RWBY: A Lord's Tale

Chapter Twelve: Blacking Out

Once you go bl‐ nevermind.

He turned his head toward the clearing.

The Ursa Major still stood, but it looked like it had just gone through 37 years of gut wrenching hell, misty trails of black vapor seeping from the grimm where chunks of its bone white armour were torn off. Each step it took gouged the dirt, its massive limbs wobbling under its own weight. But it wasn't dead. Not even close.

And neither were his men, somehow.

The pikemen had broken ranks a longggg ago, their formation shattered like glass. Their usual tactics of spear charges and the time beloved 'poke it till its dead' just didn't work… if it had been other humans, and even huntsmen? maybe they stood a chance.

Granted they didn't have a gun.

But against this?

It was like trying to stab a landslide.

Spears glanced off the jagged bone plating, were torn from grips as the Grimm thrashed, or simply snapped like twigs. One man tried to trip it. Another threw out a feint, like they were dueling a swordsman.

Both got launched thirty feet in opposite directions for their trouble.

Now they fought like cornered dogs. Some jabbed from afar, teeth clenched and shouting, keeping the beast turning. Others darted in for shallow strikes before retreating, hoping to draw its attention just long enough for the next man to hit.

And one mad bastard climbed it.

Wedged between the jagged bone spikes lining the beast's spine, the soldier clung on with both knees locked tight. His spear was long gone, snapped or thrown, but the man had a dagger in one fist, driving it down into the seams between armor plates again and again, black mist smearing across his sleeve like ink

The Grimm bellowed and spun, trying to shake him loose, crashing into trees and tearing up great clods of earth, but the man held on like a parasite, howling back louder with every stab.

Quin swallowed hard.

They were still fighting. Still trying.

And as tired as he was, even he knew that if they failed here, he was next… then Mordred, but she should be fine, Grimm don't exactly make great opponents for the Tactical Consultation Device.

Quin drew in a deep breath.

The stench of the blood and Grimm mist burned in his nose, thick with rot and malice, like charcoal and wet copper left to fester… His fingers twitched around the hilt of his sword, every muscle in his body screaming to move, to do something.

Another breath.

In.

Out.

He forced his eyes to narrow, focused not on the hulking silhouette of the Grimm but on the gaps. The cracks in its plating, the rhythm of its swings, the sluggish turn of its wounded limbs. It wasn't invincible, strong and a near death sentence? Sure.

But it bled.

And that meant it could die.

( System Tip: People die when they are killed )

"Form a wedge!" Quin barked, a voice crack interrupting him for a moment. "Front line, draw it in! You, keep stabbing between the plates!"

The soldier on its back roared in reply, jamming his dagger in again.

"Rest of you, with me!" Quin unsheathed his weapon, metal flashing with grim purpose. "FOR KING AND CO- Actually, wait that doesn't work"

Nevermind that, he has to get moving

He vaulted over a half-buried log, nearly eating dirt when he clipped the edge of the tree. The Ursa turned, bleeding mist, eyes like pits of ash.

Quin didn't slow down.

He ran straight at it, like an idiot. Like a souls player trying one last boss rush at 2AM.

Then he jumped.

Badly.

His sword came down with merely his weight behind it. It slammed into the side of the Ursa's skull, sparks bursting as it scraped down bone, then finally bit into the softer joint at the neck.

The beast roared.

It reared back, and Quin flailed backward, barely missing a swipe that could've made him a red smear on the moss.

Totally intentional. Definitely meant to dodge like that.

...

Okay fine, he tripped over the same tree again.

"TEN FEET OF STEEL, BABY!!" someone bellowed.

Quin turned just in time to see the squad leader come flying in, broadsword gripped in both hands like a damned executioner.

The Ursa turned to swipe.

Too late.

Steel punched through its lower jaw and out the top of its skull in a clean, brutal arc. For one awful second, the beast froze.

It staggered.

One step.

Two steps.

Then stumbled and finally collapsed, shaking the forest floor like thunder.

It didn't rise again, instead returning to a mist.

The black mist swirled, then drifted.

Gone.

For good.

"Mordred… I want you to slap me next time I suggest something like this."

The plush didn't respond, just stared at him sitting upright from where he had his fight with the smaller grimm… huh, that's twice now. Guess she's like a cat and always lands on her feet.

He just stared at her.

His legs buckled a moment later. The adrenaline that had kept him upright drained from his body all at once, and he collapsed sideways onto the battle scarred grass. His arms flopped uselessly, sword clattering somewhere near his hip.

"Damn…."

Mordred just kept staring, and for a split second he could've sworn he heard a laugh…

Well, that was before he fell unconscious.

...

Everything was numb.

Everything was warm.

Then, he was back home.

The couch was the same ugly orange it had always been, frayed at the edges with an old stain under the cushion where juice had soaked in. The window hummed with summer heat, and outside, kids were shouting, but he didn't care. He sat cross-legged on the carpet, a paper crown on his head and markers in his hand.

His mother was behind him, humming in the kitchen. The scent of buttered toast and oatmeal floated through the air as she entered the living room, the smell causing him to turn towards her and grin, a singular tooth missing in front.

"When I grow up," he announced proudly, "I wanna have a big, big house! Like... three stories and I'll live there with you! And all my friends! Forever!"

He held up a picture. A lopsided house, scribbled in blue and green, surrounded by stick figures holding hands. One of them was her, while another smaller one was him, holding a plushie

She laughed gently, came over, and kissed the top of his head. "That sounds perfect, baby."

…

He woke to low voices.

…That was a dream?

Someone shifted nearby, boots scraping against dirt and loose rock.

…

"...OH MY GOD, HE'S MOVING- MOVE MOVE MOVE"

"I CALLED IT! I TOTALLY CALLED IT! TRUDY OWES ME AN MRE!"

"COMMANDERCOMMANDERCOMMANDER!... you alive, boss?"

Quin groaned and blinked against the harsh light. His head felt like someone had stuffed 700 2 second videos of turtles into his skull, and hit play all at the same time

He was under a blanket, and could feel the familiar dirt of camp underneath him. And above him were two very familiar faces… one bright-eyed, dirty, and grinning so hard their cheeks probably hurt, and the other… well.

"Rise and shine, Plushie-Actual." Qrow said, already reaching for his flask.

"How many more nicknames do you got?"

"Oh, enough to last our lifetimes."

"Fuck my life."

"No thank you," He replied dryly, cracking the top open.

Quin groaned and sat up, the blanket sloughing onto the dirt. His back protested, his head throbbed, and his ribs felt like they'd hosted a rave without his consent.

( Hey, we asked, right guys? )

Immediately, another bright-eyed soldier lunged in again like an overexcited puppy. "Captain's up! Captain's-"

Quin grabbed the nearest stick.

"BACK! Back you foul demon!"

The soldier yelped as Quin swung lazily at him, feeling more like a slap than anything. The blanket got tangled around his legs, turning his flailing into something that probably looked more like a toddler tantrum.

Another soldier tried to swoop in from the other side. "Do you need food? Water? A parade? A song? Our world famous dance routin-"

Whap.

"I said BACK!" Quin shouted, beating the stick against the ground as both of them scattered, giggling like idiots.

He stood hunched over, breathing hard, stick still in hand. Then he looked over at Qrow, who hadn't moved an inch.

"Now... hear me out," Quin said, jabbing a thumb towards Mordred that sat half-upright against a bedroll. "This," He gestured to his injuries as well as his mens' "was all her plan."

He just raised an eyebrow.

"No?" Quin muttered, already sighing. "Okay."

"As much as I'd enjoy less work…" Qrow muttered, taking a sip, "you kickin' the bucket would have my ass on a platter… and not those standard ones either, one of those fancy ones with a gold trim."

Quin stretched with a grimace, immediately regretting it as his back popped like bubble wrap. "I was just… bored, have you ever gotten so restless you'd enter a death trap? Yeah, like that"

He just stared blankly at the teen.

"...silver lining," Quin continued, rubbing his temples, "I think I got a power-up out of it."

"Is that so?"

"Mhmn, either that or a concussion, but let's call it a power-up so I can pretend this was part of the plan."

Qrow gave him a look that hovered somewhere between you're insane and I've done worse, then glanced at the horizon.

"Airship'll be here soon enough," he said. "You've got maybe five minutes to get all that smug outta your system before someone with a clipboard shows up."

"Oh good," Quin muttered, swiping a finger through the air to open his interface. "Bureaucracy."

( Me and my homies hate bureaucrats. )

He thumbed open the [Missions] tab, eyes scanning the dull blue glow.

---

[Missions]

Soldier: Kill an Enemy with your own hands. (1/1)

Reward: Witcher Mutation (Witcher 3)

[Claim]

---

He tapped it, as he was anxious to get more power quickly... to prevent himself from getting his kneecaps possibly removed in the future.

The button clicked in with an almost cheerful chime.

What followed was the exact opposite of cheerful.

The world folded like a body doubling over from a gut punch by the gods themselves. Every nerve ending in his body lit up like a triggerhappy kriegsman as heat, cold, acid and something he couldn't quite place crawled under his skin, muscle shifting, bone cracking, blood thickening.

Quin arched back with a ragged gasp, mouth open in a scream that never made it past his throat.

Qrow stepped back a half-pace.

"What the-?"

There was a sound like meat warping around iron, and then Quin collapsed back, his eyes rolling back.

The interface pinged again.

---

Mutation Acquired: Witcher – Nightvision, Disease Resistance, Increased Strength, Speed, Reflexes, Endurance, and Regeneration.

Magic Affinity

☆☆☆☆☆ > ★☆☆☆☆

Side effects may include: temporary paralysis, memory loss, acute screaming, fainting, sterility, and spontaneous combustion. Enjoy responsibly.

---

Qrow stared down at the unconscious heap that had, moments ago, been mouthing off.

He sighed. "Gonna be one of those days, huh."

Behind him, the plushie sighed as well.

1883 Words

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