~Ending the Haunt~
Chapter 1
Crickets chirping were the only noise in the quiet landscape. The only thing that disturbed the grassy landscape was the massive prison and the long dirt road that connected it to a town twenty miles away. The stone and concrete prison walls were about thirty feet high and a hundred feet wide. Sharp barb wire decorated the top of the walls like a deadly slinky. Four corner towers were ten feet higher than the walls with a two look out posts- one facing outside the prison and one facing inside- on each one of them. Guards were heavily armed as they took their five hour shifts before they were replaced and debriefed for the next shift change.
The only entrance and exit to the prison was a giant arch way door that was controlled by a control room in a separate building within the prison, which was also heavily guarded. The only vehicles that were authorized to enter were buses filled with new inmates and vans filled with food that would last for the next six months. Each vehicle was through inspected before and after they arrived and left.
This was Hell's Hunting Ground Detention Institution, home of the darkest criminals in the world for the past one hundred years. Once someone goes in, they don't go out unless it is to bury their body. Not once in its' entire history of existence has Hell's Hunting Ground has anyone escape. And tonight was going to be the same.
But tonight was when everything changed. As soon as the clock struck twelve, a huge explosion took out the west side of the prison. Body parts of the guards and inmates went flying through the air as the black, starless sky was lit up with shades of red, orange, and yellow. Dust went twirling up towards the moon with the smell of burning flesh and the sounds of alarms blaring and people screaming following it.
Silence only came from one man. He was sitting on the ground, his hands chained together and his feet chained to the walls. A thick metal collar connected his throat to the wall. His short cut pepper and salt was slicked back messily from use of water instead of any gel product. Appearance wise, he looked no more someone in their late thirties to early forties. His physical, pale body was in excellent condition despite the rather unbalanced meals he was fed. The only unclear part of his face was the single mole under his left eye. His eyes themselves were a mixture of steel gray and icy blue- hard, cold, and emotionless. They were staring at the door while his mouth was set in a hard straight line.
He wore the typical inmate uniform- a gray jumpsuit with a bar code printed across his right breast. But what made him different from the rest of the population of convicts was the color of that barcode. At Hell's Hunting Ground, an inmate's barcode color marked his dangerous level. From lowest to highest, the colors went blue, green, yellow, orange, purple, and red. There is a special color reserved to those who were a threat so large to society that the Council has come to call them 'Death's Little Reapers'. And there was only one person of that kind of men in this prison. This man was the one.
His naked foot started to tap impatiently on the concrete floor. Which is when the gunshots and screams started. The noise lasted for about twenty minutes when it all fell silent. That is when the thick metal door opened and a woman came strolling in, her bloody high heels clicking against the floor. Her hair was darker and longer then he last remembers- it was now a dark auburn color and reached the middle of her back. The black three piece suit she wore was splattered with blood. There was even a bit on the edge of her dark ruby red painted lips were set in a sly, satisfied smile.
"Hello, Boss," she purred.
The woman leaned down to started unlocking the bonds, but as soon as his hands were released, one of them shot out to wrap around the female's throat. "What took you so long?", he hissed, an underlying threat hidden within in his tone.
Struggling to breathe, the woman gasped out, "W-We were making sure that no one was left alive. T-There-". She was cut off by the man's grip tightening ever so slightly.
"It's not so much why you took so long killing everyone in this wretched place- if it took you less time than it did, I would be disgusted at myself for promoting you to be my right hand." The grip tightened even more to the point where bones were starting to crack. "What took you so long getting me out of this bloody place?"
The grip relaxed slightly so the chocking woman could speak, but still tight enough to crush her windpipe at the drop of a dime. "I-I was finishing up the p-preparations for y-your return. And I w-was gathering information pertaining to your s-son." That is when the grip completely relaxed, allowing sweet air to rush into her lungs. As the woman took in deep gulps of air, the inmate grabbed the key and finished unlocking himself from the chains that have kept him tied these walls for the past seven years.
He stood up and brushed the dust off his pants, taking secret pleasure in the flow of magic rushing through his veins that was stopped by those damn bonds. With a flick of his wrist, his jumpsuit turned into a black three piece suit with a dark navy tie and long scarf. "How is my son?", the man asked as he fixed his tie and dusted off the leather of his shoes.
The now standing woman straightened her back and replied, "He's part of the guild Fairy Tail under your deceased wife's maiden name. He's also in a homosexual relationship with the master's grandson."
"What about the drug dealers who hired to kidnap him?"
"The grandson rescued him. I kept tabs on them while they stayed at the motel."
The crime boss nodded, not surprised that the drug dealers failed considering their intelligence levels, before he started to walk out of the prison cell with the woman following behind him. "Very good, Megan."
"Thank you, Mr. Azazeal."
Standing tall, the man unemotional walked pass the pile of bleeding corpses. From the piles, an inmate came crawling towards him. "H-Help me…" Calmly, Mr. Azazeal held out his hand to Megan who placed a silver handgun in his hand. The crime boss shot the wounded man in the head before handing the gun back to the second in command. Quietly, in a long dead language, he muttered under his breath, "Pray for the safety of your loved ones, Fried, because there shall be blood."