Choices in the Dark [RWBY]

CHOICES IN THE DARK


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May death grant you that which had been taken from you in life
May you sleep and rest in the grave’s embrace from the toils and hardship of the world
May you find in the hereafter that which eludes you in this plane

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~PROLOGUE~

The Shepherd Boy

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It was a quiet and peaceful evening.

The sun stands defiantly on the western horizon, golden light piercing through a crimson sky as the fields and hills basked in her bright glory while the light yet remains, fighting a losing battle against the encroaching darkness far to the east. The hills, once barren and austere, were now lush and verdant. An awash of green where once there was only snow as far as the eyes can see. Spring had come earlier than expected to the Kingdom of Vale and though much of the flowers had yet to bloom, leaves and grass had sprouted from the dreary branches and gray soil, bringing life back to the dead forest.

Atop the grey mountaintops and glens that gave those mountains their names, a wind began to blow that extended along Eastern Sanus.

It bellowed hard but came soft as silk. The breeze was both cool and warm at the same time, rustling past the branches and leaves, and treading ever so slightly upon the grass. It smelled of flowers and grass, of sunlight and a promise of rain. The grass dances peacefully to the tunes of the winds. Their movement echoed slightly by the rustling of the branches and leaves of the forest that stood on the fringes of the plain.

A boy sat on a rock atop of a hill surrounded by a sea of green.

He was a short boy and a young one. No older than thirteen. Swarthy skin and dark of hair. Black eyes gleaming in the sun. Something was tied on his belt, hidden by the earth-brown cloak wrapped around his shoulders too big for someone his size, the hood falling helplessly on his back.

A spear rests beside the boy. A simple length of ashen wood that ended with a steel blade for a head. A bell was tied around the end. It laid forgotten for the moment. Instead the boy’s eyes were fixed on the snow-white herd on the foot of the hill.

He watched motionlessly as the flock grazed peacefully on the pastures below him. Some forty rams and ewes and lambs marched over the plains, completely ignoring the boy that sat on top of the hill.

A sudden wind came violently from the north. A cold chill pervaded through the air and the boy clutched the earth-brown cloak tighter than before. It seemed that winter had yet to surrender its grip upon the land. The sun had drawn the last of its dying breath, visibly struggling to keep itself floating above the western horizon as shadows creeped around the edges of the forest facing the field.

He shivered. Then, without warning, he stood up, picked up the spear, and slowly walked towards the flock.

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The Orphan sat quietly in the lonely street
On a cold wintry night
Bitter and frigid
Tattered and battered
Tearfully he cried for light

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The flock were not overtly disturbed as he made his way towards them. The older sheeps remained as they were, quite familiar with the boy who handled them. The lambs were the most distressed by his coming, unfamiliar as they were to him, staying close and keeping themselves behind their older kin.

The rattling of a bell could be heard throughout the field, the flock moved as he herded them back across the field. The sun grew dim far in the west and night had begun to crawl over the plain. It was getting dark and the boy was done for the day.

They didn’t resist him as he directed them back to their man-made shelter. Why should they? He was their shepherd. And they were his herd.

His eyes carefully observed the flock, making sure that none strayed from his intended course. The elder and mature were little matters. They knew the route to go like the front of their hoofs. It was the lambs that he was concerned with. Too young to find the way to home and too inexperienced to understand the rattling of the bell. Prone to find themselves in trouble and easily missed should they stray from the herd.

He was proven right not a moment later, when a little one, no older than a month, found itself stuck on the dead vines of a dead tree. It struggled in vain to release itself from the vine’s grey grip. He strode towards it, the action only making the little one more nervous. Panicked eyes gazed at him as he grabbed the stucked hoof and released it from the intertwining vines. The stray lamb immediately ran towards the safety of the flock, not sparing even a glance back at him.

He sighed at the little one’s antics and continued his work.

The doors of the pens were opened with a deafening creak. The boy stood aside as the flock rushed towards the entrance like waters bursting through opened floodgates. There weren’t that many sheeps compared to the other herders in the field. It was a blessing, truly. The shepherd boy couldn’t imagine having to keep track of hundreds of them at any one time.

Mentally, he began tallying the sheeps one by one as they entered the pens.

He clicked his tongue when the last few stranglers lagged behind the herd. A pair of lambs and an old sheep. They followed the herd in without much trouble afterwards.

The doors of pens were closed and the boy began to account their numbers one last time, careful not to miss nor to count one twice. Just to be sure.

He smiled as he finished his counting.

It died not a moment later when the girl approached him, a worried frown etched across her face…

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Dragging himself in the biting wind
Tears freezing in the crispy night
Hungry, alone
Kinless, kithless
Silently he prayed in his plight

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He finds the other boy playing with a lamb near the edges of the woods.

He was younger than he was, with dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. His clothes, rugged and slightly soiled in dirt, flapped in the wind as he ran around near the bushes and undergrowths chasing the little sheep, laughing and smiling all the while without a single care in the world. He turned around a tree, coming face-to-face with the boy.

Black eyes stared back at blue. It took the other boy a few seconds to look like a deer caught in a Hunter’s headlight.

The other boy shuffled his feet nervously, placing his hands behind him like a child pretending no to have his hand on the cookie jar.

“H-Hey there. Nice weather we’re having… uhm what’s your name again?”

The boy merely gave the other one a flat, indifferent stare.

“Your sister sent me.” He said instead.

“L-look, I got carried away, okay? I only thought to play for a little while and the next thing I know was that-”

“I don’t care, Lucas.” The interruption was abrupt, cold, and cutting. Lucas took a step back as if he had been slapped. Already preparing for the coming lecture. That’s what his parents and sisters always do when he does something wrong.

Instead the older boy turned around and began walking the other way. When he realized that Lucas wasn’t following him, he looked back at him.

“Come,” He said, his tone brooking no arguments, Lucas flinched but dutifully followed him from behind. The boy looked to the young lamb and added “And take him with you.”

Lucas towards the child ewe, took it by the rope collar all the while berating himself for his stupidity.

“Your sister is worried.” The older boy said.

Lucas’ eyes were on the ground. “I-I know,”

“Then why did you tarry?” He asked back. “Do you like it if she was worried sick of you?”

Lucas turned his face away to hide his embarrassment. Not daring to look at him in the eyes. He sighed, not bothering to hide his disappointment.

Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. He frowned before grabbing Lucas by the shoulder.

Lucas looked at him in bewilderment.

“What is it?” He asked.

Instead of answering, the older boy placed a finger on his mouth in a gesture for silence. “Did you hear that?” He asked.

“Hear?” Lucas frowned in confusion. “Hear wha-”

There was a rustling sound behind them. They both turned around, to the forest behind them. The edges of the woods facing them were covered in bushes and undergrowths, making it hard to see past the outline. The bushes rustled again, shaking and moving as if something was coming through them. Something big.

Something dangerous.

The boy blinked. There was a glimpse of purple in his eyes, and then it was gone as fast as it came. His face grew pale.

Without warning he grabbed Lucas by the shoulder and flung him as far away as he could.

“Hey, wha-” Lucas was cut off once again as something burst through the trees and bushes.

There was a crash from where Lucas was standing not a moment, bits of turf and soil sailed through the air.

A figure rose from the ground. Huge and monstrous, pitch-black furs covering its entire body. Glowing red eyes shimmered through bone-white faceplate, sharp spikes protruding from the legs, back, and ribs. Standing on its hind legs with a slouch it roared with unnatural fury that echoed through the plain.

“Run!” the boy cried. Holding his spear in front of him. The beast growled at him, momentarily forgetting the younger boy behind it. “Run! Get the Town Militias!”

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‘Lord of Bright Heaven Above and Dark Earth Below’
Said he ‘O Lord of Day and Night
‘First and Last
‘Giver and Seizer
Who shroud the earth in dark and bask it in light

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Lucas scrambled away as fast as he could as the boy lunged towards the Beowulf with a cry, hoping to distract the Grimm away from the younger boy.

He aimed straight at the unprotected neck, trying to finish it in a single strike but the beast saw him coming from a mile away. It swung a single massive arm and, with it, the spear was knocked aside effortlessly before it charged towards the boy, claws outstretched, ready to slice him into a thousand tiny pieces.

He duck and rolled away, evading death by the breadth of a hair. The Beowolf’s arms clawing at empty air, leaving itself opened for a few precious seconds.

The boy did not waste his opportunity.

There was a small sound of rattling bells, followed shortly thereafter with the sound of steel piercing through flesh as the spearhead tore through the Beowolf’s unprotected shoulder. It howled, slashing at the side in anger and pain but he had already moved away at that point.

Black, oily smoke oozed out from the wound. The beast narrowed its eyes. Letting out a long, winding howl, it charged towards him, barreling upon him like a wolf gone berserk, eyes red and wide and mad, though its movement made limp and awkward by the injury it sustained. There was no longer any consideration or thought given to its action. The only thing that matters is the kill.

He dashed to the side, letting the injured Beowolf pass harmlessly. Then he jumped through the air towards the Beowulf, spear poised and deadly.

The Beowulf raised a wounded arm to block, to slash him away. To do anything. But it was too late.

A wicked, retching sound could be heard as the spear went in one side of the throat and out from the other. The force of the blow sent it and him tumbling down the ground, the Beowolf’s arms unable to sustain both its mass and his. It fell to the earth, red eyes no longer glowing with malice. Dead.

The boy stood on top of the corpse. His breaths slightly more labored than before and he was sweating bullets, but he was alive.

He closed his eyes.

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‘O Thou who shape the world as Thou wilt
From raging flame to howling breeze
Creator, Maker
Sustainer, Provider
Who placed mountains and filled oceans with ease

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There was a rustling of leaves and branches behind him.

His eyes snapped open. Wide and glowing with unnatural violet gleam.

He jumped nine feet into the air, launching himself off from the ground like a cannonball in time to avoid the massive pair of claws that would have gutted him had he jumped a moment later.

He landed and looked behind him. Purple eyes stared at red. The Beowulf gave a long howl.

The ground quivered in a violent fit. The forest groaned and moved. The trees shuddered as if stirring awake from their slumber. The branches swayed and shook, newly grown leaves fell from their trees. The bushes and undergrowth trembled for a moment before being trampled by a horde of claws and feet.

They came like a storm. Figures directly from children’s darkest nightmares. Red eyes glowing behind bone-white faceplate. Massive claws extending from pitch-black skin and furs. Howling and beating the ground beneath them.

The leader, if it can be called that, stood two head taller than the rest of the pack. It’s body covered in bones and spikes, its claws were more like swords than actual claws.

“Packs,” He whispered. “Beowolves hunt in packs.”

He lowered his spear and narrowed his eyes. If they were merely gleaming before, now they shine bright like a pair of purple flames.

Then, without a word, he charged.

The first to fall was a young Beowulf that tried to rush him without the aid of its comrade. Running straight towards him like the inexperienced pup that it is. Jaws opening wide, revealing rows after rows of sharp fang and teeth. A spear through its mouth told it why it was a mistake. He did not turn his back to look at its dissolving corpse before running straight to the middle of the pack.

A few feets before he reached the next closest Beowulf he sprung into the air, one of his feet touching its head for a moment before the other stomped it down with enough force to break its skull, using it as a makeshift springboard to bounce himself up into another Beowulf conveniently standing behind it. He delivered a nasty kick to its head before rolling straight on the ground.

He dodged a series of lunging Beowolves who tried to flank him from the sides. Letting them past harmlessly straight towards each other. He did not stay in one place. Moving around the battlefield with the ease of a dancer. His eyes, a pair of bright violet flames, shifting to every direction faster than they could blink. He veered and swerved when they saw an attack and attacked when they saw an opening.

He had long dispatched his cloak sometime during the fight. The fabric would have been little more than liability at best, if not an outright danger at worst. An older Grimm fell when he rammed his spear straight through its heart. Another was skewered and then thrown unceremoniously back towards a pair of incoming Beowolves. And yet another was pierced beneath its jaw, its eyes grew dim and its corpse decayed into black vapor. He did not spare it a second glance.

If the Beowolves, with their unnatural speed and strength, were beasts. He was a monster.

He weaved through the pack effortlessly like a leaf in the wind. Cutting them down where they stand. His spear black and oily with the flesh of Grimm. It was as if a switch had been turned and he was no longer fighting with a handicap. Every strike was measured, precise. Carried out with the same conviction and assurances of a professional butcher. Not a single one was wasted.

One by one Beowolves fell dead on the ground. The plains grass stained by their corpse turned the plain around him into a mire of black puddle. Only one still stands.

The Alpha.

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‘O Thou who shall destroy and ruin any as Thou wilt
From oceans deep to mountains tall
Abaser, Reducer
Subduer, Destroyer
O Thou who take life and bring death to all

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The lone Alpha dashed the distance between them in a mad sprint. A force of raw carnage that he couldn’t possibly take head on. Semblance or no. So instead he jumped to the sides at the last moment before the collision. Dimly, he noticed the earth around him quaking as the Grimm’s massive arms tore through the ground, sending bits of gravel and grass to his eyes and hair.

The opportunity was not one he wasted away. His spear rushed towards the Alpha Beowulf's seemingly exposed neck. For a moment he truly believed that he could end it here and there. A single strike was all it would take.

In his zeal he had underestimated his opponent. He had forgotten that this was no inexperienced pup or reckless adolescent that could easily be surprised by such a move. This was an Alpha. A Beowulf who had survived long enough in the wild to become a leader of its own pack. A battle-hardened beast who had seen the passing of many years, who had fought against beast and man and faunus alike and killed a fair share of them. Who had probably fought off a Huntsman or two. It was stronger, faster, and, most importantly, more experienced than his packmates.

Faster than his eyes could have seen it raised its arm and swung it down like a hammer with enough force to fell a tree in one swoop.

He felt something hit him. Something hard. It took him but the fraction of a second to realize he was sailing into the air, his hair whipping freely in the wind.

Crash!

Just for one short moment his back screamed in agony. His head throbbed and he was seeing stars in his arm’s length. Then he felt his knees buckling down to the ground. Hazily he realized that he was lying on all four and that there was a tree behind him. But he had no time for that. He shook his head to throw off the cloud gathering around it. His vision cleared and the first thing he saw his spear broken in two.

Not far away he saw the Beowulf charging straight at him.

He jumped away at the last moment. The Beowulf coming so close to him that he could feel its hot breath washing over his skin. It was not a pleasant experience. Not in the least. The Grimm, unable to change its course in time, rammed head-first towards the tree in front of it. Briefly, he imagined stars dancing above the Grimm’s head before he realized that he was currently weaponless without his spear.

Fine then. Spear wasn’t the only dance he could do.

His hand touched the smooth wooden surface wrapped in leather. The familiar feeling of his hand around the hilt felt good. It felt right. With one flourishing movement he drew his sword.

Unlike how movies and films portray it. There was no loud sound of metal grazing against metal. No sudden swoosh as the blade was drawn from the scabbard. Which, in his objective opinion, was quite inconvenient to the point of stupidity. Cakes for anyone trying not to draw attention to themselves, bonus cream if it was a stealth mission or something alike.

The blade was long and smooth and made of steel. Single edged and curved. He held the scimitar in front of him. Hands wrapped around the handle.

The Alpha Beowulf stood a few feet away from him. Its jaw snarling in a twisted growl that sounded like a wolf. It's breath heavy and fuming. He could see the smallest of crack in the Alpha’s thick skull. Any lesser Grimm might have died on impact but this one simply shrugged it off like nothing? He needs to approach it with more care.

The Beowulf snarled and howled and then, without warning, it jumped straight at him. Trees and bushes were on his right and left and behind. There was no way he could run off there without getting caught in some vines or thornes. There was only one way. Forward.

The world seemed to slow around him as boy and beast lunged towards each other. The Grimm with its claw unfurled, ready to cut him open like a fish, the boy with his sword unsheathed, ready to cut it down like the wild dog that it is.

In the fraction of the second before the impact he pushed himself forward, ducking beneath the Beowulf’s claw by the smallest margin.

His eyes were a pair of torches burning with purple flames.

The fact that he was hovering right underneath the Beowulf’s opened belly did not go unnoticed.

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‘I surrender before Thy might, I surrender before Thy will
No power have I save in that given by Thy will divine
I am friendless, penniless
Worthless, powerless
To what power shall I turn to but to Thine?

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Of course the single strike, deep and cutting as it was, was not enough to kill an Alpha Beowulf on its own. It did however left the Grimm reeling from the wound and allowed some moment of respite which he took to dash out from the woods. Fighting the Alpha Beowulf in the middle of the forest, where other Grimm may lurk was not a very inviting prospect. That it might call on its other compatriots is even less so.

He ran past trees and bushes, not stopping even for a moment to catch his breath. He jumped to avoid some overgrown roots. Bushes and trees moved past him in a blur and before he knew it he was out from the forest. He did not stop even then.

His eyes burn brighter for a moment before widening. Without looking behind him, he stopped and let himself fall onto the earth.

For a brief second a dark shadow passed over his prone form. Blocking the sun from his view. Then he heard a crash in front of him. He scrambled off to the sides right as the Beowulf lunged towards him, instead hitting the tree behind him. Wood splintered off from their bark with a loud crunch! that reverberated through the air.

He took his chances as they were, slashing wildly while the Beowulf lie dazed from its head injury. His sword now little more than a woodsman’s axe in his hand. Vapors of black smoke spewed from the Alpha’s body. He aimed at any parts not covered in bones, though thick hide and furs sometimes made his blows glance off harmlessly from its body.

The Beowulf roared, not showing any sign of being hurt, and swung.
His feet moved quickly, jumping away the moment it raised even a single claw. Air wafted over his face. The claws were inches away from his skin. He felt something pressing against his back. It took him a moment to realize it was a tree. The Alpha roared and he had to move away to avoid being skewered by another swing of its claws.

His breath was ragged and heavy. His eyes flickered off for a moment. But it was more than enough for him to know that he had to finish this as quickly as he can.

He held the sword with renewed vigor, pushing away his fatigue and ache, before running straight towards the Beowulf like a man possessed. There was no way he could run away from it, not in the state he’s in. Maybe if he had more Aura or if his Semblance was something more practical he might’ve tried. As it was, it was the only card he could think to play, other options simply luxuries unavailable because of his predicaments.

He attacks with the desperation of a cornered animal. His swings, powerful though they were, were little more than unrefined and uncoordinated strikes. There was training put in there, somewhere, and practice too, but they have more strength than skill overall.

The Alpha, meanwhile, has both skills and strength aplenty. It waited for the right opportunity. It did not have to wait long. A single strike where the boy overextended himself was more than enough of one.

Suddenly he felt something crashing against him and before he knew it he was flying through the air once more.

His back was slammed against a tree. The bark shook as he did. He felt pain coursing through his legs. His eyes flickered off, this time they did not burn again. His body flared with purple light that dissipated into useless wisps and motts.

He tried to raise himself up but a burning pain across his legs sent him falling down on the earth. He looked up towards the Beowulf walking slowly towards him, cautiously as if it expected a trap at any moment. He looked frantically for his sword, finding it lying inconveniently behind the Beowulf, who looked towards with mad, angry eyes.

“So this is how it ends, then?” He asked, more to himself than anyone else. He looked down to his legs, slightly bent at odd angles, feeling excruciating pain the moment he tried to move them.

He looked towards the panolpies above, towards the sky and heaven. “This is not how I thought it would,”

The Beowulf growled, now a few feets away from him.

He reached out with his hand, finding a rock as big as his fist.

The Beowulf growled again.
He wrapped his finger around the rock.

He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry…” He murmured a name and muttered something under his breath.

A sound echoed through the forest.

In the skies above, birds flew in a flight of panic.

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‘Who shall care for me if Thou hast abandoned me?
No man give that which Thou kept from me
Be they rich or poor
Be they virtuous or villainous
And so, here I am, a poor boy, begging for Thy care and mercy’

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Blood stained the grass.

He opened his eyes.

The Alpha was staggering a few feet back as black fog came out from the large wound on its side.

He blinked.

The Grimm, as if not realizing what had occured, placed a single foot forward.

A thunderous clap echoed through the air once more.

He blinked. Twice this time.

The Alpha Beowulf. The one that stood mere inches away from killing him, lie lifeless on the ground. Its form precipitating into the air, black flesh and bones dissolving back as if to nothingness.

“Well, that’s a close one, if I ever saw,” A voice said, a woman. He turned his head towards the side from where the shot came from.

True to the voice, a woman came to his view. Dark skinned, and grey haired, but not old. No. Older than he was, yes, but she couldn't have been older than him by five years at most.

“You alright there?” She called, lowering the rifle she was carrying.

“Broken legs,” He croaked through his teeth.

The woman nodded. He flinched as she placed a hand over his legs. He did not scream. His throat was too dry for that. Everything seemed unreal. Like it was all a dream.

“I’m alive?” He asked no one in particular.

“And quite lucky by the looks of it,”

“Pray, how can a broken leg be called lucky?”

“Would you prefer dying?”

She did have a point there. “Count ye blessings while ye can,” He whispered.

“Exactly.”

A moment of silence, filled with the older girl checking over him. “Well seems that you haven’t gotten anything worse than a broken leg.”

“Are you sure there’s no fractured spine? I’m pretty sure I hit a lot of trees with my back.”

“Nah, you would’ve been paralyzed and we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” She said. “By the way what’s your name? I’ve never seen you around here. Not among the shepherds at least.”

“...Mustafa.”

“Hmm?”

“Mustafa, my name’s Mustafa.”

“Mustafa, huh? Quite a strange name,” She held out her hand. “The name’s Jade. Jade Irving.”

He stared at it for a while but he did not take it. “That’s...a nice name, I guess.”

She frowned and then shrugged.

A thought occurred to him. “Where’s Lucas?” He asked. “Did he-”

He was interrupted by a cry. “Mustafa!”

He felt hands wrapping around his back. A sudden weight fell upon his legs.

“Are you okay? Were you hurt? I’m so-”

“Broken legs,” He managed to hiss through gritted teeth.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” Lucas from him as if he had just realized he has an infectious disease.

He was clearly distraught. He smells of sweat and dirt and grime.

Much like he was.

“I-I-,” he stuttered before gulping it down. “I-I’m sorry, I was stupid. I was so stupid.”

“You were.” He replied simply. Lucas flinched. Nearby he noticed the girl, Jade, looking around them, ignorant of their conversation. “You’re reckless, foolish, ignorant...”

With each word Lucas seemed to shrink smaller and smaller.

An image came unbidden. A nervous wreck of a boy unable to form a single coherent word.

He was looking at him. Crying at him.

“...And you know what?”

“W-what?” Lucas asked fearfully.

“You remind me too much of myself,” He spread his hands. “Come here you.”

He hugged him, carefully this time to avoid sitting on his legs.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” He said. His chest felt damp all of a sudden.

“I-I almost got you…” killed. The word was not said. It did not need to be.

“And I would have died if you didn’t arrive in time. So, thank you,” He said and then after a moment of thought he added. “And, for all its worth. I’m sorry for all the things I said.”

Lucas cried harder.

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And the townsfolk awaken to a cold and crispy morning
And they find his clothes lying and bare
Dirty and ragged
Tattered and battered
And of the orphan’s fate they neither know nor care

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End of Prologue

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A/N: Hello there!

So yeah, this is a new story from me, its basically a rewrite in all but name of the or 'A Stranger or a Wayfarer is All I Am'. The basic premise of which is still the same as that story but with a few twists and changes in the premise, some inconsequential, others less so, some of which will be revealed in the first chapter. Just finishing up the prologue for this. Next one will be the first chapter.​