I was working on How to Not Use Kamui - or: Accidental Dimensional Travel and somehow or another this idea came into my head. I've been trying to chase it out all day and it will not leave me.

As a consequence, I decided to write it.

Fair warning: I've never watched RWBY, although if I decide to continue this story, I will. I have, however, read an unholy amount of fanfiction for the series. Probably… more than five million words? Yeah… I have a problem.

ANYWAY.

I hope you enjoy what I've written. It's in a little bit of a different style to what I normally write. Feel free to review or PM me with thoughts or critiques. If you'd like me to continue this, please let me know. Until then, you can consider this a one-shot, or a prologue of sorts (assuming I continue).


When Shinobi Lose Their Way | Dead Eyes, Dead Forest


Onyx eyes betrayed no emotion as the man watched. Not a sound was heard. No motion was detected. The forest was, for all intents and purposes, dead.

And yet…

He had seen them.

Them. Beings of black and gray and white—covered in bone, large and powerful. Some ran on four legs. Others flew. Their eyes glowed red, not unlike…

Not unlike…

The man cast such thoughts out of his mind. The creatures—he knew not what they were called—preyed on such thoughts.

When he had found himself; lost and unaware, he had underestimated them.

Shinobi could control their emotions. Control their chakra. Become invisible. Shinobi could not; however, detect thoughts inside the minds of their opponents.

These creatures were not shinobi.

These creatures could detect a single negative thought. A hint of aggression, so fine even the finest shinobi would be hard-pressed to detect it.

All thoughts were laid bare to these creatures.

Chakra was no good, either.

When he had encountered them first, he did so with the arrogant yet cautious nature of shinobi. Shinobi feared nothing except other shinobi. Shinobi were, after all, apex predators.

These creatures were to be feared. Not for their power. Not for their strength. Not even for their intelligence. But for their sheer numbers, and their unrelenting desire to kill any and all humans.

Itachi—that was the man's name—made the mistake of engaging with one. When he awoke he had immediately sprung to the trees, using an infinitesimal amount of chakra to ascend. Immediately he was assaulted by the creatures.

Somehow they had sensed that tiny amount of chakra.

He, of course, slew them with ease. But one became two, and two became four, until he had more than he could handle with just his kunai. Each application of chakra—no matter how small— simply drew more in.

He could have killed hundreds, thousands, if he had committed to the fight. But why commit? He was lost in a dead forest. No. Much better to try and find civilisation.

A single exploding clone had provided enough of a distraction to abandon the skirmish.

And so, the man—Itachi—made his way through the dead forest. Thoughtless, and without chakra.


Days and nights blended into one another. After observing the sun and the broken moon, Itachi walked south.

If anything could survive in this place, it would be south. Where it was warmer.

At night, he climbed trees—without chakra—to sleep in. Often, he'd gaze at the broken moon, and wonder how he had arrived at such a place. During the day he trekked south.

Pangs of hunger went ignored and unanswered. There were no animals here—other than those foul creatures—and they dissolved without leaving a trace, once slain. He dared not open a storage scroll.

If the miniscule amount of chakra needed to cling to walls brought on a horde, then how many more would come if he opened a scroll?

It was not a question he deigned to answer.

He did not recognise any of the flora.


His throat burned. He would have drunk poison, if only to quench his thirst.

Still, he continued. Those creatures were becoming more and more sparse.

The forest was still silent.

Itachi was not one to give up. He trudged on, collecting his sweat and drinking it when he could.

A noise prompted him to stop. Somewhere, far away, a faint sound emanated. It was the trickle of a tiny stream.

He followed the sound, without thought and without chakra, until he reached the source. A tiny spring of water bubbled from between the rocks.

Kneeling, he folded a leaf into the shape of a cup. He had no materials to boil it. He felt no frustration at that fact.

Frustration would bring the creatures.

Better to die of sickness than to die of thirst, he decided, taking a hearty drink.

Thirst quenched, he continued his journey.


It was difficult. Ignoring the hunger; not allowing it to cause frustration. Not allowing himself a negative thought. He had more than one close call.

Having learnt from his previous encounter, he simply allowed his frustration and anger to wash away as he ignored the creatures, stalking past them.

Shinobi, it seemed, were still their betters in terms of stealth.

The forest began to also become more sparse.

After many days and many nights, the man found a clearing. He had not seen any of the creatures for several days.

Beyond the clearing, there lay a field. Civilisation, at last.

The man smiled. He had survived.


The villagers had let him in with wary and disbelieving eyes.

Was it his cloak? The Akatsuki were well-known among the Hidden Villages. Hated, more like it. More importantly, a large bounty was on the head of every member.

Was it his person? He had made no attempt to disguise himself. Many had heard the horrid tale of Uchiha Itachi—clan killer, traitor, villain—and the genocide he had committed.

Yet, they seemed to neither fear his person nor his cloak.

A large blonde man had tried to communicate with Itachi. His voice was gentle, yet stern; patient. He spoke with his eyes and hands as much as with his voice; his eyes carried concern for the man, and his hands gestured signs of comfort as he spoke.

Itachi understood none of it.

He was the village leader, in Itachi's estimation.

Pointing to himself, the man—Itachi—spoke.

"Shisui," he lied.

The blonde man nodded in acceptance, and gestured for Itachi to follow.


The blonde patriarch was a simple man. Every day, he would wake up to his lovely wife and family. Every day, he would do the small, simple, yet tiring work that was expected of him. Chopping wood. Tending to his animals. Helping the neighbours. Settling disputes: both large and small. Even keeping the spirits of his fellow townsmen up counted.

Many looked up to him as the village leader. The man disagreed with such notions.

"I am a humble man," he'd respond.

"I only wish to do my duty."

And yet, when there was a dispute, he was the man to turn to.

Day in and day out, he worked.

Not much happened in his sleepy little village. With less than a thousand people, everybody knew everybody else.

Didn't you hear? Mister Jacobson raised his price by half a lien per kilogram! How disgraceful.

Didn't you hear? My aunt—who lives in Vale—is coming to visit! She's quite wealthy, don't you know? Oh, and her sons are so handsome!

Didn't you hear? The farmer's daughter is pregnant! Rumour has it, she was out with the Smith's oldest boy! How scandalous!

Such were the concerns of the blonde patriarch and his village.

Until, one day, the troublemaker came running.

"There's a man out in the fields!" he cried. He was a young lad of fifteen years.

The townsmen didn't believe him. He was known for his tall tales.

"I'm telling you the truth! There's a man outside the village! He came out from the Fore—"

"Bah! Stop it with that nonsense. Nothing can survive in the Forest. You ought to be working, not shirking your responsibilities!"

Eventually, the boy nagged them enough for them to drag him out, if only to prove him wrong.

"You'd better not be lying, boy!" a large man—named Tiny, of all things—scolded as he drug the boy along by his ear.

"Disgraceful," one of the women nearby muttered.

"Nothing like his father," another agreed.

"I'm not lying! You'll see! He came out of the Forest! I'm telling the truth!"

They argued until they reached the village wall. It was a small, wooden palisade. Designed mostly to defend against Grimm, and to keep watch. A short tower stood near the village gate. A man called out from the top.

"Eh? Jaune, I told ya to get yer father!"

The troublemaker—Jaune—grumbled softly.

"They wouldn't believe me."

"That's what ya get for lyin' about me havin' an affair, ya tyke!"

Jaune winced.

Tiny released Jaune as he called back to the watchmen.

"Is it true?" he asked, his voice bellowing.

"Aye, it's true. There's a man comin'. 'E's in the fields now. Came out from the North—likely from the Forest, 'e did. Huntsman, I reckon. Go get Arc! Ya know he won't believe if Jauney over 'ere tells 'im," the watchmen hollered back.

There, in the fields, slowly approaching, was a man. He was a speck of black and red and gold.

"See! I told you!" the boy complained.

"Damn. Sorry. Looks like you were telling the truth this time…" Tiny said in disbelief.

It was said only Huntsmen could survive the in the Forest. Was this man a Huntsman? If so, why come here? Aside from their leader, no Huntsmen bothered with their village.

"Go fetch Arc!" the watchmen yelled again, shaking Tiny from his reverie.

This time, Tiny reported the findings.

This time, the villagers listened.


Nicholas Arc analysed the man from the Forest.

Garbed in black and red, the collar of his cloak went up to his eyes. The cloak itself reached his ankles, and totally obscured his hands. A red cloud adorned the front of it. A cone-shaped, golden hat covered his head, leaving only a tiny slit of his onyx eyes visible.

Nicholas Arc did not recognise the man.

He decided to be friendly.

"Welcome! You must be quite exhausted! What brings you here, friend?" he asked, eyes warm as he raised his hands in greeting.

The man did not answer. He instead inclined his head, and raised a hand to point to himself.

"Shisui," he said.

Arc did not recognise the accent.

He gestured for the man to follow anyway.


End


If you'd like me to expand on this, feel free to let me know!