Force Majeure: Chapter 1 - Bereavement

He lunged in return, putting the weight of his shoulders, the twist of his back and the straightening kick of both legs into the thrust of the weapon. He aimed for the one pale segment of skin he could see. The spear-blade bit and sank into the notch of his throat at the place where the coat stopped and the ski mask had not yet begun. Blood sluiced brightly downwards. The man choked and stopped. The sword that sought his life came slicing on, carried by the speed of his lunge. He wrenched sideways, too slowly, and felt the sting of it carve between his fingers. He let go of the spear. The man toppled over, angled away from him by the weight of the haft. The doorway brightened and darkened again. His father was there.

But the problem was, is that there seemed to be a limp in his step. As his father walked out into the dim light of the moonlight cast on the window, he noticed blood covered the front of his shirt. His father was hiding a deep wound that had nearly penetrated him all the way to the back, Kitsune noticing that it barely missed the heart. Quickly, he ran to his father’s side, carrying him by the shoulders to the seat next to his bed. His father couldn’t speak as he tried his best to slow the inevitable death. Kitsune tore his father's shirt off, trying his best to stop the blood flow with a towel he had used the night before for a quick shower. Soon, though, his father looked up into his fathers, and with his last breath, uttered, "Avenge me, son. The men you are looking for come from the embassy in Aries. Please hurry." And with that, his dad slouched over, barely holding onto the chair, his life expiring.

Kitsune wiped away his tears that morning, leaning on a shovel in front of both graves he had dug for his mother and father, their tombstones leaving a horrid reminder of the great people they once were. Bodies of the townspeople were strewn all over the place. Some had been left with a sword or a knife lodged in their bodies, some even hanging from the roofs and nailed to their own front doors. Raging flames still burned most of the houses, and the barracks, which had stood tall and proud as a symbol of their city, Mobius, was burnt to pieces by the fierce onslaught. At the time they had built it, they had no stone to fortify it, therefore leaving it vulnerable to such a catastrophe.

It was now or never; he had to find his way to Aries, which lied thousands of miles away.

He gathered up his sword and set of guns, placing them in a suitcase that looked like what any other normal businessman had. In it were a set of guns that included a sniper rifle and a set of 10 different pistols he himself had made using the skills his father had instilled upon him with gun crafting. Along with that, he tossed on his favorite long, black, leather trench coat and black sunglasses, with his long bastard sword placed inside of the sheath that was tied to his back. He put several more pistols on the inside of his jacket, along with as many magazines of bullets as he can and all the money he could find, for this world is different from others. This world was damned long ago to become the unsafe rubble it is today. Criminals and terrorists roam freely, without worry of an authority figure stopping them.