RWBY: Siblings Three (Malereader)

Reaper's Awakening

Y/n leaned against the countertop, the wood groaning under his weight. The air in the dusty weapons shop was thick with the smell of oil and hot metal. He was on his way back to Raven's camp, if Yang was alive, Raven would save him a long trip.

"Hey kid, it's done." The worker, a tall, lanky man with soot-stained hands and a grimy apron, emerged from the back room. He held a bundle wrapped in thick canvas. He laid it on the counter with a heavy, metallic thud.

Y/n didn't speak. He simply unwrapped the canvas, the rough fabric scraping against the counter.

His right hand moved first, drawn to the larger, more brutal of the two. He lifted it, the weight familiar yet alien. It was a heavy pistol, but where the barrel ended, a savage, curved blade extended, its edge serrated with gnarly, vicious points meant to tear and catch. It was an instrument of pure, unadulterated violence. And wrapped around the grip, intricately carved and inlaid with yellow gold, was a dragon. Its body coiled around the handle, its head resting just below the hammer, eyes seeming to glow with a faint, captured fire. Yang.

He set it down with a soft, final clack.

His left hand then rose, almost reluctantly, toward the other. This one was sleeker, more elegant. A long-barreled revolver, its lines clean and precise. There was no blade, no obvious ornamentation of violence. But the grip... the grip was a masterpiece of subtlety. It was fashioned to look like it was woven from intertwining rose stems, the metal textured to mimic thorns, and inlaid into the dark steel were countless, minute fragments of red coral, catching the light like a cascade of frozen rose petals. Ruby.

He held them both, one in each hand. The weight was different. The balance was different. They were two halves of a fractured soul, two opposing answers to the same terrible question.

"The mechanisms you wanted for combining them..." the smith said, breaking the silence. "Aggressive. Not clean, like Atlesian gear. They clamp. They lock. It's not a gentle transformation."

"Good," Y/n said, his voice a low rasp. He hadn't spoken much during the long days of the weapon's creation, only giving terse, precise instructions.

He began to move. His hands, now sure and steady, brought the two pistols together. It wasn't a graceful, magnetic click. It was a series of heavy, metallic thunks as internal latches engaged. The brutal curve of Ember's blade folded back along the new assembly, forming a heavy, angular foregrip, while Rose's long barrel became the core. The result was a long gun that looked as much like a bludgeon as a rifle. It was a fusion of his natures, Rose's precision guided by Ember's raw power.

He didn't stop there. With a series of sharp, practiced motions, he unlocked the central housing. The entire assembly unfolded with a sound like scraping metal, extending into a much longer form. Ember's serrated blade swung out on a heavy pivot, locking into place with a final, resonant clang that seemed to shake the dust from the rafters.

The yellow dragon on the grip was now positioned perfectly where his main hand would hold the black metal haft. The primary blade was the terrifying, hook-like curve from Ember, a tool for evisceration, it's barrel at the top of the shaft, for power blasts of recoil to move quickly and cause damage. At the base, Rose's elegant frame, added a deadly, thorn-like feel, the bottom of its shaft was another barrel.

The gunsmith whistled lowly, his one eye wide. "An instrument for reaping, sure enough. Designed to hook and tear. Never seen its like." He looked at Y/n, a new wariness in his gaze. "You forge this with a specific enemy in mind, son?"

Y/n held the scythe, feeling its perfect, deadly balance. It was an extension of his will, a physical manifestation of everything he had become and everything he was fighting for.