY WERE MY FRIENDS TOO! I CARED FOR THEM ALL! AND THEY CARED FOR ME!" He stood completely, staring down the Author.
"Did they?" The Author asked simply. Crue's rage was doused like a candle in a storm. He fought against his doubts. They, they were his friends. They cared for him. They would avenge him…
Wouldn't they?
They would. He had to believe. He believed in them. Didn't they in him? His doubts swirled in his mind, as his spirit fell ever so slightly. The Author smiled wickedly, watching Crue's thoughts spiral from his Book.
"Doesn't matter, though, does it." Crue suddenly spat, his blue eye blazing as he stared at the Author. "They don't have anything to avenge. Cause I'm. Not. Dead. You never could kill me, could you?" He asked.
The Author frowned, proving Crue's point. "You were unusually difficult to kill. That was no fault of my own, however. Believe me. I tried. Again and again. I couldn't even get you to kill yourself." His mouth set into a snarl. "Even the maiden's magic failed. Not even the Silver Eyes had managed it."
His tone suggested that even he wasn't sure why that was. "So, I had to intervene. Make sure of your death this time around. But even that wasn't enough. Salem saw fit to unlock your Golden Eyes. And that, made you annoyingly durable."
"Those golden eyes marked you as an Antagonist." He stared down at Crue, and his mouth managed a smirk.
"Well. Eye, now." Crue's eye was not golden as he glared up at the Author. It was his own. A blue steel that promised pain a thousand times over.
"Those eyes proved you were meant to be a Villain. To work with Salem. That is why you had the glasses. To hide your allegiance. Not so I could 'make you fight'. I told Salem I would give her a King. Someone who understood her. And now look, you made me go back on my word." He gave a scoff and looked as though he might spit to the side.
"And as much as I loathe to admit it, you were able to fight. Concerningly well. That is the only reason your weapon was a hurl. Because you knew how to use it. Not because you were 'created' in the image of a myth. But because if you had anything else, you would have died in the Emerald Forest. I already regret you didn't. If you were truly molded after that myth, I would have given you a spear."
"Your world had a lot of stories, Crue. I suppose that's what happens, when you don't have to constantly fear for your life due to Grimm." He crouched down, level with Crue's prone form. "I admit, there was some intrigue to the similarities between the stories and characters of those tales, and stories and characters of my world."
"But, thanks to your tunnel vision on believing yourself to be a Hero, you never even saw the true connection, did you?" He tilted his head, that smile playing on his face once more. "Your ability to turn into a monster. A Wolf Faunus? The fact you were constantly out of breath. Huffing, and puffing? You didn't think that had something to do with a certain 'Little Red Riding Hood'?"
Crue's heart skipped a beat, as the words swirled in his head. "I, I was meant to be the…"
"The Big. Bad. Wolf." The Author enunciated. "A monster from a fairy tale. One that hunts the reaper. That, is what you were meant to be. Not a Hero. It's not like I tried to hide it either. Golden eyes to her silver. Blue to her red."
"Even your 'alter ego'. You were called The Wolf for a reason." He stood with a sigh. "So many times, your true nature almost came out. Only for you to bury it once more, because you felt remorseful. I mean really. How many 'Heroes' do you know that have a connection with Salem herself. She quite literally told you that you belong with her. And yet, you ignored her."
He shook his head in annoyance. "I had such hopes for you, Crue. To finally be the character that breaks the mold. That you would see the rest of the world how I do."
"As characters. Things whose lives has such little meaning when compared to mine. You were like that when you first arrived. Seeing the Grimm as nothing more than fodder. Standing up to the fall maiden. Because you justified it yourself that 'she was only an animated body.' You even tried to convince me to push certain people together, because you 'shipped' them."
"And then, you changed. You started treating them as, as people." His mouth looked as though he had bit into a particularly sour and disgusting lemon. "You were going to change everything. I was going to have you experience the Great War again, go to the Ever After. Or, Tír na nÓg as you would've thought it was." He shook his head. "Not that it matters now. You disappointed me one too many times."
"So, the story will end. And then a new one will begin. Maybe this time I'll drop someone in front of Salem herself. And they'll help the Fall, instead of hinder it."
"What?!" Crue bellowed.
"Oh right. You're still here." The Author sneered. "What, you thought I would allow this world to continue out of my grasp? Do you have any idea how much you've changed from how I wanted it to go? The effort it would take to put everything back is beyond what I care to expend."
"No, I shall do what I have always done after finishing my stories. A reset. A small one. A new story. Back to the beginning of this era. Before things could progress too far, before the Brothers could return. The Fall has always been a very interesting time period, I have quite a few stories from this time. And I can always make more."
"YOU CAN'T!" Crue leapt to his feet, trying to grab the Author. He weaved out of the way, before slamming Crue to the ground. "YOU'D KILL THEM!"
"Who are you to tell a God what I can and can't do!?" He asked angrily. "You are nothing! I've done this song and dance so many times, but you were the first to immediately insult me as soon as you got here! To go against my story!"
The Author brought his foot back and struck Crue in the stomach as he tried to push himself up. It sent the Faunus rocketing skyward, as the Author continued. "You were a whiny, little shit of a protagonist who I should have never brought to this world!"
"I should have fed you to the Beowulves the minute you insulted me!" He turned, with a presumable glare, to where Crue was. Or, where he had been. "Where did he go?" The Author quickly summoned his book to him and reread the last few lines.
He let out a scoff as Crue Cullen suddenly appeared on the ground before him, without harm. The Faunus looked up, confused and- The Author quickly moved his book out of the way of Crue's swing, causing him to cease writing.
"ENOUGH!" The Author screamed, grabbing Crue by the throat. He clenched just tight enough to make the boy struggle, but not to kill him.
"You are going to die now, Crue."
Despite the lack of eyes, Crue could feel the Author glaring at him. The finality in his voice briefly made him stop struggling, as he stared back defiantly.
With his free hand, the Author reached for his quill and held it aloft over the book. It was left hovering for several moments, before the Author eventually sighed. "Of all the times to get Writer's Block." His head turned to Crue.
"Well, guess what Crue. You get to pick your own last words. What'll they be, huh? Some grandiose boast, about how you're going to beat me? About how you'll avenge your friends? How you'll keep all your promises? Come on, I'm dying to hear them."
"Dying is right you Full Metal Alchemist rip off looking motherfuck-" "HEY! I can see what you're thinking!" The Author slammed Crue to the ground, having been reading from his book in real time. Crue was left in a shallow crater, as the Author rose, shining brightly. "You can't hide from a God, Crue."
"You're-" Crue's words were cut off with a hacking cough, as blood dribbled out of his mouth. "You're not a God. You're just some jackass pretending to be one." He got to his knees, staring down the Author with a single eye that shone with a Wrath that burned like cold fire.
"And I don't believe in God. And I do, have a promise to keep." With a surge of strength, fuelled solely by his rage, Crue leapt forward. "A PROMISE I MADE TO YOU!" He exclaimed, as claws sprang from his gauntlet. They impacted the Author. Directly where his groin would be.
The Faunus looked upward with a glee the Author couldn't believe. "I stabbed you in the dick. Like I always promised." His final words caused the Author's mouth to tug downward.
"Bravo. You managed to keep one." He said, allowing his quill to hit the page.
And then, Crue died.
Well it's about time.
I had to find some way to end this story in a way that made sense. Even if it does feel like a cop out with me having to bring in the Relic itself.
Even with Crue going against me, the least he could have done was actually die when he was supposed to. I suppose that's what I get for thinking someone like him could manage to follow the story. He just doesn't fit into this world any further than the Fall.
This story started with the plan of making the Fall more interesting. A more brutal incident. But, as it progressed, I realised that there was so much more to explore. So much more to write about. I wanted Crue to explore that from the other side, but he refused.
Even his name showed he was meant to be a villain. Crue means flood. Cullen as in culling. A flood of blood, that is what Crue was meant to bring to this world. But he didn't. He refused to so much as even think of joining Salem's side.
So, I made Crue fail. Fall. I made him lose. And now, he's dead and the story is over. A shame really, but I can assure the next time around that- Fuck. That.
What?! What is going-
"WHAT IS GOING ON!?" The Author yelled, before his non-existent eyes widened as a gauntleted fist slammed against his ethereal nose. He went flying backward, clutching it as he yelled out in pain that he thought he couldn't experience anymore. He looked upward, and felt fear grip a heart he believed long stopped beating.
Crue Cullen stood.
Bloody. Broken. Gasping for air with one arm hung limply to the side. But still, he stood. Not. Dead. His eye blazed blue with fury as it stared at the Author. Filled with rage. With wrath. With a refusal to die.
"NO! You cannot be alive! The book is absolute!" The Author shouted, staring at the floating object in question. It hovered close to Crue, but the Faunus didn't seem to have touched it at all. A dangerous smile flickered to life on his face.
"Good thing… no one told me that… huh?" Crue asked, his chest burning from the pain of his injuries. Every part of him screamed in protest, the very act of standing in his broken body causing unimaginable pain.
But still he stood.
"HOW!?" The Author screamed, any pretences of an all-knowing and benign being gone. Gone was any semblance of control he had. Crue smiled. A fanged and bloody thing that promised the Author would feel all the pain he inflicted on Crue a thousand times over.
"Fuck you. That's how." The Author rushed forward at Crue's insult; lips peeled back in a rage filled scream. The Faunus reacted immediately, grabbing the book that was floating and holding it in front of himself like a shield.
The Author pulled his fist back at the last second, and Crue took the opportunity to bring his own fist over the book. It struck the Author's cheek, sending the ethereal body crashing into the ground. "You think all those times… I said, 'I was too stubborn to die'… was for kicks?" Crue asked rhetorically, filling the Author with anger, his breath coming out in laboured pants.
The Author got up with a snarl, turning back to rip Crue's head from his body, before freezing.
The book was open, Crue holding the quill over it as he stared down the Author. A fire flickered in his eye, as ink spread on the page. "The Author lost his powers." Crue said aloud as he wrote. He waited, staring at the Author.
Slowly, the white light around him began to vanish. "NO! NO! YOU CANNOT TAKE MY POWER!" The Author ran forward, his body losing its sheen as he screamed. A punch knocked him on his ass, as blood and spittle flew from his mouth.
He landed on the ground, as Crue observed the Author. He wondered how long it had been since he felt actual pain. Now that he had lost his glow, Crue could see him for who he really was.
A man.
Just a man.
He wore a long grey tunic, covered by an even longer purple robe. A short red cravat was wrapped around his neck, as Crue met his eyes. "YOU FOOL! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE?!" The Author stood to his feet, blood dripping from his nose.
"I HAVE DONE MY DUTY SINCE TIME IMMEMORIAL! SINCE BEFORE SALEM! BEFORE OZMA!" He threw his hands wide. "I WAS THE SCRIBE OF THE GODS! THEY GAVE ME POWER UNTOLD, A RELIC OF REALITY!"
Said 'Relic of Reality' smacked the Author across his face and sent him spiralling to the ground once more. Crue hefted the book with one hand and an impressed eyebrow. "You know, of all the things you fucked with… Tearing me from my world… changing this one to fit your whims…"
He stared at the Author, allowing the book to float freely. "You tried to undo… everything I worked for. Bled for. To get rid of the people that I care about. That I love." His mind flashed to his friends faces. Every friend he had made in this world. Their faces and names rang out in his head as his hand clenched into a fist and his resolve tripled.
Melanie. Miltia. Junior. Qrow. Sunny. Yatsuhashi. Velvet. Fox. Coco. Sky. Dove. Russel. Cardin. Neptune. Sage. Scarlet. Sun. Penny. Ren. Pyrrha. Nora. Jaune. Yang. Blake. Weiss. Ruby.
Neo.
"That, was your last mistake." Crue's eye was a steely blue. And filled with a fury that terrified the Author. His Wrath towards the Author was purely his own. And he intended to show him just what he thought of his 'story'.
The Author scrambled backward, still staring as Crue approached slowly. "You, you shouldn't be alive! I wrote it myself! You should be dead!" His yell was cut off as Crue bent down and gripped the Author by his throat, pinning him to a tree.
"You think, after everything you put me through, I'd die just because you told me to?" He asked, lowering his hand as his claws extended slowly from his gauntlet, pressing the blades against the Author's chest.
"NO! WAIT! I CAN FIX IT! I PROMISE!" He pleaded.
Crue's claws hesitated for the briefest moment, before glancing back at the floating book. "All you have to do is write down that I saved the day. That I didn't break a single promise." His eyes met the Author's, a faded hazel, he noticed. "Think I could do that myself."
"NO! You-You cannot change the past with the Relic! Nor the future. It records the present, and you can only make small adjustments. Small alterations." The Author spoke quickly, his hands waving madly. "But, I know how to beat the system. I've done it before! I cannot change the past, but I can go back! With my resets! I can rewrite everything. Make it so no other characters die."
The Author cried out in pain as Crue inched his claws into his chest, turning to glare at him with his teeth clenched. "We're not, characters! We're not your playthings." He buried the claws another inch, blood flowing in thin lines.
"I-I-The Book! It will vanish without me!" The Author said desperately. "The Gods linked it to my life, so that I could record everything that happened! I only lived this long because of it! If I die, the Relic goes!" His eyes flickered between Crue and the book.
Crue paused for a moment. "You could rewrite everything? So that it was the exact same?"
"Y-Yes of course." The Author nodded; eyes wide. "I've done so many times before! And I-" His breath was robbed from his lungs. He looked down, as Crue plunged his claws into his chest.
"It stops. Now." Crue hissed, ripping his claws out with as little care as he could. "You don't get to rewrite anything; you don't get to change people's lives for your own entertainment anymore." He let the Author fall to the ground, as he clutched the bleeding wound.
"You… HOW DARE YOU?!" Despite the grievous gash, he managed to scream as he tried to stand. "I AM A GOD! I CHANGED THIS WORLD TO SUIT ME! I TRAVELLED DIMENSIONS AND BROUGHT OTHERS TO THIS WORLD TO DO MY BIDDING!"
"YOU ARE NOTHING! YOU ARE A MISTAKE! A DAMN-hghl." The Author's voice cut off with a gurgle, as Crue lowered his claws once more. The Author slowly reached for his throat, before falling to his knees as the warm blood flowed from the slash across his neck.
Before he hit the ground, Crue caught him by his chin, and forced him to meet his eye. "I am a mistake." He admitted. "I shouldn't be here. But I am. You. You brought me here. And I'm going to right, everything you wronged." His blue eye hardened, placing his fist under the Author's chin.
"I am what you made me." His claws shot out, piercing upward.
"I am The Wolf."
The world itself seemed to fall silent, as Crue removed his claws. The body slumped to the ground, lifeless as blood stained the grass. There was no sudden surge of warmth. No victory that filled the Faunus' body. No vindication.
Only a cold feeling of finality. He turned to look at the book. The Relic Of Reality, the Author had called it.
It remained open, but motes of yellow began eating away at one side of it. "So, he was telling the truth." Crue thought, walking over to the floating book, holding his injured shoulder as he reached down to pick up the quill that he had seen the Author use.
He couldn't change the world. Wouldn't. He wasn't a writer, wasn't a God, and he sure as Hell wasn't going to try and be one. The quill spun in his fingers, as he tried to figure out what to do. If he could save the book, he could save everyone.
Stop Salem. Reunite his friends. Bring back Penny. Those he cared about. But did he have time? With the way the book was dissolving, he didn't think so. What could he do? What could he write, to make sure everything would be ok… A single thought pierced through the fog of his mind. A quote. One he knew all too well, and one he couldn't help but smile sadly as he decided on it.
He held the quill against the dissolving paper and wrote.
Keep Moving Forward.
And like that.
The Story ended.
Ok actual Author Notes this time:
You didn't think I'd end the story just like that, did you?
This was the plan from the start. Well sort of. I hid hints that there was an 'Author' from the first chapter, with Crue smacking himself. I understand a lot of people thought that might just be for comedy, which is fair. Salem actually mentioned the Author the first time she was shown, too.
I just want to explain myself so this doesn't feel like an asspull out of nowhere, bringing in the Author and the ability to change reality. This story has gone through a lot of changes, but that was always a thing I wanted to share. Granted, the addition of the relics made it a lot easier to think of how it works.
And honestly the last few chapters I've been leaving the 'author notes' as hints as well. They weren't responding to reviews (something that was actually very hard to keep doing cause you guys have been leaving a lot of good ones!) and instead criticising or just talking about what happened. I even signed off as 'the author'.
This story did start with the intention to save everyone. It began in the throes of Volume 3 ending, when we were all reeling from the fact everything went so wrong so quickly. And as it progressed, it changed.
I wrote out a the basic jist of how the story went when I was starting. There was no Golden Eyes, no Seven Deadly Sins. Even Crue's 'True Wolf' form was something that was meant to be at the very end of the story when Salem tried to forcibly bring him onto her side by trying to turn him into a Beowulf- wait. HOW THE FUCK DID I MANAGE TO ACCIDENTALLY PREDICT THE HOUND.
Ignoring Apollo hitting me with that damn dodgeball, the first draft was… weird. To say the least. It included Crue ending up sleeping with Cinder, through a series of ridiculous fucking events, and getting her to call off the attack on Beacon simply by being kind to her. Sadly, given what we know now, that might have actually worked.
Though I say that, he also ended up dating Neon Katt of all people. And Cinder. At the same time. What the fuck was I on in 2016? That was draft one. The second involved Velvet falling in love with him and vice versa and actually helping stop the Author by taking a picture of the book and recreating it with her weapon.
Honestly, Neo was a surprise for me even when I was writing it. Wow I do sound like the Author here now fuck. It just, ended up working surprisingly well. Two people with broken pasts, finding comfort in each other.
That was also written before Roman Holiday, so even if we have a concrete backstory for Neo now, I still like to think they would have ended up together. Though, I will say one thing I definitely regret is making it so she could talk.
Another thing I regret is the whole 'I'm the alpha' thing I had Crue do during his initiation. It was meant to kind of hint at the Wolf inside, but I think instead it just came off as edgy cringe. But, what's done is done.
I think I might have done my job a bit too well with making you all think the story was actually going to end. Though I will say it does warm my heart to see how passionately you all reviewed saying how you didn't want it to end. And don't worry, it's not ending.
This story might be over, but Crue's sure as hell isn't. There will be a sequel, I'm working on it as we speak- uh. As you read this. I was very tempted to write it all in first person, because now the 'relic of reality' is gone, it would be Crue telling the story.
But, that would leave very little opportunity to change perspectives and examine all the other changes Crue's presence has made in this world. And trust me, there are more than a few. I will, politely request you give me a bit of time to finally publish the new story.
Not three years worth, though, trust me. I hope you liked this story. And I hope you like the next one.
Crue Cullen will return, in Ira Lupus: Wrath of the Wolf.
And as always…
Until Next Time
-Friday