Chapters of Doom (RWBY/MARVEL)

[KgDeath]

In the dimly lit room, the soft, orange glow from a fireplace cast flickering light across the space. The flames danced, their erratic ballet creating shadows that played hide and seek across the worn wooden walls and rugged beams. A faint, smoky scent mingled with the earthy notes of dried herbs, filling the air.

Summer's eyes, a striking shade of silver reminiscent of moonlit nights, fluttered open. They briefly darted around in confusion, adjusting to the room's scant light. The surroundings, echoing a bygone era, felt alien to her. Each breath she took carried a hint of panic, reflecting her unease. She remembered the mission, the ambush, and the promise to return to her family, their faces vivid in her mind, weighing heavily on her heart.

Her gaze wandered upwards to the ceiling. Its wood, marked and worn by time, silently recounted years gone by. The fireplace on her right continued its fiery waltz, casting warmth that was both comforting and slightly oppressive. As her eyes adjusted, she realized she was on a makeshift bed, cushioned by an assortment of furs and blankets.

An urge to rise overcame her. However, as she attempted to move, sharp and brutal pain seized her, like white-hot chains binding her down. Her face contorted with agony.

Breaking the silence, a voice spoke. Surprisingly young yet steady, it advised, "Your wounds are still fresh. I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Her silver eyes, now wide with surprise, sought the speaker. There he was—a boy, barely past kindergarten, with a mane of snow-white hair framing a face untouched by the sun. His light blue eyes, inquisitive yet calm, regarded her with a mix of concern and scrutiny.

With a deftness that belied his age, the boy filled a bowl with the steaming concoction he'd been brewing by the fireplace. Approaching her, he gently assisted her into a slightly upright position and presented the bowl. "This will help relieve some pain," he stated with unwavering conviction.

Summoning her strength, Summer began, "Who...?" But she couldn't complete her sentence, perplexed by the child's presence and the strange surroundings.

The boy, reading the confusion in her eyes, replied, "You can call me Victor. Victor Von Doom. I might be young, but I know what I'm doing. As for you? Care to explain what a lone huntress was doing in such a secluded area of Solitas, far from any Kingdom? I thought your kind operated in teams."

Attempting to find her voice again, she started, "I..."

But the boy, showing surprising authority, interjected. Holding up an electronic device, he said, "And before you try to make any excuses, Miss Rose, I'm aware that you weren't on any official mission." He tapped the screen, displaying her credentials, "Hunter License: Summer Rose, Place of Issue: Vale, Authority: Beacon Academy. I've already hacked your scroll, just so you know."

***
​

The forest of Solitas was a silent spectacle, a world blanketed in snow and touched lightly by the fingers of sunlight that peeked through the dense canopy. Trees stood tall and firm, their branches heavy with ice and snow, creating an ethereal ambiance that whispered ancient secrets and timeless beauty.

Victor led the way, each step leaving a soft imprint on the snowy floor. He was bundled up in a series of warm jackets, their fur lining visible at the collar, a testament to the bitter chill of the region. Behind him, Summer followed in her iconic white cape, her aura shimmering ever so slightly, an almost invisible shield against the cold. Stacked firewood was cradled in her arms, a testament to their shared task in the forest.

For the longest time, the only sounds were the soft crunch of their boots on the snow and the occasional caw of a distant bird or growl of a Grimm. An uneasy silence, heavy with unspoken thoughts, stretched between them.

Victor broke the silence first. Without turning his head, he asked, "So, Miss Rose, does Grimm have a leader?" The suddenness and directness of the question caused Summer to misstep, nearly dropping the stack of wood. With deft hands and a quick reaction, she managed to steady herself.

"Why?... Why would you think that, Victor?" Her voice, usually composed, carried an undertone of nervousness.

"Just curious," Victor began, his tone methodical, analytical. "From the nature of your wounds, it is clear you were attacked by a human or Faunus. Yet rather than being on guard against potential human threats, you seem perpetually wary of the Grimm. But why would you be so? You are a huntress; you hunt Grimm. You should not fear facing them, but you do, as if encountering one would bring back those who hurt you. Which, logically speaking, should be absurd. Grimm are soulless creatures; how could they communicate or coordinate? Unless..." He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air before turning to face Summer, "Unless they're being commanded by someone."

Summer halted, her silver eyes widening in a mixture of shock and realization. The wood in her hands felt heavier. Victor's gaze locked onto hers, prompting a response.

"So, do Grimm have a leader?"

"NO!" The force of Summer's denial echoed through the woods, causing a flock of birds to take flight from a nearby tree. She paused, taking a breath to compose herself. "I mean... no. Victor, I've been recovering from my injuries, and I don't want to attract Grimm, that's all. And who told you I was attacked? I fell from a mountain, didn't I make that clear to you?"

Victor held her gaze for a moment longer before turning away, continuing their trek. "If you say so. Come on, Latveria is not far away," he murmured, the weight of skepticism evident in his voice.

***
​

Latveria, if it could be called that, stretched out in a landscape of broken promises and long-forgotten memories. As Victor and Summer stepped into the boundaries of the settlement, a cold wind swept through, carrying whispers of tales buried in the past. The skeletal remains of structures spoke of a time when laughter and life had once graced this land, but now all that remained were silence and shadows.

"You should head to the palace now," Victor said abruptly, his voice slicing through the hush, reminding Summer of her present reality. "The cold isn't conducive to your recovery." He reached out and effortlessly took the stack of wood from her, a silent testament to his surprising strength.

Summer could only nod, watching as the boy—so young yet bearing burdens seemingly far beyond his years—began his work without a word of complaint. Her heart ached, not from her wounds, but from the weight of the unknowns surrounding her situation. She had been trapped in this desolate place for a month, cut off from her allies and, more agonizingly, from her beloved daughters. They must be devastated, she mused, their innocent faces etched with grief, believing their mother lost forever.

Taking a deep breath, she moved towards what Victor had referred to as "his palace." As she did so, she cast her gaze around what Von Doom called "Latveria." "Latveria" seemed too grand a term for it. This was more of a ghost town, remnants of a once-thriving community now standing desolate after a Grimm onslaught. How, she wondered, could Victor possibly have survived here alone?

The enigma that was Victor Von Doom intrigued and troubled her in equal measure. He embodied the very qualities she hoped her own daughters would develop—brilliance, resilience, and resourcefulness. Yet there was also a chilling detachment to him, an emotionless veneer that seemed impenetrable. His every word was measured, each action calculated. It was as if he existed in a bubble of self-imposed isolation, untouched by the warmth of human connection.

Time and again, she'd tried to pierce that shell, to understand the heart of this boy who could hack into sophisticated devices yet chose to live in an abandoned settlement. "Where is your family? Why are you here?" she had asked. But his responses were always the same, evoking more questions than answers. "This is Latveria, my kingdom and my only home."

The mere mention of "Latveria" confounded her further. No known records or maps mentioned such a place. And his inexplicable skills? They hinted at a past, a life beyond these ruins, but Victor's lips remained sealed.

Approaching the house, Summer felt a shiver, not from the cold, but from the weight of the unknowns surrounding her and her perplexing young companion.

***
​

The room was aglow with the orange embers of the fireplace, its warmth a shield against the biting cold of the night. Summer sat wrapped in a heavy blanket, her frame more frail than when she first arrived in the desolate town. Beside her, young Victor Von Doom, with a face reflecting a maturity far beyond his years, nursed a bowl of piping hot soup. The rich aroma wafted through the room, mingling with the scent of burning wood.

Their silence was comfortable, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire and the soft sipping sounds as they took turns consuming their meal. The room was filled with an array of mismatched furniture, telling tales of scavenged remnants from what was once a thriving community. Yet, amidst the chaos of their surroundings, in this small corner of the room, a semblance of home had been established.

Summer's silver eyes gazed at the flickering flames, memories of her family and friends back in Vale swirling in their depths. Beside her, young Victor Von Doom studied the fire as well, but his gaze was deep and contemplative, far from the innocence one would expect from a child his age.

She sighed, shifting slightly to find a comfortable position, the pain from her wounds ever-present. Though she had moments where she felt invincible, they were fleeting. Most days, she was reminded of her vulnerability, held together by Victor's concoctions and sheer willpower.

"Do you believe in magic?"

Summer, accustomed to Victor's abrupt and profound questions, took a deep breath, her gaze drifting to the flickering flame. "Maybe," she began, a twinkle in her eyes. "Why do you ask, Victor?"

"Just curious," he replied simply, but the intensity of his stare hinted at a deeper quest for understanding.

Summer chuckled softly, her voice carrying a motherly warmth. "You're curious about a lot of things, Victor."

Victor's brow furrowed slightly in thought. "Well, you hunters have special powers or whatnot, right? Do you believe that is magic?"

Summer tilted her head, considering the question. "You're asking about semblance?"

"Yes, if that's what it's called."

Summer nodded slowly, her eyes distant as if recalling memories from a far-off time. "No, I don't think semblance is magic. It's a manifestation of who we are, something that makes each of us unique. Magic, on the other hand, is something entirely different."

Victor, always eager to learn, pressed on. "Then how do you define magic?"

"I see magic as a force that exists in all of us," Summer began slowly. "It's what connects us to one another."

Victor's eyes widened just a fraction. "So, you're saying it's like an organ? Like your eyes?" He paused, gazing at her intently. "Are they magic?"

A momentary silence settled between them. Summer's eyes, filled with years of experiences and memories, twinkled. "More like your heart," she replied with a gentle smile.

Victor frowned in genuine confusion. "My heart? So, if I were to examine it, would I find magic within?"

Summer laughed softly, the sound echoing pleasantly in the room. "I didn't mean it quite so literally, Victor. What I mean is that by locking yourself away in Latveria, you're shutting out the world and all its wonders. I truly believe that once you open your heart to the world and its experiences, you'll discover the magic within it. The world outside is vast and beautiful, and I promise, once I'm well, I'll show it to you. You could even befriend my daughters."

Victor raised an eyebrow, his demeanor stern. "A promise implies agreement from both parties. I haven't agreed to leave my kingdom, nor to any friendships."

Shaking her head with amusement, Summer smirked. "Ok, Mr. Grumpy Pants. How about I tell you a story, then? Have you ever heard the tale of the king of magic?"

Victor's interest piqued, evident from the tilt of his head. "There's a story?"

Summer smiled. "Do you want to hear it?"

***
​

It had been three months since Summer Rose found herself in the ghost town Victor Von Doom called "Latveria."

The time had been challenging, not least because of her deteriorating health. Once a vibrant huntress and mother of two, Summer now relied on Victor for basic necessities like food and shelter. This dependency rankled her, deeply wounding her pride and independence.

Victor had been a pillar of support, caring for her with a maturity that belied his young age. His constant preoccupation with gathering resources gave Summer ample time to explore his town.

Latveria itself was as much a paradox as Victor. An abandoned settlement with no known records, it was smaller than the communities she had encountered outside the kingdoms but substantial enough to have housed a population of perhaps 100 to 200 people in its heyday. Her curiosity piqued, she studied the architecture and layout, recognizing remnants of what had once been a thriving town.

Victor had named everything after himself, literally. His "palace," a dilapidated structure that stood defiantly amid the ruins, was grandiosely called the "Castle of Doom." There was the "Citadel of Doom," a ramshackle building converted into a makeshift library filled with texts and manuscripts Victor deemed important. The "Doom Depot," a storage facility, was well-stocked with food and provisions. And the "Doom Lab of Science and Innovation," a kind of junkyard, where Victor spent hours engrossed in experiments. When she asked him about the nomenclature, he answered with a straight face that as the ruler of Latveria, everything in it belonged to him and should be named after him. His sincerity made her laugh, a momentary escape from her debilitating condition.

As she delved deeper into the history of Latveria, the town revealed its secrets in fragments. It had suffered Grimm attacks, but the extent of the damage seemed marginal compared to the real horrors it had faced. The crumbled homes bore the scars of blasts, indicative of weaponry far more advanced than anything the Grimm could wield. Charred remnants spoke of fires deliberately set, and bullet casings littered the ground amid the ruins.

Summer was puzzled. All signs pointed to human hands as the agents of Latveria's destruction. But why? She could only think of Atlas, with its military might, as a possible perpetrator. Yet, the strategic relevance of Latveria, a secluded town in the remote northeast region of Solitas, was unclear. The only thing significant she could find was that the town's population had been largely gypsies. But what value had this town held for anyone to desire its annihilation? What could Victor's role be here? And why would anyone want to kill gypsies? She was clueless.

***
​

Another month ebbed away, marking it as the fourth since Summer Rose found herself ensnared in the enigmatic grasp of Latveria. Most days, her frail body seemed to have formed a begrudging alliance with the bed, with only sporadic flares of vigor granting her fleeting moments of autonomy. The stony walls of her room, lit by the ever-present flicker of the fireplace, had witnessed many a desperate attempt by Summer to establish contact with the outside world.

She had tried everything: from harnessing her aura to amplify her recovery, to dismantling and repurposing any piece of tech she could discreetly get her hands on. Her efforts were geared towards linking with the nearest CCT towers, hoping the sophisticated global network would connect her to someone—anyone—who could come to her rescue. Yet every endeavor met with frustrating silence, like throwing pebbles into an abyss.

On one particularly weak day, she appealed to Victor, her voice laced with desperation and determination, "Victor, you must know a way to contact Atlas or even Vale, any nearby settlement." The weight of her isolation pressed down on her, and she found herself a breath away from tears. "I have a family waiting for me, Victor. Daughters, a husband..."

The young prodigy, with that ever-present inscrutable expression, simply responded, "Latveria stands on its own." It was an answer she had come to expect from him, one that danced around the truth but never truly approached it. His cold, calculative demeanor was in sharp contrast to the myriad emotions swirling within her.

Victor's astounding technical prowess was no secret to her. She had witnessed, with her own eyes, how he could resurrect pieces of discarded technology, breathing into them a second life. His talents seemed almost magical, a stark contrast to the desolation of their surroundings. It was this very skill that deepened Summer's suspicions. Why was he so unwilling to assist her in contacting the outside world? What was he hiding? Or perhaps more pertinently, from whom was he hiding?

This unspoken tension, the palpable chasm of mistrust, had slowly erected a barrier between them. While Victor undoubtedly cared for her well-being, ensuring she was nursed back to health, there was an unmistakable emotional detachment. Summer couldn't shake off the feeling that he was guarding a secret, one tethered to his very soul, and that this secret somehow linked to his obstinacy in keeping them isolated.

Each day in Latveria added another layer to her worry. She found herself haunted by visions of her daughters: Ruby, with those sparkling silver eyes so like her own, and little Yang, whose sunny disposition provided warmth in the coldest of times. And then there was Taiyang, her anchor, whose embrace she longed for. The thought of her enemies discovering her family's whereabouts, exploiting their vulnerabilities in her absence, was a torment that gnawed at her every waking moment.

The emotional toll was evident. While Summer's physical injuries had healed over time, the psychological scars remained etched with agonizing uncertainties that plagued her mind day in and day out.

She was willing to see anyone now, even her former friend Raven.

***
​

One evening, as the sun set and dusk began its descent, casting the landscape in hues of red and orange, Summer made her most daring attempt at escape. Her semblance, a unique manifestation of her aura, had always been her trump card, a force to be reckoned with. She decided to use it to its limit in the hope of finding a way out of the dark and cold forests of Solitas.

Drawing upon its energy, Summer felt a surge of power, and her form began to shimmer, her outline blurring as she sought to make herself imperceptible, using her cape to cloak herself. She knew it was risky, given her weakened state and the enemies lurking everywhere, but she was desperate and determined to find any way to reach her home and feel the embrace of her loved ones.

However, as she traversed the dense forests, her strength waned rapidly. The physical exertion coupled with the constant drain of her semblance began to overwhelm her. Her heartbeat echoed loudly in her ears, each step becoming more arduous than the last. She stumbled, her vision swimming, her body betraying her will.

That's when Victor found her.

Emerging from the shadows, his small hands reached out just in time, catching her frail form before she collided with the cold, hard ground. For a moment, his guard dropped, and Summer saw something she hadn't before—a genuine look of concern etched on his young face.

Holding her close, he whispered, more to himself than to her, "Why did you push yourself this far? You could have died."

She struggled to reply, her voice barely above a whisper, "I need to... get back... to them."

Victor's eyes met hers, the moonlight revealing the depth of emotion that lay within. He hesitated, grappling with his own internal conflict, before finally saying, "Let's get you back. You need to recover."

***
​

Under the silver sheen of the fractured moon, a fragile truce had formed between Summer and Victor. The atmosphere, always thick with tension, seemed to lighten as the night draped around them.

The moonlight lent an ethereal glow to their surroundings, painting everything in a soft, diffused luminescence. The gentle hum of crickets served as their ambient background, occasionally interrupted by the soft rustling of leaves or the distant hoot of an owl.

Victor, his face a blend of earnest curiosity and youthful naivety, turned his gaze from the broken celestial body to Summer. His eyes, usually so intense, now carried a shade of vulnerability. "What did you want to achieve outside?" he began, pausing to gather his thoughts. "I mean outside of your family, your daughters. What purpose do you have?"

Summer's silver eyes lingered on the fragmented moon; its beauty tragically marred yet still captivating. The question seemed to pull her from the recesses of her memories and thoughts. She sighed, a soft exhalation of breath laden with the weight of many unsaid words. "I am a huntress, Victor," she said, her voice soft and resolute. "I fight Grimm, protect the innocent, help people."

Victor shifted, his fingers playing with a small gadget he had been tinkering with earlier. It was a habit he had whenever he was deep in thought. "That's your job," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "But I am asking about the purpose of your life," he pushed further. "Do you want to be famous? To be remembered for generations? Or perhaps aspire to amass great wealth and buy whatever you desire? Or maybe, you wish to be the strongest, be it to protect or avenge?"

Summer's gaze remained steadfast on the moon, her voice pensive. "I don't desire fame, nor riches, nor supreme power, Victor. I just want to help people."

Victor's frown deepened. His analytical mind, always seeking precision and clarity, grappled with her words. "But that doesn't define any concrete purpose. 'Help' is such a nebulous term. Its definition can vary vastly from person to person. You can't just declare an intention to 'help' without outlining what exactly you aim to aid or address."

Instead of responding directly, Summer let her smile answer him. It was gentle, reflective, and deeply profound. "I once dreamed of a world where suffering was an alien concept," she finally whispered, her words carrying the weight of countless encounters with despair. "I'm acutely aware that I can't bring such a utopia into existence. But that doesn't deter me from striving towards it."

Victor studied her face, the play of moonlight on her features, and something within him shifted. It wasn't complete comprehension, but it was a start. A glimmer of understanding, of respect for a viewpoint that was so diametrically opposite to his own. For the first time, perhaps, he saw not just the huntress, but the woman with a dream that transcended personal ambition—a dream that, in its very simplicity, was incredibly profound.

***
​

The winds had changed direction, heralding a new chapter. Summer Rose felt a rebirth. Six arduous months had passed since her rescue by the enigmatic Victor Von Doom. Today, her spirits soared. The sun's rays felt warmer, and the once-familiar chains of pain and weakness were now mere memories.

She watched Victor approach, the morning light catching a silvery fish on his hook. The young boy's resourcefulness had never ceased to amaze her. She had always been grateful, but today, an inkling of doubt crept in.

"Ms. Rose?" His voice held a mix of surprise and genuine concern. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Vic, I am leaving today."

A myriad of emotions played across Victor's face. "But your health," he said, his voice shaking slightly.

Feeling a rush of adrenaline, she declared, "I'm back to my old self, Vic." She was resolute, but there was a part of her, the part that remembered her promise, that softened her stance. "I'll be back for you once I reach Atlas. Just like I promised."

Victor's hesitation was palpable. "Perhaps some more of my medicine soup will help solidify your recovery?"

Summer interrupted, her suspicion evident. "I stopped taking it a week ago, Victor. And surprisingly, I felt better almost immediately."

Victor shifted uncomfortably, his usual confidence waning. She pressed on, "What was in that medicine, Victor?"

Reluctantly, he admitted, "Some local herbs and animal bones from here and there. It is a great remedy for pain..." His voice trailed off.

Seeing his evasiveness, Summer persisted. "And? Tell me the truth, Victor!"

He met her gaze. "It has some side effects, including aura exhaustion, weakness, and even temporary paralysis."

The realization hit Summer hard. Her savior might have been her captor. "You... You've been poisoning me? Keeping me here. For what?"

Victor's face showed no emotion. "I should have seen it coming. You are right, Ms. Rose, I was the one responsible for your inability to recover, and I am the one responsible for your continued inability to leave."

***
​

The atmosphere was thick with tension, every breath seeming heavy. The weight of betrayal bore down on Summer's shoulders, making her already weakened stance falter. She struggled to reconcile the image of Victor, the savior she had grown fond of, with the Victor who stood before her now.

"Why, Victor?" she whispered, anguish evident in her voice. "After everything, why would you do this?"

Victor's gaze was steely, his childish innocence replaced with a resolute demeanor. "Ms. Rose, when I found you on your deathbed, I frankly had no intention to help you. It was only after realizing some strange energy coming from you that I became interested. I have heard the silver-eyed warriors possess unique abilities," he paused, "abilities that could benefit me immensely."

Her heart raced, anger and betrayal vying for dominance. "You wanted to exploit me? Use my powers, my lineage as a mere experiment?"

Without hesitation, Victor affirmed, "Yes, and I did." Summer could see his eyes flicker with a silver shine for a moment. Victor continued, "I am still working on circumventing the emotional requirements, but I believe with further research it will not take me long to harness this power to its full potential."

Summer's eyes, wet with tears, bore into him. "I looked at you as family, Victor. I cared for you. I saw my own child in you."

Victor's expression softened, if only just a bit. "And you've been invaluable to me. The research, the findings I've gathered these past months would've taken years otherwise. If you give me some more time and your cooperation, help me reach what I desire and I promise that I will make sure you return to your family safely."

Summer's anger bubbled up. "And what could a mere child like you want from all this?"

His answer was simple yet chilling: "Power."

His eyes met hers, piercing and dark. "Power, Ms. Rose. I want power," he declared, every syllable laced with a determination that was unsettling coming from someone so young.

"Ms. Rose, I know you've been researching this town and you may understand some of its history, and its people. Latveria was once a prosperous place. My mother grew up here, in a community that was self-sufficient and at peace."

He paused; his fists clenched. "They lived far away from any kingdom and were not a threat to anyone. They were self-sufficient enough to survive Grimm attacks and winter, but those in power who ran the kingdoms saw my people as dangerous. They branded us—branded our ways and arts—as heretical. The rulers sitting on their thrones in the kingdoms decided we were expendable."

Victor continued, his voice thick with emotion. "Atlas came one fateful day and reduced everything to ashes. My people's homes, their lives, their culture—gone in a storm of fire and steel. They erased Latveria from the map like we were some sort of mistake they could simply undo."

Victor's eyes flared with a raw intensity Summer had never seen in him before. "The survivors, what was left of my people, became pariahs, wanderers who no one would take in. Forced to live their lives in the margins, in squalor and disgrace."

Suddenly, Victor stepped forward, his face inches from hers. "Ms. Rose, you once told me you wanted to help. Today I ask you the same. Lend me your abilities and help me burn the kingdom to the ground that destroyed my home. With your help, I can make them feel the agony they inflicted upon Latveria. And I promise you that Victor Von Doom will create a new world—a world in which there will be no suffering."

His words hung in the air, heavy and foreboding. Summer stared at Victor, trying to reconcile the innocent boy she thought she knew with the vengeful soul standing before her. She wondered, deep down, if there was still hope for him—or if his quest for power had consumed the child she once considered family.

Summer's brow furrowed; her anger replaced with genuine concern as she addressed Victor. "The tragedy that befell Latveria was undoubtedly a grave injustice, Victor," she began, "but seeking vengeance, sowing discord, and craving power... these are not the answers."

She took a deep breath, searching for the right words. "I want to help you, Victor," she offered, her voice quivering with earnestness. As she said those words, Victor's eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting such a proposal from her.

Summer's gaze softened as she approached him, her fingers brushing against his arm. "Not by granting you power or exacting revenge, but by showing you that there's another way. A path filled with love, understanding, and hope."

She paused, allowing the weight of her words to settle. With a gentle smile, she added, "Come with me to my home. Remember when I promised to show you the world's beauty? My daughters will be thrilled to meet you. You can forge genuine bonds with them, learn what it means to have a family again. And there are others, good-hearted people, who would be willing to stand by you and help you heal."

Stretching out her hand, Summer beckoned, "Come with me, Victor."

Victor seemed to be in a battle with himself, his young eyes darting back and forth, reflecting the internal struggle within him. The weight of his past, his anger, and his longing for retribution fought against the chance of redemption and love Summer was offering. He hesitated for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally, he pulled back, gently rejecting her outstretched hand. "I appreciate your kindness, Ms. Rose, but Latveria is my kingdom. I cannot abandon it. You are free to leave."

Summer's face fell, disappointment and fear mingling in her eyes. Seeing the determination in Victor's eyes, she could only nod.

But as she turned to leave, Victor's chilling voice stopped her in her tracks. "I hope you survive the fall this time, Ms. Rose."

The surrounding area was filled with the nightmarish chorus of the creatures of Grimm. Their guttural roars echoed eerily, and shadows shifted ominously in the periphery. Summer's heart raced as she realized the gravity of her situation.

Her eyes widened in horror. "Victor... what have you done?"

Victor's previously innocent face was now marred by a malevolent smile. "Did I not mention? The last six months with you have been... educational."

Without another word, Victor began retreating toward his palace, leaving Summer to face the encroaching nightmare. "Farewell, Ms. Rose," he whispered coldly as the very ground seemed to quake under the onslaught of the creatures, and all that remained was chaos.

 

[KgDeath]

It's often said that children don't form memories in their earliest years. But for me, this was never the case. No, Victor Von Doom remembers it all – every moment of this life which has tried so hard, yet failed to break me, every sacrifice, every loss and every act of vengeance exacted by these hands. I could not forget them even if I tried.

My father was always skeptical, but I'm certain my consciousness began in my mother's womb. Perhaps it was the influence of the demon with whom my mother had a dalliance. Maybe it was that entity's touch that sharpened my senses too early.

However, while my father dismissed my tales, my nanny – or should I say, my mother – never once doubted me. How could she, when I confronted her with the knowledge that I always knew that I am the illegitimate son of the man I called my grandfather, and her, a mere maid in our family?

I can still see the astonishment on her face that day. "You know..." she began, her voice quivering with fear. But after a brief pause, she embraced me tightly, a hug that remains imprinted in my memory to this day.

Mother's warm embrace was something I cherished, like any young boy would. Only later did I realize the chilling reason behind the coldness of her touch.

***
​

Victor Von Doom. That's not the name they used to call me, not the one whispered into my ear as a lullaby or yelled across the yard during fleeting moments of childhood play. That is a name I chose for myself, later in life, a mantle I donned when the world had shown its true colors. The name I was born with, the one inked into the annals of my family's history, was Whitley Schnee. A name imbued with the promise of peace, purity, and beauty.

Whitley. Even now, the irony of it doesn't escape me. Peace, purity, beauty - such lofty ideals, painted in strokes of white and light. But the canvas of my life never mirrored those shades. To me, these were merely words, abstract notions that society used as a veil to mask the ugliness and chaos that often lurked beneath.

I never held that name in high regard, never truly felt it was mine. Because I knew, deep down, like everything else in my life, peace, purity, and beauty were nothing more than illusions. Grand concepts that poets wax lyrical about, that artists try to capture on their canvases, but which never truly existed for me. For in the shadows of those bright ideals, there was always a darkness, a truth that Whitley Schnee - or Victor Von Doom - had to confront.

By birth, I am the youngest son of the Schnee family. The family which held the largest Dust Empire in Remnant. My grandfather, Nicholas Schnee, was the one who laid the cornerstone of this empire. To the public, he was a beacon of hard work, determination, intelligence, courage, ambition, and fearlessness. They hailed him as a visionary, a titan of industry. But you see, people often believe the facade shown to them. The Nicholas Schnee I knew was far removed from these laudatory tales. Behind closed doors, he was greedy, cowardly, lustful, and more than anything, a fool.

After my birth, in a desperate attempt to protect his own reputation and that of our family, he handed me over to his son-in-law, my adopted father. A twisted game of family chess where I was nothing but a pawn. And the most grotesque part of it all? My real mother was relegated to the role of my nanny, a silent sufferer watching her child grow up knowing the truth but unable to voice it.

Like minds indeed attract, and it wasn't surprising that Nicholas found in Jacques a suitable match for his daughter. Jacques Schnee, my adopted father, mirrored Nicholas in every sense. They shared the same flaws, the same hunger for power, and the same disregard for those they deemed beneath them.

If my birth father was the shadow, he was the storm itself. A man so power-hungry, so obsessed with the family business, that it consumed him entirely. To him, everything was a transaction, including me. I was just another asset to be used, another rung to be stepped on in his relentless climb to the top.

I don't know which one I hated more. The father who was responsible for my birth or the father who adopted me. Both tainted my existence with their shadows, stretching over my days like the darkening clouds of an impending storm.

Then there was my adoptive mother, or should I better say, my sister, Willow Schnee. We merely tolerate each other. She never recognized me as her son. In fact, she doesn't even know I'm her blood brother. To her, I'm nothing but the illegitimate child her husband shamelessly brought into their home, staining their lineage and relationship.

Winter and Weiss Schnee, my older nieces or sisters, whichever label you'd prefer, always remained distant figures in my life. Winter, always the stern one, was six years my senior, and Weiss, just a year older. Our interactions were limited, never stretching beyond the superficial courtesies. I tolerate them, and they do the same in return. No love lost, no familial bonds felt.

Despite the shadows that loomed over the earliest chapters of my life, I would say I was not completely lost, the light that illuminated my life, my mother, Cynthia Von Doom, was there with me. In the darkness of my life, she was the guiding luminescence that lit up every corner, every nook and cranny. She bestowed upon me hope when despair threatened to overpower, and joy in moments when sorrow seemed ceaseless. But like every flame, her light wasn't immune to the gusts of fate. And the day it flickered, the day its intensity waned, so does the trajectory of my existence.

***
​

In the tender years of my early childhood, while most children basked in the innocent joys of play and exploration, I was shackled to a bed, ensnared by relentless bouts of sickness. When children of my age were learning to run, laugh, and explore the world around them, my days were a montage of lethargy and pain. At just three years old, I remember lying weakly on my bed, looking out of my window to see Weiss, my sister, a mere year older than me, dancing and playing in the courtyard. The contrast between our worlds was glaring, like a sunbeam piercing through the dense clouds of my own fragility.

Yet in those gloomy moments, my ray of hope - my mother, Cynthia, never dimmed. Gentle and nurturing, she never left my side. Her hands, soft and comforting, would stroke my forehead, easing away the fever and pain. Her lullabies would guide me into peaceful slumbers, even on nights when agony seemed insurmountable.

But in the midst of her comforting presence, I would sometimes catch a glimpse of a hidden sorrow in her eyes, a weight she carried silently within her heart. On the nights when the pain grew unbearable, as tears welled up in my eyes and silent screams clawed at my throat, I would hear her, cursing herself in hushed tones. "It's all my fault," she would whisper, a mournful chant that baffled my young mind. How could my suffering be a result of her actions? How could she, who brought me comfort and love, be the source of my affliction?

It wasn't long before I became privy to a side of my mother that no child should witness. In the secrecy of night, I'd observe her delving into mysterious rituals, the realm of what I'd later come to understand as dark arts. At times, she'd approach my bed, her fingers tracing symbols in the air, a determined intensity in her gaze. Grasping my small hand in hers, she would whisper, "Hold on, my son. Momma is going to take the pain away." And she did. Through her esoteric practices, she siphoned away my agony, replacing my feebleness with a surge of vitality. It was a miraculous transformation, one that came at a great cost. For days after these rituals, Cynthia would be confined to her bed, pale and drained, a sacrificial lamb who bore my pain within her.

It was a heart-wrenching cycle. Watching my mother's vitality wane as mine was restored brought forth a mixture of gratitude, guilt, and confusion.

Despite the renewed vigor that I felt every time Cynthia intervened with her rituals, the world around us was not as grateful. To many, her recurring bouts of frailty weren't seen as the selfless sacrifices that they truly were. The cold, unappreciative eyes of our household, particularly those of Willow Schnee, viewed Cynthia's incapacitation with disdain and suspicion.

I can still hear the echoes of Willow's biting words, dripping with contempt. "Again, Cynthia? Really? How many times will you trot out this same tired excuse to shirk your duties? I can't fathom why we still tolerate presence of a street rat like you, let alone provide you a place in our esteemed home." Each word was like a sharpened knife, intended to wound, to belittle.

Witnessing such brazen unkindness aimed at my ailing mother would ignite a fire of rage within me. My young heart, full of fierce protectiveness, yearned to retaliate, to defend her from these unrelenting verbal assaults. But every time I mustered the courage to act, to voice my discontent, a gentle touch from my mother would still my resolve. Her pleading eyes, imploring for silence and understanding, would anchor my simmering emotions.

In moments of respite, when the two of us found solitude, Cynthia would often reflect on her past relationship with Willow. "You know," she'd begin with a wistful sigh, "when I first arrived here, Willow and I were close friends. We shared dreams, secrets, and laughter. But things changed after you were born. We drifted apart, consumed by misunderstandings and unspoken grievances." There was a melancholic hope in her voice as she continued, "I always believed that, given time, we could bridge the chasm between us, find a way back to those happier times." A sad smile would cross her lips. "But perhaps I was too optimistic."

That fateful day marked a turning point in my tumultuous relationship with Willow. Every time she targeted my mother, a wellspring of resentment would bubble within me, but I had always managed to restrain it – until that moment. Her eyes, normally cool with indifference or sometimes flashing with suppressed anger, were shadowed with something different that day. Was it despair? Was it defeat? Jacques' increasing disregard for her, compounded with the deteriorating health of my grandfather, seemed to deepen her anguish.

"You... it's always been you, hasn't it?" Willow seethed, cornering my mother. "You've ruined everything!"

Before I could process her words, her hand shot up, striking my mother with a stinging slap. That act, so unexpected, so violent, shattered my last semblance of restraint. In a blind rage, acting purely on impulse and driven by an innate need to protect my mother, I hurled the closest object to me - a flowerpot. The look of shock and pain on Willow's face as the pot grazed her, the scarlet bloom of blood that slowly spread from the gash on her forehead – these are images that still haunt my dreams.

However, it wasn't Willow's reaction that distressed me most. It was the fear and the plea in my mother's eyes as she stepped between us, shielding me from any retaliation. I was incensed, ready to challenge Willow on my mother's behalf. Yet my mother, ever the peacemaker, sought to diffuse the situation.

That night, ensconced in the quiet cocoon of our shared quarters, my mother and I had a heart-to-heart. "What you did today was wrong," she began, her voice filled with gentle reproach. I retorted defiantly, "But she's not my mother. You are."

She sighed heavily, a weight of years of concealed truths and stifled emotions evident in that sound. "She may not be your mother by birth, but in the eyes of the world, by name and by circumstance, she is. She is family."

"But..." My protest died in my throat as I met her gaze.

With earnest eyes and a tremble in her voice, she whispered her sole request, "Promise me, my dear son, that you will never hurt your family. Not with your words, not with your actions. Promise me this." And even though my heart seethed with resentment, for her, I promised – a vow I have upheld, albeit begrudgingly, to this day.

***
​

I was only four years old when the incident unfolded. The whispers around the mansion spoke of the old man suffering a heart stroke, leaving him an enfeebled shell, confined to his bed. The air buzzed with myriad emotions—Willow's sorrow, the mournful eyes of Weiss and Winter, and Jacques with his ambiguous sympathy.

Sympathy, a sentiment I couldn't muster for that man, who abandoned my mother. No matter his condition, my heart refused to harbor any sentiments for him, but I guess fate had a different plan. He summoned me one day, to his dimly lit room, where he lay, a fragile husk of his former self. As my feet remained anchored at the threshold, my emotions swathed in a cold indifference.

"Come here, Whitley," he beckoned weakly. My greeting was a facade of indifference, "How is your health, 'Grandfather'?"

His gaze held a mixture of sorrow and resignation, aging his already weary visage further, "I know you know the truth, Whitley." Internally, I hissed, my thoughts seething, "What are you talking about, Grandfather? What truth?"

He continued, "And I know Cynthia did not tell you; she would never disobey me." My facade remained, impenetrable.

"What do you want, Grandfather?"

"You were always a smart boy, even at the age of four. The way you observed, questioned, and absorbed information was truly remarkable. It was apparent, even then, that you possessed an intellect that belied your tender years," Nicholas commented, his voice imbued with a mixture of admiration and regret.

He endeavored to draw closer, his hand reaching towards my shoulder, only to be met with swift rejection. His voice, a whisper laden with regret, asserted, "I am not as cruel as you perceive, son. Had I been, neither you nor your mother would be here today." I just glared.

Nicholas sighed, his eyes, pools of untold stories and regrets, met mine, "In life, I have accumulated a myriad of mistakes. They say, at life's twilight, one sees the errors of their ways." My face, a mask of indifference, betrayed no emotion, "I still don't understand, Grandfather."

His apology hung in the air, a muted plea for forgiveness, "I am sorry, truly. To you, and to your mother. I have wronged you, especially your mother, Cynthia." My stoic expression remained unaltered, "You should say that to Mother."

"Acknowledging it now may change nothing, but hence, I desire to make amends." His eyes, now locked on mine, proclaimed, "Whitley Schnee, I want you as the heir of the Schnee Dust Company."

The proclamation hung heavy in the air, a tempest of emotions churning within me, a storm threatening to burst. Anger—hot and bitter—rose within me. Was it not a mere farce, a cruel jest played by a man who never bothered to look my way? To suddenly anoint me heir to the Schnee Dust Company, to bestow upon my young shoulders a burden colossal and weighty?

My voice, a fiery echo of my internal tempest, reached out to him, "You think you can just ignore me all my life and suddenly thrust this colossal responsibility upon me?" The words flowed, the dam broken, "What about your daughter? What about your son-in-law? What about your granddaughters? I am but a child! How can you impose such a burden upon me so thoughtlessly?"

Nicholas, amidst his frailty, responded with a semblance of resolve, "I realize the magnitude of the burden I place upon you. But you, Whitley, are the one I trust to bear it." His voice softened, revealing a sorrow long hidden, "Despite my numerous faults, my deepest transgression is the boundless love I hold for my family. Jacques, no matter the depth of his contempt, lacks a semblance of familial love. Entrusting the company to him would herald its ruin. As for my daughter, she is entangled in his schemes, lacking the insight and strength to helm the empire."

His gaze shifted to my sisters, "Winter has chosen her path, her heart unswayed by corporate intricacies. And Weiss… my little snowflake… the company's influence would taint her innocence." A flare of anger sparked within, questioning his rationale, "So, I am the disposable one, the leftover, suitable to be cast into the inferno?"

"Yes," he admitted, his eyes, however, gleamed with a semblance of respect and hope, "In you, I see the determination and resolve that mirror my younger self." In that moment, the tempest within me subsided, giving way to a resolve forged in fire and promise, "I will elevate the Schnee Dust Company to unprecedented heights," I declared, my conditions unwavering, "but only if you bestow upon my mother the respect she rightfully deserves."

A sigh, a whisper of resignation and agreement emanated from Nicholas, "I will see what can be done." With no more words to spare, I walked away, leaving the chamber behind, a silent mausoleum of untold revelations and unfulfilled promises.

***
​

My grandfather, albeit reluctantly, began to fulfill his promise. My mother's status was elevated from a mere servant to his personal assistant—a position that brought an enhanced level of respect and responsibility. It wasn't the full acknowledgment I desired for her, but it was a beginning, a step towards justice.

Willow's face, at the time of the announcement, was a tableau of shock and disbelief, as though the ground had shifted beneath her. Her potential despair and possible knowledge of my impending inheritance were secret joys to me, small triumphs in our silent warfare.

Jacques was another spectacle. His face, marked by pallor and tension, revealed the signs of many a sleepless night, his eyes a maelstrom of hidden thoughts and veiled fears. Perhaps he perceived the tides of change, the unseen battle of wits transpiring. His eyes met mine often, each exchange a silent duel of unspoken understandings and concealed antagonisms.

As my mother plunged into her newfound roles, I sought solace in the bound pages of numerous books. The library was my sanctuary, shielding me from the brewing storm of familial confrontations. Every book, from whimsical fairy tales to advanced scientific discoveries, was explored; no facet of knowledge was left untouched.

The frigid relationships with Willow and Jacques persisted, but amidst the icy silences, a fragile camaraderie developed between Weiss and me. Our shared love for fairy tales connected our divergent worlds. "Whitley, have you read the tale of the Frost Queen?" Weiss would ask, her eyes sparkling with innocent curiosity.

"I have," I'd reply, delving into discussions about the morals and magical elements of the tales. "Do you believe magic like that truly exists, Weiss?"

"I like to believe it does," she would respond, her voice a mix of hope and wonder, and we'd lose ourselves in the world of fantasies and wonders.

Weiss's butler, Klein Sieben, aiding my burgeoning interest in medicine and healing, became another significant presence. He was more than willing to quench my thirst for knowledge, ever pleased with my unabating curiosity.

Winter, maintaining her reserved nature, occasionally conversed with me. Her sparse words were laden with unspoken understandings, and shadows of untold tales lingered in her eyes.

However, in my naive absorption in knowledge and subtle family alliances, I was oblivious to the looming shadows, unaware that the relative peace was merely the calm before the storm, the light of dusk before the enveloping darkness yet to unveil its true face. The shadows grew, whispering untold secrets and unseen truths, and I, unknowingly, walked the edge of light and shadow, teetering on the brink of revelations and darkness.

***
​

The night remains an eternal imprint on my soul, with a silent, watchful moon as its sole companion, as days dwindled before the dawn of my fifth year. A tiny heartbeat synchronized with anxious anticipation, each ticking second an echo in the vast silence, the absence of her presence a ghostly whisper in the lonely chamber.

The quiet shattered with the sudden influx of hurried footfalls and the violent sweep of the door. There stood my mother—shadowed and torn—her garments dyed in the cruel hues of warfare, resembling a warrior returned from a harrowing conflict. "Mother…What…" My words were fragments, suspended in the air as her arms encased me, her features sketched with haunting terror. "Whitley, we must leave now."

I nodded, my small soul swirling with chaos, willing to follow her footsteps into the consuming uncertainty. Concealed beneath blankets of refuge, we navigated the labyrinth of corridors, our destination the shadows of the courtyard and the silent gates. The symphony of chaos resonated from the mansion; her steps transformed into desperate sprints. "Capture her!" a voice emerged from the dark, and our sprint became a flight of survival. "Halt!" Commands soared through the air, "She's taken the young master!"

A menacing silhouette barricaded our path, his hand wielding the blade of fate. Swiftly, my mother's hands danced, creating a symphony of fire around our adversary. Her protective spells wove a barrier between us and our pursuers. Their cries harmonized with the howling night; our hands etched paths of escape until the sharp wail of steel meeting flesh permeated the night.

My mother faltered, her eyes—reflecting eternal love—clung to mine as our hands, now cloaked in her life essence, held onto fleeting hope. A strike blurred my senses, my vision swimming in pain. As darkness folded its arms around me, the remnants of the world were the malevolent gaze of Jacques Schnee, looming over our fallen forms.

"Whitley…" Her voice, a whispering echo, her grip barely a ghostly touch, "be… strong, my love…"

The burning of tears, silent vows, chained footsteps, and his taunting laughter became the endless echoes in the labyrinth of my heart.

***
​

The days that followed were a haze, the clarity of moments masked by a fog of grief and confusion. Whispered accusations reverberated through the somber corridors. "She was a witch," one voice hissed. "A demoness," another murmured, voices weaving tales of malevolent deceit. "Did you not hear what she did to Mr. Nicholas?" "She was poisoning him; she was the reason his health was deteriorating." The murmurs grew, each word a dagger in my young heart. "She wanted to usurp everything," one declared. "No, she was exploiting him for some dark rituals," another speculated. "After Nicholas, she would have targeted us."

"It's good Mr. Jacques discovered her true nature," they nodded, their tones laced with a mix of relief and disdain. "Poor old Nick, lost to her treachery. I heard she stabbed him in her desperate attempt to escape," a voice tainted with sorrow and fear revealed. "She even tried to abduct the young master."

I couldn't bear the cacophony of their false narratives anymore. "Enough!" My voice, laced with anguish and rage, sliced through their whispering. "Shut up! Shut up, all of you! You know nothing about her!" My eyes, ablaze with an inner fire, scanned their horrified faces. "Say another word, and you'll see what she supposedly did!" My voice echoed in the silent corridors, the weight of my words sinking in, creating a pool of tense silence around me.

Suddenly, a sting radiated across my face, and I found myself facing my older sister Winter, her hand raised, anger, and disappointment mingling in her eyes. "Whitley! How dare you! Our grandfather is dead, and you dare to support the witch who killed him?" Her voice, usually soft, was a sharp rebuke now. Her eyes were filled with tears, but whether it was from sorrow or anger, I couldn't tell. My cheek burned from her slap, but my heart burned fiercer with the fire of vengeance and sorrow.

No sanctity of a proper burial was bestowed upon her; her corpse was left to the merciless crows, a cruel reminder of their unfounded accusations. As I buried my mother with my own hands, the soil mixed with my tears, a vow crystallized within my soul. "I promise you, Mother, they will pay for what they did to you. I will ensure the Schnee family and the Schnee Dust Company crumble, descending to where they belong—to dust."

Each whispered falsehood fueled my resolve, a searing flame of vengeance within my heart. The world had cast her away, dishonored her memory, but I, her son, would rectify the wrongs, unearthing the truth and dismantling the empire built on lies and deceit.

 

[KgDeath]

After my mother's passing, my life quickly descended into a living hell. The man I despised most seized control of the Schnee Dust Company with ruthless efficiency. There was no rest, no room for mourning old Nick's death, just a relentless takeover. The talks of my inheritance and role were not even mentioned.

Willow, that wretched woman drowning in her own despair, turned her bitterness and rage towards me. Her words, sharp and relentless, echoed through the halls, painting me as the source of her life's miseries. To her, I was the root of her husband's distance, the growing wedge between her and her children, and the taint over her family legacy.

Each day, she would burst into my room, her presence as foreboding as the whip she brandished. "Accept your mother's sins," she would snarl, her words laced with venom, as if I were a living reminder of her perceived failures. I would stand there, unwavering, meeting her fury with a gaze filled with pity rather than fear. My silence was my rebellion, a quiet declaration that her burdens were not mine to bear.

Her frustration was a tangible force, the marks she left on my skin a testament to her desperation. But I responded with nothing but silence, my eyes steady, a calm oasis in the storm of her anger.
In those moments of quiet endurance, I bore the pain alone. The days stretched endlessly, each one a testament to my growing resolve. The servants, bound by Willow's authority, offered nothing but fleeting, sympathetic glances—a mirror to the pity I felt for her. Occasionally, I would catch them in prayer, their whispers perhaps a plea to some unseen force for my deliverance.

Through it all, I persevered. Unbeknownst to them, each scar that adorned my body was a step in my transformation. With every mark, my spirit was forging itself stronger, as resilient and unyielding as steel tempered in flame. In the crucible of pain, I was molding myself into something unbreakable, my resolve unyielding in the face of adversity.

***​

During our quieter times, my mother would speak of her origins, her voice a whisper as if sharing a sacred secret. She came from a Gypsy clan hidden in the remote northern wilderness of Solitas, a place untouched by the kingdoms' influence. Her family were guardians of an ancient magic, a mystical art abandoned by the modern world, entirely different from the powers that huntsmen and huntresses wield today.

This arcane lore always held a special allure for me, its beauty and enigma intertwining with my earliest memories. It was this very magic that had soothed my childhood illnesses, weaving wellness back into my frail body. Though I yearned to delve into its mysteries, my mother held back, cautioning me about the heavy burdens such knowledge could bring—a cost she seemed all too familiar with, yet reluctant to share.

My curiosity, however, was insatiable. I often pondered the nature of her magic, contrasting it with the aura of warriors I had read about. What were the incantations that brought me comfort on those pain-filled nights? Why did her own vitality seem to diminish as mine returned? I even recall her once whispering, burdened with guilt, that my ailment was her own doing—a statement that left me bewildered and brimming with unanswered questions.

Driven by this quest for understanding, I once turned to Klein for guidance in medicine, but neither of us could unravel the enigma of my condition.

Each time I sought clarity from my mother, she met me with a gentle yet firm denial. "Don't burden yourself with these thoughts," she'd insist, her eyes clouded with a sorrow she wouldn't voice. "Any sacrifice for your well-being is but a trifle," she would say, but her words were laden with an invisible weight, the cost of my survival hanging heavily in the air.

Her evasions became a silent constant in our lives, her eyes often revealing more than her carefully chosen words. I noticed her increased vigilance over certain tomes and scrolls, shielding their contents as if they were too profound for me to bear.

After her passing, I didn't hesitate to delve into those concealed writings. Her efforts to hide them were meticulous, but I was her son, determined and adept at uncovering hidden truths. What I discovered was more unsettling than I had anticipated.

The Gypsies and their descendants were "Cursed." While the tomes did not give much detail, the curse did not appear to be simple.

A chill coursed through me at this revelation. My mother had always said that her spells carried a price. What grave price, then, had she paid to cure me of such a malady?

***
​

Without wasting much time, I delved deeper into the mysteries of my mother's tomes over the coming month.

Within these volumes lay a spectrum of knowledge, spanning the arcane to the forbidden. Discoveries in magecraft, arcane magic, and even demonology filled me with a blend of wonder and apprehension, each revelation more intriguing than the last.

One passage captivated me above all: "Magic is the art of bending universal energies and extra-dimensional forces to one's will, transcending the limits of technology and science. Through the rhythmic cadence of incantations, reality itself can be reshaped, minds swayed, and the elements summoned. Magic is the act of bringing thought into existence, transforming fiction into fact, so convincingly that, for a fleeting moment, the universe consents to the fantasy of a man that he can fly."

This portrayal of magic, as an external force summoned and shaped by words and will, was fascinating.

Most magic was initially brought about by blessings from two main deities—the God of Light and the God of Darkness. Sadly, this form of magic had largely faded with the departure of these Gods.
In the new age, a practitioner's common path is to rely on Sage magic. The tomes also mentioned beings known as Maidens who can master this kind of magic, though one must be a woman to wield it.

There was also mention of Demonic magic. While the nature of this magic is still unknown, it is believed to be related to emotions. A group known as Silver-Eyed Warriors utilizes this form of magic.
Her notes also mentioned a shadowy figure, a demonic being named Mephisto, who seemed to be connected to this form of magic. While it interested me, and the lure of using demonic power was strong, the implications of summoning or even contacting such a being were daunting.

I knew it would not be wise to call upon those malevolent creatures without any precautions. I resolved to tread carefully.

***
​

My progress in the mystic arts was consistent and steady. Each day, I unraveled more of the arcane tapestry, piecing together fragments of ancient wisdom. The information revealed by the tomes was groundbreaking enough to shake the foundations of Remnant and its current power system. However, many concepts were merely touched upon, and some were just the speculative thoughts of the author. My mother's annotations, scattered across the pages, often provided crucial insights, yet the study was fraught with challenges.

Navigating the complex web of esoteric knowledge, I often found myself lost between reality and the mystical. Cryptic symbols whispered secrets just beyond my grasp, blurring the lines of my understanding.

From the tomes, I understood that the concept of casting magic hinged on three main factors: perception, comprehension, and projection.
Perception dealt with the awareness of the energies composing the magic. For instance, to cast a fireball, one cannot simply wave their hand and make the fireball appear. One needs an awareness of heat, an awareness of the oxygen in the air, and an understanding of the fuel. I remember the first time I tried to sense these elements; it was overwhelming, no different from trying to understand a symphony in the midst of chaos.

Comprehension meant grasping the underlying concepts of the intended magical effect. Crafting a fireball wasn't just about igniting a fire; it was also about understanding its intended impact, the geometry of its form, its volume, and even the precise chemical composition needed for its creation. This stage resembled a complex puzzle where each piece was a fundamental law of nature or arcane knowledge.

Projection, the actualization of the magical phenomenon, was the culmination of perception and comprehension where a caster gathers the external energy and makes magic a reality. It can be said it was the most difficult part of the process as it relied not on caster wisdom and intelligence but on their innate talent. The higher the talent you have, the more powerful a magician you are.
This step was also my greatest hurdle. Despite understanding the principles of magic with enough perception and comprehension, my innate talent was limited. Even after trying for days, the only thing I could cast was a single spark that even a lighter would shy away from.

My mother's notes did give me some insights into why it was so low. According to her, the 'First Humanity' possessed the most superior talent in magic, a legacy of their direct connection to the mystical realms. They were the original wielders of arcane forces, their abilities almost legendary in their potency. In contrast, the 'Second Humanity' lacked inherent magical talent but were gifted with the unique power to wield 'Aura,' a manifestation of their inner life force and strength.

I know Aura is not something I can awaken now. Jacques and Willow would never allow it, and even if I somehow managed to unlock it in secret, it would be hard to hide in Atlas.
Magic is my only way, and I need to find a way to improve it. Victor Von Doom will craft his own path to victory.

***
​

For several months, I made no progress, but my understanding of the distinction between magic and Aura grew by leaps and bounds.

Magic, in its essence, seemed parasitic, while Aura felt almost divine, relying solely on one's inner self. This wouldn't have been a problem in the age of Gods when external energy was abundant. However, in the current era with the gods departed, casting magic without a proper external source posed a significant challenge. I needed something to bridge this gap.

I had a theory: if Aura was internal energy and magic could extract energy, then Aura users could be potential power sources—essentially, living batteries. The thought was electrifying.

I tried to verify this method through various means, such as extracting Aura from plants and animals, but with limited success. Plants withered after extracting only a tiny amount, and animals—well, imagine what happens to a balloon when it is popped. Their bodies simply weren't durable enough. I needed a more resilient target for my experiments—a human.

Recently, I had started attending my elder sister Winter's training sessions, much to her dismay. Ignoring the side-eyes from her and Weiss, my main focus was on Winter's display of Aura, experimenting with how I could extract Aura from her. It was easier said than done.

"You are so awesome, Winter!" Weiss exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with admiration as she watched Winter execute a flawless maneuver.

Winter glanced over at Weiss and offered a rare smile. "Thank you, Weiss. But remember, it takes a lot of hard work and dedication."

"Can you also teach me how to cast Glyphs like you? Please, please, please?" Weiss pleaded, her excitement palpable.

"Maybe when you have your Aura unlocked," Winter replied, her tone softening. "You need to master the basics first."

Ignoring their exchange, I focused on the flow of Aura around Winter. It was powerful and steady, a clear indication of her growing mastery. I needed to understand the exact mechanics of how she harnessed and projected it.

Even after observing Winter's Aura during her many training sessions, I was nowhere close to my answers. I knew our relationship was strained, but I decided I had to take a chance and find out directly. "Winter, can you tell me more about how you control your Aura?"

Winter raised an eyebrow, a hint of irritation in her eyes which I masterfully ignored. "Why do you want to know, Whitley?"

I gave her my most innocent look. "I've been reading about it in a book and got confused. I thought it could help if I heard it directly from an expert."

Her irritation grew. "I'm not an expert, and you shouldn't be reading such books at your age."

I refused to back down. "It was actually assigned to Weiss and me by our new tutor, and we have to write a report on it. You must know about it. Didn't Weiss ask you to write a report for her?"

She gave Weiss a sharp look, catching her quietly trying to escape. "That was your homework? You should have told me!"

"I'm sorry," Weiss mumbled before running away.

"Come back here, Weiss!" Winter called after her, but Weiss was already long gone. Her gaze shifted to me, cold and unyielding.

"I will not help you, Whitley. Step aside." Without waiting for me, she started to walk away, leaving me behind.

"Please, Elder Sister," I called out, desperation creeping into my voice.

She stopped abruptly, and something in her snapped. "Don't ever call me that!"

Her eyes were red with rage as she gave me a fierce look.

"Sister..." I backed up, sensing the danger.

"I said, don't call me that! Weiss may be unaware, but I know what kind of psychopath you are."

"What...?" I stammered, as she grabbed my hand tightly.

"Do you think I wouldn't notice what you've been doing recently, Whitley? I've seen your so-called 'art' and how you have been killing those poor animals. You're no different from your mother."

"Sister..."

"Don't try to pretend you're innocent. I know you know everything. You are not my brother; you're a bastard, the son of that witch who destroyed our happiness and killed Grandfather."

My eyes burned with anger as I tried to lash out. "What did you say?" But the difference in our strength was clear as day and night. With one swift move, she used her Aura and threw me back several feet.

My body hit the ground hard, and I felt some bones shatter.

"Winter... You...!" I growled, feeling blood rise in my mouth.

"You even scream like that witch. Stay away from Weiss," she spat, her disdain cutting deeper than any physical wound.

Like Willow, she also wanted to see me in pain. And like Willow, I gave her only my grin—a bloody grin.

Her disdain was clear. "Psychopath."

"HA HA HA HA HA."

But unknown to her, my laughter wasn't because I had failed or learned a lesson, but because my plan had succeeded. Within myself, I felt a faint grasp of Aura which I had never felt before. I now knew what I needed to extract a person's Aura: Emotions.

 

[KgDeath]

I was nearing the end of my seventh year when I first encountered her. That week, Willow, typically a flurry of grievances, had fallen into an unusual silence, preoccupied with orchestrating the Schnee Mansion for Jacques' eminent guests. I scoffed at the news, cynically musing to myself, "That foolish woman still harbors the delusion that catering to his whims will mend their relationship. What a tragically misguided fantasy."

My interest lay far from these opulent displays. At the moment, my focus was singular—locating Weiss, my second eldest sister. And no, this wasn't a sudden surge of brotherly affection. It was all part of my calculated plan.

After discovering that I could use emotions to extract Aura, my study in magic became more straightforward. I was able to cast mid-grade spells easily without any major issues. However, my problems were far from over. Since Winter left for Atlas Academy, my supply of Aura had dwindled. She was my biggest source, and with her gone, my progress slowed considerably.
I tried finding new sources, but their quality never matched that of Winter's.

So, I devised an alternate plan. If I couldn't find a new source for Aura, I would cultivate my own. And that's why I needed Weiss.

"Whitley!"

A loud voice interrupted my train of thought, and I recognized it instantly—it was Weiss. Over the past couple of months, I had tried to deepen our bond while subtly planting ideas about the importance of hunters and huntresses, and why she, as the heiress, needed to stand on her own. If things went as planned, she would awaken her Aura soon like Winter, and I believed her quality would be no less than Winter's.

I turned, adopting an amiable smile. "Sister, I've been searching everywhere for you. Where have you been?" I asked. If Winter were here, she would never let me near Weiss, but with her away, I could exploit Weiss as much as I wanted.

Weiss faced me, her expression one of sheer panic, her breaths quick and uneven.

"There's no time to explain. You must hide me; she's coming after me!" Weiss implored, her voice trembling with urgency.

"Sister?" I said, confusion mingling with concern as she darted behind me for cover.

From the direction Weiss had fled, another voice echoed, light and sing-song. "Friend Weeeiss, where are you? Let's play a game!" The voice grew louder, its cheerful tone belying the sense of alarm it had instilled in Weiss.

A resolve settled within me. This is your moment, Whitley. If you can confront whatever has frightened Weiss, you'll elevate yourself in her esteem. My hands clenched into fists, bracing for the unknown challenge that approached.

Then, out of the shadows, emerged a figure, bounding forward with an almost mechanical gait—a young girl with striking orange hair and large, luminous green eyes that looked almost artificial. Her smile was broad and unwavering, and she regarded me with a peculiar intensity.

"Salutations! I'm Penny Polendina. I am here for my Friend Weeeiss," she said with an unsettling earnest cheerfulness.

I looked toward my sister, still cowering behind me, then back at the bright, cheerful girl standing ahead of me. What have I gotten myself into?

***
​

"Ms.—"

"I'm Penny Polendina, friend of Friend Weeeiss," she said, extending her hand. I shook it mechanically, trying not to be unsettled by her large, unblinking eyes and overly cheerful smile.
"We're not friends!" Weiss's voice erupted from behind me.

Easy, sis. Your uncle's got this. Temper your volume; you're damaging my ears, I mused silently.

"Miss Penny...?" I ventured.

"Yes?" Her ever-present smile seemed almost impossible.

"Would you mind explaining why you were chasing my sister?" I inquired, nodding toward Weiss.

"Oh, you mean Friend Weeeiss? We were playing," Penny declared, punctuating her words with a twirl.

"Right..." I turned to Weiss. "Sister—" I was cut off as Weiss exploded.

"Playing? She broke into my room, calling me her friend! I was fleeing from her, not playing a game!"

Penny, seemingly unfazed by Weiss's distress, responded, "I was merely surprising Friend Weeeiss. I thought Friend Weeeiss would like it."

"My name is Weiss!" Weiss shouted again.

"Miss Penny, what made you think breaking into my sister's room was a good surprise? And why do you even consider her your friend?" I questioned, hoping for some rational explanation.

"Simple," Penny beamed. "My dad says strangers are friends we haven't met. So, since Weiss was a stranger, she must be a friend! I wanted to give a friend a surprise."

Internally, I questioned the logic. Who teaches their kids such stuff? Stranger danger, anyone?

"I am not your friend!" Weiss shouted. "Whitley, make her understand!" Niece, take it easy with the volume. I really have to add damaged ears to my list of revenge, I silently urged.

"Right..." I sighed, unsettled by Penny's persistent, unblinking gaze.

"Ms. Penny, while your father's words carry wisdom, friendship doesn't quite work like that in Remnant," I began, hoping to clarify the concept for her.

"It doesn't?" Penny tilted her head, confusion evident in her expression.

Good, she's starting to understand, I noted internally.

"True friendship can't be forced; it's a mutual bond. Tell me, did Weiss ever refer to you as a friend?" I probed gently.

"She did not," Penny replied, her bright demeanor dimming slightly.

"How can there be friendship if it's not reciprocated? Friendship requires both parties to agree. You can only be friends when the other person calls you a friend," I explained, trying to make her see reason.

"Is that so?" Penny looked hopefully toward Weiss, calling out, "Friend Weiss?"

"You are not my friend. Please leave," Weiss responded coldly, not even bothering to look in Penny's direction.

Penny's mood visibly dropped, her smile fading. Despite myself, I felt a twinge of sympathy. Remnant does have its share of pure souls. Perhaps my own family's cynicism has clouded my judgment, I mused.

"Ms. Penny, don't take Weiss's words to heart. She has high standards when it comes to friends. Remnant is vast; there are many others you can connect with," I said, hoping to lift her spirits.

"Really?" Penny's voice was tinged with hope.

"Yes, someone like you, coming from—wait a minute." I paused, a sudden realization hitting me. The Schnee mansion wasn't exactly an open garden for random visitors. "Actually, Ms. Penny, where exactly did you come from, and how did you find Weiss?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued.

Penny's mood brightened instantly. "Oh, Winter told me about this place."

"Winter's back? Why didn't you mention Winter sent you? Where is she now?" Weiss interjected, her voice rising with a mix of surprise and excitement.

I was taken aback. Winter's back from that stupid academy? I haven't invested in Weiss enough. Shit! My plan will be ruined!.

"She's in the main courtyard with the others—" Penny began, but before she could finish, Weiss dashed off.

"Sister Wait!" And there goes my best laid plan, I sighed internally.

"Thank you for explaining friendship to me. I'll definitely seek mutual friends," Penny said, her optimism returning. Do you know what it cost me? My magic almost flared up, wanting to rip this girl to pieces, but I somehow controlled it.

"You know Winter?" I asked, holding back the murderous thoughts in my head. Winter's return can be both harmful and beneficial to my plan; I need more info.

"Yes, she's my classmate at the Atlas Academy," Penny replied cheerfully.

She's Winter's classmate? I thought Atlas Academy liked creatures like Winter. Wasn't all cheerful bubbly girls supposed to go to Beacon?

"Winter is your classmate?" I asked confirming

"Yes, I am actually her Junior, but we do train together"

She can train with Winter? Maybe they selected her because of her high amount of Aura...

A realization struck me like a lightning bolt. With a sudden movement, I grabbed her shoulders, seeking confirmation. "Winter is your classmate!"

"Yes..." Penny answered, a bit startled by my sudden intensity.

"You study at that Stupid Huntsmen Academy!" I pressed on.

"Atlas Huntsmen Academy" she corrected me gently, her brows knitting in confusion.

"You have your Aura awakened!"

"Yes," Penny replied, her expression a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.

"Ms. Penny, do you want a friend?" I asked. Her face turned happier. The amount of Aura she was radiating was so much more compared to Winter. I could feel it, extract it—her emotional requirements were so negligible. I've found a new supplier!

A plan began to crystallize in my mind.

With a glint in my eye, I leaned in closer. "You know, Ms. Penny, I consider myself somewhat of a friend too," I said, my voice dripping with a newfound sense of purpose and cunning.

***
​

Penny Polendina was unique and easy to fool. She was perfect—naive, idiotic, and foolish. Having awakened her Aura, she could easily be manipulated, making her an ideal target to further my goals.

I wasted no time in solidifying our "friendship," even calling her father and telling him that she and I had become best friends and that I wanted her to stay at the Schnee Mansion more often. His response was a bit unusual, but in the end, he seemed happy and, without asking many questions, readily accepted my forced friendship.

I should have seen the warning signs. But the despair on Willow's face upon seeing me happy clouded my judgment. Regardless, that day I celebrated my victory.

Penny soon became a regular at our mansion, so I started focusing more on her, ignoring Weiss completely. Weiss had been sulking recently because Winter announced her decision to join the Atlas Military rather than returning to the family. I had an idea why she did that, but Weiss was too naive to understand the family dynamics. I do sympathize with her, but her problems are not mine to bother with.

But I soon realized I may have been hasty in my decision to dismiss Weiss. As I said before, Penny was a unique child. However, I didn't fully understand just how unique she was until later. She had unique needs, both mentally and emotionally.

"Friend Whitley, what is this?" I sighed as she asked the same question for the hundredth time, pointing toward a tree branch.

"That's a bird, Ms. Polendina," I repeated.

"But didn't you say the last one was a bird? How come this one is also a bird?" she asked innocently.

"Birds come in different shapes and sizes, Ms. Polendina. This one is a crossbill, found in colder regions."

"Fascinating!" Her excitement was palpable.

A two-year-old would know more than her about everything. How can someone be this much of an idiot? Did Dr. Polendina raise her in his lab?

"Friend Whitley, can you tell me about that one?" She jumped and pointed toward another bird of the same species.

Can I, Von Doom, really handle this much idiocy? If her Aura wasn't so easy to extract, I would surely rip this girl to pieces.

"Ms. Polendina, that's the same bird—a northern crossbill."

"They don't have different names?" She tilted her head, genuinely confused.

I gritted my teeth. If only her Aura output was a bit lower...

"No, Ms. Polendina..."

"You know so much, Friend Whitley. Father never really answers all my questions, and General Ironwood only wants me to increase my strength."

Her father, I can understand, would not have the energy to deal with her. How come General Ironwood is involved?

"That's what a good friend does, Ms. Polendina—help a friend in need."

She smiled cheerfully.

"Ms. Polendina, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Friend Whitley."

"Why did you decide to become a huntress?"

She stiffened. For a moment, her ever-present smile faltered, and a shadow of something deeper crossed her face.

"Friend Whitley, that's...," she began hesitantly. "Father and General Ironwood believe it's my duty to protect those who cannot protect themselves. They say I have a unique gift, and it's my responsibility to use it for the greater good."

So, they see her as a tool, but why? I thought, masking my interest with a look of polite curiosity. "That sounds very noble, Ms. Polendina. But do you ever wonder what you want for yourself?"

Penny's eyes widened in surprise. "What I want for myself? I... I never really thought about it. I've always been told what my purpose is."

I am missing some key part of the picture. There's no way they picked her just because of her large Aura. There is something more at play.

"Well, Ms. Polendina, sometimes it's important to consider your own desires. After all, a true friend would want you to be happy and fulfilled," I said, leaning in slightly. "What if you could choose your own path?"

Penny looked contemplative, her mechanical mind processing my words. "Choose my own path... I never imagined that," she said softly.

"Think about it," I urged gently. "You have so much potential. Imagine what you could achieve if you followed your own dreams."

Her smile returned, but it was softer, more introspective. "My dreams... I don't think I have any."

"Take your time, Ms. Polendina. It takes time to figure out," I replied, inwardly reveling in the ease with which I had planted seeds of doubt. "Remember, I'm always here to help you."

As Penny wandered off, lost in thought, I watched her go, my mind already working on the next steps. Weiss may have been a strategic target, but Penny was proving to be a far more valuable asset.

Maybe I can use her in more ways than I expected...

***
​

"Say aah," I prompted gently.

"Aah," Penny complied.

Carefully, I fed her another spoonful. "Eat slowly," I advised, subtly extracting more strands of Aura as our bond strengthened.

The Aura siphoned from Penny was about one-tenth of her capacity—not enough for her to notice but crucial for my experiments. I needed more, and extraction was growing with our bond.

I glanced towards Weiss, who sat at the other end of the table, giving me a look of envy. Things had been hard for her recently, with Winter joining the military and Willow and Jacques expecting more from her to uphold the family name, increasing her load. I skillfully ignored her plight.

Turning back to Penny, I spoon-fed her another bite.

Weiss's voice cut through the room like a knife. "What the hell is happening here? Why are you feeding her, and why isn't anyone asking anything?" Her tone was shrill, reverberating around the dining room. Willow, also present, shot her a sharp look. Jacques was typically preoccupied with company matters.

Normally, I would be excluded from these gatherings, but Penny's status as a special guest—and my 'friend'—had earned me a place at the table.

"Mind your language, dear sister," I responded calmly. "It's unbecoming of a young lady of your stature."

Her frustration escalated. "Why are you feeding her?" she demanded.

Willow, her gaze stern, intervened. "Calm down, Weiss. Your brother must have a reason. Please, explain, my son."

Of course, I couldn't reveal my true intentions. "Dear Mother, as you're aware, Penny isn't versed in the dining customs of high society. If she were to eat unassisted, it might not be a pleasant sight for you. As your devoted son, I couldn't allow that. To spare you any discomfort, I offered to assist her during our family meal." More like a fractured meal.

I caught Willow's eye, her expression strained but understanding. She knew better than to make a scene in front of Penny, whose father held significant value to Jacques.

"Son, let Penny eat on her own. Your mother can bear such discomfort. If she doesn't eat by herself, how will she ever learn?" Willow said in a strained tone.

"If that's what you wish, dearest Mother, your wish is my command." I placed Penny's plate in front of her. "Friend Penny, please eat on your own, but don't worry if you make a mistake. I will be here to assist."

"As you say, Friend Whitley," Penny nodded.

Weiss, still twitching with frustration, shouted, "I've lost my appetite. I'll be in my room. And tomorrow, I prefer to have breakfast there as well."

Willow gave me a dirty look, marking her displeasure.

Sister, she is your daughter; why should I care?

***
​

"Stars have names? I always thought they were just... stars," Penny mused, her gaze lost in the night sky. The permission for a sleepover at the mansion was a fortunate development for me.

It had been quite some time, but what was once a headache had now become a familiar daily script to me.

With Penny's presence, my magic practice had become streamlined. I could now cast several mid-grade and a few high-grade spells without any cost. While challenging a full huntsman would still be difficult, I could certainly give some huntsmen in training a run for their money.

"Actually, each star has its own story," I began, guiding her eyes to the heavens. "See the North Star there? It's a reliable guide to the north. Ancient pioneers are believed to have discovered Solitas by following its light."

Her eyes lit up with amazement. "I never knew that!"

Her finger then darted to another star. "What about that one?"

"That's Castor, part of the Nevermore Constellation. And beside it, its twin, Pollux," I explained, mixing truth with fiction. "They are named after legendary sailors who first navigated the ark across the shallow sea to Menagerie with the God of Faunus."

She leaned in with growing interest. "And the story of that star?"

"That's Sirius, of the Beowulf Constellation. Named after Sirius Black, a man of legend who could turn into a wolf, the star of Red Riding Hood," I continued, blurring the lines between myth and reality.

"And that one?" she pointed again.

"AlbusD, named after an academy headmaster who charted it first."

She then gestured to another area. "And who discovered that one?"

Following her gaze, I responded, "Ah, that's just a fragment of the moon."

Her face turned thoughtful. "Why is our moon shattered?"

"No one knows for sure, but I once read a tale that said the Moon was once the Sun, torn apart and later raised to the sky by mankind's ingenuity," I answered, weaving a narrative as mystical as the night itself.

Penny's eyes sparkled with wonder. "That's incredible. The night sky is full of so many stories."

I nodded, a hint of a smile playing on my lips. "Yes, and each one holds a lesson or a secret waiting to be uncovered."

She turned to me, her curiosity unabated. "Do you know any more stories, Friend Whitley?"

"Plenty," I replied smoothly. "But it's getting late. Perhaps I'll share more another time."

"Friend Whitley?" Penny finally spoke.

"Yes, Penny?"

"Can I ask you something, Friend Whitley?" Penny asked tentatively.

"You once asked me what my dreams are. Do you have dreams, Friend Whitley? Goals?"

Internally, my mind raced through my ambitions: the destruction of the Schnee family, the Schnee Dust Company, unraveling the demonic pacts my mother made, commandeering Aura to augment my own power... and silencing Weiss for her shrill voice.

Outwardly, I shrugged nonchalantly. "No, nothing grand like that. As the third child, I'm free from family burdens. Winter has joined the military, Weiss will take over the business. But me? I plan to enjoy a simple life of leisure. No grand ambitions, just ease and comfort."

She looked at me, slightly puzzled. "That sounds... quite hedonistic, Friend Whitley."

I smiled knowingly. "Perhaps, but sometimes, the simplest paths are the most fulfilling. And you, Penny, with your exceptional mind, should aim as high as these stars we gaze upon."

Suddenly, her Aura output increased, more than doubling, as she hid her face behind her hand.

Now what's with this girl?

"Friend Whitley, I have something I wanted to say to you."

"Yes?"

"I... Father wanted to invite you to our home."

"Oh, he did? Why is that?" I moved closer to her as her face turned a bit red.

"Because... because... he was impressed by the idea you proposed... the Aura generators and wanted to see how much you know," she replied a bit hastily.

Oh, is it? I never thought he would really invite me!.

It was something I was recently working on, and I shared it with Penny to ask her father opinion. It could be a great opportunity.

"That's interesting, Penny. I'd be honored to visit your home," I said, masking my excitement with a calm demeanor.

Penny's face brightened, her Aura output stabilizing. "Father will be so pleased! He rarely invites anyone to our home."

This could be the perfect opportunity to learn more about her family and their secrets.

"Thank you for letting me know, Penny," I said, patting her shoulder. "It's getting late. We should get some rest."

She nodded enthusiastically. "Goodnight, Friend Whitley."

"Goodnight, Penny," I replied, watching her head inside.

As I made my way to my room, my mind raced with possibilities. This invitation could be a pivotal moment in my plans. I needed to be prepared for anything. Penny's father might be more perceptive than I anticipated, and I couldn't afford to make any mistakes.

***
​

Pietro Polendina was a weird man. That's the only conclusion I could reach after meeting him personally. One of the finest minds in Atlas, he had helped the kingdom achieve various technological advancements. I had expected his place to reflect that brilliance.

An old, dilapidated pharmacy in the corner of Mantle was not what I had anticipated. Maybe I should have looked into him more thoroughly.

"Oh, you are the young man my daughter keeps talking about! It's nice to finally meet you in person."

"It's my pleasure, Dr. Polendina. I've been wanting to meet you as well. Penny has told me a lot about you."

"Oh, she has? I hope it's all good. She's quite honest," he said, laughing.

"Dad!" Penny called out.

"Don't worry, Dr. Polendina. Even if she has, I won't judge you," I smiled.

"Friend Whitley!" Penny called out to me.

"Anyway, Penny told me you were interested in the idea of Aura generators I had mentioned."

Dr. Polendina's eyes lit up as he looked towards Penny, who had a pleading look on her face. He smiled. "Yes, indeed! The concept is fascinating. I've been pondering its potential applications since Penny first mentioned it. Why don't you explain your ideas in more detail?"

"Of course," I replied, eager to impress him. "The basic premise is to harness the inherent energy within Aura to power devices. Aura generators could revolutionize energy production, providing a sustainable and efficient power source."

Pietro nodded thoughtfully. "And how do you propose to stabilize the output? Aura is inherently tied to the individual's state, which can fluctuate."

"I've been experimenting with a few methods," I said, trying to appear modest. "One approach involves using a buffer system to regulate the flow of Aura, ensuring a steady output regardless of fluctuations."

"Interesting. Very interesting," Pietro murmured, clearly intrigued. "Have you tested this buffer system yet?"

"Not extensively," I admitted. "My initial tests have been promising, but there's still much work to be done."

Pietro leaned back, contemplating. "I'd like to see your research in action. Perhaps we can collaborate on this project. Your fresh perspective combined with my experience could lead to significant breakthroughs."

My heart raced with excitement. This was the opportunity I had been hoping for. "I'd be honored to work with you, Dr. Polendina."

"Excellent!" he exclaimed. "We can start right away. Penny, show Whitley to the lab."

"Yes, Dad!" Penny replied eagerly, leading me down a narrow corridor to a hidden door at the back of the pharmacy. She opened it to reveal a state-of-the-art lab, filled with advanced equipment and half-finished projects.

"This is incredible," I said, genuinely impressed. "I didn't expect this behind the pharmacy."

Penny beamed with pride. "Dad likes to keep his work low-profile. He says it's safer that way."

"Understandable," I said, already planning how to use this new environment to my advantage. "Let's get started."

As we began setting up, I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. Working with Dr. Polendina in this cutting-edge lab was an unexpected but welcome twist in my plans. The possibilities were endless, and I was determined to make the most of this opportunity.

***
​

While it took some time, Dr. Polendina accepted me as his research assistant. I have to say, we just kind of clicked. Despite my initial reservations, I found his eccentricity somewhat endearing and his genius undeniable. Working alongside him provided me with invaluable insights and opportunities to advance my own knowledge and experiments.

I soon moved from the Schnee mansion to Dr. Polendina's pharmacy. Willow made some noise about it, but she couldn't do much since she also understood Dr. Polendina's status.

He even praised me, saying I might be the youngest person he would soon call his equal. For me, those praises didn't matter. My main goal was to see the destruction of the Schnee family; everything else was secondary.

My relationship with Penny also grew considerably, as we could now see each other daily and I could extract more of her Aura. I took precautions to ensure her father didn't notice. Somewhere along the way, I even started caring for her.

However, as the days turned into weeks and then months, something began to change. The initial excitement of my new living arrangements started to wear off, replaced by a growing sense of unease.

One evening, as I was working late in the lab, Dr. Polendina approached me with an odd expression on his face. "Whitley," he began, his tone unusually serious, "I've noticed something... peculiar about Penny recently."

I kept my face neutral, though my heart quickened. "Peculiar how, Doctor?"

He frowned, tapping a finger against his chin. "Her Aura levels fluctuate more than they should. It's almost as if something is draining her, but I've run all the diagnostics and found nothing. It's puzzling, really."

I forced a casual laugh, shrugging. "Penny is unique, after all. Maybe it's just a side effect of her... special nature."

Dr. Polendina nodded slowly, but his eyes didn't lose their concern. He sighed, "Whitley, tell me what you know about Penny."

"She is a special girl..." I tried to downplay it.

"What do you really know? Please tell me the truth. I know you have a habit of changing the topic."

I sighed. "I know she is some kind of military experiment. It's hard not to notice with Ironwood himself keeping an eye on her and how many times he has visited just to check on her."

Dr. Polendina sighed, seeming to age years in a moment. "I know it would be hard to hide from you..."

"Whitley, come with me. I need to show you something. Just promise me that whatever you see, please try not to break my daughter's heart."

I nodded, curiosity piqued, and followed him into a section of the lab which I knew was hidden in secret.

Penny's secret was something I knew I would have to face someday. But somehow, every time I tried to open that Pandora's box, I could not continue. I refused to see that cute girl as some kind of secret monster prepared by Ironwood. I refused to see her as my enemy. And today, that secret was going to be revealed to me. I took a deep breath and followed Dr. Polendina.

Dr. Polendina led me down a narrow hallway, its dim lighting casting long shadows on the walls. We reached a heavy door at the end, and he paused, looking at me with a mix of apprehension and resolve.

"Whitley, what I'm about to show you must remain confidential. Penny's existence, her very nature, is a closely guarded secret. If this gets out, it could jeopardize not only her but many others."

I nodded, the gravity of his words sinking in. "I understand, Doctor. I promise."

He took a deep breath and opened the door, revealing a room filled with advanced machinery and monitors displaying streams of data. In the center of the room was a sleek, metallic pod. Dr. Polendina approached it and activated a console nearby.

The pod opened with a soft hiss, and I saw... Penny.

Needless to say, I was shocked. No words could describe my feelings.

Lying inside, her eyes closed, looking almost peaceful.

As I stepped closer, I noticed the faint, intricate lines running along her skin, like delicate circuits.

"She... she is..." I tried to respond.

"Penny is not like other children," Dr. Polendina began, his voice tinged with a father's pride and a scientist's awe. "She is an advanced artificial intelligence, housed in a synthetic body. She is an android, Whitley."

'An android?'

My breath quickened and my steps faltered.

I stared at Penny, my mind racing to process the revelation. All thoughts in my mind were jumbled up. "But she seems so... human."

"That's the idea," he said, a sad smile crossing his face.

'I hate it.'

"Penny was designed to become the greatest tool for Atlas. She was designed to protect Atlas by becoming its greatest huntress. She is a weapon."

'You are a liar... She... She is not a weapon. How does this even make sense?'

"Her Aura? How is it possible for an android to have Aura?"

Dr. Polendina nodded, anticipating my question. "Penny's Aura is a remarkable achievement. We managed to infuse a fragment of a human soul into her. It allows her to generate and use Aura just like a human. But it's also why her Aura fluctuates so much. The fusion of human soul and machine is not perfect; it has its challenges."

My mind began to work fast.

"You used your own Aura."

"Yes," Dr. Polendina admitted without any hesitation. "She is my daughter."

'Your daughter, or your science fair project!'

"Why tell me this... you could have kept it a secret."

"Because I know how you feel, and it may be hard to accept, but I want you to know the truth."

"Why?"

"Because," he said, meeting my gaze, "I believe you care for Penny in your own way."

I clenched my fists as my eyes began to numb. 'I don't care for her, she... she is just...'

"You know Ironwood sees her as a tool. Even I might have seen her as a tool, but you changed her. After meeting you, I never believed she could develop emotions. She is now much closer to a real girl."

"She even told me that she wanted to tell you the truth, but I stopped her. So I ask you, please give her a chance, and help my daughter."

My mind was a mess. "Believe me, Doctor, this does not change anything."

"I am glad."

'How can I, Victor Von Doom, fall in love with a robot?'

 

[The Radiance's Follower]

TFTC. I just found this and I am hyped. Viktor Von Doom is my favorite character in all of Marvel and you are writting him well enough. Maybe need more Arrogance? lol

'How can I, Victor Von Doom, fell->fall in love with a Robot?'

Click to shrink...

Sheesh. Heart breake already.

 

[KollegeX]

A bit too much 'woe is me' for my taste. The start with summer was interesting and honestly all the backstory that was needed. The whole thing with the schnee had me rolling my eyes a bit. The section with penny was a bit weird as well. Its like you wanted to write 3 different stories instead of 1 thats cohesive. Unless "oh the drama, much horribly unfair backstory" is what you want to write, i would cut that and.remention it later in the story when the other schnee actually become relevant. Or cut the prologue as it feels completely disconnected to the rest.

 

[Knived]

Yeah this feels like two different stories. I would say the first one is better than the schnee thing

 

[Winmantis]

How does this work timeline wise? IIRC ruby doesn't remember much about Summer which puts her age at around 5-6 during the prologue which is after the current plot. With Victor being 1 year older than Ruby it's hard to believe that this entire Schnee plot can play out in time for Victor to find Latveria, set up base there, and then find Summer.

 

[Yakubi42]

How does this work timeline wise? IIRC ruby doesn't remember much about Summer which puts her age at around 5-6 during the prologue which is after the current plot. With Victor being 1 year older than Ruby it's hard to believe that this entire Schnee plot can play out in time for Victor to find Latveria, set up base there, and then find Summer.

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No matter how old Whitley/Victor is mentally, he would need to be at least (being very generous here) 3 years old to have anywhere near the physical strength required to throw a flower pot at a grown adult hard enough to shatter it and leave a gash on said adult. Despite being Weiss and Winter's uncle, he's essentially being posed as their little brother, with Winter passing up her inheritance of the company, Weiss would have to be older than Whitley for there to be no questions about her being next in line to inherit. Even if we assume that Whitley is only a few months younger than Weiss, that still means he has 3 years to get from the scene with the thrown flower pot to the scene with Summer.

I was nearing the end of my seventh year when I first encountered her. [...]

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This is straight up impossible as Weiss and Yang are near the same age, and Yang and Ruby were 6 and 4 respectively when Summer disappeared.

Unless all of this was supposed to have happened after the scene with Summer, but that's even more ridiculous.

Edit: There's interesting stuff here that's written pretty well, the timeline is just... kinda jumbled. Don't want to be too discouraging because this is interesting.