Welcome to Retribution! It's my first Fanfic, so don't be too harsh with reviews, please.

The story concept is based off of exb759's Fanfic, Gone. It's an excellent read, go look at it. The only directly and intentionally copied effect is the apocalypse; everything else, characters, reasons, plot, is mine and/or Mojang's.

I'll do my best to update this one as frequently as possible, but school will probably end that. Anyways, on with the story!

UPDATE: Fed. 28 2013, FINALLY updating the crappy first chapter. Much cleaner and better, now!

XXX

Several miles under the oceans, an abandoned and empty castle waited, biding its time. Millennia ago, its owner had been defeated in a vast war. The stronghold left behind continued to stand, left to survive thanks to the remnants of its king's power. The victorious ones had sealed away the king, destined to forever wander in his own twisted dimension. The stronghold was deactivated and buried away, doomed to crumble.

11 thousand years had passed since then.

At the core of the castle, a single room had escaped the merciless wrath of the earth. Still supported by an unseen power, the room contained two glowing pools of lava, glowing eternally and suffusing the room with a dim light. A set of stairs led up to a large dais somehow floating over a massive river of flowing lava. The dais itself was a roughly rectangular object, made up of twelve portions. Each portion was made of a mysterious white stone. Embedded into the top of the sheared-off stones were intricate dark turquoise 'slots,' each one waiting for something.

The entrance to the chamber crumbled as something on the other side smashed into it. For several seconds, there was a small sound of scuffling. A pick abruptly broke the hardened stone, then retreated. Several more hits brought out a small hole. A man stepped through, holding a lamp up as he investigated the room.

In the gloomy half-light, very few of his details could be seen, save for light brown hair that grew to just below his ears, the shotgun in his other hand, and a crisp black business suit, dark red lines glowing imperceptibly. He reached into his coat and procured a brown leather pouch. He opened and pulled out twelve faintly glowing green eyes. Carefully trekking around the dais, he gingerly inserted an eye into each slot with a faint click.

As one, the eyes spiraled to life, rolling wildly in their new sockets before coming to rest, gazing into the middle of the dais. A black spark formed and expanded into a paper-thin portal, which remained pitch black. One by one, stars began to pop up inside the darkness, moving slowly across its surface. It began to glow, gradually brightening until it was a blinding white. The man continued to watch, undeterred by the light as he waited for the inevitable event. As the light began to shoot out of the portal in plumes of energy, a single figure rose from the depths, and the man's face split into an arrogant sneer. For he had succeeded.

And the Destroyer of Worlds was reborn.

XXX

On the surface, order had collapsed, with anarchy rising to rule in its place. None knew why it happened, and no one dared to speculate, if only because they were fighting for their lives. People of authority had been assassinated, countless gunfights broke out on the streets, and destruction swept over the land in a wave of death. In an area known as Jalcuk City, explosions ripped through the air. Buildings were set ablaze by madmen, not caring for whoever may be inside. Gunfire echoed endlessly, screams of the dying sounding off as if responding to each other. There was no more government, no more order – only chaos and anarchy would reign from this day onwards.

In one particular alleyway, a powerful bang rang out as blood splattered several feet up the wall. The owner of the gun lowered it slightly, the muzzle still smoking from the powerful shot. Its owner was a 21-year old, with pitch-black hair and somewhat pale skin. Two sharp brown eyes flickered wildly, roving the alley in case of another ambush. Relaxing, he turned. A dark ankle-length trench coat, so dark gray it was almost black, trailed his movements. Hidden in its recesses were countless durable pockets, for storing any set of equipment imaginable.

"It should be safe – for now," Darius Loyhrs muttered with the slightest hint of a Scottish accent as he reloaded his gun; a Colt Anaconda revolver made specifically for him. Not the best gun, but it was one he had a particular affection with. It was also much bulkier than a standard Anaconda, even by its large-framed standards. His parents peeked out timidly from the side alley they were hiding in. Darius' father recoiled at the sight of the body on the floor.

"Why'd you kill him?" he asked heatedly. Darius pointed calmly at the gun clutched in the corpse's hands.

"If it wasn't him, it would've been us." Darius' face darkened briefly before stepping forwards and pulling them from their alleyway. "Now, come on. If we don't hurry, others might come along."

As he moved, his dark trench coat flapped for a second, revealing a pair of foot-long daggers strapped to his belt. Darius picked up speed, forcing his parents to jog as well. He was starting to feel glad he'd taken up lessons from his uncle, who was a former military officer. At first, it'd simply been a fascination; not many people had a genuine war veteran for a relative.

"Come on, we need to get you somewhere safe," Darius said as they sprinted. "We need to go to the warehouses – it's our only hope."

They ran three blocks, skirting around groups and outright killing lone strangers. When they found the last street, the warehouse was clearly visible, only fifty meters away from their hiding point. Too many people – most likely a gang – were standing alert in the road, and all of their other paths to the warehouse were cut off.

"Mom, Dad, stay here," said Darius. He primed his gun. "I want you to hide while I handle this lot."

"But there are too many people there!" his mother protested. "You can't… you can't murder your way through an entire crowd just to get us to safety!"

"Watch me," Darius growled. He busted open the lock on a nearby door and gestured for his parents to enter. Roughly slamming down the latch, he turned and slid down the concrete wall, sighing. Honestly, parents sometimes…

He regained his focus and checked his revolver. Reloading it, he snapped together the chamber and drew his knife. Steadying his nerve, he snuck up behind a person some distance away from the others on a patrol. Darius waited around a corner, and struck when the man got too close. Darius swiftly leapt up and dragged the man around the corner, immediately plunging his knife into the man's jugular. He instantly retracted his knife and ran.

Darius climbed a building, higher and higher till he burst through a door to see the gray ashen clouds overhead – a side effect of the massive volcanic eruptions across the world. Satisfied he was high enough, he carefully aimed for the man next to the warehouse. He fired off a single shot, his revolver's distinct crack rolling through the window. Ignoring it, he began sniping down the men scattered around the warehouse.

"Damn," he said as another spray of bullets forced him back. He heard faint pounding downstairs – they'd found out where he was hiding. Not wasting a moment, Darius sprang up and hastily climbed above the door that led up. When the few guards had appeared to check the rooftop, he slid down and shot them both in the heart.

As they collapsed, he took off down the stairs, running back up and exchanging fire when necessary. Darius burst out the door and sprinted down the hallway, shooting out the light switch as he went. As the hallway plunged into darkness, he silently slipped past the group pursuing him. Drawing his knife, he sneaked behind each one in turn. Swiftly clapping a hand over the mouth of his targets and slicing their necks open with a decisive cut, he easily dispatched of the small team.

The lights turned back on as he swept out to reveal the wreckage left behind.

Sprinting out, he caught the gang off-guard, who expected him to stay inside. Running as fast as his legs would allow, Darius charged to dive behind a car, still firing off shots with pinpoint accuracy as he slid to dodge a wave of bullets that were racing towards his head. The thin metal sheen of the minivan he'd taken cover behind, however, was poor in protecting him.

Bullets quickly shredded apart its metal, but it had served its purpose. Darius pumped his legs, rushing towards a nearby building's corner as a bullet pierced a fuel line of the car. The hot lead ignited the gasoline as Darius hid behind the corner, an explosion blocking both party's vision. Taking advantage of the smoke and temporary stop as the men struggled to reload, Darius ran through the smoke, careful not to accidentally discharge a shot.

He came to a stop inside the warehouse, breathing heavily. Thankfully they hadn't noticed him. The smoke was beginning to clear away, more men stepping through it and searching for him. Darius' eyes roved the warehouse quickly, desperately looking for a weapon to use. His eyes came to a rest on a small box. Tearing off the lid, his eyes lit up at what was inside.

The window of the warehouse shattered as a small object sailed out from the inside, spewing a clear gas into its surroundings. It was a special type of grenade – one that would emit a highly flammable gas under pressure before igniting a spark. It was an anti-terrorist weapon meant to clear out large but confined spaces, but would work just as efficiently here.

The grenade ignited, causing the massive clouds of gas to race outwards as they caught fire, effectively and efficiently clearing out the entire area. Darius leapt out from hiding, locating the last remaining stragglers. With three quick pulls of the trigger, they fell, blood spouting from wounds in their heads. Another glance around the area told him that everyone was either roasted to death or just plain dead. Satisfied, he walked quickly back to where his parents were. He flung open the door…

To have his eyes greeted by an empty room.

At first, he thought he'd gotten the wrong room. Looking around in a panic, he turned around and ran to the surrounding buildings. As each door fell, still no one appeared. Darius was slowly starting to panic. He raced to the top of the building where he had originally told his parents to stay. As he burst through the door to the roof, he stopped short at the sight of three guns pointed into his face. Two of them were holding his parents up by their collars and armed with light pistols, and the third held a powerful assault rifle in his hands. All three of them had a strange mark emblazoned onto their shirts – a small figure of a crimson five-pointed star over a black circle with strange markings around the edge.

Darius' mother was unconscious, but his father coughed, a trickle of blood leaving his mouth. "I'm sorry… We were ambushed when we tried to leave…"

"Shut up," the person holding him grunted, squeezing his neck tighter. The gun pressed deeper into his temple. Darius growled softly.

"If you know what's good for ya, you'll drop that little gun o' yours and walk away," said the one with the assault rifle, raising it a little higher to prove his point.

Darius slowly, very slowly, dropped to one knee, and deposited the revolver on the ground. As he got back up, they watched him warily as his right hand slipped into his pocket. In it, he felt his fingers clasp the handle of the dagger. He turned and took a single step away. Behind his back, the guns lowered slightly, and his parents gasped.

Whirling faster than anyone else could see, Darius turned and flung his dagger, embedding it into the face of the assault rifle-wielding man, who dropped his gun and fell to the ground with an unpleasant squelching sound.

Not wasting a moment, Darius' arm snapped up and fired off a powerful round that decimated one man's head, causing him to drop his father. As the revolver's muzzle regained focus for its final shot, another trigger squeezed twice and silenced his father and mother. The gun swung about again and two shots rang out.

Two men fell to the ground, guns dropped at their feet.

Darius could tell from the gout of blood erupting from his target's chest that there was no hope for him. But his last had also found its mark. Saved by a timely misfire, the bullet had nonetheless pierced his left eye, shredding the tissue to nothing. Darius slumped to the ground as the blood poured out of his ruined socket. Whispering an apology to his parents, he let the inky black darkness steal over him…