“That was the last straw, Faunus!” A man hollered at the retreating figure.
This wasn’t the first time he had snuck into the mine, escaping with a sizable amount of Dust, but mostly likely his last. It was as he was leaving that he had been spotted, but the chameleon was prepared. He ignored the shouting man and darkened his skin further, becoming shrouded in the night. Running low to the ground, he kept his steps light, fleeing in as straight a line as possible to keep from shimmering.
It was his favorite place to ‘shop’, always turning a hefty profit. He was loath to leave it behind, but a future attempt would be dangerous. He should have waited; this visit was too close to the last.
*****
There was a knock at the door. On the other side stood a figure cloaked in black.
“Where is it?”
“I have it. Wait there.” The chameleon returned inside, retrieving a portion of the Dust from their stash.
The figure eyed it appreciatively, then scowled. “That’s not enough. Triple.”
“That’s not what we agreed on!” The chameleon softly growled, eyes hard with anger. The figure just shrugged, disinterested. “This is what was agreed, I suggest you take it and go.” The figure stood there, thinking, drawing it out, successfully angering the chameleon.
“For now. Someone will be back to collect the rest.” The figured turned and left, the door slamming in the distance.
The chameleon was done negotiating. The Dust was his. “We’re leaving. Pack your things,” he declared to the house, knowing it would be done without question.
*****
Approaching the house, it seemed like any other. At least on the outside. It was what awaited the young man on the inside that caused disgust upon approaching.
Uneager to enter after a hard day of training, he pushed the door open. It wasn’t until he made it farther in, that he heard the shouting. There was one voice, his dad’s; in what should be a two-sided argument, or better no argument at all.
He was ranting about nothing in particular, something that shouldn’t matter. From what could be made out, his favorite chair had been moved, which had fueled his always-warm temper. That didn’t stop him from declaring that everything and nothing was wrong.
The young man tried passing by undetected, towards his room. That is, until he tripped on a shoelace, crashing to the floor, and halting the voice. He didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to move, hoping he’d not be seen. He was, of course.
“You!” Barked his dad. He stomped his way over. “What do you think you’re doing?” Grabbing his lanky son by the back of his shirt, easily hauling him in the air. He was shorter than the average man, but he made up for it in bulk, somehow dwarfing his taller son. His face was full of disgust and rage. “Go tend the field,” he spat, throwing his son violently away from him, crashing again to the floor, sliding into the wall.
The young man didn’t protest. He quickly picked up his sword and shield, ran them to his room, and headed outside. There was no point in refusing, saying he had already taken care of them. He had already been bruised from being thrown. His aura had healed him quickly enough, but he still felt the ache. He didn’t need an extra beating. He’d find something to do, pretend to pull weeds; anything was better than staying inside.
He had talked to his mom before, while his dad was away. About leaving. Why she stayed. She had always given vague answers, never wanting to commit. Fear kept her from doing something, anything. He had given her the chance. He could protect her. She still refused to leave. If she wouldn’t, maybe it was time he did.
*****
Life was better now.
Sort of.
He had been mostly fending for himself since coming to Menagerie. That wasn’t new. Finding small jobs while travelling was the hard part.
He felt guilty for leaving his mom behind. He had stayed behind for a few days, out of sight, to make sure she would be okay. She was terrified. The only thing that had brightened her day was gone.
Not dad. He made it seem as he expected it, happy even. He sprouted off some lies, like ‘you didn’t deserve him’, ‘he wasn’t really our son’, ‘he was useless anyway’.
Mom had protested at first, saying they had to find him. It didn’t take long for her to drop the subject. I could tell she thought about it though, when dad wasn’t looking.
He had made his decision, he couldn’t, wouldn’t, go back now.
*****
Having lived on the north coast, he made his way west, hopefully towards more civilized people. What food he couldn’t get or find on his own, he stole from others. He wasn’t proud of it, and always left something else behind. Something he thought would be a fair trade; usually a figure he made from leaves and branches.
Tonight was one of those nights. He spotted a huge estate. A thick wooden gate with iron fittings, spotlights giving a clear view of the passage, blocked the entrance. The main building sat on a hill across from the entrance, against the almost-white wall that surrounded the place. There was another building on his right, in front of the main building and down the hill. Hopefully that was the servants’ quarters.
He scanned the wall. It was tall, thick, and nearly flat. He looked to the trees surrounding the area. He moved towards the building he wanted, hoping to find a tree close enough that he could use to jump over the wall.
This would have to do. He looked up the tree and sighed. He didn’t like heights; the ground was where he belonged. But, it was late and there might not be another place nearby.
He found a high enough branch, somewhat close, and leading to the wall. He checked that his shield was secure on his back, his sword at his side, then pushed off with his right foot, running along the branch as lightly as he could, which was a struggle given how heavy-footed he was. When the branch started to bend too much, he brought his feet together, using the branch like a springboard, launching himself at the wall. Apparently, he had poor judgment. He grunted as his chest hit the corner, leaving him winded, his arms just barely holding the other side, keeping him from falling. He hung there, closing his eyes, letting the sharpest of the pain fade away. When he felt strong enough to move, he tensed his arms, found what little purchase he could with his feet, and slowly, made his way up.
He took in the view as he rested atop the wall. There, below him, was the building he sought. He could make out people inside, most likely servants. It was a simple building, similar to a small two-story hotel. He would have to find the food storage room, which was most likely near the kitchen. He looked for any kind of vent along the slightly slanted gable roof. There.
He looked to the main building. Tall columns, reaching the height of the building, made the entrance. The dark roof complimented the light colored walls. It was three stories tall and balconies could be seen along every room, on either side of the columns. The windows were long, most likely spanning the bedroom walls, covered from the inside by drapes.
Looking away, he found a large garden, with a beautiful gazebo in the center. From his position he could barely see the multiple benches around it. There were hedges separating color themed areas, each breath taking, even at night.
Along the flattest part of the land, closest to the wall he was on, were fields of different crops. Turning his attention back to the servants’ quarters, he looked for a soft place to land. Finding a pile of straw near the fields, he crouched, and jumped. Hitting the ground with both feet he pushed of the ground with his left foot, rolling diagonally using his right shoulder, coming up standing. At least he could fall right. Taking a step forward, his foot caught on something. He tried bracing himself, only for his arms to give out, greeting the ground with his face. Groaning, he flipped to his back, lying there, exhausted. He lifted his head to get a look at what caused his fall this time. A pitchfork. He sighed, letting his head fall back to the ground, listening to make sure he hadn’t woken or alerted anyone.
Nothing. His muscles protesting, he got up, checked his surroundings and moved towards his destination.
Finding outside doors to the storage room, they were unsurprisingly locked. Pulling out two pieces of aluminum, he wrapped them around each side of the shackle. Putting the shims in place, he pulled on the lock, popping it free. Inside he could see sacks and shelves full of food. He decided to take a loaf of bread and couple of carrots, placing in their spots a Dust crystal. Leaving the storage room, he replaced the lock.
Now he had to find a way out.
The wall on this side was just as smooth as the other. He looked around; there wasn’t much on this side he could use to make getting over the wall easier. A light by the door flickered on. He could hear steps approaching. There was no time; he would have to run up the wall to get over it.
It took thre steps to make it to the top. He heaved himself up, and hung himself on the other side, wanting to be out of view as quickly as possible. He waited, listening for the door that had opened to close again. Once he was sure no one else would be coming, he dropped to the ground, letting out a soft grunt.
There was a growl behind him. One hand shot to the pommel of his sword, the other to his back. He turned his head carefully. A Beowolf stood in the distance, staring at him. There would most likely be more nearby. Not wanting to deal with it near the wall, he ran toward the Grimm, past it and away.
The creature, confused, stood there for a second, before turning and giving chase. Two others joined in the pursuit.
Once far enough away, the young man turned to face the Beowolves. He stood in stance, shield on his left arm, sword in his right, and waited for the creature. The Grimm lunged. The young man deflected it with his shield to the left, stepped once forward and swung clockwise with his sword, using the momentum to chop off its head. He didn’t have time to see it dissipate as the second one struck.
Blocking the claws with his sword, he bashed its head with his shield, killing it. He looked for the third, getting back into stance. There was a snarl behind him. When he turned, he was met with teeth. He raised his sword, but unable to bring it up in time, the creature latched on to his arm, his scaled skin keeping it from puncturing. He brought his shield to the creature’s neck, under its chin, and squeezed the handle. A large triangular dagger shot from within, piercing through its skull. It was gone before it hit the ground.
There were more of them, but they hid in the shadows, circling, waiting to strike. He picked one and charged. The circle closed in on him as he made his way towards his target. One charged at him, hoping to take him by surprise. Still running, he blocked and stabbed it in the side, drawing the sword through its spine. His original target had faced him and came in running. Before he had a chance to do anything, the creature backhanded him, sending him flying into a tree. He hit the ground, raised his shield prepared for another attack.
There was a blur of movement behind the creature. There was no sound. The Beowolf fell on top of him before disappearing. As he watched, a figure silently danced between the circle of four Grimm, killing them with swipes and blows from her hands.
She stood after the last blow, turning to face him. She was about his age. Her long hair was mostly white, ending in grey; it was held atop her head in a purple bow. Her were eyes a light green, easily seen in the darkness. She had a purple belt with a large opal gem, which matched the gems decorating the ends of her sleeves and skirt. Her skirt was light purple, ending in a darker band of purple, which held the gems; her leggings a light grey.
“Who are you and what are you doing near our estate?” She asked disdainfully, walking closer.
Behind her was another Beowolf. She didn’t notice. He sprung into a crouch. He wouldn’t make it in time.
“Watch out!” He tried to warn her, wanting no harm to come to the stranger that had helped him. He needed to beat it, be faster than it, or make it slower.
Just as he had that thought, the Grimm slowed, almost unmoving. He didn’t wait. He sprung from his position, using his sword to cut the creature in half along its stomach.
He turned to face the stranger, straitening. A look of surprise on her face, but she caught herself, instead looking intrigued. “I’m Tank. Did you do that?” He introduced himself, motioning to the Beowolf as he asked the question. hoping to avoid hers.
She shook her head. “No, I think you just found your semblance.”
Author's Note
After reading the crossovers by chillbook1 and RhetCon, and loving RWBY, I got this idea. If you enjoyed this, go check their stuff out. It's probably better. Also, if you would, let me know what you think. I would like to become a better writer, and feedback would be appreciated.
Grimm were attacking. Beowolves and Creeps were being fought throughout the town. A young boy hid behind his mother, unable to help, wielding a small dagger anyway. His father kept the creatures that neared at bay. His mother used a bow to deliver arrows into creatures in the distance.
They were calm and moved with efficiency. They were better fighters than many of the Faunus, even some of the humans, in Mantle.
He tried to control his emotions, like he had been taught, but he couldn’t keep the fear that pulsed dully through his body from rising. He wanted to help. Not just hide like a coward. Ignoring his fear, he stepped passed his mother.
“What are you doing?” His mother asked, startled, her attention turning from the Grimm and blocking his path.
“I want to help. Let me help dad,” the boy pleaded, determination in his eyes.
“No. You would be a distraction. Stay behind me, where you’re safe,” she said kindly, but matter of fact, not allowing an argument. She turned back to the advancing hoard.
The boy retreated, now angry. With himself for not being able to do anything; at his mother for not letting him try. As he watched, more of the Grimm took notice of them. The boy caught himself, surprised at having let his emotions get the better of him, but it was too late.
Grimm came to surround them, his mother’s bow becoming less useful as they got closer. He could tell that the Grimm would beat them. Somehow understood that, in that moment, they held more power. He tried warning his parents, but barely got anything out, struggling to understand how he knew, maybe imagined, how much aura they had left, how much more damage they could do, and how it didn’t add up to the damage needed to take the Grimm down, how much damage the Grimm would do.
*****
He opened his eyes, bringing himself back to reality.
It was a cold day. Like every other day on the outskirts of Mantle.
He was alone.
After the unexpected attack of Grimm, he was left without family. No one had wanted an orphaned ten-year old. Didn’t need another mouth to feed. So, he had stuck out on his own. No one asked where he stayed, didn’t seem to care. He had helped the town in what ways he could, earning money from those who would give it.
Once he was old enough, he had found someone to train and teach him about fighting. Found someone to teach him to make a weapon. That’s what gave him Thaumaturge. He looked to his companion, picking it up and wiping away some dust that had settled along the barrel and stock.
He didn’t need anyone anymore. He had found an old city that had been abandoned after the Great War. It was south of Mantle, but close enough that he could travel to it within a day. This was the place he called home. He had found a stable enough building, three stories tall; made a room for himself near the top. This gave him a good vantage point in the ruined city. Luckily there weren’t many Grimm that inhabited the place, unlike many others. Still, there were some that wandered nearby.
His ear twitched, hearing concrete fall somewhere in the distance. He grabbed Thaumaturge and looked through its scope. On the edge of the ruins was an Ursa Minor. Knowing they liked to travel in small groups, he searched for others, finding one apart from the other, but still nearby. The farther one was slightly obscured; the first was in plain sight.
He loaded a magazine, ordering the bullets so he’d fire two ice, then four fire. They’d each take three bullets to kill from this distance. He sighted the first one, aiming into its shoulder, near its neck, and fired both rounds, one after the other. It had the desired effect, freezing it in place to get the other’s attention, while weakening it for the third shot. The second Ursa Minor, now alerted, ran towards its companion. He followed it with his scope, shooting twice into the base of its throat. The third shot found its skull as the creature stopped, piercing and killing it. The other was almost free. He didn’t let that happen, firing the fourth fire bullet into the eye socket, shattering the ice, releasing black smoke.
He sighed. He was getting tired of this unchanging place. He wanted to rid the world of Grimm, not just the ones that came his way. Usually he didn’t want to draw the creatures near, letting them stay away. He needed to practice though, to be able to handle any situation.
He left his perch, heading to the edge of the ruins, and let himself get angry. Angry at the past, the Grimm, at himself. His white rabbit ears swiveled atop his head, listening to the approaching group.
He attracted Beowolves, but that was to be expected. Hopefully they would give him some trouble. He stood in a spot with plenty of concrete and debris littering the area. His goal was close-quarters fighting, so he separated his sniper, each half becoming a semi-auto handgun. As soon as the first Beowolf spotted him, he calmed himself, waiting for them to arrive.
He sought out the strongest of the group, bent his knees and pushed off the ground, racing towards it, mostly ignoring the others. He took out a few of the weaker ones, single shots taking them out. He jumped into the air, two shots into its spine. He spun, taking out more of the group, the ones farthest away crashing to the ground. Behind the strongest, he twisted mid-air, turning to face it. He shot a Grimm underneath him and landed where it once stood. They were gathered around him now, exactly like planned. A few lunged, growling and trying to swipe at him, two well-placed shots took each of them down.
They were being more cautious now, the strongest silently watching and circling. He dwindled the number to six. Two pounced from opposite sides, he downed the slightly slower one, letting the other knock a gun out of his hand, noting where it landed for later, before moving backwards and shooting it. Another came, seeing an opening. He ducked, letting it jump over his back, putting three shots into its stomach. He glanced at the last three; they formed a triangle around him.
They all made to pounce, charging him. The strongest changed direction, leaped and ran along one of the ruined walls. Surprised, he moved out of the way of the other two, only to be crushed under the weight of the one that was now standing over him. He tried to bring his gun up, but the Beowolf held it down. He brought up his legs, using both to kick it over his head, rolling into a crouch. The other two had recovered, and were advancing. He shot three bullets into the one on his left. Before he could fire at the other, he was knocked forward, his back stinging from the swipe. He shot at the attacker, getting up and moving to retrieve the fallen gun.
He fired four bullets, hitting the neck and head of the Grimm; it fell and vanished. That left one. He ran towards it, sliding when he got close. Passing under it, he fired six bullets along its stomach. Standing, he turned to face its vanishing form, a satisfied smile on his face.
He was ready. Just a few more days until it would be time to leave. He was old enough now that he could join an academy. Atlas wasn’t an option. No, he wanted the best. That meant making his way towards Vale, to Beacon Academy.
