Update:
First of all, everything written here came from me or maybe from some people I know (e.g. friends, family, relatives, et hoc genus omne) but everything belongs to God. I wonder if I can actually call it a fanfic. Anyway, this is the first serious story I've written so I hope you enjoy it.
If you have any clarifications, comments, suggestions, positive or negative, just leave me a message through the 'review' option found on the bottom part of this page. Please, leave a sentence or two. You don't have to be a member of this site to send a review. Reviews are any writers food so without it, we'll die....or something.
I would also request you, as a reader, your opinion if I should continue writing this story. I don't wanna waste my time on a pointless project.
I don't feel that its good enough. It may even suck. =.=
If I get enough feedback, I'll continue writing.
Without further ado, here's my story.
The Chaos Theory.
Prelude
Xenogenesis
You can never plan the future by the past.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A raven-haired man stands from his seat, dressed in chaotic black.
"Commence mission."
"Location?"
"England, coordinates 34X 119Y."
The raven-haired man walks down from the plane, surrounded by a multitude of heavily armed elite tactical units opposing his very arrival. Bullets rain from the sky, striking down every single soldier.
He smirks.
"Let the bloodfest begin."
With an obsidian dagger, he bursts through the flood of mercenaries and guards which are after him. He disposes them with ravenous speed and power, slicing limbs and ripping out vital organs.
He approaches the exit of the airport and glances over his shoulder with a slight turn of his head.
Total obliteration.
Lifeless human carcasses everywhere, blood splatted on the walls like graffiti.
"Terminal destroyed."
"Proceed to the next destination."
A crowded Carlisle street, filled with people, undergoes utter havoc as a bus suddenly explodes out of nowhere, starting a chain of outbursts and fires.
A black combat plane bursts through a batch of clouds, firing missiles on England.
"Permission to leave no survivors?"
"Permission granted."
The raven-haired man proceeds to the street along with a group of assassins, entertaining himself with the satisfaction of bloodshed.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Screams of horror echo along the sewers, the shadows of people running and getting killed reflect on the murky water, where light managed to be casted.
Two males, an adult and a one year old child, make their way through the murky water pestering with rodents. They have managed to escape the tribulation just above them. The adult carries the baby with his right arm, protecting it with his own life.
Taking a corner, they are blocked by a horde of assassins.
The adult takes out a gun as he runs towards the opposite direction, still facing the enemies.
One assassin, equipped with circular blades in both hands, lunges at the man.
He evades the blow and grabs the offender by the neck, shooting it at point blank range.
The assassins cease, seemingly intimidated by how their comrade was brutally killed.
"One down, five....thirteen....nineteen to go," the man says mockingly.
Exercising his years of training, the man quickly reloads his gun and gets ready to shoot. He cautiously holds the child in his right arm, careful not to let it get harmed.
Another one rushes towards him. Gunshot. Dead.
"The name's Maximillian, don't you forget it," he tells the mercenaries.
After a battlecry, another one runs towards him in rage. This one looked different from the others, probably having a higher rank. It screams constantly as it makes its way towards him.
Maximillian stares blankly at the assassin.
Boom.
Maximillian raises his gun and fires.
The assassin falls just in front of his feet.
"Headshot."
Seeing their comrade get laughed at, the remaining assassins go ballistic and unleash consecutive chained attacks. Maximillian guards the baby, taking several blows to the arms and legs.
"Crap," he curses, patting his various pockets for more ammunition.
Five bullets left. Seventeen enemies left.
"Wow, how indirectly proportional," he thought.
Huffing out a deep sigh, he unveils a circular object from his back pocket.
The assassins stare at shock.
Some even start running away, retreating from impending death.
Maximillian smiles at them, juggling the circular object with one hand.
A bomb.
He throws it as hard as he can at the assassins' direction. "Catch!"
One assassin was stupid enough to catch it.
"Look, I caught it!" he exclaimed gleefully.
The one beside him slapped him in the side of head. "Idiot!"
When they shifted their focus back on Maximillian, they saw that he was already running away.
The assassins look at the bomb, stupefied.
"Holy crap."
A large explosion coming from the sewer rips a street open, destroying everything that surrounds it, including the scatterbrained assassins.
The raven-haired man looks at the sky, hearing a loud burst. "What was that?"
"An explosion. Contact to group A has been lost."
The raven-haired man proceeds to the entrance of the Chaltier company building. Hordes of assassins run past him, taking out every single guard which protected the company members.
The doors leading to the main conference hall is ripped in half.
People of the company dive away as machine gun fire tears up the floor where they were standing.
The raven-haired man mercilessly exterminates the President and Vice President of the company as his henchmen searched the whole building from top to bottom.
Clouds of smoke rise as the building was set ablaze.
The raven-haired man kicks a cold body as he exited the buildings premises.
He glances at the man dressed in chaotic black beside him.
"Mission complete?" he asks.
"Not quite," the man responds.
The two men proceed to the dark helicopter that was waiting for them. It soared towards the infinite sky, ripping the ceiling into pieces.
"The documents?"
"Can't find them."
"Tch."
"They've hidden it somewhere."
Europe's whole military force start to raid Carlisle, England.
The lieutenant general steps down from an armored tank.
War planes soar through the sky, scanning for the intruders.
"Target sighted," a soldier announced.
The raven-haired man and the man in black's helicopter had been spotted.
"Blast away!" the lieutenant general ordered.
In unison, the military squadrons fired away whatever they had: missilies, bombs, rifles, rockets, et hoc genus omne. The helicopter crashes down onto a building. Infantrymen search the landing area with haste but end up with no findings.
"Target lost, sir."
No corpses were found, not even trails or clues to where the two men had gone off.
Due to the circumstances, the authorities of England declared a national state of emergency.
Meanwhile, at an orphanage several blocks from the Chaltier mansion.
Maximillian quickly stepped up the front stairs to the large Victorian house.
With a melancholy yet relieved sigh, he placed the child in front of the door.
He knocked swiftly and left, not to be seen by the foster home owner.
A few seconds later, the door opened.
Upon seeing the baby, the foster home owner picked him up in her arms.
The baby was wrapped in a thick layer of cashmere cloth, a really expensive fabric. On the cloth was engraved "Leonhart".
Maximillian walks along the street, bearing scars and wounds.
A car passes and blocks anyone's sight of him.
The car goes, supposedly making him visible.
But he was gone, never to be seen again.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------