He awoke confused, to say the least; a voice kept ringing in his head. He held a gun in his hand, with two corpses below him, one a doctor, the other a fool and him a kid but he wasn't. It didn't make sense but he was sure of that. He was not just any ordinary kid, even if he looked like one. He couldn't remember much except what repeated over and over in his head.
Kill Fate for that is what you chose.
You who defied him.
By your own accord.
Reclaim your name.
He was unsure what that meant and had a limp; he winced and he was bleeding. a bullet pierced his right shoulder or had done so at some point and he should have been crying from the pain but he was not and the bodies should have frightened him but they did not. Not fearless but mad. Fear is the mindkiller. Madness brings mercy.
He walked up the stairs of this dingy, wrecked place, limping each step as blood dripped behind, tapping on the wood as he struggled to walk, clinging to the railing until making it up, and then limped across the hall into the washroom washing up, he cleansed his wounds as blood ran down the water and he looked at himself it was quite a sight, which felt off, though he didn't know why there was something strange about just seeing himself.
I can't remember a thing. Before, after, and even now, nothing rings a bell. I'm in a room full of strangers and I am nobody.
He laughed abruptly, stopping to limp once more to the closet and found more ammo he kept the gun in his hand as he loaded the bullets in the chamber of it. He went down in front of the doctor and cocked the gun once more and the doctor raised his hand, gasping for breath he unloaded the full chamber onto the doctor before dropping the gun onto the ground, then he glanced at the other one, a fool with a mask and gave a curt, polite nod before leaving.
His jean jacket and cargos were covered in blood, and he entered a bedroom where he stripped and gave himself something new. He was on the main floor at this point and just looked at the mirror. It felt alien. Strange. Who am I? Why am I here? What's happening? The situation was laughable and so he laughed and laughed loud like a madman, simply staring at the mirror and his gaze grew still after a few moments. Something was wrong, though he did not know exactly what that was. Does that even make sense?
It's strange I don't remember anything from before, including myself. I don't know who these people are and now I'm in the aftermath of it all and I killed him, right? I can't make sense of it. These were the questions he didn't feel fear or anger or really anything and it made him feel insane as he laughed but he was a man who didn't even know how to do that.
He went out to the garage and grabbed canisters of gasoline as he poured it along the interior of the house, this place would burn and he would not know why he's doing this but he would not do it yet; something was missing and it made him regret it even if it shouldn't but what could it be he did not know.
Tobi looked to each side, slammed the door open and exited the house but there was still that lingering feeling that he forgot something. Did he? Yes, he had a feeling he forgot something he checked the doctor's office; the safe's code was 220324 and opened it, finding the key; he checked for anything else and found nothing. He then inspected the silver key, which had a heart on it.
"Well, isn't that cute?" he chuckled, inspecting. "So where the hell do you go then?"
He walked around the house four times and finally heard the floorboard ring hollow on one peculiar step he stomped a few times before going to the garage and he grabbed a shovel and went back to give it a good old smack, then jimmied the boards, finding a regular unfinished basement, then a strange pink door and his eyes narrowed as he tensed, not afraid but having an ick for this place; it felt oddly familiar in ways he was not ready for yet.
He put the key in the hole and turned it open and carefully opened the door slightly to let himself in.
Tobi left the house; his eyes were cold and he knew his true name. Not the one he used but the one that he had now forgotten to be remembered once more. He did not remember how he got to this point. His memories were gone but his personality was back as he lit a match outside and threw it into the house. Flames roared as the house burnt; the smell was one he grew accustomed to, at least the memory of the smell, even if he didn't know the actual memory. It was very confusing, though he knew what he needed to find next. He knew it was Fire, but why did he know that? He wasn't too sure. His mind was covered in fog and everything felt strange as of now.
To what end do I seek?
He looked ahead, his gaze as cold as the night, as the crackling of flames behind him as the house burned, and he felt nothing. Nothing at all, and it was enough to drive a man insane with how confused he was, but instead he felt empty, for he yearned for something he did not even know or remember as of now. He was not a kid but something older; that is what he knew even if he did not remember. He was once a hunter; in fact, maybe that's what he is now—not just a kid but a hunter. But what does that mean? What does it mean to be a hunter? He's come back from a place long after.
He could look at himself and understand he could not die, for that is what he was. He is the end. He is closure. He is the finality of the very existence he chose to create by coming back here; he will hunt and kill the god named Fate and find his goal through death, for that is what he was and ever shall be. He didn't question the absurdity of it all, instead going forward.
Time passed and here he stood. He found the flame.