Silver Devil of Remnant

In the boundless expanse of the void, where time did not exist and space stretched into infinity, a single soul drifted in silence. It floated aimlessly, its form faint and translucent, as it gazed upon the endless darkness that surrounded it. And yet, there was a strange peace in this emptiness—an appreciation for the quiet beauty of the void.

Then, suddenly, two lights flared in the distance. Brilliant and commanding, they surged closer at impossible speed. As they approached, their shapes became clear—two dragons, vast and divine. One bore the form of a serpentine Eastern dragon made entirely of radiant golden light; the other, a mighty Western dragon formed from a deep, regal purple glow.

They halted before the soul, their luminous eyes gazing straight through him, as though unraveling every secret of his existence.

"Interesting," the golden dragon mused, his voice like chimes carried on the wind. "Look, brother. This mortal's memories—he knows of one of our worlds."

The purple dragon snorted, his voice a low rumble of thunder.

"Yes. That failed world. Ozma still stumbles in his eternal war against Salem, and humanity continues to tear itself apart rather than unite against the Grimm."

"We may see it as a failure," the golden dragon said, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, "but from this mortal's perspective, he treasures that world. He longs to save it."

The soul trembled, its formless essence rattled under the sheer pressure of their presence. Their divine will pressed down upon him like the weight of stars. He felt like an ant caught in the path of gods.

Sensing this, the golden dragon softened his light, reigning in his divine aura.

"Easy, brother. You're crushing him."

The purple dragon huffed but relented. The pressure eased, and the soul slowly gathered itself, though awe and fear still clung to him like frost.

"You... you're the Brother Gods," the soul whispered. "You're real? How is that possible? And... where am I?"

The God of Light chuckled, a rich, melodic sound.

"Mortal, we are as real as you are. Every world your own called 'fiction' exists in the vast tapestry of the omniverse. The man you knew as Monty Oum was a seer—a rare being capable of glimpsing other realities in dreams. Most creators on your world who wrote stories did the same. What you called imagination... was vision."

"As for where you are," the God of Darkness added, his voice sharper, more commanding, "this is the Road Between Worlds—a space outside time and existence, where souls may travel to other realms. And you, mortal, are remarkably composed for someone in your state. Most would have gone mad adrift in this void. Now, since we have answered your questions, it is time you answered ours."

The soul, now calmer and aware of just how small he was before these divine beings, bowed in reverence.

"Of course, my lord," he said respectfully.

The dark god nodded, a small smirk playing on his draconic lips.

"Good. You know your place. But fear not—we do not intend to harm you. As my brother said, you seem to love the world of Remnant... even though we have long since deemed it a failure. Why?"

The soul's voice strengthened as he spoke, conviction growing behind each word.

"Because that world still has hope. Despite everything—the Grimm, Salem, even the hatred between humans and Faunus—humanity continues to fight. They've built new weapons, forged new skills, and risk their lives every day for a better future."

The golden dragon tilted his head.

"And yet they are trapped in an endless cycle. Ozma has never truly defeated Salem. He survives but does not triumph. He speaks of peace, yet allows prejudice to fester. The Faunus still suffer unjustly."

The soul sighed.

"You're right. Ozma… for all his wisdom, can be blind. He asked Jinn if he could defeat Salem, not if she could be defeated. He never truly fought the root of the world's hate. I won't pretend to have the answer—my own world struggles with racism, too—but Remnant could be better. That's what I love about it: the struggle. People fight, not just for survival, but for love, for justice, for each other. I've watched RWBY many times, and I always thought… if I ever had the chance to go there, I'd do everything I could to change its fate. Help Jaune grow stronger. Save Pyrrha. Prevent Beacon's fall. That world deserves another chance."

The two divine dragons exchanged a silent glance—a moment of understanding passing between them.

Then they nodded.

"We have grown bored," the God of Darkness said with a low chuckle. "If you desire it so, we shall grant you entry into our world. Whether you become a savior of mankind or its destroyer, it matters not. Entertain us."

"We shall each bestow upon you a gift," said the God of Light. "Think of them as boons—tools to aid you in your journey."

The soul lit up, trembling with excitement.

"Seriously? I get to isekai into RWBY? This is amazing! Can I wish for anything?"

"Within reason," the light god replied with a smile.

Time passed differently in this place, but the soul pondered deeply before making his request.

"I want to be born with Silver Eyes… and be trained to control them."

He turned to the darker brother.

"And I want the powers of Nero—from Devil May Cry. The strength, the sword, the gun, everything."

Both dragons roared in unison, light and darkness swirling around the soul as their power enveloped him. One half of his form turned radiant gold, the other deep violet. Power surged into his being, and he felt sleep creeping in as his form began to transform.

"Wait..." he murmured. "Can I also… choose my backstory?"

The God of Darkness laughed.

"Worry not, mortal. You shall have an origin worth remembering."

"Good luck," the God of Light said, his voice distant now. "You will remember your memories when you awaken your eyes. We will be watching."

And with that, the soul vanished in a flash of divine light, hurled toward the world he once watched from afar—the world of Remnant.