𝕭𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖇𝖞 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉: RWBY x Vampire Male Reader

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒂𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒂𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏

Boots crunch on the desert sands. The sand sinks beneath each step. The muscles in my legs scream with pain. My joints throb with every agonizing step.

I smell the tang of dust. It makes me sneeze. My nose scrunches in response. I walk past crates of Schnee dust. They are in the smoke and fire of the desert. In the distance a train sits in the sand, swallowed by the desert, and ahead of me on my path stands a man.

Shorter than me, a good 5'10. His coat blows in the cold breeze of the night. His curly hair pokes out from under the hat on his head. The brim of his hat casts a deep shadow over his eyes. They peer at me in the darkness.

He clutches a revolver in his right hand, the iron of the gun stained with blood that drips from the sleeve of his coat.

I stop as our gazes meet. My hand reacts as he draws on me, pointing his gun at my chest. In a split second, my hand shoots towards the holster on my hip. I pull out my revolver. My other hand lands on the hammer and fans the mechanism as shots echo. I smell the familiar gunpowder. Pain sears through my chest and burns my stomach.

He falls. The revolver hits the sand, sinking deep into the surface. The breeze carries sand over his body as he lies on the ground.

My legs carry me to him, acting on their own will. I soon stand over his corpse.

My eyes adjust to my surroundings, the light of the surrounding fires illuminate his body.

He looks just like me, even wearing a similar set of clothes and a deep red coat that hangs in tatters on his shoulders. Stubble hugs his face, and his upper lip sports a subtle mustache. His eyes stare up at me.

Brother.

Guilt washes over me as he sinks into the sand, swallowed by the sea of memories. My legs carry me past him, past the crates of dust and over the dune in the distance.

Snow crunches under the heel of my boots, my spurs ringing with every step. The sand turns to snow. The distance is full of white mountains. Clouds hug the peaks of the giants. Sunlight barely gets through the clouds.

In the distance, I spot a man struggling through the ocean of white. Crimson great coat hugging his body as his breath steams in the frigid air. With every step, blood pours from his side and splatters on the white snow. It paints a red trail behind him that stretches far into the distance.

The pain in my stomach grows into a fire of stinging nerves and singed muscle. My right hand, on its own, clutches my side where my scar should be. Instead, my hand grazes bare flesh marked with a gaping hole. Blood leaks from the wound. It runs down my right leg and stains my black boots a glistening crimson.

I watch the man struggle with every step before eventually he falls into the snow. He writhes on the ground, snow clinging onto his coat and hat that slips from his head.

The man is a distant echo of myself, a past version that clung at the edge of oblivion.

He eventually stops struggling.

Laying on his back, he stares into the clouds above that start raining snow. As the snow falls, I remember the feeling of every flake landing on my cheeks, melting against the hot skin.

This is it...

This is the end.

I can hear horse's in the distance and the shouting of lawmen. The man's eyes begin to close, and my vision begins to fade away into nothingness.