Hey everyone Rosesaiyan2 here again. Sorry for the long wait everyone, but I'm finally back to updating this story! Got some inspiration after reading some other rwby stories because i wasn't real sure where this story was going to go for a while. But I believe I know where to take the story from here now.
As for loose ends in the story, i do still plan on making individual chapters for each pairing I'm invested in developing. So there will be individual or short chapters for the following pairings: Khanna x Mercury, Baron x Flare, Sybrh x Tarro, Jaune x Pyrrha/Spoiler, Blake x Valvedern, Beat x Note. Hailfire doesn't have a pairing ... yet, but I do have someone in mind for her. Maybe you guys can help me narrow it down?
Best option for Hailfire:
1. Sun Wukong
2. Neptune Vasilias
3. Oscar Pine
4. Yatsuhashi Daichi
Anyways feel free to pm me or leave a comment or review with your choice and why that choice would work with what you guys know of Hailfire's personality so far.
And now, without further ado.. onto the story!
Disclaimer: I don't own DBS, Black Clover, Rwby or any of their characters. I only own the oc's that appear in this story.
Opening:

(Song 4 U- Tales of Xilia 2)
Visuals: just replace the tales characters with the characters in this story. Villains being Cinder and Emerald. Mercury caught in the middle between the fighting sides unsure of which side to go with. Odyn and Ruby fighting against Cinder and Emerald respectively with the other characters fighting off the Grimm. Opening ends with Khanna extending a hand towards Mercury and the boy accepting it and joining the others after hesitating.
Chapter Seventeen: Round One — Premonition
The island of Patch in autumn had a quality that Vale didn't — quieter, more honest about its own seasons, the tall grass going gold at the tips and the trees doing the specific thing that trees do when they have decided October is sufficient reason to let go of things. The light in the afternoon had a low, warm quality that made shadows longer than they should have been and made the whole island look like something being remembered rather than something being experienced.
The gravestone was white stone. Simple. The inscription read: Summer Rose — Thus Kindly I Scatter.
Ruby stood in front of it with her hands clasped and her hood up, and beside her was Odyn, who had come because she asked him to and because there was nowhere else he would have been.
She lowered her hood.
"Hey, Mom," she said.
The words had the quality of words that have been practiced and still don't come out quite right, which is the honest quality of all conversations with the dead — the preparation is never sufficient, because the thing you are preparing for is the silence, and silence does not respond to preparation.
"Sorry I haven't come by in a while. Things have been — well. Things have been." She paused. "Dad's here too. He's still teaching at Signal, and he's got a mission coming up, and I think he misses going on them with you." She looked at the stone. "I miss you too. Haven't been kicked out of Beacon yet — I think having Yang there helps."
She almost smiled.
"You should meet my friends. There's Weiss and Blake — I'll bring them by when I have the chance. There are others too." She glanced sideways. "Actually — there's someone I've wanted to introduce you to for a while now."
Odyn stepped forward and knelt beside her, which was not a gesture he had planned but which arrived naturally, the way appropriate gestures do.
"It's good to meet you, Mrs. Rose," he said. "I am Odyn. I'm certain your daughter has told you about me. My only regret is that I couldn't meet you in person." He paused. "I'm sure you were a wonderful mother to her. Anyone can tell, by looking at who she became."
Ruby blushed at this and pressed on before the feeling overtook her.
"Odyn is — he's my boyfriend now. But more than that, he's been kind to me since the first day. The way you would want someone to be kind to me." She looked at the stone. "Dad's accepted him too. That took a week, but — you know Dad."
She went on for a while longer — the bad guys stopped, the teachers who were interesting in varying degrees, the mystery of why Ozpin had let her in early, the specific way that Ozpin, the more she knew him, reminded her of Uncle Qrow in ways she couldn't entirely articulate.
From the direction of the path, Zwei barked twice.
"That's our cue," Odyn said, his arm settling around her.
Ruby nodded and looked at the stone for a moment longer.
"I'll have more stories next time," she said. "It was good to talk again, Mom."
She turned and walked toward her father and her dog and the path back to the house.
Odyn rose. He was about to follow when something arrived that was not a sound, exactly — more like the quality of a space changing. The specific quality of being addressed.
Thank you.
He did not turn around. He spoke into the space the way you speak to something you are certain of, without needing to see it confirmed.
"You're welcome, Mrs. Rose. I promise to take care of her. She means everything to me."
In his peripheral vision — not quite seen, not quite not — the suggestion of a figure in a white hood and cape, with the specific quality of someone who has been watching for a while and is glad with what they saw.
I know you will. You have my blessing. Keep my little rose happy.
"You can count on it," he said.
He walked to join Ruby, and when he glanced back, there was nothing but the stone and the grass and the low autumn light.
Above them, crows lifted from the trees and scattered into the brightness.
The walk back
Taiyang Xiao Long had the quality of someone who had been suspicious of something for a week and had arrived, through accumulated evidence, at the conclusion that his suspicion was unnecessary. This was not a comfortable process for a father, but it had the merit of being honest.
"At first," he said, to Odyn and Roy as they walked the path back toward the house, with the girls ahead of them and Zwei conducting his own independent investigation of the grass along the path's edge, "I was wary. Two boys spending time with my daughters."
"That's reasonable," Odyn said.
"You're both genuine," Taiyang said. "That much became clear fast enough."
Roy was quiet. He had the specific quality of someone who was not sure what was going to be said next and was deciding whether to be prepared for it.
"You care about them," Taiyang said. "It shows. Not in the performed way — you're not trying to impress anybody. You just care."
"They were the first humans who saw us as people," Roy said. "Not as what we are — as who we are. My brother and I don't take that lightly."
Ahead of them, Yang had gone very still.
She was walking at the same pace. Her arms were in the same position. She had not, technically, stopped. But she had gone still in the way of someone who has heard something and is organizing what to do with it, and the organizing was taking a noticeable amount of time.
"Yang?" Ruby said, looking at her sister with the curious, slightly concerned attention she deployed when Yang was behaving unexpectedly.
"I'm fine," Yang said. "Totally fine. I just — I need to go grab some things before we head out, so I'll — yeah."
She accelerated up the path with the contained energy of someone who has made a decision about their face and is implementing it away from the audience.
Ruby watched her go. "What's wrong with her?"
Odyn put a hand on her shoulder. "Nothing's wrong. She's thinking about something."
"About what?"
He glanced at Roy.
Roy was looking at the path ahead with the expression of someone who is aware that he has said something and is now experiencing the consequences of having said it, which were not bad consequences exactly but were the kind that required some time to navigate.
"About someone," Odyn said. "Try not to worry about it."
"Who—"
"Ruby."
"Yes?"
"Let it be," he said.
She made the face she made when she was accepting something she didn't fully understand yet. Then she made the other face — the one that understood more than she was letting on.
Taiyang watched this exchange and looked at Odyn with the expression of a man reassessing his assessments.
"How long have you been able to read her that well?" he asked.
"Since approximately the third week," Odyn said.
"That's faster than I managed," Taiyang said, and there was something in it that was not quite sadness and not quite pride but lived in the same neighborhood as both.
"She's not difficult to read," Odyn said. "She's the most honest person I know. That makes it easier."
Taiyang was quiet for a moment.
"Take care of her," he said, and the words had the weight of a man who has thought very carefully about whether he trusts someone with the most important thing he has.
"I intend to," Odyn said. "For as long as she'll have me."
"From what I've observed," Taiyang said, "that's going to be a very long time."
Beacon — the return
Weiss had been waiting in the way Weiss waited for things she was not going to admit she had been waiting for — with the precise posture and controlled expression of someone who is perfectly comfortable and has simply happened to be standing near the entrance when the relevant people arrived.
"About time," she said.
"We didn't say where we were going," Odyn acknowledged.
"That was the point," Blake said, from beside Weiss. "I assumed Ruby would want to go home before the tournament. It's fine."
"It is fine," Weiss agreed, in the tone of someone agreeing with something they had previously found less than fine. "Just — say something next time."
There was something underneath Weiss's complaint that was not quite the complaint itself. Odyn filed this without comment. Ruby had been the one who went home and brought her boyfriend and her sister and her sister's companion, and Weiss had remained at Beacon — and Weiss, who genuinely did not think of herself as someone who had a need to be included in things, had found, apparently, that she minded more than she expected.
He would not say this. It was hers to arrive at.
"Next time," he said, "you come too."
She looked at him.
"Both of you," he said, which included Blake.
"We'll see," Weiss said, which was Weiss's version of yes.
The festival grounds
The Vytal Festival had a particular quality that large festivals have when they are operating at full capacity — the specific warmth of many people in one place who have all, individually, decided to enjoy themselves, which creates a collective energy that is greater than the sum of its parts and somewhat different in character from any individual enjoyment.
The smell was food and festival lights and the particular atmosphere of a city that has set aside its ordinary business for a week and replaced it with something more interesting.
Odyn and Ruby walked through it hand in hand, which was still new enough that they were both still navigating the specific quality of the newness — the moment when your hand is in someone else's hand and you are simultaneously very aware of this and trying to appear as though you are not.
"How are you liking it?" he asked.
"Any time I get to spend with you is good," she said, and said it with the complete simplicity of someone who has decided that the truth doesn't need decoration.
He looked at her.
She was looking at the festival lights, and her profile in the light had the specific quality he had been noticing more frequently — something was shifting in her, very gradually, that he couldn't fully name. Her hair at the tips. The way she stood. Something in the quality of her presence that was different from how it had been in September.
He did not say this.
He filed it.
"Don't grow up too fast on me," he said, instead.
She turned and looked at him. "What?"
"The girl who argued with me about weapon cataloguing at the docks," he said, "is the one I fell in love with. She had this very specific excitement about things that should not have been exciting."
"I still have that," she said, slightly offended.
"I know. I just — don't let it go. That's all."
She considered this for a moment. "You're saying you like me for being weird."
"I'm saying I love you for being exactly yourself," he said. "Which happens to include being somewhat unusual. Yes."
She was quiet for a moment. Then she leaned her head against his arm, because the height differential made this the natural configuration, and they walked through the festival in the particular warmth of two people who have said the important things and are now free to be ordinary together.
"It's still surreal," she said.
"What is?"
"That you're my boyfriend. That that's a real thing that happened."
"Does it need to be more convincing?"
She giggled — the real one. "No. I just — I keep expecting to wake up."
"You're not asleep," he said.
"I know." She squeezed his hand. "It's a good kind of surreal."
The next morning — the park
The sparring had the quality that sparring between people who know each other very well always has — less aggressive than fighting strangers, but in some ways more precise, because the knowledge of your opponent's tendencies means that your tendencies are equally known, and the challenge becomes to do something your brother has not catalogued yet.
Roy was very good.
He was not, yet, better than Odyn. But the gap was narrower than it had been six months ago, which was the relevant measurement.
After the ninth disarm — Roy on the ground, regarding the training blade a few feet from his hand with the mild frustration of someone who had been close and had not quite gotten there — Odyn offered his hand.
"Nine," Roy said.
"You had me four of those times," Odyn said.
Roy looked at him.
"I mean it," Odyn said. "There were four exchanges where the correct sequence of decisions on your part would have resulted in a different outcome. You made a different choice each time."
"Which choices?"
Odyn told him. Specifically, in detail, without softening any of it. Roy listened in the specific way he listened when something was worth remembering.
"You're not just saying that," Roy said, when he was done.
"I've never lied to you," Odyn said.
This was true. The truth of it was comfortable, the way old truths are comfortable — not because they're easy but because they've been established long enough that their foundations are solid.
"If I'm not careful," Odyn said, "you will surpass me. Not immediately. But you're on the trajectory."
Roy was quiet for a moment.
"You wouldn't let me do it without a fight," he said.
"Obviously not."
They bumped fists.
The morning light was doing its morning things through the trees of the park. Somewhere in the grounds behind them, the first groups of festival-goers were beginning to arrive, drawn by the tournament schedule and the particular energy of a week that had decided to be celebratory.
Odyn stopped.
The feeling was specific — not a sound, not a visual, but the particular quality of a space that is being observed. He had encountered this before: in mountain passes during reconnaissance, in the ruins of cities where things moved in the dark and pretended not to.
He turned.
Nothing visible. The park's edge, the building beyond it, the ordinary rooftop.
"Brother?" Roy said.
"Nothing," Odyn said. "I thought—" He looked at the rooftop for a moment longer. "It's gone."
"Or hidden," Roy said.
"Or hidden," he agreed.
He turned back to the path.
On the rooftop, behind the edge of the parapet, the small thing with the beady red eyes pressed itself flat and remained absolutely still until the footsteps faded.
The Amity Colosseum
The arena had been built to impress and was achieving this with the commitment of something designed by people who understood that spectacle, when properly executed, is its own form of argument. It floated above Beacon's airspace with the serene self-confidence of a structure that has decided altitude is a virtue rather than a constraint.
The crowd inside it had the specific quality of an audience that has come from multiple kingdoms and has therefore brought multiple forms of enthusiasm, which in aggregate produced a sound that was not quite cheering and not quite noise but something between the two that expressed collective anticipation.
Odyn sat in the stands with his teammates and the assembled friends who had gathered to watch team RWBY's match, and he was watching the field — volcanic earth on one side, glacier formation on the other, the specific randomized geography of the tournament that ensured no one could fully prepare for a terrain type and everyone had to adapt.
Ruby was already in it. He could see her from here, which was a specific quality of the Amity Colosseum's design — the spectators could see everything.
He watched her move.
She had gotten very good. He had noticed this in Mountain Glenn, in Vale, in the training hall when she thought no one was paying particular attention. The gap between who she was in September and who she was now was significant. The Crescent Wave that ended the match was not a technique she had known six months ago. The tactical adjustment mid-fight — the specific moment when he could see her calm down and start reading the field rather than reacting to it — that was something she had learned.
He was thinking about this when the vision arrived.
It was not the gradual dimming of consciousness that sleep is. It was the specific quality of something being placed in front of your eyes while your eyes are still open — overlaid, insistent, impossible to look away from.
Beacon burning.
The specificity of it was what made it terrible — not the fire as a general concept, but Beacon's specific towers, the courtyard he knew, the landing platforms, the architecture of a place he had come to recognize. All of it wrong in the ways that places are wrong when they have been destroyed.
Bodies.
He did not enumerate them. He registered them as a category and moved through the vision without engaging with the specific details, because some details are information and some are damage.
Pyrrha.
The image arrived with the force of something that has been saved for specific impact. Pyrrha impaled, in a specific location on the arena's tower, and the figure standing over her was not ambiguous — amber eyes, a smile that had the quality of something that has gotten what it came for. The laugh.
Cinder.
He registered this and moved to the next image, which was worse in a different way — Cardin Winchester and his team, but not themselves. The shadows on their skin were not metaphorical. The horns and wings were not metaphorical. Something had entered them and they had — either surrendered to it or been unable to resist, and the result was the thing he was looking at now.
The vision ended.
He was in the stands. The crowd was cheering. Port was saying something about the match and the tournament. Below him, Ruby was alive, fighting well, winning.
That was a premonition, he thought, and the thought arrived with the calm of someone who has been trained to receive information and process it rather than react to it. The Arkynorean gift of foresight was not something he had inherited fully — it was his mother's bloodline primarily, and it had not manifested in him with any consistency until now.
Until now.
He filed the contents. Beacon burning. Pyrrha. Cinder. The devils.
He would speak to his parents.
He would not speak of it today, because today was the tournament and Ruby was winning and the crowd was loud and the sun was on everything, and the dark does not arrive any faster for being anticipated.
He watched Ruby in the field below, and she was alive and moving and brilliant, and that was sufficient for this moment.
The match — as seen from below
The field had been interesting to Ruby in the specific way that unexpected opponents are interesting — not that Team ABRN was weak, exactly, but that they had assumptions about team RWBY that the preceding months had made incorrect.
When Bolin dodged the coordinated strike and Ruby panicked for half a second, the specific voice that arrived in her head was Odyn's — not literally, not the telepathic channel, but the internalized version of him that she had acquired through enough repetition that it had become its own thing.
Stay calm. Analyze. Act from understanding, not from reaction.
She stilled.
She looked at the field as a system rather than a collection of immediate threats.
She saw what she needed to do.
"This is getting us nowhere," Weiss said.
"I know. That's why I have a plan." She had had it for approximately eight seconds. "Listen."
The plan worked in the way that plans work when they are built from an accurate reading of the situation and executed by people who trust each other's timing — not perfectly, but sufficiently. The Crescent Wave at the end was the version of the technique she had been developing for two months, and when it connected, she felt the specific satisfaction of a thing working exactly as intended.
The buzzer sounded.
She jumped up.
Her stomach immediately complicated the celebration.
"We did it— oh."
She pressed her hand to her stomach.
Odyn arrived with his team from the stands with the ease of someone who had found the right exit before most people had identified that the match was over.
"Let's get some lunch," he said.
"You knew," she said.
"I know you," he said. "It's the same thing."
She puffed her cheeks at him. He ruffled her hair. She puffed them further.
Yang watched all of this and made a face at Roy that said: see what I mean?
Roy made a face back that said: yes, I've been watching this for a year.
The noodle stand — A Simple Wok
The Shopkeep was a man of few words and significant capability, which is the best possible combination in a food vendor. He did not need to be told twice or ask follow-up questions; he received each order with the focused attention of someone who has been doing this for long enough that the orders have become a language he speaks fluently.
Yang: noodles, large.
Ruby: the same, with the expression of someone who has tasted it vicariously before actually tasting it.
Odyn: the spicy variant. There was a small visible flame rising from the bowl, which he regarded with approval.
Roy: the same as Odyn.
Hailfire: sweet and spicy curry. The bowl that arrived had the quality of something that had been prepared with genuine investment.
Flare: also curry, requested with the stammering politeness of someone who is not used to the stakes of a food order feeling meaningful.
Weiss: began a question about sodium content and received a bowl before finishing the sentence.
Blake: said nothing. Exchanged a look with the Shopkeep that communicated volumes through eye contact. Received noodles with fish on top. Her expression did the specific thing it did when something has arrived exactly right.
She reached for it.
Weiss produced her Schnee Dust Company credit card.
The card was declined.
Blake processed this with the specific grief of someone who has been given something and had it taken away in the same moment, and slumped over the counter.
"No," she said, to the universe.
The Shopkeep removed the bowl with the impassive efficiency of someone who has seen this before and has feelings about it but is also operating a business.
Pyrrha materialized, as she occasionally did, at the precisely necessary moment.
"Maybe I could help with that?"
Blake's recovery was immediate and complete.
Team JNPR joined them, and then KDBNB, and the stand became the specific kind of crowded that it is when a group of people who have been through things together decides to have lunch and the lunch becomes the thing rather than the occasion for the thing. The conversations overlapped. The Shopkeep maintained the pace without apparent effort. Someone bumped Nora's elbow and she said something about structural capacity that nobody quite followed.
Jaune ate too much and paid for it in the way that humans pay for eating too much.
"If I barf," he said, "I'm blaming you."
"A punch to the gut would fix it," Khanna said.
He looked at her.
"A joke," she said.
"Is it?"
She smiled. The smile did not resolve the question.
Nora delivered an elaborate assessment of JNPR's prospects that began with confidence and ended in tears and concluded with Ren saying "We're feeling pretty good" in the tone of someone providing a stable railing for someone else to hold.
Pyrrha noted that regulated combat with guidelines was considerably preferable to people who wanted to kill you, which was an accurate characterization of the year they had all had.
Blake was counting threats on her fingers: Grimm invasions, violent extremists, a criminal network, a masked woman at the CCT, a train with bombs—
"And that's while we're still in training," Ruby said. "Imagine graduating."
"I imagine being able to pay for my own noodles," Weiss said, to no one in particular.
The announcement came with the specific authority of Port in full commentator mode, which was a mode that admitted no ambiguity.
"Will teams OHRF, KDBNB, and JNPR please report to the battle grounds immediately!"
"Several minutes ago," Oobleck's voice added from the same speaker, with the precision of someone who has been tracking this.
The three teams stood.
Ruby got to Odyn before he had taken two steps.
"Good luck," she said, and her face had the quality it had when she was not managing it — open, warm, completely present.
"I'll feel stronger with you watching," he said.
She laughed at this — the genuine one — and went up on her toes and kissed his cheek, which she had adopted as the public version of what they were now, and which did what it always did to him, which was make it temporarily difficult to think about the next thing.
He patted her hair.
She batted his hand away, smiling.
He caught her hand before she lowered it, held it for a second, released it.
"Go get them," she said.
"Yes," he agreed.
He turned.
Roy was already at the tunnel entrance with the expression of someone who has been waiting with superhuman patience.
"Are you finished?" Roy said.
"Yes," Odyn said.
"Good," Roy said. "Because we have a tournament."
They went.
The stands — afterward
Team RWBY found their seats as Emerald and Mercury settled two rows back, which Odyn, Roy, and Hailfire would have noted if they had been in the stands rather than in the tunnel.
Cinder arrived behind her two operatives with the specific quality she brought to public spaces — present, attentive, entirely unremarkable to everyone who was not looking for her specifically. She took an unpopped kernel from Mercury's popcorn, heated it between two fingers, and ate it with the serene satisfaction of someone watching an event they have already read the final chapter of.
"Even if you know how the story ends," she said, "it's still interesting to watch."
Mercury looked at the field.
He was thinking about premonitions. Not his own — he did not have the gift of foresight. But he had developed, over the past months, something that functioned similarly in practice: the specific sensitivity of someone who has been paying close attention to the gap between what people say and what they mean, and who had applied this sensitivity to the plan he was embedded in, and who had arrived at a conclusion about the plan's timeline.
It was soon.
Whatever Cinder had been building toward — the operation at the CCT, the White Fang, the Paladin-290s, the presence here at the Festival — it was about to move.
He was ready.
He was going to need to be.
Emerald, beside him, watched the arena with the focused attention of someone completing an assignment. Cinder, on his other side, watched with the attention of someone who has already completed theirs.
Between them, Mercury ate his popcorn and thought about a girl with dark hair who had said: you'll choose the right side. I know you will.
He was going to make sure she was correct.
The tunnel — Team OHRF and KDBNB
The announcement board showed: JNPR vs. BRNZ.
In the tunnel, the teams watched through the gap — Odyn standing slightly forward of the others, looking at the field where Jaune was making the specific face of someone organizing their focus.
The premonition was still with him.
He had the habit, when carrying something significant, of being very still — not the stillness of someone suppressing something, but the stillness of someone who has filed something and is waiting for the right moment to act on it. The stillness of someone with patience.
He would speak to his parents. After the tournament rounds were done for today. He would tell his mother specifically, because Hyatan's foresight was the more developed version of the ability he had apparently now also been gifted with, and she would know what it meant that a premonition had arrived this specifically and this clearly.
Pyrrha.
Cinder.
Beacon.
He would not let those images become the future if there was anything he could do about it.
He watched Jaune take his position on the field, and Pyrrha beside him — Pyrrha, who carried inside her the soul of someone who was waiting to be known — and he filed the weight of what he had seen alongside the certainty that he was not going to let it happen without a fight.
The countdown reached zero.
The teams launched forward.
The crowd rose.
Odyn watched, and waited, and thought about the specific quality of premonitions — that they are warnings, not inevitabilities, and that the difference between the two is what you do in the time between seeing something and arriving at it.
He had the time.
He intended to use it.
End of Chapter Seventeen
To be continued in Chapter Eighteen
The gift of foresight, among the Arkynorean people, is not considered a blessing in the way that ordinary gifts are considered blessings. It is considered a responsibility.
This is because seeing something coming does not mean the thing will not come. It means you will arrive at it having had warning, which is a different condition from being surprised — it requires more from the person who received the warning, not less.
Odyn Albanar had seen Beacon burning.
He had seen Pyrrha fall.
He had seen the shape of what was coming, and he had filed it with the calm of someone who has been trained to receive information and has decided what to do with it.
He was going to need all of the time between now and then.
He did not intend to waste a moment of it.
Ending theme- vivid days (Kenja no Mago)
Visuals: just replace the characters in the video with stills of the main cast from this story.
Whew! Finally done! Sorry ut took so long to get another chapter out guys, went on an extended hiatus due to just work and other things in life I'm involved in. Don't worry though i will update the stories you as the readers take time to check out whenever i have time to. The other Rwby story is in the midst of being updated, I just have to finishe writing the next chapter for it lol 😆.
Anyways... after thinking about it, I believe I have narrowed Hailfire and Blake's potentional pairings down. Vite for which one works the best (in your opinions)
For Hailfire:
1. Neptune Vasilias
2. Sun Wukong
3. Oscar Pine (volume 5)
For Blake:
1. Valvadern Arkham (oc)
2. Giblet (Dragon ball Legends)
3. Shallot (Dragon ball Legends)
If you noticed, Ruby's attack to take out Team ABRN in their match was a cameo for a certain Boost special from Tales of Arise (a game I've been playing recently lol) (Aka Shionne's attack with Rinwell).
Ruby and the rest of her friends will eventually get stronger than they were in cannon, it'll just take abit. Anyways that's all for now, just a little update.
Next time- Chapter 18: New Challengers..., The Dark Elves Frightening Power!