[RWBY] RWBY Shorts

[AndrewJTalon]

Whiter Rose: The Geist

- - -

Whitley Schnee had never expected to become a summoner, let alone one who used a Geist for household chores.

It had started as a simple training exercise with his Semblance — nothing too dangerous, just enough to prove he could defend himself out near an SDC outpost. Fully backed up by his father's security forces and Fafnir's watchful gaze. He'd managed to kill a lone Geist that had wandered too close.

The victory had been small, but satisfying.

What he hadn't expected was the Geist's essence bonding to his Glyphs.

Now the spectral Grimm hovered behind him like a loyal (if unsettling) shadow, ready to possess and repair any broken device he pointed at. It was surprisingly useful.

Ruby found out about it during one of their quiet afternoons together in the Schnee manor's private workshop.

"So… you just have your little buddy do stuff?" Ruby asked, eyes wide as she watched the Geist phase into a malfunctioning Dust heater and fix it from the inside.

Whitley adjusted his safety glasses, looking a touch embarrassed. "Yes. He-It-Can possess electronic devices, which helps me troubleshoot them. It's quite efficient."

Ruby's gaze slowly drifted to Crescent Rose, currently resting on the workbench with a few finicky internal components that had been giving her trouble.

"You… you think you could get into Crescent Rose?"

Whitley blinked. "Ah… Are you sure?"

Ruby nodded, cheeks slightly pink. "Y-yes… But be gentle?"

Whitley gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Of course. I'll be careful."

- - -

Later than afternoon, Yang stormed into the workshop, her eyes blazing red. She turned her fearsome glare on Whitley, who had been doing some adjustments on a power convertor.

"WHAT THE HELL AM I HEARING ABOUT YOU VIOLATING RUBY'S FLOWER?!"

Whitley nearly dropped the tool in his hand. "NO! Nonono that's not— that didn't—What?!!"

He cast about desperately as Yang loomed over him.

"RUBY! HELP!"

Ruby entered the workshop with a dreamy, slightly dazed expression. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was gently stroking the scythe's barrel like it was a beloved pet.

"Oh he was so thorough!" she sighed happily. "So skilled! He did things with my Rose I've never even imagined before!"

Whitley's face went from pale to bright crimson in record time. "STOP HELPING, RUBY!"

Yang froze mid-rant, blinking rapidly as her brain caught up with the actual context. The red in her eyes faded as realization dawned.

"…Wait. You mean the Geist thing. The actual ghost-possessing-robot-baby thing."

"Yes!" Whitley exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the now-innocent-looking Geist floating nearby. "It was just maintenance! Internal repairs! Nothing… untoward!"

Ruby tilted her head, still looking blissed out. "But it felt really good when he was inside—"

"RUBY!"

Yang stared at her little sister for a long moment.

Then she burst out laughing so hard she had to lean against the wall for support.

"Oh Breaker. You two are actually going to kill me one day."

Ruby finally seemed to realize what she'd implied and turned an impressive shade of red herself.

"I-I meant the scythe! He fixed the scythe! The internal mechanisms felt… smoother! That's all!"

Yang wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. "Sure, Rubes. 'Internal mechanisms.' Totally believable."

She walked over and ruffled Ruby's hair, then gave Whitley a teasing grin.

"You're lucky you're a good guy, Schnee. Otherwise I'd have to break your legs."

Whitley peeked through his fingers. "Noted."

Ruby, still blushing furiously, hugged Crescent Rose to her chest. She gave Whitley a shy, appreciative look.

"…He really did do a good job though."

Whitley smiled softly.

"You're welcome."

Yang smirked. "I'm telling Dad."

"NO!" both Ruby and Whitley shouted at the same time.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Beacon Academy Grounds, Afternoon

Jaune Arc strolled along the winding sidewalk near the dormitories, enjoying a rare moment of quiet between classes. The sun filtered through the tall trees lining the path, and for once, no one was shouting about training or Grimm or vigilantism.

That peace shattered almost immediately.

"HEY! JAUNE! HELP!"

He stopped, tilting his head back. High up in the branches of a sturdy oak sat Blake Belladonna, clinging to the trunk like her life depended on it. Her ears were flat against her head, and her expression was a perfect mix of mortification and desperation.

"Blake?" Jaune called up, shielding his eyes. "What are you doing in that tree?"

"I'm stuck! Help!"

Jaune blinked. "Blake... you have Aura. You can just jump down."

"I can't! I got my Aura broken in training and it hasn't rebuilt yet!" she snapped, voice cracking with frustration.

"Then why did you climb a tree?"

"NEVERMIND THAT! JUST GET ME DOWN! GET A LADDER, GET THE FIRE DEPARTMENT!"

Before Jaune could respond, Yang Xiao Long sauntered by with a juice box in hand, the other tucked casually in her pocket. She glanced up at the commotion. "Hm? Oh hey, Vomit Boy. What's up?"

Jaune pointed silently upward. Yang followed his finger, spotted Blake, and broke into a wide, predatory grin.

"Hah!"

"Seriously, why did you climb up into a tree?" Jaune asked again, fighting a smile.

"WHAT, ARE WE DOING AN INTERVIEW HERE? JUST GET ME DOWN!" Blake yelled.

Yang burst out laughing. "Heh... Hahahaha!"

Jaune chuckled along. "You know, maybe we are doing an interview."

"WHAT?!"

"Welcome to the show, Blake! It's a pleasure to have you!" Jaune announced in his best over-the-top host voice, spreading his arms dramatically.

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"

"So, you're here to promote your latest project. What's it called?"

"I WILL SLIT YOUR THROAT IN YOUR SLEEP!"

Jaune nodded sagely. "Very visceral! Is this a thriller or a straight-up horror movie?"

"YOU SUCK! YANG, HELP ME!"

Yang, still grinning, took a long, loud slurp from her juice box and did absolutely nothing useful.

"My beautiful co-host would be happy to ask you questions, wouldn't you, Yang?" Jaune said smoothly.

Yang leaned in with mock professionalism. "I would be most happy to indeed! So, Blaine—"

"Blake— SH- REALLY?!"

"Blaine… want some juice?"

Jaune smirked. "And that's why I'm the star."

"HEY! You caught me unprepared!" Yang protested, though she was clearly loving every second.

Jaune rolled his eyes.

"Juice bit, really? This is why Spruce Willis won't return our calls."

"Should it have been cranberry?" Yang asked.

"IS SOMEONE ELSE DOWN THERE?!" Blake demanded from her leafy perch.

"Some ants… a squirrel…" Yang offered helpfully.

Jaune pressed on. "But back on topic, Blake: This is a horror movie, right?"

"UGGGGGHHHH..." She rolled her eyes. "YES. I hate 'thriller'! It's a pretentious term for directors who just want awards!"

Yang leaned over to Jaune. "No but seriously, want some juice? Ruby bought like twenty of these Capri-Sol boxes with Weiss's credit card, and we're trying to drink them all before she realizes."

"Yes, thank you." Jaune accepted the offered box and sipped. Up in the tree, Blake continued her tirade.

"It's a bloody and brutal commentary on Faunus rights!"

"Ooh, that might be difficult to play in the foreign markets," Jaune noted.

"WELL IT'S MY ARTISTIC VISION AND I'M STICKING BY IT!"

"Is it true the main actor got the job due to rumored relationships between him and yourself?" Yang asked, slurping loudly again.

"This is your first movie where you're both star and director. How are you handling the pressure?" Jaune added.

"I'm—I'm taking it one day at a time! My passion is seeing me through! AND NO! THAT'S A FILTHY LIE!"

"But what about all the nude and sex scenes?" Jaune continued innocently.

"WHAT?! I-UGH! I-I'M VERY COMMITTED TO MY ART!"

"Well that does help sell the political commentary!" Jaune said cheerfully.

Yang smacked her lips. "Damn, this is some good shi— sex scenes?! Blake, c'mon girl! Adding that on top of all the bloody stabbings and the chainsaw fight?"

"WHAT?!" Blake demanded.

"Now now, Yang, we should be open-minded," Jaune said. "Besides, the R rating is what's being released. There's an NC-17 cut, isn't there?"

"Yes! It's a bit too extreme... I may have gotten carried away but damnit, it's a passion project! I want to deliver! It's based on Ninjas in Love and Zombies after all—I can't spare on any of the sex scenes! They're a core part of the narrative!"

Jaune tilted his head. "Did you actually try to get Spruce Willis for this? Seems a bit ambitious and risky."

"W-Well maybe he's tired of playing the same character in every movie and wanted to stretch his acting skills! Make some actual art and not just a product!"

"That's a very bold statement," Jaune nodded, "Now, how about the writer? Roger-award winner Baal Cody?"

"She's an overpriced callgirl whore for the establishment!" Blake snarled, practically vibrating in rage.

"Ooh, that's not a good interview response," Yang said. Jaune nodded.

"Yeah, you need to be nicer to the people working on your movie! What if the Writer's Guild goes on strike? Can't have that!"

Blake gritted her teeth and dug her fingers into the tree bark.

"I think... The tattoo artist... Who worked on her fat arms... Was very honored!"

"Delightful!" Jaune chuckled. "And after the break we'll be talking with your co-star, Tom Dutchland!"

"WHAT?! I HATE THOM DUTCHLAND! HE'S THE WORST ARACHNO-MAN!"

"We'll be right back!" Jaune called cheerfully. "Shall we get more juice, Yang?"

"YOU SUCK! YOU BOTH SUCK!"

Yang finally relented with a theatrical sigh. "All right, all right... Sheesh." She walked over to the tree, grabbed the trunk with both hands, and—much to Blake's horror and Jaune's blushing amazement—lifted the entire thing. She gave it a firm shake.

"BWAAAHHH!"

Blake plummeted. Jaune stepped forward smoothly and caught her in his arms with a soft oof.

Yang set the tree back down carefully, brushing her hands off. She offered another juice box with a smirk. "Juice?"

Blake scowled, scrambling out of Jaune's hold. She stormed off without another word, muttering curses under her breath.

"You're welcome!" Jaune called after her.

Blake flipped them both the bird.

Yang snickered, muttering to Jaune, "She needs to get laid."

"Seriously..."

Later that evening, the inevitable reckoning arrived at dinner.

Weiss Schnee marched up to them in the cafeteria, arms crossed. "Jaune, Yang... You made Blake perform like she was doing a movie interview while she was stuck in a tree?!"

"Uh..." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck. Yang grinned.

Pyrrha, standing beside Weiss, gave him a disappointed look. "Really, Jaune?"

Weiss's eyes narrowed. "...Without recording it?!"

"Yeah!" Ruby added, sliding up, "That's the worst part!"

"Totally!" Nora added.

Blake, lurking in the corner with a book held like a shield, growled, "I will stab you all."

Jaune waved his hands. "No, no, of course I didn't!"

A beat of silence.

Yang grinned. "I did."

"YANG!"

- - -

A bit shamelessly stolen from Family Guy. Yes, I went there. Written with help from @brinkleberry Thanks!

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Here's a fun idea:

The people of Remnant would likely have research labs and complexes out of cities to study Grimm. So you could do a kind of story that's popular in video games: Going to explore a base or research lab that has gone silent. And bad things have happened.

In this case, RWBY and JNPR go in on a training mission... But on the way there, contact is lost with the base and the trainees go in first to investigate. They then have to survive until they can get backup.

What would the research people would have found? Well...

1: It's a human/Grimm hybrid Merlot created.

2: It's a Grimm that can turn humans into Grimm/human hybrids.

3: It's a Grimm that can make humans into zombies.

4: It's a Grimm that is sapient and can speak and control Grimm.

5: It's one of Salem's former minions who is holding onto a sliver of his/her humanity and uses magic against the lab. Maybe they were in some kind of hibernation and were woken up out of their tomb.

6: It's a Grimm that can control the minds of humans, enhancing their negative emotions until they're mad with rage or suicidal, etc.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Blake takes bodyguard duty and Jaune gets his first assassination attempt.

- - -

The Vale afternoon was crisp, the park's air laced with the scent of autumn leaves and distant food carts. Jaune Arc, in his councilman's jacket, had been strolling through the crowd, shaking hands and smiling, with Blake Belladonna as his escort. Her amber eyes were sharp, scanning for threats, but she stuck close—closer than necessary, her arm brushing his, her tail twitching under her coat.

"I'm fine, Blake. Really!" Jaune said, chuckling nervously. "You don't have to follow me everywhere."

Blake's ears flicked under her bow. "I'm just ensuring future positive relations with Vale and Menagerie," she said, gesturing to herself. "I may not be an official ambassador, but sooner or later, someone will connect me to my parents back home. My actions—especially toward you—will be scrutinized."

Jaune softened. "Yeah, but I'd protect you, Blake. You're my friend… Really."

Blake blushed, looking away. "…R-Really?"

"Really," Jaune said, unwavering.

They'd been chatting with locals when Blake's senses prickled. A skinny, muscular Faunus man in the crowd—his posture, his glare—screamed danger. Her instincts screamed louder when he pulled a gun.

"FOR THE WHITE FANG!" he roared.

Blake's eyes widened. "Look out!" She grabbed Jaune, shadow-cloning them away as bullets sprayed wildly. The crowd screamed, scattering. The terrorist seized a young boy, gun to his head.

"Back off!" the Faunus snarled.

Jaune stepped forward, hands raised. "Don't! Don't… Look, you just want me, right? Take me instead of the kid!"

The terrorist sneered, aiming at Jaune. "You humans all deserve to die! But if you want to be first—!" He fired.

Blake's heart stopped. "JAUNE?!"

The shot hit Jaune center-mass, but he didn't fall—no blood, just a grunt. Ren, hidden nearby, fired a precise shot, dropping the terrorist instantly. Blake rushed to Jaune, hands shaking, forgetting his Aura in her panic. "JAUNE?!"

"I'm okay… I'm okay…" Jaune rubbed his chest, standing slowly.

Ren jogged up. "You all right?"

"Yeah…" Jaune nodded.

"COUNCILMAN ARC! WHAT HAPPENED?!" Lisa Lavender appeared, microphone thrusting forward, camera drone buzzing.

Blake's ears shot up. "How did you get here so fast?!"

Lisa smirked. "The most trouble-prone councilman in public? Something's gonna happen!"

Paramedics and police swarmed in, securing the scene. No one else was hurt, the terrorist dead. Jaune was whisked to the station for a statement, where RWBY and JNPR converged in a chaotic pile.

"JAUNE!" Ruby tackled him in a hug. "You okay?!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine, really!" Jaune laughed, patting her head.

Weiss scowled. "Fine? You were shot!"

"I have Aura," Jaune said. "Better me than someone without."

Pyrrha and Yang barreled through the hallway. "JAUNE, ARE YOU OKAY?!" they chorused, squishing his face between their chests.

"You scared the shit out of m—us, LB!" Yang said, blushing.

"Yes, please don't ever worry m—us like that again!" Pyrrha added.

Ruby hugged him from behind. "HEY!"

Nora leapt in. "I want hugs too!" The pile collapsed, Jaune wheezing, "URK!"

Blake, trembling, whispered, "J-Jaune?"

Neptune and Sun arrived, assisting the police. Neptune gaped. "…SERIOUSLY?!"

Sun grabbed him. "Easy, Neptune, easy!"

- - -

In the interrogation room, Detective Columbia faced Jaune, Neptune, and Sun. "Well, Councilman, this is straightforward. You're not being charged."

"Why didn't you alert local police?" Columbia asked.

Jaune sighed. "Given my security detail was following my every step, I felt it was unnecessary to divert their attention from their usual responsibilities for a walk in the park. I certainly wasn't expecting an international terrorist."

Sun nodded. "Makes sense."

Neptune scowled.

Columbia raised an eyebrow. "Did you not think putting civilians in danger was a risk?"

Jaune's face fell. "Much of the area was sparsely populated. It just happened that I was accosted near a larger group. But… even I know that's a poor excuse. My naivety and lack of experience put lives in danger, and I take full responsibility. You're within your rights to arrest me for negligence, and I'll come willingly."

Columbia shook his head. "Given nobody died, we're not pressing charges. Exchanging yourself for the hostage was heroic… but foolish."

Jaune smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Detective." His face hardened. "Any more questions?"

Neptune exploded. "How could you cuck poor Sun?! How could you cuck me with Weiss and Yang and Pyrrha too?!"

"YOU DAMN HAREM PROTAGONIST!" Neptune yelled.

Sun held him back. "Easy, Neptune, easy!"

Jaune blinked, confused. "I'm sorry, what am I being accused of?"

Neptune flailed. "STEALING ALL THE POTENTIAL HOTTIES, YOU WEIRDO!"

Columbia, nonplussed, said, "How about you head back, Councilman?"

"I think I will. Have a nice day," Jaune said, bolting.

Back in the station's main room, Pyrrha hovered. "You all right, Jaune?"

Jaune nodded. "Good news: no charges. Bad news: it's a warning. Next time, we follow protocol and inform the police. I thought you guys were enough, and extra security was a waste of taxpayer money, but… it's necessary bureaucracy."

Weiss turned on Blake. "Honestly, why would you let him go off like this?"

Ren stepped forward. "I was shadowing him. I share some of the blame."

Blake, trembling, clenched and unclenched her fists. "Not now, Weiss. Just not now."

Weiss fumed. "He could've been killed! Or that child, by a White Fang terrorist—!"

"The guy wasn't part of local cells," Jaune said. "Lone wolf, inspired by the White Fang."

"Oh, big difference!" Weiss snapped.

Blake looked ready to burst.

Yang glanced at her. "Weiss… there's a difference between being worried and being an ass."

Jaune sighed. "Look… I need to be more careful. We're lucky nobody got hurt, but next time, someone might use bombs on a crowd. We'd be okay, but normal people won't."

"Okay?" he asked.

Weiss nodded. "…Agreed. I can draw up a protocol for public events."

Pyrrha nodded. "I can help."

"Thank you. I really appreciate it," Jaune said.

Blake stayed quiet, eyes down.

- - -

Back at the Council Tower, as they entered Jaune's office, he pulled her aside. "Blake? You okay?"

She took a deep breath, face neutral. "Jaune, before I say anything, I need your word you'll be completely honest with me, at least for this conversation. Can you do that?"

"Yes. You have my word," Jaune said, no hesitation.

"Good." Blake's neutrality shattered. She slapped him, rage flaring. "What the hell were you thinking, jumping in front of me like that?!"

Her voice cracked, fear bleeding through. "You could've been hurt, and it would've been my fault! Hell, it's my fault we were out there in the first place!"

Jaune winced, shaking his head. "Blake, I'm sorry. It was reflex!"

"I mean, I never wanted to be a politician!" he continued. "I wanted to be a Huntsman. To protect people!"

Blake smacked him again. "Don't you think I know that?!" Her expression softened, but her voice shook. "I get it's not what you wanted, but it's who you are now. You're too important to recklessly throw your life into danger every chance you get." She rubbed her arm anxiously. "I know it's hypocritical, given some of the things I've done, but if I'm saying it, you know it's a problem."

Jaune's eyes softened. "Blake… there will never be a situation where my life is more important than yours, or a little boy's."

He sighed. "Look… I'll be less reckless, I promise. But I don't consider myself more important than anyone else. I'm supposed to be in front of people in trouble. That… doesn't change just because I've got a fancy office."

He hugged her gently.

Blake hugged back, murmuring, "I wanna believe that…"

Jaune, catching it in their closeness, asked, "Why not?"

Blake's eyes widened. "Shit, I said that out loud, didn't I?"

"Yes," Jaune agreed. Blake immediately tried to pull away, but Jaune's Aura enhanced strength kept her right there. Though she wrestled furiously.

"Blake-Seriously-Quit it-!"

"No, I have to-!"

Blake used a judo sweep to send Jaune falling… Right on top of her. He pinned her to the floor even as she tried to get away. Clones of herself appeared around him, trying to distract him, but to no avail.

"Damnit Jaune, let-me-go-!"

"No!"

"LET ME GO!"

"STOP RUNNING AWAY!"

Blake froze. Jaune panted for breath, holding her down. She looked up, almost meek. Her eyes met his.

"I just…" She shook her head. "I… I don't want to fail you… I don't want to fail again."

"Well… Running away isn't going to help that," Jaune murmured. Blake flushed, her eyes darting downwards.

"You can't fix anything if you keep running," he added, more gently. Blake looked up and blushed softly.

"I… But when the mess is so big you can't fix it-"

"This isn't," Jaune murmured, "I promise. As long as we work together, we'll do better. I screwed up too. It's not always about you."

Blake stared into his eyes. She nibbled her lower lip, worrying it, before she spoke.

"You… You don't have as much to make up for as I do-"

"Doesn't matter," Jaune insisted, "We both want to make the world a better place. Right? We both want to make things better. I know you, Blake. You wouldn't be so reckless and forthright if you didn't care… Right?"

Blake slowly nodded. She licked her lips.

"I do… But you need to stop being so reckless yourself. You're a target and… And I don't want to lose you. It would hurt all of us."

Jaune sighed, and nodded.

"You're right," he said, "I'll try. I promise."

Jaune blinked twice… Glanced from side to side… And realized their position. He turned bright red.

"O-Oh… Um, uh…"

"You really should get off me," Blake said softly, "Unless you want to keep me pinned underneath you?"

Jaune gulped. He was abruptly aware of how intimate their position was. Their legs entwined, his hands pinning her wrists down to the carpet…

"Oh, um, I uh…"

"Unless you want to keep me here? Under y-you?" Blake asked, her voice shaking a bit but still warm and honey toned. Jaune gaped.

"Wha…?"

"I… I wouldn't mind," she managed softly, "if-if it was you, I-I mean… You could even punish me for my lapse, if you wanted?"

Jaune sighed. He got up off Blake, and brushed off his jacket before he reached out. Blake took his hand, and let him pull her up.

"Over the desk? I suppose it would be appropriate," Blake added. Jaune sighed and shook his head.

"Blake… I have seven sisters. The teasing isn't going to work on me."

Blake turned bright red. Jaune chuckled.

"Still, thank you for that," he said. "But I mean… I don't want things to get any more complicated. I don't want you to get in trouble. They already think I'm keeping a harem as it is."

Blake hummed.

"You know," she murmured, "I wouldn't mind if you did keep one. As long as I got to play with the girls too~."

Jaune turned bright red… Then laughed it off.

"Okay that was a lot better. But I'm gonna-"

"Jaune," Blake said quietly, "Do you know who I really am?"

Jaune blinked.

"Uhh…?"

"I'm Blake Belladonna, daughter of Ghira and Kali Belladonna, the Chieftains of Menagerie," Blake said, soft and quiet. Jaune blinked. He blinked twice. Three times before his brain reconnected with his mouth.

"Wait what?! You're… That Blake Belladonna?! But-You-How-?!"

"I honestly don't know how no one else has made the connection," she admitted, "It's really amazing."

"No kidding," Jaune agreed, staring at her in astonishment. Blake smiles.

"Which means it would be good for both of us to connect," Blake said, "for politics, friendship… And potentially other things." She took Jaune's hands in hers. "For the sake of Faunuskind and international politics, yes Jaune, I would absolutely accept being part of a harem!"

Jaune gaped… Then laughed hard again. He patted Blake on the shoulder.

"Okay, you definitely got me then, Blake! But enough comedy. Thanks for cheering me up. And I promise I won't tell anyone your secret, either. That said, if we could meet your parents, that would help me with a lot of our issues."

Blake frowned.

"Well… I haven't seen them in a long time. I… I don't-"

"Please Blake?" Jaune asked. "It would help us out a lot."

Blake slowly nodded.

"I suppose I-I could try… If you were there with me?"

"Sure thing, Blake," Jaune said with a warm smile. He hugged her, and headed into the side room to change. Blake sighed.

"I suppose I need to be less subtle about my politics."

Said the former terrorist.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Fun crack fic premise: Adam decides he's going to get his revenge on Blake the only way an edgy manchild can...

He's going to date Weiss Schnee, get close to her to allow him to kill her dad, and make Blake jealous!

Adam: "Perfect."

However, things get complicated when she sees his real face...

Weiss: "My dad's men did this to you?! That motherfucking twice damned shit fucking cunt son of a whore-He should burn in the pits of Hell-I'd castrate him if he had any balls-!"

Adam: staring... Red faced "... Oh no... I'm in love."

Blake meanwhile is in disbelief.

Blake: "You're just using her to get to her father!"

Adam: "Correction: We're dating and planning on kill her father together!"

Blake: "B-But you hate humans!"

Adam: "Not this one! Also Jaune, apologies. I didn't mean to steal your girl."

Jaune: "She wasn't really my girl and as long as she's happy... I'm happy."

Adam: "... You're a real bro, Jaune."

Jaune: "Thank you Adam."

Adam: "... Okay so now there are two humans I don't hate."

Blake: "SERIOUSLY?!"

- - -

Blake then goes to the most racist human she knows...

Blake: "I'm your girlfriend now!"

Cardin: "I-What?"

Blake: "Yes! I am your hot catgirl girlfriend! We will kiss and cuddle and go on dates together!"

Cardin: "But-But-!"

Velvet: "HEY! He was racist to me first, ya know!"

Blake: "Well I'm everything he hates in a tight, curvy package!"

Velvet: "Not curvy enough!"

Blake: "Why you-!"

A catfight ensues. Glynda storms into the room.

Glynda: "MISTER WINCHESTER! What is going on?!"

Cardin: "I DON'T KNOW!"

- - -

Later...

Ruby: "Why didn't you choose Jaune to make Adam jealous? He's nice!"

Blake: "That's the problem! Nobody would buy that he's racist!"

Jaune: "HEY! I could be racist! ... If I wanted to! ... And had some time to prepare! ... Maybe!"

Yang: "Why does he have to be racist?"

Blake: "... I... You... Shut up!"

 

[AndrewJTalon]

One idea: Duels might still be legal in some parts of Remnant. They follow the code duello: The seconds to the duelists do everything in their power to resolve the duel peacefully, and negotiate the terms of the duel. And what weapons can be used (usually named by the guy who is challenged but this can be negotiated). And the duel can be to the death but this was extremely rare, usually it was to first blood or a number of hits to satisfy honor.

So, Jaune Arc finds himself in a duel against a very traditionalist warrior and has to figure out how to either prevent it or win it. And perhaps choose a form of battle he's good at.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

So... An older idea a friend of mine had: Jaune brings along some old spheres from one of his relatives, purported to be full of incredible power.

Jaune can't figure out how to use them. It's not until Initiation, when things go wrong and the teams are cut off... That he grabs one and begs, begs, for the power to save his friends, to not be useless!

One of the spheres reacts, shines with power... Jaune gets the impression of a great reptilian eye burning with power looking him over, seeing into his very soul... And going...

"Hm... You'll do."

And in a massive burst of magical power long forgotten... Bahamut, the King of Dragons, flies again and annihilates the Grimm before vanishing.

Good news: Jaune has incredible power and can summon the powerful Guardian entities from before the World was Destroyed in the war between Salem and Ozma!

Bad news: Jaune has incredible power and can summon the powerful Guardian entities from before the World was destroyed in the war between Salem and Ozma... And now everyone knows he has that power.

 

[Sliverhero]

Idea for what if the grim Dragon was more a proper dragon from ancient times.

The First Shadow

The Grimm Dragon did not merely roar, it spoke.
The sound that tore from its throat shook the very foundations of Beacon Tower. Stone cracked. Glass shattered across every building still standing in the city below. Hunters and Huntresses alike dropped to their knees, hands clamped over their ears, not from volume alone but from the weight of the voice, ancient, deep, rumbling up from somewhere far older than language itself.

Smoke curled between teeth the length of flagpoles. Its eyes, burning with that sickly red glow, swept slowly across the burning city like a king surveying a domain that had always been his. "Little things." The words were not growled. They were measured. Deliberate. Each syllable carved into the night air with the patience of something that had waited millennia to speak again.

"You scurry beneath my shadow and think yourselves brave. You forge your little weapons, weave your little auras, and whisper to each other that you are the light against the dark."

The Dragon shifted its massive bulk atop the tower. The structure groaned, buckled, but held barely. Its talons, black as the void between stars, scraped against stone and left furrows like open wounds in the masonry. Each claw was as long as a sailing mast, curved and honed to a point that could pierce the hull of an airship like parchment.

"My claws are spears. Not the crude iron your kind hammers in forges. Spears forged in the first darkness, before your sun begged for its first dawn. Before your moon cracked and wept. Before your gods painted your world like children splashing color across mud."

Its wings unfurled, slowly, deliberately stretching wider than the amphitheater below. The membrane between them was thick, leathery, riddled with cracks that glowed faintly from within, as though magma flowed through the veins of the creature itself. They blotted out the stars.

"My wings are a hurricane. I have carried storms across continents. I have turned seas to dust with a single downbeat. When I flew in the age before your age, the world itself trembled and forgot which way was up."

The Dragon lowered its enormous head. Closer now. Close enough that those on the tower could see the texture of its scales, not smooth, not like a snake, but jagged and overlapping like plates of blackened iron, each one edged with a faint crimson glow, as if the creature's very hide was constantly burning from within. Scars lined its body. Old ones. The kind that spoke of wars fought before humanity had learned to cry.

"My armor is not yours to break. I have worn this darkness since the first shadow fell across the first stone. Your bullets pit it. Your blades scratch it. Your Semblances flicker against it like candles trying to burn a mountain."

It inhaled. The air around Beacon reversed. Smoke, ash, embers, all of it spiraled inward, drawn into the creature's maw like a world ending in reverse. The sky itself seemed to dim, as if the Dragon were stealing the light from the atmosphere.

Then it exhaled. Not fire. Not exactly. A wave of pure, concentrated darkness, Grimm essence in its rawest, oldest form, rolled outward across the sky. It didn't burn. It consumed. Where it passed, the air turned black. Dust particles ceased to exist. The clouds above Beacon simply... dissolved.

"My breath is unmaking. The God of Darkness breathed life into me with the very first exhale of creation. Where your light builds, I unbuild. Where your hope gathers, I scatter. I am not a creature of your wars. I am the reason your wars mean nothing."

The Dragon's gaze swept across the battlefield. The ones still standing. The ones still foolish enough to hold their ground. Ruby Rose, silver eyes wide and shining. Weiss Schnee, rapier trembling in her grip. Blake Belladonna, shadow melting into shadow as if she could hide from the thing that invented shadow.

The Dragon noticed none of them. Because it had caught a scent. Its nostrils flared. A small motion against the enormity of its form, but the effect was immediate, the smoke and ash hanging in the air stilled, then reversed direction, spiraling inward toward those twin black holes of breath.

It was scenting. "Hhhh." A low sound. Not a word. A discovery. Its enormous head swiveled slowly, deliberately, like a searchlight cutting through the chaos below. The red eyes narrowed. The scarred lips peeled back just slightly, revealing teeth that could serve as siege weapons.

"There." The gaze locked onto the tower. Onto a figure standing among the rubble, half-hidden in shadow, her amber eyes wide with something she had never felt before.

Cinder Fall didn't move. Couldn't move. Every nerve in her body was screaming at her to flee, to use the Maiden's power, to do something, but the Dragon's attention was a physical weight, and she was pinned beneath it like an insect under glass.

"You." The word dripped with something worse than malice, just nothing but pure disgust. "I smell it on you. Even from here. Even through the smoke and the blood and the stench of your own fear." The Dragon's upper lip curled further. A sound rumbled in its throat , not a roar, not a growl, but something far more unsettling.

A sneer. "The witch's stain. Old magic. Stolen magic. It clings to you like rot clinging to a corpse. You wear it like a crown, don't you? You think you've claimed something powerful. Something that makes you special." Cinder's hand twitched toward the bow at her back. The Maiden's power flickered in her palm, heat, flame, the desperate warmth of a stolen sun.

The Dragon saw it and it laughed. The sound was catastrophic. A deep, rolling, earth-shaking bellow that sent cracks racing through every wall within a mile. Debris fell from half-collapsed buildings. The air itself seemed to shudder.

"You would show me fire?" The laughter died. Instantly. Completely. Replaced by something far colder. "I was born in the dark before your sun existed. I have bathed in the cold fury of the God of Darkness Himself. And you... a thief ...would wave His brother's leftover warmth in my face?"

The Dragon leaned closer. Its breath washed over the tower like a tide of ash and decay. Cinder's hair whipped back. Her skin went pale. The Maiden's flame in her hand sputtered, dimmed, flickered, as if the very presence of the Dragon was suffocating the light inside her.

"You are not worthy of that power. You are a rat wearing a queen's robe. The magic you carry does not belong to you. It was never meant for something so small. You reek of desperation. Of ambition so hollow it echoes. You stole what you could not earn, and you think that makes you dangerous."

Its eyes burned brighter. "It makes you pathetic."
Cinder Fall, the woman who had orchestrated the fall of Beacon, who had murdered, manipulated, and clawed her way to power through sheer ruthless will, felt her legs give out beneath her.

She dropped to one knee. The Dragon had not touched her. Had not breathed destruction upon her. Had merely spoken and she was on her knees.

The Dragon's head pulled back slightly, dismissive, as if she were already forgotten. A footnote. An afterthought unworthy of further attention. But then...It inhaled again. Deeper this time. The ash reversed. The smoke spiraled. And the Dragon went still.

It went completely still. Not the predatory stillness of a hunter spotting prey. This was different. This was the stillness of something that had been waiting for a very long time and had suddenly, impossibly, been answered.

"No." The word was barely a whisper. But it carried across all of Beacon like a thunderclap.
"No, it cannot be." Its head swept left. Right. Left again. The enormous eyes, ancient, terrible, older than civilization, darted across the battlefield with an energy that hadn't been there a moment before. Something alive flickered in them. Something that had no place in a creature of Grimm.

Hunger. Not for destruction. Not for the annihilation of light. Recognition. "Where!!!!"
The head snapped downward. Past the fallen Huntresses. Past the scattering students. Past the Grimm pouring through the streets like a flood of black water.

Down to a blonde boy standing in the middle of a crumbling courtyard, sword drawn, shield raised, aura flickering like a candle in a hurricane. Jaune Arc. He was shaking. Visibly. Undeniably. His knees were bent, his breathing ragged, his grip on Crocea Mors so tight his knuckles had gone white. He had no idea what was happening. He only knew that every instinct he had ever had was screaming at him that the thing looking at him was not just a Grimm.

It was a predator older than the concept of prey.
The Dragon stared at him and then it made a sound that no one present had expected.
A sound that, given everything they knew about Grimm, soulless, mindless, driven only by the desire to destroy, should have been absolutely impossible.

It purred. Low, Deep and resonant. A vibration that could be felt in the chest, in the bones, in the marrow. The sound of an apex predator that had just scented the one thing in all the world it had ever truly wanted to find. "Oh," the Dragon breathed, and the word was almost tender.

"Oh, there you are." Jaune swallowed hard. "W-what?" "Do you know what I smell on you, little slayer?" The title hung in the air. Slayer. Not student. Not boy. Not child.Slayer. "I smell the Arc." The Dragon said the name like a prayer. Like a curse. Like a memory so old it had fossilized and then been dug up and breathed back to life.

"I smell the bloodline that hunted my brothers. That drove them from the mountains. That cracked their scales with blades forged in hatred and wrapped in holy fire. I smell the line that killed dragons, true dragons, not the pale imitations your age has forgotten and mounted their skulls on walls that have long since turned to dust."

Its wings twitched. Not in aggression. In anticipation.

"Do you understand? Your kind were the boogeymen of my kind. We whispered about the Arcs in the deep places of the world. In the caves before your caves existed. In the dark before your dark had a name. We told our young and we had young, once, before your ancestors butchered them, that the Arcs would come. That nothing could stop them. That even the gods themselves had tried."

The Dragon's voice dropped. Lower. Reverent.
"And failed." Jaune's eyes were wide. "The... the gods..." "The God of Light struck down your ancestor with a beam that carved a canyon into the earth. The Arc stood back up. The God of Darkness unmade the ground beneath another's feet, swallowed him into the void itself. The Arc climbed out. They threw everything they had at your line. Light. Darkness. Creation. Destruction. They waged a war against the Arcs that made your little human conflicts look like children arguing over scraps."

The Dragon leaned down. Far down. Its massive head came to rest at the level of the courtyard wall, eye to eye with a boy who could barely hold his sword steady. "And your bloodline survived. Not because of magic. Not because of relics or blessings or stolen power."

Its breath washed over Jaune. Hot. Dark. Smelling of ash and antiquity and something almost like respect. "Because you are built to kill things like me."

Around them, the battle had slowed. Grimm and humans alike paused, drawn by some primal gravity to the exchange. Even the other Grimm seemed confused, their relentless advance faltering as the Dragon, their progenitor, their living god , purred at a blonde boy with a dented shield.

"Look at you," the Dragon said, and there was something almost sad in it. "You don't even know what you are, do you? You stumble through this world with your borrowed armor and your clumsy stance and your fragile little shield, and you have no idea that the blood in your veins is the most dangerous thing on this planet."

Its eyes narrowed. It pulled back slightly, and its gaze shifted, comparing. Contrasting. The amber-eyed girl still on her knees atop the tower. The blonde boy in the courtyard below. Two inheritances. Two legacies. And the gulf between them was so vast it was almost funny.

"The witch reeks of theft. Of borrowed power clutched by desperate fingers. The wizard, oh, I smell him too, somewhere in this city dying, that old man with his staff and his stolen fragments of godhood, he is the same. Relics. Crutches. Parasites feeding on the corpses of an age that died before their grandfathers were born."

A low, rumbling growl, not of anger, but of contempt, vibrated through the air.

"They belong to a pathetic age. An age of leftovers. An age that scrabbles for the crumbs of powers it was never meant to touch. The Maidens. The Relics. Pale shadows of what the gods left behind, clutched by small, desperate things who think stealing fire makes them Prometheus."

The Dragon's head swung back to Jaune. The contempt vanished. In its place was something far more terrifying, pure Wonder. "But you, Jaune Arc. You are not a relic. You are not a thief. You are not a crutch. You are the original weapon. Forged before magic was divided. Tempered before light and darkness went to war. Your bloodline does not borrow power. It is power. The kind that cannot be stolen. The kind that cannot be given. The kind that can only be born."

Jaune's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"I... my family are just... we're just..." "JUST!!?"

The Dragon's voice cracked like a whip. The ground beneath Jaune's feet split. "Your ancestors slew my kin. They faced the gods and the gods blinked first. Every monster that has ever haunted your species' nightmares, the ones so ancient your historians have forgotten their names, the Arcs killed them. And you stand there and call them just?"

The Dragon drew itself up to its full, impossible height. Its wings spread wide. Its chest swelled. And when it spoke again, its voice was not contemptuous. Not mocking. Not cruel. It was exhilarated.

"I have slept for ten thousand years. I have watched your species rise and fall and rise again. I have seen empires burn and religions crumble and heroes turn to dust. And in all that time, I have wondered, wondered, if the Arcs were truly gone. If the gods had finally, after all their failures, managed to exterminate the one line they could never defeat."

Its eyes locked onto Jaune's. Blue met red. Terror met rapture. "And now, on the night I rise to end an age... I find you." The Dragon smiled.
It was the most horrifying thing anyone at Beacon had ever seen. "The gods could not kill your line, little slayer. The darkness could not swallow it. Time itself could not erode it."

Its wings beat once. A hurricane. The ground cracked in concentric circles radiating outward from the tower. "But I am not the gods. I am not the darkness. I am not time." The Dragon's voice rose to a crescendo that shook the sky itself. The broken moon above seemed to tremble.

"I am the thing your ancestors lived to destroy. And you, the last, the best, the brightest burning ember of a fire that refused to die, you will have the honor that no living soul has had in ten thousand years." Its jaws opened. Wide. Wider. The red glow in its throat intensified, building, to an end. "You will face a First Shadow." "And one of us will die."

Jaune Arc stood in the ruins of Beacon Academy, surrounded by falling ash and fleeing students and the screaming of a world coming apart, and he raised Crocea Mors with hands that would not stop shaking.

But he raised it. And somewhere deep in his blood, deeper than memory, deeper than training, deeper than fear, something old woke up.

Something that had been sleeping in the marrow of every Arc for ten thousand years. Something that had survived gods and darkness and the slow grind of ages. Something that the Dragon could smell like a furnace smells fuel.

Something that recognized the thing before it not as a nightmare, but as an old enemy. The shield on his arm, old, dented, passed down through generations of people who had no idea what they were carrying, hummed.

Not with aura or with semblance. But With an ancient heritage. The Dragon saw it and it roared with joy.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The Star Maiden Garden was quiet and overgrown, full of crumbling stone ruins and wildflowers. It was technically off-limits for unaccompanied children, but Mia had wandered just far enough during recess to end up there, staying within bounds.



She wasn't going to wander out to get eaten by a Grimm... But those pretty purple flowers were so neat!



She was crouched beside a patch of the pretty purple flowers when a soft rustle made her look up.



A tall woman with long black hair and striking red eyes stepped out from behind a ruined pillar. Raven Branwen froze the moment she saw the small blonde Faunus girl staring at her with wide, curious eyes.



Mia tilted her head. "You look like Auntie Yang. Are you her mom?"



Raven was silent for a long moment. Then she gave one stiff nod.



Mia's ears perked up. "Why aren't you around? Auntie Yang misses you."



Raven crossed her arms. "I have important work to do."



"What kind of work?"



"I'm not telling you."



"Why?"



"It's a secret."



Mia crossed her arms right back, frowning. "That's dumb."



Raven's eyes narrowed. "You're lucky I don't feed you to the Grimm, brat."



Mia's lower lip wobbled instantly. Tears welled up, and she started crying in earnest.



Raven's tough exterior cracked almost immediately.



"Hey— wait, I didn't mean it. Stop crying."



Mia sniffled, looking up at her with big, watery eyes. "Do you mean it?"



Raven sighed, rubbing her temple. "…No. Just stop crying."



Mia wiped her eyes and smiled again. "Your sword is really cool."



Raven glanced down at her blade. "It was my father's."



"My papa has a cool sword too! I want one when I get older!"



Raven snorted. "Good for you."



Mia tilted her head. "Why don't you get Auntie Yang a sword? So she knows you care."



Raven paused. "I show I care in other ways."



"Like what?"



Raven sighed, looking almost tired. "By protecting her. And Ruby."



Mia frowned. "Why not hug them? Or be with them?"



Raven smirked faintly. "You're a wordy little brat, aren't you?"



Mia stuck her tongue out. "I wanna know! I really love Auntie Yang and want her to be my mom!"



Raven's expression flickered. She opened her mouth to respond when Yang's voice rang out from the path.



"Mia!"



Yang, Ruby, Weiss, and Blake came storming up, looking equal parts worried and annoyed.



"Mia, you can't keep wandering off like this!" Yang scolded, scooping her up.



Ruby nodded. "We were so worried!"



Weiss crossed her arms. "This is the second time this week!"



Blake sighed. "You promised you'd stay with the group."



Mia pointed over her shoulder. "Sorry! I was talking to Auntie Yang's mom! She can tell you all about it! I was super safe with her!"



They all turned.



A large black raven sat on a ruined wall, tilting its head before letting out a loud caw and flying off into the trees.



Yang sighed, hugging Mia tighter. "That's just a regular raven, kiddo."



Mia frowned. "No, it was her! I promise! She must have turned into the bird!"



Ruby smiled gently. "Come on, let's get you back to the others."



As they walked away, Mia scowled at the spot where the bird had been.



The raven circled once overhead before disappearing into the forest.



"Meanie bird Mom," Mia muttered.



She would get even with her!

 

[AndrewJTalon]

"The King Still Breathes"

- - -

The training mission had turned into hell.

The Nevermore's screech tore through the canopy like a blade as it flew down upon them. Jaune's team—his new team—was scattered across three different ledges after the cliffside collapsed. Ruby was pinned under a fallen tree with her scythe jammed. Weiss was trying to glyph herself free while a pack of Beowolves closed in. Blake had already used her last Dust round. Yang's gauntlets were sparking, one barrel cracked. Nora and Ren were fighting frantically against a veritable herd of Boarbatusk, while Pyrrha was fighting valiantly against several Ursa.

And Jaune? Jaune was on his knees in the mud, one hand clutching the old leather satchel he'd smuggled from the Arc farmhouse. Inside were a few smooth, fist-sized spheres of black crystal veined with glowing gold. Grandpa Shirou had called them "the old man's last mistakes." Grandma Arturia had only ever said, "They are not toys, Jaune. They are older than kingdoms."

He'd never been able to make them do anything. Yet he couldn't get rid of them.

A Beowolf lunged for Ruby.

Jaune's hand closed around one of the spheres without thinking.

"Please," he whispered, voice cracking. "I don't care if it kills me. Just—give me something. Anything. I can't— I can't lose them. I can't be useless again—"

The sphere flared.

Not with Aura. Not with Dust. Something older. The air itself seemed to burn. A single vertical slit of molten gold opened inside the crystal—an eye the in his mind seemed the size of a cathedral window—and looked straight through him.

It saw every insecure thought. Every time he'd lied on his transcripts. Every time he'd swung Crocea Mors and felt like a child playing with his father's sword. Every night he'd cried in the bathroom at Beacon because he was terrified he was the weak link that would get his team killed.

The eye considered.

Hm… You'll do.

The words weren't heard. They were felt—a voice like mountains cracking and oceans boiling, ancient and amused and terrible... Yet kind.

The sphere detonated into pure light.

A roar shook the entire forest. Trees exploded outward in a perfect circle. The Nevermore that had been diving for the kill banked hard, wings beating in sudden animal panic.

From the pillar of golden fire rose Bahamut.

Not a Grimm. Not an airship. A dragon the size of a small mountain, scales like living sapphire and gold, wings that blotted out the rising sun. His eyes were the same burning vertical slits that had judged Jaune's soul. When he opened his jaws, the air itself ignited.

The Beowolves didn't even have time to scream.

A single breath from the dragon turned the entire pack into glowing ash, along with the rest of the Grimm closing on them.

The Nevermore tried to flee. Bahamut's tail flicked once. The giant bird detonated mid-air in a rain of burning feathers.

Then the King of Dragons looked down at the tiny, muddy, shaking boy still clutching the cracked remains of the sphere.

The great head lowered until one burning eye was level with Jaune's face. For a moment the entire forest was silent except for the crackle of burning wood and the distant sound of Ruby whispering, "What the hell—"

Bahamut's voice rolled through Jaune's bones like thunder wrapped in velvet.

"You are no hero yet, little king. But you carry the blood and heart of kings. That is enough. For now."

The dragon's form dissolved into rivers of golden light that poured back into the sphere—now warm and pulsing in Jaune's hand like a second heartbeat. The other two spheres in the satchel answered, glowing in sympathy.

Then he was just Jaune again. Kneeling in the mud. Covered in ash. Surrounded by his teammates and friends, staring at him like he'd grown a second head.

Ruby's silver eyes were the size of dinner plates. "Jaune… did you just… summon a dragon?!"

Weiss looked like she was experiencing every emotion at once and had settled on "deeply offended that the universe had not informed her of this earlier."

Pyrrha stepped toward him slowly, Miló still in hand.

"Jaune… what was that? Are you hurt?"

Nora was practically vibrating, Magnhild slung over one shoulder, pink eyes sparkling with manic glee.

"JAUNE YOU SUMMONED A DRAGON! A REAL ONE! IT BREATHED FIRE AND HAD A VOICE AND IT CALLED YOU LITTLE KING AND THEN IT JUST POOFED BACK INTO THE ROCK AND— CAN WE DO IT AGAIN?! PLEASE SAY WE CAN DO IT AGAIN!!"

Ren stood a little apart, StormFlower lowered, his usual calm expression cracked by the faintest widening of his eyes. He studied the sphere in Jaune's hand with quiet intensity.

Blake's ears were flat against her head. Yang was grinning like it was her birthday and someone had delivered her a tank.

Jaune stared at the sphere in his hand. It was cool again. Silent. But he could still feel it—them—watching. Waiting.

He swallowed.

"I… think I just became the world's most overqualified battery."

 

[Sliverhero]

The Judgment of Alexander

Fall of Beacon: Courtyard Ruins

The sky over Beacon burned orange and red.

Cardin Winchester's shoulder slammed against the crumbled wall of the courtyard, his breath coming in ragged pulls. Behind him, Velvet Scarlatina pressed her back against the stone, one arm cradled against her chest, blood seeping through the torn fabric of her uniform. Beside her, Coco Adel sat propped up on debris, her sunglasses cracked and hanging off one ear, a gash across her forehead painting half her face in red.

"Coco.." Cardin started. "Save it," Coco rasped. Her Minigun lay in pieces twenty feet away, scattered by a Paladin's strike that had sent her flying. "Velvet needs attention more than me."

Velvet let out a pained sound, her aura flickering weakly around her. Her camera had been shattered in the initial assault. Her boxes of copied weapons had been trampled under the feet of fleeing students. She had nothing left.
"I'm fine," Velvet lied, teeth clenched. None of them were fine.

Through the smoke and dust, Cardin could see them assembling. A squad of hacked Atlesian Knights marched in rigid formation through the breach in the courtyard wall, their red optics scanning. Behind them, White Fang soldiers fanned out with rifles raised, their masks catching the firelight like grinning skulls. And above them, circling, waiting were a pack of Nevermores and Griffons rode the thermal currents, their eyes burning with malice.

A White Fang lieutenant stepped forward, his sword drawn. "Three more huntsmen-in-training," he called back to his squad with a laugh. "Looks half-dead already. Finish them."
The Knights raised their rifles in unison.

Cardin's hand moved on instinct, not to his mace, which had been lost somewhere in the chaos, but to his chest. To the necklace beneath his armor. The one his grandfather had given him before he'd died. The one Cardin had always dismissed as some old family trinket.

A simple iron chain. A red orb the size of a walnut, pulsing faintly with warmth. You'll know when the time comes, boy. You'll know. Cardin had laughed it off. Called it sentimental nonsense. He wasn't laughing now.

"Cardin, what are you..." Velvet started. He closed his fingers around the orb. The first volley of gunfire erupted from the Knights.
And Cardin prayed. Not to any god he knew. Not to any name he could put to words. He just poured everything he had into that single desperate thought, please, please, PLEASE!!!!

The orb ignited. The gunfire stopped mid-flight.
Every round, every single bullet, froze in the air like it had struck an invisible wall. The White Fang soldiers stumbled to a halt. The Grimm shrieked and veered away. Even the hacked Knights stuttered in their programming, servos whining in protest.

Coco's cracked sunglasses slid off her face entirely. "…What the hell?" The red orb in Cardin's hand blazed like a captured star. Light poured out of it in waves, not red anymore but holy, blinding, searing, white-gold radiance that pushed back the smoke and made the fires dim to candles. The light moved up, streaking into the sky like a pillar, punching through the cloud cover, splitting the burning sky open.

And then the ground trembled. Not like an earthquake. Not like a Paladin's footsteps. This was deep, a resonant, mechanical thrum that Cardin felt in his molars, in his sternum, in the marrow of his bones. It was the sound of something ancient turning on. Something that had been sleeping in that little red orb for longer than Remnant had a name.

The clouds parted. Velvet looked up and her breath left her entirely. It descended from the hole in the sky like a city falling from heaven.

Somehow she knows its name Alexander.
The Summon was enormous easily larger than any airship in the Atlesian fleet. It was a fortress given form, a cathedral of holy metal and divine machinery, all angular walls and concentric rings and towering spires that glowed with internal light. Its central body was a massive armored core shaped like a stylized face, serene, unmoving, judging. Concentric rings rotated slowly around it, each one inscribed with glyphs that burned white-gold. Wings, if you could call them that spread from its flanks, not feathered but layered, hundreds of interlocking plates that shifted and rearranged like living architecture.

The entire structure hummed with power. Not Dust. Not aura. Something else. Something older. The White Fang lieutenant took one step back. Then another. His sword shook in his grip. "What… what is that...?"

Alexander's core glowed brighter.

The rings around Alexander's body began to spin, faster and faster, the glyphs blurring into lines of solid light. Energy gathered in the fortress's core, building, constantly building, the air itself began to distort, heat and light and force compressing into a single point.

The Grimm felt it first. The Nevermores screamed, not their usual bone-rattling cry, but something different. Something afraid. They broke formation immediately, turning to flee, but it was too late. The Griffons followed, beating their wings desperately against the pressure that was building in the air. Even the Grimm on the ground, the Beowolves that had been creeping closer, froze, their red eyes widening with something no one had ever seen in a Grimm before. Fear just pure fear.

Because whatever was building in Alexander's core was the absolute antithesis of everything the Grimm were. It was light. It was order. It was holy not in the religious sense, but in the fundamental sense. The very force that rejected darkness on a molecular level. The White Fang soldiers started running.

The Atlesian Knights tried to retreat, their hacked programming screaming at them to flee, but their legs wouldn't move fast enough.

Cardin stood in the eye of it all, the necklace still burning in his hand, his eyes wide and streaming with tears from the light. He could feel Alexander's presence in his mind, vast, mechanical, righteous. It wasn't a person. It wasn't a creature. It was a principle. A weapon built by hands that had long since turned to dust, on a world that might not even be Remnant at all.

And it had chosen to answer him. "Judgment," Alexander's voice resonated, not through the air, but through Cardin's very bones. "Rendered."

The beam fired. It came from Alexander's core, a column of pure white-gold energy wider than the courtyard itself, descending like the finger of an angry god. It struck the ground with absolute silence.

For one second, nothing happened. Then the world erupted. The holy light expanded outward in a massive shockwave, and everything it touched was simply gone. The hacked Atlesian Knights didn't explode, they unraveled, their metal frames dissolving into particles of light as the sacred energy overloaded every circuit and shattered every bolt. The Paladin that had been stomping toward them let out a distorted mechanical shriek and came apart like a model hit by a sledgehammer, its armor plating peeling away in sheets before disintegrating.

The White Fang soldiers who hadn't fled far enough were hit by the shockwave's edge and sent flying, not killed, but purged. The darkness in their hearts, the malice, the bloodlust, the holy energy seared it out of them like a cauterizing iron. They collapsed, unconscious, their weapons crumbling to ash in their hands.

But the Grimm...The Grimm burned. Holy damage was not like Dust damage. It was not elemental. It was fundamental. The same way that Grimm were creatures of pure darkness given form, Alexander's judgment was pure light given wrath. The Nevermores that had been fleeing ignited in midair, their shadowy forms catching fire like paper held over a furnace. They didn't get a chance to scream. One moment they were there, the next they were unmade, their bodies breaking apart into black vapor that the holy light immediately consumed.

The Griffons fared no better. The shockwave caught them and they detonated, their bodies unable to contain the contradiction of pure light burning inside pure darkness. They popped like black balloons filled with starlight.

The Beowolves on the ground didn't even get that much. The beam's epicenter touched them and they simply ceased, no bodies left behind, no ash, no vapor. Just empty ground where they had been standing, as if they had never existed at all.

The shockwave expanded for a quarter mile in every direction, clearing the courtyard, the breach, the adjacent buildings, the forest edge where more Grimm had been gathering. Every shadow was banished. Every dark thing was purged. The very ground where the beam had struck glowed white-hot, a perfect circle of purified earth that would remain warm for days.

Then, slowly, the light faded. Alexander's rings slowed. The glyphs dimmed. The great fortress-summon rose back into the sky, its work done, its judgment delivered. It ascended through the clouds without a sound, and the pillar of light that had split the sky closed behind it like a wound healing.

The red orb in Cardin's hand went dark. He dropped to his knees.

Silence.

Absolute, ringing silence.

Cardin stared at the ground in front of him. Where a squad of Atlesian Knights had stood, there was nothing but scorched stone and a few lingering motes of white light drifting upward like fireflies. Where the White Fang had been, there were only unconscious bodies and scattered, rusted weapons. Where the Grimm had circled, there was empty air.

The entire courtyard, the entire section of the academy, had been cleared. Not a single Grimm remained. Not a single hostile machine. Not a single White Fang soldier still standing. "Cardin."
He looked up. Coco was staring at him, her mouth open, blood forgotten on her face. Her expression was one he had never seen on her before, not in class, not in training, not in the tournament.

Complete and utter shock. "Cardin," she said again, quieter this time. "What the fuck was that?" He looked down at the necklace in his hand. The red orb was dull now, just a plain little stone on an iron chain. But it was warm. Still warm. Like a heartbeat. "I…" His voice cracked. "I don't know."

Velvet let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. She was crying, her good hand pressed over her mouth, her ears flat against her head. "You saved us," she whispered. "Cardin, you saved us." He wanted to feel triumphant. He wanted to feel like the hero.

All he felt was tired. He tucked the necklace back under his armor and looked at the two of them, wounded, broken, barely standing. But alive. Because of whatever the hell that thing had been.

"Can you walk?" he asked. Coco blinked. Then she let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Did you really just ask if we can walk after you called down God's own artillery?"

"Can you walk or not?" "Yeah," Coco muttered, pushing herself up with a wince. "Yeah, I can walk." Cardin moved to Velvet and carefully pulled her arm over his shoulder, lifting her to her feet. She leaned into him, light as a bird, her breath hitching with pain.

"We need to find the others," he said, starting to move toward the academy's interior. "The evacuation point...." "Cardin." Velvet's voice was small. He stopped. "Your necklace," she said quietly. "It's glowing again." He looked down. Beneath his armor, the red orb pulsed once, soft and warm, like a heartbeat. Like it was listening.

Evernight Castle: That Same Moment

Salem had not felt pain in a very long time. Not true pain. Not the kind that reached past her immortal flesh and dug into something deeper. The curses that kept her alive, the Gods' twisted gifts had long since numbed her to such things. She could walk through fire, endure the bite of any weapon, suffer wounds that would kill a huntsman a hundred times over and feel nothing more than a mild pressure, like a finger pressed lightly against skin.

Pain was for mortals. Pain was for the small and the finite and the breakable. So when the sensation hit her, a white-hot spike of wrongness that lanced through her chest like a lightning bolt made of broken glass, she actually stumbled.

Her hand shot out and caught the armrest of her throne. Her black nails dug into the stone, leaving gouges. Her lips peeled back from her teeth. "What..." she hissed. It came again. Worse.

The connection she shared with the Grimm was not a leash. It was not a spell or a command structure or a network in any way that a human would understand it. It was biology. She was the source. The wellspring. Every Grimm that existed was, in some fundamental way, an extension of her, a fragment of her darkness given form and purpose and hunger. She felt them when they were created. She felt them when they fed. She felt them when they died, though she had long since learned to treat those sensations like background noise, like the ticking of a clock in a distant room.

But this was not background noise. This was screaming. Every Grimm in the vicinity of Beacon, every single one had been unmade at exactly the same moment, and the feedback slammed into Salem's consciousness like a tidal wave made of razors. She felt the Nevermores ignite. She felt the Griffons detonate. She felt the Beowolves cease not die, not perish to be be respawn later , but simply stop existing forever, as if they had been edited out of reality.

And threaded through that agony, woven into the destruction like a poisoned needle in silk, was something else. Light. Not the light of a semblance. Not the light of Dust. This was something alien, something that did not belong to Remnant, something that operated on rules her world had never catalogued. It was holy in a way that made the Brothers' light look like a candle held up to the sun. It was judgmental. It looked at the darkness inside her, the ancient, bottomless, God-cursed darkness and it rejected it.

Not fought it. Not clashed with it. Rejected it. As if the darkness had no right to exist in its presence. Salem screamed. The Grimm in the halls of Evernight Castle went mad.

The Apathy that lurked in the shadows began to shriek, a sound no Apathy had ever made, a sound that sent the Grimm-human servants fleeing in terror. The Sphinxes in the outer courtyards thrashed and wailed, smashing their own bodies against the walls. The Leviathans in the deep lakes surrounding the castle dove to the bottom and buried themselves in mud, trying to escape a pressure that came from everywhere and nowhere.

In her throne room, Salem fell to her knees.
The darkness inside her, the curse, the corruption, the thing that the God of Darkness had poured into her soul when she had jumped into the Pool of Grimm recoiled. It pulled back from the edges of her being like a tide retreating from shore, driven away by the holy resonance that still echoed through the Grimm network, still rang in the space where a hundred Grimm had just been erased.

And in the space that the darkness left behind,
Salem's eyes snapped wide. For the first time in a long while, she has Clarity. . The word didn't begin to cover it. It was like surfacing from deep water after holding her breath for millennia. Like removing a blindfold she had forgotten she was wearing. Like waking up from a dream so long and so all-consuming that she had forgotten what it meant to be awake.

She could think.

Not the slow, grinding, obsidian-heavy thoughts that had become her normal existence, thoughts that always curved back to destruction, to revenge, to the Relics, to the Brothers, to the same endless loop of rage and grief that had defined her for longer than most civilizations had existed. No. These thoughts were fast. They were sharp. They connected to each other in ways she hadn't experienced since Since before.

Since Ozma. Since she had been human. "Oh," she breathed. And then the memories came, not corrupted, not filtered through the lens of ancient rage, but clear. She remembered jumping into the Pool of Grimm. She remembered why. She remembered the grief, yes, but she could see it now for what it was grief. Not justification. Not fuel. Just grief. Raw and awful and human.

She remembered the God of Light's rejection. She remembered the God of Darkness's twisted gift. She remembered the first time she realized she couldn't die, and the terror of that realization, not the cold indifference she had worn like armor for ten thousand years, but the actual, bone-deep fear of a woman who just wanted to see her daughters again and had been told she never, ever could.

"I..." Her voice cracked. "I was so..." She looked at her hands. Black, clawed, inhuman. The hands of a monster. And she saw them. Really saw them. Not as tools. Not as weapons. As her hands, transformed and twisted and wrong.

"I was so angry," she whispered, and the words came out shaking. "I was so angry and I... I never stopped, I just .... I never stopped..." Tears.
She was crying. Salem, the Queen of the Grimm, the immortal terror of Remnant, the being that had brought kingdoms to ruin and ground the God of Light's plans to dust over and over and over again, was crying. Black tears that leaked from red eyes, running down pale cheeks, dripping onto the stone floor of her own throne room.

She didn't wipe them away. For the first time in ten thousand years, she didn't want to. "I killed them," she said, and her voice was small, human small. "I killed so many people. I... Ozma tried to help me and I ... I used him, I..."

The name hit her like a physical blow. Ozma.
Not the enemy. Not the obstacle. Not the cosmic joke she had spent millennia tormenting. Ozma. Her husband. Her partner. The man who had loved her and she had..

"I destroyed everything," she whispered. "Everything he built. Everything he .... every life, every ... oh Gods, what did I..." She pressed her hands to her face and wept. The Grimm in the castle went still. Not calm, confused. Their mistress was emitting something they had never felt from her before. Something that didn't compute. Something that had no place in the biology of darkness.

Grief...Pure, undiluted, uncorrupted grief. It lasted perhaps ninety seconds. Ninety seconds of clarity. Ninety seconds of sobbing. Ninety seconds of a woman who had been lost for ten thousand years finally, finally seeing the path she had wandered down and understanding, with the full, devastating weight of a clear mind, exactly how far she had gone.

Then the darkness came back. It started at the edges. A familiar heaviness in her fingertips. A slow creep of cold up her spine. The tears began to slow, not because the grief was fading, but because the capacity for it was being smothered. Like ash falling over a fire. Like a hand closing over a candle. "No," Salem gasped. She clutched her head. "No, no, no..."

But it was like trying to hold back the ocean with her bare hands. The curse was part of her now, woven into her soul so thoroughly that removing it would be like removing her own heartbeat. The holy resonance had driven it back temporarily, had created a space where the real Salem could breathe, but the curse was patient. It had waited ten thousand years. It could wait a few more minutes.

The clarity dulled. The sharp edges of her thoughts began to soften and blur. The grief, that beautiful, awful, human grief was swallowed by the returning tide of ancient rage.
But not all of it. That was the cruelest part. Not all of it.

Salem felt the darkness settle back into place like a familiar coat. She felt her thoughts slow down, felt the rage reassert itself, felt the cold indifference crawl back over her emotions like frost over a window. The transformation was nearly complete. Nearly. Because deep inside her, buried under ten thousand years of curse and corruption and spite, there was still a crack. A hairline fracture in the darkness where the light had touched her. And in that crack, something survived.

Not the full clarity. Not the weeping, repentant woman who had knelt on her throne room floor. Just a spark. A memory of what it had felt like to be her. To think clearly. To feel remorse. To understand, even for a moment, the monstrous scale of what she had become.

A splinter of light in an infinite darkness. Salem rose to her feet. Her face was blank. Her eyes were red. The tears had dried to black tracks on her cheeks that she did not bother to wipe away.
She stood in the silence of her throne room, surrounded by the stillness of her confused Grimm, and she remembered being sorry.

And then she didn't. And then she did. And then she.. She closed her eyes.."What," she said quietly, to no one, to everything, "was that?"
The darkness purred in her chest, secure once more, confident and ancient and absolute.
But it did not answer. Because for the first time in ten thousand years, the darkness was not the only thing living in Salem's soul. And it knew.

Beacon Academy : Courtyard Ruins : Moments Later

Cardin stopped walking. Velvet stirred against his shoulder. "Cardin? What's wrong?" He didn't answer. His eyes had gone distant, unfocused, like someone watching a screen that no one else could see. The red orb beneath his armor had begun to pulse, not with light, not with heat, but with information. Data. Knowledge. Something was pouring into his mind in a language he shouldn't be able to understand but somehow could, like reading a book written in a script he'd never learned but inherently knew.

Coco noticed it first. His eyes. The way they moved behind his eyelids, tracking invisible lines of text. "Cardin? Hey. Cardin." He didn't hear her.

He was reading. The report didn't have words, not exactly. It was more like a structure, a framework of pure understanding that assembled itself in his consciousness like a building rising from blueprints. Categories. Designations. Assessments. All of it crystal clear, all of it terrifying, all of it branded into his mind with the same white-gold intensity of the beam that had just saved his life.

He saw the battle. Not from his own perspective, from above. From Alexander's perspective. He watched the holy light expand and consume and he understood, with clinical precision, exactly what it had done to every target it touched.

He saw the Knights unravel. He understood why, sacred energy overwriting corrupted programming at the base code level, reducing complex machines to their constituent particles. He saw the White Fang fall and understood the mechanism, non-lethal purge, the darkness extracted from living souls without killing the vessel. He saw the Grimm cease to exist and understood the fundamental truth: holy damage didn't kill Grimm. It negated them. Erased the darkness that gave them form. Returned them to the nothing they had come from.

And then the report shifted and them Cardin saw her. A throne room. Black stone. Ancient. A woman on her knees, pale, black-veined, terrifyingly beautiful in a wrong and broken way. And she was crying. Sobbing. Weeping with a grief so raw and so human that it made Cardin's chest ache despite everything he knew about what she was. He didn't know her name. The report didn't give him one. But it gave him a designation:

SOURCE ENTITY.

And it gave him a timeline of what had happened in that throne room, displayed not in words but in understanding, in pure comprehension that slotted into his brain like a key into a lock:

Holy resonance transmitted through Grimm network upon mass erasure. Feedback loop reached source entity in approximately 0.3 seconds. Dark corruption, the curse binding the source entity, experienced forced recoil. Estimated 12-15% of total dark mass temporarily displaced from soul structure. Source entity achieved approximate 90 seconds of uncorrupted cognitive function before dark mass reasserted dominance.

Residual effect: Micro-fracture detected in dark binding. Permanent. Non-repairable by source entity's inherent regeneration.

Assessment: The darkness can be pulled back. It has been proven. The immortal is not invulnerable. She is not unchangeable.

She is just very, very patient. So is the light.Cardin gasped, his knees buckled. He would have fallen if Velvet hadn't been there to steady his shoulder, and in the end, they both went down together, sliding against a broken wall, Coco lunging to catch them.

"Cardin! Cardin!" Coco grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. His eyes were wild, wide and white and shaking. "What's happening? Talk to me!" He stared at her. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "I saw her," he whispered.
" Saw who? " "I don't know." His voice was barely audible. "The one who makes them. The Grimm. I saw,she felt it, Coco. She felt what I did. And for a minute... just a minute... she was..."

He couldn't finish the sentence. Because he'd felt it too. Through the report, through the data, through whatever bond the orb had forged with him in that moment of summoning, he'd felt a ghost of what Salem had felt in those ninety seconds.

The grief. The horror. The remorse. The unbearable, crushing weight of ten thousand years of murder remembered all at once by a mind finally clear enough to understand it. "She was sorry," Cardin said, and his own voice broke on the word. "For ninety seconds, she was sorry."

Coco and Velvet stared at him.
Neither of them knew what to say.

Beneath Cardin's armor, the red orb pulsed one final time, a slow, steady beat, warm and patient against his chest. And then, in the back of his mind, in that same wordless language of pure understanding, the report concluded itself. Not as text. Not as sound. As a single, absolute certainty that settled into his bones like marrow:

Summon Log : Alexander :First Summon: Complete.

Bond Established. Summoner Compatibility: Winchester Bloodline :Awakened.

Side Effect: Resonance Feedback through Grimm Network :Target: Source Entity : Result: Temporary Purge of Dark Corruption, 90 seconds. Residual Effect: Micro-fracture in Dark Binding : PERMANENT.

Assessment: The darkness can be pulled back. It has been proven.

The immortal is not invulnerable. She is not unchangeable.

She is just very, very patient.

So is the light.

Next Summon Available.

Awaiting Input.

The presence receded. The warmth remained. Cardin pressed his hand against the orb beneath his armor and felt it pulse back against his palm, once, twice like a heartbeat answering a heartbeat.

In the silence that followed, Beacon burned around them. Somewhere in the distance, Grimm howled and airships crashed and people screamed. The Fall of Beacon was still happening. Nothing had been saved, not really. Not the academy. Not the kingdom. Not the world.

But a crack had been made.

Not in the walls. Not in the sky.

In ten thousand years of darkness.

And the thing that had made it was a boy no one believed in, holding a necklace he'd never understood, standing in a ruined courtyard with two wounded girls at his side and something vast and patient sleeping against his chest.

Cardin Winchester pulled himself to his feet.
He lifted Velvet up again. Nodded to Coco.
"We need to move," he said. His voice was steady. His hand was shaking. But beneath his armor, the orb was warm. And waiting.