- Location
- Florida
That would be cool, ngl. Just having Jaune pull off the cover of the OG Doom games but with Grimm instead, would be epic.
Huh, neat.
Oh damn! I forgot about Cardin.
I wonder how his and this version of Jaunes interactions will go?
Dust, Maidens and Oh my (RWBY/Celestial Grimoire SI)
- Thread starter Magus Explorator
- Start date
Oh damn! I forgot about Cardin.
I wonder how his and this version of Jaunes interactions will go?
- Location
- Florida
- Pronouns
- He
No spoilers , but bullying becomes very hard when you have god and six seconds mental control on your side.
In other news, people need to remember that WIS should not be you dumping stat.
This changes the plot. New favorite student?
- Location
- Florida
- Pronouns
- He
You will see, next update for you guys is ozpin interlude (also a perk is rolled that chapter, but it only shows up on "infos" the next one)
Interlude Ozpin
- Location
- Florida
- Pronouns
- He
New chapter into the backlog, one more chapter for you, and by the looks of it, one other chapter is already in the furnace
Ozpin was having a fantastic day.
The entrance exams had gone off smoothly, as they always did after years of careful practice and refinement. Every year, students arrived with a mix of glowing Huntsmen recommendations, high grades from combat schools and raw, untested potential. While many failed to meet the academy's high standards, this year's group of candidates showed extraordinary promise.
Take Blake Belladonna, for example. A young Faunus who had recently severed ties with the White Fang, she had chosen to seek a different path at Beacon. Ozpin admired the courage it must have taken to leave the organization she'd once believed in. Her scores reflected her capability: a 70% on the written exam and a solid pass in the combat trials. Still, her insistence on wearing a bow to hide her Faunus heritage puzzled him. Anyone with access to the CCTS could discover her identity; her family's influence on Menagerie was well-documented. Nevertheless, she was accepted.
Then there were Nora Valkyrie and Lie Ren, orphans from Mistral who had survived the Grimm attack on Kuroyuri. Their self-taught combat abilities stood out in their scores. Nora was a whirlwind of energy and power, excelling in combat trials with explosive strength. Ren, though quieter, demonstrated precise efficiency. Their academic results were less stellar—Ren managed a 64%, while Nora barely scraped by—but their raw talent and determination were undeniable.
Yet, the one who lingered most in Ozpin's thoughts was Jaune Arc.
Peter Port's report on the Spalden incident had been glowing, though some of the townsfolk's accounts seemed exaggerated. Tales of divine light and miraculous feats were likely the product of confusion and awe. Still, the boy's performance warranted a closer look.
His arrival at Beacon had been anything but ordinary. Descending from the sky on glowing wings, he had nearly caused a panic. Only a timely warning to Vale's air defenses had prevented him from being mistaken for a flying Grimm. A flying semblance wasn't unprecedented, but Jaune's display was unusual, to say the least.
His test scores were solid, with a 71% overall. He struggled with sections on Valean and international law, which wasn't uncommon for students without formal combat school training. However, the combat trial revealed something far more significant.
Jaune's fighting style was unconventional. His movements were grounded, focused on heavy strikes and sturdy defenses. While practical in theory, this approach was poorly suited against faster opponents or those with explosive weaponry.
It was evident his training predated his aura awakening, which explained the rigid form.
What set him apart were his abilities. Aura manipulation was one thing, but Jaune displayed skills that went beyond semblance use: healing, elemental attacks, and even emotional influence. This wasn't simply a broad semblance. It was magic, very primitive and simple magic but still magic.
True magic—the kind believed lost when the gods abandoned the world.
The moment Jaune cast a spell that bolstered courage and dispelled fear, Ozpin had felt it. The magic entered his body, confirming his suspicions.
But how could this be possible?
Modern humans, the children of dust, could not wield magic. It could only be inherited through bloodlines. Ozpin's mind raced as he retrieved an ancient genealogy book, too old to be digitized. The digital records held no answers, forcing him to delve into his time as King of Vale.
Tracing the Arc family lineage was arduous. Generation by generation, he worked backward until he found mention of Rolland Arc. Rolland, a descendant of Charles Arc and an unknown woman, was a significant figure in the family's history. However, beyond him, the records grew murky. Humanity had been teetering on the edge of extinction during that era.
One clue stood out: an old painting recovered from the ruins of the Arc estate. The restored image was available in the archives. When Ozpin opened the file, he felt his breath catch.
The Arc ancestor stood tall in resplendent armor, holding the family's ancestral blade. Beside him was a noblewoman dressed in a pink gown adorned with golden suns. Her soft features and warm smile struck a chord deep in Ozpin's memory.
It wasn't just her face that seemed familiar. The heraldry emblazoned on their shield—the twin waves forming a crescent—stirred something within him.
Ozpin searched deeper, combing through archaeological reports. Eventually, he found mention of a similar crest in an ancient castle in anima, though it bore an added diamond-like symbol. The report included a restored painting from the site.
When the image loaded, Ozpin's heart sank.
It was a depiction of himself from an early incarnation. He stood beside Salem, their family arrayed around them. His bronze skin and white hair were unmistakable, as was Salem's softer, less pale visage, probably overcorrected by the restorators. Their four daughters smiled at the painter, each one captured in vivid detail.
Comparing the images, Ozpin's chest tightened. One of his daughters bore an uncanny resemblance to the Arc matriarch. The details—the golden suns, the braided hair, cheekbone and nose, even the dress—were strikingly similar.
The scroll slipped from his trembling hands, crashing to the floor. His legs buckled, and he barely managed to catch himself against the desk. His coffee cup wasn't as lucky, shattering as it hit the ground.
Shame and guilt consumed him. One of his daughters had survived, and he hadn't found her. He hadn't even realized she was alive. Why hadn't he looked harder? How could he have failed so utterly, was she the only one or did any other survive?
A sharp knock broke through his spiraling thoughts.
"Ozpin? Is everything alright in there?" Glynda's voice carried concern, but he couldn't summon the strength to respond.
The implications of his discovery were staggering, had he overlooked something as important as his own family?
His breathing grew shallow as his vision darkened. The last thing he saw was the door bursting open and Glynda's worried face before everything faded to black.
"At least he'll be close to me," Ozpin thought as unconsciousness claimed him. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Ozpin was having a fantastic day.
The entrance exams had gone off smoothly, as they always did after years of careful practice and refinement. Every year, students arrived with a mix of glowing Huntsmen recommendations, high grades from combat schools and raw, untested potential. While many failed to meet the academy's high standards, this year's group of candidates showed extraordinary promise.
Take Blake Belladonna, for example. A young Faunus who had recently severed ties with the White Fang, she had chosen to seek a different path at Beacon. Ozpin admired the courage it must have taken to leave the organization she'd once believed in. Her scores reflected her capability: a 70% on the written exam and a solid pass in the combat trials. Still, her insistence on wearing a bow to hide her Faunus heritage puzzled him. Anyone with access to the CCTS could discover her identity; her family's influence on Menagerie was well-documented. Nevertheless, she was accepted.
Then there were Nora Valkyrie and Lie Ren, orphans from Mistral who had survived the Grimm attack on Kuroyuri. Their self-taught combat abilities stood out in their scores. Nora was a whirlwind of energy and power, excelling in combat trials with explosive strength. Ren, though quieter, demonstrated precise efficiency. Their academic results were less stellar—Ren managed a 64%, while Nora barely scraped by—but their raw talent and determination were undeniable.
Yet, the one who lingered most in Ozpin's thoughts was Jaune Arc.
Peter Port's report on the Spalden incident had been glowing, though some of the townsfolk's accounts seemed exaggerated. Tales of divine light and miraculous feats were likely the product of confusion and awe. Still, the boy's performance warranted a closer look.
His arrival at Beacon had been anything but ordinary. Descending from the sky on glowing wings, he had nearly caused a panic. Only a timely warning to Vale's air defenses had prevented him from being mistaken for a flying Grimm. A flying semblance wasn't unprecedented, but Jaune's display was unusual, to say the least.
His test scores were solid, with a 71% overall. He struggled with sections on Valean and international law, which wasn't uncommon for students without formal combat school training. However, the combat trial revealed something far more significant.
Jaune's fighting style was unconventional. His movements were grounded, focused on heavy strikes and sturdy defenses. While practical in theory, this approach was poorly suited against faster opponents or those with explosive weaponry.
It was evident his training predated his aura awakening, which explained the rigid form.
What set him apart were his abilities. Aura manipulation was one thing, but Jaune displayed skills that went beyond semblance use: healing, elemental attacks, and even emotional influence. This wasn't simply a broad semblance. It was magic, very primitive and simple magic but still magic.
True magic—the kind believed lost when the gods abandoned the world.
The moment Jaune cast a spell that bolstered courage and dispelled fear, Ozpin had felt it. The magic entered his body, confirming his suspicions.
But how could this be possible?
Modern humans, the children of dust, could not wield magic. It could only be inherited through bloodlines. Ozpin's mind raced as he retrieved an ancient genealogy book, too old to be digitized. The digital records held no answers, forcing him to delve into his time as King of Vale.
Tracing the Arc family lineage was arduous. Generation by generation, he worked backward until he found mention of Rolland Arc. Rolland, a descendant of Charles Arc and an unknown woman, was a significant figure in the family's history. However, beyond him, the records grew murky. Humanity had been teetering on the edge of extinction during that era.
One clue stood out: an old painting recovered from the ruins of the Arc estate. The restored image was available in the archives. When Ozpin opened the file, he felt his breath catch.
The Arc ancestor stood tall in resplendent armor, holding the family's ancestral blade. Beside him was a noblewoman dressed in a pink gown adorned with golden suns. Her soft features and warm smile struck a chord deep in Ozpin's memory.
It wasn't just her face that seemed familiar. The heraldry emblazoned on their shield—the twin waves forming a crescent—stirred something within him.
Ozpin searched deeper, combing through archaeological reports. Eventually, he found mention of a similar crest in an ancient castle in anima, though it bore an added diamond-like symbol. The report included a restored painting from the site.
When the image loaded, Ozpin's heart sank.
It was a depiction of himself from an early incarnation. He stood beside Salem, their family arrayed around them. His bronze skin and white hair were unmistakable, as was Salem's softer, less pale visage, probably overcorrected by the restorators. Their four daughters smiled at the painter, each one captured in vivid detail.
Comparing the images, Ozpin's chest tightened. One of his daughters bore an uncanny resemblance to the Arc matriarch. The details—the golden suns, the braided hair, cheekbone and nose, even the dress—were strikingly similar.
The scroll slipped from his trembling hands, crashing to the floor. His legs buckled, and he barely managed to catch himself against the desk. His coffee cup wasn't as lucky, shattering as it hit the ground.
Shame and guilt consumed him. One of his daughters had survived, and he hadn't found her. He hadn't even realized she was alive. Why hadn't he looked harder? How could he have failed so utterly, was she the only one or did any other survive?
A sharp knock broke through his spiraling thoughts.
"Ozpin? Is everything alright in there?" Glynda's voice carried concern, but he couldn't summon the strength to respond.
The implications of his discovery were staggering, had he overlooked something as important as his own family?
His breathing grew shallow as his vision darkened. The last thing he saw was the door bursting open and Glynda's worried face before everything faded to black.
"At least he'll be close to me," Ozpin thought as unconsciousness claimed him. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Oh shit Jaune arc here is related to Ozpin daughter
Given enough time, everyone wil be related to everyone else.
- Location
- Florida
Oh Gee! I wonder how the wicked Witch will react to the fact that one of her kids survived long enough to breed and now her distant, however many grands-son, has magic of his own?
Especially since magic is otherwise, dead and gone.
But more seriously, she's going to try and hunt Jaune down like a dog.
Last edited:
- Location
- Puerto Rico
Awesome chapter.
Happy/Sad that one of her babies lived but did not know of it.
Happy her bloodline is still around.
Anger at herself when she realizes she has probably killed some of her descendants without knowing, the latest being she almost killed Diana.
And lastly, that she is now a certified GILF.
Thing that comes to mind is that during the 'divorce' her emotions were so high her magic did a HP-style Apparition out of there.
Well, let's see....
Happy/Sad that one of her babies lived but did not know of it.
Happy her bloodline is still around.
Anger at herself when she realizes she has probably killed some of her descendants without knowing, the latest being she almost killed Diana.
And lastly, that she is now a certified GILF.
There was a quest that never really got anywhere based on this idea. One of the daughters basically combo teleported and timetraveled to canon.
Chapter 5
- Location
- Florida
- Pronouns
- He
authors note : one to the backlog, one for you.
Merry Christmas y'all, we broke 100k in the fic on my notes.
The week leading up to initiation had been wonderful. I indulged in some well-deserved R&R, though I might have burned through more money than I'd planned. Vale's nightlife did not disappoint. With its lively bars, bustling nightclubs, and a cuisine that seemed to pull flavors from all corners of Remnant, there was no shortage of entertainment. Even the downtime had its perks—I spent a rejuvenating day at a spa, a rare treat that I enjoyed way too much.
I finally managed to get my hands on some cigarettes, too. As a former medical professional, I was keenly aware of their drawbacks, but with my oath's healing properties keeping me in perfect health, I figured I might as well enjoy them. Paired with a steady stream of caffeine and occasional alcohol, it was a return to old, comforting habits.
But indulgence had its limits. Today was the day of initiation, and my nerves were starting to creep in.
I'd secured myself a spot on the airship to Beacon near a conveniently placed trash can. A little cramped, sure, but it was a safety net I couldn't ignore. With my aura reserves full, I relied on healing spells to push back the ever-looming threat of motion sickness. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it worked as a stopgap.
As I scanned the cabin, familiar faces from the entrance exams caught my eye. The Girl with black hair who sat in front of me in the entrance exams sat at the front, her bow firmly in place, likely counting down the seconds until we landed by the looks she kept sending my way. Nearby, a orange-haired girl was animatedly chattering away to a stoic Mistralian boy, who patiently checked their bags. The boy's endurance was impressive—I would have lost my mind after five minutes of her relentless energy.
A blonde girl with... well, let's just say a striking figure, stood chatting with a petite, gothic-looking teen who looked like she'd skipped her vegetables her whole life. In the far corner, a strikingly composed young woman with white hair presided over a trolley of suitcases that could fill a small apartment. Likely a nepo baby, though I didn't hold it against her. What I did pity, however, was whoever ended up sharing closet space with her.
"…A robbery was led by notorious criminal Roman Torchwick, who continues to evade authorities. If you have any information on his whereabouts, please contact the Vale Police Department. Back to you, Lisa," a holographic newscast droned from the corner of the cabin. My head spun when I glanced at it, so I resolved to simply listen.
"Thank you, Cyril. In other news, this Saturday, a Faunus civil rights protest turned dark when members of the White Fang disrupted the ceremony. The once peaceful organization has now dis—"
The broadcast cut out abruptly, replaced by a hologram of Glynda Goodwitch, who addressed us in her trademark no-nonsense tone.
"Hello, and welcome to Beacon. My name is Glynda Goodwitch," the hologram announced. A crowd of students pressed forward to watch, but I stayed back, preferring to focus on the spot on the wall that was keeping me from another nausea episode. I channeled another Lay on Hands spell to keep the sickness at bay, bracing myself for the remainder of the journey.
As Glynda continued her speech about the privilege of being selected to attend Beacon, the airship's passengers shifted to the windows. The chatter grew as they marveled at the view of Vale from above.
I risked a glance, and instantly regretted it. My stomach lurched, and I barely managed to reach the trash can in time.
"Well, I guess the view isn't for everyone," the blonde girl remarked with a smirk.
I grumbled something unintelligible in reply, my pride taking another hit.
"It was a nice moment while it lasted," the smaller girl said with a shrug. "I wonder who we're going to meet."
"Hopefully better company than Vomit Boy," she added.
I groaned internally as another wave of sickness overtook me. Vomit Boy. Great. Just the nickname I needed to make a lasting impression. If only they'd let me fly here on my own…
For now, all I could do was endure the stares and pray this wouldn't become the start of another Bullhead debacle
In the middle of my internal monologue, the void claimed me once again. This time, however, I wasn't in the clearing shadowed by the giant tree. The misty darkness still surrounded me, but in front of me, a blacksmith's forge blazed with a red, roaring glow. The rhythmic clang clang clang of hammer striking metal echoed through the dark.
Two figures worked in the forge. A stout, short man with an impossibly long beard hammered at a glowing pile of white-hot metal. Beside him, a towering woman—easily eight feet tall—loomed as they argued.
"…If you injected a little more carbon into the alloy, you'd end up with a superior metal," she said, exasperation lacing her voice.
"Stop meddling in my work, wazzock, or I'll command my descendants to put your name in the Book! So says Grungni!" the man bellowed.
Grungni? That name seems familiar, but I couldn't really pin it down.
The towering woman turned as I approached, and a wide, metal grin split her face. She was an automaton, her entire body forged from metal. Where her eyes should have been, there were darker plates of steel. Her "hair" was a collection of braided cables of various materials, giving the illusion of locks. Despite her mechanical appearance, there was a warmth to her smile.
"Welcome to my workshop, Jaune Arc. I've waited a long time for you," she said, her metallic voice soft but firm. Her smile faltered slightly. "Though, the gift I intended to give you isn't quite ready yet."
The dwarf gave her a venomous glare. "You can't rush dwarven craft, girl," he spat, his accent thick. "I'd shame my kin if I let you use your magic to copy my work. Sit tight, I'm almost done." He grabbed the glowing metal and moved it to a workbench, beginning to shape it with his hands, seemingly impervious to the heat.
"You said the same thing a month ago," the automaton teased.
Turning to me, she gestured for my attention. "While we give the noble dwarf more time to finish your gift, now is your chance to ask questions. I'll answer them as best I can."
I swallowed hard and managed to ask the one thing weighing on my mind. "W-what's happening to me? This can't be normal for Semblances, right?"
She chuckled, the sound like metal ringing against metal. "No, it isn't normal. But most people aren't 'normal,' are they? Least of all you, Jaune." She gave me a knowing look. "But to answer your question—someone made a deal with you. Or rather, a different version of you. A Jaune Arc filled with regret, an unfinished story and broken dreams."
She paused, letting the words sink in. Behind her, the Dawi shaped the metal with steady, purposeful movements, molding it like clay.
"This other you made a deal with a being beyond the void. The price? Service. He became a herald for that being, spreading its will across other worlds. In exchange, he gained the power to fix the regrets that haunted him. For him, it was a cheap price… yet also the most expensive thing he'd ever paid."
She raised her hand, and images formed in the mist.
The rusted knight I'd seen at the farm appeared.
He rushed towards four shadowy figures being guided by a weird cat, but he failed, the distance kept getting longer and longer, until three of the figures disappeared, the one that remained now had glowing eyes, it sent an evil cackle to the knight as it went through a glowing portal.
Then the mist changed.
This time, his helmet was gone, revealing golden hair tied in a ponytail and a scraggly beard on a weary face. In his hand was Crocea Mors, my sword—broken in two. The knight extended his hand to an unseen figure, and as their hands met, he began to dissolve into golden dust.
"And so," the automaton continued, "he chose you—one Jaune Arc among hundreds—to fulfill his end of the deal. He handpicked the first power to awaken within you, his own first power on his journey."
As she spoke, my Oath stirred within me, feeding me visions that weren't mine. I saw the knight, looking a bit better put together this time, abducted by squid-like beings onto a living spaceship. I felt his fear as a parasite sought to consume him. Then, the vision shifted. I saw him laughing at a party, surrounded by companions: a white-haired elf drunkenly sloshing wine while petting a dog, her eyes kept flickering to the blond once in a while, a devil locked in an arm-wrestling match with a toad-like woman, and men cheering them on, placing bets. Another flash—a mighty smite unleashed against a massive, bleeding brain. Jubilation, victory, and sadness flowed through me. The Oath calmed, settling back into its place within my soul.
"It seems the Oath is ready to drip-feed you his skills," she said. "Until the promise is fulfilled, and the debt is wiped away."
Before she could continue, the Dawi interrupted with a bellow. "Done! Come here, manling—it's time for measurements."
He manhandled me into place, measuring me with precision. Satisfied, he touched the glowing chainmail, which fused seamlessly together under his hands. He held up the finished piece: a thin, shining shirt.
"That's Gromril, boy," he said gruffly. "No finer material has ever touched Dwarven hands. This commission came straight from High King Thorgrim, for your role in reclaiming Karak Eight Peaks and helping Bugman return to his craft. Cherish it well. And if I see you again, I'll treat you to a keg of bugman's best myself."
Karak Eight peaks, I recognized that name very well, Why was my Semblance manifesting powers and people from fictional universes? That was strange, even by Remnant's standards. Then again, Semblances have always been unpredictable; one Atlasian hunter was rumored to control luck itself.
He placed the shirt on me and rested a calloused hand on my shoulder. Beside him, the automaton did the same with her metallic arm. With a nod, they pushed me—
—and I landed face-first in front of a trashcan, the acidic burn of nausea rising in my throat. Reflexively, I heaved into the trashcan, barely sparing my white armor, which now concealed the glowing chainmail beneath its plates.
I looked up. The airship had stopped. Beacon was here.
I'd survived university once before. What was one more try?
CP Bank: 700cp
Perks earned this chapter :
200cp Gromril Chain Shirt (Warhammer Fantasy: Halflings) [Benevolence]
Rare is it that the Dwarves of the Karaks will give something freely to another. Rarer still is it that they would give a gift of gromril, such a prized metal treasured and valued more closely to the dwarven heart than even their own life. And yet like one Gabbo Flugbend, halfling adventurer and hero of numerous fields of battle, you have been gifted just such a treasure: A gromril chainmail shirt. Such armor is denser and tougher than anything that could be made by human hands, durable enough to push back against enchanted greenskin- and skaven-made weaponry; And from the dwarven rune-smithing that went into crafting it, all but powerful magicks like that of a Wizard Patriarch of Altdorf will bounce against it. Wear it well, treasure it. Such a gift does not come lightly.
Free : Gift of the Gods (RWBY: Age of the Gods) [Modus]
In these Ancient times humanity used to know Magic. In the time of Team RWBY the amount of magical beings is in the single digit range but this is far different. You now too have the capacity to use magic as presented in RWBY. You can conjure magical blasts of different colors, as well as control different elements such as fire and lightning. You are also capable of other types of magic such as forcefields and augmenting weapons and telekinesis. In essence you can consider yourself the equal of a young Maiden.
Milestone reached this chapter : none
Merry Christmas y'all, we broke 100k in the fic on my notes.
The week leading up to initiation had been wonderful. I indulged in some well-deserved R&R, though I might have burned through more money than I'd planned. Vale's nightlife did not disappoint. With its lively bars, bustling nightclubs, and a cuisine that seemed to pull flavors from all corners of Remnant, there was no shortage of entertainment. Even the downtime had its perks—I spent a rejuvenating day at a spa, a rare treat that I enjoyed way too much.
I finally managed to get my hands on some cigarettes, too. As a former medical professional, I was keenly aware of their drawbacks, but with my oath's healing properties keeping me in perfect health, I figured I might as well enjoy them. Paired with a steady stream of caffeine and occasional alcohol, it was a return to old, comforting habits.
But indulgence had its limits. Today was the day of initiation, and my nerves were starting to creep in.
I'd secured myself a spot on the airship to Beacon near a conveniently placed trash can. A little cramped, sure, but it was a safety net I couldn't ignore. With my aura reserves full, I relied on healing spells to push back the ever-looming threat of motion sickness. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it worked as a stopgap.
As I scanned the cabin, familiar faces from the entrance exams caught my eye. The Girl with black hair who sat in front of me in the entrance exams sat at the front, her bow firmly in place, likely counting down the seconds until we landed by the looks she kept sending my way. Nearby, a orange-haired girl was animatedly chattering away to a stoic Mistralian boy, who patiently checked their bags. The boy's endurance was impressive—I would have lost my mind after five minutes of her relentless energy.
A blonde girl with... well, let's just say a striking figure, stood chatting with a petite, gothic-looking teen who looked like she'd skipped her vegetables her whole life. In the far corner, a strikingly composed young woman with white hair presided over a trolley of suitcases that could fill a small apartment. Likely a nepo baby, though I didn't hold it against her. What I did pity, however, was whoever ended up sharing closet space with her.
"…A robbery was led by notorious criminal Roman Torchwick, who continues to evade authorities. If you have any information on his whereabouts, please contact the Vale Police Department. Back to you, Lisa," a holographic newscast droned from the corner of the cabin. My head spun when I glanced at it, so I resolved to simply listen.
"Thank you, Cyril. In other news, this Saturday, a Faunus civil rights protest turned dark when members of the White Fang disrupted the ceremony. The once peaceful organization has now dis—"
The broadcast cut out abruptly, replaced by a hologram of Glynda Goodwitch, who addressed us in her trademark no-nonsense tone.
"Hello, and welcome to Beacon. My name is Glynda Goodwitch," the hologram announced. A crowd of students pressed forward to watch, but I stayed back, preferring to focus on the spot on the wall that was keeping me from another nausea episode. I channeled another Lay on Hands spell to keep the sickness at bay, bracing myself for the remainder of the journey.
As Glynda continued her speech about the privilege of being selected to attend Beacon, the airship's passengers shifted to the windows. The chatter grew as they marveled at the view of Vale from above.
I risked a glance, and instantly regretted it. My stomach lurched, and I barely managed to reach the trash can in time.
"Well, I guess the view isn't for everyone," the blonde girl remarked with a smirk.
I grumbled something unintelligible in reply, my pride taking another hit.
"It was a nice moment while it lasted," the smaller girl said with a shrug. "I wonder who we're going to meet."
"Hopefully better company than Vomit Boy," she added.
I groaned internally as another wave of sickness overtook me. Vomit Boy. Great. Just the nickname I needed to make a lasting impression. If only they'd let me fly here on my own…
For now, all I could do was endure the stares and pray this wouldn't become the start of another Bullhead debacle
In the middle of my internal monologue, the void claimed me once again. This time, however, I wasn't in the clearing shadowed by the giant tree. The misty darkness still surrounded me, but in front of me, a blacksmith's forge blazed with a red, roaring glow. The rhythmic clang clang clang of hammer striking metal echoed through the dark.
Two figures worked in the forge. A stout, short man with an impossibly long beard hammered at a glowing pile of white-hot metal. Beside him, a towering woman—easily eight feet tall—loomed as they argued.
"…If you injected a little more carbon into the alloy, you'd end up with a superior metal," she said, exasperation lacing her voice.
"Stop meddling in my work, wazzock, or I'll command my descendants to put your name in the Book! So says Grungni!" the man bellowed.
Grungni? That name seems familiar, but I couldn't really pin it down.
The towering woman turned as I approached, and a wide, metal grin split her face. She was an automaton, her entire body forged from metal. Where her eyes should have been, there were darker plates of steel. Her "hair" was a collection of braided cables of various materials, giving the illusion of locks. Despite her mechanical appearance, there was a warmth to her smile.
"Welcome to my workshop, Jaune Arc. I've waited a long time for you," she said, her metallic voice soft but firm. Her smile faltered slightly. "Though, the gift I intended to give you isn't quite ready yet."
The dwarf gave her a venomous glare. "You can't rush dwarven craft, girl," he spat, his accent thick. "I'd shame my kin if I let you use your magic to copy my work. Sit tight, I'm almost done." He grabbed the glowing metal and moved it to a workbench, beginning to shape it with his hands, seemingly impervious to the heat.
"You said the same thing a month ago," the automaton teased.
Turning to me, she gestured for my attention. "While we give the noble dwarf more time to finish your gift, now is your chance to ask questions. I'll answer them as best I can."
I swallowed hard and managed to ask the one thing weighing on my mind. "W-what's happening to me? This can't be normal for Semblances, right?"
She chuckled, the sound like metal ringing against metal. "No, it isn't normal. But most people aren't 'normal,' are they? Least of all you, Jaune." She gave me a knowing look. "But to answer your question—someone made a deal with you. Or rather, a different version of you. A Jaune Arc filled with regret, an unfinished story and broken dreams."
She paused, letting the words sink in. Behind her, the Dawi shaped the metal with steady, purposeful movements, molding it like clay.
"This other you made a deal with a being beyond the void. The price? Service. He became a herald for that being, spreading its will across other worlds. In exchange, he gained the power to fix the regrets that haunted him. For him, it was a cheap price… yet also the most expensive thing he'd ever paid."
She raised her hand, and images formed in the mist.
The rusted knight I'd seen at the farm appeared.
He rushed towards four shadowy figures being guided by a weird cat, but he failed, the distance kept getting longer and longer, until three of the figures disappeared, the one that remained now had glowing eyes, it sent an evil cackle to the knight as it went through a glowing portal.
Then the mist changed.
This time, his helmet was gone, revealing golden hair tied in a ponytail and a scraggly beard on a weary face. In his hand was Crocea Mors, my sword—broken in two. The knight extended his hand to an unseen figure, and as their hands met, he began to dissolve into golden dust.
"And so," the automaton continued, "he chose you—one Jaune Arc among hundreds—to fulfill his end of the deal. He handpicked the first power to awaken within you, his own first power on his journey."
As she spoke, my Oath stirred within me, feeding me visions that weren't mine. I saw the knight, looking a bit better put together this time, abducted by squid-like beings onto a living spaceship. I felt his fear as a parasite sought to consume him. Then, the vision shifted. I saw him laughing at a party, surrounded by companions: a white-haired elf drunkenly sloshing wine while petting a dog, her eyes kept flickering to the blond once in a while, a devil locked in an arm-wrestling match with a toad-like woman, and men cheering them on, placing bets. Another flash—a mighty smite unleashed against a massive, bleeding brain. Jubilation, victory, and sadness flowed through me. The Oath calmed, settling back into its place within my soul.
"It seems the Oath is ready to drip-feed you his skills," she said. "Until the promise is fulfilled, and the debt is wiped away."
Before she could continue, the Dawi interrupted with a bellow. "Done! Come here, manling—it's time for measurements."
He manhandled me into place, measuring me with precision. Satisfied, he touched the glowing chainmail, which fused seamlessly together under his hands. He held up the finished piece: a thin, shining shirt.
"That's Gromril, boy," he said gruffly. "No finer material has ever touched Dwarven hands. This commission came straight from High King Thorgrim, for your role in reclaiming Karak Eight Peaks and helping Bugman return to his craft. Cherish it well. And if I see you again, I'll treat you to a keg of bugman's best myself."
Karak Eight peaks, I recognized that name very well, Why was my Semblance manifesting powers and people from fictional universes? That was strange, even by Remnant's standards. Then again, Semblances have always been unpredictable; one Atlasian hunter was rumored to control luck itself.
He placed the shirt on me and rested a calloused hand on my shoulder. Beside him, the automaton did the same with her metallic arm. With a nod, they pushed me—
—and I landed face-first in front of a trashcan, the acidic burn of nausea rising in my throat. Reflexively, I heaved into the trashcan, barely sparing my white armor, which now concealed the glowing chainmail beneath its plates.
I looked up. The airship had stopped. Beacon was here.
I'd survived university once before. What was one more try?
CP Bank: 700cp
Perks earned this chapter :
200cp Gromril Chain Shirt (Warhammer Fantasy: Halflings) [Benevolence]
Rare is it that the Dwarves of the Karaks will give something freely to another. Rarer still is it that they would give a gift of gromril, such a prized metal treasured and valued more closely to the dwarven heart than even their own life. And yet like one Gabbo Flugbend, halfling adventurer and hero of numerous fields of battle, you have been gifted just such a treasure: A gromril chainmail shirt. Such armor is denser and tougher than anything that could be made by human hands, durable enough to push back against enchanted greenskin- and skaven-made weaponry; And from the dwarven rune-smithing that went into crafting it, all but powerful magicks like that of a Wizard Patriarch of Altdorf will bounce against it. Wear it well, treasure it. Such a gift does not come lightly.
Free : Gift of the Gods (RWBY: Age of the Gods) [Modus]
In these Ancient times humanity used to know Magic. In the time of Team RWBY the amount of magical beings is in the single digit range but this is far different. You now too have the capacity to use magic as presented in RWBY. You can conjure magical blasts of different colors, as well as control different elements such as fire and lightning. You are also capable of other types of magic such as forcefields and augmenting weapons and telekinesis. In essence you can consider yourself the equal of a young Maiden.
Milestone reached this chapter : none
Huh, interesting.
So he's going around working for this entity in different worlds, and instead of receiving gifts for his service he gives them to his alternate self?
So he's going around working for this entity in different worlds, and instead of receiving gifts for his service he gives them to his alternate self?
- Location
- Florida
- Pronouns
- He
He gets to use them in the world, but yeah, after the "jump" it gets sent to SI Jaune
Chapter 6
- Location
- Florida
- Pronouns
- He
Getting off the airship was a breeze, though I couldn't help but think the gangplank connecting it to Beacon could've used some guardrails.
BOOM
The sound of an explosion snapped me out of my thoughts, making me quicken my pace. It seemed I was the last one off the ship. The lobby, a wide-open plaza overlooking Beacon's grand castle, was nearly empty—save for one figure.
The girl in red from earlier lay sprawled on the ground, eyes closed. Judging by the scorch marks and lingering smoke, she'd likely been caught in the explosion. I hurried over, intending to check on her. If she was injured, a quick healing spell could patch her up; if not, it was as good a time as any to get acquainted with someone I'd be sharing classes with.
As I approached, I noticed subtle movement—she was unhurt, just shaken. Made sense; this was a Huntsman school, and her aura must've tanked the blast.
"Hey there. Jaune. Jaune Arc," I said, extending a hand. The sun at my back cast a shadow over her, snapping her out of her daze.
"Ruby. Ruby Rose," she said, taking my hand. With a firm pull, I helped her to her feet.
She dusted herself off and tilted her head at me. "Hey… quick question. Aren't you the guy who was throwing up on the ship?"
"Yeah," I admitted sheepishly. "I don't do well with closed vehicles. My stomach doesn't agree with them for some reason."
"Huh. Fair enough," she said, shrugging. "So, uh, do you know where we're supposed to go?"
"Sort of," I replied. "I know the general direction, but I didn't have time to memorize the layout—too busy focusing on the exams."
"At least I'm not totally lost," she said, sounding relieved. "Oh! Can I see your weapon? A lot of students here have such cool ones. Did you see that guy with the collapsible quarterstaff-nunchucks that have little machine guns on the ends? That thing was awesome!"
Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she talked about the weapons. For a moment, she seemed lost in her own world, daydreaming about all the mechanical marvels she'd encountered.
I chuckled and placed a hand on my sword's hilt. "Well, let me just say that none of them are better than mine." I sounded a bit arrogant, but I stood by my claim as I drew Crocea Mors.
Ruby's expression shifted from awe to mild disappointment. It seemed she didn't appreciate the classics. Still, I gave my sword a proud twirl, letting its polished blade glint in the sunlight. "Sword and shield beats all those mecha-shift hybrid weapons any day," I added with a smirk.
"Well, I have Crescent Rose," Ruby said, pulling a compact red box from her back. In a series of smooth, mechanical clicks and whirs, it unfolded into an enormous scythe. The sheer size of it made me pause for a moment. A sniper rifle's receiver gleamed along its shaft.
"She's a combat scythe and a customizable high-impact sniper rifle," Ruby said, cocking the bolt with a flourish.
"Pretty cool," I said, keeping my tone neutral. I must've come off less impressed than she'd hoped, as her face fell. "But I still prefer my old faithful. Crocea Mors has served the Arc family for generations. Nothing beats the classics."
Ruby's eyes narrowed slightly as she crossed her arms. "Well, I made Crescent Rose to be the very best. If you'd like to put that to the test, I hear Beacon allows sparring in combat class."
"Wait, you made that?" I asked, reevaluating the weapon in her hands. "That's… really cool."
Ruby perked up. "Of course! All Signal students forge their own weapons. It's tradition."
That explained a lot about the wild variety of weapons I'd seen so far.
Ruby's curiosity didn't stop there. "So, why'd you help me out back there in the courtyard?" she asked.
"Why not?" I replied with a shrug. "It was the right thing to do. Simple as that." My Oath hummed softly within me, and I felt its warm approval. For a brief moment, I glowed faintly, the divine light flickering just enough for Ruby to notice.
Her gaze lingered, a mix of curiosity and something more solemn. "If only more people did the right thing," she said quietly, her tone laced with sadness.
"It would make the world a much simpler place," I agreed. Then, catching a glimpse of the statue of Grampappy Arc in the distance, I motioned for her to follow. "Come on. I think I remember the way to the auditorium."
The auditorium was exactly where it should've been—right in the giant dome at the center of Beacon. I couldn't help but feel a little dumb for not recognizing it from the entrance exams.
Pushing through the enormous wooden doors, I was greeted by a sea of prospective students, their chatter echoing through the grand space. My plan was to head toward the front when someone shouted, "Ruby! Over here! I saved you a spot!"
It was a blonde girl, waving Ruby over. She was surrounded by a lively group of students, clearly friends who'd also made it into Beacon. Among them, I spotted Tube Mortar Guy. I really needed to learn his name at some point.
Ruby glanced at me. "Hey, I gotta go. See you after the ceremony!" she said, dashing toward her friend.
I watched as Ruby hugged the blonde girl before getting pulled into their group. Well, there went friend number one. Now I had to socialize on my own—a skill I was absolutely dreadful at. With a resigned sigh, I stepped into the crowd.
As I moved through the sea of students, I couldn't help but notice a few people staring at me. Maybe it was the clanking of my armor, the gleaming plate and chainmail a stark contrast to the flashy, colorful outfits you'd expect from modern Hunters. It wasn't exactly fashionable, but it was practical. Function over form, any day. Then again, maybe they were staring because of my earlier... stomach adventures. Between the airship and the exams, I'd definitely made an impression.
Off in the distance, I caught sight of Ruby again. She was in what looked like an argument with a white-haired girl. Ah, the Nepo-baby, I realized. Her pristine uniform practically screamed "wealth and privilege." The blonde from earlier was there too, looking exasperated as she tried to mediate.
For some reason, White Hair glanced my way, her expression turning sour. Then she pointed at me.
Oh, great.
I instinctively smiled and gave them a small wave. Ruby froze, her friend face-palmed, and Schnee scowled even harder. Okay, maybe that wasn't the best move.
The auditorium mic crackled to life, and a measured voice cleared its throat. The room quieted almost immediately.
"I'll keep this brief," said Headmaster Ozpin as he adjusted his tiny glasses.
"You have traveled here in search of knowledge," he began, his voice calm yet commanding. "To hone your craft and acquire new skills."
His eyes swept across the room—and stopped on me.
A shiver crawled up my spine. For a brief moment, it felt like his piercing gaze was looking right into my soul. But that couldn't be right. He was just scanning the crowd... right?
He continued, "And when you are finished, you plan to dedicate your lives to the protection of the people. But as I look among you, I see wasted energy..."
His gaze shifted, moving toward the section where Ruby and her group were sitting.
"In need of purpose. Direction. You assume knowledge will free you of this, but your time at this school will prove that knowledge can only carry you so far. It is up to you to take the first step."
With that ominous conclusion, Ozpin turned and walked off the stage, his words lingering in the air like a funeral dirge.
Next came Professor Goodwitch, her heels clicking sharply against the stage as she took the mic.
"You will gather in the ballroom tonight. Tomorrow, your initiation begins. Be ready. You are dismissed."
She wasted no time, stepping off the stage with military precision.
The ceremony left a strange energy in the air. Whispers and murmurs rippled through the crowd, everyone speculating about the initiation.
"Be ready." Those words stuck with me. Combined with Ozpin's cryptic speech, it sent my anxiety creeping up my spine.
But before the fear could fully take hold, my Oath stirred within me, sending a surge of light and warmth through my chest. The sensation spread outward, calm and radiant, and extinguished the gnawing dread in an instant.
Around me, people stared, eyes wide as the faint glow of my Oath flickered briefly across my form.
Oh, right. Forgot about that.
I offered a sheepish grin to anyone still looking before making my way toward the ballroom. Tonight was going to be... interesting.
The ballroom was packed. Rows upon rows of sleeping bags stretched across the carpeted floor, turning the grand space into a temporary dormitory. Moonlight poured in through the towering windows, its pale glow mingling with the warm flicker of countless candles. Teachers had lit them to provide additional illumination, though the sheer number of flames dancing near the fluffy curtains made my anxiety spike.
Naturally, my Oath decided to calm me by automatically casting Heroism on me.
And naturally, that made me glow.
The soft golden light radiating from me wasn't subtle, especially in the dimly lit room. Within moments, the faint murmur of conversation among students quieted, and all eyes turned toward me.
Great job, Jaune. Not even the second day, and you're already the center of attention.
Deciding to cut my losses, I retreated to a secluded corner of the ballroom to avoid being more of a nuisance.
After staking my claim to the corner, I went to prepare for sleep. A quick shower blessed with hot water eased the tension in my muscles. Brushing my teeth was a small comfort in this whirlwind of new experiences. Dressed in a simple white T-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, I finally returned to my little spot, ready to settle in for the night.
But there was one last task—putting Crocea Mors into the storage lockers, as the teachers had recommended.
As much as I liked having my sword close by, there was a glaring issue: Crocea Mors glowed.
Its gentle white light was a comfort to me, a warm, ever-present reassurance. But for my fellow students, who already seemed on edge from my occasional bursts of radiant light, it was probably going to be a problem. The last thing I needed was to fuel their discontent by sleeping next to an eternally glowing sword.
So, to the lockers I went.
It turned out they were numbered into the thousands, stretching seemingly forever along the walls. To ensure I could easily remember where I stashed my gear, I decided to use a number with personal significance. I thought back to my previous life. My birthdate stood out as an obvious choice.
Sure enough, locker 720 was empty. Small mercies.
First, I stowed my armor. The plates were neatly arranged into a tidy pile inside. Then came the Gromril shirt. It barely felt heavier than a cotton tunic, yet the resounding clunk it made hitting the bottom of the locker was a stark reminder of its true weight and density. Gotta love dwarven craftsmanship.
Finally, I placed Crocea Mors into the locker.
But just as my fingers released the sword, the world shifted again. The shadowy void claimed me once more, dragging me back into its depths.
The great tree was back, but this time a brilliant blue moon hung in the horizon, casting its ethereal light across the vast darkness. Its surface gleamed with craters and plateaus, while glowing blue lines traced intricate patterns across its surface, giving it an otherworldly aura.
In the distance, a figure stood, gazing up at the moon. She wore an oversized, comically extravagant white wizard's hat, a flowing white dress, and a voluminous fur coat. Her light blue hair glowed softly, adding to her ethereal presence, my ears started ringing faintly with orchestral music.
A cold wind brushed against me, not forcefully, but with a beckoning insistence, urging me toward her. My semblance stirred within, guiding me forward as if it trusted this strange call. I decided to follow it—my semblance hadn't failed me yet.
As I approached, strange images began to appear, flickering in and out around her like phantoms. They shimmered in a spectral blue, overlaid on her form like shadows of a different self. The closer I got, the more details emerged. Her face, stunningly perfect, was made of porcelain, not flesh, and cracks marred its otherwise flawless surface. A glowing rune etched into the left side of her face pulsed faintly, the origin of the ghostly apparitions that flickered in and out of view.
What caught my attention most were her two sets of arms. One pair was clasped together as if in prayer, while the other held her own hands in a strange handshake. Her presence was captivating, and though my instincts screamed caution, I pressed forward.
When she turned to face me, her luminous porcelain face was framed by a serene, almost melancholy smile. "Ah, so I have found thee, my warrior of tarnished gold," she said, her voice smooth as velvet. It resonated in the air, warm yet otherworldly.
"I thought you lost," she continued, her tone heavy with sorrow. "Taken from me by the Greater Will as vengeance for my ascension. Yet here you stand, and I see now that I was mistaken." She raised a delicate hand to caress a ring on her finger and another caresses my face, which honestly made me feel a little weird, her gaze distant as though reliving painful memories.
She sighed, her luminous eyes locking onto mine. "The one who bid your chains has dragged you beyond the fog, leaving me alone under the cold gaze of the moon," she lamented, her fingers started gripping my face a little harder, the harsh porcelain only being stopped by my aura. Her words stirred something deep within me, and my oath began to glow faintly, its golden light piercing through the darkness.
The light caught her attention, her porcelain face softening. "I see you carry his golden light," she said, her tone thoughtful. "The blood that flows in his veins flows in yours. And though your soul is different, you carry his spirit—his quest." Her expression grew resolute as she took a step closer. "Yes… you shall do."
"Uh," I stammered, her proximity making me uneasy. "I'm sorry, lady. Apparently, other-me made a deal to fix something. I'm not really sure what, but it seems like he chose me to, uh, carry on."
A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Then, as his successor, you must also carry those he left behind." She reached toward me, but before I could respond, my oath surged to life. Its golden light connected to her spectral form, illuminating her with a radiant warmth that momentarily stilled her.
Her expression shifted, a glimmer of hope mingled with grief. "I see, yes my beloved, perhaps that could work," she murmured, speaking to someone unseen. Then, with deliberate grace, she raised her hands toward me.
A sword began to take form within her grasp. At first, it was Crocea Mors, unchanged from the weapon I knew. But as her porcelain fingers traced its blade, frost seemed to seep into the steel, darkening the metal with an icy sheen.
"In my homeland, Liurnia of the Lakes, it is tradition for the royal family to gift their love a weapon as a sign of favor," she explained. "Once, I gave you the Dark Moon Greatsword to show you my devotion. Yet, you always preferred your own blade." Her gaze softened further, as if recalling fond memories. "So, I shall rectify that. Wield this with pride, my eternal consort."
The sword transformed under her touch. The once-familiar blade now glowed with icy hues along its edges, its spine radiating a soft, cold light. The guard reshaped itself into wing-like forms, with an ornate golden centerpiece blooming where the hilt met the blade. Near the base, a tri-part triangle was etched into the metal—a symbol I recognized instantly. The Triforce, its iconic shape glowing faintly blue, now adorned the darkened weapon.
She smiled, though it carried a hint of playful irritation. "It seems I am not the only divine who appreciates your service," she said with mock exasperation. "Though they could have waited their turn."
Before I could respond, she pressed the sword to my chest. Its icy cold mingled with the warmth of my aura, creating a strange, soothing sensation. My aura flowed into the blade, making it glow a brilliant gold. The air around the sword grew frigid, and snowflakes began to materialize around us. The Triforce's glow shifted from blue to a deep, radiant gold, its brilliance standing out against the now-frosted steel.
Instinctively, I turned and raised the weapon above my head. With a wide swing, I released a beam of golden light from the blade, cutting through the darkness. It wasn't fast, but its sheer radiance filled the void around us.
Before I could react, her arms gently draped over my shoulders, her porcelain lips brushing close to my ear. "My moon shall guide your path, my knight," she whispered, her voice low and velvety. "May you travel with the wisdom of the moon and, one day, ascend to join me among the stars. Know this, my warrior—Lunar Princess Ranni claims thy spirit. Though I may not hold thy flesh, thy soul shall forever remain bound to me, my eternal consort."
She placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, and in an instant, I was back in the locker room.
The newly-forged Crocea Mors rested before me, its icy aura cooling the locker's metal interior to the point of frost. Yet, when I touched it, the blade felt warm, almost welcoming. It was as though the weapon itself recognized me as its owner—or perhaps it knew that its owner had claimed me.
Closing the locker door, I made my way back to the bathroom. This time, I opted for a cold shower to "settle" my thoughts about the apparent goddess claiming me as her consort. Refreshed, albeit with lingering unease, I prepared to turn in for the night.
Returning to the ballroom, I slunk off to my corner. Across the hall, I noticed Ruby and her blonde friend animatedly conversing with the dark-haired girl. Their discussion was loud enough to catch the attention of the white-haired girl, who marched over to mediate. That only seemed to make matters worse, as the bickering escalated among the group. Meanwhile, the dark-haired girl sat stoically, clearly trying to concentrate on her book despite the noise around her.
Turning away from their drama, I focused on my own little spot in the corner. Oddly, where my sleeping bag had once stood alone, another one had now been set up nearby. I couldn't fathom why anyone would want to settle so close to someone as brilliant as me, pun intended, but their absence at the moment spared me the need to ponder it further.
As the teachers moved through the hall, extinguishing the last of the lights, I eased myself onto my makeshift bed. My oath hummed faintly, radiating its warm reassurance as I drifted off into a cozy sleep. Tomorrow was initiation, and I could only hope nothing too crazy would happen.
CP Bank: 300cp
Perks earned this chapter:
200cp (Dark Moon Greatsword:Elden Ring) [Destruction] : A dark blue blade identical to the one ceremonially bestowed by Rennala on her spouse Radagon, this is a true artifact of legend given only on those deemed champions by Carian royalty. Cold and leaden, it is an incarnation of a beam of light from the full moon. By raising it aloft, the wielder can bathe it in moonlight-enhancing its attacks with magical power and imbuing the blade with numbing frost. And with great swings, waves of moonlight can be flung to smite all those who would doubt the night is dark and full of terrors.
400cp (Master Sword: Legend of Zelda: A Link Between Worlds) [Destruction] :"You got the Master Sword - a blade for a true hero!"
This legendary blade from Hyrule's history has long been sealed in the Lost Woods, and is far more powerful than any mundane sword. It is capable of banishing evil and dispelling dark magic, and can also be upgraded with Master Ore to further increase its formidable power. If you would prefer, you may import an existing melee weapon to adopt the properties of the Master Sword.
Milestone reached this chapter :
My consort eternal: Gain the attention of Ranni the witch (200cp)
BOOM
The sound of an explosion snapped me out of my thoughts, making me quicken my pace. It seemed I was the last one off the ship. The lobby, a wide-open plaza overlooking Beacon's grand castle, was nearly empty—save for one figure.
The girl in red from earlier lay sprawled on the ground, eyes closed. Judging by the scorch marks and lingering smoke, she'd likely been caught in the explosion. I hurried over, intending to check on her. If she was injured, a quick healing spell could patch her up; if not, it was as good a time as any to get acquainted with someone I'd be sharing classes with.
As I approached, I noticed subtle movement—she was unhurt, just shaken. Made sense; this was a Huntsman school, and her aura must've tanked the blast.
"Hey there. Jaune. Jaune Arc," I said, extending a hand. The sun at my back cast a shadow over her, snapping her out of her daze.
"Ruby. Ruby Rose," she said, taking my hand. With a firm pull, I helped her to her feet.
She dusted herself off and tilted her head at me. "Hey… quick question. Aren't you the guy who was throwing up on the ship?"
"Yeah," I admitted sheepishly. "I don't do well with closed vehicles. My stomach doesn't agree with them for some reason."
"Huh. Fair enough," she said, shrugging. "So, uh, do you know where we're supposed to go?"
"Sort of," I replied. "I know the general direction, but I didn't have time to memorize the layout—too busy focusing on the exams."
"At least I'm not totally lost," she said, sounding relieved. "Oh! Can I see your weapon? A lot of students here have such cool ones. Did you see that guy with the collapsible quarterstaff-nunchucks that have little machine guns on the ends? That thing was awesome!"
Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she talked about the weapons. For a moment, she seemed lost in her own world, daydreaming about all the mechanical marvels she'd encountered.
I chuckled and placed a hand on my sword's hilt. "Well, let me just say that none of them are better than mine." I sounded a bit arrogant, but I stood by my claim as I drew Crocea Mors.
Ruby's expression shifted from awe to mild disappointment. It seemed she didn't appreciate the classics. Still, I gave my sword a proud twirl, letting its polished blade glint in the sunlight. "Sword and shield beats all those mecha-shift hybrid weapons any day," I added with a smirk.
"Well, I have Crescent Rose," Ruby said, pulling a compact red box from her back. In a series of smooth, mechanical clicks and whirs, it unfolded into an enormous scythe. The sheer size of it made me pause for a moment. A sniper rifle's receiver gleamed along its shaft.
"She's a combat scythe and a customizable high-impact sniper rifle," Ruby said, cocking the bolt with a flourish.
"Pretty cool," I said, keeping my tone neutral. I must've come off less impressed than she'd hoped, as her face fell. "But I still prefer my old faithful. Crocea Mors has served the Arc family for generations. Nothing beats the classics."
Ruby's eyes narrowed slightly as she crossed her arms. "Well, I made Crescent Rose to be the very best. If you'd like to put that to the test, I hear Beacon allows sparring in combat class."
"Wait, you made that?" I asked, reevaluating the weapon in her hands. "That's… really cool."
Ruby perked up. "Of course! All Signal students forge their own weapons. It's tradition."
That explained a lot about the wild variety of weapons I'd seen so far.
Ruby's curiosity didn't stop there. "So, why'd you help me out back there in the courtyard?" she asked.
"Why not?" I replied with a shrug. "It was the right thing to do. Simple as that." My Oath hummed softly within me, and I felt its warm approval. For a brief moment, I glowed faintly, the divine light flickering just enough for Ruby to notice.
Her gaze lingered, a mix of curiosity and something more solemn. "If only more people did the right thing," she said quietly, her tone laced with sadness.
"It would make the world a much simpler place," I agreed. Then, catching a glimpse of the statue of Grampappy Arc in the distance, I motioned for her to follow. "Come on. I think I remember the way to the auditorium."
The auditorium was exactly where it should've been—right in the giant dome at the center of Beacon. I couldn't help but feel a little dumb for not recognizing it from the entrance exams.
Pushing through the enormous wooden doors, I was greeted by a sea of prospective students, their chatter echoing through the grand space. My plan was to head toward the front when someone shouted, "Ruby! Over here! I saved you a spot!"
It was a blonde girl, waving Ruby over. She was surrounded by a lively group of students, clearly friends who'd also made it into Beacon. Among them, I spotted Tube Mortar Guy. I really needed to learn his name at some point.
Ruby glanced at me. "Hey, I gotta go. See you after the ceremony!" she said, dashing toward her friend.
I watched as Ruby hugged the blonde girl before getting pulled into their group. Well, there went friend number one. Now I had to socialize on my own—a skill I was absolutely dreadful at. With a resigned sigh, I stepped into the crowd.
As I moved through the sea of students, I couldn't help but notice a few people staring at me. Maybe it was the clanking of my armor, the gleaming plate and chainmail a stark contrast to the flashy, colorful outfits you'd expect from modern Hunters. It wasn't exactly fashionable, but it was practical. Function over form, any day. Then again, maybe they were staring because of my earlier... stomach adventures. Between the airship and the exams, I'd definitely made an impression.
Off in the distance, I caught sight of Ruby again. She was in what looked like an argument with a white-haired girl. Ah, the Nepo-baby, I realized. Her pristine uniform practically screamed "wealth and privilege." The blonde from earlier was there too, looking exasperated as she tried to mediate.
For some reason, White Hair glanced my way, her expression turning sour. Then she pointed at me.
Oh, great.
I instinctively smiled and gave them a small wave. Ruby froze, her friend face-palmed, and Schnee scowled even harder. Okay, maybe that wasn't the best move.
The auditorium mic crackled to life, and a measured voice cleared its throat. The room quieted almost immediately.
"I'll keep this brief," said Headmaster Ozpin as he adjusted his tiny glasses.
"You have traveled here in search of knowledge," he began, his voice calm yet commanding. "To hone your craft and acquire new skills."
His eyes swept across the room—and stopped on me.
A shiver crawled up my spine. For a brief moment, it felt like his piercing gaze was looking right into my soul. But that couldn't be right. He was just scanning the crowd... right?
He continued, "And when you are finished, you plan to dedicate your lives to the protection of the people. But as I look among you, I see wasted energy..."
His gaze shifted, moving toward the section where Ruby and her group were sitting.
"In need of purpose. Direction. You assume knowledge will free you of this, but your time at this school will prove that knowledge can only carry you so far. It is up to you to take the first step."
With that ominous conclusion, Ozpin turned and walked off the stage, his words lingering in the air like a funeral dirge.
Next came Professor Goodwitch, her heels clicking sharply against the stage as she took the mic.
"You will gather in the ballroom tonight. Tomorrow, your initiation begins. Be ready. You are dismissed."
She wasted no time, stepping off the stage with military precision.
The ceremony left a strange energy in the air. Whispers and murmurs rippled through the crowd, everyone speculating about the initiation.
"Be ready." Those words stuck with me. Combined with Ozpin's cryptic speech, it sent my anxiety creeping up my spine.
But before the fear could fully take hold, my Oath stirred within me, sending a surge of light and warmth through my chest. The sensation spread outward, calm and radiant, and extinguished the gnawing dread in an instant.
Around me, people stared, eyes wide as the faint glow of my Oath flickered briefly across my form.
Oh, right. Forgot about that.
I offered a sheepish grin to anyone still looking before making my way toward the ballroom. Tonight was going to be... interesting.
The ballroom was packed. Rows upon rows of sleeping bags stretched across the carpeted floor, turning the grand space into a temporary dormitory. Moonlight poured in through the towering windows, its pale glow mingling with the warm flicker of countless candles. Teachers had lit them to provide additional illumination, though the sheer number of flames dancing near the fluffy curtains made my anxiety spike.
Naturally, my Oath decided to calm me by automatically casting Heroism on me.
And naturally, that made me glow.
The soft golden light radiating from me wasn't subtle, especially in the dimly lit room. Within moments, the faint murmur of conversation among students quieted, and all eyes turned toward me.
Great job, Jaune. Not even the second day, and you're already the center of attention.
Deciding to cut my losses, I retreated to a secluded corner of the ballroom to avoid being more of a nuisance.
After staking my claim to the corner, I went to prepare for sleep. A quick shower blessed with hot water eased the tension in my muscles. Brushing my teeth was a small comfort in this whirlwind of new experiences. Dressed in a simple white T-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, I finally returned to my little spot, ready to settle in for the night.
But there was one last task—putting Crocea Mors into the storage lockers, as the teachers had recommended.
As much as I liked having my sword close by, there was a glaring issue: Crocea Mors glowed.
Its gentle white light was a comfort to me, a warm, ever-present reassurance. But for my fellow students, who already seemed on edge from my occasional bursts of radiant light, it was probably going to be a problem. The last thing I needed was to fuel their discontent by sleeping next to an eternally glowing sword.
So, to the lockers I went.
It turned out they were numbered into the thousands, stretching seemingly forever along the walls. To ensure I could easily remember where I stashed my gear, I decided to use a number with personal significance. I thought back to my previous life. My birthdate stood out as an obvious choice.
Sure enough, locker 720 was empty. Small mercies.
First, I stowed my armor. The plates were neatly arranged into a tidy pile inside. Then came the Gromril shirt. It barely felt heavier than a cotton tunic, yet the resounding clunk it made hitting the bottom of the locker was a stark reminder of its true weight and density. Gotta love dwarven craftsmanship.
Finally, I placed Crocea Mors into the locker.
But just as my fingers released the sword, the world shifted again. The shadowy void claimed me once more, dragging me back into its depths.
The great tree was back, but this time a brilliant blue moon hung in the horizon, casting its ethereal light across the vast darkness. Its surface gleamed with craters and plateaus, while glowing blue lines traced intricate patterns across its surface, giving it an otherworldly aura.
In the distance, a figure stood, gazing up at the moon. She wore an oversized, comically extravagant white wizard's hat, a flowing white dress, and a voluminous fur coat. Her light blue hair glowed softly, adding to her ethereal presence, my ears started ringing faintly with orchestral music.
A cold wind brushed against me, not forcefully, but with a beckoning insistence, urging me toward her. My semblance stirred within, guiding me forward as if it trusted this strange call. I decided to follow it—my semblance hadn't failed me yet.
As I approached, strange images began to appear, flickering in and out around her like phantoms. They shimmered in a spectral blue, overlaid on her form like shadows of a different self. The closer I got, the more details emerged. Her face, stunningly perfect, was made of porcelain, not flesh, and cracks marred its otherwise flawless surface. A glowing rune etched into the left side of her face pulsed faintly, the origin of the ghostly apparitions that flickered in and out of view.
What caught my attention most were her two sets of arms. One pair was clasped together as if in prayer, while the other held her own hands in a strange handshake. Her presence was captivating, and though my instincts screamed caution, I pressed forward.
When she turned to face me, her luminous porcelain face was framed by a serene, almost melancholy smile. "Ah, so I have found thee, my warrior of tarnished gold," she said, her voice smooth as velvet. It resonated in the air, warm yet otherworldly.
"I thought you lost," she continued, her tone heavy with sorrow. "Taken from me by the Greater Will as vengeance for my ascension. Yet here you stand, and I see now that I was mistaken." She raised a delicate hand to caress a ring on her finger and another caresses my face, which honestly made me feel a little weird, her gaze distant as though reliving painful memories.
She sighed, her luminous eyes locking onto mine. "The one who bid your chains has dragged you beyond the fog, leaving me alone under the cold gaze of the moon," she lamented, her fingers started gripping my face a little harder, the harsh porcelain only being stopped by my aura. Her words stirred something deep within me, and my oath began to glow faintly, its golden light piercing through the darkness.
The light caught her attention, her porcelain face softening. "I see you carry his golden light," she said, her tone thoughtful. "The blood that flows in his veins flows in yours. And though your soul is different, you carry his spirit—his quest." Her expression grew resolute as she took a step closer. "Yes… you shall do."
"Uh," I stammered, her proximity making me uneasy. "I'm sorry, lady. Apparently, other-me made a deal to fix something. I'm not really sure what, but it seems like he chose me to, uh, carry on."
A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Then, as his successor, you must also carry those he left behind." She reached toward me, but before I could respond, my oath surged to life. Its golden light connected to her spectral form, illuminating her with a radiant warmth that momentarily stilled her.
Her expression shifted, a glimmer of hope mingled with grief. "I see, yes my beloved, perhaps that could work," she murmured, speaking to someone unseen. Then, with deliberate grace, she raised her hands toward me.
A sword began to take form within her grasp. At first, it was Crocea Mors, unchanged from the weapon I knew. But as her porcelain fingers traced its blade, frost seemed to seep into the steel, darkening the metal with an icy sheen.
"In my homeland, Liurnia of the Lakes, it is tradition for the royal family to gift their love a weapon as a sign of favor," she explained. "Once, I gave you the Dark Moon Greatsword to show you my devotion. Yet, you always preferred your own blade." Her gaze softened further, as if recalling fond memories. "So, I shall rectify that. Wield this with pride, my eternal consort."
The sword transformed under her touch. The once-familiar blade now glowed with icy hues along its edges, its spine radiating a soft, cold light. The guard reshaped itself into wing-like forms, with an ornate golden centerpiece blooming where the hilt met the blade. Near the base, a tri-part triangle was etched into the metal—a symbol I recognized instantly. The Triforce, its iconic shape glowing faintly blue, now adorned the darkened weapon.
She smiled, though it carried a hint of playful irritation. "It seems I am not the only divine who appreciates your service," she said with mock exasperation. "Though they could have waited their turn."
Before I could respond, she pressed the sword to my chest. Its icy cold mingled with the warmth of my aura, creating a strange, soothing sensation. My aura flowed into the blade, making it glow a brilliant gold. The air around the sword grew frigid, and snowflakes began to materialize around us. The Triforce's glow shifted from blue to a deep, radiant gold, its brilliance standing out against the now-frosted steel.
Instinctively, I turned and raised the weapon above my head. With a wide swing, I released a beam of golden light from the blade, cutting through the darkness. It wasn't fast, but its sheer radiance filled the void around us.
Before I could react, her arms gently draped over my shoulders, her porcelain lips brushing close to my ear. "My moon shall guide your path, my knight," she whispered, her voice low and velvety. "May you travel with the wisdom of the moon and, one day, ascend to join me among the stars. Know this, my warrior—Lunar Princess Ranni claims thy spirit. Though I may not hold thy flesh, thy soul shall forever remain bound to me, my eternal consort."
She placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, and in an instant, I was back in the locker room.
The newly-forged Crocea Mors rested before me, its icy aura cooling the locker's metal interior to the point of frost. Yet, when I touched it, the blade felt warm, almost welcoming. It was as though the weapon itself recognized me as its owner—or perhaps it knew that its owner had claimed me.
Closing the locker door, I made my way back to the bathroom. This time, I opted for a cold shower to "settle" my thoughts about the apparent goddess claiming me as her consort. Refreshed, albeit with lingering unease, I prepared to turn in for the night.
Returning to the ballroom, I slunk off to my corner. Across the hall, I noticed Ruby and her blonde friend animatedly conversing with the dark-haired girl. Their discussion was loud enough to catch the attention of the white-haired girl, who marched over to mediate. That only seemed to make matters worse, as the bickering escalated among the group. Meanwhile, the dark-haired girl sat stoically, clearly trying to concentrate on her book despite the noise around her.
Turning away from their drama, I focused on my own little spot in the corner. Oddly, where my sleeping bag had once stood alone, another one had now been set up nearby. I couldn't fathom why anyone would want to settle so close to someone as brilliant as me, pun intended, but their absence at the moment spared me the need to ponder it further.
As the teachers moved through the hall, extinguishing the last of the lights, I eased myself onto my makeshift bed. My oath hummed faintly, radiating its warm reassurance as I drifted off into a cozy sleep. Tomorrow was initiation, and I could only hope nothing too crazy would happen.
CP Bank: 300cp
Perks earned this chapter:
200cp (Dark Moon Greatsword:Elden Ring) [Destruction] : A dark blue blade identical to the one ceremonially bestowed by Rennala on her spouse Radagon, this is a true artifact of legend given only on those deemed champions by Carian royalty. Cold and leaden, it is an incarnation of a beam of light from the full moon. By raising it aloft, the wielder can bathe it in moonlight-enhancing its attacks with magical power and imbuing the blade with numbing frost. And with great swings, waves of moonlight can be flung to smite all those who would doubt the night is dark and full of terrors.
400cp (Master Sword: Legend of Zelda: A Link Between Worlds) [Destruction] :"You got the Master Sword - a blade for a true hero!"
This legendary blade from Hyrule's history has long been sealed in the Lost Woods, and is far more powerful than any mundane sword. It is capable of banishing evil and dispelling dark magic, and can also be upgraded with Master Ore to further increase its formidable power. If you would prefer, you may import an existing melee weapon to adopt the properties of the Master Sword.
Both applied to Crocea Mors Sword
Milestone reached this chapter :
My consort eternal: Gain the attention of Ranni the witch (200cp)
GeekGod_of_Speed
He Who Enjoys The Big Words
At this point his sword is gonna need it's own stat page as it has more abilities and perks than he does
- Location
- brazil
This is mostly a joke but right now I would not even be surprised if the sword becomes a waifu too , don't know what are the options but there are a bunch of animes and games with sentient weapons and some do gain a humanoid form so that could happen.
- Location
- Florida
At this rate, Jaunes sword is going to become sentient, gain a soul (while activating its own Aura) and then acquire its own humanoid form (which will very likely be a waifu).
I can't wait to see that happen. It will be hilarious.
- Location
- Florida
- Pronouns
- He
I mean FI is a thing, he just need to roll the skyward sword perk.
Pyrrha shall not have competition, all who oppose her shall face her wrath in the field of battle
Tsukumogami: Items that have gained sentients and the ability to transform after years of care.
The Grimoire has an impressive number of perks that have to do with melee weapons or physical combat skill. From the many, many combat skill boosters. Many of which give mastery of entire disciplines. Along with all of the physical boosters. To the plentiful weapons. Of which a large portion can be applied to a preexisting weapon.
Darth Cooter
(Verified Lord of Cooters)(Dark Proprietor)(AP)
- Location
- error -loc root/users/dcooter not found
@Magus Explorator
Well, I don't suppose at some point the "Three Nails" Could make their way from Harry Dresden's inventory and into Juan Arc's hands at the end of a quest? Would really make Crocea Mors a named Holy Blade at that point
Well, I don't suppose at some point the "Three Nails" Could make their way from Harry Dresden's inventory and into Juan Arc's hands at the end of a quest? Would really make Crocea Mors a named Holy Blade at that point