I'd been sitting on this story idea for a while now, probably since before the season finale of RWBY's Volume 2. I've deeply enjoyed Monty Oum's work on Red vs Blue, RWBY, and more-recently I've watched Haloid and Dead Fantasy. When I learned he got sick from an allergic reaction, I didn't think much of it at the time, I just assumed he would get better, and things would go back to "as usual". But he never did get better, something that saddened many people, myself included.

It feels like just yesterday I was watching the first RWBY trailer, geeking out over Little Red Riding Hood giving a pack of Beowolves superfluous new assholes with what I now know was a sniper rifle; at the time I thought it was a shotgun, go figure. I especially loved in S8 EP3 of Red vs Blue, where Sarge kept saying "shotgun", and then next thing I know the quality of the 3D changes ever-so-slightly, before the Warthog comes crashing through that wall. To know that Monty's light has been snuffed out, well... In light of that I decided to put this story out sooner than planned.

This one's for Monty, his friends, family, and all the fans he left in his wake.

This is also my way of letting go and moving forward. While it is "Time To Say Goodbye", Monty Oum will not be forgotten.

*GIANT-SLAYER*

It was early dawn, a pale light cast across the land as the sun slowly rose. The sound of ocean waves crashing against white-washed cliffs echoed upward and outward, carrying the smell of brine through the morning air. The wind was blowing, pink-colored blossoms scattered in the wind. The rustling of leaves and the crashing of waves was soon accompanied by the crunching of twigs underfoot as two figures made their way through the forest.

"You know... You could've gone to the funeral," the first figure said. The man was a veritable giant close to seven feet in height with muscles to match, his skin a dark complexion, eyes colored a golden amber. His hair was buzzed short against his head, a second set of rounded ears sitting atop his head, colored back. His attire consisted of a black sleeveless shirt beneath a similar white-colored article with the collar sticking up, black pants with a matching wrap around his waist, the tail ends of his white shirt sticking out the back. To top it off the man had fingerless black gloves on his hands, black boots on his feet, both of which had metal plating.

"No..." the second figure said shaking his head. "I only knew him for a few moments, while everyone that went knew him a lifetime more. It wouldn't have been proper." He was a deal shorter than his partner, 5'9, maybe 5'10", his skin tone the same complexion, with eyes colored a soothing jade. His hair was multi-colored, his bangs white, his shoulder-length hair colored gray with blackened tips; ears like that of his partner sat atop his head, but with the addition of small white streaks along the upper edge. His attire was similar to that of his partner, except the shirt tails didn't stick out of the wrap, and his collar wasn't standing up. Instead of boots he wore open-toed sandals, though still possessed metal guard on his forearms and shins.

"Hm..." the taller of the two hummed. "So..." he paused, wondering how to broach the question. "How did he die exactly?"

"A severe allergic reaction during a routine medical procedure that rendered him comatose," the shorter of the two answered.

"Between the Grimm and the cults, I guess its better he went out sleeping than anything else," the taller of the two said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"We're from one of those cults, remember?" the shorter of the two replied curtly.

"Hey, unlike those hood-wearing nutjobs, not all of us are genocidal against the other species," the taller of the two defended.

"The public certainly doesn't see it that way," the shorter of the two replied, stuffing a hand into his pocket, the other holding his offering to the deceased. As he said before, he didn't have a lifelong bond with the dearly departed like those that had visited before. In fact he was barely conscious at the time so he couldn't even remember the man's face. The only thing that stuck with him was the name he heard as he was patched back together again. In lieu of flowers, whose meanings he did not know, he decided to leave behind a lotus flower. He didn't really know if it was appropriate or not, but he wanted to leave something behind to show his gratitude for the life that had been saved that day, so many years ago.

Even when he had been at his lowest point, wishing nothing but death and destruction upon the Human race, not once did he ever think the man who saved his life to be cut from the same cloth. He never met the man in person after that, and trying to meet him in person would only cause the man trouble. To know he'd never get the chance to even say a simple "Thank you" to the man's face left a sour taste in his mouth.

"Well... we're here," the taller of the two replied as they broke the treeline. Approaching a clearing overlooking the cliffs that was surrounded with a gothic-style fence, the smell of brine in the air slightly intensified, the sound of crashing waves muting all other noise as the two approached. The place they walked into was a family graveyard, a number of tombstones from past generations dotting the small plot of land, some in groups, some alone. The one they headed for was the one where the ground had been most-recently disturbed. The tombstone, like most of the others, featured an engraving with the likeness of a lotus flower carved into it, a number of bouquets from previous visitors resting at its base.

"I'll only be a minute," the shorter of the two said as he walked forward. In hindsight, he should've thrown a cloak or something over his back, but he had been pressed for time, so he didn't have the opportunity to change clothes when this opportunity had presented itself. Dropping down to one knee, he rubbed the back of his hand against moistening eyes, cradling the lotus flower in his hands before setting it down. Placing his hand upon the tombstone, he tried to think of what he could possibly say. The only interaction he had with the man was that his life had been saved by him, but that was pretty much it. Still, if not for his actions, he would've died five years ago, so he had to say something.

" . . . For it is in passing that we achieve immortality," he began to speak, the feeling of a hand upon his head as his mind drifted backwards. "Through this we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all... Infinite in distance and unbound by death, I release your soul, and by my shoulder, protect thee..." he said as his free hand gripped at his shirt above his heart. "I... I'm not the biggest fan of Humans. In fact I could probably count the ones I genuinely care about on one hand alone. Since back then, I've met some really terrible Humans, and that's putting it lightly," he chuckled dryly. Once more his mind drifted backwards, though to a time more recent. He remembered the smell of antiseptic in his nostrils, the incessant *beep*beep*beep* of hospital equipment in his ear, a pair of frail hands held in his own. "After you saved my life, once I could fight for something that was real, I did some terrible things. Okay, a lot of terrible things," he amended. "Whether it was out of pity or because of some oath you took, you saved my life, and while you probably aren't all that thrilled about what I've done with the life you saved... I want to do better. I want things to change, even if it isn't all my heart that's in it," he said as he rose to his feet. "No matter what happens these next four years, I won't quit, I won't stop moving forward. I'll make the life you saved mean something, that's a promise," he said with a small smile on his face as he turned around, and walked away.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, or the salt in the air, but even if only for a brief moment, the snarling beast upon the teen's back looked just a little bit more peaceful.

Rest in Peace

Monyreak "Monty" Oum

Age 33

June 22, 1981 - February 1, 2015

The world is a lesser place without you.

*GIANT-SLAYER*

While I intend to stay true to the source material left behind, I also want to take the chance to say that I'll be going against convention on this RWBY story. Yes, I'll be using some of the memes that have been established in the fandom, and yes I'll be sticking somewhat close to the RWBY canon, but since this story and the ideas for the narrative were conceived prior to the "World of Remnant" episodes (first PM was time-stamped May 15, 2014), there will be some things that are different. While I could just as easily change the ideas I already have to match up with the canon instead, I feel like I'd be dishonoring Monty Oum's memory by doing so. Pretentious as some of you might think that is of me to say, if I wasn't willing to go in new directions, to create something new (from what already exists), I feel like I'd be going against the wishes of his friends and family. "In lieu of flowers or gifts, we ask that you simply do something creative. Use your imagination to make the world a better place in any way that you can." That's what they said, and I'm more than happy to comply with those wishes.

I want to do something new, something fresh. To make a story where you don't see the plot twists coming a mile away and where the common narrative has been so over-used you can barely distinguish it from other stories, to illustrate the world of Remnant as I see it in my mind from how I think it works on a much grander scale. I don't want to do the same thing in this RWBY story that everyone else does, even if some things do turn out similar. There are probably going to be some things that people don't like, and I'm okay with that. Nobody's forcing you to read it, so if at any time you no longer feel like reading this story, then the Exit button's in the upper right corner, no-one's stopping you.

Comments are welcome, as is constructive criticism if you want me to do better. However, Flamers and their hate-fires will not be tolerated. A man died, so show a little decorum why don't ya?