I wasn't sure why that cello case was always that heavy back then, but I now knew why when I got a good look at what came tumbling out of the case; a scythe as black as night, with a deadly-looking serrated blade that was designed to cut someone completely in half. It didn't look like a traditional scythe farmers would use, as I noticed the jet black steel rod that's connected to the serrated scythe blade.
Unlike a normal scythe, it did not have those handles on the sides, which looked like it was meant to be wielded like a spear, since there appeared to be a smooth but wicked-looking spearhead on the other end of the rod, which looked to be around 5 to 6 feet long from where I was standing. "You were dropped on our doorstep when you were still a baby, along with that scythe and a note saying to not give you that until you *painful and bloody cough* you were old enough to know the truth *bloody cough*." My dad said to me, answering why I was seeing a scythe that came straight of some stylized anime.
In response, I turned my head to look at him and replied, "So what? Are you saying that I'm actually the son of the Grim Reaper, is that it?!" "*painful and bloody cough* Truth can be stranger than fiction, son." My dad answered to me, just as his injuries took an ever bigger toll on him, causing blood to drool down his mouth a bit, as I quickly went to him, kneeling down to face the man I once called my 'Dad'.
"Even if you and Mom aren't my real parents, I'm not leaving you here to die!" I said to him, as I tried to move my foster dad once again, only he screamed even louder than last time, just as we then heard the sound of multiple explosions just behind my damaged house. Left with no other choice but to leave him there to die, I set him back against the wall, where he put his bruised arms around me in a final embrace and replied, "Even...even though you're not m-my real son, I was proud to call you one...Dalton."
As the fire in my supposed father's soul died out, I couldn't hold back the tears anymore, feeling the grief that came with losing the two people I deemed as my parents, now an orphan. However, moments after standing up from my foster Dad's deceased body, I no longer felt sadness and grief, but a swelling rage and bloodlust for vengeance. I wanted to hunt down the bastards who did this to my family, and make them pay, and give them a slowly painful death!
As I clenched my fists, I then turned my head to look at the scythe, still laying on the debris-coated floor, tempting me to pick it up and take vengeance. In anger, I aggressively reached for the scythe, grabbing the metal rod handle, as I yanked the weapon upright. From there....
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