I ---Chapter 1--- ---Paris, France--- Three people stood in front of a picture window, perfectly capturing the beauty of Paris. The Eiffel Tower could be seen straight ahead, yellow pin[puncture]s of light dotting it. The moon was high in the air, tonight full, adding even more beauty to an already amazing picture. One of the people would never remember it seeing as she was only three months old, but the other two people would never forget this amazing scene. The man and woman had married six months before. This was the first time they had taken a big vacation together, and they were loving every minute of it. That day they had gone to the Louvre, taken a bus tour of the city, and stood atop that tower they now stared at in awe. After five minutes, the two were able to break their eyes from the tower, and kiss. They then went to one of the two beds in the room. They placed the baby between themselves, and then went to bed. The baby fell asleep first, then the mother. The father was having a hard time though. He felt something bad was about to happen. _____ Three cars pulled up to the curb. The hotel Saint Marie was a very blocky structure, and the only reason it got as many patrons as it did was because of the views. It had very little ambiance, very little excitement, it was pretty much the most bare bones hotel in the area. The three cars were all black, with black tinted windows hiding who ever was hiding within. It was in perfect unison that four people came out of each car. Twelve people then stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the hotel, each wearing a brown duster overlapping basic Levi jeans and T-Shirts. None of them speaked, yet they all nodded their heads and went their seperate ways, six going inside, and three going to each side of the building. The ones going inside did not acknowledge the person at the desk, did not even stop after the somewhat chubby woman yelled after them as they went up the stairs. They continued forward, as if on some kind of quest. It was on the top floor that they stopped. Room 1401, the only room on the fourteenth floor. The Presidential Suite. Or, what a cheap hotel like this could consider the Presidential Suite. The men each pulled a katana from behind their dusters, which also concealed an Uzi, and some sort of pistol. One of them, whether the leader or not no one could know, kicked the door so fiercely, it fell off it's hinges right onto the hotel rooms floor. _____ The man had been asleep until he was awoken by the sound of the door thumping against the floor. If that didn't wake him, then the splash of some kind of hot fluid and something sponge like against his face probably did. He screamed. He had licked his lips and tasted the iron-like taste of blood. Which meant the squishy stuff was probably brain. His wife...she was... He couldn't complete the thought because that is when the baby started to cry. He grabbed her and rolled to the floor. He then got under the bed. "Please god...please...no. Let this be a dream!" He whispered to himself. He felt tears in his eyes. The baby continued to cry. "Can it be over god? Right when everything was perfect?" He asked aloud. That is when he heard two bodies thump against the floor. _____ He had been hiding in the small closet outside the room where the maids kept the cleaning supplies for a couple hours, and had apparently fallen asleep. He was awoken by the sound of a thump and a gunshot. "Crap!" He muttered as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pulled a sword from the scabbard at his hip. "Hope it's not too late." He opened the closet door and saw six shadowy people entering the hotel room a couple feet away. "CRAP!" He muttered again and ran into the room, almost tripping on the kicked in door. He regained his balance just in time to see that the six figures were now staring at him, malice in their eyes. He wasted no time. The man wore a black kimono, and his hair was the same color as his garments. As soon as the six looked straight at him he decapitated one in an upward stroke, and then cut one from the shoulder to the groin in a downward. The two bodies thumped to the floor. Four more left. His sword pointed toward the floor now. "The names Kenchi. People used to call me Unknown, back when I was born I was known as Tutenkhamen. I've had quite a few names to tell you the truth. Anyway, I'm here to protect that man and that baby. Can't let you idiots kill someone like him." One of the assailants ran at Kenchi, sword held high above his head. Kenchi easily parried the overhead strike that could have cut his head in half, and then kicked the assailant in the stomach, leaving him open for a quick jab through the heart. The body slid slowly off of Kenchi's blade. He quickly swatted at the air with his weapon, all the blood seemed to jump off the sword and spatter to the floor. The last three assailants came at Kenchi. Kenchi side stepped one downward slice of a sword, and brought his up, slicing one man's neck open. He then parried another attack, and used all his strength to push the man off of him and cut open his stomach. He killed the last man by rolling under his swipe and cutting his legs off. "Why did you guys never realize the fact you had guns? Idiots. Honor and all that B.S." Kenchi was about to go to the bed when the picture window exploded in a shower of glass, and three uzi wielding people flew in, followed by three more. "CRAP!" Kenchi muttered as he ran to the other side of the room, bullets bursting into the walls behind him. As Kenchi ran, he rolled and grabbed an uzi from one of the dead men, and shot it's whole clip at the six men. One stray bullet entered Kenchi's shoulder as the six men went down. Kenchi dropped the gun and laughed. He then looked over at the wound. He tried to move his arm, but found it painful to do so. "Crap. Probably shattered it, or at least broke it a few times. Gonna be a hell of a time fixing this." He walked over to the bed. "Come on out Dave, it's fine. I got rid of them. I'm Kenchi, I'm with the American government." "You could be the one who killed my wife!" Dave yelled out. The child had cried through the whole battle, but now stopped. "I did not kill her, but I killed the ones who did." Dave was not coming out. He was too scared. Kenchi did not blame him. Thankfully, Dave didn't come out because right then, a giant man jumped through the window. Police sirens could be heard in the distance, getting louder by the second. "Kenchi Miyamoto, great to see you." The tall man muttered. Kenchi was intimidated. Not by his seven, seven in a half foot size, nor by the two foot long swords he held in each of his hands. It was the fact that he carried four swords, in four hands. The man had four arms. His face was scrunched up somewhat, and he had red, slitty eyes. He also had a pair of horns on his head, and long black hair. An oni*. He was what sent these guys after Dave. "My names Baroke." The oni said, bowing politely. Kenchi bowed as well. "Always a pleasure to meet a demon." ------------------ TO BE CONTINUED ------------------ *Oni are Japanese demons. Quite simply, they are the corrupted souls of Japanese people. Oni can not be any other race of people, simply because with each country comes a different form of demon. American demons look like Satan, Japanese demons look like old, reptilian like men, and Mexican demons are some sort of animal/human creature, like a chupecabra. Oni are able to create shadow men, which are basically the husks left behind by people who have died (or, simply, their vacant bodies). These husks are controlled by the oni through telekinetic ability, and can be used for almost anything. Though they do look human, noticeable differences are the fact that their eyes are a very light color, or they bear the scars or marks they got before death (if someone got their throat slit, you could tell on the husk because their neck is somewhat loose, and there is a cut there. If someone died by being burnt, you could tell because their skin is darkened and flakey). ------------------------------------------------- I do hope this was an enjoyable start to the story! Please comment, critique, and do whatever else people do when talking about stories.