Oi read me punk: Rated T for some language and later chapters. Oh yeah! Klonoa and other Namco characters don't belong to me. If they did...well... I'll leave that one to you.
Author Notes:Okay people. Sorry you stumbled on my sorry excuse for a story. I'm a new writer, sue me. Klonoa happens to be one of my favorite game series, so why not write alittle someting about it, eh? Please feel free to leave suggestions, I could use them.
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This was the night. It would finally be done. Tonight the hunter would die. Sixty-four men counting the clown. He chose this spot carefully for he knew the hunter used it often, but not for long.
The clown caressed the gun carefully. He diden't know much about guns but, this was given to him by the great Garlen. It would do.
The street was silent save for the russling of Moobirds atop the roofs. The night was dark, illuminated only by one flickering street light and the moon itself.
Finally footsteps were heard. The hunter had arrived. The clown signaled to his men on the ground as well as the ones on the rooftops. The hollow footsteps got closer and a red jacket became visible. That damn jacket, one the clown was sick of seeing. One that he'd never see again.
"So," the hunter mused, "the last seventeen times weren't enough?"
"You got lucky those time, but now you're mine," the clown spat. Seventeen times. No joke. Most would have given up at four, nine at most. But not the clown. He'd earned his reputation and planed to keep it. The clown shifted his weight feeling uncomfortable. Sweat had not accumlated on his brow, but he paid no attension to it hoping his men woulden't notice.
The hunter lifted a finger and started imitating gunshots. He moved his finger from the ground to the air. "Sixty-four men including yourself. You'll owe me a cartrage after tonight, you know..." The hunter said.
"Screw you!" the clown screamed as he opened fire. The rest of his men followed the suit and tore at the hunter with their own weapons. Dust picked up and all that could be seen was the red flash of the hunter's jacket as he ducked and dodged. The clown followed even if it ment taking down his own men in the process.
"Dammit," the clown screeched as his gun ran out of bullets. He frantically pulled out another clip. Once loaded he pointed back at the cloud of dust.
"You gone to Hell yet?" he asked looking for anything. The smoke cleared and bloody bodies littered the street. All the bodies but not a hint of red other then his men's own blood.
"Calm down, you woulden't want to burst would you?" A voice sounded from behind. The clown whipped around and had his gun smacked from him by the hunter. The clown dove for his gun and whipped around.
"Go to HELL!" he screeched. A loud shot rang out across the town, but not the kind that fuels a bullet. The gun exploded in the clowns hand sending metal shards into his eyes and across the cold cobblestone street. The clown just sunk to the ground and cursed.
The hunter just chuckled to himself. "That's what you get for using a bootleg," the hunter mused, "if you want to kill someone, especially me, I suggest you buy Volkan."
"Just what the hell are you really?" the clown asked.
"I've wasted sixty-three bullets and all I got is some blood on my favorite jacket," the hunter spoke as he slid his now blood stained jacket off. The jacked revealed a slender build and golden fur. Along with a black sleeveless shirt and two bullet belts.
"I need this cleaned and another clip by morning, and remember to tip," the hunter remarked. The hunter threw the jacket at the defeated clown. It covered his body as well as his shame.
"I said what the HELL are you?" the clown asked again. The hunter threw the clown a cold glare.
"You of all people should know," the hunter answered, "I'm Shinigami Guntz."