New story I guess. Not very confident with this one.
I have no idea where it will lead. Give ideas if you will?
Merci
Disclaimer: I dont own KHR.
Read away!
"Nana? Tuna-fish? Guess who came home as a surprise!" Iemitsu said, stepping into his house grinning from ear to ear.
He'd decided it was time to take a break from work. He decided it was time to come home and raise his son. But, only for a year. A year, just so he could actually be a part of some of his childhood memories. He was only just ten. Turned ten last week.
He'd tried to be home for his birthday, but to be fair he had been there for his last one. Besides, his division had been attacked the week before that. He'd had to stay back and fix it up enough so Lal Mich could keep it going while he was gone. He'd phone in, obviously. He virtually had a son there. Basil didn't have a family anymore and he was the same age as his little Tsu-fish...Iemitsu was thinking about making the child his successor.
But, right now...it was about his blood family. His wife, and his son.
But no one answered him. Not a single sound.
The house was silent.
From what he knew...the house was never quiet. Whenever he visited, he could always here Tsuna laughing and his wife humming.
But now...there was only silence.
Maybe that was what initially triggered his mafia senses...telling him that something was very wrong.
He stepped in further, dropping his bags to the floor. He looked around, finally feeling the heaviness in the air.
He looked around, finding nothing out of place. Only, the lights where off... and it was very dark.
"Honey?...Tsuna?"
The only response was the echo of his own voice.
Reaching under his suit jacket, he pulled out his handgun. Treading carefully, he searched the house. He held his gun out, turning corners and prepared to shoot.
Until he came across the kitchen.
The scent of blood washed over him, making him gag. He put his hand over his nose and mouth, all too used to the scent...before he realised what was in front of him.
Blood covered the walls, thinning as it reached the roof. Spatters of the substance covered the furniture and cabinets. And in the middle of it all...was his wife.
His once beautiful and delicate wife was impaled onto the wall. A large knife was stuck though her abdomen, keeping her there like a butterfly on a mounting board. Her head hung down, body curling over the object that caused her death. Blood covered her pastel clothing, dried and crackling.
Iemitsu stood...no reaction coming across his face. Inside, he was desperately trying to ignore that this was his life. Not someone else's. This was not another mafia raid, but his own home. This was not just some mafia woman...
This was his wife.
He frowned, looking down at his chest as it began to ache. He lifted his hand, fitting it over his heart.
...She was dead.
The whole reason he stayed away was to keep this from happening. That was the whole point. But, he hadn't been there...
And it still happened...days ago as it may seem.
His life was officially over. His wife was dead. His son...his son...
Where was his son? Where was Tsuna?
Iemitsu felt his heat rate rise, a new unknown feeling taking over.
Terror.
His son...his little boy. Where the hell was he?!
Iemitsu shakily turned from his wife, running up the staircase to his son's room.
Oh no. Not his baby boy. Not his little ten year old. He couldn't live with himself if it happened to him too.
He opened the door...and nothing was there.
Toys littered the floor, the bed unmade. And a blood splatter on the wall.
He felt his heart in this throat as he moved closer to inspect the dried liquid.
It was a smiley face.
A frick'n smiley face.
The blood had dribbled down the wall, making the smiley face contort into something grotesque.
He felt the anger and betrayal rise within him.
...This was on purpose. It wasn't just some robber that killed his wife and possibly his son.
It was on purpose.
Whoever did it knew exactly that someone would find it. That he would find it.
...It was mafia.
As his mind was overtaken by his rage and grief...his eyes caught a letter in his peripheral vision. He stormed over to the letter, ripping it from his sons beside table.
He opened it, reading the jumping and skipping handwriting, dancing across the page with glee.
The writing of a mad man.
'Hey there Mr Young Lion.
Did you like the gift we left you? We thought it would be a nice surprise. She looked so pretty bathed in her own blood.
Your son does too.
So we decided to keep him. He screams a lot more than usual when you hurt him, but it's so worth it.
But we also keep him because we know what you're planning. What better way to hurt you than to take your son and Vongola's most valuable heir?
Two birds with one stone – or one boy - if you ask me.
We don't want your money. We don't want a truce.
We want your pain.
So, here's a hint. "Your son is in a place where water runs dry. The boy is in a place where land meets sky"
I hope you find him before its too late. Or maybe not.
It might be more entertaining if you don't make it.
Who knows? Only time will tell.
And your time is short.
So, chop chop chop...what are you waiting for?'
Iemitsu threw the note away from him, before lifting his gun and shooting his flame in an explosion of light. The letter set alight, burning into nothing before it could even touch the floor.
With his expression a mask of rage, he ran down the stairs. He frantically searched is house...for any other sign of his son. Or what happened to him.
He only glanced at his wife as he brushed past the kitchen, stopping monetarily. A deep sadness came across his eyes.
"I'm so sorry Nana" He whispered, before he turned and left the room.
He walked though the house...slightly more subdued, having been reminded that his son was not the only thing he lost today.
But he had a chance to find him. He had a chance to bring him home.
A chance to make it up to Nana.
It was the only thing he could do now. She was dead.
He had to save Tsuna...save the only one he had left.
A single masked man sat upon a throne of gold, shining dimly though the grit and gloom. Only the dim light of the room around him; showed the markings of his masquerade mask.
He sat on his throne, head tilted back and a sharp gleam in his eyes.
The throne was the only item in the room, the only light in the dark. Even the edges of the room faded into darkness, creating the effect of a seemingly endless abyss extending around the throne.
He had his legs crossed, his gloved fingers tapping rhythmically at the golden hand rest.
"The boy laid beneath a throne made of gold, and he laid still, doing as he was told." He man muttered, before uncrossing his legs elegantly.
"Oh...no, that simply won't do" He sighed, voice deep and musical. He lent down, observing the boy that lay in chains at his feet.
"Wont it child?" He asked, seeking confirmation. And when he was met with no response, his sharp white teeth glinted beneath his mask. He reached down his one hand, grasping the child's chin, before yanking forcefully.
"Wont it?" He demanded, looking down at the child.
He sat, stumbling for purchase in his new position between the man's long legs. His chains of gold tinkled against the floor as he struggled, digging into his wrists. He tried to breathe, with his chin bent back so far that it put pressure on his windpipe. With tears in his eyes, he looked up the man, fear seeming to radiate from every pore. Tape covered his mouth, allowing no sound.
Realising that the child could neither agree nor disagree, he sighed. He dropped the child harshly, not caring when the boy's head hit the throne as he slipped. The boy didn't cry out, only falling limp against the throne, his body sliding down until it reached a stop.
He man felt this movement, and grinned. He snapped his legs together, closing around the child's neck with bruising force.
He heard a struggle, the boy whimpering at the inescapable pain as he tried desperately to breathe. He leant back in his throne, not releasing his force on the boy, until he heard the tell tale clank of the child's chains hitting the floor limply...signalling unconsciousness.
He sighed, unhappy that his fun was over. He let go of the child, not wanting to kill him.
Yet.
So...any good? Continue, dont?
Let me know. Also, ideas would be fab.
God Bless,
SephrinaRose