Final Fantasy: The War To End All Wars, Chap 2.
A/N: Praise be to God! I've got my first Character review! Congrats, DemonDoor! Welcome to FF: The War To End All Wars! Vemar Izuho will be introduced in this Chappie and also the FFVIII cast! I need a smidgeon more info about 'The Reaper's' persona. Tell me, how does he react to certain things, oh say…taking orders from a person of higher rank than him? Hmm? I need to be exact in my details, in order to please all of my readers. Oh, and another thing: how does he react around young children? Does he smile or something along those lines? Oh, and does your character have a car or vehicle of some sort?
I also forgot to mention in the last Chappie, I'd like to give everybody a theme song. For example: Saint's theme is Green Day's 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams'. Also to the others who have not reviewed my fic: Read and Review people! Have fun with it though! Send in your Character's stats! Also I need to have female OCs! I like all of the characters I'm receiving but I just need some women. So submit some ladies, please.
Now on with the Fic!
Note: If I portray any of the FFVIII characters or the OC incorrectly, please notify me, and I will rectify the problem. Thank ya, kindly. Oh, and there's lots of killin' in this Chappie!
Chapter II
Fear 'The Reaper'
The Yugoslavian City of Pristina lay ruined in the early morning light. The once beautiful metropolis now only resembled only one thing: pandemonium. Pure and irrepressible anarchy, which was ripping the city apart at its seams. The people who were too poor to leave this damned city had only one choice: live in fear of Death, who awaited you around every corner, across every street, and in every alleyway. However, they are a few who survived the hell on Earth that is Pristina; and at this moment one of them was crouched on the side of collapsed office building, watching the chaos below him. He scowled, as he watched two men mug a youth, who couldn't be more than fourteen years old and leave him, bloodied on the sidewalk.
The tall, athletic young man sighed, his breath ruffling the old red scarf that hung over the lower portion of his face. His short black hair was spiked up, a few stray bangs hung over his face; he brushed the bangs aside, revealing the scar that ran the length of his forehead. His mismatched eyes scoured the streets for any signs movement, his right eye, was white, while his other was black. His white cape was now a silvery gray, thanks to the ash from the fires that burned almost continuously around the ruined city. His torso was covered by his cape; underneath the cape he was wearing a black shirt and faded black jeans, which clung tightly around his black combat boots. Strapped to his waist was a pair of Samurai katanas in black scabbards.
He sighed again, and leapt down from his perch. He landed on the sidewalk below in cloud of gray ash, dusting himself off; he started walking down one of the familiar sidewalks of his old hometown. He turned to his left at the corner and continued walking, stepping over a corpse that was lying on the pavement, his vacant eyes stared up at the heavens, a bullet hole in the center of his right temple. The man slowly came to a halt in front of a large warehouse; the front of the unimpressive structure was riddled with many bullet holes, letting beams of light filter through into the old building. The man drew from his pocket a slip of paper, and examined the address on the paper, then the one stamped on the side of the storehouse.
"This is it…" He muttered, crumpling the paper into a ball and tossing it aside. He pushed the door open, smiling as it creaked slowly opened. He stepped into the warehouse and was stopped by a small, mousy haired woman wearing a black dinner suit. She pulled her suit jacket open to show that she was armed.
"What business do you have with the Don Josef Tatyana?" She inquired threateningly in Russian, the man's grin grew wider, a frenzied gaze in his mismatched eyes. The Tatyana's were about to receive a large delivery of ordnance from the U.S.S.R. and with any luck, a Soviet officer and perhaps a detachment of soldiers would be present, guarding the officer.
"…Tell the Don…" The man replied, in almost flawless Russian, his hands gripping the hilt of his katana tightly, "…That the Reaper has come for him…" The Reaper finished, drawing his katana, and with a flash of his blade, he decapitated her, her head fell to the floor with a sickening thud, her body fell soon after; a look of shock was plastered on her face. He picked up her head, and examined it, his smile fading. She had been too young to be working with the mob; she probably didn't even know how to use her gun. He dropped her head back to the concrete floor, and drew his other katana, walking slowly into the center of the warehouse. Anyone who worked with the Soviets was an enemy of the Reaper, and if you crossed him, the retribution was swift and severe. All these men would pay dearly, with their lives, before they could inflict anymore fatalities upon the town of his birth.
The Reaper walked calmly into the center of the warehouse. In the center of the room stood a heavily armed guard of 10 Soviet soldiers, garbed in full combat gear, and 15 gangsters, clad in dinner suits, stood around two men, one of them was a lieutenant of the Red Army, the other was the infamous leader of the Tatyana crime family, Josef Tatyana, who was observing the rather large crate of weapons that lay in front of him, the ordnance ranged from uzis to rocket launchers. The Reaper smiled, this would be a great haul for the Rebels, if he managed to pull it off. This was the last favor he had to do for his Mob friend and confidant, Marissa Vasily, who had paid for the surgery that had given him his sight back. And he would willingly do it, for the young lady had been his only friend he had ever had in his entire life. He owed her so much.
The Reaper clanked the blades of his katanas together loudly and shouted at the top of his lungs. "…Josef Tatyana, you are guilty of betraying the Vasily crime family for the U.S.S.R.; the punishment for your actions is…Death!" He finished, bolting toward his latest victim.
He was cut off by a storm of hot lead that was flung at him from both the soldiers and gangsters; the Reaper vaulted out of the way and darted toward his nearest opponent, a gangster wielding a pair of revolvers. The criminal fired repeatedly at the mercenary, who evaded every slug that was shot at him. The Reaper leapt into the air and buried his katanas into the criminal's forehead; he then leapt behind his kill, and used him as a human shield, his corpse jerking as it was riddled by bullets of many different calibers. The Reaper pulled his katanas out of the his first kill's forehead, and flung one of them into the gullet of a Soviet soldier who was unloading an assault rifle at him, the man fell backwards, instantly slain.
The Reaper flung his first victim into the arms of another gangster, and ran that man through, leaving his katana in his gut as he stole the gangster's guns. He gunned down two more, before he was forced to take cover behind a stack of crates, the deadly rounds striking the thick wood of the crates, sending splinters of wood flying in every direction as the bullets struck. When the volley of slugs had subsided, he stood up and unleashed a deadly barrage of lead with the pair of uzis he had taken moments before; he slaughtered six more adversaries with exact shots to the torso, skull and the stomach.
Tossing the spent uzis to the ground, the Reaper sprinted over to his next victims, pulling his katana out of the Soviet's throat as he ran. He lunged, ramming his blade into the heart of another Soviet, and tore it out of his torso, decapitating another ill-fated thug in the process. The Reaper slammed another thug into the ground with an axe kick, and his fist collided with the nose of a Soviet soldier shattering it and sending splinters of bone into his brain, killing him instantly.
His gaze shifted to his next victims, the 15 survivors of his offensive, who had looks of sheer terror on their faces, their guns shook violently in their hands. He smirked, he knew exactly what would cause these cowards to piss their pants, and he smirked wickedly as he picked up an assault rifle and slowly cocked it. Then he let out a mad cackle, and got the desired effect. The rest of the guards scattered, running all over the interior of the warehouse, screaming bloody murder; a couple of them smacked into the walls, knocking themselves out.
The Reaper chuckled as he dropped the rifle and picked up his second katana, he spun around and walked toward Don Josef Tatyana, who was cowering near the crate, his head hidden under his hands; the Soviet lieutenant was nowhere to be found, apparently the coward had fled when the battle started.
"Damn…" He muttered. The Reaper sighed inwardly; he would have to track down the bastard later. Right now, he had more important things to take care of. He turned back to the cowering mob boss before him, and smirked again. He loved his job. The Reaper pulled the mob boss into a kneeling position.
"…Any last requests?" The Reaper inquired, placing the edge of his katana against the Don's neck. The Don looked up at him.
"Burn in hell!" He screamed the Reaper's smirk faded.
"…So will you." He replied, grasping a tuft of the Don's hair, and stooping down so that the Reaper could whisper in his ear. "Remember: to always fear the Reaper." He finished, slitting Josef Tatyana's throat, and letting go of his head, letting his corpse fall to the cold, hard concrete.
The Reaper cleaned his katanas on the former Mob boss' carcass, and sheathed them with a flourish. "Time to call in the pick up…" He muttered, heading for the door, stepping over the corpses of his victims as he walked.
"Vemar Izuho, a.k.a. The Reaper. Parents killed in a Soviet air raid at five years of age. Has been killing my men ever since, from Yugoslavia to China, you have left a trail of bodies and we have followed and have finally found the notorious 'Reaper.' Slayer of all Soviets." Vemar turned around slowly to find the lieutenant standing atop a crate, his pistol trained on him.
Vemar's eyes narrowed as he stared at the lieutenant. "…You're alone?"
"Oh, no," The lieutenant replied, raising his free hand. 10 bulky soldiers emerged from the shadows behind the lieutenant, each armed with a minigun, which looked like it belonged on the turret of a helicopter; "do you think those were my only men I had brought to guard me? I am always prepared, Vemar."
Vemar growled, the odds were against him, if he didn't come up with a strategy very quickly, he would be made into mincemeat by those turret guns. His eyes darted from soldier to soldier; all of the men looked like they could handle firing a burst from their guns.
"Goodbye, Vemar Izuho." The lieutenant said, letting his hand drop, the soldiers cocked their turret guns. The barrels of the miniguns began to spin rapidly, preparing to fling a storm of hot lead that could cut through a tank.
Vemar drew his blades, and gave them a quick twirl, before he pointed a menacing finger at the lieutenant. "…You won't stand a chance against me..." He said threateningly; if he went down fighting…he'd take that lieutenant with him.
"Defiant to the end." The lieutenant said, snapping his fingers. The gunmen all took a step back and readied themselves for the kick of their massive guns. The Reaper sighed; this is the last mistake he would never make again, always kill the Soviet first.
Suddenly the boom of a rifle echoed throughout the building, and a Soviet soldier crumpled, his gun clattered to the floor. "What the hell!" Another shouted in Russian, turning the barrels of his minigun upwards, only to be taken out a second later by a second rifle blast. Then a third soldier dropped to the floor, an exit-wound the size of an apple in his the back of his head.
Vemar shifted his gaze to the rafters, and saw his rescuer, standing on the catwalk above the room, raining fire down upon the Reaper's enemies. He was wearing a tan trench coat and a black cowboy hat.
"Woohoo! Come and get it while it's still hot!" Irvine Kinneas shouted, placing the crosshairs on the head of another enemy and squeezing the trigger, dropping him instantly. Five more enemies appeared out of the darkness. "Shit!" Irvine shouted, as they turned their guns on him, and pulled the triggers.
A monstrous storm of lead erupted from the miniature Gatling guns, tearing through anything in its path. Irvine dashed as fast as he could, the gunfire nipping dangerously at his heels. He spotted a steel door in front of him and shouted, bringing his rifle up to bear. "Squall, Zell, you're up!" Irvine blew the door open with a single round from his rifle and dove through it, narrowly avoiding a hail of bullets that would have claimed his life.
Squall looked at Zell, who nodded. The two men leap over the edge of the catwalk, and landed on the ground below. Squall Leonhart drew his Gunblade and ran a Soviet through, drawing his blade out, he shot another point blank in the face, obliterating the Soviet's skull, and then Squall turned around and began hacking away at another Soviet, who was blocking his blows with his minigun. Squall lobbed the soldier's hand off, causing him to drop his minigun, and then stabbed; his blade entered the soldier's chest and the point of his Gunblade collided with his heart, killing him almost instantly.
Zell Dincht sprinted over to a Soviet who was about to pump him full of lead, the martial artist leapt into the air, and brought his fist down on the gun, knocking it out of the Soviet's hands, then he sent the soldier flying with an uppercut, the soldier crashed into a wall and fell to the floor, dead. He targeted his next victim and sprinted towards him, ducking under a barrage of bullets from the Soviet's minigun, and the shorter man began to punch him rapidly in the gut, then he kneed him in the gut, and then Zell brought his fist down, slamming the Soviet's head into the concrete.
"…Let me join you." Vemar said as he flung himself back into the fray. He sauntered towards the Lieutenant, seemingly unaware of the battle raging around him; a Soviet soldier stepped in front of him, minigun ablaze. The Reaper leapt into air, avoiding the lethal salvo of bullets, he landed onto the Soviet soldier's shoulders, and drove his katana through the top of his head, the other end of the blade exited out of his chin.
Vaulting off his latest kill, he continued walking toward the lieutenant, a small smirk forming over his face. The lieutenant was looking terrified at this moment as the 'Slayer of all Soviets' approached him, a bloody katana in his hand.
"Penance can't absolve your sins." Vemar said, quietly, and then he suddenly vanished, disappearing in a whirl of his silvery cloak. The lieutenant panicked, looking around for the mercenary, who had seemingly vanished into mid-air.
All of a sudden he felt cold steel against his throat, the blade of a katana pressing harder against his throat, drawing blood. "…Where's Tatarin?"
"You'll never find General Tatarin!" The Soviet lieutenant coughed, "you'll…N-never find him, but he'll find you and your filthy rebel associates!" Vemar spun him around and shot him a glare that would have frightened the bravest of men to the point of fainting.
"Never talk about the Rebellion you Soviet pig!" He roared, irately. He then slashed seven times, and began to sheath his sword. When the hilt of his blade clicked against its scabbard, the Soviet lieutenant fell into seven different pieces. Vemar jumped down from the crate, and drew his other blade out of the Soviet soldier's head, and sheathed it with a flourish.
He turned to Zell, who was walking up to him, a curious look in his eyes. "Where'd you learn to fight?" He asked, staring at him.
"..." Vemar stood silently, his breath ruffling the fabric of his scarf, his mismatched eyes staring down at the floor.
"Hello?"
"…"
"You don't talk much do ya?"
Vemar looked up when he heard the first floor door open, and saw Irvine enter, rifle slung over his shoulder. "…That was some fine shooting." He said, extending his hand.
"Thanks." Irvine replied, shaking Vemar's hand. Zell looked on curiously as he watched Irvine whisper something into Vemar's ear; the Reaper let out a rare laugh and said, turning to Zell and patting him on his shoulder.
"Good ass kicking…Chickie." Zell's curious look suddenly turned to a furious glare as he lunged at Vemar, only to be held back by Irvine, who was having trouble keeping a hold on the struggling martial artist. Vemar only smirked and strolled over to Squall, who was leaning against a shelf, his eyes closed apparently deep in thought.
Squall opened his eyes and nodded as Vemar approached, who also nodded; the two of them were men of few words.
"Squall!" Vemar turned to see a young woman running towards Squall, a dog following close behind her. Squall rolled his eyes, and sighed quietly as he pushed away from the shelf, walking towards the girl.
"…Rinoa..." He said, rather quietly asRinoa embraced him in a hug, Angelo stood near their feet, his tongue lolling out of his mouth; Squall returned the hug stiffly, giving Vemar a look that stated quite plainly: 'Please free me from this torment.' The Reaper's smirk grew even wider behind his scarf; he was holding back the urge to laugh at Squall's predicament.
"And who might you be?" The Reaper turned to find Quistis Trepe staring intently at him, her blue eyes studying him, gathering all the information she could about the Reaper.
"I should be asking you that same question." Vemar retorted, smiling behind the red fabric of his scarf.
"Quistis Trepe," Quistis said, extending her hand, Vemar shook it, "now that you know me, would you please tell me your name?"
Vemar sighed deeply. "…Does it really matter? Listen," he said, as he began to walk back toward the exit door, "we've got to get you and whoever the fuck your friends are out of here."
"Why?" Irvine asked, overhearing the conversation.
The Reaper looked at the marksman. "…The Reds'll get us…"
"Who?" Rinoa asked, jumping into the conversation.
"You-" Vemar began but was cut off by a ringing noise, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his small, silver cell phone; flipping it open he spoke into the receiver. "Yeah? Uh, huh, hmm," he said, his gaze shifted back to Quistis, "…alright, will do, get back to H.Q.," suddenly the sounds of gunfire could be heard on the other end of the line, followed by some screaming, "Saint? Saint…? What's going on? SAINT?" He finished, yelling into the phone as the line went dead.
"Who's the Saint?" Seifer asked, just arriving inside the building.
"Where were you?" Rinoa inquired.
"About."
"…Fuck…" Vemar mumbled, dropping his phone back into his pocket. He turned to the others. "Move out."
"I'm not-" Seifer began but was instantly silenced by the glare that the Reaper shot him.
"I said: move out." And with that, The Reaper walked outside, back onto the streets of hell that he grew up on. Shortly after he exited the warehouse, the exterior of its structure was full of even more bullet holes, the rest of the group followed, Seifer and Zell muttering darkly about Vemar. Like he would care.
A/N: Thank god in heaven! Stick a fork in Chappie 2 'cause its done! Alright I'm taking a break; the next Chappie'll be up in a week or two. Remember submit your OCs and I'll bring 'em to life, thanks. DemonDoor, I hope I portrayed Vemar to your liking. PEACE OUT!
T.L.