RWBY

The Snow Angel and the Ruin King

By A Stereotypical Gamer

Author's Note: This story takes place immediately following the Battle of Beacon and interspersed with the time skip.

Chapter One: New Purpose

An explosion of silver light could be seen for miles. That might've been reason enough to draw a curious spectator.

An army of Grimm descended on a ruined citadel and freely walked among fire and crumbling stone. That might've been reason enough to flee in the opposite direction.

But for him, there was nowhere else worth going. His home was sand swept wreckage, his people naught but memory. He'd known nothing but empty despair for each day he'd wandered and each step he'd taken since that day.

Yet, in his travels, he'd briefly glimpsed something that renewed his drive; something that broke torporous, pointless wandering and had given him a destination to reach.

To the Northwest of his home, the citizens of Vacuo had left in droves for the East. He'd been wandering the desert wastes and the departure of their ships had broken the usual monotony. He'd not intended to follow them, but through some contrivance, some quirk of fate, following in their wake had led him to new purpose.

In his travels he found the ruins of a settlement, and acquired a Scroll, a piece of technology that far outpaced what his kingdom had known. Yet it was accessible enough, as gradually he was able to activate the device, and allowed it to continue its pre-programmed routine, showing some program, some recording of a gathering of cultures in the kingdom of Vale, far to the East. Exactly where the citizens of Vacuo were heading, and close to his own heading.

Even then, even with that curiosity, he'd yet to gain his new purpose. He only continued his eternal walk, the broken settlements –testaments to humanity's hubris and failure- at his back, and open wilderness out in front of him… and a curious tie to a modern and unfamiliar world in the hunk of metal and wire.

He did not need to rest. Yet there were moments when he was idle, and on one such occasion, fate interceded.

What had started as a celebration of cultural exchange had transformed into a tournament, as representatives of various kingdoms began to clash. It reminded him of the glorious past, when he'd observed similar fights for glory and national pride, in the time before his own kingdom fell. That had broken the monotony… but just as easily reminded him of all that had been lost, and what scraps were left to him.

And then, in one battle, late in the rankings of the tournament, he dropped the Scroll to the dirt in shock… and then picked it up again and hungrily observed it, when he felt emotions he'd not known in a lifetime.

Hope. And love.

His love, alive and well, fighting with spirit and vigor few could boast. The sole reason he endured, the one he'd thought lost forever was clearly alive and well.

It was impossible. Yet it was right in front of him.

He had to know. He had to behold her with his own eyes and not feel doubt. It was the only positive emotion he'd known… it was so powerful it'd nearly thrown him off balance, and he had to fight to retain the careful control that was all that had allowed him to remain. But even though it'd be his undoing, even though it would destabilize him further, he had to know. He had to see her. He had to hold her. He had to speak her name.

He saw no more of her on the Scroll after her battle. He needed to know her fate after the uncertain result. He had to know his isolation and struggle had not left him mad and desperate… or at least, not so mad and desperate he believed the dead could come back to life and renew their vow of love.

At some point the device lost the signal and the Scroll was silent. He'd assumed the device was simply damaged and had broken at last, or its supply of energy was not as indefinite as it appeared and simply deactivated. But he knew his destination, and now driven, he ran to it, traveling through the night and among the beasts born of shadow, undeterred. Though his love had broken his careful control, the weight of his despair reasserted itself and the pain of his loss brought him back into balance. And it was fortunate it did, or perhaps he'd have arrived too late. Perhaps what was to happen would be averted, and his fate would never have changed.

When he entered Beacon, the city was all but abandoned, alive only in swarms of Grimm and still-raging fires. As he walked in he began his search, searching each of the dead, examining every scrap of debris, every legible piece of information. He carried in himself and in his wards a few odds and ends- bits of clothing, written words, more of the advanced Scrolls- and searched.

He'd been briefly distracted by seeing the immobilized form of an enormous great dragon, itself drawing Grimm to it… but because it was their kin, not because it had found prey.

Yet there was still prey, running through back alleys, fighting or fleeing as the situation dictated. He hoped one would be his love, but regardless, he would know. The Grimm would indefinitely replicate and he would risk his composure to remove their impediments. They were expendable, and he'd demonstrate his power in the hopes of coercing this survivor into giving him information.

When at last he found the first survivor, he was again taken aback. A girl, not even a meter and a half, dispatched the Grimm with furor. She was exhausted, but fought on regardless. He had intended to intervene, but there was no need. The destruction of Grimm around him threw off his balance, but he was determined now to learn, and so kept the darkness in thrall. If his hopes were dashed, there'd be no shortage of despair for the shadows to feed on. The promise of a meal would keep them at bay.

The surviving Ursa and Beowolves began to withdraw from the girl, drawn to him, joining the others already at his side. She turned her attention to him and leveled her weapon, an closed umbrella with an extended blade. She was panting, her eyes were racing from side to side to behold the Grimm at his back, yet she would not retreat.

He closed his eyes to perceive her better. What had once been a small girl of pink, white, and black became the Dust that had birthed her, contorted by her sorrow. She too had felt loss, her thoughts on another… a crimson ember, a lick of flame against infinite darkness.

When he opened his eyes he reached into the darkness at his side, into the hollow body of one of the Griffons that followed him.

"I feel your despair," he spoke in low rumble, as he rummaged within his minion. "I know you're hoping to find what you have lost."

Her expression turned from cold fury to confusion. Perhaps she'd not expected him to speak; perhaps she'd thought him another shape of the shadow like the Grimm drawn to his side. She at least seemed willing to wait to see what he'd do before she resumed her attack.

From within the Griffon he produced it, a tattered black bowler hat, marred by the single speck of crimson Dust. He concentrated, and the Griffon stepped back, so he could place the hat before her, to show it clearly.

At first she remained confused, but gradually she recognized it, with its black felt and its red sash. Her emotions distorted again, as she fell into deep, crushing despair… despair that drew the Grimm's attention, and threatened to disrupt his subtle control over them.

He thought she'd only fought for survival, to escape somewhere and keep the shadows out. Instead she'd searched for someone… she'd been driven by powerful emotion, just as he had. He had to concentrate, to reassert his dominance over the Grimm. He was far too intrigued by this girl to risk her being consumed by the dark as so many others had.

"You lost someone," he said, trying to reassure her, though nothing would make it better. Whoever this man had worn this helm, and whatever he'd been to her, the finality of his loss was too recent for any words to mend the wound. "The Grimm are drawn to you because of your despair. If you can't control it, they will… eventually attack."

He hoped that fear of death or pragmatic will to live would free the girl from her despair. Slowly, it did alleviate, as she buried it, intentionally bottling her emotions, much like he had in the beginning, before he'd made his pact with the shadow.

"I do not know you," he continued, "but I must trouble you for answers."

He tossed to her one of the discarded Scrolls, and waited a moment before pressing. "I have helped you find what you have lost. I hope you can return the courtesy."

Perhaps she was too tired to speak. Perhaps the pain of her loss held her tongue. Yet she complied, and activated it for him, holding it up to show him its screen.

"The tournament," he requested. "The combatants."

Though initially perplexed and still hurt from her loss, she did comply and searched, easily manipulating the unfamiliar technology. He waited until she presented him a depiction of every participant, including one who looked distinctly like the girl herself… though with darker hair and eyes.

He stepped towards her, the stone floor cracking with the weight of each step. He scanned each picture until he saw it… and his stony expression faltered, his voice broke. "Her."

The girl turned the screen to herself and looked. Her expression hardened. He felt a new outpouring of emotion: bitter, personal hatred. That too drew the Grimm to her, and he had to suppress his emotions, to regain control of the horde before they attacked the girl.

"Do you know her?" he asked.

The girl only nodded, still quaking with quiet rage.

Despite the animosity, he couldn't believe his luck. It had to be fate.

"Help me find her," he pleaded. "I beg you, bring me to her."

Her expression changed again. She buried away her hate, and wondered. She wanted to know who he was, and more importantly, what could be gained by helping him. Her hatred of his love would clash with his goals, so if she agreed to his request they would eventually –inevitably- come to blows.

"I am a stranger to you, let me amend that," he suggested, trying to focus her emotions to his cause. "I am a nobleman without a seat, a keeper of a forgotten history. I am…"

What would he tell her? A name no one would know? A family title intentionally gone unused? The name of a kingdom that would turn her against him?

"… the Ruin King."

It wasn't entirely accurate. He wore his father's rusted crown, but he hadn't ever exercised his authority. It was hard to rule when your only subjects were ghosts and echoes and your only kingdom sand and rubble.

The pink, white, and brown girl said nothing. Her fury was focused now, and if she cared at all about his chosen appellation, she didn't betray it. Instead she was focused on the creatures of Grimm, the minions around him, piecing together why they were not attacking their natural enemy.

The self-proclaimed Ruin King still needed a guide, so perhaps he could indulge her curiosity. "The shadow beasts are drawn to negative emotion," he explained… but that did not change her mood. Perhaps she already knew. "They're drawn to me because… I have a lot to feed them with."

He extended the hand holding the bowler hat, watching the girl's heterochromic eyes follow it, keeping her attention. "My despair sustains me, and no matter how they feed they cannot take my life. So they follow. So they obey. Because they are quenched by my pain."

He stepped towards her. At first the girl was apprehensive, but did not move to defend herself when he placed the lost friend's cap upon her head.

"You can do it too, if you use your pain and loss to steel your resolve," the Ruin King told her. "If you wish it, I can make you stronger. I can teach you to use your emotion to wield those born of shadow like the unthinking weapons they are."

That appealed to her; he could see her Dust twist again, her focus given a new goal.

"Lead me to her," the Ruin King requested. "Lead me to my Snow Angel."

For her part, Neopolitan had intended only to use the 'king's time to recuperate before destroying the Grimm threatening her, but his proposal intrigued her. Anyone who could control the Grimm, rather than simply direct them, would be a force to be reckoned with. Only Cinder Fall had demonstrated such power, and now she could learn it.

And once she led this 'Ruin King' to his lost love –or whatever his delusion was- she'd have an opportunity to hurt one of those close to Ruby Rose; to hurt the girl who took her dear Roman away. She'd relish the opportunity for revenge, however strained it'd make her new alliance. Wearing Roman's cap and carrying on his legacy, she'd kill one enemy and forever wound another.

Neo looked down at the Scroll, at the image of Weiss Schnee, whom this mad 'king' believed he knew… and prepared to give the snow another scar.