Male!Timelord!Reader in RWBY (Cancelled!)

Chapter 3: Rooftop Battle

  [B/T] = Body Type (i.e Thin, Muscular, Overweight, etc)  

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The crooks came running at the two of you, with intent to kill. Well, it'd be more accurate to say that the crooks mainly came running at Red: with only about one or two of them even feeling some basic obligation to subdue you. Glancing back at the girl to the right of you, you took notice of the large, metallic scythe in her almost comically small grasp, which seemed to almost ooze danger from its every crevice and panel. No doubt this was the reason they appeared to be prioritising Red instead of you. You smiled smugly to yourself. 

'Good. They're underestimating me.'

A sword darted straight towards you, missing (by mere millimetres) where your head once was. Silently, you thanked Rassilon for the Gallifreyan blessing of heightened senses, before jumping back, the soles of your slightly too big shoes scraping against the concrete. The thug - confused by your miraculous survival - scowled, before running at you again, blade raised above his head. You doubted that the sword could even kill you, considering you were still within your 15-hour period, but you didn't want to chance it. Weaving to the side, the blade lodged itself into the ground, and the gangster grunted as he struggled to pull it free. Sensing this opportunity, you jumped behind him, before chopping him with your hand on a pressure point near his neck, causing him to slump to the ground with a satisfying 'THUMP'. You sighed, wiping your forehead as sweat trickled down your face, before keeling over, clutching at one of your hearts. Usually, it takes a lot more than that to tire out a Time Lord, but the effects of post-regeneration trauma didn't tend to care for Gallifreyan biologiclal processes. Staggering, he flopped to the floor yourself, wheezing as regeneration energy billowed out of your mouth like smoke from a chimney.

Two suited men were sprawled on the pavement just ahead of you, skidding to a halt after being knocked aside by the girl. Painfully getting up to their feet, they turned their eyes (you had to assume they did, anyway, considering those bright red-tinted sunglasses of theirs) and smirked, seeing you immobilised on the floor, an easy target. One of the crooks limped over and raised their gun, which whirred cheerfully at your oncoming demise. You could do nothing but stare up, eyelids drooping over [E/C] eyes.

'So this is how it ends? Before I even got to begin...'

Loud grunts of pain, as well as a metallic 'SHWING' startled you from your healing coma, the darkness fading from your vision as your drive returned. You leapt to your feet, seeing Red and her scythe outstretched where your assailants once were. Making eye contact, silver to [E/C], she gave an encouraging smile, before swinging back around to face the second to last man, wheezing and clearly injured. In the corner of your eye, you could see the approaching form of the other, now disarmed and running at you desperately, arms outstretched for your throat. Suppressing a grin, you let him grab you, throttling you for a while as you pretend to choke, before playing dead. Sighing in relief, the man panted, still holding onto your throat, though with a much weaker grasp.

Time Lord biology was quite different to a humans. Aside from possessing two hearts, Gallifreyans had no lungs - not in the conventional sense anyway. Instead, they had pulmonary tubes, which ran parallel to their lympthatic system. One of the many benefits of such was their respiratory bypass system, which among other things rendered it impossible to choke a Time Lord with your bare hands.

Suddenly peaking your eye open, you belched a scalding hot burst of regeneration energy - freshly burned from your old cells - into his unsuspecting face, causing him to scream in pain and drop you. He swung an arm down onto your shoulder, to which you responded by twisting your body towards him again, sending an uppercut brimming with energy into his nose with a crack. Blood gushing from his broken olfactory organ, he slammed onto the concrete painfully, though you doubted he'd be conscious enough to register it.