So, you thought the Vytal arc was crack? Hah! Try again. Then again, this is rather short.


Jaune Arc was many things. A swordsman, someone way too attached to his flare gun, a knight, a bulwark against the darkness, and occasionally a farmhand for free. Anyways, now he could add pizza delivery guy with balls made of titanium and larger than the Leviathan to his resume.

...

What?

Ok, that required context. Apparently there was this new startup company that offered handmade pizzas to any location, as provided by huntsmen. So, Jaune was now carrying the ingredients to make several personal pan pizzas to the provided location. That location being the Grimmlands.

Jaune wanted to cry. He wanted to cry so badly. But he couldn't back away from the job, he already had the ingredients. And he was actually too poor to pay for them. Because the moment he touched them, he was now liable for their fate. And it wasn't the Grimmlands as in some Grimm claimed town or region, no, he was going to the Grimm Continent! And not the green edges of it, he was going to the heart of the fucking place! Why the hell did an order go there of all addresses!?

"What the fuck is my life?" Jaune was nursing a headache on par with the ones Raiden gave him with his occasional bouts of insane moon logic.

Luckily, he wasn't entirely screwed.

Oh who was he kidding, he was entirely screwed.

He was at the port of Patch, just having picked up the ingredients. From there, he'd go north by boat to the southern coast of the Grimm Continent. Then, he'd have to trek all the way up to some residence near the center. He wasn't sure how he was going to do that, given that the CCT cut out halfway through, but he was going to have to make it work.

"You can do this, you can do this, you can do this." Yea, he could do this!

He kept on telling himself that.


"Tyrian."

"Mhmm?"

"Tyrian, listen to me, stop looking at the screen."

"Yes?" The scorpion man gave a simple and satisfied smile, looking up from his place on a worn down wooden chair towards Watts, who was tugging at his mustache, irritation seeping through his motions and eyes. "What is it?" Tyrian was also tied up.

"Why did you order a pizza?"

"..."

"..."

"Cause I wanted pizza." Watts looked at Tyrian in the face, inching closer and closer every second. Strangely enough, Watts was the one becoming more and more uncomfortable as he did it.

"Ok, let me rephrase so your simple mind may comprehend." He clapped his hands together and took a deep breath. "WHY DID YOU HACK INTO MY COMPUTER AND ORDER A PIZZA USING MY MONEY!? FOR THAT MATTER, HOW!? HOW DID YOU HACK INTO MY COMPUTER, GET INTO MY BANK ACCOUNT, AND ORDER A PIZZA WITH THAT CLEARLY MALFUNCTIONING SOUP BOWL OF GREY MATTER YOU PREFER TO CALL A BRAIN!?" Watts' pride was in tatters from how easily his very tight security was broken through by the manchild in front of him.

"Hmmmm." Tyrian seemed unaffected by the yelling. "Cuz your keyboard sounds funny, cuz pizza's delicious, cuz Cindy wrote down your password and bank numbers in preparation for a plan to spite you involving a dead echidna, a milkshake that is more alcohol than ice cream, and a single slice of pickle in between two burger buns-" Tyrian took a breath. "-And by pressing the buy button."

"..." Tyrian and Watts stared at each other, counted with his fingers before going through that dialogue, and then processed that information in full. "This is rare praise, so savor it. Because that was a straightforward, if a bit odd, answer from you."

"Thanks! Praise the goddess for my clarity!"

"There it is." Watts snapped his fingers. "And pray tell, why would you order a pizza?"

"Because pizza's delicious!" Watt's raised an eyebrow. "It's the ultimate food! Crunchy bread, sweet yet so savory tomato sauce, stretchy and rich cheese, and any topping you can think of! Pizza has a thing for everyone! Its the Goddess' gift on Remnant!"

Watts took another deep breath. "So, you're saying that you possibly revealed our location to the enemy, because YOU LIKE PIZZA!?" Tyrian's arms were shimmering from how tightly Watts was squeezing them.

"Hey, try it before you knock it!"

"I will not! Pizza is a pedestrian food for uninspired college students that want to look cool by eating something other than instant noodles. Why, a superior form of-" Tyrian immediately shoved a pizza bite into Watt's mouth. He would've coughed it out immediately if it weren't for the fact Tyrian used his hands to make Watts chew it and then swallow. There was silence for a moment. "Oh brothers. That was delicious"

"SEE!? Now that you see the Goddess' wisdom, how about we wait patiently for the delivery boy to come by."

"How much did you order? Because I don't think just one slice will be enough for me. Not with how long it'll be before my bullhead is fixed up and I can go get some on my own. Speaking of, was Cinder the one to put a potato in my bullhead's exhaust pipe?"

"Oh, don't worry. I ordered plenty for all of us." His tail whipped around to cut him free of his restraints. "And yes, she did." Watts sighed, why didn't he murder her when she first joined?


Jaune fucking hated whoever ordered this much pizza. He had every type of ingredient one could imagine. Half of it was flour, yeast, milk, and the other stuff for the dough, but the rest was just variations on sauce, cheese, and toppings. What was he going to do, create a pan pizza the size of a TV? The backpack carrying all of this stuff was larger than him! The only reason his spine hadn't snapped in two was because aura prevented it from doing so!

He had gotten so many weird looks from the ferry driver. Either curiosity, or just pity for the poor fool who seemed like he was walking into his death.

Anyways, he had landed on the Grimm continent and trekked through wildlands, bathing Crocea Mors in black blood as he went. There was no time to waste. Every second he wasted in a fight was a second the ingredients could be harmed, which would mean paying absurd amounts of money for compensation.

So, he ruthlessly carved a path through green hills and rapid rivers until he reached the edges of the untouched zone, the land of darkness, the nightmare continent, the epicenter of the end of times.

There was no day.

The only light came from the shining shattered moon, as if a tear in the fabric of the sky caused the area to only be bathed in the night's glow. And without the sun, there was no green. It was a grim purple desert under a dark red evernight, with the light of the moon providing enough illumination so that it was more of a dusk.

His destination was northward, apparently. He would 'know it when he saw it' which was a good of a description as any.

Anyways, did he mention how much he disliked Grimm?

Now, it might've just been the fact that he was carrying enough cargo on his back to make a Beowolf shatter like a cracker, actually, it was definitely that, but Jaune was pretty sure that the Grimm continent was a bit saturated with Grimm.

Like now! A Beowolf pack numbering a hundred or so just lept at him from a cliff, enlarged claws swinging towards him in a bid to slice him up. He merely put his shield up and poured his aura into it.

An explosion with the power of a small missile erupted from Crocea Mors' shield, disintegrating the falling pack.

He mixed a little fire dust with the super pure and super abundant gravity dust present around the place and had coated his shield with it. Sure, it'd bathe anything that hit it with an explosion that would shatter normal people's eardrums, but it was basically a necessity given how he had to get fights over with quickly.

The gravity dust crystals were quite peculiar though. It was as if they grew out of the ground, creeping upwards to breathe air. Were they solitary buildups? Or was it a large tree of pure gravity dust, its roots going upwards.

Still, he couldn't use his aura too liberally here. First of all, that explosion took up 20% of his aura. Second of all, the purity and amount of gravity dust used would've been about as expensive as a month's rent behind the kingdom walls. And as much as it physically and, in the literal sense, spiritually hurt to create that explosion, it also, in the metaphorical sense, spiritually hurt him when he basically threw out granular gold like water out the door. Well, granular platnium, but alliteration was important. And third, his ears were starting to hurt.

"You know, its kinda sad that you're probably the best conversation I'll get out here." Though, some things didn't change, even with the ridiculously large bag on his back. He saw many old bones scattered about, left to rot in the open air. Being who he was, he always stopped the bury them, talking as if nothing bad was happening. "Say, why are you around this place anyways? Dust? I guess that's a fine reason, money makes the world go round."

Really, the only reason why the Grimmlands weren't being mined for all the dust it was worth was because the Grimm. The massive Gravity Dust formations only appeared a significant way into the purple wasteland. And by that point, Grimm would've swarmed to even a single being that came by. And if a single person got mobbed like he had over the course of half an hour, then a convoy of miners would fare significantly worse.

The corpses proved it.

"You know what? I could totally imagine a comic book villain having their super secret evil base here. Like, a fortress of doom! Or, the Midnight Manor! And at the long table where they eat, they'd scheme some super dastardly plan to destroy the world. Like, uh, I dunno, murdering all the mimes! If you think about it hard enough, mimes are vital to societal cohesion." The flatlining joke received no attention or response because, after all, Jaune was talking to a skeleton.


"We should murder all the mimes." Tyrian had gotten bored of playing around in his room and was sitting at the meeting table. Salem was currently sleeping, leaving Tyrian and Watts to mess around on their own. Anyways, to the odd, even for Tyrian, suggestion, Watts raised an eyebrow.

"I am going to regret opening my mouth, but why?"

"Ok, hear me out." Tyrian leaned forward, hands outstretched and talking alongside his mouth. "Mimes, right? They're super popular everywhere-"

"No they're not. Mimes are only a novelty in the cleaner parts of Vale, like the parks, or corner cafes." Watts took a sip of coffee from his absurdly fancy cup before continuing. "But please, do go on."

"-Alright, so what if, we kill them all? That's bound to get in the news! And if people hear about the mime murders, there's bound to be negativity!"

"..." Watts sighed, this was going to be a long day, wasn't it?


"Brothers damn it." Jaune coughed up blood as he dragged himself and his package onto steady ground. He had just fought a small legion of Grimm using improvised explosives, hit and run tactics, and unstable ground. But even with all of that, he was still facing down a horde. And his aura had been whittled down enough to shatter, which was quite the terrifying experience. Luckily, his flare gun functioned as well as ever and boiled the last one alive.

Anyways, while his aura slowly regenerated, he walked until he couldn't walk anymore, where upon he took a seat.

Jaune found himself sitting on stone brick ground once more. It was honestly a surreal experience, given how that sort of foundation was a luxury in most frontier settlements. Stone brick meant that a settlement lasted long enough for it to be considered stable, long enough to be less of a risk. Standing on it made Jaune feel safe and uneasy.

"Ah, this brings me back." Oh yea, he had another source of companionship out here. Eh, the skeletons were better (she pouted for days after that remark). Darling stood, back facing Jaune, looking over the grounds he had just intruded on. It was the roofless remains of some sort of temple made of brick, with large pillars reaching towards the sky, though they had long since crumbled. "Jaune, you've chosen quite the lovely venue for a walk."

Jaune groaned, his feet were killing him. "Why don't you do some walking? See how the scenery helps with your feet."

"Very well." She lowered her form so that it actually took steps. Jaune pretended to not notice how four leaf clovers sprung up from the stone below.

"So, brings you back?"

"Yes, it does. Have you heard of the Brother Gods?" Jaune nodded, of course he had! Nearly everyone on Remnant had. "Well, I remember a time where the Brother Gods were so much more than this distant entity. This spot right here used to be on the outskirts of the Purple Drake's grand temple, where he'd accept sacrifices. Here is where people would come to pray to him."

"Pray to an evil god?" Really?

"Hmmm, I feel as if you don't understand. The Brother Gods are merely two sides of a coin. You know of the personification of nature, Gaia, correct?" Jaune nodded, it was an old faith, though not as widely known. "Well, nowadays nature gods like Gaia are depicted as maternal, all loving beings, but we know that isn't true. Yes, forests are beautiful dens of growth, but they are home to countless atrocities all perpetuated by the systems Gaia had created. It goes the same for the Brother Gods. The Golden Serpent created while the Purple Drake destroyed, simple as that. Neither is good, nor bad. At least, not inherently. Did you know that both beings wandered the face of Remnant, once? And that I was there to see it?"

"It wouldn't be the silliest thing." Jaune had gotten over his arbitrary skepticism by then. Keeping it was just a recipe for continuous breaks in his sanity.

"Well, as I've told you, it was quite the entertaining time. Magi everywhere, I tell you! But, alongside them were the ones that they prayed to, the Brother Gods. The Golden Serpent created us all, while the Purple Drake would destroy us all. The Purple Drake actually much prefers quick and painless deaths. And did you know that disease is under the thumb of the Golden Serpent? As is the creation of things like Loci storms. Yes, the Purple Drake created Grimm, but its not like they're any more effective than a tornado, or a deadly plague." Darling walked up to a pillar and dusted it off, revealing instructive pillars. Men stood before the Purple Drake and knelt, presenting gifts. Gifts that, in the next panel, were all destroyed. "So yes, they pray to the destruction. They pray for the end of their enemies. They pray for their own safety from its games. Its not so complicated, is it?"

"Hmmm, I suppose not." Jaune backed off, knowing he had lost that point. He looked up from the pillars to the source of light in the accursed lands. "You know, I've always wondered what it'd be like on the moon." By that point, Jaune had taken a seat. No Grimm were around, which was a bit odd, but if it gave him a break, he wouldn't complain.

"Oh? Why is that?"

"I dunno, it's just that I've always wondered whats on it. Imagine, just sitting on the glowing surface, nothing around you, nothing to worry about. Its just you sitting there, looking at Remnant from above." Jaune added in a lawn chair and a milkshake in his head, no harm in imaginary decadence.

"Hmmm, that does sound rather nice. Though I would get bored rather quickly."

"Of course you would."

Well, if there was a saving grace to any of this, then it was the fact that it'd be over soon. Because the instructions were correct in the insinuation that he'd know the location when he saw it.

Because the skies were clear. And on top of a mountain so tall it went above the clouds was a large, ancient, and positively evil looking castle.

"Oh, fuck me."


Alexandria Salem, though she was mostly known by the name her father had given her, was a bad woman. It wasn't something she exactly could debate. She was a follower of the Heavy Crown principle, which dictated that in assuming the privileges and power of leadership, one also becomes morally responsible for every act committed under their rule. Thus, when she had first assumed a position of authority as a minor magistrate and later a general by Ozma's side, she had already become responsible for executions, the atrocities of war, and other such things. Then she became a queen and became responsible for a whole host of other acts.

She had long since come to terms with the fact she was not a good person.

She also had long since come to terms with the fact that she didn't give half of a shit.

Death was really the only thing she cared about. Not banishment, not a prolonged nap (which she couldn't take anyways), not atomization (she'd be conscious throughout), not any of that. She wanted true and final death, death she could never get out of without the direct intervention of the Brother Gods. And if the whole world had to pay for her death? So be it. The only other person that might've come close to being worth abandoning her goals for, Ozma, had changed so much over the years, just like her. And he, just like she, also longed for death. Its just that he chased after it by playing errand boy for the gods.

As for her minions, well, Tyrian would be happy to die for her. And really, if she died in a way that didn't cause the end of the world, he would've committed suicide anyways. Watts? Hazel? Cinder? All of them were people associated with her by process of elimination. Watts was driven out of Atlas and made an international criminal. Hazel turned to the only one not under Ozpin's thumb and with enough power to oppose him. Cinder was an orphan with no connections that had killed four people.

She was the devil they turned to when everyone else failed. And Salem wasn't foolish enough to believe that they wouldn't take an out once given one. They were also all so obnoxious that she didn't really feel bad for indirectly plotting their demise.

As for Tyrian? He was batshit insane. Loyal, yes, but she was entirely incapable of holding a conversation with him for more than a handful of seconds. Really, she missed those back and forths she and Ozma had in their early days of conflict, when they had first fought against each other. Each and every time he confronted her personally and fought her. Sometimes she won, sometimes he won. Really, Ozma won more than he lost, but the fact of the matter was that winning was merely a temporary reprieve. That's why he gave up on fighting directly.

But, her somehow still beating heart reminded her of another possible link to her past. Magic was something she was intimately familiar with. Her wretch of a father had shoved several artifacts into her and it paid off. She was immensely powerful and that power had been imbued into her and Ozma's children. And she'd recognize the magic of her children anywhere. So when, some time ago, she had felt the powerful blast of her child's magic, she had shed the first tears she had in thousands of years. Grimm across Remnant surged, searching for the source.

And they found a small child. A teenager, a farmer, and definitely not one of her daughters. At first, she felt a surge of anger, did this child defile the belongings of one of her own? But then, she realized that he was not in possession of any such object. No, he was in possession of something else, the bones of Pandora.

Magic had a will of its own. Imbued magic often acted according to the will of the caster at that time. And that meant that the child did not claim Pandora's arm of his own will, no, Pandora's arm claimed him. She was always such an excitable and curious child, she always wanted to learn more. And she supposed her magic clung to the first being that touched her, for it sought to be used, to be directed.

So, she had her Grimm leave this teenager alone, sans for a single seer from afar that observed it. She might as well respect the will of her dead daughter.

He had somehow come into contact with her books, which was quite surprising to see. Her earlier works, works of passion, works of youth. She, for the first time in thousands of years, felt a pang of embarrassment as this random child read through her self written and published novels. The ones she made back when her view of the world was informed by her window, her feline guardian, and the books she read. Besides that, she watched as he tinkered with his gift of the arcane, idiosyncrasies like writing hypothetical glyphs on the walls or absentmindedly on a notebook while theorizing a magic machine had been adopted.

She spent so much time watching that she had ignored her duties to her minions. Tyrian merely suffered through the lack of attention in silence, which Salem appreciated a bit. As for the others? Well, they were more or less fine without her guidance.

Hazel had walked off, deciding to continue his duties in Mistral. Watts began doing cyber attacks on Atlesian systems, though he had to keep it minor to avoid being noticed, and Cinder was continuing her own plans.

"Hmmm, the circuit is ramshackle and bleeds magic in several areas. If you cut this one up and then fork it, then the efficiency goes up by a tenth." She was muttering, observing the latest attempt at magic from this boy. She had to admit, for someone who had absolutely no resources, he was a quick learner and a very adept experimenter.

Then, in her other eye, a nerve tingled.

She sighed and looked away from the boy in order to assess what was killing her Seers.

Something at the front door, apparently. Something was knocking and when a Seer came by, it was swiftly impaled before it could catch a glance at who was at the front.

Tyrian and Watts were also doing something and, well, she hadn't really gotten up in a while. So, she sighed and rose, her weary bones groaning as she did so.

She walked through her Evernight Fortress, the heels of her bare feet making a soft sound with every step on the purple crystal floors.

Eventually, she made it to the unwieldy and giant double doors. Then again, she rarely left, so the only function they had was form. And their form was glorious.

With a snap, abominable claws leapt out of the darkness and opened the gates. She prepared herself for Ozma and an army, perhaps he was feeling nostalgic? Or perhaps a group of hunters sent by him, he had grown quite rusty after all. Maybe Cinder or Hazel had turned rogue? That was always a possibility. Perhaps that general had decided, in his arrogance, to send an army after her in some foolhardy attempt to deal with her.

It was none of those.

In front of her was a young man dressed up like a knight. Images of Ozma came to mind. Though, this one had golden hair, paler skin, and carried a giant bag behind him.

He was also panting, hands on knees, a sword on the floor in front of him.

Did Ozma hate this man? An army? Very well. A battalion of these so called hunters? So be it. A single man? What was Ozma thinking!? At least with the other two, they could last more than a few seconds. This one was winded for brothers sake!

"S-sorry, its just that the steps up here are really long. A-anyways, u-uh, pizza delivery." With ragged breaths the odd man picked up the sack once more, stretched his back, and faced the woman in front of him. She expected something, maybe widened eyes? Perhaps a step backwards? Maybe he would reach for his weapon?

Nope. He just stared at her, completely unfazed. She raised an eyebrow in return.

"Uhhh, is something on me?" He checked his armor for dirt or blood, wiping it with some spit when he found an errant stain. "These are raw ingredients so, I need to go in and make it." The two stared at each other for a moment. Salem was unsure if this was a ruse or if she had somehow fallen asleep and was dreaming. The latter of which would be rather hard considering the fact that the Grimm blood in her veins prevented her from sleeping.

"Is this a normal occurrence for you?" She decided to speak.

"Ma'am, I've experienced more than you'll ever believe." The sheer fatigue in the eyes of someone so young surprised Salem, but she didn't show it. "Anyways, do you want some good food or not?"

"..." She sighed and turned away, keeping her back straight. "Very well, come with me to the kitchen." The boy nodded and, with a little bit of effort, hauled the ingredients behind his as he followed the Witch Queen. She made a few gestures with her hands, forcing the Grimm of the castle to hide as they came near.

The kitchen was quite grand and expansive, home to almost every type of tool, dish, and oven imaginable. It was also rarely used, considering how the only decent cook of the castle was Watts. Salem herself didn't touch the kitchen, Ozma was always better suited for such a thing. And Watts couldn't be bothered to make anything for anyone except himself. Even if he shared, Cinder would never touch anything Watts made, lest it be poisoned, and the others would refuse for some other asinine reason.

Without a word, the young man got to work, unpacking ingredients from his sack quickly onto the counter. Bags of flower and yeast, ice boxes that contained things like fruits, vegetables, and meats. Plastic wrapped wheels of various cheeses. Spices and herbs. Jar after jar of tomato sauce and bottles of oil. All of it was placed on the table.

Salem's eyes widened, what sort of meal was he making? Pizza, he said? What was this 'pizza'?

And with the cracking of his neck and knuckles, the knight got to work. He took a moment to search for the bowls before arranging them on a separate counter, while also grabbing a few extremely large cutting boards. In a particularly large bowl, he poured bag after bag of flour until it was sufficiently full, then poured yeast. Then, with a vial of water dust, a small jetstream poured water into the flour pit until the knight was satisfied. Then, he began to kneed the flour and water mixture.

He mixed and mixed until it was cohesive enough. Then, he tipped over the bowl and coaxed out the dough. Then, he began to hand kneed the absurdly large ball of dough.

Salem watched this, curiously. It had been so long since she had seen someone cook something. Hell, it had been so long since she'd eaten. It was, curiously enough, a novel experience for her now.

The boy, midway through his kneeding, chucked off his armor, revealing a hooded tunic with a childish insignia on it. Salem rolled her eyes, had the fashion sense of humanity collectively perished over the course of few millennia? Anyways, soon enough the crumbly ball of dough was made into a smooth orb, one which he placed into a well oiled bowl before covering it.

He then washed his hands and turned around to see Salem, watching the ball of dough like a child watching an ant farm.

"What is the purpose of this?"

"Huh?"

"What is the purpose of placing the dough in a bowl?" Where her curiosity ended so many years before, she suddenly felt a spark of interest in. Or at least, she wanted to know the reasoning behind such an action.

"Well, the yeast in the dough will develop and as it does, the dough will grow in size and become airy and stuff." Salem nodded, accepting the fact.

"So, as it ages, it grows in size?"

"Ye-" With the flick of her wrist, Salem shot a bolt of purple lightning that shot through the bowl and pierced the dough. And instantly, it began growing like a sprouting tree. It grew double in size, touching the tip of the covering, forcing the knight to take it off. Beyond widened eyes, the knight didn't seem to fazed, instead he just shrugged and got back to work. He tumbled the dough ball out on an oiled cutting board before drawing his blade.

He covered it in flour before making a series of cuts. In the end, the dough was divided into several smaller, but still quite sizable, pieces. One by one, the knight kneeded the sections of dough in flour, rolled them out, and placed them onto an oiled baking sheet. After a while, he had made around 20 discs of dough of varying thickness.

Then, he went over to the counter and brought over the jars of tomato sauce. With haste and precision befitting a swordsman, he poured sauce onto each dish of dough before spreading it with a ladel. On a few he added some extra sauce, on others he added less, and on one he didn't add any at all. After that, he added cheese. With a cheese grater and each wheel he made it rain on the pizzas, switching wheels every once in a while to change the shade of the rain.

He also added the sauce on top of the cheese on a particularly thick piece of dough.

Then came the toppings. Onions, peppers, pineapple, sausage, pepperoni, ham, mushroom, olives, bacon, basil, tomato slices, sardines, chives, and the rest of the fresh ingredients were chopped up and sprinkled atop the various pizzas.

After all was done, Jaune went to the fire chamber, a wide metal plate placed above an open flame, and squirted some oil onto the pans. Then, he began placing the pizzas inside. One by one, he placed them in and slowly, the smell of the cooking pizzas made Salem melt as the knight relaxed.

"Ok, time to wait."

"What is that heavenly aroma?"

"Oh, its pizza. Handmade is the best, though its obviously pretty expensive. Anyways, what's with the castle?" Salem raised an eyebrow. "I mean, its so high up. The cost for fuel must be stupidly high." Did the white as snow skin and Grimm veins not tip this boy off to her nature? Was he that oblivious? "Property value must be low though, since I don't think this area is claimed by anyone. And mail hasn't been a problem since the invention of the CCT. But then again, what about packages?"

"Uhh-"

"Is it here!?" Tyrian, to the secret relief of Salem, jumped into the kitchen with manic glee.

"Yep. Its cooking though, give it a few minutes." Tyrian, despite his childlike tendencies, did know how to wait. And if it was for something he really wanted, he was willing to do it without complaint.

"I swear to-oh my, you actually made it." Watts came next and was stunned at the fact that the delivery boy actually made it to the castle.

"Yep. Could I have a tip?" Watts raised an eyebrow at his stretched out hand. "Didn't think so." He pulled it back.

Eventually, Jaune reckoned the pizza had been in there long enough to be cooked.

So, he took them out, plated them, and placed them on the table.

"Welp, I guess I'll go." Jaune spoke over his growling stomach as he reached for his armor.

"Wait." he felt a tug at his hoodie. He turned around to see that odd woman, holding out a plated slice (though it was sliced quite oddly) of pizza. "Hard work deserves a reward. So please, indulge a bit. We probably won't be able to eat it all anyways." And Jaune really couldn't argue against his hunger.

He'd just ignore the lack of personal space that the pony tailed guy had.


When all was said and done however, after countless days spent trekking the the Grimmlands, ridiculous amounts of blood shed, hordes of Grimm slaughtered, it was all worth it. Or at least it was slightly worth it with-

"What do you mean I can't get paid!?"

"I'm sorry, but the company went bankrupt. There's no pay for you." Jaune groaned, never mind, this sucked. Well hey, at least those weirdos enjoyed their pizza.


... You asked for it. Also, who in RWBY would make a good DM in dnd?

Options for next

1: Jaune wakes up in Atlas Academy with only his hoodies, jeans, flare gun, and a massive hangover.

2: Vacuan Pilgrimage to the Promised Lands

3: Spaghetti Western in Vacuo

4: A penny for a fairy tale, basically my retelling of the maiden story and maybe a few others.

5: Jaune meets a certain metal legged individual half dead in the wild

6: Jaune is called to a time far far back and a place so distant.

Weird question, is Neptune 'main charactery' enough to count as 'just dont bother'? Cause if you think he's shunted enough to count for the potential roster of chapter characters.

7: Jaune goes fishing and pulls up a catatonic man. Just two guys, in the middle of the sea, fishing.