RWBY 1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So this initially came about with the idea of Taiyang and Yang training together when she was younger, with them happening to be dressed up as Guy Sensei and Rock Lee from Naruto.**

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><p>A young Yang of twelve years old stood in front of her father Taiyang in a green jumpsuit, orange leg warmers, and a red headband with her crest on it around her waist like a belt. Taiyang wore an almost identical outfit, except for the headband displaying his crest.<p>

"Dad, why are we dressed like this?" Yang asked, a sweat drop rolling down her forehead.

"Because…," her father said, almost whispering, making Yang getting closer as he paused and looked down. "The springtime of youth!" He yelled suddenly, making Yang jump back and balance on one leg as she crossed her hands in front of her. She settled down, closing her eyes for a moment, and letting out a deep breath, before opening her eyes to see her father looking down at her, winking and giving her a thumbs-up. She let her arms drop and hang at her sides, mouth hung open a little, and her eyebrows furrow as she made a face that could only be described as what-the-hell.

"Come on", he said, before leading Yang outside and out to the woods near their house. "I want you to punch this tree", he said patting it. Yang looked at him funny for a moment, before changing her gaze between the tree and her hand for a few seconds, and just deciding to go ahead with it. If she'd known any swear words at that point, she would have cursed internally while holding her aching hand. He chuckled a little, before holding out one finger in front of Yang. "Watch", he said, pulling his finger back with his arm, and hitting the tree, cratering the wood from the point of impact until the trunk fell backwards from the base. Yang's hung as far as it could as the dust settled. "Someday you'll be able to do that just like I did." He smiled at her.

"Really?" She asked, eyes lit up with her wide smile.

"Yep", he told her, "But first, running!"

"Running…?" She repeated, wondering she had a bad feeling about this.

"Come on Yang!" Taiyang said running through the woods next to his exhausted looking daughter, struggling to take deep breaths despite the urgency at which her body made her inhale. He turned his upper body to point at an ursa a few yards behind them, "I think Mr. Ursa has realized you're just right to eat!" Yang's eyes widened and she started crying and screaming as she sped forward, leaving her father temporarily behind. He smiled, before growing serious and turning around, running backwards. He took a deep bite into his wrist, letting a small pool of blood enter his mouth, before pulling away and letting his aura seamlessly heal the wound almost instantly.

He pointed his head directly at the ursa, taking a deep breath in through his nose, before blowing a fireball the same size as he was out of his mouth. He let the ursa fall far behind, fur singed as it collapsed, while he turned back towards Yang. He opened his eyes a bit more as she started teetering slightly side to side. He increased his pace and quickly caught up, grabbing his daughter and holding her in his arms. "You can take a good long brake for now," Taiyang said softly to his daughter before ruffling her hair, "I'm really surprised how long and fast you ran. Did I scare you that bad?" He looked down at her, legitimately worried about scarring her too much.

"N-No! Of course not!" Little Yang said trying to act tough, blushing at how embarrassing she must have looked, "And I hate it when you ruffle my hair!" She tried to make her father stop, but he only kept on, teasing her. Times like these didn't last forever. Yang was growing quick, and even with the better part of a decade ahead, he knew the problems he would have to face with letting his daughter grow up and eventually leave the nest he'd made, but the world they lived in. A single ursa easier to take out than the garbage, but he was a graduated huntsman, with over a decade of experience under his belt. Despite the property they lived on being relatively far away from the grimm hotspots on the island, he still had to occasionally protect it when the sensors along the perimeter went off.

This was especially true during the months following Summer's death.

Every night, and even sometimes during the day, he had to fight off grimm after grimm that came after him. At least once every week he was forced to fight with some of his advanced techniques, the ones that included the fireball he had just used, but one night would always be remembered in perfect detail.

After fighting ursa and beowolves for the greater half of an hour, he was left with cuts and bruises across his body, and the grimm showed no signs of stopping. Taiyang grinned, wide enough that the ends of his lips seemed almost inhumanly far apart, as he thanked his lucky stars that Yang and Ruby were fast asleep. As the grimm approached, he quickly breathed in and out, raising his heart rate and making it pump faster in order to push more blood out of his wounds. When it had decided he'd had enough for the startup, he quickly slowed his breath down, concentrating as focused his aura to the top layers of his skin and clothing. He snickered at how when he first practice this technique, he'd accidently burnt off his cloths because he hadn't strengthened them with aura, something that effectively made them fire proof armor on their own.

Taiyang needed just a bit more time than the approaching wave of grimm were giving him to prepare, a few messily seconds that meant the world to him, to his bloodlust and anger fueled desire to make the grimm suffer as much as they had him by taking away one of the people he loved the most in his life. He reached behind his back, into a belt holster that held one of his large, hundred pound knuckles. He pulled it out, more interested in one of its built in dust containers than the weapon itself, and slid off a metal plate on the side to reveal them. He twisted his body, letting the red dust fly out in a wide arc in front of him. He let a drop of blood fall into his mouth from a cracked lip, before spitting it onto the dust trail, ignited.

Flames rose up almost immediately, creating a wall of fire that bought him the time he needed as he put on his knuckles. He preferred to fight barehanded, but he didn't want to leave anything for his daughters to find in the morning, and he honestly didn't know if he'd have the motivation in him to carry out the broom and sweep. Devoid of an audience, he didn't have a reason to make this slow and dramatic, and so let the flames consume his whole body immediately. The top layers of his skin were burned away immediately, making him turn red, but the flames stopped once they reached the tiny blood vessels that gave them their life-sustaining blood. He couldn't sustain this form for long at the beginning, but as his aura reserves and regeneration increased to constantly work on replacing the blood and flesh he sacrificed, time became all but irrelevant.

He charged forward, no longer his calm self with short blond hair and deep blue eyes, but a red skinned monster of fire as flames had shot out of his mouth almost without end, and his fists left nothing. Ten minutes later, the wave of grimm that had forced him to become what his enemies called The Red Dragon of Hell, sat before him as ashes teased into disappearing by strong gusts of wind. He turned to go back inside as his skin changed back to its normal white, wanting to check on Ruby and Yang and see if they had stayed asleep, when he seen Yang's face in the window.

"Dad?" Yang tore him out of his daydream. She had begun to worry, seeing her father space out, and the look in his eyes she had seen that night as he walked back into the house; sadness and pain.

"Yes Yang?" Taiyang looked down at his daughter once more, smiling. The future was where his sadness belonged. Realizing how close they were to home, he looked up, seeing Ruby and Qrow's smiling faces in the window. His happiness, it belonged here, with his family.

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><p><strong>AN: Don't worry, Taiyang will be showing back up again in my fanfic Crossing Off The List. How could I leave The Red Dragon of Hell in a one-shot only?**


	2. Yasuraka ni Nemuru

**My personal outlook on the passing of our dear Monty...**

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><p>When you hear of someone passing away, and you say that it is so hard to think that they are really gone, it's not because we can't imagine them gone; it's because we don't want to. It is hard to accept that a person who has done so much, influenced so many, changed entire lives, is now gone. Even as I write this now a small part of me keeps on hoping that I just dozed off and am having a bad dream, but I know that isn't the case. It's hard to accept that Monty Oum was alive just a couple days ago, and that he is now forever gone.<p>

Monty was someone who words could not describe easily. To simply say that he was hardworking, skilled, and had good ideas would be underestimating him to the point of insult. He was always sure of himself, but never stopped working to be better even if it meant working himself half to death. He had a will I don't think I have ever seen replicated or vaguely emulated to do what he loved. Even saying that though seems borderline disgusting for me to say. It's like saying that Anne Frank was just a girl, or that Michael Jackson was just a singer and dancer.

My heart goes out to his friends and family, who must feel an eclipsing sadness so great that it must make it seem like the moon really has shattered, that the light of life continuing on with any form of normality that shone from it is gone.

The closest I ever was to Monty was being a fan of RWBY and him in general, never having met or communicated in anyway with him, and so to say I understand what they are going through would be the most horrible and vile thing I could ever do to them.

Even through that displacement however, it makes me to tear up.

Monty always had the same message, to do what you love, to do it because the alternative was unimaginable, and to do it no matter what anyone said or did.

The final thing I want to say in my regard, if Monty could or can somehow hear it, is that I am sorry. I am sorry that despite spreading the same message over and over while you were alive it took your death to truly make me realize what you meant. I am sorry for my criticisms, for making the same mistake that has plagued human history of being against that we don't understand completely. I'm sorry for not appreciating more what you have done and accomplished.

Take what is the appropriate amount of time for you, let any feelings of sadness dissipate and disappear, and continue on with a resolve as great as you can muster. Monty would not want us to sit here crying our eyes out.

I hope that if anything, his death isn't in vain, and people will try to emulate him; not as a copycat of his fashion or anything as superficial, but to be as motivated, as passionate, and with an unbreakable will to accomplish our dreams.

Today I randomly decided to start wearing a wool scarf, one meant to wrap around your neck for winter. It makes me feel better to have it around my neck, to be more confident, more sure of myself, and just happier. Whenever I am writing, fanfiction or original content, I will be sure to wear this scarf, my formam somnia. I will wear it, and remember my dreams and motivation to be an accomplished writer someday, and Monty's message to never give up, and the inspiration he has been to me.

Thank you Monty, for all that you have done. Your name, meaning the amount that was possible, was well beyond deserved. Rest in Peace. Amen.


End file.
