CHAPTER 1

Dr. W.V. Mendoza sat in the middle of the living room across from the fireplace examining the documents in front of him: shuffling, writing notes, stamping papers, and calculating costs. He pulled back his hair and sunk down into the creaky wooden chair. He pinched his brows and cracked his fingers individually.

The dying fire flickered rapidly—crackling—as its dull light warmed one side of his face. The windows were boarded up patchily as some moonlight showered through the open spaces, hitting the ground, while the leaves and the black soot wandered into the house and landed where they pleased. T

he pipes creaked as what little water ran through them: carrying all the muck and dirt to be later used; the plasters and walls were stripped, leaving only the empty spaces between each pillar holding up the two floors of the house; broken planks, shattered glass, and random tools littered the ground, sometimes even joining the gray leaves and the black soot.

Mendoza closed his eyes and felt the thumping in his ear: it grew; it got louder and louder and louder until with a final stop, he opened his bloodshot eyes and ran to the cabinet under the sink.

He pulled out a key and opened the safe; he grabbed a random bottle and chugged it down: coughing and breathing haggardly. His stomach churned as he got up to the sink and vomited. He held on to the ledge but couldn't. His muscles wouldn't give him the strength as all his energy dwindled and his body slowly slipped to the floor. Liquid from the bottle ran down the side of his mouth as he shakily searched his coat and pulled out a bottle of pills. He opened the cap and poured out what was left in there, grabbed the bottle and swilled it down.

His blood vessels dilated as did his eyes and his heartbeat returned to normal. Around the corner of the kitchen, someone peeked out and said "Daddy . . ." in a weak and worried voice. Mendoza squinted his eyes and realized who it was—Susie. He got up lethargically as his body refused to listen to his commands.

He crouched and said, "What is it, sweetheart?"

His voice, though heavy and gruff, carried a warm and loving affection. Susie looked at her father and smelled the pungency of alcohol. Her face contorted as she covered her nose with her teddy bear.

Mendoza softened his expression and put his hand gently on her shoulder. He opened his mouth but closed it and instead patted her and stood up.

"Come on, let's go back up." She shook her head and hugged her teddy bear tighter.

Mendoza bent down, kissed her on the head, and went rummaging through his library to see if he could find her a book. After a minute of searching, he smiled and pulled it out.

Susie looked up at her father, the grime melted into his features, depreciating his high cheekbones and sharp jaw—a man who was rugged yet not bad on the eyes.

He reached out his hand and little Susie stared with an apprehensive, sharp look. She did not want to hold his rough hands, not because she did not love her father: she did; she very much loved her father, but fear had gotten a hold of her and disallowed her from touching the one person she could rely on the most. But Mendoza plopped on the floor with a giant smile spread across his face, revealing stress lines crowded around his eyes. He opened the book and started reading.

"Little Alfred looked up at the sky. He was not allowed to explore outside his house because he was not old enough, but this one night, the moon was so big and beautiful he had to reach it. So, he crawled through the window and jumped down. He ran into the forests and up climbed the highest mountain. He had to hurry because the moon was going away. He reached all the way to the top of the mountain and stretched out his hand like this to touch it but the moon was too far away. He knew he had to jump, and jump he did, he flew through the sky and reached the moon..."

Mendoza turned to his daughter who quietly sat next to him. She leaned her head against his shoulder and fell asleep. Mendoza smiled and gently picked her up and carried her upstairs to where his other children were at. He walked in and pressed his finger against his mouth. The children understood and went to bed.

The room had 4 beds spread out with the windows securely placed and latched closed. Old, decrepit toys covered the ground; horses, dolls, knights, and dragons were by their bedside. Mendoza tucked Susie in and gave her another kiss. "Good night, Susie" he whispered.

He turned to the rest and gave them all a kiss on the forehead.

"Good night, Donovan. Good night, Erick. Good night, Karen."

And they said goodnight back to him.

Then someone knocked downstairs.

The kids propped up, but Mendoza cautioned them not make a sound. He grabbed the candle and snuffed it out with a pinch of his fingers.

Another knock, this time it was impatient, Mendoza hurried downstairs and looked through the crystal hole in the door. He breathed a controlled sigh and blessed himself.

He opened the door and a figure busted through, swinging the door wide open from and walked inside. Its boots crunched against the shattered glass as with each step the floor creaked. Mendoza closed the door and observed the strange figure. It wore a heavy gray trench coat and a large brimmed hat that covered his face.

The figure looked around and studied the room and slowly paced through the hall. Pictures were placed face down. He picked one up and examined it.

"Beautiful family."

Mendoza's heart burned.

"They take after their mother." His tone was low and cautious.

The figure set down the framed picture and walked about looking down the decrepit tapestry and murky dust.

He pulled out a cigar and a lighter. He turned and pointed at it, "You don't mind if I smoke do you?" Though it was posed as a question it was authoritative. Mendoza lowered his eyes as to not meet his.

"Go ahead."

Mendoza stole a glance at him as he tensed his body.

"Please have a seat," The figure bared his pristine teeth at Mendoza who pointed at the wooden chair across from the fireplace. He took a puff of his cigar and blew out smoke through his mouth.

Mendoza sat down as the figure continued to pace. He picked up the pack of documents left on the table and sifted through them with a discerning eye.

"This won't do at all." The figure inhaled the rest of the cigar and threw it on the ground and stomped on it.

Mendoza furrowed his brows and hung his head. He placed his hands on his knees and squeezed them. He stayed silent.

The figure dropped the pile on the table and welcomed himself near the fire. He took off his hat. He had a large crusty forehead with sharp brown eyes. His demeanor was crude which showed in his stride and manners. He was not a nice man

"It's freezin' out there, I see you have some boards up." He took off his gloves and clasped them against each other; rubbing them and spreading them forth close to the weak fire.

Mendoza took a silent breath as he looked up at him. Prick, he thought. Mendoza made sure that his thoughts didn't translate to his face and kept it straight.

"How's little Susie, she doin' alright? After that incident, normally, people would not be well."

Mendoza clenched his fists. "She's doing fine." His voiced strained. The man studied him for a moment and continued looking at the fire.

"You know, recently the guys and I have talked this over, I for one am against it. But we all gotta do what we all gotta do."

Mendoza widened his eyes. He knew this would happen sooner or later, but he never hoped they might come this quickly.

"I don't have it this month Charles. Give me one more week—two weeks." He pleaded.

Charles shook his head pityingly, "We gave you enough time Will, but you borrowed the money and we want it back. Hey, I understand you, but rules are rules. You can't go ahead and break them."

"No-please, Charles don't do this—don't take them away!" He almost grabbed Charles by the collar of his white shirt and beat him. But he stopped midway when he stood up.

"Will, you have to understand, if the decision were up to me, and I mean only me, I wouldn't do this to you. I know you love your family."

And that's why you threaten me you son of a—

"But there's a way."

Charles smiled mischievously and laughed.

Terror grew on Mendoza's face as he knew exactly what he was thinking. He closed his eyes and braced himself.

"Fine, call them."

Charles smirked and whistled a high pitch call. Droves of guys stormed in and grabbed Mendoza by the collar; they dragged him outside where the rest of the gang proceeded to punch, kick, and bat him with a pipe. Mendoza took hit after hit without crying or shouting for help and in the end, his body was left bruised, weak, and bloodied.

The gang walked off with the satisfaction of another hunt. Charles stopped and lighted another cigar. There was a hint of remorse in his eyes, but mostly it was pity.

"One week. That's all you have."

Mendoza laid there on the ground and as they left, the black winter came down on him gently. He covered his face and whimpered quietly

Author's Notes: Hi, my names Raven Alma. I was looking for a change of pace from my other series and I wrote this Really, what I had in mind is a combination of a few games put into the premise of Overlord, with that just being a backdrop and way into the future. Though it's a mash of a lot of things mixed to make something heavily different, I want to continue some of the themes present in the games I've played and the stories I've read using their elements. The world of Overlord and Bloodborne mashed with themes of the Last of Us is really my focal point.

Thank you for reading.