Hello again people. I have another MukuHiba story for you guys.
Warnings: Character death, slash, bad Italian.
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King of Contradiction
The sky is dark with the sound of thunder and footsteps echo off alley walls. Hibari walks purposefully toward the door, its cold silver metal gleaming orange in the streetlight. Wind lifts the sleeves of his jacket and tousles his hair as his pale hand closes on the rusted handle of hells gate. He has been summoned and he has come. Tonight, they should settle this.
The door creaks lightly as it opens and the room that lies past it is dark. A figure sits waiting in a chair, face bathed in shadow, gloved hands tightly wrapped around something .
"Oh, so you came. I'm glad."
The small yellow bird that accompanies him suddenly everywhere flies off his shoulder and into the ceiling of the old building as if frightened. He can see why, after all, there are very few who are not scared of the ever smiling form of Rokudo Mukuro. Hibari, however, merely digs in to his pocket to pullout a crisply folded letter.
"Did you think I wouldn't."
Hibari doesn't feel fear,
"I'll bite you to death."
Only anger.
Mukuro laughs, his mismatched eyes tinkling in the shrinking sliver of light from the door as it nears a close.
"I can not fight you, not as I once could."
There is something in Mukuro's voice that he can't place.
"So I want to offer you a deal."
A deal?
"What kind of deal?" Hibari asks, eyes narrowing, weapons ready.
"Lets play a game."
The metal door closes with a clang and darkness takes over.
Then all turns white.
The warehouse is brightly lit now and Hibari is sure that it is an illusion, like every thing else, like the gun the other holds in his hand, like the body his soul inhabits.
Mukuro stands, his chair vanishing as he leaves it, and begins to walk towards Hibari.
"This is the game." He offers the gun to the prefect.
"Russian roulette."
Hibari does not make a move to take the offered weapon, instead he lets his tonfa rest against the others throat.
"I don't have time for your games." he says through gritted teeth. He must stay in control, he wont let anger get to him, not this time, it's too important.
"As I have said, I can not give you the fight you want, but..."
Mukuro lays the gun on a white illusionary table.
"I feel that this may also be to your liking, as well as mine. It's completely fair, you have as much of a chance as I do."
Hibari lets his tonfa drop an inch, still close enough to kill if he wishes.
"I could just kill you now."
"Ah, but you never were one to run from a challenge were you?" Mukuro chuckles "Or do you feel fear? Because you would have no control?"
Hibari doesn't let himself react to the words, he knows better than that.
"You can get rid of me once and for all. You want that don't you? Or was all of before an act?"
Mukuro calmly reaches down. Grabbing the gun from the table, he presses it to his head, his lips arcing in a smirk.
"One bullet, I wonder who is going to die today. You know, they say that, before you die, your life flashes in front of your eyes. I wonder if that is true. Lets test it out shall we. I'll be the first"
Just a little more pressure now, and he'll see just how lucky he is. He presses down and-
Mukuro has never been an adult, he has also never been a human nor a saint, nor even a devil. He has all the memories of his past lives, six of them, all reflected in his right eye, yet because of this, he has lived out every life but his own, never allowed to grow past that day all those years ago when he awoke.
It is not his first memory, but it is the beginning none the less. He is walking down the dirty cobblestone streets of a small town in Italy. They are running past him, away from him, their long white coats blown out behind them. Why are they running? He doesn't know, he doesn't even know where he is, he has never been outside. Pale hands latch onto the arm of a passing man.
"Mi scusi, signore."
The doctor's eyes are full of fear.
" Mi sono perso."
He holds firm as the man tries to get away.
" potrebbe aiutarmi?"
Finally the doctor is able to get away, running frantically.
" Suppongo che non ."
There is something about the ruby fountain that calls out to him.
"Cremisi... Ècosì bella."
Click
"Oh. I guess it wasn't that one."
Mukuro holds Hibari with his gaze.
"It's your turn."
Hibari's tonfa rest by his side now.
"I haven't agreed, yet."
Gloved finger caress the contours of his face, hot breath ghosts over his ear, cold metal is pushed into his hand.
"Oh, but you will."
Mukuro draws back, but Hibari still feels the corpse cold touch burning into him.
And Hibari does.
The gun is placed to his head, joining, black and black, with the strands of his hair. He pulls the trigger.
Hibari Kyoya has never been a child. It's not because he grew up too quickly, he was simply just never a child. He remembers the celebrations on and of his birth, but they never appealed to him. He remembers the whispers, most of them were true, he has never been normal. What he doesn't remember, however-
Hibari Kyoya does not feel but only the lightest touches of emotions, just enough to survive, just enough to die. So, he did not feel as he killed them, did not feel as they cried, did not feel as he did not.
-is probably the most important thing of all.
Click
"Not this one either." Hibari says, his voice is full of bits of emotion, a torrent of flickers forming a blaze of heart, it almost sounds like regret.
"Then I guess we will just have to try the next." Mukuro chuckles out.
Mukuro's finger tips kiss the skin of the other's hand as he moves to take the gun.
"Grazie."
In one swift motion the the trigger is pulled as the gun glitters in the light of a illusion.
Mukuro remembers his mother and father quite well. They were nothing special really, just nobodies who had happened to have birthed and raised him from the day he came into the world til the time he as taken away through the bloody mist.
All of his past lives had parents, sometimes just single mothers, or fathers who had killed their spouse with their own hands, but all of them had been special in their on way. Their were knights, queens, rebels, and others, but, for some reason, these are the ones that he feels the strongest for, because they are his own.
His memory of that day is filled with sorrow, anger, and knowledge, knowledge that he couldn't do a single thing.
Click
Mukuro tosses over the gun.
"Only three shots left."
Hibari's hand holds no hesitation.
Hibari does not remember his parents. He remembers everything surrounding them, all the whispered words that the people said in the daylight and in the dark, all the pain he felt, and all of the love that they gave their only son, their only mistake, but their faces are a blur. The only photograph he has is burned, smoke staining their faces, but leaving him clean and white.
It is a photo from his fifth birthday, his parents crowded around him with their arms around his neck, their hands joined. There is a smudge of dark brown frosting coloring his pale cheeks, because he hadn't been able to tell them he didn't like sweets, especially chocolate. Despite this, there is a smile staining his face almost as much as the frosting, as if all the fragments of his emotion had come together in one place, forming happiness.
Even now, staring at this photograph from the window of the Namimori reception room, he wants to yell out to the photographed, because he knows what happens next, what happens to witches, what happens to demons.
The photograph of the familiar strangers flies off into the clouds, like the bird of his name.
Another click.
"Now there are only to shots left."
Mukuro catches the gun as it flies.
"No, I lied."
Hibari doesn't have time to react.
"There is only one."
Mukuro brings the gun up to fire.
Mukuro cries. He is always crying, his tears in the form of burning blood and gently falling fire. Before his memory, he had never had a reason to cry, but as he turned four, a year after they took him away, all the knowledge from his past selfs came back to him. They didn't come all at once, but rather gradually, like sand dripping through an hour glass. Memories of his own life begin to escape him, his name, his birth date, his paren- no he can't forget them, not after what the doctors did. And so, those are the only memories that stay with him.
The city is stained crimson with blood and sun as he walks back to the place he had once called home. There is a lake behind the dirty, abandoned, wooden structure and he goes to it. As his hand brushes the surface, red flakes off into the water, and everything is dyed the color of life. It calls to him, as if asking a question.
He answers
"Mi chiamo ..."
His eye is reflected it the water, swirling red, dripping blood.
"Rokudo Mukuro."
Bang.
Mukuro falls and then, she appears.
Tears are streaming down her face and she is clutching his trident tightly.
She is so pitiful.
She is yelling at him, but the sentences don't register in his mind, just parts of them, just words, pieces with a missing puzzel.
"Murderer." "Why?" "Gone." "Mukuro-sama." "Reason." and "Loved."
"He loved you." It is the only thing he truly hears.
He thrusts the door open, the metal's clang ringing in his ears, his bird following distantly.
Tearing through the back streets, he reaches his home and climbs to the roof of Namimori.
Thoughts rush around in his head, and he can't make sense of his emotions, a jumble a broken shards.
The clouds, swirling in the sky have grown dark.
There is no such thing as fair in this world, Hibari decides that day.
He had been played, manipulated by the king of dishonesty, the king of contradiction.
What is love?
Is he capable of feeling it?
No, he can't be, because-
Drip
Because Hibari Kyoya doesn't cry.
Drip
No...
Drip
Hibari Kyoya doesn't cry.
The rain falls, slowly, steadily, from the purple clouds.
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Mi scusi, signore- excuse me sir
Mi sono perso- I'm lost
potrebbe aiutarmi-Can You Help Me
Suppongo che non – I suppose not
Cremisi ... È così bella- Crimson ... it is so beautiful
Mi chiamo- My name is