RWBY: Siblings Three (Malereader)

Trade

A pack of beowolves and ursai pressed the attack, even after a quarter of them lost their heads to a large boomerang-like blade.

The massive boomerang blade, whistled back to Y/n's outstretched hand before dissolving into shimmering motes of light. The decapitated Grimm began to dissolve, but the pack, driven by mindless hunger, didn't even slow. They surged over the remains of their fallen, claws and fangs aimed at the line of figures guarding the rickety, overloaded Dust transport.

"Stay back, if you drop a single dust crystal you're being left in the forest," Y/n's voice was flat, devoid of panic, a stark contrast to the snarling horde. He didn't look at the White Fang grunts trembling behind him. The order was for them. They were expendable. The Dust was not.

A hulking Ursa Major burst from the tree line, roaring as it charged the cart. One of the Faunus screamed, fumbling with his rifle.

Y/n didn't summon another weapon. He moved.

He met the Ursa's charge, sidestepping at the last second with an unnatural grace. His hand snapped out, not to strike, but to grasp a handful of the coarse, black fur on its flank. Using the beast's own momentum, he vaulted onto its back. The Ursa thrashed, trying to buck him off, but Y/n's legs locked around its torso like a vice.

His free hand glowed, and a replica of a massive, industrial-grade Dust drill, the kind used in Atlas's deepest mines, materialized in his grip. With a brutal, downward thrust, he drove the screaming, rotating tip directly into the base of the Ursa's skull.

The sound was horrific, a grinding, wet crunch that drowned out the Grimm's roar. The Ursa stumbled, its charge faltering, and collapsed face-first into the mud, sending two lesser Beowolves flying. Y/n leaped clear as it dissolved, landing silently in a crouch, the drill already gone.

His hands glowed again, and this time, a pair of compact, heavy-caliber pistols materialized. The reports were deafening in the confined forest path. Two Beowolves' heads snapped back, exploding into black smoke before they hit the ground. He fired again, and again, each shot a perfect, economical kill. No wasted movement. No wasted aura.

"Now," he commanded, his voice cutting through the panicked breathing of the White Fang soldiers.

The White Fang, spurred into action by his cold efficiency, opened up with their rifles, cutting down the disoriented remnants of the pack. Within seconds, the only sounds were the sizzle of dissolving Grimm and the heavy panting of the faunus.

Y/n stood amidst the carnage, the pistols dissolving back into light. His breathing was even. He scanned the tree line, his senses alert for any further threats. Finding none, he turned his dead-eyed gaze to the White Fang lieutenant, a lizard faunus who was clutching a bleeding arm.

"Report," Y/n said.

"The cart's axle is cracked, sir," the lieutenant stammered, unable to hold his gaze. "From when the Ursa hit it. We can't move it quickly."

Y/n's eyes flicked to the overloaded Dust cart. Precious seconds were ticking away. More Grimm would be drawn to the negative emotions and the spent energy of the fight.

"Then we lighten the load," Y/n stated. He walked to the back of the cart, ignoring the whimpering of a faunus who had been clawed across the chest. He began pulling crates of raw Dust crystals and tossing them unceremoniously onto the muddy ground. "Carry what you can. We abandon the cart."

"But-

The lieutenant started.

Y/n's head snapped toward him. "If I don't see crates on backs in the next ten minutes I'll get angry."