RWBY: A Lord's Tale

Chapter Eight: Forest Hinoki pt.3

They left the ruined camp behind as the afternoon sun filtered weakly through the trees, thin and silvery like it could whisk away at a moments notice.

Quin walked with his plush cradled in the crook of one arm, the scent of moss and dirt clinging to his jacket. His Servo-Skulls trailed behind, fanning out at varied distances, performing some kind of wedge they advised as a good idea.

Though, he soon slowed his pace, eyeing one of the imps ahead of him.

It had picked up a stick.

And was using it- jabbing at mushrooms, prodding tree roots, giving suspicious rocks the occasional poke like it half-expected one to explode. Every now and then it glanced back to see if anyone was watching.

"Are you… mimicking me?"

The imp didn't respond, only brandished its stick proudly and stabbed a patch of moss for good measure.

"Huh… these little bastards can learn."

One of the servo-skulls let out a warbling chime that might've been laughter, or maybe a processing glitch. Hard to tell when it came from a floating skull.

He trudged forward anyway, deciding not to think too hard about it. Honestly, if they wanted to develop hobbies, that was their business- as long as none of them involved setting him ablaze.

Or poking him with the stick.

Which, naturally, was what the imp immediately did, giving his boot a quick jab.

…

"Whatever." He managed to let out exhaustingly, he owed them this much for saving his ass time and time again.

And as they moved deeper into the forest, where the trees grew taller and closer, their bark gnarled and black-veined, limbs tangled overhead like a canopy of clenched fists. Somewhere in the distance, the birds went quiet, insects retreated to their nests, and the ambience was all but replaced by silence.

Soon, only the crunch of his boots over fallen twigs and damp earth could be heard. And the servo-skulls tightened their formation slightly, rotating their lenses until they covered a full 360 degrees… silence was never a good sign.

"So… I can't be the only one getting that creepy gut feeling, right?"

A chime answered. Two red lights blinked in succession.

That meant yes.

"Cool, love that for us."

The imp poked a hanging vine, suspiciously.

They'd barely gone a few more paces when one of the skulls jerked violently midair, pulling into a sharp hover and releasing a sharp, synthetic buzz.

A warning.

Moments later, there was a low snarl.

Then several more.

Quin froze.

The underbrush ahead rustled, then burst outward.

Beowulves

The first one crashed through the brambles like a freight train, black-furred and massive, easily a head taller than Quin. Bone-white plating arching over its shoulders and snout like jagged armor, eyes burning with that telltale red glow that shimmered like burning embers. Its limbs were too long, corded with lean muscle, claws scraping trenches into the earth as it lunged.

The others followed close behind, nine in total, snarling and howling as they swarmed. Most were smaller, quicker, darting through the brush, jaws snapping open to reveal rows of uneven fangs. One of them had a half-broken mask, seeping out mist with each step, its lipless snarl twitched with something almost like anticipation.

Another, broader and scarred, moved more deliberately, its back hunched and covered in overlapping plates of bone, thick enough to turn away anything short of a blade or bullet.

Then, the first beowulf pounced, grabbing a stone imp in its jaws. Its teeth sank into the creature's torso with a crunch as the stone gave way to its canines, and whipped it savagely side to side, dirt and stone flying from its maw. The imp's limbs flailed, its attempts to attack with its greatsword cut short as its body went limp, then ragged, before being tossed through the air like a broken toy.

[Notification: Unit Lost]

The other imp immediately dropped the stick as it brought its hatchet to bare.

Behind them, another beowulf leapt at a servo-skull, swiping at it midair, barely missing. The others fanned out, circling, some snarling low, some already preparing to lunge.

His stomach sank. This wouldn't be like their last few successes, no.

This would be a massacre.

"Shit, shit, sh- RUNNNN!" he shouted, already waving the slimes forward. "SCATTER!!"

It wasn't the worst idea, he just lost one of his two best attackers… and they were vastly outnumbered.

The slimes jolted at the command and flung themselves into motion, flopping toward cover with frantic squeals, trailing glistening arcs of mucous as they fled into the brush. The servo-skulls broke formation as ordered, rising to gain altitude and split angles.

He turned just in time to see something gleaming in the dirt- a familiar shape. The stone imp's blade, the heavy, twin-pronged greatsword half-buried under leaves and soil.

Quin sprinted toward it, dropped to one knee, and yanked the hilt free with a sharp tug. The weight pulled at his arm, but adrenaline made the burden feel distant.

[Notification: Unit Lost]

He didn't check who.

Didn't want to know.

Quin didn't stop until the sound of rushing water filled his ears again, a narrow creek, not nearly as wide as the last, but fast-moving and cold, gurgling over stone and root.

He skidded to a halt at the edge, nearly slipping on a patch of slick moss, then spun around, chest heaving. For a second, panic clutched his throat.

Then, movement.

Four slimes, wobbling at varying speeds, exited the brush behind him. Just these four had followed him, the others had gone elsewhere. The servo-skulls would be fine, they could float above the canopy, the remaining imp was what worried him.

The slimes paused at the water's edge as they assessed the current, then slowly elongated itself, stretching into a thin bridge of jelly. It slid forward, anchoring itself to a flat stone midstream, then rippled the rest of the way over in a graceful, wobbling arc.

The others followed without hesitation.

One bounced from rock to rock with confident little splashes. Another two molded themselves around the surface of a half-submerged log and rolled the rest of the way with a faint, watery slosh. The last simply threw itself forward, its body flattening on impact and reforming with a wet pop as it reached the far side.

Surprisingly, no mistakes this time.

He stared, blinking, breath caught between exhaustion and disbelief.

"…Huh."

...

"I guess my expectations were wayyy too low."

Quin didn't wait for a reply, not that he'd get any, and gripped his borrowed sword tighter before jumping across.

They had to keep moving.

He moved quickly, weaving between clustered trees and low-hanging branches. The woods here were denser, the sunlight breaking through in sharp, golden shafts as it finally started to set. Roots curled out like the fingers of some buried giant, and once, his boot nearly caught on one but he twisted, caught his balance, and kept going.

The slimes followed without sound, padding over the earth like ripples through shallow water.

His breath was starting to slow, the sting of adrenaline wearing thin. Maybe they were gaining distance. Maybe-

SNAP

Too close.

Quin froze, eyes wide, and turned his head slowly.

There, just beyond a clearing, branches exploded outward in a burst of black and silver. A beowulf crashed through, its claws dragging deep furrows in the bark as it barreled forward. Another followed. Then another.

They caught up.

His hands clenched around the sword, the twin prongs of its great warped blade catching the shine of sunlight. He took a step back, bracing his stance as the slimes circled around him.

No point running again, they tried that and evidently failed.

He raised the blade into a guard, breath fogging out in a sharp exhale. His shoulders tensed, and his knuckles whitened.

"Alright then," he muttered.

"Come on, you bastards."

Quin stared at the blade for a second before angling the tip to shoulder height, his eyes locking back on the advancing shapes. The beowulves were getting faster now, more confident… or as confident as grimm could possibly be. He shifted his footing slightly, preparing for the first clash.

Then-

"Duck!"

A man's voice. Rough, hard and somewhat familiar.

He hesitated. Duck?

Why?

A wet squelch answered him- one of the slimes hurled itself straight at his chest.

"What the-?!"

It struck him squarely, knocking the wind out of his lungs as it slammed him down into the dirt with a surprising amount of force. He hit the ground hard, his sword half-wrenched from his grip as he instinctively curled around the plush still tucked into his jacket.

BANG.

A deafening crack echoed through the woods like thunder splitting the earth. Birds scattered in a frenzied burst of wings, and leaves spun wildly through the air like shrapnel.

His ears rang. His heart raced. And for one long, confusing moment, he just laid there, blinking up at the fractured sky through trembling branches.

"Fuck… thanks," he muttered, still breathless.

"Pal," the voice called again, edged with disbelief. "I figured you were an idiot, but this is something else entirely."

The words had barely landed when the man stepped into view, his silhouette cutting through the trees. His weapon, still raised, barked again- bang - sending another flash of metal into the charging Grimm.

The weapon was brutal in design: twin barrels sticking out of a handle, with a large straight blade hanging off the bottom, clearly meant to flip up and skewer whatever got too close.

The man himself was… nothing special, with graying black hair that half resembled feathers, faded red eyes, and a slight stubble along his jawline not exactly giving much to look at. What he wore was another matter, with a fraying red cloak slung lazily across one shoulder, and underneath a gray, long-tailed dress shirt paired with black slacks and shoes that had clearly seen better days.

He looked like someone who'd stopped trying to impress a long time ago, and started surviving instead.

Quin blinked, still flat on the ground, the slime finally slithering off his chest with a self-satisfied gurgle. His brain, however, was buffering, like someone had yanked the gears loose and jammed a stick in the works.

That was Qrow.

That was Qrow.

He fumbled underneath his jacket, half-dazed, and pulled out the weathered Mordred plushie, hugging it to his chest like a lifeline.

"…Okay," he whispered to her, staring blankly at the sky. "Okay, so, I'm either dreaming or the universe is mocking me again."

I mean, come on? What're the chances of this alcoholic being near him… relatively high if he was in Vale, but he didn't remember anywhere like this from the show, he could just as likely be in Mistral.

The plushie, as always, remained silent.

Meanwhile, Qrow had already stepped past him without, boots crunching over dirt and leaf. The mechashift weapon in his hands transformed with a loud clunk- and as gears shifted and turned, the blade curved up and clicked into place, completing turning into sword with one fluid motion.

Another beowulf lunged from the underbrush, teeth bared and ready to tear this new prey to pieces.

Qrow met it head-on, taking a step forward and cleaving, the blade carved through it like butter. The creature dropped mid-pounce, its body collapsing into mist.

The air still sizzled from the impact when he turned slightly, half-glancing back at Quin.

"Just had to walk into a pack, huh?" he muttered, tone dry, annoyed, but not surprised. "Figures."

Quin sat up and, still fumbling with the Mordred plushie, could only stare.

"…I hate how cool that was," he mumbled.

Qrow raised his blade again as more red eyes blinked into view among the trees.

"Then stay back there, smart guy."

…

By the time the final Grimm fell, its snarl twisting into smoke that hissed away on the wind, Qrow was already turning his weapon aside. He gave it a shake to get off whatever remnants clung to the blade, before placing it onto his back.

He exhaled, shoulders rising and falling once, then reached into the inner pocket of his cloak and pulled out a battered metal flask. The cap spun with a click, and he tilted it back, drinking deep.

Only then, after a long, slow swallow, did he glance over at Quin, who was still surrounded by his slimes as he held onto the Mordred plushie like it might explain anything.

"…So, Plush for Brains," Qrow started, screwing the cap back onto his flask with a tired click, "you mind telling me just what the hell you're doing out here?"

2114 Words

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New Chapter! Hope you enjoyed, its a bit late cause I got caught up playing Hoi4 and Umamusume.

Changed how I did fightscenes a bit, hopefully it's better?

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