Disclaimer: I do not own KFP.
Do you guys feel that my story isn't really supported, or there are too many holes in the story? I'm starting to think that. I've set high standards, and this is my first fanfiction, so I don't know how good I'm doing. Honestly, tell me how I'm doing.
Chapter Seven: The Opponent has risen
In a far-off deserted valley full of abandoned buildings and old, haunting memories, a black panther sat on a poorly put together stool, waiting for something. What that was, he didn't know. He just knew that it would one day come, and bring with it a hell like no other. He was instructed by spirits to wait for this being for twenty years, in solitude and peace, never stopping his training for anything. The spirits told him that his actions would directly influence something else, but yet again, they never told him who or what he would be influencing. He was left with so many holes in his own story that it looked like Swiss cheese to him. Worst of all, he couldn't leave this ghost town, no matter how much he wanted to. He was able to do many things, such as farm, cook, sleep, and eat, but he could never leave the darn town no matter what the matter was. He was destined to grow old, alone, with no family or friends.
And that became a problem sometimes.
He was forced to do everything himself, which he didn't mind at all, since he was a very independent person. But what emotion came, the most was sorrow for his past family, and when the emotion came, there was no one to turn to. No friends, family, nothing. He had grown used to the passing wind and rain, but that served as a temporary distraction from his usual daily routine. Nevertheless, he enjoyed it, for it filled an empty hole in his mind when he needed attention or needed to get away from real life. In a short way of explaining it, he got lost. And he enjoyed it.
It was morning. He had already done his routine of getting up and checking the crops, and then performing his oral and bodily hygiene from a nearby shower in a two-story apartment home. He had risen to the water tower to check the horizon for any sign of the beast. The water tower was one invention that was considered not needed by all of the other valleys, claiming that they had better methods of storing and purifying water. No signs of the beastie yet, he thought. No smoke trail, no change of tone in the air or sky. He was clear for today. He did a majestic back flip off of the water tower and landed on his feet, with no more sound than the tap of sandals hitting the ground. He went upon his usual duties, preparing for someone to come. They never did, however. He ate his breakfast in a local noodle shop, then started cleaning all of the homes located in a small little cul-de-sac. It took him about three hours to clean all of the houses, since it was mostly dusting and nothing else, since no one resided in the houses. When he was traveling to get some clothes to wash, he tripped on a rock that had been there since the first night he had stayed in the ghost town. Nothing really worth noting to anyone else, but to him, it was the height of his day so far.
He felt the need to shout his own name for some reason. He knew his own name, but why shout it, when no one will ever hear it?
His name was Feng. That meant sharpened blade, and boy, was he a sharp blade… He had been a master swordsman by the age of twenty, and right now, he was forty-five. So he was prepared for whatever was to come. At least, that was what he suspected. Just as he was about to finish washing clothes, he felt a change in the spiritual world. He looked around, expecting a spirit to arrive and give him some kind of advice lecture or something. But no spirit came. The sudden realization fell on him like a huge boulder.
His enemy had awakened.
So how was that? A little lacking, I suppose, but I wanted to add in some mystery to the story.