Hey, CrimsonReaper here, or just CR for short. So, this is my first actual story. Like, ever. I've never attempted to do something like this before because I've never felt confident in my writing skill, but I've thrown caution to the wind. Anyway, this starts of weird for a Kung Fu Panda story,but don't worry, this is just a prologue and will make sense soon. Well, I hope I have something interesting here that will make you want more, so without further ado, welcome to The Beginning Of The End.

Disclaimer: I'm not rich enough to own Kung Fu Panda. But the plot and OC is mine.

The Beginning Of The End

Location: Columbia, South Carolina, United States Of America

Date: Thursday, July 28, 2016

Time: 1:33 PM

Sweat poured down his forehead, muscles strained from the repetitive actions, and all that could be heard was the constant banging of his hammer. Wood lay scattered around and a box of deck nails sat on the ground next to the young man. 'Of all the things I could be doing on my day off, Mom just has to have me fixing the damn deck,' thought the young man.

In truth, it was no bother at all to him. He was 20 years old and living with his mother while paying minimal rent and none at all for food. He knew he was lucky that his mother not only let him move in with her, but also found him a job as a general laborer with a personal construction company. He learned how to fix walls, install plumbing, wire a house, and even how to build a house. The only real downside to this experience was that his mother would constantly ask him his opinion on how something could be done to improve the house and then ask him if he could go ahead and construct whatever she wanted. But, mothers get want mothers want. Since he had only been working that job for about a year, he wasn't expertly skilled, but he was decent, and it pleased his mother.

He could be a little slow, though, when it came to heavy lifting. Standing at a height of 5' 6", and a weight of 135 pounds, he wasn't a very imposing man. His hair was naturally brown, but he always liked how black hair looked, so, every so often, he would dye it black. He also appreciated styles that seemed mature and had his hair grown out and combed to look like a college historian's would, with the sides of his hair brushed back and the front swept up and to the left of his face. He skin was a tannish brown as his mother being of Hispanic descent and his father of Germanic descent. He was basically an average man with a small stature. However, there was one thing unique to him that he has yet never seen in someone else. His eyes. His mother had chocolate brown eyes and his father had hazel eyes, yet the young man had been born with his left eye blue and his right eye green.

He had always liked how unique his eyes were, and apparently other people agreed. All throughout middle school and high school, girls had fawned over how "pretty his eyes are." No guy ever complimented on his trait, though, that didn't bother him. It would have just made him feel awkward if a guy randomly walked up to him and told him he liked his eyes. It wasn't that he wouldn't appreciate being complimented, but being straight and growing up in a small town in Illinois made him somewhat sheltered and unused to guys that were more open about their feelings and opinions that deviated from the age-old way a man should act.

Stopping for a second, the young man admired his work on the deck so far. He had replaced half of the boards as they had been uncared for and unprotected by the previous owner of the house. The deck had been left to soak up the rain, and cracked from the changing of the seasons, while moss was growing on the steps and railings of it. Since the boards that were worn out had been replaced, the next step was cleaning up the wood he had pulled off and burning it since his mother and he lived beyond the city limits. With the thought of being done soon entering his mind, the young man gathered up a total of eight boards, each being 6 inches wide, 2 inches thick, and 10 feet long.

Usually, a person of his size would have had a lot of trouble carrying such a load. However, he had unusually strong legs for his stature. He got this trait from his father, whom, like him, had been short and skinny when his was younger. His father liked physical sports though, and had been a running back for the football team at his high school. Being part of the football team, his father had to work out in the weight room with the rest of the team to build up their strength, however, no matter what his father did, his upper body never really developed much. Unexpectedly, his lower body developed tremendously. He easily was able to deadlift 435 pounds and had to buy pants that were much bigger than what he needed so that his legs would fit in them.

With that in mind, the young man easily carried the load of wood across the backyard of his shared house and dropped the wood in the middle of a circle of ash. A few feet away stood a small metal shed. The young man went into the shed and came out a few moments later with a box of matches and a 5 gallon canister of gasoline. He took the cap off the canister, poured some gas on the pile of wood, stood back a few feet, lit a match, and threw it. Fire engulfed the wood as the gasoline ignited. Deciding that it was a good a time as any for a break, the young man wiped his hands on his jeans and took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He knew he should give up this nasty habit for his health's sake, but he truly enjoyed smoking. Something about taking slow, controlled breaths as he took puffs from a cigarette calmed and relaxed him. He opened the pack and took out a cancer stick.

Striking a match, he put the cigarette to his lips and lit up. He took the smoke into his mouth slowly, shaking the lit match out and tossing it into the small bonfire next to him. Pulling the cigarette away, he took in a deep breath, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs. He held his breath for a couple seconds, and slowly exhaled, watching as the smoke floated away, twisting and dancing in the breeze. He smiled. Today was as good as a Thursday could get.

He put the cigarette back to his lips and looked up at the clouds. As he was drawing in more smoke, he watched as the clouds slowly drifted by. Exhaling, he continued to look at the sky and noticed something pretty common: the thin line of vapor created by airplanes that used jets. As he looked, he could see the trail was actually significantly long and getting longer as he could just barely make out the plane creating the trail. From what he had seen planes do before in his time living here, this plane in particular seemed to be travelling fast. Much faster than what he was used to seeing.

'Huh. It must be running late,' the young man thought. He was about to look away and get back to fixing the deck when he noticed something that for some reason started to make him feel cold. The plane was starting to get bigger. 'Heh, it's just preparing for it arrival to an airport,' the young man thought, trying to assure himself. But try as he might, he still felt cold and couldn't remove his eyes from the plane. Then, as the plane got closer, he realized why he was feeling so cold over a seemingly ordinary occurrence. The "plane" didn't have any wings. As he saw this, he went quickly through his knowledge of things that flew with the use of powerful jet engines that didn't have wings. His eyes widened, his body started to shake, and he couldn't move. As the object flew overhead, flying faster and growing closer by the second, he could it roaring as it headed in the direction of the city. Soon, he could no longer see the object.

He looked in the direction of the city. He dropped his cigarette. And that's when he saw the flash.

He could feel the colossal tremors as the wave of hellish destruction rolled towards him. He just stood there. He already knew there was nothing for him to do. He was too close to the impact. If the the wave didn't kill him, the fallout would. So he stood and listened to the deafening roars as trees were ripped the ground and houses were torn apart. He didn't worry about his mother. She was working in the city and was dead by the time he saw flash. His father was in Illinois, as was his sister and her fiance and her baby. He didn't worry about them either. It would have been useless to do so in his final moments. If he was going to die, he would do it calmly.

To him, it seemed to take an eternity for the nuclear wave to hit him. In reality, it was 5 seconds from the moment he saw the flash. Just before the wave hit him, he closed his eyes. He felt the intense heat for half a second.

And then there was nothing.

So, how did I do for my first chapter ever? If you could kindly leave reviews telling me what was good,what was bad, and what might improve my writing, I would very much appreciate it. Remember that this is the prologue, and the real story won't begin until the next chapter, official chapter one. So until the next update, this is CrimsonReaper1996, saying have a fantastic day.