DISCLAIMER: I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn
As Worlds Spin
What could-have-beens from my "To Save A World" universe.
AN: I tried to make it so you could read these chapters independently, let me know how that works.
The context for this chapter is that Squalo found everyone - Millefiore and Vongola - dead on the battlefield after spending too much time defeating Zakuro, and used Spanner and Shoichi's time travel machine to send him back in time ten years.
Squalo woke up to the patter of rain on his face.
The sword emperor pushed himself up, gritting his teeth as his bones creaked and entire body protested the movement, the dried blood still coating his stiff, damp clothes and causing them to crackle with each breath. Clambering to his feet, Squalo used his sword (the least bloody part of him, how ironic was that?) as a support, surveying his surroundings. The area around him was all forest - evidently, the building the time machine was in had yet to be built.
A good sign.
Suddenly, Squalo froze-
he had been so focused on getting to the past, he had never thought about what to do once he got there.
How was he supposed to beat Byakuran - even a lesser powered version - on his own?
Shit.
The answer occurred to the Varia Rain as he was fleeing from the Millefiore guards that had caught him spying.
I really wish I had a Mist right now.
He ducked under a branch and picked up speed, pebbles clattering as dirt gave way and he slid effortlessly down a hill,continuing the pondering his idle thought had triggered. He couldn't go to the Varia - at this point, Xanxus' retrieval from the ice was still fairly recent, and the entire assassination was even more trigger happy than usual in defense of their long awaited Sky. Even if they believed him, they would barge in with weapons blazing and, as much as Squalo hated to admit it, dealing with Byakuran required a subtler touch (though a no less cruel one). Besides, Mammon, despite being an Arcobaleno, was not the most powerful Mist.
That was Mukuro Rokudo.
The cries of the guards were faint in the distance, now, unable to keep up with the highly experience assassin as he ran, using all obstacles in his way as stepping stones instead. Fallen trunks gave him leverage to push farther ahead in his jumps, and tangled vines were used as push off points from above the ground or handholds to swing himself faster.
Finally, after another hour of running (because at this point, too much was riding on him to be careless), the rain slowed to a stop in a dense patch of trees. The bark under his skin was rough as he gripped it tightly, scaling the tallest as high as the branches could safely support him and lying there, staring up at the sky.
And so, the greatest mafia tactician that had ever lived planned. How do you convince someone who wants to destroy the mafia to save it? Illusionists were too tricky, especially one of the damn pineapple's caliber. There was no way Squalo - whose every action and very flames raged and broiled with pure resolve and intent - could fool him. At this point, Rokudo had been half of Tsunayoshi's mist set for nearly two years, which meant that he had at least partly harmonized.
On the other hand, the genocidal Mist's actual body was still in Vendicare.
Theoretically, he could use Chrome as a conduit, but Squalo had seen the difference with his own eyes, and handicaps could not be afforded. Taking out his phone - which had somehow survived the battle and following events - Squalo dialed the number he had hoped to never call again.
"Voi! Care to make a deal?"
When the ancient phone in his office rang, Bermuda could only blink in disbelief. No one called the Vindice. No one. Ever. Jager looked up from where he was flipping through old records in the corner, looking at his boss questioningly. Bermuda only nodded, signalling for Jager to answer. The voice that crackled through the old, black spin-phone was quieter and inexplicably older than he had ever heard it, but still unmistakably that of the loudest mafia member's.
"Voi! Care to make a deal?"
Bermuda felt himself become more and more intrigued as the Sword Emperor continued, spinning a tale of a future drenched in red, of the mafia torn apart and ripped at the seams, of a world that was out of control up until the very moment it ended, not in fire, but in rain and rivers of blood. Eventually, Squalo Superbia finished his tale, and the Vindice waited for him to get to the reason for the call - and surely it wasn't just to inform them of time travel and apocalyptic futures.
"You give me Mukuro Rokudo, and promise his freedom for the rest of his life, and we'll eliminate Byakuran ourselves."
Bermuda and Jager shared a look. Mukuro Rokudo's body was required to trap Daemon, but-
Surely, there had been a reason for them to not get involved in the bloodiest war of mafia history. Which meant one of two things: either Checkerface had been involved, or… Byakuran had somehow forced them to stay out of it.
Neither option sat well with the Vindice.
"You have yourself a deal, Requiem Rain."
In reality, the Vindice of the future were just so done dealing with the mafia's shit that they didn't bother, hoping the entire mafia would be destroyed and they could take a vacation from idiots.
Squalo left that out.
The first thing Mukuro saw when he woke up was the sky. He stared, unblinkingly, for what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes at most. The scent of fresh grass after rain hung in the air, and when he curled his fingers, they scraped earth and he could feel the dirt push up against his hands, the scratchy blades of grass crumpling beneath his palm.
"Voi! You gonna talk or not, Mist? You better not be broken after the trade I made to get you!" A foot hit his side - not lightly, but not enough to send him rolling. Heterochromatic eyes met grey-tinted green, and Mukuro started to laugh.
"VOI! Listen up, Mist scum! Yes, I'm from the ten years later future. No, it's not from the bazooka." Mukuro fell silent, eying the caked blood that still remained, and the permanent copper stained into the uniform. "Here's the deal. Everyone's dead, including Vongola, Varia, you, your Mist twin, Tsunayoshi, and everyone else you know... Save the Vindice trash."
Mukuro was deadly serious now, sitting up even though his atrophied muscles protested the movement, reinforcing himself with illusions as he stood. "What does this have to do with me?" Crimson and deep indigo flashed, while the Varia rain just stared at him coolly.
"You trying to tell me you're not harmonized with them? Voi! I can feel Tsunayoshi's flames still lingering on yours." True enough, Mukuro could feel the brilliant, searing Sky, flames pressed against his own cool Mist, wrapped in a warm, comforting embrace.
"Here's the deal, Mist trash. You're the best damn illusionist not on the side of Byakuran that I know of, as much as I hate to admit it. I made a deal with the Vindice - you're free, permanently, so long as you help me kill the Gesso trash. I'll slice them up with or without you, so don't think it won't happen just because of you. Are you in?"
A dark, sinister smirk curled along the Mist's lips, and dual colored fire blazed in his eyes as his illusions settled in, him standing tall on his own two feet for the first time in years.
"A chance to destroy mafia scum? Of course."
And so the devil made a deal.
(No one was quite sure who the devil was.)
They attacked during a thunderstorm.
Mukuro's illusions shielded them from the rain and allowed them to see clearly despite the overcast sky and drenching downfall. The heavy rain had made a fog roll in from the nearby lake, and it was dark enough that no one (else) could see past their arm.
They were in their elements.
Shadowy vapors of predators and monsters swirled in the mist, attacking any and all Millefiore soldiers with extreme prejudice, leaving their mangled and bloody corpses, stretching futilely towards their sky, before the mist swallowed them up for good. The rain blinded the White Spells, lying to them that no one was there, the pinging droplets echoing, surrounding them and tricking their ears. Even scent was washed away by the water.
With Mukuro's illusions also cloaking them, making them fully invisible, they sliced through everyone in their path, making their way to the Gesso boss' bedroom, and slipping inside, blades drawn in order to finish what would now never start-
They froze.
A young boy, not looking a day over 14, stood trembling in the corner, and cowering behind him was another teenager, this one with red hair and round glasses, hugging a laptop to his chest. In front of them were the Cervello, pink hair and goggles seeming oddly menacing as they flashed from the sporadic lightning strikes that shone in from outside the window. In their hands, the Mare ring.
Squalo surged forward, blade thrusting forward, stabbing one Cervello straight through. He was already swirling forward, blade sliding out easily and slicing the other Cervello's arm as she jumped back, only to stagger in shock with the bang of a gunshot. The pink haired woman slumped forward, dead.
Squalo and Mukuro both turned to a wide eyed Byakuran, who was holding a gun in his trembling hands.
Well, that was unexpected.
As it turned out, the Byakuran at this point in time was a fairly normal civilian with absolutely no knowledge of the mafia and no plans of world domination.
Which, to be honest, was kind of a let down.
The four were in the Gesso heir's room (which, as it turned out, was actually pretty much his cell, because the Cervello had kidnapped him, what the hell?) The two younger teens were staring in terror at their blood splattered companions, who were whispering heatedly in the corner with occasional outbreaks of "VOOOOIIIII!" and "Kufufufufu."
Finally, the two turned, both glaring at the two huddled against the headboard of the bed.
"VOOIIIIIIII! Listen up, trash! You!" The silver haired assassin pointed angrily at Byakuran. "Since apparently Mr. Let's-Massacre-Everyone-And-Take-Over-The-World over here has either gained a new set of morals from Tsunayoshi or thinks you'd be a fun plaything, either way, you get to live. But now that the Cervello have found you once, they can find you again, got it?!"
Byakuran eeped.
Sighing disgustedly - because seriously, what had the world come to, him sparing the one that had killed his famiglia, currently innocent or not - Squalo shook his long, silver hair out of his face, feeling their light brush against his cheek as the sleek strands slipped away, revealing his other, glaring eye the color of a rainstorm before a tornado.
"VOI! Shut up! In order to prevent you two from becoming chew toys for the damn pink haired freaks - yes, both of you, since you know him and were a witness - I'll be taking the two of you on as my apprentices while the pineapple bastard takes care of the cover up."
Shoichi's stomach ache was finally too much for the poor redhead to take, and he passed out, closely followed by his white haired friend.
Squalo gave up.
Mukuro and Squalo parted ways, the Mist never revealing how he had been released from Vendicare, and the Rain sticking to the shadows and the fog that lurked there. It wasn't until many years later that the two met again.
A new mercenary group had been rising quickly in the ranks of the Underworld, calling themselves Chronos, or Time.
The Vongola tenth generation and Varia had teamed up to investigate. They thought they had found the location of the group, only to find themselves waist deep in a battle between the Triads and the Vongola's largest rival group, the Corvio.
Basically, they were stuck between a rock and a hard place in a sea of blood.
The two groups were taking cover in an as-of-yet undiscovered room, Ryohei and Lussuria healing everyone as best they could while reserving their flames. Blood soaked clothes, and no one had escaped at least a couple potentially debilitating injuries. So, Mukuro made a call.
"Kufufufu, Chronos, is it? The Vongola and Varia are in danger. Corvio base."
With that, the violent Mist hung up, unmindful of the stares he was receiving from his companions.
"VOOIIIIIIIII!" Squalo whisper-yelled, still the loudest, even when they were hiding from the enemy. "You've had contact with the Chronos this whole time? We're in this mess for no reason, then, you stupid pineapple bastard!"
"That was pretty dumb, Senpai," chimed in Fran from where he was resting in the corner, one bright eye half closed from bruising as sweat-and-blood matted green hair stuck to his forehead.
Mukuro said nothing, simply smiled creepily.
They were found shortly after, back in the throng of battle. Luckily, they didn't have to fight long.
Suddenly, every electronic-based software in the building - including weapons - suddenly shut down, unresponsive no matter what their users did. No one was fighting at this point, simply staring at each other in confusion. Mukuro was chuckling, creating illusion clones of himself and practically herding everyone into a corner.
"We're in for quite a show, kufufufu. Watch."
Just as he said that, brilliant orange Sky flames blasted down the entrance (along with the front wall), burning anyone near them.
"Voi! Watch where you aim those things, scum!" Everyone turned to Lambo automatically, but the young teenager simply shook his head frantically. As they turned back to the battle, they saw an older teenager, likely around 19, sniping their opponents with handfuls of Sky flames, floating near the ceiling with - were those wings? - sprouting from his back. On the ground, though, was where the real fighting was happening.
Flashes of quicksilver were visible from the mass of panicking mafia members, some attempting to fight back, while others fled. In short time, everyone had either escaped or fallen to the bloody blade of the newcomer, whose long silver hair reached his knees, even though it was pulled up and out of his face in a high ponytail, several strands dropping down in front of his eye. A long trench coat reached his knees, shiny black leather gleaming even in the dim lighting as the grey furred hood and collar rubbed against a pale cheek. The figure sighed, turning slowly and revealing the face of someone who was unmistakably Squalo, though a great deal older.
"VOI! You damn Mist, calling us in for small fry like this?" Mukuro smirked and shrugged, watching as the other's eyes flicked over their figures, taking in the exhaustion in their stances and blood spattered clothes, coming to the same conclusion that Mukuro himself had - they would have won, but at least one likely would have died, or been permanently injured.
"Shark trash…?" Xanxus rumbling voice was subdued for once, taking in the sight of an older version of his Rain with something resembling disbelief and horror. The figure in front of them sighed as he was joined by two others, one flying down from the ceiling and landing lightly, dressed in a similar outfit but in shades of lavender and white, while another walked in from outside, laptop in hand, in an ensemble of red and brown.
"I go by Chronos now, shitty boss. These two are my no-good apprentices, Byakuran and Shoichi. It's been a while."
AN: Yes, that is where I ended it. I don't currently have plans to continue, but I might. Let me know if you're interested in adopting!
I don't care if Squalo's eyes are supposed to be another color. After staring at multiple pictures of him, this was my conclusion.
Thoughts? Which version did you prefer?