Chapter 7: Dawn of the Superhero
This story is a work of fanfiction based on the RWBY series. I do not own the copyright to the original series mentioned. This work of fiction has been created in order to explore the vast possibilities of the imagination and, above all, to provide entertainment. I hope you find pleasure in reading it,...I do not own batman either...that's obvious.
-{}-
The headlines echoed with the same tune in every corner of the Remnant.
["There are reports of sightings of a man dressed as a bat lurking in the kingdom of Vale"]
["A human trafficking group was dismantled by a man dressed as a bat here in the kingdom of Mistral"]
["A mob boss who has been evading the law on the eastern side of the Vacuo Kingdom was captured by a man dressed as a bat."]
["Atlas Army officers were arrested and handed over to authorities on charges of arms trafficking to terrorist groups."]
The news spread like wildfire, a constant echo of justice and mystery. In every kingdom, in every city, the bat stood as a symbol of hope, a beacon in the darkness of corruption.
["The Batman, as they call him, is the new sensation of the Remnant."]
the headlines proclaimed, celebrating the world's first superhero.
But between the admiration and amazement, doubts and criticism arose.
["Who is this guy who thinks he has the right to take justice into his own hands?"].
some questioned, fearful of his power and methods.
["He is a dangerous man, someone who romanticizes anarchism."]
others warned, seeing in him a threat to the established order.
However, its impact was undeniable.
["Silence, he does what law enforcement officers should do, and even hunters."]
its defenders argued, pointing out the ineffectiveness of the authorities and the need for change.
["He's caught more criminals than the entire army of Atlas in a year, and he did it in a matter of months."]
They added, highlighting his efficiency and determination.
On the streets of Mistral, where crime had taken deep root, his presence was a balm for despair.
["We were so used to crime here in Mistral that someone dressed as a bat had to come and take off our blindfolds."]
the citizens reflected, grateful for his intervention.
But the controversy persisted.
["I'm not saying Batman is wrong, the problem is his methods, they are too aggressive."]
some said, concerned about the brutality he sometimes used in his fight against crime.
The divided press debated his figure heatedly, between admiration and caution. Meanwhile, the bat continued to watch over the Remnant, dispensing justice in the darkness of the night.
Rumors wove a legend around his figure, distorting reality until it became a myth.
["He is a 3-meter tall man, a bat faun."]
some whispered, exaggerating its size and attributing supernatural origins to it.
["No, it's a shadow, it always disappears as if the darkness swallowed it."]
Others said, describing his ability to blend in with the night.
["He's a demon!"].
the most fearful exclaimed.
["I have heard his voice, it sounds like two voices in one person, it is deep and terrifying."]
The veracity of these claims was lost in the fog of speculation, but the legend grew, fueled by fear and fascination.
["Please! No, don't let him catch me! I will give myself up! I will confess everything! But lock me up in the deepest prison you have, he must not find me!"].
begged a criminal, panicked at the thought of his encounter with the bat.
["He's not human! Nothing can hurt him! I'm not safe with you! He'll find me! He'll find me, he always finds me!"]
another shouted, convinced that his fate was sealed.
Fear spread among criminals, who saw in the silhouette of the bat an omnipresent threat, a spectre of justice lurking in the shadows.
His name became synonymous with terror, a silent warning that chilled the blood of evildoers.
But beyond fear, the legend of the bat also awakened hope in those who longed for a more just world.
His figure stood as a symbol of resistance against corruption and impunity, a reminder that justice, although sometimes dark and mysterious, always found its way.
—["The masked vigilante known as Batman has a warrant for his arrest throughout the realms of the Remnant. Any information leading to his capture will be rewarded."]
Lisa Lavender's voice echoed through every home, carrying with it the news that shook the foundations of the world.
But beyond the reward, a question lingered in the air, an enigma that kept kings and commoners alike awake:
'Who is Batman?'
Since his first appearance, the bat had become an enigma, a shadow that moved between darkness and light, dispensing justice with methods as effective as they were mysterious. His identity, jealously guarded, fueled curiosity and speculation, weaving a web of theories and rumors that spread throughout the Remnant.
Some described him as a supernatural being, a winged demon sent to punish evildoers. Others, more earthly, imagined him as a man 'a hunter', driven by a thirst for personal justice. But the truth, hidden behind the mask, remained an impenetrable mystery.
—["I'm Lisa Lavender, and this is Valenews"], concluded the journalist, leaving the question hanging in the air, as an invitation to reflection.
Who was Batman? A hero or a villain? A symbol of hope or a threat to the established order? The answer, yet to be discovered, was hiding in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.
-{}-
A flurry of punches, kicks and fractures echoed through the dark warehouse. Smoke bombs and the surgical precision of an uppercut, a leg sweep and a barrage of punches to the stomach, followed by the ominous crunch of broken ribs, painted a picture of brutal efficiency.
A shadow, a spectre of combat, moved among the criminals, reducing them to mere amateurs in a ballet of violence. Each movement was an echo of force, each blow, a sentence.
As the last enemy fell, the shadowy figure, the man who seemed torn from nightmares, scanned his fallen adversaries. His eyes, two pools of bottomless darkness, flashed briefly. Then, as if reality itself flickered, the shadow vanished, leaving behind only the echo of battle.
Ozpin, from the top of the Beacon Academy tower, watched the scene on his computer screen.
The blue light from the monitor reflected in his glasses, giving him an air of distant contemplation. Every movement of the shadowy figure was analyzed, every blow dissected. A sip of coffee, dark and bitter as the night, moistened his lips as the image froze at the instant the shadow disappeared.
—"So, after all this time, you still haven't managed to make contact?" Ozpin asked, his voice a murmur that broke the silence of his office.
He stopped looking at the screen and fixed his gaze on the man in front of him.
Qrow Branwen, a man scarred by life and battle, stood before Ozpin. His beard, a mess of dark strands, and his hair, black as midnight, framed a weathered face. His red eyes, two burning embers, reflected frustration and a hint of suppressed rage. A red cloak, worn by time and inclement weather, hung from his shoulders.
—"No, Ozpin," Qrow growled. —"Like I've told you the last ten times, it's like trying to catch a ghost. It disappears into thin air, melts into the shadows. It's like the darkness is its ally."
Qrow's frustration was palpable. He, the most skilled hunter, the master of tracking, found himself helpless against this elusive being. Months had passed since Ozpin had tasked him with contacting Batman, the night watchman. But the bat-man mocked his efforts, slipping through the shadows like a snake, always one step ahead.
—"And like the last ten times, I am forced to ask, how is this possible?" Ozpin inquired, his voice maintaining a calm that hid a growing bewilderment.
Qrow Branwen, a name that echoed with legend, a hunter whose talents defied the limits of hunters themselves, found himself faced with an insoluble enigma. The impossibility of tracking Batman, of even catching a glimpse of him, was an affront to logic, a challenge to the very nature of the search.
—"I find that hard to believe too, Ozpin," Qrow confessed, his voice filled with suppressed frustration. —"The only way to engage in a formal conversation with that guy would be to become a criminal or attack him directly."
—"Which I expressly asked you not to do," Ozpin reminded, his tone soft but firm.
—"Yes, you said it," Qrow replied, his gaze fixed on a distant point. —"And I have also told you, countless times, that your plan to include this man in our inner circle is doomed to fail. Not only because he would surely reject it, but because James, Glynda, everyone, including myself, would oppose it." Qrow pulled out his flask, the metal cold against his skin, and took a sip of liquor, the amber liquid sliding down his throat. —"We do not know enough about him to trust his loyalty."
—"He's not on Salem's side either," Ozpin replied, leaning back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the ornate ceiling of his office. —"It's imperative that we draw him over to our side before Salem's agents find him and convince him. We must ensure that his power, his ability, is used to protect humanity, not destroy it."
Ozpin knew that time was running out. Salem's shadow stretched out, darkening the horizon, and every potential ally was a beacon of hope in the gathering darkness. Batman, an enigma shrouded in mystery, represented an unknown force, a wild card that could tip the balance in the coming war.
—"According to what we've reported since the first appearance of this... my God! Seriously! What is going on in this world? Now it turns out that anyone who wears a costume is a superhero! What, are we hunters out of fashion? We only have the title of hero! But nobody calls us 'super'! Shit!", complained Qrow, his voice filled with annoyance and a touch of indignation.
Ozpin, a calm smile lighting up his face, watched his pupil's tantrum.— "I suppose you're just mad that you stopped being the cool uncle," he said, his voice carrying a hint of mockery.
—"Please, Ozpin! I'm still cool! The only problem is, now my nieces talk about him all the time, 'Batman this, Batman that, Batman did this, Batman took down such-and-such, Batman destroyed a criminal organization, Batman caught corrupt officials, Batman caused a Bullhead with severe internal damage to fall into the seaports, saving a lot of people, Batman fought 10 hunters single-handedly in a criminal organization back in Vacuo, stopped a Schnee Company train robbery by the White Fang, and caught Adam Taurus'. Please! As if one man could do all that!" Qrow snorted, his voice mixing amusement and jealousy. —"It's like I have a pre-made superhero resume! And here I am, fighting Grimm like they're flies!"
—"But he did do all of that, Qrow. It's documented," Ozpin replied, his voice keeping its composure, though his eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement.— "Every single one of those incidents has been recorded and verified."
—"Verified? By who? By reporters? Citizens? The same criminals Batman beat up?" Qrow asked, his sarcasm dripping from every word. —"Come on, Ozpin! Not even I, with my Legendary Hunter skills, could do half of those things! It's like this guy has a 'do everything' button on his belt!"
—"Well, Qrow," Ozpin said, his smile widening,— "maybe you should ask him to teach you some tricks. After all, it's never too late to learn."
—"Ha, ha! Very funny, Ozpin!" Qrow replied, his voice thick with sarcasm. —"As if Batman would share his secrets with me! He'd probably tell me 'I'm Batman' and disappear in a puff of smoke!"
— Yes, the 'I am Batman' is iconic," said Ozpin.
—"The point is, he won't join Salem," Qrow stated, his voice ringing with a confidence that tried to hide a hint of doubt. —"And, as I'm trying to say, he's more than likely to attack the witch before she can even get a word in edgewise."
—"But we can't afford not to contact him first," Ozpin replied, his voice filled with concern. —"Even more so now that he has a warrant out for his arrest from every kingdom in the world." He rubbed his temple, a gesture that denoted frustration and exhaustion. —"James has been... let's say, overzealous in his pursuit of Batman. And the last thing I want is for a pitched battle to break out between them. It wouldn't end well for anyone."
—"Come on, Ozpin," Qrow said, his voice thick with skepticism.— "Batman is good, yes. But he can't take on an army alone, let alone the largest army in the world. Atlas is the most formidable military power in existence. This will all end badly for Batman, not James." He sat down across from Ozpin, his gaze locked with the headmaster's eyes. —"Besides, do we really think Batman, a lone vigilante, would join our cause? Or even care about our war against Salem?"
—"Qrow, we cannot afford to underestimate Batman," Ozpin replied, his voice firm. —"He has demonstrated abilities that defy all logic. And, believe it or not, I believe he has a sense of justice that might align with our goals."
—"Justice?" Qrow asked, his voice thick with sarcasm. —"Justice? In a world where heroes are hunted down and villains thrive? In a world where the line between good and evil blurs further and further?" He leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ornate ceiling of the office. —"I don't know, Ozpin. I don't know."
—"We must try, Qrow," Ozpin insisted, his voice filled with urgency. —"We must find Batman and convince him to join us. Before it's too late."
Qrow, a hint of exasperation in his voice, turned to Ozpin, —"Ozpin, if it is your wish to contact this individual, simply give the order. I will go after him, confront him, subdue him, and bring him before you. Enough of the games and niceties. If you so yearn to speak with this Batman, I will bring him to you the old-fashioned way, no questions asked, with my fists as the first argument."
Ozpin, with a scrutinizing gaze, clasped his hands together and asked cautiously,—"Do you believe you possess the ability to defeat him?"
With a defiant smile and unwavering confidence, Qrow replied, —"I can beat him."
Ozpin watched Qrow closely, analyzing every word and gesture. He knew the power of his pupil, one of Remnant's most formidable warriors, whose skills far surpassed those of an average hunter. Few could match Qrow Branwen's prowess.
Batman, however, was an enigma. His physical capabilities, while impressive, paled in comparison to Qrow's. However, his lethality and thoroughness made him a formidable adversary. Furthermore, the lack of information about his actual abilities added an element of uncertainty.
Batman might be hiding his true power, and facing him blindly was a risky gamble. Ozpin, though willing to take risks, preferred to have the advantage.
After a moment of thought, Ozpin sighed and declared, —"Fine, bring Batman before me."
With a satisfied smile, Qrow replied, —"Of course."
Qrow stood up from his seat and headed for the door, but not before turning to Ozpin and saying, —"I hope this Batman guy is worth it, because if not, I'm going to be very disappointed."
Ozpin responds with a slight smile, —"I trust that you will not be disappointed, Qrow. You have seen it yourself, but be careful, do not underestimate your opponent."
-{}-
In the Batcave, his sanctuary in Vacuo
Whitley lay absorbed in the immensity of information dancing before his eyes. Sitting in his swivel chair, the silent roar of the supercomputer's fans was the only company in this vast digital cavern. The large central screen, a mosaic of data and simulations, competed with a swarm of peripheral monitors, each spewing out a torrent of photographs, license plate numbers, satellite images and encrypted information.
—"It's amazing," Whitley murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of admiration and frustration, —"the speed with which a new crime lord emerges from the shadows, barely having extinguished the flame of the old one." His gaze, sharp as an obsidian blade, scanned the data with an intensity bordering on obsession.
A sigh escaped his lips, an echo of the constant battle he waged against crime. —"These criminals," he continued, a hint of disdain in his voice, —"adapt with a speed that defies logic. A few months ago, they strutted proudly about their status, displaying their misdeeds like trophies. Now, they hide behind facades of respectability, false names, and secret codes, weaving a web of decoys that prevent me from dismantling their operations."
Frustration set in for Whitley. The criminals were learning from their mistakes, mutating like a pesticide-resistant pest. Dismantling their organizations was an arduous task, but what had once been a challenge had now become a mirror maze. The criminal arrogance that had once given them away had been replaced by a paranoid wariness, a visceral fear of being found out by him.
—"They hide like vile rats," Whitley hissed, clenching his fists in suppressed rage. —"How I wish they had the courage to face me as what they are: mere animals! It would be so much easier to find them and eradicate them."
The Batcave echoed with the sound of his frustration, a silent lament at the impossibility of fighting a fair battle against the shadows that infested his world.
—"Now, who's Vacuo's new criminal mastermind?" Whitley muttered, his eyes scanning each image that scrolled across the screen. —"Codename... 'Raven'. That's all I have. Maybe a former member of the Branwen tribe."
Speculation filled the thick, electronic air of the Batcave as Whitley, absorbed in his quest, wove threads of connection between the fragments of information.
—"Mr. Schnee, you have been immersed in this investigation for a week," a metallic voice boomed from behind him.— "I believe it is imperative that you slow down your work pace. Your well-being is paramount, especially with tomorrow's meeting with Miss Emma."
Whitley turned his chair, revealing the figure of Alfred, a robot of sleek design and precise movements.— "Alfred, don't worry about those details. I'll be in top form by tomorrow." A hint of tiredness crept into his voice, but it was quickly quelled by determination. Alfred, more than just a robot, was the silent guardian of the Batcave, the manager of its secret bases, and, in a way, a confidant.
—"The dark circles under his eyes and the blood stains on his attire suggest otherwise," Alfred replied, his voice devoid of emotion but laced with concern. —"His current condition is far from optimal."
—"Most of that blood isn't mine," Whitley replied with a wry smile, turning his attention back to the screen. —"Besides, as long as criminals are still lurking in the shadows, I can't afford to rest."
The Batcave, silent witness to his crusade, fell into a tense silence, broken only by the hum of the servers and the echo of Whitley's unwavering determination.
—"He has just returned from a night of surveillance, sir. He engaged four hunters simultaneously, and his injuries are of considerable severity," Alfred reported, his monotone voice thinly veiled by a hint of programmed concern. Whitley knew Alfred's empathy was a simulation, an echo of the human feelings he himself had encoded into the robot. Yet in moments of loneliness, that imitation of affection was a comfort, a reminder that, however artificially, someone cared about his well-being.
—"In the end, I prevailed," Whitley declared, his voice filled with determination, as if he wanted to convince himself of it.
—"Next time, the outcome could be different, sir," Alfred warned, his voice devoid of judgment but laced with cold logic.
—"I'll be better prepared next time," Whitley replied, a flash of confidence in his eyes.— "Besides, I haven't revealed all my cards in a real fight yet." A tense silence filled the Batcave, before Whitley continued, —"Any news?"
—"You have ten missed calls from Miss Emma, five unread messages from Mr. Arc, five missed calls from Miss Sustrai, and a recent global arrest warrant announcement," Alfred listed, his voice rattling off the messages like a shopping list.
A wry smile spread across Whitley's face as he leaned back in his chair. —"A warrant. About time. It doesn't significantly alter my status. I've been under their radar for a long time. I guess this is just a bureaucratic formality."
The Batcave, silent witness to his clandestine life, resonated with the echo of his indifference, a reflection of his unwavering determination to follow his own path, no matter the consequences.
—"But now, with this official arrest warrant, the laws are relaxed, certain decrees for the councils of each kingdom are modified. Now, they will be able to use lethal force to apprehend him," Alfred reported, his gaze fixed on the multiple wounds that crisscrossed Whitley's body. —"Before, the hunters, the military, the police, were limited to trying to capture him. Now, they have license to kill him."
Whitley fell silent, nodding at the robot's cold, precise logic. Alfred was right. The game board had changed, and the rules had become far more dangerous. The freedom of action his pursuers had once enjoyed had expanded, and the threat of a deadly confrontation loomed ever more intensely.
—"There's also the fact that Qrow Branwen has been following you closely, insisting on striking up a conversation with you," Alfred continued. —"With this arrest warrant out, I'm afraid the next interaction might not be so friendly, Mr. Schnee."
—"The only reason I've faced the hunters is because I chose to," Whitley replied, his tone of voice denoting unwavering confidence. —"I can evade them whenever I want. I've escaped from the Ace-Ops and Qrow countless times."
—"And what will you do when you can no longer escape?" Alfred asked, his voice devoid of judgment, but laden with implacable logic.
—"Then I will fight," Whitley replied, with a determination that echoed in the silence of the Batcave.
—"Sir, you must acknowledge that you are an ordinary human. They are hunters, or as you have recently called them, 'metahumans'," Alfred argued. —"Their physical capabilities exceed yours. There is a limit to what you can accomplish to defeat them."
—"I hope I don't find that limit," Whitley replied, standing up and heading to another section of the Batcave.— "Prepare the recovery pod."
—"Understood, sir," Alfred replied, his eyes flickering from a faint blue to yellow, then back to blue. —"Done."
—"I hope my little sister is having a wonderful time back at Beacon, it's been a week since she passed her initiation! Who would have thought? Little Weiss taming beasts and making friends! Or something like that...", Whitley said with a wry smile, as they walked through the corridors of the Batcave, until they reached a room where a glass capsule awaited.
—"According to your sister's letters, you display a marked discontent toward your leader, Miss Rose. You describe her as an 'immature brat' and 'dangerously inexperienced,'" Alfred reported, in his usual flat tone, but with a hint of malice that Whitley suspected he had programmed himself into it.
—"Ha! Weiss and her dramas! It's to be expected, Ruby Rose was two years ahead of the academy. My sister has a... 'peculiar' character. I hope there won't be any friction on the team. Although, come to think of it, a little chaos wouldn't hurt those rookie hunters! I'm also worried about Blake, Miss Belladonna. Her aversion to my last name is... how do I put it? Intense! I don't understand what I have to do to make her see that I'm not a clone of my father. Should I send her flowers? A poem? Maybe a discount voucher for a fish store!" Whitley said with a sigh, entering the capsule. Immediately, the machine began to radiate a golden light, as if thousands of fireflies were coming off of it, enveloping Whitley in a restorative embrace.
—"A poem? Really, sir? You?" Alfred asked, in a tone that bordered on robotic disbelief.
—"Hey! I have my poetic moments! Don't you remember the sonnet I dedicated to my toaster? It was a hit!" Whitley replied, with a mischievous smile.
—"The toaster showed no reaction, sir," Alfred replied, unperturbed.
—"That's because I was too shocked to speak! But anyway, back to Weiss, I hope she doesn't get into too much trouble! Although, knowing her, she's probably already started a riot or something!" Whitley said, as the golden light completely enveloped him.
The recovery capsule, as mentioned, has the amazing ability to accelerate cell regeneration, healing wounds and bodily damage both internal and external. Injuries and fractures that would normally require months of recovery are healed in a matter of days in this environment. Even superficial wounds, which would normally take days to heal, are repaired here in a matter of hours.
—"Should I be worried about some kind of conflict between the two of them, between your sister and Miss Belladonna?" Alfred asked, in his usual robotic, worried tone.
Whitley, with a smirk, replied, —"Any conflict that arises between those two beasts will have to be resolved by themselves. I, for the moment, will focus on what really matters." He settled into the capsule, his air of nonchalance concealing a slight nervousness.
—"And that is...?" Alfred asked, tilting his metallic head slightly.
—"Prepare for Emma's sermon tomorrow," Whitley replied, with a sigh that was a mixture of fear and resignation. —"That woman has a way of finding me when I least expect it, and she always knows how to make me feel like a scolded child."
Alfred, with his relentless logic, began listing possible scenarios,— "Scenario One: Miss Emma will confront you with a detailed list of your negligences, accompanied by a tone of voice that could melt steel. Scenario Two: he will subject you to an icy glare that would freeze hell itself, followed by a deathly silence that would foreshadow your impending doom. Scenario Three: he will force you to do a week of overtime work without a break, while constantly reminding you of your responsibilities."
Whitley paled at the description of the possible scenarios. —"Don't remind me, Alfred! Don't remind me!" he exclaimed, putting his hands to his head.— "Emma is the only person I fear in this world! And to think that I delegated all my company duties to her... I should have known better!"
Alfred, unfazed, continued, —"Further analysis: Miss Emma could combine all three scenarios, adding a personal touch of sarcasm and a dash of public humiliation."
Whitley slumped, his expression one of resignation.— "Alfred, please! Don't torment me any more! I just hope she'll have mercy on me tomorrow. Although, knowing her, I highly doubt it."
-{}-
—"Okay, you fucking moron. I hope you have an explanation so good it makes angels sing and pigs fly, to justify ignoring my calls all day and all night!" Emma exclaimed, sitting at her desk with the posture of an ice queen. The great CEO of Whitley's company radiated an aura of power and danger that would make a titan tremble. Her eyes, cold as steel, pierced Whitley with an intensity that made him feel like an insect under a microscope.
Whitley, despite owning every inch of the place, from the Persian rug to the last screw on Emma's desk, felt tiny and insignificant in the face of her fury. The wall, the painting, the chair, the papers, the coffee machine... they all belonged to him, but at that moment, Emma was the absolute mistress of the situation.
—"You won't even let me explain," Whitley muttered, his voice barely audible. He tried to adopt a confident posture, but his slumped shoulders and shifty gaze gave him away. He knew he was on dangerous ground.
—"Excuse me? Could you speak up? It seems like that great bravery you display in the media has taken a long vacation," Emma ironized, with a sarcastic smile that didn't reach her eyes. —"I thought I was talking to the great Whitley Schnee, the richest man in the world, not some spoiled, irresponsible child! Lazy, distracted, womanizing, retarded, impetuous, disrespectful, annoying and, to top it off, a womanizer again!" Emma's voice echoed through the office, each word like a whiplash. She hit the desk with her fist, causing Whitley to jump. —"What's wrong, the cat got your tongue?!"
—"You said womanizer twice," Whitley pointed out, shifting his gaze to a houseplant that looked more interesting than Emma's glare.
—"I know, I know. It's just a nervous tic I get when..." Emma raised her arms and waved them in the air, as if trying to take in the entire room. —"When I have to deal with your late-night escapades, your dates with models that last as long as a breath, your famous singers who stand you up, and your actresses who use you as just another accessory. There can't be a day that goes by without you being distracted by a skirt! So please, spare me the excuses for accidents, eternal naps, and problems with orientation. I'm not your grandmother, Whitley!" Emma huffed, crossing her arms with an exasperated expression. —"And by the way, your 'sense of direction' led you to a strip bar, right?"
—"I wasn't lying about that, I really do have a terrible sense of direction," Whitley insisted, his expression trying to be convincing. In reality, all the excuses Emma had listed, especially the ones involving women, were fabrications. But it was better for her to believe those white lies, which sounded more credible given his reputation, than to know the truth: that he spent his nights fighting crime in all the kingdoms.
—"Yeah, sure," Emma replied, letting out a fake laugh so full of sarcasm it could have melted an iceberg. —"That's why you know every nightclub in Vacuo, plus the bars, brothels, casinos, and even the underground screaming and gambling fight spots!" Emma arched an eyebrow, fixing Whitley with a look that clearly said, 'I'm not buying it. '
—"I don't think I should be so open with you about my private life," Whitley said with a feigned, almost solemn sigh. The morning sun seemed to illuminate him with an aura of sanctity, although his mischievous smile contradicted the image. —"I don't like you to see me only as a womanizer."
—"As if it's a secret, you idiot! Everyone knows Whitley Schnee, the billionaire playboy," Emma exclaimed, winking. Then, she pointed a finger at Whitley, as if shooting a laser beam. —"Bam! They forget all your good deeds, they focus on that womanizing side you love to cultivate. No one talks about the hospitals you build, the roads you fund to connect remote villages, or the schools you donate money and state-of-the-art equipment to! No, no, those details get lost in the sea of headlines about your romantic conquests. And all because you refuse to correct that image, despite my pleas!"
—"The press..." Whitley sighed, shrugging in resignation. —"They have the right to publish whatever they want, it's a free kingdom, right? Freedom of speech and all that. It's a shame they never focus on the good, but I don't care." Then he abruptly changed the subject. —"By the way, why do they still call them kingdoms if there are no monarchies anymore?"
—"I don't know, and I don't care," Emma replied, crossing her arms impatiently. —"Now, I want to hear your excuse. And make it a good one!"
—"Uh, ahm... I was driving..." Whitley began, but was interrupted before he could finish his sentence.
—"You can't drive, you don't have a license, you moron. Try again," Emma snapped, with a look of exasperation.— "And by the way, since when are you interested in driving? You always have a chauffeur driving you."
—"Oh, come on! Can't I have a day off?" Whitley complained, crossing his arms like a scolded child. —"Okay, okay. Actually, about four guys tried to rob me. I had to defend myself and... well, it didn't go so well. I got hit in the face numerous times and ended up in the hospital. That's why I couldn't contact you."
—"Blows to the face?" Emma repeated, arching an eyebrow and examining Whitley's face, which was flawless.— "I don't see a single bruise. Please try again."
—"Okay, okay," Whitley sighed, scratching his head nervously.— "I wanted a day off, so I went to the beach to surf."
—"To the beach?" Emma asked, with a sarcastic smile. —"Since when has there been a sea here? I'm sure the kingdom of Vacuo is very, very much in the center of the continent, and most of this place is made up of dry, arid grasslands, as well as desert."
—"I... um...", Whitley stammered, scratching his head and sighing in resignation.— "I met this woman and..."
—"I knew it!" Emma exclaimed, interrupting him with a cry of frustration. —"I hope that woman was worth it, because you don't know what awaits you! Now you're going to suffer!"
—"I've had better," Whitley muttered boredly, rolling his eyes.— "Besides, aren't I supposed to have a life?"
—"A life?" Emma repeated, with a mischievous smile. —"I'm going to give you a life! A life of paperwork, endless meetings, and business trips to places where even animals don't want to go! You're going to wish you'd stayed home watching soap operas!"
—"Oh, come on, Emma," Whitley pleaded, putting on a face like an abandoned puppy.— "Don't be like that. It was just a little distraction."
—"Distraction?" Emma repeated, with a look that could have turned Whitley to stone.— "I'm going to give you a distraction! A distraction you'll never forget!"
-{}-
Ring, ring! With a sigh that almost raised the dust on his desk, Jaune picked up his scroll. He was in Team JNPR's room, that tiny space they shared like sardines in a can. It was nighttime, but not late enough for sleep to overcome them.
Ren, with his perpetually furrowed brow, and Pyrrha, with her Olympian concentration, were immersed in their textbooks. How boring! Going over study topics for the next day. Jaune looked at them with a mix of envy and pity.
—"What a life he has ," he thought, as a suicidal moth crashed into the light in the room.
Nora, on the other hand, was in her own world, a paradise of crunchy snacks. Yum, yum! Her cheeks were puffed out like a hamster's, and her eyes sparkled with excitement at each bite.
—"If only life was as simple as a bag of chips," Jaune sighed, with a hint of envy.
Jaune, poor thing, was stuck in the only seat in the room, in front of the only desk that would fit in that cubicle. He was attempting to shape a small bonsai tree, a task that had him on the verge of insanity. This was an art he had inherited from his grandfather and, surprisingly, from Whitley, Weiss's brother. Who would have thought!
At first, when his grandfather forced him to take up this hobby, Jaune was a nervous wreck, always wanting instant results. But over time, he learned that patience is a virtue, especially when it comes to miniature trees. This hobby had taught him how to calm down, clear his mind, and deal with stress. Although, to be honest, he hated it with all his soul.
—"Damn tree!" Jaune muttered, as he tried to prune a wayward twig. —"If it weren't for my grandfather, I'd set you on fire right now!" But he knew that deep down, this hobby was doing him good, even if he wouldn't admit it under torture.
Well, there was Jaune, fighting with his bonsai, while his teammates were immersed in their own worlds. What a normal night in the life of a hunter in training.
Ah, salvation came in the form of a call! Jaune, with a sigh of relief that echoed throughout the room, set aside his bonsai. —"Thank the gods!" he thought,— "Finally, a respite from this green torture!"
He put the call on speakerphone, so he continued working on his bonsai tree.
—"Whitley, why are you calling me at this hour?" Jaune asked, his tone a mixture of tiredness, boredom and a hint of happiness. Hearing his best friend's voice was always a balm for his soul.
—"And that coldness? Not even a 'hello, handsome'? What would your grandfather say about that lack of manners?" Whitley replied, with a mocking laugh.
—"I'd say 'I don't give a damn', especially if it's with you, lol," Jaune replied, spinning in his chair like a kid at an amusement park.
His teammates watched him with a mix of surprise and amusement. Seeing Jaune let loose like that was always a sight, but this time his smile had a special glow, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
—"Damn, you're absolutely right!" Whitley admitted, laughing.— "Anyway, I just wanted to congratulate you on passing Beacon's initiation and becoming the leader of your own team. What a promotion!"
—"Yeah, your congratulations are two weeks late, buddy," Jaune replied, with a wry smile. —"I assume you already congratulated Emerald, huh?"
—"Of course! She was the first to receive my praise. After all, she's much more interesting than you. But since I had time to spare, I thought, 'Why not call that idiot Jaune? He's probably scratching his belly or something,'" Whitley said, with a laugh.
—"Hey, don't be so cruel!" Jaune protested, feigning indignation.— "I was busy... with a bonsai, can you believe it?"
—"A bonsai? How boring, don't you have anything better to do?" Whitley mocked.
—"Of course not! My life is a constant thrill!" Jaune replied sarcastically. —"But seriously, how are things over there?"
—"Boring as usual. With Emma being Emma, but at least I don't have to deal with miniature trees," Whitley said, with a chuckle.
—"Ha ha, very funny!" Jaune replied, rolling his eyes. —"Anyway, thanks for the call, buddy. Glad to see you haven't forgotten about me."
—"How could I forget you? You're my best source of entertainment," Whitley said, with a smile.
—"Is that a drill I hear?" Jaune asked, frowning at the strange sound coming from the scroll. —"Are you building a house or what?"
—"Something like that," Whitley replied with a chuckle. —"It's carpentry work, sort of. I'm making a kind of light signal."
—"A light signal? For what?" Jaune asked, curious. —"Are you going to send secret messages to the aliens?"
—"Don't be ridiculous," Whitley replied, sounding amused. —"It's a big deal, and it's going to be great. Everyone will see it!"
—"Well, as long as it's nothing illegal," Jaune said, with a wry smile. —"Anyway, thank you very much for the congratulations, although I'm not really happy with how things turned out." Jaune sighed, looking tired, which worried his companions. —"I feel like everything went down the drain."
Ren, Nora, and Pyrrha, who had been listening to the conversation intently, exchanged meaningful glances. They already knew where Jaune was going with this topic.
—"I guess plans never go the way you want them to," Whitley said, his tone sympathetic.— "Life is like that, Jaune. Sometimes it gives you unpleasant surprises."
—"You're talking to me!" Jaune exclaimed in frustration. "Emerald and I were supposed to be on the same team. I had it all planned out perfectly! But now I'm the leader of one team and she's the leader of another. And my team is great, but I wanted to be with Emerald!"
Pyrrha, who had been listening to the conversation with a mix of amusement and exasperation, snorted.— "Please, Jaune!" she thought. —"Just get over Emerald!"
—"At least they study in the same place, that's something," Whitley said, trying to cheer up his friend.— "But be careful, Jaune. Sometimes you get so intense with her it almost seems like you're in love."
—"Please don't say that!" Jaune yelled, with a look of disgust. —"She's more like a sister to me."
—"I hope so, because she's like my sister, moron," Whitley replied, his tone threatening. _"If you try anything with her, you'll be dealing with me. I'll break every bone in your body!" Although the threat sounded terrifying, there was a hint of mockery in his voice.
—"Ha! You? Break my bones?" Jaune mocked. —"You can't even lift a weight without hurting your back!"
—"Hey, that was one time!" Whitley protested indignantly. —"Besides, I have my own methods. I'm a strategic genius, remember!"
—"Yeah, right," Jaune replied sarcastically.— "The genius who can't tell a screwdriver from a fork."
—"That was it again!" Whitley shouted in frustration. —"And it was because I was distracted! I was thinking about how to protect Emerald from guys like you!"
—"I don't need protection!" a female voice interrupted. Emerald had entered the room without them noticing, —"What are you talking about?"
—"You're welcome!" Jaune and Whitley replied in unison, their tone nervous.
—"Uh-huh," Emerald said skeptically. —"And why are you talking about me?"
—"We were... arguing over who would protect you better," Jaune explained, with a nervous smile.
—"Protect me from what?" Emerald asked, curious.
—"From... from the Grimm," Whitley answered quickly. —"Yes, that's it. From the Grimm!"
—"Really?" Emerald asked, with an amused smile. —"Because I remember defeating more Grimm than you two combined, specifically you, Whitley, you're just a civilian."
—"That's beside the point!" Jaune protested, his tone defensive. —"The point is, I'd protect you better."
—"Of course not!" Whitley interrupted.— "I'm smarter and more strategic. I'd protect you with my mind!"
—"With your mind?" Emerald mocked. —"And how do you plan to do that? Teleport the Grimm to another dimension?"
—"I could if I wanted to!" Whitley replied indignantly.
—"Yeah, right," Emerald said sarcastically. —"Anyway, I don't need any of you to protect me. I can take care of myself!"
—"But we want to protect you!" Jaune insisted, his tone pleading.
—"Leave her alone!" shouted Nora, who had been listening to the conversation attentively.— "She can do whatever she wants!"
—"Thanks, Nora!" Emerald said, with a smile.— "Someone here has some common sense."
—"But we just want to help!" Jaune insisted.
—"Then help yourselves!" Emerald replied, laughing. —"And stop fighting over me! I'm an independent woman!"
—"Just because you're independent doesn't mean you're invulnerable," Jaune insisted, sounding worried.— "We all need help from time to time, even you."
—"Yeah, right," Emerald replied sarcastically.— "As if you were the poster child for invulnerability."
—"Hey!" Jaune protested indignantly.— "I can take care of myself too!"
—"Uh-huh," Emerald said, smirking. —"Like when you fell down the stairs trying to impress Weiss."
—"That was an accident!" Jaune defended himself, his cheeks red. —"Besides, that's beside the point!"
—"Well, don't worry about me, Jaune," Emerald said, her tone softer. —"I can take care of myself. And if I need help, I know who to ask."
—"Who?" Jaune asked, curious.
—"You, of course," Emerald replied, with a smile.— "But only if you promise not to fall down the stairs."
Jaune smiled, relieved.— "Promise," he said. —"But speaking of something else…"
—"By the way, there's something interesting I heard from Emerald," Whitley interrupted, sounding excited.— "Looks like Pyrrha's part of your team, hahaha. Is she there with you?"
Jaune looked towards Pyrrha, who greeted him with a kind smile. —"Yes, she's here," he confirmed.
—"Tell her 'hello' and 'she looks beautiful'!" Whitley exclaimed excitedly.
Jaune sighed, giving a resigned smile.— "Say 'hello and you look beautiful'," he relayed.
Pyrrha smiled sweetly, though a slight blush appeared on her cheeks. She then rolled her eyes with an amused smile. —"Tell him 'hello,' and that his words would mean a lot more if he didn't say it to every woman who crosses his path," she replied.
—"SHe sends her regards to you too," Jaune informed Whitley.
—"Why, what an honour!" cried Whitley, with a little laugh. —"Tell her she has a voice as melodious as an angel's, and a grace that would make the goddesses themselves turn pale!"
Pyrrha let out a hushed laugh. —"Tell him he's very kind, but I'm not that naive," she replied. —"And to stop trying to impress me with cheap flattery."
—"She says you're very kind, but she's not naive," Jaune translated.— "If you haven't noticed, the call is on speaker."
—"What a perceptive woman!" Whitley exclaimed in admiration. —"Tell her I love her sense of humor!"
—"He says he loves your sense of humor," Jaune repeated.
—"Tell him his isn't too bad either," Pyrrha replied, with a smile.
Jaune smiled, amused by the interaction. —"I think they're getting along," he commented.
—"Of course I do!" Whitley exclaimed.— "Pyrrha is an amazing woman! Tell her I'd love to take her to dinner sometime!"
—"Hey, calm down, Romeo!" Jaune interrupted, with a laugh.
—"Eternal love exists!" Whitley protested, his tone dramatic. —"And I am completely in love with her!"
—"Please, Whitley!" Jaune exclaimed in disbelief.— "Be less intense."
—"Impossible," Whitley replied dreamily.— "Your voice has captivated me."
Pyrrha blushed, hiding under her covers.— "Tell him it's very funny, but I'm not interested."
—"She says you're funny, but she's not interested," Jaune informed Whitley.
_"What a pity," exclaimed Whitley, with a sigh.— "But I won't give up. Someday I'll win her."
—"Good luck with that," Jaune said suddenly, hearing a strange sound, like someone pulling down a lever. It was a very noticeable mechanical sound.—"What's that noise?" he asked, frowning.
—"Oh, that," Whitley replied, his tone casual.— "It's just my signal light. It's almost ready."
—"Remember everything I've taught you, to conquer a woman you only need confidence," Whitley said, with a tone of wisdom that bordered on pedantic.
Jaune rolled his eyes and sighed.— "That's the same advice my father gave me, and it doesn't work," he replied, a hint of frustration in his voice.— "In fact, I think it's driven me further away from them."
—"It works for me," Whitley insisted, smirking. —"And very well, by the way."
Jaune, with a smug, sarcastic smirk, replied, —"Sure, says the handsome millionaire guy. Of course it works."
—"Hey, don't be jealous!" Whitley protested with a chuckle. —"Confidence has nothing to do with money or looks. It's an attitude."
—"Yeah, right," Jaune replied sarcastically.— "As if women don't notice those things."
—"Not all of them!" Whitley exclaimed, sounding indignant. —"There are women who value personality and character."
—"Uh-huh," Jaune said skeptically._ "And you know them all?"
—"No, but I know plenty of them," Whitley replied with a mischievous grin.— "And they all love my confidence."
—"How modest," Jaune exclaimed, ironically.
—"That's true," Whitley replied with a shrug.— "But if you don't want to follow my advice, that's up to you. Don't complain later when you're left alone."
—"I'm not going to be alone," Jaune replied, his tone defiant.— "I have my friends."
—"Yeah, sure," Whitley said, chuckling. —"But friends don't kiss you, and I'm not going to kiss you. You're not my type."
—" !Go to hell, Whitley!".
-{}-
—"What about the merchandise? Has it arrived yet?" asked Wilson, a guy with the look of one of those who would make you cross the street twice. He wasn't ugly, but his aura screamed 'trouble'.
—"You know how hard it is to smuggle weapons these days with that vigilante lurking around," replied Oliver, a man who looked similar to Wilson, though with a hint of 'I've seen things' in his eyes. —"That Batman guy is like a cockroach, always showing up when you least expect him!"
—"Come on, the guy can't be everywhere," Wilson insisted, impatient with his arsenal. "Besides, how hard can it be to get a few weapons in?"
—"How hard is that?!" Oliver exclaimed, his eyes popping out of his head. —"I'll explain it to you in apples! A week ago, Batman was in Atlas, and that's where we got the best weapons. Getting them in that time was like trying to get an elephant into a Volkswagen! My men were like ants against a flamethrower! And don't even get me started on the bail I had to pay. It was like I was financing the construction of a new prison."
Oliver ran a hand over his face, visibly exhausted. —"And the worst part is that those idiots, after Batman beat the shit out of them, didn't even want to talk! They acted like they'd seen a ghost! I lost half of my team because of that bat!"
—"But hey," Oliver continued, trying to regain his composure, "business is business. And even if Batman is making my life miserable, there are always people willing to buy my... ahem... products. Let's just say I'm a solutions dealer... for people with special needs." He winked, with a smile that didn't exactly inspire confidence. "And you, Wilson, are one of my best customers. So, ready to check out the new toy?"
—"Yeah, the world has changed quite a bit since this guy came along," Wilson mused with a sigh.— "Why couldn't it have been a classic superhero? The ones where you get thrown in jail and given an inspirational sermon. But no! There had to be this violent vigilante, more like an antihero."
—"Well, let's go," Oliver interrupted impatiently.— "I don't want this bat to find us here. Although it's a bit risky walking around in the dark, with Batman around, we have no choice. The guns come at night, when bureaucrats are snoring and bribes are most effective. I guess sleep gets the better of everyone, huh?"
Oliver led Wilson through the dark alleys, making sure no one was following them. —"Yeah, we better hurry," Wilson said, a hint of fear in his voice.— "This guy has the uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere.
I don't want to become his personal punching bag."
—"I thought you were an ex-hunter," Oliver scoffed, slapping Wilson, who was as big as a walk-in closet, on the shoulder.— "Don't tell me you're scared of a guy in a bat costume."
—"Afraid?" Wilson exclaimed, with a nervous laugh.— "Of course I'm a cautious man. Have you seen the video of Batman against those four hunters? He left them like minced meat. I'm not going to risk getting beaten up. Besides, I'm too old for this kind of running. My bones aren't made for acrobatics."
—"Really?" Oliver looked at Wilson in disbelief. He scanned him from front to side, up and down, as if he were looking for the 'expired product' label. —"You don't look a day over 30, man. You look fresher than a freshly cut lettuce."
—"I'm 50 years old," Wilson replied, his serious expression contrasting with Oliver's disbelief.
—"50 years?!" exclaimed Oliver, his eyes wide, as if he had witnessed a miracle in the middle of the alley. —"Damn, hunters are preserved like relics in amber! I, with my measly 27, already feel the weight of being 35! I'm so... gone..."
Oliver stopped dead, as if some invisible force had stopped him. With a sharp gesture, he hit Wilson's chest, who looked at him with a frown, bewildered.
—"What's going on?" Wilson asked, his voice heavy with suspicion.
—"Look," Oliver whispered, his trembling hand pointing toward the sky. Wilson followed his gaze, his eyes widening at the sight before them, a scene worthy of the grandest canvases of a Renaissance master.
—"What the hell is that?" Wilson muttered, his voice cracking with shock and fear.
In the dark canvas of Vacuo's sky, where clouds swirled like dancing shadows, a light emerged from the depths of the realm, projecting upward like a spectral beacon. And at the heart of that light, like an indelible tattoo, was the silhouette of a bat, a symbol both men instantly recognized.
Never before, since the appearance of the vigilante, had they witnessed such a display. It was as if the sky itself had become a scroll announcing the arrival of the vigilante bat. They knew that this symbol, this mark in the sky, foretold something imminent, something that would change the course of their destinies. The bat had arrived, and with it, the certainty that the night was about to become even darker.
—"We must leave this place immediately," Oliver urged, panic tightening his throat. The urge to escape this dark alley consumed him, no matter the price.
—"There's nowhere to run."
A cavernous voice declared, a metallic echo emerging from the shadows. The voice, deep and resonant, seemed to emanate from an ancient machinery, filtered through the veil of darkness.
Before Oliver could utter a scream of terror, a hand reached out from the darkness, seizing his face with inhuman force. The look of horror on his face reflected the certainty of his fate. Darkness engulfed him, and his screams echoed across the realm, echoes of an irrevocable doom.
The silence that followed was even more terrifying, a void that echoed with the absence of life. Wilson, paralyzed by fear, watched as the shadow that had devoured Oliver faded into the night, taking with it the last vestiges of hope.
The bat in the sky, now brighter than ever, seemed to observe the scene with an impassive gaze, a silent witness to the justice that had been accomplished. The night, once dark, had now been tinged with an even deeper black, a blanket of shadows that foreshadowed the beginning of a new era.
-{}-
Hello! First of all, I want to express my sincere thanks for taking the time to dive into the pages of this chapter.
While this story is a fanfic of the RWBY series, it won't be 100 % faithful to the original canon, so there will be some inconsistencies. I hope this won't be a bother to fans.
To clarify, Whitley is only a year younger than Weiss, or just a few months younger .
You are also free to give me some constructive criticism, you know, "this doesn't seem right to me", "I think you got this wrong", I'll be happy to read it.
And you are also free to give any suggestions.
I hope this is well received.
If you find yourself in a moment of leisure and looking for something to delight your imagination, I cordially invite you to explore my other literary creations.
"The Amazing", a story inspired by the charming series "Kaguya-sama: Love Is War", (only on Wattpad and in Spanish).
A crossover that weaves the essence of Naruto into the vibrant world of RWBY, "A Hopeful Beginning" is designed to be a beacon of light and possibility. Realistically, though, it doesn't look very hopeful.
"The Jaune Arc Classified Files" follows Team RWBY and JNPR on the adventures of the most self-preservative-deprived man.
These stories may not be the crown jewels of literature, but they are written with the heart and the hope of offering you an escape, a smile, and perhaps, a moment of reflection.
I again invite you to share your impressions of the chapter. And if you liked what you read, don't hesitate to follow me for more adventures. Until next time, dear readers!
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