Chapter 1: It was all for nothing.
Weaver awoke on the cold stone floor with ragged breathing as he stared up at the ceiling above him. It was dank and damp and the sweat perspiration down his temples as he breathed out unevenly was the only indication of the nightmare that he awoke from and into. The room was suffocatingly quiet leaving Weaver to only consider his inner thoughts in the abyss with little light. It was all for nothing. A sour feeling brewed in his stomach as he ruminated on his past. What has it been twelve? no thirteen years since this all started? I pushed thru all the bullshit to get here and what is here? Nothing but the feeling of loss and loneliness. All those I cared for are gone and the only thing I'm left with is regret.
His muscles ached and whined as he slowly rotated his arms to pop his shoulders as he grunted to sit up. Looking around the shed he was in he could barely make out the small bloom of yellow-orange pushing toward the bottom of the gap beneath the door. So the morning of my last day has come. Weaver extended his hand towards the ceiling and projected a thin line that looked similar to the thread of a spider web as it gripped onto the ceiling with almost magnetic attraction. He lightly tugged and pulled himself to his feet facing the door to the outside of darkness infested room he was in. Focusing on his senses he confirmed it was already over. I really have been run ragged haven't I? Didn't even realize the building was surrounded until just now. So sloppy.
Weaver pushed the rust-covered door open as it creaked under its withered frame. Stepping out into the light he briefly covered his eyes to adjust as he looked around him at what waited for his last time under the sun. His last stand and probably the last stand of humanity on this continent. Surrounding Weaver on all sides were many individuals in various worn clothing stained with blood or with slight rips. A smile tugged Weaver's lips as he viewed their pitch-black eyes set in their leathery faces. All of them are at least ghouls, even some variants among the crowd. Definitely not an ideal situation.
Weaver stood tall for a moment and stretch his back as his spine audibly cracked a few times. The weariness weighing on him, his eyes with dark circles, and his muscles tense from constantly being on the run. Weaver wore boaters, bloody torn harem pants, and a tank top. Shaggy mid-length midnight black hair slicked back into a low bun with unkempt strands escaping the hold after his long hours on the move. The neglected scruffy beard with hairs going in all directions. His face looked slightly gaunt from the lack of food and sleep. His eyes vivid sky blue with a tinge of auburn in the inner ring of his iris that looked on with disinterest at his surroundings. The natural dirt and grime his body accumulated over the past few weeks built on him giving his skin a darker tone than usual. Weaver raised his arm and smelled his armpit briefly before whipping his head back in instant regret.
Spreading his arms wide Weaver with a smile splitting his face ear to ear does a slow turn as he shouts even with a slightly hoarse voice "well well, what a wonderful little party you are holding for me. I'm sorry to say I came unprepared I don't have any hors de'oeuvres, I hope that's alright with you lot?" Weaver noted that as he was raising his arms the tension in the air shifted as many of them took a defensive stance. Laying his eyes on the one he recognized he narrowed them slightly. Desmond stood in the middle of the procession of ghouls with his signature look. A tall man standing nearly 6'4" with a slim and lithe build in a particularly clean navy blue suit. Polished black dress shoes that gleamed from the morning sunlight. His rugged face with short swept-back gray hair. It would be a sight for sore eyes in these times if it weren't for his pitch-black eyes without an iris that stared at Weaver with a haunting glint to them. His leathery skin curved in the shape of a mocking smile didn't help settle weavers mind.
"It's quite alright, we have already had enough for the lead-up. Just looking forward to the main course at this point Mr. Arthfulu. That last group you ran with has satiated our needs for quite a while." The ghoul in question responds to Weaver with a mocking smirk on his lips. "I would say it has been fun Mr. Arthfulu, but unfortunately I have other things to accomplish so we will have to speed along the reunion you will get with your fellow humans. It's time for you to find peace, my friend."
Weaver's blood boiled at the words from Desmon. Blood pumped in his chest as he started to feel his heartbeat in his ears, and his muscles tensed in preparation. His body yearned for the fight and his soul screamed for violence. If I can accomplish one thing, just one thing before it's all over I will end him. Weaver spread his fingers wide and individual strands spread from each of his fingertips slowly winding and wrapping upon each other to make a thin cord on each finger. The thread binding together into a twine that strengthened itself at the cost of alacrity and edge. A slight crimson glow began to emanate from his fingertips slowly encasing the twine. Weaver tensed his legs and launched into the fray. Beginning the final fight of his life. Weaver's eyes locked onto Desmon as he slowly retreated into the crowd. I will make all these years of struggle and hardship count for something. I will not end without bringing an end to at least one of my regrets.
The slaughter began with Weaver's hands extended out as he brought them forward in a forceful clap. The threads quickly expanded out from his fingertips lashing out and around two separate groups of ghouls bisecting them into multiple parts as a fountain of blood splashed towards the ground. His movements were too fast for most as they were unable to dodge in time. Constricting his fingers in a quick motion his threads quickly retreated and formed a dome around him as many abilities impacted it. The clattering sounded like steel sheered into a blender. Holes quickly obliterated on different sections of his threads as he tightened his fingers further to reduce the size of the dome in exchange for covering the holes. His threads naturally extend further and further to replace the lost sections from his fingertips. Realizing this was a foregone conclusion Weaver flicked his hands out in an exempt to buy a bit more time for himself as he crouched and jumped as high as he could spinning in a circle with his hands outstretched turning upside down so he could spin his threads like a top. The roar of the breaking blender intensified as his threads were skewed asunder under the constant barrages, though few made it thru the gaps and lashed onto the unprepared ghouls. The threads making contact with his enemies this time did not slice but instead attached as he rag-dolled the ghouls at high speed into each other briefly giving himself respite.
Slowly descending to the ground his previous threads latch around on various points around him and he yanks his left hand to quickly change his direction of descent landing in the middle of a group of ghouls. Letting his threads run wild they quickly extend and naturally spread around him on the ground as he yanks his hands up grunting under the pressure of yanking so much of the surrounding terrain into the air knocking many ghouls off balance. With another wave of his hands, he eviscerates the thrown ghouls and terrain as a shower of gore and dirt spews around him. With an audible sound like a splash of liquid hitting a countertop. before being able to recover and move to his next step a javelin of dark obsidian pierces into his back at a downward angle erupting parts of his lower intestines onto the ground as the lower front of his torso explodes out of him. Weaver vomits more blood from his mouth as he quickly grabs the javelin it burns his hands as he yanks it thru his body and drops it to the ground. Laying on one knee he turns his head to see none other than Desmon holding another one of his javelins casually preparing for another toss. Fucking hell fighting out in the open like this is the worst situation I could be in against him. Weaver realizing Desmon was going for another toss raises his hand from covering his wound quickly forming a barrier of threads in front of himself weaving together a mesh link structure. No, I need to push on. I must push on. It's not over. His threads are so thin they are slightly transparent as he sees Desmon toss the javelin toward his hastily built defense. The javelin pierces thru and slams into Weaver's chest narrowly missing his heart as it tears out of the center of his back and blasts more of his organs onto the ground. Weaver falls on his back onto the ground taking ragged breaths as his life drains from him. Looking up at the clear blue sky with the auburn sun beginning to rise in all its glory reflecting his eyes perfectly in this moment weaver breaths his last breath with one thought in his mind as he exhales for the last time. It was all for nothing.
It’s a really good start and I hope you write more.