The Distant Remnant Mirror (RWBY X LIMBUS COMPANY)

Mirror

Ruby POV

Ruby felt like her entire world splintered into fragments, as if the ground beneath her feet gave way, dropping her into a sea of shattered reflections. Each fragment showed a different version of herself—familiar, yet not. Whispers surrounded her, countless voices overlapping, each one hers but shaped by experiences she hadn't lived.

The rattling of chains echoed in her chest, pulling her gaze downward. A faint crimson glow emanated from within, forming orbs that pulsed in rhythm with the voices.

"Ruby Rose, reporting for duty! Let's make every shot count, Manager!"

"I'll clear the way! You just focus on sticking to the plan, okay?"

"It's time to graze the grass"

The voices swirled around her, each resonating with a piece of her fractured self. But amidst the chaos, one voice stood out, colder and sharper than the rest.

"I'll hang his head over my bed. That's the only way I'll ever sleep again."

Ruby's breath caught as one orb pulsed brighter than the others, she feel resonating with the orb. She reached for it hesitantly, and the vision it showed made her heart race.

There's a version of herself cloaked in black and red. A hood pulled low over a bandaged face, her singular yellow eye gleaming like a predator's in the dark. Her weapon, jagged and worn, dripped with blood as she stood over the fallen.

This Ruby was different in every way possible. She was angry, a hunter forged by the pursuit of vengeance.

As she reached out and grasped the orb, the voices quieted, and the shattered fragments of the world began to realign. She could feel the E.G.O strength,experience and anger for that DAMN MUTT.

When Ruby opened her eyes, the world seemed clearer, sharper. Her mind is filled with many emotion. Anger,resentment and hatred for the damn mutt.

"Time to hunt the Wolf "

Blake POV

Blake felt the world fracture, as though her very existence had been split into countless pieces. The air around her filled with whispers, voices that echoed her own but carried experience. The sensation was disorienting, like standing in a hall of broken mirrors, each shard reflecting a different version of herself.

The sound of creaking wood and the distant crash of waves rumbled in her chest, accompanied by the heavy clinking of chains. She looked down, and from within her chest emerged glowing orbs, each one pulsing with an energy that tugged at her soul.

"Please study with the rest, no time for eating ."

"My blade will find their mark."

"Such unappeling art. F for you."

The voices washed over her, each resonating like a memory that wasn't hers. Yet, amidst the swirling cacophony, one voice stood out—commanding and fierce.

"ALL HANDS ! The Pequod charges into the storm"

Her heart clenched as an orb flared brighter than the rest, demanding her attention. As her fingers brushed it, a vision bloomed before her.

She stood at the helm of a mighty ship, her black coat flaring in the salt-laden wind. Her black-and-gold peg leg thumped against the deck as she strode forward, her harpoon glowing with an inner flame that matched the ferocity in her golden eyes.

This Blake was no longer just a quiet observer or a lone fighter. She was a captain, a leader who commanded respect.

Blake's chest tightened as the vision resonated deep within her. This version of herself wasn't afraid to take charge, to stand tall against impossible odds. The pull of the orb was irresistible, and she reached out, letting its weight settle into her hands.

The world around her began to realign, the fragments falling into place as the captain's resolve merged with her own. The steady rhythm of the ship's deck and the roar of the sea lingered in her mind, a constant reminder of the hunt ahead.

"Let the waves crash and the storm howl. The Pequod doesn't falter."

When Blake opened her eyes, she could still feel the phantom weight of the harpoon in her grip and the roar of the crew at her back. Her voice was calm but steady, filled with newfound authority.

"All hands on deck—we're setting sail."

Yang POV

Yang's world shattered like a pane of glass, each fragment reflecting a different version of herself. She stood frozen in the void, surrounded by a storm of voices, each one familiar yet distant, as though they were echoes of paths she had never taken.

The faint scent of smoke and the sound of roaring flames stirred in her chest, followed by the metallic clang of weapons striking and the distant cries of battle. Slowly, chains rattled within her, dragging forward glowing orbs, each pulsing with a different energy.

The voices grew clearer as the orbs surrounded her, their words sharp and distinct.

"HA HA HA, Burn the heretic for the one who grip"

"How many did I drink, I've got a hell of a hangover."

"Every punch, every vengeance, it's all for the middle !"

Amid the chaos, one voice rose above the others, calm yet burning with intensity.

"Director Yang Xiao Long, Dragon of the Liu. Let's see who dares to challenge me."

Her gaze locked onto a single orb, glowing a deep crimson that flickered like firelight. She reached for it, and a vision surged into her mind.

She saw herself clad in the crimson and red uniform of the Liu Association, standing amidst a battlefield littered with the remnants of a hard-fought skirmish. Her gauntlets glowed faintly, embers flickering along their edges, and the dragon embroidery on her jacket, shimmering with heat. This Yang was a leader, a director whose fight through every kne who stand in her way.

Her voice was commanding, her stance unyielding as she barked orders to her subordinates while stepping into the fray herself. Flames danced with each strike of her fists, overwhelming her enemies with sheer force and precision.

Yang hesitated, feeling the weight of this version of herself. The pull of the orb became undeniable, resonating with the fire in her heart.

Yang reached out, grasping the orb as the fragments of her world began to realign. The flames surged through her, bringing with them the resolve and experience of the Liu Association's Dragon.

When the vision faded, she stood taller, her hands clenching into fists. The embers in her heart burned brighter, her resolve now tempered with purpose.

"Time to turn up the heat. The Liu's fire doesn't burn out."

Weiss POV

Weiss felt the world around her splinter and fall away, leaving her in a weightless void surrounded by shards of mirrors. Each shard flickered with glimpses of herself—different versions, different paths, different lives. Voices echoed around her, sharp and distinct, overlapping like a chorus of her own thoughts but spoken in ways she'd never imagined.

A cold yet elegant chill ran through her chest, followed by the sound of clinking glasses and the rhythmic tap of boots on polished marble floors. Slowly, the weight of unseen chains began to pull her forward, drawing glowing orbs from within her.

The voices became clearer, weaving through the tension.

"It's time to purify this world of heretics"

"KHH, this damn antlers is killing me"

"To the victor go the spoils, and I never lose."

But one voice stood out, resolute and commanding, cutting through the others like the sharp point of a rapier.

"Director Weiss Schnee, Cinq West Section 3. Let's make this duel unforgettable."

Her eyes locked onto a single orb glowing with a brilliant icy blue light, edged in silver. It pulsed in time with her heartbeat, and as her fingers brushed against it, a vision flooded her mind.

She saw herself in a crisp, navy-blue uniform adorned with a pristine white cravat and a cape lined with shimmering feathers. Her rapier gleamed under the light, its blade reflecting her determined expression. This Weiss stood in front of a massive crowd, her every movement exuding confidence as she parried and struck with a speed that was nearly impossible to follow.

The crowd surrounding her cheered wildly, their voices blending into a thunderous roar of admiration. Yet Weiss's gaze was unwavering, focused only on the challenge before her. This version of herself wasn't just a duelist—she was a performer, captivating the audience with her flawless technique and icy charm.

The pull of the orb deepened, resonating with her body. She could feel the expectations, the drive, and the weight of her choices merging with her own.

"Every strike is an art; every victory, a masterpiece."

Weiss reached out and grasped the orb, and the broken shards of the world around her began to realign. The cheering crowd, the clinking of glasses, the sharp ring of her rapier—they all became part of her.

When the vision faded, Weiss stood tall, her posture poised and commanding. Her gaze carried a sharper edge, her every movement now imbued with the elegance and precision of the identity she had claimed.

"Shall we begin ? I promise to make this duel worth watching."

Lie Ren POV

Ren felt the air around him grow heavy, as if the world itself had become a still, silent pool. In the quiet, he heard faint whispers—not foreign voices, but his own, fractured and layered, each carrying a weight he had never known. The serene stillness cracked, like the surface of a frozen lake, and a rushing tide of emotions surged through him.

From his chest came the clinking of a chain, a deep sound like the pull of a blade being unsheathed. Glowing orbs began to emerge, their soft light cutting through the darkness. Each orb pulsed with a rhythm that matched his heartbeat, and as they floated around him, the voices grew louder.

"Welcome to Seven Association Cafe. I will take your orders here."

"Calm and steady, no matter the chaos around me."

"A painless death is a mercy I will give"

Amid the echoes of his fragmented selves, one voice rang out, firm and unwavering.

"Lie Ren, Blade Lineage. A slayer's hands can still strive for peace."

Ren's gaze was drawn to a single orb glowing with a faint violet hue, edged in silvery light. It resonated with him, pulling him closer until he reached out and touched it. A vision unfurled before him, as vivid as a dream yet heavy with reality.

He stood among the silent reeds of a moonlit field, dressed in flowing black and violet robes with intricate silver accents tracing the edges of his sleeves. His posture was composed, his blade glinting under the pale light. Yet his eyes, faintly glowing, carried a storm within them—a battle between the serenity he sought and the blood that stained his path.

This Ren was a warrior of the Blade Lineage, a slayer who moved with deadly precision. Every step he took was deliberate, every strike calculated. Yet, as his blades cut through shadows that writhed and swirled around him, he did so not out of bloodlust, but out of a duty to protect the fragile peace he cherished.

The pull of the orb deepened, the vision resonating with his own inner conflict. He could feel the weight of this identity: the calm precision of the blade, the burden of slaying to preserve peace, and the constant struggle against the chaos within.

"A blade doesn't choose to cut—it simply fulfills its purpose."

Ren reached out fully and grasped the orb, feeling its weight settle into his soul. The fractured world around him began to realign, the soft sound of reeds swaying in the wind and the sharp ring of steel becoming part of him.

When the vision faded, Ren stood still, his dual blades at his sides, his expression calm yet resolute. His voice, though quiet, carried a newfound edge of authority.

"There is balance in the blade. I will carry it forward."

Nora POV

Nora felt an electric pulse ripple through her chest, the world around her fracturing into a thousand pieces, each shard glowing with faint, flickering light. The air was alive with energy, buzzing and crackling, yet somehow unbearably quiet. Voices, her voices, filled the void—each carrying a different tone, a different energy, yet undeniably hers.

From deep within her chest, a rattling chain emerged, dragging glowing orbs into view. Each orb pulsed in time with the electric current coursing through her body, radiating with raw energy and fragmented emotions.

"I smash because it's fun! What else do you need?"

"Let's make wonderful art together !"

"If you can't laugh through the chaos, you're doing it wrong !"

Amid the storm of overlapping voices, one stood out, resonating with her in a way that made her breath catch. It was quieter, yet it hummed with power—controlled, focused, yet barely restrained.

"I strike fast, and I strike loud."

Her gaze snapped to an orb crackling with a vibrant purple energy, streaks of lightning arcing from it to the surrounding fragments of the world. As she reached for it, a vision consumed her.

She stood at the heart of a tempest, her oversized sweater glowing faintly with static electricity. Ram-like horns crackled with bolts of lightning that leaped between their curling tips. Her hands, now clawed and sparking with untamed power, moved with surprising precision. Around her, the storm roared, its fury an extension of her own strength.

The pull of the orb grew stronger, its resonance aligning with her own fiery energy and deep-seated drive to protect those she cared about. Yet there was something more—a quiet resolve hidden beneath the storm's roar, a recognition of the balance between chaos and control.

"Sometimes, you need the storm to break the silence."

Nora grinned, her hand closing around the orb as its power surged into her. The broken shards of the world began to realign, the static hum of electricity and the rumble of thunder now a part of her.

When the vision faded, Nora stood tall, sparks dancing along her horns and fingertips. Her grin widened, crackling with the same energy now coursing through her veins. Her voice was charged with confidence and a touch of mischief.

"Let's light this place up. The storm's just getting started!"

Pyrrha POV

Pyrrha felt the world around her shatter into fragments, each shard reflecting glimpses of herself—different, yet deeply familiar. The air was heavy with an ominous stillness, broken only by faint whispers of her own voice. Each echo was layered with emotions she recognized but could not fully grasp.

A deep, resonant clang echoed in her chest, like the tolling of a heavy bell. Chains rattled within her, and glowing orbs began to emerge, each pulsing with a faint light, their energy radiating a weight she couldn't ignore.

"I'll protect those who can't protect themselves—it's the duty of zwei."

"The Receptiom for the interloper is ready."

"Don't be impatient. Anxiety causes you to lose willpower and focus."

But one voice rose above the others, calm yet tinged with sorrow, and carried the unmistakable weight of judgment.

"Pyrrha Nikos, arbiter of sins. The scales demand balance, no matter the cost."

Her eyes were drawn to an orb glowing with a dim golden light, its edges wreathed in black feathers. As she reached out to touch it, a vision overwhelmed her senses.

She stood in a darkened forest, draped in a black uniform accented with somber feathers. Her body was wrapped in frayed bandages, her face obscured save for her mouth, which carried a faint, melancholy smile. In her hands was a long spear, its design elegant yet unyielding, one end tipped with gleaming gold.

Above her, the canopy of trees trembled, and the sound of faint footsteps echoed. A bird with long legs protect the forest. Each step she took was measured, and the golden scale balanced precariously across her shoulder never stopped tipping.

The pull of the orb resonated deep within her, its weight pressing against her sense of duty. This Pyrrha carried the burden of judgment, her actions rooted in fairness yet tainted by the sorrow of her sacrifices. Her once-brilliant light had dimmed, exchanged for an unrelenting resolve to bring balance, no matter the cost.

"The scales do not lie… but even the truth carries pain."

Pyrrha hesitated for a moment, feeling the tension between her ideals and this darker self. Yet the resonance of the orb only grew stronger, aligning with the part of her that always sought justice, even at great personal cost.

Finally, she reached out and took the orb. The broken fragments of the world began to realign, the echo of the scale's toll reverberating through her soul as the weight of her choice settled into place.

When the vision faded, Pyrrha stood still, her spear in hand, the black feathers on her uniform swaying gently in an unseen breeze. Her voice, though soft, carried an unshakable authority.

"The scales tip because someone must bear their weight. Let that someone be me."

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A/N: FINALLY I'M BACK WITH 2K WORDS, IT'S A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE. My god the trip was energy consuming, but it was a very fun trip.

I'm taking a break like two or three days to recover my energy, sorry for the inconvenience