Ivan Mikhael Volkov coughed slightly, his old
age starting to catch up to him. He hated the fact that his only
child, and dearest daughter, Diana Vera had run off to marry that
Romanian fool lover of hers. The guy was a fucking
peace-lovingRomanian for Mother Russia's sake! And he fucking ran
off with a Russian Mafia Daughter!! Such a dumbass, that man
Ivan knew he had a grandson somewhere in America, but where, who knew? Diana and the dumbass ran off together to America, leaving nothing to tell anyone where they went.
Maybe they were dead? Maybe they were smoking marijuana, or taking methamphetamine, who fucking knew!? Ivan surely didn't, and he hated it.
All he knew about Diana's lover was his last name. Rayne. Whatever that asshole implanted in her brain made her call him only by his surname. And that was fucking retarded, to Ivan, anyways.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, Ivan's trusted second in command, Petre, ran up, panting as he whispered something in Ivan's ear.
"WHAT!??!!" Ivan jumped up, anger, along with slight sadness, coursing through his well-bred Russian veins. "She's fucking dead!!? How!!?"
Petre winced slightly
at Ivan's loudness, but he didn't care.
"U-uh, Boss, well...Mistress D-Diana had a severe heart attack when her husband died in a car crash...she's now dieing...and her son, well...he has no idea...the poor child..."
"How the hell do you know this, Petre!?"
"U-uhm...it was reported to us late last night by secret members in America..."
"Then why the fuck didn't you report it to me last night!?"
"Y-you were...entertaining...boss...those women..."
"Oh." Ivan sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. "What about their child, what's his name, and where will he be going?"
"T-their child is named after you, Boss. His name is Mikhael. And he's going to be living in an orphanage until someone chooses to take him in...."
--13 Years Later--
Rayne shrugged off the
hand on his shoulder, trying to get away from this fight before
he started having an adrenalin rush. Nobody needed to see him
like that, even though everyone here hated his guts.
Ever so slowly, he sensed someone walking up to him from behind. Rayne noticed the soft, but heavy breathing of the mysterious person. He turned around in a flash, only to have a knife thrust into his shoulder. He winced and felt his blood splurge from the wound, running down his bare arm.
He quickly glanced at the wound, and then looked at the attacker, only to find a woman smirking at him, another knife in her hand. "You die, son of Diana, grandson of Ivan Volkov!!" She attacked again, but this time, Rayne shoved his foot into her stomach, right around her abdomen. The woman backed off, reeling from the pain.
Her brown hair fell into her eyes as she glanced down at the ground, for some odd reason. Then he heard her murmuring something in a language he didn't recognize, though it sounded awfully like Latin. Or Russian. What the hell did he know about any language other than English?
"...the fuck is this bitch saying..?" He muttered to himself as he watched her from the corner of his eye. Rayne grabbed his bloodied shoulder, covering the wound, so that the blood would slow down.
The woman lifted her head; her eyes dark, nearly black, and getting darker by the second. She cocked her head to the side, her murmuring getting weirder and weirder, the language getting close to English, then switching back to the weird Latin, Russian?, language.
(will be finished//updated later)