Again, this one is for the little bro'.
Anyway. A few notes on the setup of this story.
The only characters who have been altered in any significant way are Light and L. If you see anything odd about them -- which you probably will -- just roll with it.
Beyond Birthday himself remains unchanged. However, all other information from The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases has been ignored. Therefore, the Wammy House is consistent with the anime and manga -- not the book. In Her Will, it was created before L. BB is just another potential successor.
This starts in a time just before Light received his death note. The prologue is set in a rather different place.
Prologue.
It began with light.
The Radiant, the Just, the Everlasting Solaris—She who carved from Her flesh the worlds of Everon and Singing Silence, amongst countless others, She to whom beings of spirituality knelt and prayed (or, conversely, rejected). Her influence was felt amongst the many realms. She had witnessed the Creation, and was counted among those who would watch and breathe power into the Destruction. She had sixteen titles to Her name and was sung of with respect even by Her great enemies.
The light looked upon the realm of humans and found Herself highly displeased.
Earth was a territory primarily dominated by the Powers of lightness and darkness. They had created it together in a time before animosity governed their relations. It was a stain on Her memory and thus had been largely ignored.
At one point, a point in the past, it had seemed that its people would be ruled by order. However, the darkness had taken upon itself to seep into the fabric of its society, and when the light deigned to observe it, the humans were fighting amongst themselves, creating chaos and brutality.
So she cut from Herself a swath of material, which swirled and shone with Her brilliance. She looked farther into the realm of humans, searching for a body worthy of her cause. Finding none, she chose a boy of sixteen years. He was healthy and attractive amongst his kind; he had a name she felt appropriate of her presence.
He was called Light Yagami.
She made a small incision on his skin and fed Her material into his body. Then, within him, She quashed his feeble intelligence and threw his life into Herself, using the meager energy to feed Her greatness. Because She was no longer capable of communicating with the material, She built a second being, an avatar incapable of interfering with mortal awareness to guide Her mannequin according to Her will. In a mockery of the darkness, She created it in the likeness of a Shinigami.
In accordance with this, She assigned to Light Yagami a black notebook, the weapon of the monsters, and sent him forth to fashion an Earth of justice.
Chapter One.
In Winchester, England, on the floor of a computer room in a small orphanage dedicated to the Betterment of Extraordinary Individuals, an exceptional young man was taking his tea. He was approximately twenty-four years of age, had messy black hair falling all over his angular face and could claim fourteen Glorious Titles amongst the gods. He also had three human ones, for which he was greatly respected. Because of this, his tea was being delivered to him by a proud man named Quillsh Wammy.
"With six sugars, sir, as you like it."
He nodded politely. "Thank you, Wammy." The elderly man spoke in a consistently condescending tone. He was under the impression that he was doing L a favor, rather than the other way around. This suited L perfectly fine.
He accepted the tea, then gestured to one of the desktop computers he'd arranged in a semi-circle around his body, the one directly in front of him. It was displaying numerical data corresponding to an ongoing string of Irish bank robberies. "I would like your opinion on this. The perpetrator seems extremely erratic – I've been watching him for several days and can discern no pattern."
Wammy bent to look. L watched him scan the numbers.
"I can see nothing, sir. I'm certain your talents are well beyond my own -- if you were unable to …"
"L! You're back!"
They both spun to look toward the doorway, where a blond teenager was now standing, clutching a large stuffed rabbit in his left hand. His eyes were very wide and bright. The smile on his face suggested he was intensely pleased to see his friend again.
L smiled. "Yes, I am. Mr. Wammy too. Mello, say hello to him.
"Oh, hello, Near," he added, absently.
A second boy appeared, ghostlike, behind the first. He bowed to both of them. "Hello, L-sir. Hello, Mr. Wammy."
Mello snorted and gave them stiff little bows, echoing his companion's words, then shot over to where they were gathered and sat cross-legged, next to L. Near followed suit while Mello was propping the rabbit up against the computer.
"So, didja' catch him?"
L smiled down at him. "Weren't you following the news, Mello? Yes, I did. I always do." This was not strictly true, as he was quite pleased to let those exceptionally disruptive of society to their own devices, but the others in the room had no way of knowing this.
Mello grinned back. "Good. Told ya' so, Near."
"I never suggested he'd do otherwise," Near informed him curtly. He tugged at a tuft of his white hair.
Mello shot him an intensely malicious glare.
Before the fight could escalate, L twisted the monitor in their direction, tapping the screen with his forefinger. They looked away from each other immediately and leaned closer to the data. "Now. Neither I nor Mr. Wammy could discern any sort of pattern -- except location, I suppose, but that's currently irrelevant. Perhaps you two could give it a …"
There was a sudden shudder in the air. He broke off, confused.
The others looked at him curiously.
Immediately, the temperature became inexplicably cold, then hot, then cold again. His vision seemed to waver. He felt a splintering pain across his skin, like the bites of a thousand stinging ants. And then the moment ended, and his perception returned to normal.
His eyes widened. He dropped his tea. The liquid splashed across the floor, granular red-brown and lukewarm.
Ignoring the perplexed gazes of his friends and coworker, L stood, placing the nail of his forefinger between his teeth. "Something has occurred to me," he announced around the object. "It is vital that I investigate it immediately. I doubt that it can be resolved quickly, so please don't wait for me. Mello, Near, it is very good to see you again. We can talk more tomorrow." With that, he exited though the double doors.
He strode through the hallway as quickly as he could without actually breaking into a run, conscious of the security cameras placed at odd intervals on the ceiling. When he reached his private office (which was kept untouched even throughout the long stretches of time in which he worked away from the Wammy House) he removed a tiny silver key from his pocket, inserted it in the lock and turned. He gave the cameras a dirty look, as if to suggest that they were bothering him and therefore ought to cease working immediately. Then, ignoring the doorknob, he pressed his palm to the centre of the door and shoved inward.
It swung open to reveal a simple room, surprisingly warm and with walls and wood flooring painted a solid black. There were three windows along the back wall, a strange abstract painting in reds and dark, angry purples above a wooden desk, and a potted plant with gold foliage beside it, all of which comprised the sparse decoration; otherwise, it contained six pieces of furniture, all of which were sickly looking manifestations of fairly ordinary objects. He slouched across the room and climbed into a spindly iron chair placed in the corner furthest from the door, pressed his finger to his lips, then stared blankly at the wall opposite him.
The sensation had been unmistakable -- the interference of a god, the introduction of a new Divine material into his planet. He was certain of the perpetrator, too; he had sensed the lightness's signature.
He drew his legs up to his chest and closed his eyes. It was true that she would not have been able to conceal the interference entirely from him – he had an extensive knowledge of Earthly patterns and was, regretfully, very familiar with her signature. However, a god of any caliber would have dampened it slightly, hoping to evade him in a moment of distraction. She was arrogant enough to simply ignore that possibility, so that was one explanation, albeit one he found highly unlikely.
No, he decided. Not just unlikely -- impossible. She was not stupid. She knew of his skills, was familiar with his substantial intelligence and prowess. This was a challenge. A frivolous, childish challenge.
A challenge that L would win.
He flicked his hand at the wall. It immediately burst into flames. Paint bubbled and warped, peeling away from itself; though thin and seemingly unexceptional, it seemed have suppressed something threatening, because as thin strips curled away and fell smoking to the floor, the sound of tortured screams sprung from what should have been brickwork but was revealed to be a deep, empty expanse of nothingness.
He moved his hand again in an awkward grabbing gesture. A handset phone appeared in it, pinched between his forefingers. He dialed into the air, and it began to ring. Casually, he dangled it beside his ear.
"Watari speaking," said Quillsh very politely.
"Hello," replied L. "I trust you know who I am. Please send Beyond Birthday to my room."
A funny little tune was playing when Light Yagami awoke. For a second, he found himself quite unable to place it—though definitely musical, it lacked the glorious simplicity and symmetry of that which he was accustomed to—but the memory of his human host was quickly accessed and utilized, and his confusion tossed aside. Beethoven, it was. And the result of his alarm clock, which he had set the night previously so as to be ready in time for school.
He stretched and squeezed the foreign muscles into a sitting position, then ran this thought through his head. He was an honors student, first in his class -- first in his nation -- always prompt and ready with satisfactory answers, awing his teachers and earning a nearly universal respect from his classmates. And therefore it would not do to be late. God or not, he'd chosen a shell and was thus obliged to imitate the human's patterns.
He stood. The rest of its mind could be explored later, while he prepared for the day.
And he fell backwards, gasping.
There was a creature standing in the middle of the room—a tall, humanoid thing with feathery decorations stitched to its neck, a gigantic white smile spread across his face. It was staring at him hungrily. He was able to name it not because of his host but from his own Divine knowledge—a Shinigami, an inhabitant of its own realm, parallel to this world but separate, unlikely and unintended to interfere in such an obvious manner.
It was holding its hand out. He looked down, almost expecting a nasty surprise (a dead animal, perhaps, or a note from the darkness, because they were His creatures, were they not?) but it was carrying a death note.
He took a step backwards -- a deep breath -- and composed himself, giving it the coldest look he could possibly apply to his primitive features.
"What do you want? If you—or He—think I'm going to use that, you're entirely insane. A human with such a weapon is against the natural order. You know that."
The thing laughed: an unpleasant, throaty sound. Instinctively, he stepped back again, hands brushing against his desk chair.
"How unkind. And here I was, thinking you were the one that sent me, Beautiful One."
Light lifted an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that? You come from Him, of course -- He of Virtuous Cacophony?"
"No." It walked towards him, holding the notebook in front of its body, strange crackling sounds coming from its joints. "I already told you. I came from you -- or from myself, I guess. But you wouldn't remember that." It laughed again.
"So…" he looked at it, raking his eyes along its hideous body. "You are my guide, since I no longer have a direct link to my own Divine thoughts?"
It nodded. "Yeah."
"Then…" He held out his hand, fist closed. "You won't mind my testing you." Without waiting for an answer, he threw the fist across his body, opening his fingers wide when he reached the limits of his arm, manipulating the vocal chords into the rendition of three high-pitched notes. The Shinigami blinked. The fabric on its chest and the flesh beneath suddenly opened up, revealing a hollow interior and glowing liquid material where the edges of the wound melted and dripped down its body.
He nodded curtly. "You are mine, then. You have my signature in you."
"What have I been trying to tell you?" It tossed the death note at him; he caught it and held it gingerly, as if it were likely to explode or begin leaking toxic juices all over him should he accidently touch it too firmly. "Listen. Use the notebook a judgment tool. Kill the humans who are causing trouble with it -- something obvious, something that will get attention. They'll figure it out after a while, stop doing whatever you don't want then to be doing. Easy as pie. My name's Ryuk, by the way."
Light looked grimly at the notebook. "It's stretching my code, but I guess it makes sense." He paused, then rolled his eyes and smiled. "What am I saying? Of course it does. I made it up. Thanks, Ryuk." He touched the book with his centre finger, then blew on it lightly. It appeared to fade, mistlike, becoming invisible and untouchable. When this was done, he drew a small amount of Ryuk's liquid toward himself, formed it into a compact, marble-sized sphere and placed it in his pocket. He resolved to find a proper hiding place for the book once he was familiar with his new room.
Ryuk watched this with interest. "No problem. Well, I guess I'll be off. I'll come back when you've got new instructions for yourself." It sealed itself up, then snapped tattered black wings from its back, jumped to the windowsill and took off, flapping into the predawn sky.
As soon as it was gone, Light returned to his bed. He flopped onto it, shuddering with disgust. Shinigami were truly disgusting creatures; he could not imagine what he'd been thinking when he decided to use one of them, much less one of their weapons.
Nonetheless. He supposed he should begin by watching the news, uncovering the individuals he'd watched and despised from the Divine realm. He had to admit the practicality of this method. Humans were hybrid creations, primarily of lightness and darkness but also of elements from other gods, so killing them was nearly impossible without physical proximity. And death notes were perfect for quick long-distance elimination, which he assumed to be vital.
He sighed. It would, of course, be necessary to maintain this façade of normality, of still being the human Light Yagami, if he wished to cause minimal disturbance among the mortal lives. And so he needed to get dressed and ready for class.
He got off the bed and began what were to become his daily preparations.
+ Reviews are loved -- constructive criticism, randomness, whatever comments you have, they're all greatly valued.