To LoamyCoffee, I feel like some of the highest-end Monsters in Monster Hunter would cap around the "High 30s" or "Low 40s" measurement of Toriko Capture Levels, given the [Regal Mammoth], a 1,000 meter tall, 50,000,000-ton mammalian Ingredient, is only Capture Level 48. The thing is so-massive that if you can avoid being masticated by its mountain-sized teeth, its entrails are so large you can walk around in them. That there are already Ingredients in Toriko with meat so-tough it isn't fit for commercial consumption, just made the transition between Toriko and Monster Hunter easier to make. The idea that "monster meat" makes for good fertilizer, is an idea of my own invention based on lore where "Dragon Skat" makes for excellent manure.
Even though I've never played MH, I hope I faithfully portrayed what a terrifying presence the [Savage Deviljho] could be. Especially when power-scaled to RWBY.
To Felipe1402XZA, while not a straight Toriko story, there is a good story on AO3 that gave me my fix. It's called Izuku the Reincarnated Chef: Or "How I came back from a Isekai and still can't have a quiet life!" by JoySeeker101. I'm sure there's more out there on the internet, it's just a matter of finding it.
That said, I hope the eventual "Life Saving Full Course" side-plot is to your liking, since it leans more-heavily into Toriko.
To grx1318, Jack's [Burst] was one of several contributing factors to his failing condition; think of it like he spent too much time "Red Lining" the engine with Nitros; you can run a car at that level, but it's really bad for the engine. Like Nitros Oxide, Jack's Semblance lets him go from "nothing to 100" in an instant, though if he has time to do stretches and warm up, there's less of a need to do that. In the cases where Jack was already at "100", his [Burst] acts as a multiplier on top of that, with the same drawbacks as the [Kaio-Ken] .
On note of brigitte, while she was traumatized by Reinhardt flashing his "murder pickle" in front of the entire town, even if it was covered by his boxers, it isn't enough for her to become a functional alcoholic; her father would never let her in the shop while shit-faced, and neither would she herself. I always saw her as a very disciplined sort of sorts.
Onto the slightly more-interesting inquiry about what Vincent and Jack's Pokémon teams would look like... Paying a bit of homage to RWBY, I'll list out teams of 4 instead of 6, because not only would this be thematic to a Pokémon/RWBY world as a more-genuine fusion instead of just "Pokémon in RWBY", but also because I'm using Aesthetics/Theme instead of pure Gameplay Mechanics, since I fell off the gaming wagon around Generation 4.
Vincent's Team "Gleam"
(Gardevoir [Psychic/Fairy]
(Liepard [Dark]
(Ariados [Bug/Poison]
(Meloetta (Pierouette Forme) [Normal/Fighting]
Jack's Team "Hit"
(Houndoom [Dark/Fire]
(Incineroar [Fire/Dark]
(Pangoro [Fighting/Dark]
(Tyranitar [Rock/Dark]
Reason there isn't an "Eeveelution" in Jack's team is because I don't want to spoil the surprise, and this is purely an off-the-cuff lineup. Not reflective of something that would happen in-universe flat-out.
P.S.
Also, for a little bit of atmosphere, I'd recommend cueing the Kingdom Hearts III OST – Dive into the Heart –Destati-. It's what put me in the right headspace, and the right music really does get the creative juices flowing.
Of course, I have also based some of the topography on one of the most iconic Tutorial Levels in all of modern gaming, so there's that too~
*NEW WORLD*
"If this is what being dead feels like, then being dead really sucks."
He'd been here ever since he activated whatever "Hail Mary" that old sword had up its metaphorical scabbard. He didn't know how long was "how long", since there wasn't a sun or a clock or even a sundial to help mark the hours, but he was pretty sure if he wasn't really dead, he'd die for real out of sheer boredom.
As for what "here" looked like, it resembled an enormous circular monolith shooting upward from absolute darkness. The sides were marked with vibrant stained glass not unlike the looming windows in cathedrals, while the flooring itself had a more-ornate stained glass that was clearly meant to be symbolic in nature.
It featured himself in a leaning recline facing the left and in a sleeping state, clad in the attire that Glynda had gotten for him, the Relic Blade he'd pulled from the ziggurat held in his left hand with his right resting upon his thigh; these were in full color while the rest was decorated in sapphire and monochrome-like colors. The outer edges were marked with butterfly-like designs, with the next concentric ring in decorated with alternating cyclone and gale-like imagery. In the background at the centermost ring was an island on the water with a strangely T-shaped tower, while oriented at the top and out of alignment were six stained glass circles circling a seventh, though his reclining body was blocking out three of them. The ones unobstructed bore the likeness of those closest to him; the old man that had nursed him back to health, the woman that nurtured him as a mother would, the stoic raven-haired girl who broadened his world, and strangely enough, the strong-chinned knight who held the Relic Blade before him if the frescoes meant anything.
Of course, he didn't dwell on the ornate designs of the flooring for too long; most of his time he spent laying on his back, trying to make sense of where he was, possibly waiting to awaken from this dream-like state. Looking over the edge itself and at the writhing barbed mass lurking in the dark, filled him with a sense of dread that told him using "shock" to wake up would be a bad idea.
Eventually a pristine alabaster staircase emerged, extending outward and upward through the darkness towards an ornate door; only, the stairs in the middle-most section had been ripped out, opening up into a yawning abyss.
"Well that doesn't help me at all," Vincent hummed frankly to himself, finding the newest architecture about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.
What could've been days or even just moments later, there was a deep *lub-dub* like the beating of a heart, and all of a sudden, new stairs emerged from the ether, bridging part of the gap closed.
While the original architecture was a pristine alabaster, the new addition, upon a closer investigation, was a royal purple decorated with golden tiara-like patterns.
"Well… Nowhere to go but up."
Stepping forward for lack of anywhere else more interesting to be...
*Past*
"Hm?"
Finding himself no longer in that dream-like world, but instead in a cozy house lit only by lamplight, Vincent took stock of his surroundings and almost froze at the blond-haired beauty he found waiting for him.
At first he thought she were Glynda's younger sister, only to remember, she didn't have a sister. Or if she did, she never told him about it.
Looking at her face, he realized that the young woman before him was Glynda, quite possibly from before she became a teacher. If anything, she looked like she'd graduated from Beacon only a few years hence, instead of the tenured professor whose blood pressure was cranked to the max by dealing with rowdy super-powered teenagers all day.
At the moment, she was sitting on a plush sofa, knitting needles in hand as she, quite-obviously, knitted a baby blue sock; presumably one of a pair. There was a slight roundness to her belly, and she had an extremely contented look on her face as she did her work. If anything, the "motherly" aura she was giving off right there was even more-powerful than when she fretted over his wellbeing.
"Ah, sorry for intruding."
Though he said it aloud, obviously she couldn't hear him, because obviously this wasn't any sort of time travel. If it were, she'd have recognized him when they first met, or better yet, the young woman before him would've freaked out at a complete stranger teleporting into her living room.
Of course, with the only other explanation being a memory, what he wondered was, why was one of her memories in his head?
Another reason he considered this to be a "memory" instead of simply another dream, was he could read the titles of the spines on the bookshelf's contents; and you couldn't do that in dreams.
The buzzing of a Scroll rousing her from her workings, Glynda carefully got to her feet before striding over to the opposite end of the room where her communicator was charging, leaving her knitting behind and walking right through him as though he were a ghost.
Which for all intents and purposes, he was.
Politely turning his attention away from the younger Glynda and whatever conversation she was having, with an idling curiosity he looked around the room, wondering what had changed about the deputy headmistress between when he'd met her and however-far-back he was "at". Taking a look at the framed picture on the nearby table-
"Hm? Yes, what is it?"
Blinking owlishly, Vincent thought he had tuned Glynda out, if only for the sake of politeness, but instead, it was like she was speaking into his own ear. Or maybe like she was right beside him.
"Glynda, thank goodness you picked up!"
Vincent didn't recognize the voice on the other end of the line, so it probably wasn't anyone he knew from the present day.
"I'm really sorry to call you up on your break, but things are getting really ugly over here."
"How bad is it? Can't you call anyone else?"
"Everyone's stretched thin after that huge scandal went viral. There just aren't enough of us to stem the tide."
" . . . Tell me where you are. I'm not that far along."
"You're a life-saver, Glynda."
Right as Vincent worried whether or not he'd be "dragged along for the ride" and forced to watch Glynda get dressed, a whirling white fog washed over him, and he felt weightless.
*Present*
Moments or maybe even hours later, Vincent felt his consciousness returning to him atop the staircase he'd been ascending.
Falling onto his hands and knees, the white-haired teen desperately steadied himself as a deep sadness and regret not his own bubbled up inside of him. The young man riding out the tumult of emotions, holding back agonized sobs as he wallowed in a permeating sense of self-loathing, tears trickled from his eyes and fell onto the decorated staircase.
"Glynda…"
When he was finally able to comport himself, he saw that yet more stairs had manifested before him to fill more of the yawning gap. These were a lighter shade of purple than the ones that gave him a look into Glynda's storied past, these ones decorated with orange jack o' lantern-like faces.
Looking up at the alabaster doorway looming overhead from across the void, and then down to the vividly-decorated steps before him, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, Vincent got to his feet and took several calming breaths before striding forward.
*Past*
Finding himself in a moonlit town with brick-laden streets and gothic architecture-
"Maka…"
"Soul!"
"I've… had it."
"Huh?"
"Wait… Soul? What are you doing?"
"I've given up trying to become Lord Death's Deathscythe… I'm… I'm going to be Blair's Scythe~!"
"WHA…!?"
"I'm… not entirely sure what I walked in on…" Vincent said to himself as he watched the weapon of a girl in a black coat with pigtails turn into a lovestruck white-haired boy in a stylish yellow-and-black letterman jacket, making googly-eyes at the Blair from when she wasn't posing as a house cat.
And boy had that been a shocker to see. Why, pray tell?
Because he'd walked around his room/apartment in the nude in front of her, that's why!
"Oooh~! For real? I'm so happy~!" past-Blair swooned.
"Blair! You're tricking Soul's heart with magic, aren't you!?" the girl known as Maka accused pointedly.
"You're such an idiot…" the boy known as Soul muttered. "Any man would choose a sexy lady with a nice body over a shorty like you!"
"…Wha…?" Maka gasped, sounding totally heartbroken. "What the hell…? You men are such scumbags… You all cheat on your partners… I just can't believe you. YOU CAN ALL… JUST GO AND DIE!"
. . . . . .
. . .
"Hey… Soul… You said before that women say things that don't make any sense, right?" Maka asked after a long pause. "WELL WHAT KIND OF SENSE DOES IT MAKE FOR A GUY TO CHEAT ON HIS PARTNER!? STUPID JERK!"
"Hmph! How should I know?" Soul asked as his right arm and shoulder transformed into a large scythe blade, curling out around the small of Blair's back. "A cool guy like me doesn't cheat. MAKAAA!"
"OKAY!"
Maka taking hold of Soul's extended hand, the rest of his body turning into the scythe's handle, the pigtailed girl adjusted her footing before cutting Blair in two with a powerful slash.
Vincent, even though he knew this was a memory, still rushed forward to catch her, even as her body evaporated leaving nothing behind but a glowing purple orb shaped like it were wearing a witch's hat, complete with little kitty ears.
"We did it, Maka!" Soul grinned as he grabbed the pulsing purple soul.
"Yup~"
"It ain't looks or form that matter… It's the Soul that's important, right!?"
"Mhm," Maka nodded. "Once you eat that…"
"Yeah, I'll be able to become a Deathscythe too."
The white-haired teen downing it in one bite, the next moment there was a powerful rumbling in the air, raw power exploding off of Soul, shaking the street to its foundation but completely ignoring their spectator.
"RRAAAAGH! POWER! I CAN FEEL THE POWER WELLING UP…!" he roared as four massive scythe blades sprouted from his arms and legs. "Or not…"
"Huh!?" Maka blinked as Soul slumped over, his scythe blades looking far wimpier as all the energy left him.
Maka crying out as Soul let out an undignified belch, the next moment a familiar purple cat walked on by, mewling adorably.
"Don't tell me you're…" the two said in tandem.
"I never said I was a witch~! You humans just came to that conclusion on your own~!" Blair purred as she made a show of grooming herself with a forepaw.
*Poof*
"Blair's just a cat with really strong magical powers~!" she grinned on her hands and knees, batting a 'paw' adorably at the two teenagers before her, one of her eyes playfully closed. "It ain't looks or form that matter.' Was it?" she quoted.
"So that means… I ATE THE SOULS OF 99 HUMANS AND ONE CAT!?"
"WHAAAT!? DOES THIS MEAN… WE FAILED!?"
"Hee-hee~!"
Vincent for his part felt like he was missing out on a lot of context in that moment, but more-prominently, he was relieved that he'd only walked around in the buff in front of a cat who could masquerade as a person instead of a person pretending to be "a cat".
It was just the principle of the thing.
*Present*
"I think I just saw something incredibly ridiculous…" Vincent said feeling his thoughts return to himself. And while more of the puzzle had revealed itself to him, there were still missing pieces.
And then, just like before, yet more of the gap filled up from the ether while he was preoccupied; these were colored black with little white skull-like insignias on them done up in an angular style.
Very familiar skull-like insignias...
"I'm beginning to notice a trend."
Stepping forward off the stairs made of Blair's memories and onto the next set, Vincent once more felt his mind falling back into the void.
*Past*
Coming to, Vincent found himself in a rather bleak… musty enclosure made of wood, the world around him creaking portentiously as rain hammered everything else. The skies outside as far as the eye could see were overcast, and windmill blades passing by the window at set intervals regularly killed the lighting even further.
*Sniff… Sniff… Hic*
Whirling around to the heart-wrenching sound of a child in distress, a flash of lightning briefly illuminated the room in full, revealing a petite lavender-haired girl crying into her chitinous hands. She was only clad in a dirty brown hooded cloak, while trying and failing to conceal an arachnoid body the size of a small pony was a crudely-bound darp, also ragged and filthy. She barely looked more than a decade old, and was a far cry from the witty if often-times sarcastic woman he'd come to know.
Without even thinking, Vincent rushed forward to embrace her, tell her everything was going to be okay, but like when Glynda had walked right through him, so too did he pass through this version of Rachnera, little more than the wind in a world he couldn't do anything to change.
The momentary self-loathing at his impotence was interrupted by a bloodthirsty cry from outside, Vincent and Rachnera both going over to the window to see shabbily-dressed villagers gathered in a phalanx around the windmill's front. They held torches, pitchforks, and other improvised weapons in their hands, and the expressions in their eyes were far from friendly.
Rachnera flinching back with a- "Kya!" -as a broken bottle flew through the open portal, the girl's momentary presence only proved to further incite their bloodlust. And while Rachnera was hiding away, sniffling and trying to make herself as small as possible, to Vincent who was spectating, the murderous villagers turned more monstrous yet; obviously, a result of the girl's tortured imagination.
After all, how could she know about the parts she "wasn't there for"?
"Come out and face us, you mutant freak!"
"Beast blood!"
"We don't want you here!"
"Just curl up and DIE!"
*Sniff* "I just wanted to get some food…!" Rachnera sniffled, another flash of lightning revealing how truly haggard she looked.
Simply hearing about what had happened here would've been enough to grind his gears, but to be here "in person", experiencing the same hell that Rachnera had, made a roiling hatred for those that would torment a literal child rise in the pit of his gut. These feelings were only further exacerbated by the fact that he couldn't do anything, and that Rachnera's suffering was already long hence. That no matter what he did for her in the present, the wounds on her soul would always be there, no matter how-far-down she pushed them.
The loud *BOOM!* like a bomb going off once again drew Rachnera out hiding, and Vincent following behind her spied that all the villagers had been bowled over, while interposed between them and the windmill in a crater was a man in a green hooded cloak and traveling leathers, crouched in a three-point landing as though he'd fallen from a great height.
Some of the bulkier villagers managed to get to their feet and rushed the green-clad man after calling him a "race traitor" or some such, but like a dancer he pirouetted around their clumsy strikes before lashing out with a vaguely familiar clockwork cane.
"Huh, so Ozpin didn't always have gray hair…" Vincent hummed as the man's hood flew back in an errant wind, revealing a head of jet black hair.
Which left Vincent wondering, how the hell did he go completely gray in what was probably so-little time…?
Ozpin, after smacking down the more-aggressive quarter of the villagers, with half of the sum running away from their own impotence, left only a quarter that had been frozen in fear.
"Oi, you lot… Get lost!" Ozpin growled, far from the well-spoken if somewhat eccentric headmaster he'd come to know 'in the future'.
The remaining villagers finally routed, Ozpin gave the downed villagers a once-over, clocking one over the head right as he was getting up, before making his way into the creaking windmill.
Rachnera, frightfully skittering into the corner farthest from the stairs, huddled in on herself as the man who was stronger than an entire village crested the landing and approached her. Her six crimson eyes growing wet with tears, Ozpin took a step back before making a show of placing his cane on the ground, closing half the distance before dropping to a knee so he was more on her level.
"Young miss, did any of those villagers hurt you?"
"N-N… N-No, sir…" Rachnera stuttered, still trying to hide the bulk of her body from him.
"I see. That's good to hear," the man said as he took in Rachnera's living conditions; the broken bottle that'd flown in through the windows was simply the most-recent detritus cast into the old windmill, and with how drafty the place was, it was obvious the villagers weren't interested in the windmill's utility, but were instead trying to deny her of it out of spite.
"Wh-Why… Why are you h-here?"
"Because there was a little girl in need of a hero," Ozpin replied. "Tell me, do you happen to know anybody like that?" he asked with a kind-hearted smile.
Rachnera didn't speak, instead pulling her hood down over her eyes and tucking her clawed hands into her sleeves.
" . . . Don't worry," he said holding his hand out to her after a moment. "Everything will be better."
*Present*
But in the end, things hadn't gotten better. At most, she'd simply traded away one cage for another.
Sure, Elisa became like a sister to her, or maybe a mother, but her dreams of going to school like everyone else, of finding acceptance like everyone else, had been quickly quashed and she'd become a recluse, wiling away her days spinning bolts with Aura-conductive silk for profit.
And despite her attempts to live a solitary life, to try and eke out some sort of peaceful meaning, people still made her out to be some kind of monster; despite the fact that she was in the heart of Beacon itself…
"People really are the worst…" Vincent muttered darkly to himself as he took stock of how the final gap in the stairwell he'd been cresting was now filled in. This one was a vivid red with gold and purple filigree arranged in smoke-like patterns; and after confirming the trend, already had some idea of what to expect.
Steeling himself for what was probably to come, he boldly strode forward.
Forward, into the past.
*Past*
The first sensation to greet him was a sandstorm, with crimson granules rushing toward his eyes at breakneck speeds.
Though he knew them to be illusions, he still shielded his eyes from the onslaught.
Walking forward and through the sandstorm once his danger sense got the memo, he strode into a calm in the storm, finding a stretch of desert pock-marked with plumes of molten purple glass that'd been chilled into irregular shapes by the bracing night air. After taking in the almost haunting beauty of the statue-like formations, which glinted almost hypnotically with the light coming off the strangely-intact moon, his heart practically stopped dead in his chest.
Looming above him and the memory's other occupants was what could only be some kind of "Dark God". Shaped like a Western-style dragon with ram horns curling behind a gaunt skull-like head, the thing was a deep and ominous purple coated in a miasma to match, its skin and muscle pulled taut against its bones giving it a look that most-flatteringly could be called "eerie". Though Vincent knew it to only be a mere memory, when the thing momentarily glanced upward in his direction with empty sockets before turning his gaze back toward those prostrated at its feet, his heart almost stopped in his chest.
Shaking the soul-shriveling experience of even thinking he had the attention of something so foul and dark, he turned his attention towards the memory's remaining occupants; a Human, a Genie, and a familiar Half-Genie.
The Human, Shantae's father, was obviously where she got her purple hair and eyes from, though not her looks. His attire was perfectly suited for the life of a desert-bound swashbuckler, clad in baggy white pants, a blue vest with gold accents over a white tunic, a matching cloak, and a matching turban atop his head. Brown leather shin-height boots dug into the sand, a red sash-like belt holding a flintlock and scimitar, while his left arm was decorated with gold ornamentation.
The Genie, Shantae's mother, was a larger-than-life figure with bright crimson eyes dressed similarly to Shantae but entirely in red with similar gold accessories with ruby decorations. While Shantae's hair resembled a trail of smoke at times or even a whip, her mother's hair, colored a bright crimson, was styled upward and into a giant braid resembling the tail of a scorpion. Her smoky feet and "tail" made it impossible to mistake her for a mere human, as did the golden chains trailing out of the manacles on her wrists.
And then there was Shantae, looking almost exactingly like when he'd first met her, only now she was paralyzed in fear as the family of three found themselves in the fell dragon's sights.
"Bahira… Surely you know that resistance is futile…" the dark dragon said with a tone of faux disappointment.
"Perhaps… But I had to try anyway," the Guardian Genie returned, her scorpion-like 'tail' even now poised to strike while Shantae's father, Antalah, held his scimitar with a resolute gaze.
"I expected as such from my brother's flawed creations, but surely I assumed my own Djinn were better than that," the dark dragon hummed before once again casting empty sockets Vincent's way; almost as though he were peering at him from across time ad space. "Little spectator. No matter what you do, the halfling's fate is sealed."
"Spectator?" Antalah blinked as he cast his eyes at the space Vincent occupied, only to see nothing. "Who are you talking about? There is no-one else here…"
And though he knew it to be fact, a part of him wished it were true.
"Do not concern yourself with that which is beyond your ken," the dark dragon hummed as it turned its gaze toward Shantae, raising up a clawed forelimb and condensing magical energy into a familiar brass oil lamp. "Now… as to your appointed task… After all, what better way to balance out four shards of light, than with seven shards of darkness?"
"M-Mama… I don't… I don't wanna go…!" Shantae sniffled as she cowered behind her father.
"Shantae… It's going to be okay. Do you know why?"
"No…" *Sniff* "Why…?"
"Because no-matter how tempting the Wishes Three might be, someday, somewhere, you will find a Master who will set you free," Bahira said soothingly to her child. "And when that day comes… When that day comes, your greatest curse, will become your greatest no matter how many decades, or centuries, or even millennia you have to wait, he or she will be waiting for you, awash from across the Sea of wait for them. Wait for your Final Master. The one who will set you free. The one you'll want to spend the final grains of your hourglass with."
" . . . Okay, mama…" Shantae sniffled. "I'll… I'll be brave…!"
"That's my girl," Bahira sighed, she and her husband embracing Shantae one final time as the 'shard of darkness' unleashed a plume of black smoke from its spout, the inky tendril snaking across the sands and snaring Shantae by the ankles before dragging her from her parents' embrace and into the lamp, exchanging an eternity of solitude for near-infinite cosmic power.
*Present*
Coming back to himself, Vincent fell to his hands and knees as the weight of all he'd witnessed, or rather, quote/unquote "witnessed", finally struck him. The innermost secrets of four tortured souls now pressed down on his psyche as he finished digesting it.
He wasn't entirely sure what the hypnogogic staircase was meant to represent, but it was obvious that he was only able to get out of his own head, because these memories, these… fragments of other people, had been stitched into him by some outside hand.
This had "Dr. Stein" written all over it, though it could've also been Dr. Magdhanus, he supposed.
"Glynda… Blair… Rachnera… Shantae… I need… I need to do… something for them…" he said shaking the tears from his eyes before rising to his feet, his path to the alabaster doorway now unimpeded before him.
As he ascended the final stretch of stairway, the silver aura trailing in his wake grew tinged with purple, whereas the alabaster stairs and doorway became laced with threads of gold, orange, black, and crimson, while the transplanted steps in of themselves became interspersed with threads of alabaster. Like the roots of multiple trees growing over one another.
Standing at the precipice, Vincent found that upon the waiting door, was the embossment of a Triskele whose hooked points ran counterclockwise. He wasn't entirely sure if the decoration was new or if he could've only seen it up close, but he felt like there was power in this marking. Power he might have to investigate at a later time.
Palming the only doorway out, as he put his back into the effort of freeing himself from this place between mind and matter, the nearly invisible seam bifurcating the Triskele split open, bathing him in an almost soothing light. And while a "don't walk into the light" joke did made itself known in the back of his mind, he kept moving forward.
For though the tomorrow he strode toward was worse than the present, he would always seek out that brighter future, no matter the hardship.
It was why ultimately, he was certain the world could change for the better.
*AN*
This one turned out a little shorter than intended, but I think the previous chapter pushing past 11K makes up for that, especially for a side-plot. That, and, the "story" I wanted to tell here was told, so... Honestly, a chapter doesn't need to be long with lots of padding to be "good", it just needs to get the point across; in my opinion.
Anywho, hope to see you all in the Review section, and I'll see you next time in Vigorous Vitality!