Summary: When Harry took a Killing Curse to the chest, he figured that he
would, you know, die. And he was fairly certain the afterlife wasn't
supposed to have a devastating demon infestation. Guided by his so-called
'saving people thing,' he takes up the mantle of Huntsman and prepares to
face off against the Grimm as the only wizard of Remnant... He IS the only
wizard of Remnant, right?
1
1. Bury Me Shallow
A/N: So, here we are. The rewrite of NGA that changed the story so far I
had to make up a new title. To be fair, "The Next Great Adventure" was
supposed to be a placeholder title…
I decided I should rewrite it since Act 1 of NGA was a bit of a weak start,
and I was basically telling the story of "canon RWBY but Harry is there"
instead of a story that really felt like it was mine. I had always planned to
diverge like crazy past Act 3, but I figured I may as well start from scratch
and fix some problems I'd noticed along the way.
And, of course, that gave me some room to work in some other stuff I'd
thought about adding before but didn't have time for. To be entirely honest
it's less "rewrite" and more "chaotic reboot" at this point, but whatever.
Anyways, here's the fic!
BRING a WAND to a KNIFE-GUN FIGHT
[ACT 1: Bucket List
[CHAPTER 1: Bury Me Shallow
In Which Death Isn't Quite As Permanent As Advertised
In a dark forest clearing, surrounded by silver-masked wizards, Harry
stared Voldemort in the eyes.
The Cloak, neatly folded and tucked into his jacket, felt cold against his
chest. The Stone lay abandoned on the forest floor, and hopefully would
forevermore. The Wand rested in the hands of the once-man who stood
before him.
No, the Hallows weren't getting him out of this mess. Nothing was.
The only way forward led six feet under, so he stuffed his hands in his
pockets and smirked with the confidence of a man who had nothing left to
lose.
2
"Hullo, Tom."
A dark wand twitched. "Crucio."
A burning agony tore through Harry's body. He grit his teeth and locked his
limbs, refusing to grant his foe the satisfaction of seeing him kneel, of
hearing him scream. After a moment that felt like forever, the curse let up.
Dark red eyes looked down at him disdainfully. "Harry Potter. Here to
bargain for the lives of your allies?"
Harry waved his empty hands vaguely. "More of an ultimatum, to be honest.
You kill me, leave everyone else alive."
A smirk. "And if I refuse…?"
Harry shrugged. "Then you're not allowed to kill me."
Voldemort's eyes slowly roamed the solid ring of Death Eaters surrounding
them, before fixing back onto Harry. "You are perhaps the most Gryffindor
Gryffindor I have had the misfortune to meet," he declared as he lifted his
wand.
Harry crossed his arms. "Killing me without my consent is illegal. They'll
put you in jail if you do this."
Voldemort blinked. "I control the Ministry."
Harry frowned. "Fine. Hermione will put you in jail if you do this."
"Then I suppose I'll be crossing wands with your little Mudblood next."
Harry gasped. "Tom! You can't just say things like that!"
Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Avada Kedavra."
As the jet of sickly green death magic hurtled towards him, Harry smirked.
Operation Get Voldemort To Kill Him was a success. This was his victory.
The curse crashed into his chest, and his world went black.
3
Harry woke to the sound of leaves rustling lightly in the breeze. Warm spots
of sunlight danced across his closed eyelids, and cool blades of grass lay
against the bare skin of his arms.
He took a deep breath of earthy forest air, and let it out slowly. He hadn't
had much time to relax since his 17th birthday, so this was a welcome
reprieve.
Why hadn't he done this sooner, he wondered as he felt a butterfly land on
his nose.
Oh, right. Voldemort.
Wait a second-
Harry scrambled up, eyes wide open in alarm. If he was still alive after
taking a Killing Curse, then that probably meant the Horcrux in his scar was
gone, but he still had to deal with Voldemort himself...
His train of thought was derailed when he noticed how red everything was.
The trees, the grass, the bushes- if it was supposed to be green, it was red.
Where the hell was he? Some undiscovered section of the Forbidden
Forest? Was he even still in England?
He patted himself down and found, to his relief, that he still had the Cloak
and his wand. Or rather, a wand. His wand was still broken, in his
mokeskin pouch. But… the wand pressed against his thigh didn't feel like
Draco's wand, either.
Harry drew the wand from his pocket and stared at it.
The bloody Elder Wand had been in his pocket. The exact same wand
Voldemort had used to murder him. How the hell did that work?
Well, at least he didn't have the Resurrection Stone too. That would make
him the Master of Death, and that was a whole can of worms he did not
want to open.
Of course, at that thought, he finally noticed a small lump in his other
pocket.
Merlin fucking damnit.
4
Alright, alright, so Harry had all 3 Hallows. That was fine. It wasn't like
being "Master of Death" actually did anything, did it? It was just some kind
of fancy title. He could totally just ignore it and nothing bad would happen.
So that's what he did.
He instead chose to focus on his current situation:
He was alone in the middle of some weird red forest and had no idea how
he'd gotten there. Considering that there was a not-insignificant number of
people who wanted him dead… this was probably really bad.
As that thought crossed his mind, he caught a flicker of movement out of the
corner of his eye.
He grimaced and drew the Elder Wand; he didn't want to use it, but the only
other wand on him was kind of broken… he could probably fix it, now that
he had the Elder Wand, but that was something for later.
And out of the red foliage stepped a… Harry hesitated to call it a creature,
but that was the closest thing to what it was. It took the shape of a werewolf,
with gleaming white bones jutting out from its dark, shimmering not-flesh.
Hungry orange eyes peered out from an exposed skull marked with crimson.
Just looking at it filled him with a sense of unease.
Had Voldemort started summoning demons to hunt him down? Because that
was, while totally in character for the guy, really really extra.
Harry's only consolation was that it probably wasn't actually alive, so he
didn't have to feel bad about doing this:
"Reducto."
The thing pulled off a clumsy dodge, rolling to the side so Harry's spell
only punched through its shoulder instead of making a hole in its chest as
intended. Wet chunks of darkness flew up from the wound, evaporating even
as they flew through the air. The beast roared angrily and charged.
Ah, shit. Harry jumped to the side, narrowly dodging a one-armed swipe
that would probably have disemboweled him had it landed. He straightened
up as it tried to recover, and flicked his wand.
5
"Lacero."
The curse cut a deep gash along the creature's back, revealing its insides to
be as dark and featureless as its outsides. Deep black ichor bled from the
wound as it screamed with rage.
Hm. It wasn't as tough as Harry had assumed something sent after him would
be. Was Voldemort underestimating him? He frowned and jabbed his wand
forwards.
"Bombarda."
An explosion rocked the beast, tearing it apart and smashing it into the
ground. The not-flesh and red-patterned bone began to dissolve into mist,
further
cementing
Harry's
theory
that
it
was
some
sort
of
magically
summoned creature. Nothing natural did that.
But still, Voldemort had to have known Harry could handle something that
weak. What was the Dark Lord playing at?
He glanced around, and noticed dozens of glowing eyes glaring at him from
the bushes and shadows.
Ah. So that was what was going on. Quantity over quality. But if Voldemort
thought he could scare Harry off with an army of hungry demons… then he
was absolutely right.
Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak on and ran like hell.
It
took
Harry
an
entire
hour
of
aimless,
invisible
wandering
to
find
civilization.
This civilization took the form of an impressively huge wall, with the words
"Welcome to Vale!" plastered across a billboard sticking up over it.
It was remarkably unhelpful, considering Harry had never heard of a place
called "Vale" in his life. Was he in the States? That might explain the giant
gun turrets set up along the top of the wall, barrels fixed on the forest he'd
just left.
But then again, they could also be explained by the demon infestation in said
6
forest, so Harry was really still on square one.
He took a moment to assess his options. He could go through one of the
many manned gates along the wall, but… considering that last he'd checked
he was publicly known as "Undesirable No. 1," it might be the smarter
move to leave no traces behind until he knew a little more about what was
going on.
So with a silent Ascendio, Harry soared up through the air and landed
lightly on the top of the wall. On the other side of it lay a city that stretched
from the coastline on one end all the way up to a massive cliff on the other.
A tall silver tower stood at the top of that cliff, looking out over the city and
the forest surrounding it.
So this was "Vale," huh? It was pretty big for someplace he'd never heard
of.
He frowned. As he was… he had no idea where he was or what was going
on. He needed to gather information. And information, as Hermione always
said, wasn't going to find him.
So with his Cloak pulled tight and a nonverbal Arresto Momentum at the tip
of his wand, he stepped off the wall and fell into Vale.
"Ugh, Dust prices are up again! The SDC needs to chill."
"See, this would never happen in the bandit tribes because then I'd be
allowed to fight my boss..."
"Hey, did you hear about that new show? I forget what it was called, but
it's about this ninja Huntsman who's actually half-Grimm himself-"
Harry frowned. This… did not feel like a city built in the middle of a
demon-infested forest. This felt like a completely normal city. Nobody was
talking about the fact that they were pretty much under siege by demons.
They also weren't talking about Voldemort, so he was still in the dark as to
the status of Magical Britain.
His whole "wander around invisible and eavesdrop on random people" plan
really wasn't pulling its weight.
7
So Harry was forced to turn to his last resort: asking Hermione. Sadly, the
real Hermione wasn't there, so that meant he had to ask the Hermione in his
heart.
And the Hermione in his heart told him to go to the library.
Harry stared down at the map. The map did not stare back up at him,
because it was an inanimate object.
It was also very, very wrong.
There were no continents he recognized, no countries he'd ever heard of,
and for some reason there was some weird island shaped like a dragon off
in the corner? Absolutely nuts.
He looked up at the shelf he'd gotten the atlas from, and frowned when it
continued to pretend it was something besides the fiction section.
He pulled out another atlas and opened it, and frowned even deeper when
he saw the same completely wrong map.
Was there, perhaps, some sort of library-focused conspiracy to spread
misinformation to the uninformed masses? Was their crusade of education
simply a ruse to spread their heinous lies? Had he already lost Hermione?
Or perhaps, Hermione was the one behind it all…?
Nah, probably not. If Hermione had wanted to weaponize misinformation,
Harry wouldn't have even noticed it. It had to be someone else, someone…
stupider.
It had to be the work of Draco Malfoy.
Harry nodded to himself and stroked his chin thoughtfully. Clearly it had
been a number of years since the Battle of Hogwarts, and Voldemort had
spread his influence across the entire world. Draco Malfoy had been put in
charge of placating the Muggle masses, and clearly had done the best he
could, which wasn't very good.
And of course, Voldemort had been summoning demons to hunt down Harry
and the other members of the resistance (Harry assumed there was a
8
resistance because Hermione was cool like that) ever since.
Yes, that was definitely what was going on here.
Harry looked back up at the shelf labeled "nonfiction" and stroked his chin.
Would it be a good idea to just burn down the whole building as an act of
defiance? No, probably not, the librarians were also being brainwashed. It
wasn't their fault.
No, he had to find the resistance and let them know he had returned. That
was the path forward.
Now the question was, where was the resistance? It probably wasn't in the
city, since it seemed kind of hard to hide in there.
Well, he hadn't been seen once himself, but most people didn't have The
Cloak of Invisibility.
Perhaps there were clues hidden within Malfoy's lies. Areas with warnings,
reasons not to go there that the uninformed masses would eat up. Vague
reasons for people to stay away, so that the resistance wouldn't have the
chance to recruit them. Harry's eyes drifted back down to the book. It
seemed he had much more reading to do.
Harry jotted down one last note and closed the book in front of him. He had
a few ideas, but nothing concrete. The strongest leads he had were the
nondescript "bandit tribes'' that were supposedly roaming the wilderness
and robbing/murdering anyone unfortunate enough to run into them, and the
suspiciously dragon-shaped island to the north of Vale that was simply
labelled "Deep Grimmlands."
The latter could also be a cover for Voldemort's base, though. It seemed like
the kind of place he'd decide to live, being an edgelord and all that. So in
the interest of caution, Harry would swing by the bandit tribes first, then
head on over to that place if he came up empty.
He put the books back up on their shelves (what was he, a barbarian? No,
no, he was far too afraid of Hermione to leave them out) and silently
slipped out the door.
9
Apparently night had fallen while Harry had been inside, but the moonlight
was bright enough to see by. Now, the closest tribe territory was supposed
to be southeast of here, so…
Harry's train of thought trailed off as he looked up.
The moon was… broken. Shattered chunks floated in the gaping hole in its
side, as if hoping nobody would notice the missing quarter of the damn
thing. What the hell…?
Harry's eyes darted around, taking in other details. The stars were brighter
than he'd ever seen them, but more importantly they were all wrong. The
constellations he'd spent his first five years at Hogwarts learning… None of
them were there. This was not his sky.
His heart dropped as he realized there was no reigning Dark Lord, no
resistance, and no Draco Malfoy.
Wherever he was… it was no longer Earth.
Once upon a time, there was a boy.
He had his father's hair, his mother's eyes, and the strangest lightning-
bolt scar.
He had magic in his blood, hope in his heart, and a burning fury buried
deep in his bones.
He had in his possession a Cloak, a Stone, and a Wand.
And when Death came for him, he met her halfway.
/
Once upon a time, Death met her Master.
He was a man this time, with the most beautiful emerald eyes.
And when he greeted her like she was an old friend, her heart broke a
little.
10
So she did with him what she did with all her little tragedies;
She sent him back, just a world or two over,
And hoped it wouldn't hurt as much when they met again.
A/N: There we go. Much stronger start than last time, don't you think?
I made a discord!
Wanna talk about the fic? The fandom? Your deep-seated emotional trauma?
Feel free to join!
Here's the code: CH2a5Nf
Did something make you laugh? cry? throw your laptop across your room?
Did I do anything particularly well, or is there anything you think I need to
improve on? Let me know in the reviews! A key aspect of improving skills
is feedback, and that's what reviews are there for!
Thanks for reading!
11
2. Prologue x10 Combo (Part 1)
A/N: Hey gamers, it's ya boi PixelKind. Back at it again with another
chapter
of
Harry
Potter
and
the,
uh…
(checks
notes)
...Looming
Specter of Colonialism?
Expect the divergences to come hard and fast: the AU tag isn't on as a
joke.
BRING a WAND to a KNIFE-GUN FIGHT
[ACT 1: Bucket List
[CHAPTER 2: Prologue x10 Combo (Part 1)
In Which Paths Are Changed And Seeds Are Planted
The Beast of Extinction let loose a deafening roar as it approached the
Warrior of Man, heedless of the dark ichor of its brethren that painted her
weapon black. It knew no fear, no caution, no wariness of overwhelming
strength. Nothing but raw, targeted aggression.
And this aggression, it acted on. It curled up into a ball and rolled towards
the Warrior, quickly gaining speed and turning its own bone plating into a
devastating instrument of destruction while fully covering any potential
weak spots it could have had.
This was the ultimate attack of the Grimm known as the Boarbatusk; a move
that could bowl over any Huntsman who took it, and outright kill anyone
else.
Nora Valkyrie simply grinned and spun into a devastating uppercut with her
weapon. The silver warhammer Magnhild met the Boarbatusk's charge and,
with a cry of "Fore!" from its wielder, launched the Grimm cleanly into the
air.
The short redhead set the head of her hammer down on the ground and
shielded her eyes with her offhand, tracking the arc of the Grimm through the
air. It crashed into the ground with a distant 'crunch.'
12
"Dude," said one of the raggedy-looking fighters nearby, "that had to be at
least 50 yards. Someone go pace that out before the body dissolves."
"Yeah, sure, go pay attention to the dead one," complained a white-haired
fighter fending off a Beowolf. "Not like we have a job to do or anything."
"Here," said Nora, "I'll kill that, you go pace that out. I wanna know how far
it was, too. I think my high score was, what, 60?"
"It was 58 and a quarter," corrected a voice from the trees above them.
The two Nomads looked up as a half-dissolved Nevermore fell through the
branches to the forest floor, followed silently by a young man with a streak
of pink in otherwise black hair. He idly pointed a weapon towards them and
released a precise burst of automatic fire, felling the Beowolf their attention
had strayed from.
Nora nodded to herself, heedless of the carnage. "You're so smart, Renny! I
don't know what I'd do without you."
"Plenty, I'm sure," Lie Ren responded blandly. "I pretty much exclusively
ask you to not do things."
The white-haired fighter kicked the dissolving Boarbatusk idly. "60 and a
half," she called out. "You definitely beat the Tribe's record!"
Nora pumped Magnhild in the air and let out a victorious whoop.
Ren patted her back. "New record, excellent work." He turned back to the
group of fighters. "By my estimations, it should be about time we head back
to camp?"
A beefy redhead squinted up at the sky for a moment. "Yeah, that looks about
right." He let out a piercing whistle. "ALL RIGHT, TRIBESMEN, THAT'S
IT
FOR
NOW!
HOW
ABOUT
WE
GO
SEE
WHAT
THE
COOKS
WHIPPED UP FOR US TODAY, YEAH?"
Cheers rang out from the forest around them, as dozens of fighters relaxed
and made their way back to camp. Men, women, faunus, humans… all clad
in
ragged
clothes
and
cobbled-together
gear.
A
more
ragtag
group
of
individuals, you couldn't find anywhere on Remnant.
13
Here, Ren and Nora weren't 'those homeless orphans,' they were another
pair
of
weapons
against
the
Grimm.
Perhaps
not
true
Tribesmen,
but
accepted all the same. That's just how it was with the Nomads; if you could
pull your own weight, there was a place at the table for you.
And so two of them followed the crowd of warriors through the trees and
into a gate in a rough wooden wall. The smell of smoke and cooked meat
wafted through the air, guiding them past a throng of patchwork tents, and
into the clearing in the center of the encampment. Much of the tribe was
already there, clustered about rows of boars roasting over fire.
The food and drink was plenty, and Tribesmen sang and laughed around the
roughly hewn tables scattered throughout the clearing. They'd only been
there two weeks, but to Ren and Nora? The Camp of the Khan Tribe already
felt like home.
"...and then I hooked Crescent Rose around the Beowolf and shot at another
one, so I got two in one move! I've been working on that since Dad started
complaining about how much ammo I waste-"
"Uh, Ruby?" cut in Yang. "That's great and all, but… are you going to follow
me into the cop car?"
Her sister blinked, then looked around. Yang had been bundled into the
backseat of a police cruiser, and Ruby herself was halfway in the door.
"Huh," wondered the younger girl, "When did that happen?"
Yang gave her an unimpressed look, hands cuffed behind her back. "The
entire time you were talking, Rubes. You really have to work on that
situational awareness."
Ruby let out a low whine and pulled her hood down over her head. "But-
but you're my ride! But I don't wanna be arrested! But Dad will kill both of
us if I go home alone! What do I do?"
"Tell ya what," Yang said as she shifted in her seat to point her pocket at
Ruby. "Bumblebee's key is in there, get her and walk her to the station. This
should all be cleared up by the time you get there."
Ruby fished the key out of the pocket and darted back quickly. "I'll be there
14
before you know it!"
Yang rolled her eyes. "Make sure she doesn't get dinged or anything. If she
needs a new paint job that's coming out of your allowance!"
"I'll protect her with my life!" came the reply, just as the officer finally shut
the car door.
Yang Xiao-Long leaned back across the seat and sighed. This was going to
be a fun one to explain to Dad.
The roar of the crowd was barely audible in the small room Pyrrha Nikos
found herself waiting in; eyes fixed on the small screen in the corner that
showed the match currently going on.
Whoever won that fight would be her opponent in the finals.
A small part of her mind kept track of the combatants (spear user tends
towards focused flurries of jabs, axe user prefers to block with the side of
the blade), but most of her focus was dedicated to preparation of a more
physical nature.
Her heartbeat was steady; a tad bit faster than what would be considered
'normal', but under control nonetheless. She held up her arms and twitched
each
finger
rhythmically;
each
joint
bent
smooth,
quick,
and
without
complaint. Her wrists were in full working order, as were her elbows and
shoulders. Her neck gave a mildly satisfying crick when she twisted it, so
she did it three more times; until it went as smooth as everything else.
She worked her way down to her legs and, once satisfied, she closed her
eyes.
A deep breath filled her lungs to the fullest, and she held this for a moment
before releasing it slowly. A slight unsteadiness to her exhale had her
repeating the process twice.
A slight, deliberate smile graced her face; as self-aware as she currently
was, it could be nothing but deliberate. Her Aura hummed with confidence;
she was ready to fight.
15
A quiet knock on the door had her tilting her head. "Come in!"
A tall man in a navy blue suit stepped into the room. "Pyrrha Nikos. It's a
pleasure to finally meet you."
Pyrrha's eyes narrowed, and she reached for her weapons. "I don't think
you're supposed to be in here."
"Oh, it would take a brave security guard indeed to tell me I can't go
somewhere," he laughed, gesturing towards an insignia on his suit. A bronze
trident, wrapped in silver chains. The symbol of one of the three ruling
Families of Mistral.
Pyrrha sighed and leaned back against the small table in the room. "And
what does the Vasilias Family want with me?"
He grinned. "Well, first we'd like to commend you on your flawless record
for the fourth year straight."
She raised an eyebrow. "Before the finals?"
"Oh, your opponent forfeit. You're officially the champion. Congratulations,
etc."
Pyrrha frowned. "That's a shame. I was looking forward to that fight."
"Your last one before you go to Haven Academy, yes?" The man pulled a
chair from the table and seated himself.
She nodded silently.
"Well, here's the thing, Miss Nikos. I'm here to offer you a deal." He placed
a small briefcase on the table. "We have a number of places where we could
use a fighter of your caliber, and are willing to, ah… invest in your growth,
so to speak."
Pyrrha stared at him flatly. "With all due respect, I intend to become a
Huntress."
"Well, of course," agreed the man easily. "And an agreement with us would
open many doors for you on that front as well. I will be frank with you: we
have people in Haven. We can arrange your placement on one of our teams,
16
get you the resources you need, and ensure our other talents understand
you're… on the same side, as it won't have to work for us quite yet, just
with us."
The operative word there being 'yet', Pyrrha noted. Were she to take this
man's
'deal',
she'd
be
bound
to
the
Vasilias
Family
politically
and
financially.
"And rest assured," he continued, "we are very generous to those who work
with us." He gently pushed the briefcase across the table to her.
"Is that so," commented Pyrrha blandly, not even glancing at it.
"Well," the man rose from his seat. "You don't need to decide right away.
You can keep that either way, and, ah…" He reached into his pocket and set
down a business card. "Feel free to call me when you've made your
decision."
He paused at the door for a moment, before turning back and smiling. "We
hope to hear from you soon."
And then, he was gone.
She waited a moment, just to be sure, before letting out a deep sigh. This…
this wasn't why she fought. She didn't want to be famous, or rich, or
influential… She wanted to fight. But…
She idly opened the briefcase, and wasn't quite surprised when she saw it
was full to the brim with Lien. That was just how things were done in
Mistral, really.
And honestly? Joining the Vasilias Family was the logical choice. The
correct choice. Most people wouldn't even think about it. To catch the eye
of one of the Big Three? That was probably why half the people at these
tournaments even went.
But when Pyrrha thought about spending her days at the beck and call of a
Family, about just standing places and looking intimidating, about living the
rest of her life as the bodyguard for some aristocrat's idiot son, the only
thing she felt was mildly ill.
17
And to go to Haven, having spurned the offer of the Vasilias Family…
would likely put a target on her back for all of its allies. Not that she wasn't
used to being the one to beat, but the Families weren't quite known for fair
play.
What she wanted to do- what she really wanted to do, was to get away from
the whole mess. The tangled web of politics, the omnipresent reach of the
Families…
To get away from that, she'd have to leave Mistral.
The realization itself didn't quite surprise her. What surprised her was how
absolutely okay she was with that option. What surprised her was the
revelation that it really was an option. She was an adult, she had money
from the tournaments, she could leave, and nobody could stop her.
The briefcase closed with a snap, latches securing themselves with a touch
of her Semblance.
And yeah, it was a little scary. There were so many people that were going
to be upset at her… the Families, her fans, even her parents.
A vicious grin split her face, almost against her will. The case dangled from
her fingertips as she slipped out the door, a spring in her step that had been
thought long-lost. One look at her face had the crowd of competitors quietly
make way for her.
They saw the briefcase. They thought they knew what it meant.
'Pyrrha Nikos,' they whispered, 'finally acting like a Champion. Finally
getting the memo, finally playing the game.' The rumors only made her grin
sharper.
Because the last time Pyrrha had felt this kind of nervous? That would have
been her first tournament circuit. And, well…
Everyone knew how that fight had gone.
SDC drones littered the length of the train segment; broken and sparking on
the floor. There had been more than usual, but still not enough to stop them.
18
Their foes defeated, Blake Belladonna and Adam Taurus approached the
last compartment on the train.
The one that held what they had come for.
An arc of crimson steel sliced through the lock, leaving the door to swing
open.
A crowd of dirty, bruised bodies– both human and faunus– shied away from
the entrance. Away from the light. But the shadows in the compartment
weren't quite enough to hide that there were far more people within than
there should have been. That each and every one of them was chained to the
walls. That there was no real way to feed them while they were in there.
According to the shipping schedules, they'd been in there for at least 24
hours already.
Blake glanced at Adam, at the cold raw fury in his single blue eye.
She put a hand on his shoulder, then stepped into the compartment herself.
"It's alright. We're here to rescue you. You're safe with us."
The medics they'd brought with them filed in after her, spreading out to
break shackles and treat injuries. As their lights brightened the room, threw
into relief the atrocities these people were subjected to, her grip on her
weapon tightened.
Adam gently bumped into her. "Come. We still have to keep watch; there
might be more security left on the front of the train."
She nodded and followed him back out. The crimson leaves of Forever Fall
rushed by as they stood watch.
A moment passed.
"Are you okay?" asked Adam.
"Yeah, I'm…" Blake trailed off. "No. I'm not okay. I'm furious."
"Good."
Blake turned on him. "Good? You call this good? For every train of Nomads
19
we rescue, there's two dozen that we can't afford to attack! And those are
just the ones in transit! How is this good, Adam?"
"I didn't mean the situation was good," he defended. "I meant it's good that
you're angry. It means you haven't given up."
Blake stared at him for a moment, then sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to
snap at you, I'm just- I wish we could actually stop this. I wish we could
march up to Atlas and make the SDC stop this. I wish we were strong
enough. I wish I was strong enough."
Adam smirked. "Your wish is my command." And he held out a piece of
paper.
She took it and frowned. "Adam? What is this?"
"An invitation to Beacon Academy's Initiation. You said you wanted to be
stronger, didn't you?"
Her eyes widened. "But- But I'm needed here! I can fight, I can help the
raids, I can take care of the people we rescue, I can-"
Adam held up a hand. "You can make it into Beacon, you can get stronger,
and then you can come back and make up for all the work you missed out on
in a tenth of the time."
She looked back down at the paper. "That's four years, Adam."
He turned away from her. "I'll wait for you."
Her lip wobbled. "I don't want to go."
"I don't want you to go either," he admitted, still facing away. "I want you to
stay with me forever. I want to run away from all this and live a peaceful
life, far away from the Kingdoms and the SDC. But you would hate me for
that; I would hate me for that. So we have to do what's right, instead of
what we want."
One of the medics approached. "Sir? That's everyone off the train. We're the
last ones left."
Adam nodded. "She'll be staying; this train heads to Vale." He turned back
20
to Blake. "Get off before the wall and go around to a different entrance.
Everything you'll need should be in your pack. I'll take care of your things
while you're out."
She stared at him. "You planned this, didn't you? I was never going back to
camp today."
Adam nodded. "I couldn't risk you convincing me to have you stay. I'm
depending on you, Blake. We'll need your strength when you return."
She blinked away tears and nodded resolutely. "Yeah. Got it."
He walked up to the edge of the train, and looked back. "Good luck," he
said quietly.
And before she could say anything in response, he stepped off the train and
disappeared.
Ruby Rose slowed to a stop as a very suspicious group of men rushed out of
a store, carrying very suspicious stacks of containers, and loading them into
a very suspiciously nondescript vehicle.
The most suspicious person of them all, a man in a white coat and a bowler
hat, eyed her suspiciously. "What're you lookin at, kid? Ain't it past your
bedtime? Scram."
Ruby glanced over to the shop; the windows were broken, and someone she
presumed to be the shopkeep could be made out to be cowering behind the
counter.
She
kicked
out
Bumblebee's
stand
and
propped
it
up
on
the
sidewalk, carefully keeping her cloak out of the way of the weapon on the
back of her belt. "I, um…" she trailed off, before doubling down. "I don't
think you're supposed to be doing that?"
The man rolled his eyes. "See, here's the thing, Red. I don't think it's any of
your business. So do us both a favor and just keep walking." He twirled his
cane in his hand, somehow making the gesture seem threatening.
Oh! That's who this was! That famous thief, uuuuuh, Rowan Torchbug?
Anyways, she remembered because that guy's weapon was supposed to be
his cane! And this guy had a cane! The point was; he was probably a bad
21
guy, and he had Aura. Which was good.
Because Ruby didn't have to hold back if he had Aura.
A
whirl
of
crimson
steel
had
her
weapon,
her
beautiful
darling,
her
Magnum Opus, Crescent Rose herself, unfolded and displaying her full
glory. A custom high-impact sniper scythe twice as long as Ruby was tall-
not that Ruby was short, mind you, the love of her life was just big, because
she had to be big, don't you dare say over-engineered she just has big
bones.
Anyways. Crescent Rose was deployed, and pointed at Torchbug, and ready
to fire if he made any funny moves.
He just stared at her, nonplussed. "Is that supposed to scare me? Because
I've been more afraid of an empty freezer than I am of you right now."
Hmmmm. There went plan A. Not that she'd had any plans, but the first thing
she'd tried failed, so she had to think of something else to do. She could
always just actually fight him, but that's what Yang had literally just done,
and she also literally got arrested, so…
Oh, no, Ruby was totally gonna get arrested over this.
Oh well. All in the name of… Justice? Was that the right concept to dedicate
this to?
Anyways. She pulled the trigger. Wow, that thief guy was fast, he deflected
the bullet into… into… into the shop.
The shop she was just now noticing was a Dust Shop.
Oh no.
Wait- wasn't the shopkeep still in there?
Oh, no.
Ruby leapt into a red blur, eyes charting her course as she cleared the
broken window.
The
first
reactions
lit
as
she
cleared
the
counter.
She
dropped
her
22
Semblance;
Uncle
Qrow's
lessons
on
exactly
how
much
force
an
unenhanced human spine can handle popped into the front of her mind.
It's not about speed, it's about acceleration.
The shopkeeper was scooped into her arms. An arc of electricity jumped to
the Fire Dust containers.
Ruby flared her Aura.
A wave of hot air slammed into her, and she rode it.
Back up over the counter, back out the window. Rose petals whirled through
the air, even as the heat singed their edges.
Once
clear
of
the
store
she
juked
laterally,
pulling
herself
and
the
shopkeeper out of the explosion's reach.
She skidded to a stop as the blast bathed a wide section of the street in fire.
The flames died down, and a van drove past her. A small object shot out and
stuck into the sidewalk in front of her. It was… a card? With a wide Jack-O-
Lantern grin on it. She picked it up and flipped it over.
My bad.
- Roman Torchwick
Ruby stared down at it in confusion, then shrugged. Even if the criminals
weren't stopped, the civilian was saved. Justice had been served.
She turned back to Yang's bike and froze.
The motorcycle had been left directly across the street from the shop. It's
bright yellow paint job was scratched up and covered in soot, the fine
leather seat was lightly charred, and the tires were… ominously misshapen.
She was so dead.
A/N: So there's Nora, Yang, Pyrrha, Blake, and Ruby. Lots of changes
from canon, starring actual worldbuilding for Mistral and Adam not
23
being cringe.
I thought it'd be fun to show where everyone's starting because of how
AU this is. And, uh. Remind me to never do this again. It took forever to
write and the sequence isn't even over. I decided to cut it when I
noticed my word count was already ~3.5k and I was only halfway done.
You'll get the other 5 of the x10 combo next chapter, but this should give
you a good taste of what's to come. Divergences out the wazoo, almost
all of which are meaningful. I really liked the idea of tribes like Raven's
just, being a thing. People who don't want to live in the Kingdoms
banding together. Not necessarily bandits, as much as they'll all be
painted with the same brush. Just people working together to survive.
24
3. Prologue x10 Combo (Part 2)
BRING a WAND to a KNIFE-GUN FIGHT
[ACT 1: Bucket List
[CHAPTER 3: Prologue x10 Combo (Part 2)
In Which Chains Are Reforged and Beginnings Born Anew
A flash of white danced around gunmetal gray. A thick blade of Dust-forged
steel swung down, crashing into the stone where she had once stood. A thin
line of silver whirled about, slashing through a thick, inky-black hamstring
before plunging straight into the shadowy not-flesh that made up the back of
the monster's knee.
The Armor Gigas ignored what should have been two debilitating attacks
and instead launched its leg back in a sickeningly fluid motion. Despite its
knightly appearance, it fought like anything but; its movements were jerky,
unrefined, and unconstrained by the concept of form or anatomy. She threw
herself backwards rather than take the hit.
Weiss Schnee grit her teeth in frustration. Her Aura was likely somewhere
into the yellow at this point; not that her opponent was giving her the chance
to pull out her Scroll and check.
Not that she'd spend that chance to do it. She would rather spend it on
something constructive, like attacking the accursed thing.
Not that that had turned out to be all that constructive either. She'd been
throwing herself at that Oum-be-damned Grimm for half an hour now and it
was no worse for the wear. And Weiss herself was rapidly coming to terms
with the fact that she was not an endurance fighter.
She was precision, she was grace, she was the raw fury of the very elements
themselves.
She had Dust and a rapier, and was up against a gigantic, armored beast.
By all logic, she should have already won.
25
Unfortunately, she faced the slight complication that even if she could
dance circles around the Armor Gigas and lance as many hits through the
joints as her father had Lien, that didn't really matter when her enemy was
the armor itself rather than someone inside it.
This was unfair! It'd probably take a full team of Huntsmen to kill this
blasted thing!
But of course it was unfair, she realized as her eyes drifted to the mirrored
glass of the observation room looking out over the arena. It was one of her
father's challenges. The point wasn't to give her a chance, the point was to
beat her down until she gave up.
She
snarled,
long
past
maintaining
any
semblance
of
decorum,
and
wrenched her eyes back to the fight. Perhaps this would let off some steam;
A bright red glyph shone in the air before her, unleashing a torrent of fire on
the Armor Gigas.
It didn't do anything, of course. The flames washed across the steel plating,
leaving behind a few soot marks and not much else.
It swung its blade at her with that inhuman not-form, its joints twisting and
stretching like elastic. She kicked off a Glyph and bounced up behind it,
slicing through the stringy black un-flesh of the thing's elbow with the point
of Myrtenaster.
It faltered for a moment, before thick tendrils shot out from the severed
joints and reconnected the arm. It shifted and swung the blade at her new
position, and Weiss dodged once more.
There was a heat in the air, now, lingering from her gout of flames. A click
of Myrtenaster's cylinder, and another Glyph heralded a rush of ice, twisting
up one leg of her foe, wrapping around the chestplate, and spreading all the
way to the opposite arm.
The cool air was a blessed relief to her skin, even as the Gigas shattered the
ice by simply moving. That had also been about as effective as she'd dared
to expect.
But- but what was that sound? The tortured groan of metal? Why…?
26
She thought back to when she'd created Myrtenaster. The finest Dust-forged
steel, the finest weaponsmiths, the finest teachers. She'd insisted on creating
it herself; despite what Father thought, a weapon was a deeply personal
thing for a Huntress. And she remembered the first thing the (SDC-vetted)
blacksmith had told her: "Be careful with temperatures. Carelessly heating
and cooling your metal will weaken it."
And this time… that's what she wanted.
She danced backwards away from the Armor Gigas, rummaging through the
pocket of her combat skirt. When she gained the distance she needed, she
stopped.
Front foot pointed straight at the target. Back foot at a 90 degree angle. Body
held low, blade drawn back to her chest.
Four glimmering red and blue crystals, held between the fingers of her off-
hand.
A single, massive Glyph appeared on the floor below the Armor Gigas.
It flared red. The monster was engulfed in a whirlwind of fire. A sweltering
wave of heat blew back her hair.
The Glyph flared blue. A pillar of ice snapped into existence, edges already
melting from the leftover heat, but that didn't matter because with a flex from
her foe, it shattered.
The Glyph flared red. Another torrent of flame, melting the fragments of ice
into water, boiling the water into steam. The metal of the Armor Gigas
began to glow with a dull heat.
The Glyph flared blue. Another mountain of ice. More fragments of ice on
the ground as the Grimm freed itself from its elemental prison.
Her Aura was low, now. Deep in the red. Enough to take a single hit at most.
(Up in the observation room, a scientist moved to stop the fight. To re-
enable the Gigas' restraints. To end this cruel, cruel charade.
A single, pale hand stopped him.
27
"She's not done yet," said Jaques Schnee, ice-cold eyes fixed on the fight
in front of him.)
Weiss focused on her foe's breastplate. Jagged patterns of frost criss-
crossed the once-polished metal surface. Cold, misty air clung to it like an
ethereal cloak.
Not yet, not yet.
The monster stepped closer. The surface of the armor was mottled. Marked
with soot and ash and crystalline ice.
And most importantly of all, it was cracked.
She gathered what remained of her Aura; enough to take one single hit.
Or, enough to make one single Glyph.
A brilliant white circle appeared behind her.
She shot forwards, the fragments of her broken Aura streaming behind her as
she sailed through the air.
The monster drew back its sword.
Myrtenaster, unerringly, found its mark.
And the Armor Gigas shattered.
Broken shards of steel fell down on the arena, and Weiss stood tall among
them. Bereft of Aura, bereft of the energy to even dodge, she grit her teeth
and withstood the rain of razor-sharp fragments.
This was nothing next to the despair her father had intended to inflict with
this challenge. This was nothing compared to the thought of being forced to
dance on his strings for the next four years. This was nothing, when it paid
for her freedom.
Eventually she dragged herself into something close to a dignified stance
and, with a flourish born more from habit than intent, sheathed Myrtenaster
at her side. Tired, covered in cuts, and bleeding more than was probably
safe, she turned to give a final, venomous glare at the mirrored window of
28
the observation room.
Her father had set her against an impossible challenge; a challenge that now
lay broken on the floor around her. She was no longer a pawn. She was
Weiss Schnee, Heiress to the Schnee Dust Company.
And she was going to Beacon Academy.
( "Sir," said the scientist into the silence that followed. "Sir, you said she
wouldn't break it."
Jaques Schnee gave a self-satisfied nod. "It seems my daughter has steel
in her yet."
"Sir. That was a very expensive Grimm experiment. We needed that." )
The sun had long since set on the Camp of the Khan Tribe, but the bonfire
burned bright and ale flowed freely. Tribesmen belted out drinking songs,
clapping in time or letting out raucous laughter. Nora herself seemed to be
leading one of these songs, a foot on the bench and a tankard waved in the
air.
Lie Ren simply nursed his own drink, gently swaying alongside her. They
would be leaving soon, he knew, and the boisterousness of his friend was
her way of showing she would be missing these people. Better to cry on the
road than waste precious time, she would say. A lesson he could likely still
stand to learn.
A piercing whistle cut through the song, and the tribesmen quieted down
quickly. A tall, dark-skinned woman with golden eyes and tiger stripes
running down her arms stepped up onto the table.
"Tribesmen," shouted Sienna Khan, leader of the Khan Tribe, "Tonight is a
night for celebration!"
"Isn't every night?" teased a beefy redhead.
Sienna
laughed.
"You
got
me
there,
Desmond.
But
tonight
is
special!
Because tomorrow morning, our favorite wanderers will be leaving for
Beacon!"
29
Whoops and clapping filled the air of the camp.
"Yes! They are strong! They have conviction! No doubt next time we see
them, they'll be well on their way to being Huntsmen!"
The laughter and hollers rang out once more. Nora held up her hands,
basking in the praise as Ren sunk further into the shadows next to her.
Sienna turned to face them directly. "Nora Valkyrie. Lie Ren. Your strength
and integrity have proven you worthy of the Nomads. I hereby declare you
friends of the Khan Tribe!"
A deafening cheer roared out from the tribe. Nora simply grinned.
"And…"
Sienna
trailed
off
for
a
moment.
"And
if
you
should
want
something more… We would welcome you as family, with open arms. You
will always have a home here with us."
The camp held its breath as Ren and Nora stared at each other. The latter
with hope in her eyes, the former with wariness. He glanced up at Sienna,
then sighed and gave a single, small nod.
Nora immediately jumped onto the table and tackled Sienna in a Huntress-
grade hug. The tribe went wild, and Ren, hiding behind his rough wooden
tankard, gave the gentlest of smiles.
Jaune knelt, bent over the toilet in the dinky little Bullhead bathroom,
wiping vomit from his lips. He'd spent his whole life out in the frontier town
of Ansel, learning the ropes of being a Huntsman from his father, and his
first trip to the big city was being spent locked in an aerial porta-potty!
Truly, Jaune Arc was spared no indignity.
At least this Bullhead had a bathroom; the volume he was… let's say
dispensing… would have certainly left more than one barf bag full, and he
hadn't packed more than one. He hadn't known that the true enemy all
Huntsmen face wasn't Grimm, but their own blasted vehicles!
An
impatient
knocking
on
the
thin
metal
door
had
Jaune
sighing
and
straightening up. There couldn't be more than two hours of the flight left,
could there be? He'd be fine. Everything would be fine. He still had the barf
30
bag.
He slipped out of the bathroom, leaving it vacant for the peeved-looking
businessman who was his only companion on the flight- besides the pilot,
Jaune supposed, but it wasn't like he'd even seen them since liftoff.
He carefully sat down on one of the seats, pulling his guitar case onto his
lap. He wouldn't play it; he was feeling far too ill for that. But hugging it
brought him comfort; it was a going-away gift from his younger sister
Obsidian Arc- woe betide any who call her anything but Sid. The mere
thought of her brought to mind her piercing voice, telling him not to even
touch the instrument before taking real lessons and then calling him a loser
for the thousandth time. Truly, she was his sixth-favorite sister out of seven
for a reason.
His favorite was Bianca, of course. She was the eldest, and the one who had
inspired him down the path of the Huntsman. She was a true Huntress, with
grace and dignity and understated but overwhelming lethality. The white
armor adorning his chest was a gift from her, and the unfamiliar weight was
reassuring in more ways than one.
He also had five other sisters, but those two were the important ones. The
ones that were (or were going to be) Huntresses. Sure, Lavender could bake
a mean crepe and Olivia was a professor of anthropology, but it wasn't like
analyzing the archaeological significance of a cup made of dirt could stop
Grimm in their tracks.
No, that was the job of Huntsmen. Killing things. Something Jaune hoped to
actually learn at Beacon; right now, he had the whole 'not dying' step down
but everything past that was a little fuzzy. Dad said he had a pretty big Aura,
so during hunts he'd just piss off the Grimm and block with his shield until
someone else killed it.
Yeah, you heard him right. He'd already gone on hunts with his Dad. He was
basically an expert Grimmslayer already. Beacon just had to draw out his
latent potential for incredible violence- something Bianca assured him was
completely normal.
Sid called him a loser over that, too. She'd never gotten her hands on a
mechashift weapon of her own, but she was always flipping her combat
knife around and explaining what she'd do to any Grimm that got any funny
31
ideas. Even if the one time she went on a hunt with him and dad she'd spent
the entire time hanging on to his back screaming into his ear to 'KILL IT
KILL IT KILL IT.'
That particular memory resurfacing had Jaune consider moving Sid all the
way down to the least favorite spot. No, no, that wouldn't do; Hazel was
way too much of a bitch to get dethroned as Worst Sister. Seriously. She
worked for the SDC.
Ugh. Just thinking about her had his stomach threatening to start on filling
that barf bag.
Suddenly, the door to the pilot's cockpit slid open. "Hey, Arc. You're a
Huntsman, right?"
Jaune blinked. "Uh, not yet, sir. I'll be going to Beacon this year, though."
"Shit," said the pilot. "Think you can take on, say, a flock of Nevermore?"
Jaune blinked again. "No, I don't think so. Sorry."
"Shit," said the pilot again, but with more feeling. "Wanna give it a try
anyway?"
Jaune looked down at Crocea Mors, then back up. "With a sword?"
Silence.
"Yeah but, like. It has a gun in it too, right?" said the pilot.
"No," said Jaune. "Just a sword. The sheath turns into a shield, though. It's
pretty cool."
"Fuck this," said the pilot. "I'm out."
"What?" squawked Jaune. "What do you mean you're out?"
The pilot pulled the eject lever and launched himself out of the vehicle.
"Oh come on," complained Jaune, "It can't be that bad-"
He entered the cockpit and cut himself off. A whirling black maelstrom that
32
was only recognizable as Grimm by the occasional white mask was headed
right towards the Bullhead. Or rather, the Bullhead was headed straight
towards it.
"Oh, for Oum's sake," said the peeved-looking businessman. "I am going to
be so behind schedule."
"WHO
CARES
ABOUT
YOUR
SCHEDULE?"
shrieked
Jaune.
"DO
SOMETHING!"
"If you insist," said the businessman. He walked over to the rear of the ship
and opened the exit ramp, letting the deafening sound of a lot of air moving
very fast reverberate through the Bullhead. "Au revoir," he said, barely
intelligible over the roaring wind. And then he picked up his briefcase and
stepped out of the Bullhead. Into the two thousand foot gap between the
vehicle and the Grimm-infested forest on the ground.
Jaune stared.
The rear door beeped three times, then closed automatically.
"That's not what I meant," Jaune finally said.
"NO PILOT DETECTED," said the computer built into the cockpit controls.
"ENGAGING AUTOPILOT."
"Oh, thank Oum. Someone hasn't abandoned me. Computer, take me to
Beacon," said Jaune.
"EXCESSIVE
GRIMM
PRESENCE
DETECTED.
DISENGAGING
AUTOPILOT.
PLEASE
AVOID
GRIMM
WITH
MANUAL
PILOTING
BEFORE REENGAGING."
"Yeah," sighed Jaune as he reached for the Bullhead's yoke. "I figured."
It wasn't like he had any other options now, did he? Besides, how hard
could piloting a Bullhead through a swarm of Nevermore even be?
Adam
stalked
into
the
central
tent
of
the
Taurus
Tribe,
coat
flaring
dramatically behind him. "Deery. We've got a group of 40 refugees coming
in. See to their needs," he commanded with no preamble.
33
The small faunus nodded and slipped out of the tent, leaving him alone with
a thin, tan-skinned girl and a hulking behemoth of a man peacefully sorting
through papers scattered across a desk. Adam nodded to the former before
addressing the latter.
"Bane, status report on the camp."
Bane cleared his throat. "Grimm Patrols A,B, and D went as expected, with
group C encountering more resistance than usual. No injuries, we're just
lower on Dust than we'd hoped for. Hunting teams report that we'll need to
move camp by the end of the month or risk over-hunting the locale. If we're
looking to send the refugees somewhere, the Mulberry Tribe is willing to
support up to two dozen of them. The Borelis Tribe down south is a little
overcrowded, they're actually hoping to send ten of theirs over to us."
Adam nodded slowly, looking over the map on the table. It was covered in a
rainbow
of
color-coded
pins
and
carefully
carved
figurines-
Blake's
handiwork, the lot of it. "Any news from further out?"
"SDC scouts have been more active on the eastern fringe of Forever Fall;
The Vermeil Tribe is moving to their winter location a few months early to
avoid them. Other than that, business as usual."
Adam frowned; Grimm were one thing, but the SDC was a different beast
entirely. Perhaps the increased activity was in anticipation of the Vytal
Festival, in hopes of defending the rail route better? They could fight, but
the SDC numbered thousands and each tribe had only two or three hundred
at most. Much safer to retreat for the time being, let it pass.
Maybe if he had teams of fighters on par with himself, but every Huntsman-
grade nomad worth their salt was out running a Tribe of their own. He was
practically bending over backwards to keep Ilia and Bane, let alone anyone
in the big leagues. Oh, what he'd do to get some real combat power…
I wish we could actually stop this. I wish we could march up to Atlas and
make the SDC stop this. I wish we were strong enough.
Hmmmm. An idealistic pipe dream for sure, but Blake truly was the best of
them. For all that they followed the Rule of Strength, she rarely put it to use
for her own benefit. But then again, that was what he was for. He glanced
34
down at the map once more and frowned. "Bane. What's the combat power
of the Borelis tribe?"
He reached into a drawer on the desk and flattened out a piece of paper
from it. "They're 230 strong, but probably about half of that is real combat
power. About a dozen really trained in Aura, with their leader personally
Huntsman-grade."
Adam picked up a sleekly carved wooden bull and slid it across the map,
knocking over a truncated bat figurine- 'chibi,' Blake had called the style?
"How about the Vermeil Tribe?"
Bane fished out another document. "About 300 tribesmen, but they are more
militaristic, so a round 200 fighters. 30 trained in Aura, 3 Huntsmen grade
including the leader."
Adam twisted his mouth, then straightened the bat piece back up, placing it
next to the bull. "Mulberry?"
Bane glanced up at him. "Sir? Is there something I should know?"
"Not at all," demurred the Leader of the Taurus Tribe as he ran his fingers
down the side of a furry, eight-eyed piece- was this what Blake thought
spiders looked like? Ridiculous. "I'm just thinking. The numbers, please."
And so Bane read them out. And Adam sketched out a line. A thick, red line
that zigzagged between each of the local Nomad camps before following the
map's own arrow labeled "to Mistral."
Bane and Ilia stared at the map with confusion. Adam was surprised, too.
Surprised at how viable it seemed. It wasn't a guarantee, and it certainly
wouldn't be easy, but it could work. "Your wish is my command," he
whispered to himself, before turning to Ilia. "Get the men ready. We march
in three days."
Ilia glanced at Bane for a moment before speaking. "To our winter camp?"
"No, no. First, we march on our neighbors. Next, our brothers and sisters in
Mistral. After that?" Adam laughed, the happiest and most carefree he'd
sounded in years- since he'd taken leadership of the tribe. "Blake would
simply say 'the sky's the limit,' but I've never been one for delicacy. After
35
that, we drag the heavens back down to earth and paint our would-be gods
the colors of their own flesh."
Bane stared at him, eyebrows raised high. "Sir?"
"For all their laws and governments, the people of Atlas have forgotten the
one true rule," he said. "That by which they won the lives they spend so
cruelly, that by which they won the food and shelter they now take for
granted, that by which they pried Remnant from the very jaws of the
Grimm." His hand fell to the blade at his hip. "The Rule of Strength governs
all, and it's high time someone reminded the Schnee of that."
Ilia let a toothy grin mar her face. "I look forward to seeing that, Sir."
Sweat dripped down Harry's forehead as his spellwork flew hard and fast.
Flames flared up and died down at his command, and silver blades spun
through
the
air
with
unerring
precision.
Dozens
of
eyes
watched
him
hungrily, but he would not be cowed. This was his domain, and he would
never surrender that.
"Three orders of the Deluxe Noodle Bowl, one with extra beef," came a
shout from one of the servers.
A flick of his wand had another three woks spin out onto the stove as
vegetables flew through the air, dancing between knives and utensils in an
intricate pattern. Onions were diced, garlic was minced, noodles were
rinsed- a handful of simple tasks weaving together into what could only be
called entertainment. The patrons crowding up at the wide glass window to
the small restaurant's kitchen certainly seemed to think so, at least.
Eventually a glance at the clock told Harry his shift would be over soon, so
with a light smirk he set up the finale.
A swing of his wand had the dozens of pans jump up off the stove, whirling
through the air as they plated their precious cargo onto the dishes balanced
precariously on his arms. With a spin, they shot out onto the counter, ready
for the servers to take them to their tables.
He turned back to the stove and hammered his wand arm down on the handle
of the final wok, flipping it through the air over him and catching it in his
36
off-hand, pointed straight at the window. He tossed the noodles into the air,
where they formed a miniature dragon complete with a burst of fire breath
before landing perfectly into the bowl Harry had switched out the wok for.
He set the bowl firmly on the counter with a cheerful "Order up!"
After a few final waves to the crowd, Harry slipped out of the kitchen and
hung up his apron. A quick visit to the boss' office had him clutching an
envelope stuffed thick with Lien- the week's tips. He quickly counted
through it before nodding with satisfaction. He tucked it safely into his
pocket, grabbed his bag from his locker, then stepped back out into the busy
streets of Vale.
It had been an interesting few weeks for him since arriving on Remnant.
He'd expected to run into some problems from apparently being some kind
of dimension traveler, but with most of the planet under the rule of mindless
demons the local government didn't seem to really care where he was from
as long as he wasn't a wanted criminal. And even if he technically was
wanted back in Wizarding Britain it wasn't like anyone here would know
that, so things had gone pretty smoothly, all things considered.
And then he'd seen a shop with a chaingun / battleaxe / electric guitar hybrid
in the display window, and everything had gone downhill- sorry, no, uphill-
from there. Huntsmen; a special class of super-warriors whose duty it was
to stave off the impending threat of the Creatures Grimm. Dust; the fury of
the elements, crystalized and refined into a usable form. The aforementioned
wack as hell weapons.
After hearing about that, Harry knew in his heart of hearts that he just
absolutely had to be one of those "Huntsmen." So he'd applied to Beacon
Academy and somehow got accepted? He had literally written down that he
went to wizard school and they let him in, so either the person in charge
thought he was funny or nobody actually read those applications.
A tiny bell rang as Harry opened the door to the shop he'd found three weeks
ago, and the girl behind the counter looked up from her Scroll. "Welcome.
What can I do for you today?"
The front of the shop was rows upon rows of display clothes; shirts, pants,
dresses, jackets, scarves, hats, corsets- if you could name it, they had it in at
least eight different styles. The walls were lined with what seemed to be
37
thousands of swathes of fabric, sorted by durability, breathability, stiffness,
and texture. Mannequins of all shapes and sizes dotted the rear of the store-
much more complicated than basic plastic statues, they had a full range of
motion and dozens of preprogrammed poses.
This was apparently considered 'quaint' for a tailor that fitted Huntsmen.
Harry wound his way to the counter and grinned at the girl waiting behind it.
"Hey, Coco! Is my order in?"
"Potter, right?" She flipped through a few pages on a nearby clipboard
before nodding. "Yeah, it came in last night. Wanna try it on?"
He nodded. "That would be wonderful."
She hefted a thick case emblazoned with a thin lightning bolt over the
counter and passed it over to him. "Changing rooms are over there," she
indicated
the
far
wall
of
the
shop.
"Let
me
know
if
you
need
any
alterations."
"Alright then," Harry mumbled to himself in the privacy of the changing
room, "let's see how this looks."
First came a black sleeveless bodysuit, made of a pleasantly stretchy but
fairly durable material. It was a snug fit but comfortably so, leaving him
with a full range of motion. This was followed by gloves of the same
material, running from his hands down to just before his elbows.
Next was a strangely cut green tunic that failed to cover the upper right
quarter of his chest, seemingly having invested that fabric in a single loose
sleeve that went down to his left elbow. He cinched it at the waist with a
broad leather belt before facing the bulk of the case; the armor.
A set of coppery vambraces and greaves, each tapering inwards at the
center and stretching up to guard his knees and elbows. They were lighter
than he'd expected, but still something he'd have to get used to.
He slipped on the green shoes- too sturdy to be trainers but too light and
flexible to be boots- and strapped a leather pouch to his left leg before
throwing on the Invisibility Cloak as the finishing touch.
38
It had taken a while for Harry to notice, but ever since he'd arrived on
Remnant, the Cloak was acting strangely. It still worked when he wanted it
to, but he could also just… wear it. Its ethereal, silvery fabric definitely
helped to offset the relative plainness of his new outfit.
He looked at himself in the mirror, twisting and turning to try and catch more
angles. Eventually satisfied, he walked out of the changing room.
He held out his arms and struck a pose. "So, whaddya think?"
She looked him over and smirked. "Not half bad, kid. Everything fit
alright?"
Harry did some quick stretches before nodding. "Like a really nice glove."
She nodded. "Good to hear. Now, we have a couple of options for payment;
if you wanna pay over the next few weeks-"
Harry pulled the envelope out of his pocket and tossed it to her. "That
should about cover it."
Her eyebrows rose as she flipped through the Lien, before finally stopping.
She pulled out a small stack of the cards and slid them back to him. "That's
your change."
He slid it back over to her. "Consider it a tip. I wouldn't look a quarter this
good without you pretty much designing this whole fit for me."
She rolled her eyes but took the money. "Brother, you came in here and
asked for a sports jersey with coattails and leather lacrosse gear. That was a
cry for help if I've ever heard one."
"I was on the sports team in school, it's what I was used to," he mumbled
defensively, fully knowing she was 100% correct.
And judging by the laughter in her eyes she knew he knew, too. Ah well. If
he couldn't handle people being better than him at things he never would
have been friends with Hermione. He knew when he was outmatched.
"Well, uh, thanks again! See you around."
"Good luck with Initiation," Coco called as he walked out the door. "You're
39
going to need it."
Well, then. That wasn't ominous at all.
A/N: Drip Acquired!
I'm pretty happy with how the PROLOGUE x10 COMBO turned out but with
all due respect I am never doing this again. Somehow, while coming up with
the idea, I failed to realize that it meant I actually had to write ten entire
prologues. Hindsight is 20/20, ect.