The Monster We Show
So, here's my attempt at fanfiction. Hope you all like it. A fair warning, it is dark. There will be language, blood, gore and violence. If this is not your cup of tea, then kindly hit the blue button at the top left of your screen. If it is, then enjoy. Now that that is over, to the fun stuff: This is an AU story, with my OC interacting heavily with the canon characters.
And the Canon Characters. (RWBY, JNPR, CRDL, Ozpin, Glynda, etc)
Verdantos Grenice, From Dragon Boss Gala. (Same as above with Flora. You have an issue with it, take it up with Arren.)
I in no way, shape or form own RWBY. If I do, it's a newflash to me.
Night: the time when monsters roam. The era when assassins thrive. Where shady deals are made, and men die in shadows. The black void is said to be when unspeakable things are done. And yet, Night has been a savior for many; Countries stop wars with a single shot. Lives are saved by those vigilant. Alliances are formed to oppose tyranny. But, this story is about none of these. This tale, is about a man, a child named after night. Cast out before he could walk, only to find another family at ages eight and ten. The boy then became a mercenary, renowned for his skill.
This is no fairy tale. There is no easy way through. No smiting the monster with one blow. No saving the maiden without a scratch. No, this is not a fairy tale, where things end happily. This, is a story about a life, thrown into hardship. A lad who was hardened by the cruelties of the world, who holds a hatred for its supposed saviors. A
boy, who kills without remorse. This, is about Night incarnate.
The stars gleam in the black heavens. The moon shines, giving its light to aid those who thrive in this time. Clouds hang low, the bank peppered with holes. Some would say this night is peaceful. Movement within the snow filled forest below shows they lie.
Twisting, the shape slams the blade through their opponent's chest, and rips it out viciously.
Then with the momentum, their wrist flashes out, depriving another man of his arm. The sword swings back around, and a head falls before a sound is uttered. By that time, the figure is already past him, barely a blur within shadows. Slipping past another, a knife slides across his throat, ending the man's world quickly. The killer flashes away, the only trace of their existence; the bodies on the floor. And the blood on the trees. __________________________________________________________________________________
Aka Shinpō-sha was, to put it plainly, bored. Sitting on guard duty for some brat wasn't his idea of a good time. Now, if there was a women or two... His face splits into a wide grin at the mental image. This run down hut may be good for concealment, but the inhumane lack of comfort is definitely getting old.
Hearing his captive struggle, he grumbles. "Stupid bitch can't keep quiet. Keep her captured, they said. Just until we get the money, then we kill her, they said. She's just an heiress, a simple job, they said. They didn't mention how good she was in a fight!" Turning to see what the lass is doing, he freezes in fear.
The prisoner is free. The girl should have been tied to a chair, immobile and helpless.
Apparently not. She cut the bonds with her Rapier somehow, though how she got it, he has no clue.
"Y-you... Schnee...h-how?" He stutters. It took three others to take her down TOGETHER, and that was after six tried solo. I'm sooo screwed. The henchmen thinks, desperately trying to find a way out of this.
Ice blue eyes narrow at the stuttering fool as the heiress shifts the grip on her sword. Waving the weapon, white powder sprays out. Dust, in the form of the Schnee symbol. The blade is raised, prepared to slash at him.
Hmm. Twelve guards, with ten spaced out within eyesight of each other. Two are posted in elevated positions, mainly; Towers. The assassin shakes his head. Idiots. They make this too easy. The killer was perched in a tree, looking down at one of the guardsmen. Eyes the color of midnight watch as the fool walks out of his companions view, presumably to relieve himself.
Oldest trick in the book. Have these people ever read a novel?
Grinning slightly, the figure drops down into a crouch. Shadowing the man, night eyed assassin suddenly speeds up. Stepping smoothly behind the guard, he places one hand on the guard’s mouth. The other grabs the back of his head, and the shadow snaps his neck without a sound. Walking with silent footfalls, he returns to his vantage point.
And returns to thinning out the opposition. He keeps picking off the guards one by one; hanging one with some Para-cord, slitting another's throat. He whittles them down to three, making a game out of it.
Now, they know he's here. They retreat, trying to make it back to their shelter , thinking to link up with their leader. In response, a grin forms on the being's face. Four canines flash ivory as he steps into a beam of moonlight.
A hood obscures the upper half of his face. The rest of his body is wreathed in shadows.
Walking towards the terrified trio, his weapon held at an angle at his side. Blood drips off as the tip carves a furrow into the snow, staining it crimson. The man picks up the pace, speeding up to the point they can't see him.
The guards tense, and start looking around wildly. "I-it's gone, right?" One, an average looking man with brown hair, stutters out.
"You wish..." The voice is cold, haunting. It creeps into the mind, destroying any resolve to fight. The man turns, to see one of his comrades fall to the ground in two pieces. The brown haired man looks to his other companion, only to watch as his head is hewn from his shoulders.
Screaming, the man drops to his knees. He's sputtering out pleadings, begging, praying to be spared. The hooded murderer stands over him, his eyes filled with disgust.
"You think I will spare you? You kidnapped someone, demanded a ransom, and were going to kill her once you got it. Most likely after you all had some "fun"." Dark blue eyes meet brown. As terra meets noct, visions of pain, hatred, death, or of all three flash within the guards mind. He doesn’t have time to process it.
The hooded killer stabs his blade into the guard’s thigh, and pulls out a knife. The weapon is twelve inches long, double edged with serrations on both sides. A slight humming sound emits from it, signifying something much worse than a regular dagger. "You already earned a one-way ticket to hell. Allow me to send you there, you spineless coward!" At this, the knife wielder drives the weapon into the cowering man's throat, and rips it out to the side. Blood flies into the air, gushing from the wound. The hooded man looks down at the corpse in contempt, and turns to the shack. Wiping the blood on the deceased man, he sheathed the knife and removes his sword.
He takes but three steps before the wall is sent at him. Cursing, the blue haired male dives to the side, narrowly avoiding it. Coming to his feet, he's rewarded with the sight of a body landing in front of him. Dark blue eyes look down, and an eyebrow goes up. At his feet, is a large male with shocking red hair. He's still breathing, evidenced by the groan of pain. Raising his head, the swordsman's other eyebrow joins the first.
A head capped with long white hair situated into an off center ponytail. A small scar above and through her left eye. A white dress under a light blue bordello jacket, and a rapier in her left hand. High heeled white boots end the view of her pale skinned legs. Standing in the gaping hole, is Weiss Schnee.
Eyes like ice meet orbs of midnight, and both pairs narrow. They're at a standoff; the swordsman versus the fencer.
The killer smirks, and drops his guard. Relaxing, the assassin rotates his weapon once. The blade shifts into an assault rifle, three feet in length. It compacts once more, into a rectangular prism that is placed across his back.
Startled, and quite a bit annoyed at the nonchalance, Weiss glares at him. "Who the hell are you? Better yet, what are you doing here?"
The man merely crosses his arms, and smiles. The expression doesn't reach his eyes, which are colder than a northern blizzard. The double canines presented make her uneasy, as do the unusual color of his eyes. All pointing to this person not being normal. Raising Myrtenaster threateningly, she growls. "I won't ask again. Who are you, and why are you here?"
The man pulls his hood back, exposing short black hair streaked with blue. His face, while not the most handsome, would be pleasing to look at. Except for the large scar that runs from through his left eye, down to the center of his right cheek. There is no facial hair, or blemishes. All in all, a fairly good looking teen. But the aura he emits, the one that spoke of confidence and calmness. Mix that, with the...corpses, in the-
Her eyes widen, and she looks around. Men lie in pools of their own blood. The liquid is fresh against the clean snow, a startling crimson upon an expanse of white. The bodies lay in awkward angles, positions no live person could emulate. She shivers. What kind of monst-
His voice interrupts her examination of the area, and her thoughts. "My name is Ambros. And I am your bodyguard, Miss Schnee." The way he speaks is civil, but freezing cold with a condescending undertone.
And a warning: don’t run, I will find you. And you won't like what happens after that.
"As fun as it is watching you gape like a fish, we need to return you to your home." Those dark eyes hold no mirth as he speaks. The man starts walking back the way he came, forcing her to run to catch up. They travel in silence, Ambros humming a tune she could barely make out. He speaks again after a few minutes, shattering the quiet.
"Oh, and next time?" His tone can't be called friendly, and there's no mistaking the hard undercurrent. "Don't walk around by yourself. It makes my job that much harder. And in turn, I make your life that much worse. Got it?" Not even waiting for her reply, he walks ahead, leaving behind a fuming Weiss to catch up.
"God, what is with you? Who do you think you are, order-" An upraised hand halts her rant.
"I, am the man tasked with your safety. By your parents, Heiress. So, until this contract is up after a year long tenure at Beacon, you are stuck with me. I suggest you learn to deal with it." He speaks as though talking to a young child. Her face reddens in anger, her pride stung.
"I'm not 'dealing' with some dishonorable bastard who cares only for money!" She spits. Her scowl changes into a look of shock when Ambros laughs. It's dark and humorless, chilling her to the core. No man should have that laugh, let alone someone her age.
"No, Miss Schnee. I'm much worse. Remember; The Grimm are not the only monsters. Some are better at hiding than others."
Chapter One; Revelations and Bitchy Heiresses
"What do you mean I need a bodyguard?!" Ambros winces at the volume. Gotta give her credit; she may not be the best in a fight, but that girl has lungs.
"Weiss, you must realize...with you being the heiress, precau-" Her father tries to reason. He's a tall man, with dark hair and eyes to match his daughter's. A business man through and through, though apparently family came first in his mind. At least, that's what he cited when the man hired them.
The young mercenary leans against the wall of the large study, looking around at the garish room. It's almost too much. The shear amount of grandeur shown would make a thief rich beyond his dreams. From the dark, rich wooden desk to the gold inlaid inkwell, to the chairs made from some of the highest grade silk. It all speaks of untouchable wealth.
His brother is on a plush chair, amusement sparkling behind his silver eyes. He's watching the proceeds with interest, finding humor in the situation. He looks younger than Ambros, by two years at least. Forest green hair tops his head, and a smile adorns his face. The teen with blue streaked black hair, on the other hand, seems to be lost in thought.
Umbra is being silent, unusual for him. That means, he's anticipating a very long conversation. As thoughts drift behind those midnight eyes, the two family members are in a heated argument.
Well, one is angry. The elder is trying to run damage control.
"-a mercenary, Father! A mercenary! How do you know he won't just hand me over for more money?!" Weiss practically shrieks. She's positively livid! Her father is putting her life, the company's future, in the hand of a mercantile warrior!
"This particular mercenary has a reputation for completing contracts. Well, him and his brother. Weiss, trust me on this. Please! Your safety is paramount, to my mental health and to the company." The man pleads to his daughter. He turns to the amused boy, giving a plea for help.
The green haired child is still smiling pleasantly. It's genuine, almost as if he's happy to be here.
"Miss Schnee," Umbra begins, his voice jovial. "Umbra Silvae, at your service. And may I just say that you are looking ravishing today?" The glare sent his way would have most men running away, screaming. Umbra shivered, as did Mr. Schnee. Ambros, oddly enough, wasn't even paying attention. The only tell something was wrong was the slight twitching of his hand. Umbra frowned worriedly.
Another headache, Bro? They're getting worse, aren't they? C's remedies aren't working anymore...
"Perhaps not. Anyways, as your Father said, we are being paid for your protection. We do complete jobs to the best of our considerable ability, and are renowned for being some of the best in the business. I am not bragging; it's simply a fact." Here, Umbra smiled disarmingly. "I will be running information and keeping your Father here informed, Heiress. And my brother will be running the practical portion of this job: keeping you safe from physical and emotional harm." The green haired spokesperson gives Ambros a hard look at the word emotional.
"And what of your brother? What does he think about this? Are you sure he is able to handle me?" Weiss challenges. She's skeptical. After all, how does a teen no older than herself believe he can guard her? Especially against her father's rivals. They are cruel, ruthless men. With enough money to hire the best assassins.
"Trust me." It wasn't Umbra who answered. It was the quieter merc, who is no longer staring off into space. "I am more than capable of disposing of a few assassins." The way his voice sounds... not quite a baritone, but almost there. There's a smoothness to it, a slight melody to what would be an otherwise flat tone with a condescending undercurrent. But one filled with power. An assuredness that came of one who has used their skills, honed them until they were almost unmatched.
The white haired girl watches Ambros uneasily. Those midnight eyes were impossible to penetrate, the cold gale within blocking any way to gather information. His posture was relaxed, but the aura he radiates was....intimidating. The CEO, noticing his daughter's distress, looks to Umbra.
"Mr. Silvae," He asks hesitantly. "Are you sure that your brother is the most… fit person in this job? Surely you yourself could fill this role? After all, you may be more able to.... dissuade anyone from attacking her?"
The green haired lad smiles pleasantly once more. "I assure you, while my brother isn't the most… personable of people, Ambros is quite good at what he does. He's cold. No doubt about that." The two Schnee family members look at the man in question, expecting him to argue, or hurt his brother. To their surprise, he just dips his head in the slightest of movements.
"But," Umbra continues. "This specific portion tailors to his skill-set, instead of mine. He's better than I at the more physical of things. Poisons, vantage points, fighting," He smiles widely, making the Schnee family members look at him oddly. "Things of that nature. I focus more on the mental and informational side of things. I negotiate the contracts, and feed Ambros the information he needs to finish the job. Though, I am not helpless in combat." His silver eyes flash in amusement.
Mr. Schnee sighs in defeat. Smiling, the green haired teen shakes the offered hand. "I'm glad we could come to an agreement, serah. Madam?" He questions. Weiss, with a frown on her features, begrudgingly shakes his hand. The Heiress looks to her bodyguard, and speaks.
"Well. I guess you should escort me to bed, then, no?" Sarcasm is laced into her words, normally causing the other party to snarl and issue a retort. Ambros does neither. Midnight eyes meet her gaze coolly, his stony visage only hinting at what lies beneath. Anger, frustration, annoyance, she can't guess what he's feeling. Only that it's not positive. Not by a long shot.
"Miss Schnee," Umbra interrupts their staring match, "Perhaps I could escort you to your room. We do have some things we need to discuss." Her father starts. After he get's over his shock, the man's face turns to rage.
"Now listen he-"
"Mr. Schnee." Once more, the green haired teen interrupts. "This is purely platonic, I assure you. We have some things that need to be cleared up, and are for her ears only. Trust me, I have no designs on your daughter." Smiling, he gestures for the future CEO to go out of the office. Umbra follows her, leaving the current head of the Schnee Dust Corporation with Ambros. Who, currently, is spacing out again?
Mr. Schnee sighed, wondering whether this was a good idea or not…
With Umbra and Weiss:
The two strode down the decorated hall. Gleaming portraits hung along the walls, gems glittering within their golden frames. The duo walked in silence until the male spoke.
"Weiss, there's something you need to know about Ambros…" He hesitates, unsure if he should tell her. It's for the better… but… if he finds out…
Umbra takes a deep breath, his mind warring. He looks at the girl to his left, and that's what settled it. She's looking at him in confusion, and slight fear.
"He has… "
Two days later: Training Room, Schnee Household Guard Center.
A snap kick slams into the opponent’s calf. A forward kick blasts their knee back. Their head goes forward, to be greeted by a knee. They stagger back, and look up. Their opponent is standing there, casually waiting. Blood streams down the injured man's face.
Ambros' stance is odd. One hand is held near the chest, and the other is down by his hip. His feet are shoulder width apart, with his left foot back. The merc has no smile on his face. No expression of anger. Just a cool mask, which betrays no emotion.
The opponent swings a haymaker, barreling towards a dark haired head. That mask doesn’t move, give no indication of the incoming blow. But his body moves, bending so the attack barely misses him. Gripping the man's wrist, the merc launches a series of attacks. A knife hand strike impacts the opponent's kidney, followed by another to the armpit. A final blow lands into the nerve cluster in his shoulder, immobilizing his arm.
Releasing the deadened limb, the merc sends a knee into the man’s diaphragm. As he bends over, air vacating his lungs, an elbow lands on the back of his head. The man goes limp, and Ambros looks at the crowd that seemed to appear there. Those dark blue eyes harden, and he walks away.
Leaving the man lying there, unconscious. Blood pools from his mouth and nose, gathering in a sickening puddle.
Weiss, in the back of the now dispersing crowd, recognizes the Company's security chief. A former Hunter, and ex-military man with over 15 medals awarded. The chief is 6’4” in height, and he weighs in at over 200 pounds of pure muscle. More than 30 years of combat experience, and the man couldn't land a blow. She shivers. He wasn't even trying.
As medics rush onto the scene, Weiss is struck with a sudden fear.
If Ambros can do that much damage to someone with that much combat experience, the Heiress doesn't want to see what he can do when he puts in his all. That, paired with the information about her bodyguard, gave her only one conclusion.
There most likely wouldn't be anything left.
One day later: Beacon Academy Airship, First Day.
The airship is platinum, regal. Benches line the sides of the spacious corridors, and windows provide a breathtaking view of the land underneath. Most students were at these glass sheets, enjoying the grandeur they provided. Ambros was not. He sat in a shaded corner, sleeping. His chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, and oddly enough, his hand twitched occasionally. Almost as if he was trying to escape his invisible bonds.
Weiss, on the other hand, was conversing with some of her friends. People of the same social circle, but true friends.
"Why did your father hire a bodyguard, Weiss? Shouldn't he be relying on his own security for this?" One, a girl with light blue hair, asks.
"I'm not sure, Jun." Weiss answers. "But, the man he hired is good at what he does. Or so I've been told… Though, I have seen him fight once." The heiress cringes at the memory, worrying those around her. "It was… brutal. He took down the Security Chief with little effort. Left him in a puddle of his own blood…"
The rest of the group stared in shock. An outraged cry broke the silence, and Weiss sighed.
“What do you mean this low class, worthless, Mercenary, managed to beat someone of high standing?!” Verdantos Grenice. Former heir to the Grenice Dust company, until his whore of a mother took over. She’d feel sorry for him, If he wasn’t such an ass. Spoiled, bigoted, and arrogant, Verdantos, or Verda as he prefers to be known, was a class A jackass. Who doesn’t hesitate to use violence to get his way.
The former heir stormed over to the sleeping teen, the pirate hat covering his silver hair making him look slightly ridiculous. Verda has a fascination with pirates, going so far as to dress like one. At least he doesn’t wear an eyepatch. Weiss shuddered at the thought.
“Hey!” Verda says, tapping his foot impatiently. When the merc doesn’t respond, he grows angrily. “Wake up! You! MERCENARY, LISTEN TO ME!” The soon-to-be student launched a kick at the sleeping merc’s head.
Ambros was blissfully asleep. Until the silver haired boy opened his mouth. And unfortunately for Verda, he just woke him up from a nightmare.
His response was fast and brutal. Catching the leg, Ambros brings it up into a painful angle. Launching his knee forward, the joint impacts Verda in the crotch. Immediately, he tries to curl up.
Ambros slams an elbow into his temple, clocking him. Looking up, his eyes cold, the teen speaks in a flat tone. “Is there anyone else?”
They all stare. Verda, for all his cock-and-swagger, was very good at close combat. Top of his class at Signal. Unfortunately, that went to his head. Along with being rich, high class. Pretty much everything with the exception of his mother disowning him. That didn’t go over well.
He was a nice boy before that. Polite, respectful, fun. Then someone killed his father. After his mother rose to power, she practically disowned him. Her marriages afterward caused the boy to become spiteful, arrogant. He joined Signal against her wishes, and the rest is easily figured out.
Currently, the cause of their shock is rummaging through his bag. He pulls out a pristine white case, and opens it calmly. With an almost fanatical reverence, he removes the contents: a beautiful white-wood flute, with engravings of woodland scenes, and an inscription written along the side.
Not even acknowledging the boy on the floor, Ambros begins to play a slow song. The music echoed down the hall, a haunting melody that created feelings within all those that listened. Time passed, as the group of friends talked to each other and the mercenary still playing his instrument.
The chatter within the ship increased, signalling their arrival to Beacon. Ambros puts away his flute, and stands. The group simply stared. When he moved, none of them maneged to get a good look at him. Now, they saw he wasn’t all that tall. The bodyguard was an inch shorter than Verda.
As he waited for Weiss to begin walking, copper eyes regarded him curiously. Their owner frowned a bit, then walked out of the airship, stowing the information away for later.
A bit too long for Ambros's taste later, and the client and bodyguard duo strode out of the airship.
As they left, the unconscious boy stirred. Rising from the ground, he grunted as his nether regions pulsed with pain. Verda glared at the door, astounded that a peasant would even consider doing that to one of high class.
“Whoever you are, Mercenary. You just made an enemy you won't forget.”