Absconditus ran into the forest, stomping on every leaf and branch and shoving branches and twigs out of the way. Despite how dark it was the boy didn't care to lower his volume, his stomping and yelling waking up nearby animals and a few of his neighbors. Just like before the boy was very pissed off; there was a fire within his core that was set ablaze. Unlike before, he wasn't just crying his eyes out for no reason, he had a plan. He was going to prove to them all that his running around in the forest wasn't just some bit of useless play or whatever his father called it, and that this was important.
He stomped for about half a mile, ending up next to a certain red tree in the middle of the forest. It was the only red tree in the entire forest, and with its bright color it was the perfect place for the creeper to set up his base of operations. He climbed up a few branches nailed onto the side of the bark and ended up inside his personal tree fort.
The place was loaded with many toys and games and was often used as a fun place to hang out with friends, but there wasn't going to be any fun here today. Today he was going to enact a plan to actually get his father to respect him. In his words, this was the Ultimate Prove To Your Father That You Don't Need School Plan!
First off, what was the most important thing for survival? Clearly it was strength. Being the stronger kid on the block meant you could lead all of the other's as much as you want, and people like you will only fall when someone with more strength defeats you in combat. Clearly the only reason the government could function was because this 'king' guy he kept hearing about was super strong. To hammer in his point more, his dad was an accountant! He didn't really know what an accountant was, but it sounded like someone strong!
Well, how does he prove to his father that he's strong? He could try to fight his father, but the last time he did his father refused to strike back. You can't prove your strength if your opponent refuses to fight back! He'd just have to find something strong and fight it then!
But what was strong enough? He could remember his mother giving him scary bedtime stories about the Goku; a being who only thought of battle and would be willing to fight anything that it thought was powerful. There was no way such a long and powerful tale could possibly be fake, so of course the best course of action would be to defeat the Goku in front of his father.
But where can he find the Goku? According to his mother's tales this was a difficult beast to find, and he didn't have days to look for one. So maybe he should make one! If he created an authentic looking Goku and 'beat it up' in front of his parents, he would certainly get the respect he deserves! So all he needed was some wood, some tape, and a whole lot of paint, because he was about to get this plan started!
His father didn't allow him to get an axe which meant he had to collect all of this wood by hand. He went around the forest, collecting sticks off the ground and pulling a few off the short trees before dragging them back into his tree fort one by one. After collecting enough to fill his bathtub he grabbed a roll of clear tape and taped many bunches of sticks together. There was one bunch with short sticks that would make the head, one big and wide bunch with long sticks to make the body, and four thin but long bunches that would make the limbs. He grabbed a bottle of glue and glued the limb and head bunches onto their respective places on the body bunch. He used a bit too much glue, it was dripping all over his hands and spider limbs afterwards, but overall it looked good.
All he needed was some paint to make the figure look like a Goku. And maybe he should pick up some sting along the way. He could make the figure move around like a puppet, making the story more believable. He then started to imagine the situation play out in his head and could imagine a great tale that shounen anime would kill to have. He smiled excitedly and leapt out of the tree fort, running back to town to get the paint he desired. Preferably he'd like orange, but blue would be nice too.
And it seemed like his entire town was glowing orange, but that didn't seem to be paint...
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Absconditus stopped in his tracks, frozen despite the amount of heat he felt. If his brain were a computer then at the moment his was the slowest one possible, because it seemed impossible for him to process what was going on. It was warm, it was hot, it was a bit like a flower, it was that thing that'd give them warmth every winter. He was looking at a fire, there was a fire right in front of him, a fire was burning where fire wasn't supposed to burn. The roofs, the walls, the lawns, the windows, they were covered in a fire. His town was on fire. His town was on fire. HIS TOWN WAS ON FIRE!
Finally jerking himself out of his frozen state, the boy ran straight to his house in terror. His lungs were burning, filled up with smoke like a balloon was filled with water, and every muscle in his body felt as if they were a part of this fire as a result, but he pushed on. His house looked like a burning skeleton of its former self, its door already burnt down and only revealing darkness and smoke within. Without a thought he ran in, jumping up the collapsing stairs and slamming open the door to his parents' room, only to be horrified at what he saw.
Sure, there were days in which he wished he could be an orphan. Sure, there were times when he wondered if he'd be better off without them and there were instances in which he completely loathed them. And sure, right before then he was quite annoyed with his father, and if you asked him if he would be better off without the guy he'd say of course. But not like this!
His mother and father laid face up on what remained of their bed, completely black and covered in bright orange flames. Their eyes were completely hollow, and so were their chests with foot wide holes cleanly punched inside. Their mouths were wide open, almost as if they were screaming out to someone or something right before they went. Maybe they were screaming to him. Maybe in their final moments they were still concerned about him. Maybe they weren't and in their final moments he was a disappointment in their eyes. He'd never know, and there was no way to.
Absconditus wanted to look away, but his eyes were glued to the carnage. It was painful, his eyes felt like they were getting stabbed every time he looked at them. They were punctured, leaking a large stream of tears that flew out into the wind, evaporating on contact with the open and heated world.
And the last discussion they've ever had was an argument about whether or not he should go to school...
Absconditus slowly chuckled, wiping the remains of his tears off his face. This had to be fake, it just had to be. Of course, they wouldn't die so suddenly... right? He got up and went out into the hall, slowly dragging himself to his sister's room. Surely when he opens the door he'll find his parents safe and sound, right? Surely his mother and father would have been okay the entire time and his sister would also be there to laugh at him, right?
The floor below him broke down, and the boy crashed and fell through to the ground floor. The rest of the building followed through, basically destroying itself in an explosion with bright and flaring lights. Absconditus simply watched with blank eyes, and a hollow heart. He never imagined the house he's lived in since he was a child ever getting a scratch, but I guess there's a first time for everything.
Absconditus got up and walked again, his brain still buffering and loading in what it just experienced. Buildings toppled over one by one, finally having become too weak to keep themselves standing any longer. Absconditus was starting to feel the same, starting to wonder himself why he continued to bother walking? Maybe at the back of his mind he had just the faintest hint, the smallest of drops, the tiniest of specks of hope that someone he knew was alive. He hardly had any himself, but maybe this much was enough to keep him going.
And it looked like his hope paid off. He could see a small figure in the distance, the shape of a survivor, and ran to it. Technically it was more of a jog, but he didn't have time to be nitpicky. He tried to yell out to the survivor, losing his voice and choking on his words. The physical ailments that came from this smoke never felt as debilitating as they did then. But he still ran. He reached out his hand and yelled at the top of his lungs with his squeaky voice.
The figure turned around, clearly not being a creeper. He looked more like a human, but with a height of only two feet, pointy ears, and big round eyes. His clothes seemed foreign and his shoes seemed worn out, and he held a stick in his hand with a large flame on the end.
Absconditus tried to scream, running back as fast as he could. But his legs couldn't take it anymore. He fell flat on the face, completely unable to move them as the figure came closer. He grabbed rocks and threw them at the figure, dragging himself by the teeth, anything to get away from this monster, but the figure simply came closer.
The figure smiled, saying something in a language that Absconditus couldn't understand, before lifting his hand and spraying some white powder over his head. Absconditus found his weak limbs grow even weaker, his eyelids grew heavier, until the future assassin fell asleep.