Chapter 2-The Hunt Begins

And so the hunt begins...A race between life and death...

In the remote area of the cold Russian regions, the winter months covered the land so that only white could be seen for miles. But through all of that, in the middle of nowhere, a little bar was pronounced 'open'.

"Gimme a vodka," growled a voice and a large hairy hand slammed down on the counter. The bartender looked down at his hand and then slowly looked up at his face. The man tilted his hood over his face, creating shadows to hide his face. "You have a staring problem pal?"

"No sir, it is just...I have never seen you around here. Where do you come from friend?" The bartender asked, as he got another man his best vodka.

"That's none of your business," the man checked a wall clock that was behind he bartender. Quarter past three. He looked around at all the other inhabitants of the bar. One young man in particular, sitting a few chairs down, was staring at him. "Like what ya see," the man stood up, looking to be about over six feet tall. "Then take a picture, it'll last longer." He reached out his fist at the sitting man, pulling his arm back to swing, when the bartender put the vodka on the counter. The stranger put his fist down on the mug and brought it up to his lips.

As he drank, the bartender turned around and walked over to his other customer. "He's not from around here, I do not trust him," the man, who had been previously threatened, informed the bartender.

"You may be right, but what can I do?"

A glass was slammed down on the counter as the stranger stood up. He was walking away as the bartender screamed after him, "Hey, you did not pay for that!"

"Oh how rude of me, I forgot to pay." The stranger lifted up his hood, and all that the bartender last recalled were his sharp, wild teeth. "Let me make it up to you," he said in a falsely kind voice. He slowly walked toward the bartender, coming behind the counter with everyone watching.

The bartender reached for his gun, aiming it at the stranger. "Now aren't guns beneath you," he snarled with a low, fierce growl.

The quarrel came in a flash, and before it was over, and every body that was in there was on the ground. Only one made it out without a scratch...

Peter walked into an old burned down house, his house. He walked through what was left of the living room, where he once enjoyed the company of his father and brother, as they played cards. He walked through the rest of the house. Everything burned or scorched beyond recognition, even a picture of his family. He picked up the picture of his family and ran his fingers down each of the people's faces. His mother, father, brother, and sister, the only family he has left. He had already lost his brother to the Russian government, he was going to let Magneto get the rest of his family.

After an entire walk through of his home, he had enough of it, he had seen more than enough destruction that would haunt him even in his waking hours.

As Peter stepped outside, he was greeted by the blistering cold, the temperature was dropping. For shelter, he only knew of one place close by that might know where his family might have gone. However, when he got there to that place, it wasn't what it used to be.

"What has happened here?" When Peter came to a little pub he saw that the door was torn off its hinges and the windows were broken. There was also an ambulance and police. He didn't understand this, but then again, one answer came to mind.

"Piotr!" A man who spotted him from the distance, came rushing at him." You came back," he said breathlessly.

"Misha, what happened here?"

"A man...terrible, monster...he came--"

"Monster?" Peter asked. "Did he look sort of like a wild cat?"

"Da, he was viscious. Do you know him?"

Peter didn't answer that. "Do you know where my family is?" He said, changing the subject.

"You went to your house then?" Misha looked at him sympathetically. "They got away before it was burned down, that is all I know."

"I have to find them!" Peter grabbed on to Misha tightly.

"Maybe there is someone who might know," Misha said and Peter let go.

"Just tell me, I will do anything you ask of," Peter said eagerly.

"It is not I you have to do the favor for." Misha explained.

"I don't care, just tell me, who must I go see?" Peter spoke with such frustration and let go of Misha for the second time.

Misha told him about the kingly old mother who knew all, but never did favors for anyone without them giving up something dear. "But I have nothing to offer," Peter said grimly. "The home to which I grew up in was burned to the ground.

Misha looked at his dear friend. "I'm sorry I cannot help you further."

"No," Peter said defensively and with a little force. "I will not give up. I will not let anything else happen to my family. Tell me where this mother lives, along my journey I may come up with something to offer her."

Misha pointed eastward , as Peter followed his direction. "Go far east until you come upon Tura, you'll be closer to the Artic Circle, so I suggest you dress warmly. I saw the beast leave west toward St. Petersburg, but he looked like an outsider so he does not know the terrain like we do."

"What about the old mother, she knows where my family is?"

"Da. She lives in Salekhard."

"Excuse me sir, " an officer came up to them. "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Go Piotr, you may not have a lot of time." Misha turned to the officer as Peter started to leave.

Seeing his old friend was useful, unfortunately, it didn't help him enough. What he did give was directions to someone who would.

Miles away from that area, Sabretooth was once again hot on the trail, but Piotr was one step ahead of him.