Divided (JohnKat)

Chapter 1

A young man, who seemed to be around the age of teenage years, slowly lifted his head from the warmth of his pillow; letting out a yawn that was barely audible, and, in fact, almost silent. This boy already knows his name, but of course, other people would like to know it, too. He is John Egbert, resident of Earth- no more, no less.

John blinked the sleep from his eyes as he slowly rose from his bed, tossing the blankets onto the floor as he headed towards his old, cracked wooden dresser to find his outift for the day. He wasn't really one for fashion, so he had decided on some simple clothes and had changed in less than five minutes. Just a simple t-shirt and some jeans would work for today. It wasn't like he was going to do anything important, anyways; just the daily, normal, ordinary, boring stuff.

Besides eating breakfast (which he had decided to skip), John proceeded to finish the rest of his morning routine before returning to his room, retrieving his measly, old-fashioned, and way oversized hammer. He took a moment to marvel over the craftsmanship of the weapon before slinging it over his shoulder. The weight of it hardly bothered him anymore, after years and years- or what seemed like it- of fighting those ghastly trolls. What beef did they have with humans anyway? He would never know. Oh well.

Egbert let out a small sigh as he exited the cottage in which he and his father resided, beginning to walk to the training field. The second worst part of his day was about to happen. It wasn't like he didn't mind practicing, it was just... Well, he didn't really know why he hated it. He just did. And today seemed a lot more gloomy and intolerable than usual, so he wasn't in the greatest mood.

He slowed down a little as he reached his own private 'arena'; which mostly consisted of a wooden fence and a few jacked up iron dummies he could whack at with his hammer. He had been doing this- practicing his battle skills- for five years, ever since he was at least eleven years old. He still remembered the first time he learned to use a weapon, and now he would not dare to even live without one.

Opening the wooden gate before him, John carefully walked inside, his eyes flickering back and forth as he watched for any hint of gray skin. Any. You could never be too careful out here. Dad hated him coming out here by himself... but this what he had to do to get stronger, right? He closed the gate again, cringing slightly at the shrill sound it made as it moved. .... He would have to fix that later. He lifted the hammer off his shoulder, dragging it on the ground as he walked towards the three dummies, which stood in the middle of the corral. "Let's have a smashing time today, okay?" He laughed. That was a good one. Too bad nobody was around to hear it.

Picking up the pace until he was almost running, John prepared himself for the attack, lifting his hammer above his head. This was the part that always hurt him the most, but he had learned to get used to it bit by bit over the years. The large weapon above his head would always freak him out slightly though, no matter how used he was to it. Imagining it falling and crushing his skull.... it terrified him. The hammer was literally made to kill.

He had used it to achieve that goal before, and in all honesty, he regretted it. When he sat alone in his room.... all those memories would flow back to him. The colorful blood, all those screams... in a way, he felt bad for the trolls, and often cried over what he had been forced to do. But he always reminded himself what the trolls had done to humans, and it always brought some sense back to him. He never had labeled himself as a killer, and honestly, he kinda hated the world he just so happened to live in. But business is business, and he can't really change that. Even if he wanted to; which he doesn't at the same time? It's all very confusing.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Egbert tried to focus on his target, now only about six feet away from it. He aimed for a spot that wasn't dented from previous training sessions, and hit it right on, causing the vast forest around his small civilization to ring with the hollow sound of metal on metal. Birds flew from the trees, making awful squawking noises as if their heads had just been cut off. He knew he had probably just woken someone up, but oh well. The boy sighed as the noise finally faded away. Hitting it straight on wasn't really an accomplishment. Just the same old thing... to him, anyways. You always had to hit your target. If not, you would die.