The sun-dappled clearing stretched out before me, a patchwork of golden light and deep, cool shadows. The grass beneath my feet was soft and springy, still damp with morning dew. A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves of the surrounding trees, carrying with it the sweet scent of wildflowers and the earthy aroma of rich soil.
In the center of this peaceful glade, I stood with Tyrant held firmly in my grasp. Tyrant was a weird weapon. It was one thing to design a sword that meant to be a machine gun and another altogether to use it.
It wasn't like using a mall ninja Katana or a lightsaber or a large stick or holding a barbell like a sword.
It was just different and there was nothing I could think of besides intolerably heavy to describe it. Approximately 65 inches long with compressed or 166 cm for precision's sake, Tyrant was the kind of thing that any gun nut from earth would say is cool in design but wholly impossible to wield.
I beheld it in front of and couldn't help a small grin that came to my face when I could see my reflection on the edge.
Here on Remnant, with its departure from the physics I had known, Tyrant was a reality. A heavy reality, weighing in at around 90 lbs, or just over 40 kg, fully loaded and with optics attached. And yet, despite its considerable mass, I found that I could maneuver it with relative ease, even managing a casual twirl around my wrist that would have been unthinkable with a similar weapon back on Earth.
…
It would take some getting used to, especially since for better or worse I hamstrung my development using weapons since I thought it was cheating against a bunch of kids…
But at this point with being half way through the school year I could smell it. The smell of young boys who don't realize they need deodorant now that puberty has started. While gross, it meant that at the very least they would start seeing more gains and may actually start to present something of a challenge as the Nervous-endocrine systems push their balls into dropping.
They still probably won't be able to match me in strength but in terms of reaction time… there was a chance if they ever caught onto how my danger sense worked. Not that I would say, but pattern recognition is a thing.
A pattern that at this point that even Ya-...
Tangent aside, it just meant that I wouldn't feel too bad if I ended up hurting one of them. It was better to learn how far you were willing to go without danger than with it for some people… not everyone could be okay with going as far as I like to.
Still with Tyrant having been forged I had to adjust my time table for training but that had been pretty easy as of lately since I hadn't seen Ruby or Yang since Ruby finished Crescent Rose.
Odd but ultimately none of my business. I had come to the conclusion that I didn't want to kill Team RWBY but if push came to shove. Well I would push back in what way I could and if it took going that far… well…
I shook my head and returned my attention back to Tyrant. "That's what you are here for."
Maybe I wasn't as over it as I thought.
The sun climbed just above the horizon as I put Tyrant through its paces, the chill of the night giving way to the morning warmth of the sun. Despite it being so early it did not stop me from working up a sweat which beaded on my brow and trickled down the back of my neck, dampening the collar of my shirt. My muscles burned with the unfamiliar strain of wielding such a hefty weapon, but I pushed through the discomfort, determined to master this new tool.
I brought Tyrant into a two handed grip and looked over it again. Beneath the barrel I had inserted a few cylinder shaped ammo cans. There were 3 in total slotted in there beneath the heat sink guard rails which meant that I had about 600 rounds I could use, and assuming that every time I engaged someone I used about 12 rounds per burst I could engage up to 50 times with this single stack alone.
I should probably forge at least six more containers and see about getting more ammo crafted.
On a normal m240 you should never pull the charging handle back on Safe, it puts the bolt in a position where it would punch through NIJ IV plates like it was nothing and skewer the person using it if you were disassembling it. And or the buffer spring would snap underneath that tension. Tyrant wasn't really a m240, so it didn't have those same problems despite being modeled after one. When you pulled back on Tyrant when it was on Safe it caused the bipods built into it to pull into barrel flush before punching forward and extending the segmented blade to two meters.
My arms strained as I tested the mechanism, it definitely provided me the ability to fight from a distance but it would take years for me to get used to its intricacies, let alone master it and create a competent fighting style with it.
I pumped Aura into my arms and the formless reinforcement allowed me to make the movement far more elegant than it had any right to be. But just because I was no longer shaking and straining to move it easily did not mean it was a mastered skill.
I lower my center of gravity and put my blade out to the side, my back slightly straining to completely balance the new load. I twist and pivot my hips and slash across my body and force myself to stop, my worn shoes scuffing across the ground.
I pivot my body and reset behind Tyrant, before pulling it into a neutral guard.
I took two deep breaths, feeling my brow become slightly slick with sweat. I'm not surprised, for as much conditioning that I have, doing something near completely brand new had a great way of putting the body through its paces.
I paused for a moment, catching my breath and surveying my surroundings. The clearing was peaceful, serene even, but I knew that such moments of tranquility were fleeting in this world.
And something already felt off, unsettling even…
With a sigh, I brought Tyrant up into a ready position once more, the muscles in my arms and back straining with the effort. I could feel the weight of the weapon settling into my stance, becoming an extension of my body rather than a separate entity. It would take time and countless hours of practice, but I was determined to make Tyrant a seamless part of my combat style.
As I prepared to launch into another set of drills, a familiar voice cut through the quiet of the clearing, shattering my concentration.
"Someone's been slacking on their fundamentals." Qrow's tone was mocking, dripping with his usual cocksure attitude.
I turned to face him, my head swiveling first before I allowed my body to follow. He stood at the edge of the clearing, leaning casually against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest. That damnable grin was plastered across his face, his pink eyes glinting with amusement.
For a moment, I couldn't stop the flash of contempt that flickered across my features. Of all the people to interrupt my training, it had to be him.
"Either say something useful or go away," I ground out, my jaw clenching with irritation. "I'm not looking after Ruby and Yang today."
The gray haired man pushed off from the tree, sauntering towards me with an air of nonchalance that set my teeth on edge. "Is that any way to talk about your friends?"
I shook my head, meeting his gaze with a hard stare of my own. Were we really friends, though? I wasn't sure anymore. The lines between ally and annoyance seemed to blur where the huntsman was concerned and concerning Ruby and Yang… Well, I wasn't thinking about it for a reason.
In Qrow's case however, I leaned more towards annoyance if I were to be honest.
"That look in your eye..." Qrow said, his head tilting to the side as he studied me. "I've seen it before. Whatever it is, I would just relax. You're just a kid, so it's not a big deal. Whatever fight you had with them will probably blow over soon enough, so long as you apologize."
Argument? Apologize? What was this drunk going on about now?
I shook my head again, my grip tightening on Tyrant's hilt. "Either say something useful or go away," I repeated, turning my back on him in a clear dismissal.
…
.!
But Qrow was not so easily deterred. In a flash, he was in front of me, his foot lashing out in a blur of motion. I reacted on instinct, throwing myself backward into a one-handed handspring to avoid the blow.
I was too slow, my movements still clumsy and unfamiliar with Tyrant's weight. Qrow's foot caught me in the stomach, sending me tumbling gracelessly to the ground. I landed hard, my hips and ass taking the brunt of the impact as I skidded across the grass.
For a moment, I lay there, staring up at the sky. The clouds drifted lazily overhead, the sun peeking out from behind them to cast a halo of light across the crisp blue sky.
It was a beautiful day. A perfect day for a fight.
A chuckle bubbled up from my chest as I rolled backwards, coming up into a crouch with Tyrant held at the ready. Qrow stood a few feet away, his stance relaxed but his eyes sharp and assessing.
I met his gaze, a small grin spreading across my face. If it was a fight he wanted, then it was a fight he would get.
And with Tyrant in my hands, I was more than ready to give him one.
"I see you've got a bit of a fight in you after all," Qrow says, his voice dripping with condescension. "You could've just come with me to apologize, but if it's a fight you want... Well, don't hold back. Hesitate once, and I'll fuck you up."
.!
Qrow blurs towards me, his speed almost too fast to track. It's only the nearly decade of averting danger that allows me to bring Tyrant up in time to catch his blade. The impact sends shockwaves up my arms, but I grit my teeth and spin around, using Qrow's own momentum against him.
I swing Tyrant up, the blade losing its virginity as it clashes against the man's sword creating a brief shower of sparks that leave the air slightly smelling like smoke. Pivoting on my heel, I launch into a reverse spinning slash, the force of Qrow's strike propelling me forward.
Pink eyes twinkle as the infuriating man steps out of range easily enough, and I tilt Tyrant towards him, letting off an opening burst aimed at his chest. The rounds are half-deflected, half-dodged as Qrow darts to the side, his movements a blur of speed and grace.
.!
I backstep, managing to avoid the brunt of an opening swipe that would have caught me from hip to chest if I'd been any slower. Instead, Tyrant is knocked wide, nearly wrenched from my grasp. In a blur of motion that I can barely perceive, Qrow's foot slams into my stomach, driving the air from my lungs.
The pain is deep, and I'm sure that if I were a normal human, my organs would have been reduced to pulp by the force of the blow.
.!
I step back with the momentum, letting it carry me before pushing off and turning the rest of the force into a backflip. The older man's follow-up attack whistles through the air where I'd been standing a heartbeat before, the sword glinting in the sunlight.
.!
Tyrant is barely able to catch the next strike, but I manage to deflect the attack towards the ground. Following up with a rising slash of my own, I watch in frustration as Qrow avoids it with the same casual ease he displays when relaxing.
!.!
I pick up Tyrant in a guard and find myself deflecting blow after blow, at first it was just attacks with his weapon then it turned into him making use of his full body. I tucked my head to the left, and turned pivot with a parry to avoid a thrust, only for Qrow to walk into a side. As I tried to readjust, I found myself in a blade lock that I immediately tried to disengage from only to get a palm hooked into my face. Turning on a dime I try to retaliate with a full spinning slash only to receive a kick under my chin, which makes me feel weightless as I lift off the ground.
!
My stomach lurches as I feel my momentum abruptly shift and I only time tuck my chin, as the hand snaked around it pulls me.
.!
My vision briefly cuts out as pain flares up my spine, the world going white for a heartbeat. I try to push through it, to focus past the agonizing sensation of not being able to breathe. But it's like trying to swim through molasses, my lungs burning and my head spinning.
!
Somehow, through the haze of pain, I catch sight of a fist hurtling towards my face. And then everything starts coming too fast to process, a blur of motion and agony that slams into me from all sides.
I feel the impacts reverberate through my body, each one worse than the last. It's like being shot, like having every nerve ending set ablaze in a single, searing instant.
And yet, somehow, I'm still airborne. Still trapped in gravity's merciless grasp as Qrow juggles me like a rag doll.
One impact turns into seven, each one blending into the next until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. I'm being tossed around like a character in a fighter game, my body battered and broken by the onslaught.
I lose count of the hits, lose track of everything except the pain. It consumes me, fills my every sense until there's nothing else left.
…!
And then, suddenly, it stops. My back slams into something hard and unyielding, the impact driving the air from my lungs in a ragged gasp. I feel the rough scrape of bark against my skin, tearing through my shirt like paper.
Through some miracle, Tyrant is still clutched in my hands, the weapon a comforting weight amidst the chaos. I bring the blade up, my arms shaking with the effort as I try to scan the clearing for any sign of Qrow.
But my vision is blurry, my eyes refusing to focus. Everything seems to swim before me, the world tilting and spinning in a dizzying kaleidoscope of color and light.
..!
Instinct screams at me, and I throw myself to the side, barely avoiding the blade that whistles through the air where my head had been a moment before.
Stars explode across my vision as a flash of silver crosses my vision as the flat of Qrow's sword slams into my head like a baseball bat, sending me stumbling to the right.
I keep moving, blinking away the spots that dance before my eyes. As my vision clears, so too do my thoughts. Qrow stands before me, a smug grin on his face. He'd managed to defeat my Danger Sense.
I knew my ability wasn't perfect, and I wasn't arrogant enough to think that it was perfect but he had defeated it somehow…
Pain radiates through my body, every muscle and joint screaming in protest. I feel like a giant walking bruise, and I could be concussed, but I've had worse. I've fought in worse conditions.
Now things are getting interesting!
Stopping my head from shaking I square my shoulders a grin stretches across my face, a feral thing that's all teeth and no humor. I lunge forward, Tyrant poised for a thrust.
…!
Qrow deflects the attack with contemptuous ease, launching a simultaneous hook towards my face. I slip the blow, dropping Tyrant's tip towards the ground as I thrust my arms out, a Hadouken blast erupting from my palms.
My opponent is already moving, lunging to the side to avoid the attack and by a small margin the man avoids the point blank attack with it only singing the tails of his shirt. The energy blast continued to soar past explodes harmlessly behind him, the heat of it washing over us like the heat of a flame being throttled.
…!
I'm moving in tandem with Qrow before the blast even goes off, ripping Tyrant from the ground. I lash out with two bold horizontal cuts aimed at the midsection. The huntsman steps around them, his movements fluid and graceful, like a dancer on a stage, I weave four more attacks, one horizontal cut, avoided with an easy step, a slash aimed for the elbow and knee rebuffed with a brief clash, a vertical slash aimed for the head by stepping my right and a thrust aimed at the kidneys pirouetted into a counter slash that I ducked in return.
The adrenaline coursing my veins sang a chorus as my heart kept up an erratic beat and I pushed more Aura into my feet, using the boost to launch myself into a tight flip blade held above me. Leading with Tyrant's blade I bring everything to bear down towards Qrow's head, only to be met with the flat of his sword in a ringing clash of metal on metal that sounded like two frying pans hitting one another.
I land hard, stumbling as I fight to keep my balance. Behind me, I can hear Qrow doing the same, his feet scrabbling for purchase as he bleeds off the force of my strike.
We end up facing away from each other, a gap stretched out between us. It's not much, but it's enough. Enough for me to catch my breath, to try and form some kind of plan.
!
The familiar sound of buckshot reaches my ears, and my head snaps up. Qrow has his weapon raised, the blade dropped to reveal a barrel pointed at my chest.
Time seems to slow, each moment stretching out into an eternity. I can see the individual pellets as they burst from the barrel, and can track their trajectory as they scream towards me.
Like any other attack that I detect it's either, avoid or counter, my body tries to move before my mind can fully process what's happening. Tyrant's blade blurs, the metal ringing like a bell as the pellets ricochet off its surface. The sound is deafening, a cacophony of metal on metal that fills the clearing.
I somehow deflected a buckshot…
I take a quick breath, centering myself. Then, with a burst of speed, I'm pursuing Qrow, Tyrant's blade extended as I prepare for a vertical strike.
The gap between us closes in an instant, and I bring the sword down with all my strength, a wordless battle cry tearing itself from my throat. Qrow meets the blow head-on, his sword whirling in a dizzying pattern of silver followed up with his tattered red cape flowing behind faithfully.
The clearing filled with the ringing of steel and the rasp of labored breaths. We trade blows back and forth, neither of us giving an inch. Sweat pours down my face, stinging my eyes and dripping onto the torn and trampled grass beneath our feet.
I sound like I had pneumonia trying to run a 5 minute mile.
.!
I throw myself into a backflip, narrowly avoiding the blade as it whistles through the air where my head had been a mere heartbeat before. The grass beneath my feet is slick with dew, and I feel my footing slip as I land, Tyrant's weight throwing me off balance.
Qrow presses his advantage, the sword blurring as he spins it in a fanciful arc. The sun glints off the polished metal, momentarily blinding me as I bring Tyrant up to block. The impact sends shockwaves up my arms, numbing my fingers and nearly knocking the weapon from my grasp.
.!
I twist to the side, Tyrant's blade screaming as it scrapes along the length of the other gunblade. Sparks fly, illuminating the fierce grin on Qrow's face as he leans into the blow. The scent of ozone fills the air, mingling with the coppery tang of blood from where the blade has nicked my cheek.
The clearing spins around me as we dance, the greens and golds of the foliage blurring together into a dizzying kaleidoscope. A flock of birds takes flight from a nearby tree, their startled cries echoing through the air as they flee the violence below.
.!
Qrow's foot lashes out, catching me in the chest and sending me stumbling backwards. I feel the rough bark of a tree at my back, the wood groaning in protest as I slam into it. The impact drives the air from my lungs, leaving me gasping and vulnerable.
But I don't have time to catch my breath. Qrow is on me in an instant, his blade carving a deep furrow into the tree trunk as I roll to the side. Wood chips and splinters rain down around me, catching in my hair and stinging my eyes.
.!
I lash out with Tyrant, the blade humming as it cuts through the air. Qrow leans back, the sword's tip missing his throat by a hairsbreadth. His eyes widen in surprise, a flicker of respect flashing across his face before it's replaced by that infuriating smirk.
We trade blows back and forth, the clearing ringing with the clash of metal on metal. Sweat pours down my face, stinging the cuts and scrapes that mar my skin. My muscles scream in protest, unused to the weight and balance of Tyrant in my hands.
I clamp harder in return.
.!
The older man pries open my guard finding a way around Tyrant's blade in flourish that I couldn't see, wrenching it to the side and leaving me open. His ringed fist slams into my jaw, snapping my head back and filling my mouth with the coppery taste of blood. I stagger, my vision swimming as I fight to stay on my feet.
The sun beats down on us from above, the heat oppressive and stifling. The grass beneath our feet is trampled and torn, the already beat up clearing transformed into a battlefield.
.!
My opponent's weapon whistles through the air, the blade a blur of silver as it arcs towards my neck. I bring Tyrant up, catching Qrow's blade on Tyrant's and deflecting it to the side. The force of the blow sends me stumbling, my feet slipping on the blood-slick grass.
I can feel my Aura straining or at least what bit of it wants to come to the surface, the shimmering barrier that surrounds me flickering and wavering under the onslaught. Qrow is relentless, his attacks coming faster and harder with each passing moment.
.!
The blade catches me in the side, slicing through my Aura like it's paper. Pain lances through me, hot and sharp, and I feel the warm gush of blood soaking my shirt. I grit my teeth, forcing the pain down and away as I counterattack, Tyrant's blade flashing in the sunlight.
The world narrows down to this moment, to the feel of the sword in my hands and the pounding of my heart in my ears. Nothing else matters, not the pain, not the exhaustion, not the nagging voice in the back of my mind that whispers about what will happen when I fail.
Tyrant would deal in death- nothin-
.!
Qrow's boot slams into my chest, sending me flying backwards. I hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air from my lungs. For a moment, I can only lie there, gasping for breath as the world spins dizzily around me.
I push myself to my feet easily enough and place a hand to my hip to stem the blood for a moment.
Despite wanting to crash head first into the ground I place my left hand back onto Tyrant and bring it up to bear again.
I look Qrow in the eyes and just try to think then a sharp snap meets my ears and I'm doing every I can to keep myself from falling forward and I look at the issue: the clip holding the shoulder stock hilt broke and Tyrant's blade fell into the ground.
I fix a look at Qrow and throw the hilt next to the blade.
I put my fists up and find myself shaking and I don't know why. I take two deep breaths. Surprisingly, my opponent was more than accommodative with me. Fine then. If hesitation was my lose condition then I simply couldn't hesitate.
My heart began to beat in steady rhythm as I prepared myself, despite its steady tempo it felt like my heart was skipping a beat like it does when I stay up for too long being active.
My entire body ached and I realized that despite standing here in front of my opponent ready to keep going, I had long since surpassed the limit of what my body was used to. I was stronger in this life than I was in my first but I was still growing.
I took two quick breaths and looked over my opponent. The older man was holding back on me. Any adult would need to hold back against a child when the difference was decades in experience and conditioning. While it might be closer than one might assume in terms of experience the fact was he was still in the prime of his life.
But if I kept pushing him…
Maybe I might not have gotten him physically tired, but mentally? It could be possible, given that possibility it might be a bad idea to continue since there was a chance that he wouldn't be able to hold back and accidentally split me in half or something.
But even that was enticing… To get so clos-
Mentally I was satisfied. And I knew that I was drained and pulling more out of the tank might cause me to crash mid fight.
I didn't want to make that into a habit.
I wasn't scared but with how long it had been today, I was a bit drained, even if I could spur myself into action again the better question was if I should. I wanted to train with Tyrant but something felt off about this situation.
I look back to Tyrant.
I put my hands down and looked to the sky.
The sun had climbed past the peak of it's arc. It couldn't be any later than 3pm.
I looked back down.
Qrow had stood there with an enigmatic expression on his face. What he got out of this I couldn't really guess. But I was covered in sweat and the cut in my side had left the gray shirt and shorts I wore drenched in blood.
It wasn't profusely bleeding anymore so I had to assume that my Aura had done something about it.
I sighed and squatted down to get a closer look at Tyrant, besides the stock clip snapping, I could see that there were groves in the hilt from where I had been holding it. The main body of Tyrant seemed untouched and yet… There was something about it that felt incredibly sad to look at for some reason.
Carefully I picked up my broken blade. Despite being broken I thought that the way that the weapon caught sunlight was beautiful, even if it wasn't very tactical.
It was an awkward carry but I walked past the Huntsman who was hardly touched by our battle and moved to walk back to the orphanage, I hadn't grabbed any logs today since it was meant to be a familiarization process more than anything else but…
I had lost anyway.
Qrow seemed to sense my hesitation, his stance shifting subtly as he watched me. "You know this wasn't a Death Battle, right?" he asked, his voice deceptively casual.
"It wasn't?" I do my best to say it with as much sarcasm as I can, but judging from the huntsman's face I completely failed. "Weren't you the one who told me hesitation would lead to death?"
Qrow snorted, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "No, I said I would fuck you up. If I had been in your shoes, I would have thrown in the towel after getting slammed into a tree at your age."
"Yeah, well, I've had worse." I mutter, with my gaze dropping back to Tyrant's broken form. After all, not much worse than actually dying.
"Worse?" Qrow sounded skeptical, one eyebrow arching in disbelief.
"Yeah…" I couldn't exactly say that I am a reincarnate or something like that without either sounding edgy or bringing in the wrong type of attention to myself. "Fought some Grimm not too long ago and nearly got disemboweled."
Qrow let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "You don't do things by half measures, do you, kid?"
I didn't respond, opting to look at the broken weapon, I wasn't sure how long it would take to repair it but if Qrow's semblance was Bad Luck then chances are the break was inevitable and I would need to fix it at some point if I wanted it to be mechanically sound. It was heavier than I remembered, the balance thrown off by the missing hilt. It would take time to repair, to get it back to fighting shape.
As I straightened, Tyrant cradled awkwardly in my arms, Qrow spoke again. "I would say that I'm sorry, but your weapon wouldn't have broken if it wasn't shoddily put together."
I felt a flare of anger at the accusation, my grip tightening on Tyrant's haft. But as much as it ate at my professional pride, pride in who I was and who I tried to bring something from my last life back to life, I had to admit it, Qrow had a point. If the weapon had failed so easily, then there was clearly something wrong with its construction.
"I was just thinking that myself," I said flippantly trying to detach myself from the ache of failure. I turned to leave, my sneakers scuffing against the torn earth as I began to limp towards the edge of the clearing. "I wouldn't want your apology anyways: it ain't worth much."
Qrow's chuckle followed me as I walked, the sound grating on my already frayed nerves. "So you're that kind of guy then, huh?"
I paused, glancing back over my shoulder with a frown. "What are you talking about?"
The Huntsman shrugged, a knowing smirk playing across his face. "The kind of guy who can't accept help, even when it's offered. The kind who's too proud to admit when he's in over his head."
Who asked for his help? Definitely not fucking me.
Keeping my face as flat as I could I turned to respond but Qrow opened his fat ass mouth before I could get a sound out.
"Look, kid," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "I get it. You want to be strong, to prove yourself. But there's a difference between being tough and being reckless. And from where I'm standing, you're straddling that line like a damn tightrope walker."
Instead of responding I merely hold eye contact with the man. He is genuinely starting to go from being an annoyance to being someone I straight up do not like.
Slowly, I let out a breath, "What do you want from me," I said, my voice a lot more hostile than I intended to go for.
Qrow sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I want you to be smart, kid. I want you to think before you act, to pick your battles wisely. Because if you keep going the way you are, you're going to end up dead. Or worse, you're going to get someone else killed."
I can't help but scoff. Lives had weight, I knew that, lived that experience, died it too. At the moment the only live that was at risk was my own. Since that night with the Matron dragging my almost cooling corpse out of the forest I had been careful, I hadn't pushed any further than what I knew I could handle.
Even this little thing was measured. Qrow himself didn't stop me and I only stopped because I knew trying to handle someone like him with my bare hands was beyond the pale as far as danger. Even if I really knew that it would be -fun- a danger to that promise.
I mean he was right, but I didn't need to hear this again and definitely not from him.
I almost wished that I rewrote this chapter's fight scene because as you all can probably tell I am a DBZ fan and I about had 4 consecutive ejaculations in my pants when I saw the new Sonic Sway Animation. But alas, I already had a working scene. Another time, perhaps.