RWBY: Blood Touched

Don't freak out, I'm not dropping After fate. Things are busy wth harvest and work. I haven't had the spark to write serously for AF, though I do have a partial chapter down. Just need to finish it.

Crimson blood dripped steadily onto the alleyway, splattering up her boots to stain the leather. Not that she cared all that much about the condition of her footwear, as the distant sound of someone landing heavily somewhere behind her.

"Come out, come out wherever you are~" A male voice sang out, the lilting tone taunting, as footsteps began to make their way closer. She knew they could smell her, the bastard was just being a dick. A snarl overtook the grimace of pain at the arrogance of the little whelp. How dare he even attack her! Did the Brotherhood of Vale have no honor?

As if being run out of her own Brotherhood, harassed across the country, then forced to spend nearly a week couped up in a tiny cabin on a fishing trawler as it slowly made its way from a port in Mistral to the docks of Vale wasn't bad enough. She'd been nearly starved to death during the journey, being forced to subsist on the few measly fish she'd stolen from the crew.

Now, she felt her strength wane ever further by the moment as her lifeblood was spilled from a pair of bullet holes in her chest. She didn't have the energy to close up the wounds, her mind fuzzy from the lack and loss of blood. Slowly her senses dulled further, the rumble of the city blurring together and she could no longer hear the footsteps of her attacker. Her killer.

Pathetic.

The stonework bit into her shoulder as she lost her balance, the sensation dull as her legs gave out. It was almost enough to make her cry in frustration at it all.

A wet, hacking cough was enough to make the world spin and pain lance through her skull. The lights of cars passing the end of the alleyway stung her eyes and she forced them closed, hoping for any relief from the pain. It worked for a moment.

Then a rough hand wrapped around her throat, her pain increasing several fold as she was roughly hoisted upwards before being slammed into the wall and held there.

"Come on, darling, won't you look at me?" The man spoke, his voice soft and cooing.

She tried to spit on him, but with his grip around her neck, all she managed to do was dribble a little blood past her cheeks. "Oh, now now," The man chided, "Is that all that the famed Crimson Witch has to offer?"

One dull green eye cracked open to glare hatefully at the man, his features indistinct and blurry, even this close. Her lips feebly tried to make out a curse, but even that was too much at this point.

She could see his lips move as he said something else, but the words were drowned out by the ringing that was rapidly filling her ears. He smiled wide, his tongue swiping out across his elongated canines. She let her eyes close, not wanting to give him the privilege of seeing her life leave them.

She expected the bite to come, to feel the kiss as he took what little blood she had left.

She did not expect the hand around her throat to suddenly release and for her body to slam limply onto the ground. The surprise of it was enough to give her a sliver of energy, enough as to not smack her face against the brick, instead slumping to the side as she tried to understand what happened.

Unfocused as her eyes were, the unlit alleyway was a blur to her, but she could still make out something strange. Two fuzzy figures were circling each other a few feet in front of her, one was hunched forwards, its arms outstretched. The other held a long, silvery object before it. A sword?

She could only make out muffled noise as they circled and she couldn't tell if they were shouting or if it was just the noise of traffic. Suddenly, the figure with the silver sword struck out, though even in her current state she could tell it was sloppy and untrained. As if the person wielding it didn't know how to use the weapon.

The crouched form took a half step back, leaning just out of reach of the silver slash, before blurring forwards to rush the wielder. She blinked at the impact, and it took far longer than normal for her to open her eyes again. When she did, only one figure remained standing, the silver blade laying on the ground next to the prone body of the other.

Slowly, she blinked again, not sure if it was worth the effort to open them.

It wasn't until she felt something gently touch her shoulder that she realized she still had not died. The touch on her shoulder slowly pulling at her until she felt her body slip the rest of the way down the wall, though there was no impact as something warm and soft guided her head.

Something that both felt wonderful, and smelled incredible. She felt the hunger that ate away at her soul suddenly scream out in fresh famine. She was starving and there was something that could satisfy her so very close. One hand feebly tried to reach for the one thing that could sate her starvation. It rose barely an inch before her strength faded once more.

Something was touching her again, tentative sensations of pressure against her wounds, her chest, and her neck. She didn't hear anything more than a dull throbbing noise, but she could sense it was close.

So very close.

In one final, desperate act of survival she opened her mouth and jerked her head forwards. Part of her knew this was her last act in this world. Her death throes before her damned soul left her body.

Her fangs sank into flesh.

Earlier

Jaune Arc nervously made his way down the eerie streets on the lower side of Vale. It was late at night, super late, or was it early morning at this point? He didn't know and didn't want to risk taking his scroll out. He wasn't 100% sure someone would mug him for it, given that he was trying his best to look like someone who shouldn't be messed with. He nervously gripped at the pommel of his fathers sword as it hung from his hip.

It didn't give him much comfort.

His scroll buzzed in his pocket and, forgetting his earlier worries, he quickly drew it out and opened the message.

"Sorry kid, can't make it tonight. I'll call you tomorrow to hand over the goods."

Jaune stared at the message for several seconds as he tried to understand what it meant. Well, he understood what it meant, he just didn't want to accept it. It meant that he'd been wandering the lower slums for the past few hours for nothing. His contact was blowing him off and he wasn't going to be seeing the items he'd paid his life savings for.

Anger and fear waged war in his mind for a moment as he tried to think of a response. He wanted to send a demand that the forger deliver his papers tonight, like they had agreed on. But he also didn't want to lose his only chance at his dream with an ill thought out response. He still had a few days to submit his papers, so the only real loss of tonight was his sleep.

With a resigned sign, he sent back an "okay" in response and shoved his scroll back into his pocket. Looking up to the cloudless night sky, he let out a sigh and turned to make the trudging walk back to his hotel.

As his gaze drifted across the street, he noticed something strange, there was a figure in the alleyway across from him. While he'd seen several people who were down on their luck as he'd walked around waiting for his contact, this one stood out. He couldn't quite tell why, but perhaps it was the long, crimson red hair that caught his eye. He glanced away and shook his head before looking again. He watched her for a second as she seemed to stumble, before slumping to the side.

A delivery truck passed, obscuring his vision for just a second. When the truck passed, Jaune felt his heart cease up. The woman with red hair wasn't alone. There was a man now holding the woman up against the wall, pinning her in place. Jaune's heart beat faster as he tried to decide what to do in an instant, his feet moving one way, while he twisted the other way in an attempt to grab his scroll and call for help.

He nearly tripped himself in the process, as his hand bumped into the hilt of his sword and he made a choice. With only one more near stumble, he ran across the road, only hearing the honking of an approaching car a second soon enough to not be run over. The driver flipped him off as he rolled by, Jaune not quite hearing the profanities over the blaring music coming from the car.

Continuing towards the alley, his heart felt like it was about to break out of his ribcage as he charged.

"H-hey! Leave her alone!" He shouted, hoping his voice didn't crack too much as he pulled his blade free. The man hadn't seemed to hear his shout, but the sound of metal being drawn had his head whipping around.

Jaune was close enough to see the surprise in the man's eyes as he met his gaze. Surprise that shifted into horror for a split second before settling on confusion, as if he couldn't quite understand what he was seeing.

In any case, the man released the woman and took several steps back until he was in the middle of the alley.

"This isn't any of your business, kid. Just go home." The man's voice had a commanding tone to it, so much so Jaune nearly lowered his sword.

He would have, if not for the glint he saw in the other man's eyes. A reflective, almost translucent gleam flashed, and Jaune guessed a car must have passed by behind him and made the man's eyes glow. He shook his head and tripped his blade with renewed determination.

"You better run before I call the police." Jaune threatened, his voice sounding less resolute than he wanted it to.

The other man laughed and leaned forwards into a half crouch, "I think it's you who should be running." He said, a malicious grin spreading across his face.

Jaune felt fear grip his heart at the man's posture, the feeling of being before an apex predator or a Grimm almost overwhelming him. Jaune shook it off, if he was going to be a huntsman, he couldn't be afraid of some random mugger. Even if this guy looked like he could bench press him without breaking a sweat.

With a shout born more of defiance than confidence, Jaune lashed out, knowing that if he didn't do something soon, his nerves would fail and he would run away. He couldn't live with himself if that happened.

Crocea Mors flashed forwards, he wasn't sure what he was aiming for, more hoping to scare the man off then actually land a strike. The lack of contact wasn't all that surprising then when the man leaned away.

The fact that the man was suddenly inside his guard was a surprise though, as was the strike to his diaphragm that drove the air from his lungs. His grip on his weapon faultered at the impact and Crocea struck the ground with a clatter, his body doing the same a moment later.

Jaune blinked tears of pain as he tried to regain his breath, the man sneering down at him. "Stupid mortal." He said, "Maybe next time you'll listen to your superiors."

Juane couldn't think of a reply as he heard for breath, both hands clutching at his stomach as he heaved for breath. He watched helplessly as the man above him looked from him to the redheaded woman, then back. He seemed to be considering something before the buzzing of a scroll broke the silence of the alley.

With a grumble, the man pulled out his own scroll and answered it, his voice too low for Jaune to make out the words. The man frowned and his hand curled into a fist.

"Yes sir. I'll return immediately." He said, just loud enough for Jaune to hear. The man snarled as he hung up the scroll and took a step past him, before turning and delivering a sudden kick to Jaune's side, driving what little breath he'd managed to regain from his lungs again.

"The gods smiled on you tonight, mortal." The man hissed out, "Make sure you make the most of their gift."

With that, the man walked out of his view, out of the alley, and into the fading night.

Jaune lay there, once more sucking wind as he tried to recover his breath. Pain emanated from his bruised ribs as he curled over to his side. The pain was somewhat dismissed as he saw the woman half laying against the wall. With a grunt of effort, he pushed himself up to his knees and half wobbled, half crawled over to her.

Her eyes were closed, and he couldn't see her chest moving for breath. Was she not breathing? What was he supposed to do? Panicking, he tried to remember his first aid training.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, the black, long sleeve shirt she wore was thin enough he could feel how cold her body was. His panic increased and he gently tried to lay her down, cushioning her head and trying not to jostle her too much.

Her skin was almost as cold as the concrete he was kneeling on, and as he finally got a proper look at her, his eyes grew wide. Her face was beautiful, a graceful jawline and pale toned skin stood in stark contrast to her fiery red hair. Full pink lips and long dark eyelashes made her look like a model from a magazine.

He tore his gaze from her face and began to look the rest of her body over. She was athletic, the leather pants she wore showing her toned legs, and the dark shirt clung tightly to her torso. A golden pendant hung from a golden chain around her neck, though he didn't recognize the symbol on it.

Gently, he placed a hand on her chest, below her rather large breasts, in what he hoped was a respectable place, and tried to feel if she was breathing. He felt nothing. Frowning, he touched again a little lower down and felt something warm for the first time. Lifting his hand up, it came away sticky.

His palm was soaked in blood. Eyes wide with shock he leaned forwards, finally seeing where the dark fabric of her shirt was wet.

Fresh panic flooded him as he finally saw the pool of blood beneath her. Putting a hand against her throat he felt no pulse and reality slowly dawned on him.

The woman before him was dead.

She'd been shot and killed by the man who'd ran off after disabling him in a single strike.

Emotions swam through his mind, disbelief and incomprehension shocked him motionless. He didn't know what to do. He sat there, unable to decide what to do. With a shaking hand, he reached for his scroll to call someone, anyone.

As his gaze moved away from her wounds and back to her face, he froze.

He could swear he saw her lips twitch and her mouth move a fraction. Her hand moved up wards before falling back limp.

She was still alive!

He lunged forwards, bringing his head down and tilting his head, desperate to hear her breathing.

A soft gasp escaped her lips, whispering against his ear before something struck his neck. Shock only partially registered in his brain before euphoria washed over his mind.

An incredibly sensation ran from the top of his head down to his toes. Like a cool drink on a hot day, a hot bath after a long day of work, a loving hug and the sense of pride of a job well done.

The rest of the world suddenly didn't matter as the feeling washed over him like a tsunami.

Jaune Arc surrendered in an instant.

Life flooded through her nerves like a lightning strike. She moaned past the blood that poured into her, the sweetest, fullest taste she'd ever experience.

It was quite literally the lifesaving ambrosia for a dying woman and she drank deep and long.

She could feel her body rejuvenate, power flourishing once more in her muscles as she latched on to her source of lifeblood. The irritation of her wounds healing over went ignored as she drank and drank and drank.

It wasn't until the stream of blood trickled dry that reality slowly crept back into her mind. The haze of drinking life paired with the paradoxical clarity of once more being alive slammed into her

Her eye snapped open, blazing bright and green with the life she'd drained from the figure she still held with her fangs. With a jolt, she released her savior, rolling the limp body into her lap as she sat bolt upright.

The boy was still, unkempt goldent hair hung down over his now plaid face. His blue eyes dull and unseeing, still lost in the final moments of euphoria granted by the Kiss.

Realization of what she'd done quickly dawned as she immediately felt for any signs of a pulse, desperately hoping she hadn't actually broken one of the core rules of her kind.

There was no pulse, no heartbeat. She'd truly drained him of his life, his body already cooling. Her vision began to blur as she stared down at the brave boy who'd saved her life, a selfless soul who had came to her defence to drive off her attempted killer. A kind action she'd repaid by taking his entirely.

A tear trickled down and dropped off her nose as the last highs of feeding finally left her mind, leaving her feeling colder than she'd felt at the edge of death.

What was she to do now?

Outcast from her home, hunted in a new city, and now responsible for the corpse in her lap.

How much further could she fall?

Indignation boiled up, raging against the dread and hopelessness pervading her mind. No. This was not how this was all to end. Not for her, and not for the brave young man.

She refused to let that happen.

With a snarl, her fangs glinted, fresh blood staining her lips to run down her chin. Without care for the pain, she brought her wrist up to her mouth and bit down, tearing through her own flesh and letting the lifeblood flow.

With her other hand, she gently tilted the boys head upwards, enough to open his mouth as she held her wrist over him, letting a portion of the blood she'd stolen return to its original owner.

While it has only been in her possession for a short time, she knew that it now carried more power than it originally held. Enough that the small stream that fell into his mouth and trickled down his throat would serve as a catalyst to awaken him anew.

Reborn beneath the full moon, he would no longer need to fear the conventional dangers of mortality. Though there were many dark and more dangerous things to fear in the realm of darkness, she swore that she would protect him. She would train him in her world, teach him the true history of humanity, and stand beside him as he grew powerful.

She swore by the first Mother Salem, by the first Father Ozma, and by her own name that she would do so.

With those vows reverberating in her mind and soul, she stood up, effortlessly lifting the boys body with her and vanished into the shadows.

Pyrrha Nikos, the Crimson Witch of the East, was bound by her word.

Okay. So one of the few things I've been able to relax with is Vampire the Masquerade: Blood Hunt. It's pretty fun and the concept for this got stuck in my head. I've read Malloblaude's vampire story, it's a nice, light hearted adventure and a decent read.

I wanted to do a little bit darker story, and since I don't really know the lore for VtM, I'm only drawing referential inspiration from there.

You all know the drill, dm and harrass me.

Thank you.

ps. ff is on the fritz and im having to use the mobile app to finish this and it is a nightmare.