Chapter 1

Sins of the Father

xXx

oOoOoOoOo (3rd Person) oOoOoOoOo

The docks of the many port towns along the coast of Vacuo were never a safe place. Even in the light of day they tended to be a hive of less than legal activity, shady negotiations held in the tight alleys between warehouses full of imported goods, surrounded by crates that hid them better from view and dulled the sound even in the midst of hustle and bustle. When more privacy was required there was the occasional meeting on a boat or small ship for privacy, held in a small docking area that was curiously free of activity for the day.

And for anyone who stumbled upon such a meeting? Well, it was an area among the docks. Plenty of crates to hide a body in, plenty of water to dump a corpse with some weight. Even plenty of sand for miles around on shore if someone could smuggle it out for a cheap burial. At least if the person didn't decide to stumble away and mind their own business or, if ambitious and having a silver tongue, find a way to negotiate a cut.

High-risk and high-reward, that was a good description of the place. The righteous might come to these places to die, but for the profit driven it tended to be a very satisfying gamble. Keep your head low and your ear to the ground, know who to talk to and when to take a bribe and keep your mouth shut and you could come out of a days work with some pretty good money. Try to rat someone out and you just tended to disappear.

Thing is, as chaotic as things could be in the day, the nights were the worst. The domain of either the suicidal, the ones without choice or the risky to the point of stupid. Besides a few orphans who had nothing but a crate tuckered away to live or hide in, this was a time when people with weapons and grudges came out to play in a place where everybody else was smart enough to keep out.

(BOOM!)

And as a warehouse neared to the coast seemed to go up in flames, like a great firework finally setting off from a fuse with sparks flying into the night, this was definitely a night for the safety-conscious to stay away.

oOoOoOoOo Irving Frost oOoOoOoOo

'Dammit!'

He stumbled away from scorched skeleton of the warehouse, trying to keep his senses sharp and alert in spite of the noise and what he thought was the budding ring of tinnitus.

That damn explosion had been like a fucking flashbang going on all around him, the Dust crates in the warehouse immediately combusting in a burst of light and sound. He was lucky he turned on his Aura when the blast happened, even luckier that he'd been by a window to fly out of.

Not so lucky that he'd gotten out unscathed, as the rather noticeable burn on his right leg showed, the mark going from just under his knee all the way down. Not to mention the small shards of glass he could feel piercing into his left side from the clumsy landing.

And his mobility wasn't exactly helped by the weapon strapped to his back; a very large broadsword half the breadth of his chest with a handle almost a third of the total length, held right under a shield that was similarly large and holding strangely sharp edges. He named it Mercy as a dark joke.

He coughed, trying to clear his throat. "Fucking brat go me good." He hadn't expected Talbot to actually blow up the warehouse. He didn't even know he could with the abilities he'd shown, the abilities he'd trained him with. Had he developed that little ace in the hole on his own when he wasn't looking?

Holy SHIT, did he plan this!?

He couldn't help the pained chuckle as he stumbled into another alley. "Not too bad, you fucking brat."

He groped up at the chain around his neck, his shaking dying down at feeling its cool silver at his touch. His fingers slowly worked over it, feeling every edge and curve at the wolfs head emblem as his nerves calmed. 'Will it finally be the day?'

He could feel the tinnitus finally dying down and his Aura getting to work on the damages to his body. He already felt his leg getting better, though the glass might be a bit of a problem. He didn't think it nicked anything like a bigger vein, but it was still in his side pretty good.

'Eh, I've been through worse.'

He stiffened as he heard rustling nearby. He almost thought it was Talbot for a moment, but then he realized he never would've made noise like that when sneaking around. A bystander?

He didn't wonder long before somebody, some kid, tan skinned and sandy blond, barely even a teen, came out from a nearby alley and stared at him. Some orphan with a crate here? It wouldn't be surprising, he'd seen them before.

The runts eyes widened as he saw him, looking like he was about to shout.

Irving shut him up with a pair of throwing knives straight into his skull through his eyes. He dropped dead barely a moment later.

He grunted, a little disappointed. If he'd had the time he would've taken some gut shots at him and let him squeal before putting him out of his misery. But he couldn't draw that kind of attention now.

Unfortunately, it looked like that dull thump of a body was enough of an alert for the bastard. And a thin cloud of metallic powder quickly passed the corner right toward him!

He felt the grin form on his face, wide and savage as he pulled his sword out.

It was a wicked looking thing, tall and broad, with numerous serrations and sharp extra edges. It looked more like a demented butchery tool that a proper sword.

And that was without taking his Semblance into account.

Channeling his Aura into it, his sword started to glow a fiery red, the air seeming to combust merely from making contact, even from just getting close. He called it Ignition Point.

He swung it up from a downward angle, making contact with the concrete ground and slicing a great scar clean through. The material didn't even slow his weapon down in the least, merely glowing the same red as his blade at the moment of contact before spreading out, melting into something akin to makeshift lava.

Then, as if following the arc of his blade, it shot out in a great spout, bigger than his own body by far, at the oncoming cloud of metal dust in a wave of molten concrete and asphalt, drowning and melting it on contact.

He immediately leapt back as more iron dust flowed around the corner, enough to make it clear that Talbot now knew where he was. Staying in place now was suicide, but he made sure to carve his glowing blade through the ground and warehouse walls along the way to keep a steady flow of molten matter.

After turning the alley into a veritable sea of it, he jumped up onto the nearby wall to use as a springboard and leap again up to the roof. Feeling his feet land on the hard metal, knees braced, helped him to feel alive and get his blood pumping.

He ran along the roof, leaping across the edge and clearing to the next easily. He turned around and smiled as he saw his pursuer.

Well, not his actual pursuer. That would've been a little difficult through the thick cloud of iron powder, swirling around like a storm of metal. The occasional arc of electricity just sold the image even more. It was the kind of image that could make the pursued piss themselves, especially since it was gaining on him fast because of his not-entirely healed leg.

But Irving wasn't just anybody. And as he made his next leap he twisted in the air and wrenched the shield from his back, slamming it onto the flat of his sword and activating the internal mechanisms with a flow of his Aura. The sound of activating mechanisms, of pieces grinding together into place flowed into his ears as the weapon changed, the shield shooting up to near the top of the sword and folding over it, its bladed edges growing and extending outward.

He jumped into the air with a sword in hand and a shield on his back. When he landed, he had both hands on a massive axe, the blades of the head glowing bright. "You've been a bad boy, Tal! Time for a spanking!"

He swung out the axe in a vertical cup down, his Semblance causing the bladed edges to go white hot, igniting the air into plasma and shooting it out into a great arc that glowed in the night! It seared the air, growing more and more, rapidly gaining size until it was long enough that it was cutting almost hallway down into the warehouse from the ceiling down, right as it hit the cloud of iron dust.

It was reduced to molten slag on contact, even the dust not hit was so superheated that it immediately lost its magnetic charge, dropping down.

But there was something missing, something not right. No scream of pain, not even a squeak. Talbot wasn't there!

'Oh shit.'

His instincts screamed at him to leap away and he did so, barely avoiding what looked like a thin blade of undulating iron dust cutting through his previous position, coming right up from below the roof. Twisting in the air before he landed, he spun with his axe low to cut a hole clean through the roof and drop down weapon first.

The whole room lit up as his Semblance set his weapon alight, and he saw him.

Tall, slightly over six feet in height, hair a dark brown verging on black, his steel grey eyes cold and sharp as they glared right at him. His weapon shrouded in a vibrating mass of iron dust like a long sheath, streams of it moving out.

Irving twisted in the air to bring his weapon down on the ground as he landed, the impact heating the point of contact and rapidly it as a lance along the ground of molten concrete heading straight for him.

Talbot dodged to the side, completely avoiding the oncoming attack. He swung his weapon out again, another wave of that iron dust conducted with his Semblance, sparking with electricity from the lightning Dust he must've put into the base. He was trying to play keep away, getting in close wouldn't help either of them.

'That's fine by me!'

Irving swung his axe out again, another wave of air turned plasma from his Semblance soaring away to burn and melt everything in its way. The ground melted, the temperature of the warehouse rose just from the convection, wooden crates were burned to ashes on touch and the contents scorched.

Talbot dodged again, but Irving didn't care. He hit what he really wanted to. The arc hit the iron sand extending from his weapon as a long cloud, melting it down and rendering it useless to him.

The kid's Semblance was a potent one, especially with a good set up, but it had its flaws. The biggest was that it relied on what could be a very limited resource, and losing any of it here would be a big problem for him. He might be able to make the metal grind down to make more of that sand he liked to use, but it would take time and focus. And Irving wasn't in the mood to give him either of them.

So he'd whittle him down.

He sent out another arc, getting closer this time and nicking more of the metal sand that he kept floating around. Strike after strike he sent out, searing the battleground until it was a sweltering picture of Hell! Piles of molten metal on the floor from every clash, every time one of his plasma projectiles landed a hit. He must've sent off more than a dozen.

It costed him a lot of Aura. Using his Semblance, Ignition Point, could be very costly with liberal use, but it was all about to pay off. Talbot was so low on that sand now that Irving could almost see his weapon through the pitiful remains of what used to be a storm cloud of metal. A Combination Weapon of a two foot long and single edged blade coming down from a shotgun of equal length, the handle somewhat angled and with a revolver like mechanism between the handle and weapon.

The warehouse they were in groaned in protest to the battle within, seemingly about to collapse. This fight wasn't gonna last much longer.

Talbot started shooting at him from a distance, heavy slugs instead of buckshot. Not that it would've made any difference, Mercy blocked it all the same, the axe blade briefly coming down on the sword to somewhere on the middle of the weapon. It stopped the shots easy.

He popped his head to the side with another savage grin. "You done, yet?"

Talbot didn't answer him, not vocally. He didn't even smile, though his eyes shined with a predatory gleam for the briefest moment. Rather than take more shots he reached to his back pocket…and pulled out a fire Dust crystal. Then he jammed it right into the meat of his right shoulder without so much as a flinch. Guess that must be the pain tolerance training.

Okay, unexpected, but nothing he couldn't handle. A few fire blasts wouldn't be enough to break Mercy up and get to him.

But he didn't do that. He didn't bother blasting him with a fireball or a stream of heat. He brought up his weapon, held in the hand of the arm with the crystal impaled in as his veins started to glow.

And then it happened. All the fire that had been crackling on the burnt crates, all the glowing heat along the molten concrete, all the embers and cinders flowed through the air in a maelstrom of ashes and charred matter, the air rippling and glowing as the energy flowed through it. And it all concentrated at the tip of Talbot's gun barrel.

And that was the moment it all clicked. He hadn't been helpless, Talbot was luring him in. He let him keep hitting the metal sand around his weapon, making him think he was removing his only way to attack him at range even while he was giving him all the ammo he needed for this last shot. Tricking him into throwing out more attacks with his Semblance and burn the area like the charred remains of a forest after a wildfire. And now he was turning it all back on him!

'Oh SHIT.'

He barely had time to plant his weapon and brace, heard the click of a trigger and then everything blew up.

That one shot held all the heat and energy he'd been releasing with his Semblance, focused into a single round that exploded on contact with his shield. His Aura had already been brought low to the point of barely 15%.

He felt his weapon break on the explosion, felt himself fly through the air as the explosion carried him. Felt himself slam into the wall of the warehouse on his back and head and keep going on the way out with a deafening boom, his Aura finally running dry as he slammed into more solid concrete.

He was done. He'd lost.

oOoOoOoOo Talbot ? oOoOoOoOo

Talbot walked forward, carefully weaving his way through the twisted and smashed floor. The heat may be gone, but the physical damage still remained and could be a very real trip hazard. The spot where his last bullet hit was a different story, looking like the whole area was alight like a neon sign of every color representing something burnt.

The hole far at the end was at least easy to traverse, easily wide enough to walk through at over 12 feet all around. He walked right through it to the outside and felt the cool night air hit his skin and blow through his hair, a welcome change from the inside of that damned warehouse.

Of course, the best part was seeing that bastard lying down against the wall, burned and broken. His leather vest blackened and barely more than a heap of scorched leather, its old color completely gone. His white shirt beneath was covered with soot, and his pants were missing the left leg from the knee down.

It was fucking cathartic to see him brought this low after so long.

He stopped walking as he got several feet in front of him, hearing his raspy breathing. Some of his hair had been burnt off, particularly that goatee and small beard, his face flushed red from the heat. But most noticeable was the impressive bloodstain on the wall behind his head. Looks like he hit it pretty hard.

'Good.'

He pulled out his weapon the moment the wounded man coughed, raspy sounding like he'd just smoked a whole carton of cigarettes. Not an inaccurate analogy.

The man looked up at him, eyes swimming before they finally got back into focus. He didn't even seem to recognize him at first, probably a result of the concussion, his mind still swimming from the impact of the back of his head meeting the wall. For a moment Talbot thought he'd be completely out of it until death.

That thought vanished barely a moment later as from Talbot's mind when yet another animalistic grin split the man's mouth, teeth bared like he was a wild animal. He chuckled low and deep, predatory. "So, this is how it ends, huh? A bullet through my head because you're scared to get close?"

Talbot didn't react to the goading. He knew damn well just how dangerous Irving was, this was the bastard who taught him everything he knew. Getting close now? No way.

He just cocked the gun for one more round.

He seemed to recognize his bluff wouldn't be called, because he just sagged back against the wall with a last broken sigh. Resignation, acceptance, and...something else. Something he couldn't quite figure out. "Heh. Figures."

He had his finger on the trigger, tensed and ready to pull. He said the last words he'd ever say to him, voice cold as he looked into his eyes for what would be the last time. "Just using the skills you taught me…dad."

He pulled the trigger. And Irving Frost, his father, was no more.

He took another shot for good measure, destroying almost his entire head and splattering the wall behind with grey matter, blood, and skull fragments.

He stood there for a while, silently looking at the headless corpse. He felt…cold. Not wrong or upset, just cold. He'd spent years waiting for this moment, fantasizing about it for three years ever since he'd decided enough was enough. And now that it was here, he wasn't sure what to feel now.

He wasn't really happy, though that's probably because it'd been so thoroughly beaten out of him over the years. He wasn't sad, this shell of a man was far past the point of getting tears out of him.

He shivered slightly, not from the cold but the memories. His left hand came up to his extended right arm, ghosting along it and somehow feeling the scars beneath the black denim jacket. No, he definitely wasn't sad.

So what was it? Uncertainty, excitement, anticipation? He didn't know. All he knew was that this man was dead. Knew that he was free now.

That was all he needed.

He got down on his knees, and reached out to pluck the silver chain and pendant off. He didn't pay attention to the bloodstains, just putting it into the pocket of his pants.

He turned away, heading out of this damned area of the docks. No point in staying around when people asked questions and found the body.

He still made sure to restore his supply of metal sand, using his Semblance to send out what little he had left to go out and grind down other big chunks of metal to assimilate. Nobody was gonna miss a few pieces of metal. And if they did then it wasn't his problem anyway.

All he cared about was that he was getting out of here. That he was free.

oOoOoOoOo Salem oOoOoOoOo

Salem liked to consider herself a patient woman.

She was experienced with the world. She was one of the oldest living people in Remnant. She was intelligent. Naturally one would expect patience to be part and parcel of the package, and they would generally be right.

However, as she sat in the table with one hand supporting her head and the fingers of the other rhythmically tapping on the hard wood, she couldn't help but feel that patience start to wane. It had been over a week since she'd sent out the order to arrange another assignment for Irving Frost when she had expected a response in half the time.

Granted, the man was notoriously difficult. Even to her he maintained an attitude that could be considered flippant at best. He seemed to outright enjoy trying to rile up everyone around him. Granted, he never quite crossed the line entirely with her directly, keeping it confined to minor and subtle barbs, but it even extended to moments like this.

Even then he had never taken this long to respond. She had eventually decided to send Hazel out to find him and, if necessary, bring him back by force. She was expecting a response any moment now and the suspense was becoming truly infuriating.

Fortunately her personal Seer entered the room before her growing impatience reached the point that she would break the section of the table under her tapping fingers. Finally some progress.

Or at least she hoped it was progress. If this was a call from something unrelated she would be quite upset.

The Grimm seemed unperturbed by her mood, floating over to her with its usual eerie grace. It maneuvered beside her and she looked into the dark sphere of its head, her reflection distorting in the misty mater within before another face appeared.

Hazel. So it seems she would have some progress after all. "Report. Why has Irving not responded?"

The large man sighed on the other end, getting a raised eyebrow out of her. "Irving Frost is dead."

And that got her other eyebrow up. "Dead?"

Hazel nodded in confirmation. "His corpse was found a short while ago in some port town in Vacuo. His head had been blown clean off, but I'm sure it was him. His weapon was found at the scene and the pendant he always wore was missing. The whole place was badly torn up, melted or just blown away. There was definitely a big fight and, if I'm reading it right, it was one-on-one."

Oh. Now this was an interesting development. Irving was a thoroughly unpleasant Human being, but his skills were undeniable. There was a reason she kept him as an agent, particularly for matters that involved a great deal of murder and destruction. For someone to have actually beaten him, and alone at that….it was certainly impressive.

Perhaps even impressive enough to warrant recruitment.

"Can you track his killer?"

If Hazel was surprised at her question he didn't show it. "Yes. Though it might take me some time. This happened two days ago, so whoever it is has got a lead on me."

"Find him," she ordered. "Find Irving's killer and bring him here. Alive. He may yet prove useful. I'll also assign Watts to assist you if necessary. Someone capable of killing Irving shouldn't be taken lightly."

The Huntsman gave an affirmative grunt. "It will be done."

The conversation ended after that, Salem essentially 'hanging up' as the vision in the sphere of her Seer went dark. The Grimm was dismissed afterwards.

This was certainly an unexpected turn of events, not at all what she'd planned fore. Repulsiveness aside even she couldn't deny that Mr. Frost was capable in battle, so for someone to have beaten him…..they could be a valuable piece indeed. Perhaps valuable enough to replace their predecessor.

And if no…well, the world wouldn't notice one more dead body.

xXx

Shit! I can't believe I couldn't get this out on the anniversary of Monty's death! For some reason I thought it was on the 2ndof February instead of the first. I'm gonna need to mark it on the calendar. Incidentally, it turns out he died just two days before my birthday. I kinda already knew that, but it only really sank in NOW of all times. Probably for the best it was early, I don't know how I'd feel if he died ON my birthday.

Anyway, I was hoping to get out the next chapter for World of Remnant: Online in time for said anniversary as a tribute, but for some reason I seem to be having some case of selective writers block on it. That and a combination of real life being the ultimate distraction from updates. As for this chapter here, it's actually the start of another RWBY fic I've been thinking of for a while now. Strangely I was able to type this up in just three days. Maybe it was a combination of desire to meet the anniversary and just my mind unshackling at writing something new? I dunno.

Either way this chapter is still a bit short, but similarly to the second chapter of Infinite Variant I think it was better to keep it a bit shorter anyway. You can only stretch the same part of content over so long until it just gets hard to care about what you're reading and feel invested. I hope this was enough to get you attention for what's to come. I plan to update this fic AFTER every chapter of World of Remnant: Online, so look forward to it. If anyone has questions feel free to PM me. Please point out any and all spelling or grammar errors in your reviews.

To Monty, if you can hear us from your animation studio in Heaven, you are forever in our hearts and shall not be forgotten. I dedicate my every RWBY fic to your memory. Hearing that from just one fan might not be much, but I hope it shows you just how much your series meant and continues to mean to us.

Review and have a nice day.