Monster

by SlamShady

Deep down in the midst of the low district where corruption and prejudice dwell like lingering plagues, a monster is born. He succeeds whilst they perish, struggling in a world that despises him for what he couldn't control. This is the story of Xanxus leading up to and including the events in 'Within Pandemonium'. AU, Gen with eventual XS

[A/N] -
This story is 6 months late. I'm sorry to those who finished reading 'within pandemonium' ages ago and had to wait for this.
But...it's done! Hurray! Enjoy. This one is dedicated to all those people who liked my other story and wanted to know more about Xanxus.

****Just a few notes though (PLEASE READ)****
- this is a Xanxus-centric GEN story with XS only ONLY at the end (and even when I say that, it's hinted).
Basically, if you came for the Gen, stop reading when Squalo makes his appearance.
If you came for the XS, read the whole story.

- this fic can act as a stand-alone fic, but it's actually a prequel to another story that I wrote. It may be plotless, but keep in mind that it's intended to give information on Xanxus' past and nothing else.

- this fic pays little attention to the canon ages of the characters. It also disregards much of the hierarchical structure that has been established in the canon manga.

- this fic is ridiculously long for a one-shot.

---

Monster / What am I?

'…you are different…'

A raven-haired boy opens his eyes. Glowing blue digits waltz into his sight as his pupils slide into focus. He recognizes a 'zero'.

'…you are not one of us…'

He tries to move, but his body does not answer. He sees but he doesn't feel, hears but doesn't know. Instinctively his eyes close again, but he lies there wide awake. Visions appear in the sooty black recesses of his mind, images, noises, things he doesn't comprehend yet. The visions continue to materialize, at times fragmented like shattered memories, other times seamlessly flowing like a stream of ideas, a story, an adventure.

Voices speak to him, inhuman voices formulating sounds that have no meaning…yet.

'…you have the power…'

They don't stop even until his mind switches off. They continue to speak, word after word after word, sentences intertwining like the threads of a tapestry. Even after he has fallen asleep.

And that was the first day of his birth.

x.x.x.x.x

I was born a foreigner.
I carried on from there…

x.x.x.x.x

Two years later, he is old enough to recognize his birthplace. Old enough to sit up and observe. Old enough to count, to listen, to acknowledge and consider. Old enough to decide, to make a choice.

The boy sits up to meet a crowd of men dressed in black and white. He knows without learning, he understands without the need for explanation. He feels no connection to those beings looming in front of him.

There are cradle-like devices situated all around the room, identical to the machine he was sitting in. Inside lay other infants, some immersed in deep slumber, others attempting with futile effort to sit up and survey the environment.

'Looks like Number-20 is awake…' A voice echoes through the silence, a voice concerning him but not directed at him, the rippling waves of sound reminiscent of the recordings he was subjected to every day since the day of his birth. Number-20 notices a distinct difference though, this voice was enriched with a new dimension, a strange quality that the recordings lacked: it was much more…human.

'The first of the lot…' Another voice, Number-20 is able to comprehend the fact that they are conversing about him, but the distinct intention behind those words his mind couldn't yet decipher. 'I was beginning to think that they all failed before we could even reach the sensorimotor stage.'

The raven-haired boy looks up at the ceiling, the spot directly above his 'nursery'. The blue digits glowing above his head project a symbol he was able to recognize. The information registers in his mind, searching within the intricate forest of imagination and thought, the enriching troves of erudition acquired from two years of almost continuous sleep.

Number-20 understands the '2' that is displayed on the glowing projector, it was his age. The period of his existence, defined numerically, quantitatively, as if it had a value.

'He's observing his surroundings…' another voice, a different one, hushed and excited, '…do you think it worked? The hypnopedia* I meant.'

'Ideally, it should have,' a deeper voice responds, Number-20 understands that they are communicating to each other, 'he has certainly grasped on quicker than his peers…' the man inquires, peering at the black haired boy behind his gold-rimmed glasses.

Number-20 shares a glance back at the man and looks deep into those dark-blue irises. They are unreadable but the raven does not mind, he continues to stare, examining the exquisite patterns imprinted onto the surface of those orbs. It is the old man who draws back first after their period of visual exchange.

'Those eyes…' the man sounded exasperated now, 'those are eyes of a monster. Did we do that?'

'Negative. We did not modify that branch of genetic properties,' a strong, forceful voice answers. Number-20 senses that this one belonged to the leader. 'Now move aside, time to evaluate the results of our project.'

'Apologies, Julius,' the old man responds and steps aside respectfully.

Number-20's head is tilted up forcefully and he is brought face to face with a different man, brown hair, black eyes with no hint of sympathy or emotion. The raven-haired infant understands that look, it is a glance of denigration, of devaluing and disrespect. He understands most of all, that the man in front of him does not consider him an individual of worth, but rather an object to be trodden on and disposed of if required.

'Tell me about yourself.' Julius commanded Number-20.

'But Julius, it's only been two years. He cant possibly- '

'Quiet,' Julius brushes the remark off impassively, eyes focused on the infant staring back at him.

The raven haired boy knows that those words are directed at him, the first words spoken to him by a live human being since his birth. He answers back, despite not having moved his mouth or communicated in any way prior to this. He knows that a response is expected from him and he repeats the words that have been uttered to him, whispered like a distant command all his life.

'I am different,' he begins to the surprise of everyone in the room, 'I am not one of you…'

He is greeted by a collective gasp and suddenly all eyes are upon him, peering attentively and evidently waiting for him to continue, so he does.

'I have the power.'

Julius' eyes gleamed with malevolent satisfaction.

'Gentlemen,' he begins, turning around the face the group, a hungry smile plastered on his face, 'I think this one's a success.'

x.x.x.x.x

Everyday after that day, Number-20 sat up and assessed his proximate location, his vision no longer limited to the glowing blue digits above his head. There were no more artificial voices in his sleep, the men (or 'professors' they told him to call them) decided that the sleep-learning had achieved its intended effect and that they were going to teach him a concept called 'reading'.

The next day, a man had come over to his cradle bringing a bright silver stool, and sat down face to face with him. He then scattered a pile of cards, each with a different symbol written on them. When Number-20 looked around, he noticed that all his peers were given the same treatment, each of them assigned with their specific 'professor'.

His own 'professor' told him to address him as 'Prof-D' and also to ask no questions but attempt with the best of his ability, to absorb all that was taught to him. Prof-D laid the cards out on the table next to them and proceeded to point to each symbol whilst making a sound that corresponded to that symbol. Number-20 found no difficulty in remembering those letters; in fact he even managed to retain most of them on his first day.

To his surprise, Prof-D did not seem to expect this because the next day he repeated the same process, presenting identical cards with the exact same symbols printed onto them, making the same sounds as he circulated through the letters. By then, Number-20 was no longer paying attention to being told information he already knew but instead attempting to read the various words written around the gigantic proximity of his birthplace.

'Focus!' Prof-D snapped when he noticed Number-20's faltering responsiveness, 'remember…'

And then he repeated those words. The same words spoken to him for the millionth time, this time directly.

'You are different. You are not one of us. You have the power.'

Prof-D always concluded his 'reading' sessions with those phrases. Number-20 heard the other professors say the same to their respective infants.

It was only after his third day that Number-20 realized none of the other infants were as successful as he was in grasping the skill of recognizing those symbols. And then he understood why Prof-D kept on repeating those same letters every day.

He noticed with sudden comprehending, that Prof-D did not know about his inhuman progression in the skill of 'reading'. No one was anticipating that he had learnt the whole alphabet completely and was starting to apply it to the texts in his surroundings. He was ahead, exceeding their expectations by Herculean proportions, achieving in three days what they had hoped would be achieved in a year, minimum. He was superior compared even to their greatest prospects.

And he had no intention of letting them know about it.

He speculated mentally about why he never informed them of his intellectual capacities but in the end, it was an instinctive feeling in his gut. A small voice, an insignificant little thought that told him to do exactly what was expected of him. No more. No less.

That way he could make his progress at his own pace without anyone else to trying and manipulate and dominate him. Without anyone slowing him down, placing limits on what seemed like his endless academic capacity.

So he kept quiet and studied at his own pace. By the time he could properly formulate and understand words using the fundamental basics that were taught to him, he began to see messages written all over the place. Some words he couldn't understand, others fit inside his grasp like a jigsaw.

By the time he was four years old, he could read most of the words written on the signs, posters and charts that hung around the nursery. At that time the professors only started to teach them basic words, groups of thirty each day and they were expected to memorize all the words taught at the end of each week. Some infants were evidently falling behind others; those were the ones who received the most attention by the professors. Number-20 was careful to 'remain' around the up-most tier of the group of children so he wouldn't attract notice.

Things were transforming now, conditions started to change.

Now that they were all old enough to walk, new practices began falling into play. The professors introduced a new 'test' that occurred every six months where all the children including Number-20 himself were lined up in front of a chair to take turns being inspected personally by Julius. Most of those times, Julius would immerse himself by examining the child's hands and nothing else. After he was done with each child, he would tell them 'you have the power' and move onto the next child.

Whilst waiting in line for his first time being 'tested' by Julius, Number-20 took the chance to observe all the children individually. Prior to this, he never had the opportunity because they were either shielded by their cradles or sleeping. Now that everyone was awake and present, Number-20 saw the opportunity to apply his numerical knowledge and he counted them all.

Including himself, there were fifty children in total.

When it was his turn to be scrutinized, Julius took the palms of his hands and looked, flipping Number-20's hands over and over multiple times. He seemed to be searching for something written on them and found none. After he was done, he looked into Number-20's monstrous eyes and grimaced in distaste. Julius muttered 'disgusting' before roughly pushing him aside and motioning for the next child.

Number-20 had no clue what the test was about and silently walked back to his own cradle. From there he watched Julius examine the last of the infants with no success at finding whatever he was looking for. But the man didn't seem disappointed, in fact he almost looked as if he expected such a result from the first test. That night, Number-20's mind was whirling in thoughts as he slept in his metal cradle.

Now he knows that there was something…something about his hands that Julius was interested in. Something inside him that the professors desired and could only be taken via his hands. Whatever it was, thought Number-20, he wasn't going to let them take it.

He was going to discover it first. Discover it before they do.

Months passed like the speeding train of thought. The professors were somewhat hostile toward the children now. The ones who fell behind too much in the reading lessons started to be taken away out of the big black door at the back of the room. Number-20 never really wondered what lay behind that door but the children who were sent out there never came back. The atmosphere was tense whenever such an event occurred, no one but the professors knew what happened to the child after they were taken but the feeling in Number-20's stomach was ice cold and he knew it couldn't be good.

Several of them were escorted out of that door as the weeks and months rushed by. The day the projector above his head changed into '5', there were only four children left.

The four of them were now all expected to speak and read fluently. They were allowed to ask the professors any questions but were also expected to give a satisfactory answer whenever a professor decided to test them. Number-20 learnt a lot about the outside world but found it hard to visualize anything. Apparently they were underground, below a wasteland called the 'low district', he had no idea what it meant though.

The other three children bombarded the professors with questions every chance they got but he had no questions to ask, save for one.

'What am I?' He asked Prof-D one day.

The professor gave him a look of outrage. 'You are different! You are not one of us!' He replied, giving Number-20 a glance that plainly revealed his shock at the fact that Number-20 still did not grasp this fact.

From then on, Number-20 never asked another question. He only desired to know one thing and the answer they gave did not proficiently satisfy his curiosity. Yes, he was different, he was not one of them, so what exactly was he?

It was the one thing they never told him, but it was also the one thing he aspired with every drop of longing to know.

Whenever he asked what was outside the big black door, they would answer 'the world'. If he inquired about the fates of the children who were taken away, they would answer 'released'. Whenever he asked what Julius was looking for in those hand-examining sessions, they answered 'the power'. If he asked what power, they would ignore him.

At least now Number-20 knew that the 'power' they were talking about lay in his hands. But whenever he felt his own hands, he could not sense any sort of power from them. Fortunately, the professors had no better success than he did.

Julius seemed to be in choleric moods these periods, mainly because after three hand-examining tests he still did not find any indication of 'the power'. Those sessions were much more frequent now, happening once every month. But no matter how many times the children were scrutinized it all ended with the same result. Julius furious and breaking a glass or two, knocking a table over whilst the child was escorted silently back to their cradle. Null result. Failure.

It was the day before Number-20 turned six when Julius lost it.

That day, he was the last child to be examined after a string of disappointments. Finding no hint of 'the power' after yet another attempt, Julius was shaking in calm fury when Number-20 was ushered back to his metal cradle. The other children were asleep and he was the last one to be put into rest. He never took his eyes off Julius though, something in his gut told him to stay awake, something that chilled him and screamed danger.

'Release** them!' Julius snarled, face contorted with psychotic rage, 'tomorrow, release all of them!'

There was an outcry of hushed whispers and indignant voices.

'We've waited six years Julius,' said Prof-A, 'you can't give up now. We've spent six years perfecting them, you can't destroy all the work we've put into this.' Other voices murmured in agreement but Julius was unmovable.

'I said to fucking release them!' He yelled, voice high pitched and deranged, 'we'll start again. We can wait another six years and this time…we'll fucking get it right.'

The professors looked reluctant but there was no disobeying Julius. Silently, they walked out the big black door, one by one until the last slammed it shut with a haunting bang. There was a loud silence before Number-20 realized that he was shivering. From excitement or fear? He didn't know.

Apparently the professors were going to release them into the world, let them run free. Number-20 couldn't stop trembling at the thought, struck by the endless scope of possibilities of such a notion. He would be free from these confines, free from the hard metal cradle that he slept in everyday. He tried to imagine what the 'world' would look like but before he knew it, he fell into deep slumber.

He dreamt of freedom, but such a concept was just an imperceptible blur in his mind. He dreamt of what they called 'happiness', he dreamt of success, of boundaries broken, of limitations shattered, of obstructions overcome, of individual achievement, of success, of acknowledgement. He dreamt of life at its finest, of opportunities taken, of control. He wanted to experience the unknown and perceive the 'world' they so casually mentioned.

And to think that the gap that separated him from such indulgences was paper thin and disappearing like dust in the wind, disintegrating with every tick on the clock, every second that passed. Release, the word was music, the word proposed to answer every uncertainty in his being, fill every cleft of curiosity that his mind created. He was going to be released, into the low district where a boundless well of possibilities awaited him. But why was he feeling such…menace? His instinct warned him of a hidden danger behind Julius' words, a warning that he ignored.

When he woke the next day, a heavy atmosphere of foreboding hung in the air, a familiar stench that Number-20 knew too well. The escalating sense of hope from the night had disappeared completely and now he smelt danger, an unfriendly impression like ice immobilizing his core. The first thing he noticed was that it was too early to be awake but he could hear noises, loud noises coming from behind the gigantic black door. The nursery was washed with darkness save for the beam of blue light that shone through the hinges of the door, but it was enough light for Number-20 to quietly make his way across the room toward the black door.

The closer he crept, the louder the noises became. He scrunched his eyes and tried to mentally deduce what was happening based on the sounds that he heard but it was futile, no single image appeared in his mind. The frantic clamors and occasional uproars behind the metal door reminded him of only one thing – chaos. Something was out of joint, misplaced, tremendously wrong. Some voices behind the door he recognized, but the sounds they were making were beyond his understanding.

Suddenly, his heart jumped as he heard footsteps coming closer to the door. Alert, Number-20 looked around frantically for a place to remove himself from sight without understanding why he felt the need to hide. Nevertheless, he found a small gap between one of the desks and the wall next to the door. Trembling violently, he moved in, crouching and squeezing into the miniscule space, managing to fit right before the black door burst open with such force that it was blasted off its hinges.

A ray of light swept over the room but luckily for Number-20, the light did not reach the place he was hiding and he was able to remain in the darkness, out of the sight of the looming figure at the door. With a pang of shock, he realized that the man was not Julius or one of the professors or anyone he recognized. This person was tall, gruff with an air of purpose and rough blonde hair that glistened in the eerie light. Number-20 watched wide-eyed as he strode in, holding an intricately carved hand-axe in one hand, twirling it with such skill as he examined the contents of the metal cradles. When he noticed that the devices contained children, he made a noise that sounded like a half-exasperated snarl and without hesitating, he grabbed the sleeping child and lifted him to eye level. Before the child could wake up or scream in fear, the man's axe came swinging, separating the head from the body. Number-20 stifled a cry of shock and held his breath as he recognized Number-15's severed head in the hands of the blonde man. He recognized the symptoms of death written over his peer's face, the lifeless eyes, the impassive expression, the eyelids mid-way across the dry pupils. The headless torso lay in a jumble on the floor, thick crimson liquid gushing out of the broken veins.

A mishmash of horror and despair filled the raven-haired boy as he hid in his spot, watching the man make his way toward the next cradle, the one belonging to Number-3. An unbearable pressure in his chest stimulated him to scream but he dared not breath, lest he gave himself away. Before he could calm himself down, he realized with new urgency that his own cradle was empty…and if the man saw…if he saw…he would know…that there was one missing…that one had escaped. Number-20 felt dizzy with panic, the man would eventually find him and give him the same treatment that he was giving the other infants. He didn't know who the stranger was, or what had happened to the professors. All he knew was that if he didn't run, if he didn't break for it…

He was going to die.

Making as little noise as possible, Number-20 crawled out of the gap he was lodged into and began to walk toward the opening where the black door had been. Luckily it was dark, the shadows of the room screened him well from the eyes of death. Right now, it was the only pathway he had if he wanted to continue living. With quiet haste, he trod slowly, daring for a moment to look back to see if the man had noticed. The man had his back to him, to Number-20's relief. Holding his breath, he continued to make his way to the gigantic opening that symbolized life and freedom in his desperate situation. He was so close, just a few meters away, if he could keep this up he might actually escape this apparently inevitable doom.

'Stay where you are.'

Number-20 froze as pure, authentic fear took its turn, sending vibrations of desolation throughout his body. Less than a second later, a soft swishing noise was heard behind him and instinctively Number-20 ducked, right before a flying axe could lodge itself into his skull. Turning around with wide, fearful eyes he saw that the man had thrown his hand axe …and missed thanks to Number-20's inhuman reaction speed. Without hesitating anymore Number-20 ran out the door, not caring what lay beyond. A colossal area met his sight but he was too petrified to feel any surprise or amazement at what was in front of him. When he had recovered enough sense to perceive his surroundings properly, he noticed blood splattered on the tables, walls and almost everything.

Then he noticed bodies, corpses. Scattered. Deformed. Damaged. Prof-A was the first in his sight, there were various gashes around his neck. As Number-20 continued to run, more corpses were found, some that he could recognize, others did not have a unique impression in his mind. He saw his own Prof-D dead on the floor in his path, unmoving. He kept on running, desperate to forget the scarring images he just saw. What happened to freedom? What happened to release? Why were such notions now denied to him when only hours ago they seemed so close? Who was responsible for this?

Why was he going to lose his life the very moment before he was given the opportunity to experience it at its fullest? Number-20 had never felt anything akin to isolation the whole six years of his life despite his conservative attitude towards everything. But right now, he felt as though the only connections that reinforced his sense of existence were disappearing, his fellow peers were dead, the professors were dead, who was here to reassure him, to prove that he actually existed? That he was actually and genuinely alive, living and real?

He was venturing through fog and mist now, uncertain of anything and everything.

Number-20 stopped running when he saw a small crowd gathered near some heavy looking machinery. With a startle, he saw Julius, kneeling with a beaten expression etched onto his face. He was surrounded by six other men. The one standing in the middle had light brown hair and a good-natured face, it made Number-20 believe that this man might just be different to the rest, although from the way that they were standing against Julius, it was quite clear that these six along with the blonde were responsible for all the murders that have occurred.

Looking around frantically, Number-20 realized that he was wide open and if any one of them decided to turn around he would be viewed in clear sight. There was nowhere to hide, so Number-20 could only stand silently and watch the scene unfold.

'You bastard,' Julius coughed, blood spewing from his mouth, 'you would kill your own kind?'

All the men looked indifferent to this claim, save for the brown haired leader in the middle whose expression gave his emotions away. There was sorrow and guilt, but no regret.

'You've left us with no choice Julius,' the leader said, 'the Vongola have given you numerous warnings. Warnings that you've constantly ignored.'

'Vongola!' Julius spat with every ounce of contempt, 'we have a common enemy and yet you prohibit my research! You claim that defeating Grid is your ultimate purpose, but you blindly ignore the answer that I've placed right in front of you! With the results of my development, we can lay waste to Grid and those disgusting nobles!'

The brown haired man shook his head solemnly.

'Still don't understand?' Gasped Julius, 'what's wrong Timoteo? Afraid to acknowledge that I'm right? If you ignorant Vongola fools had just accepted my methods, we would have achieved victory long ago!'

'You're wrong,' the man called Timoteo replied, 'victory acquired through the torturing of human subjects is no victory at all.'

With a final glance, Timoteo motioned to his right hand man who abruptly ended Julius' life. Number-20 gave a small cry, an action that he almost immediately regretted because now the six men turned their heads toward him.

Timoteo looked at him curiously before slowly making his way near. Number-20 saw a mixture of surprise and fear, two emotions that were familiar reactions toward him. But there was also curiosity, and coupled with the curiosity was concern. Completely unfamiliar.

'Boss! You shouldn't go near him, he's not one of us- '

'Nougat, enough.' Timoteo silenced his right hand man, 'all of you please wait for me outside, I'll handle this one by myself.'

Reluctantly, his men left him but not without a backward glance. As soon as they were gone, Number-20 felt as if a heavy load had been removed from his shoulders and relief spread through him like warm fire. Although the man in front of him was a stranger, he felt surprisingly safe with him, almost like he knew that this 'Timoteo' person would never harm him. It was a satisfying experience and even if everyone he knew was dead, Number-20 was compelled to trust this man.

They never broke eye contact, in fact they were studying each other through the other's eyes. For the first time ever, Number-20 found someone who didn't cringe when they looked at him. This man wasn't afraid of him, or what he could do.

'Who are you?' Number-20 asked, voice betraying none of his fear. Timoteo looked shaken at the tone in which this question was asked. A six year old should not have attained self-confidence to this extent, the way the boy spoke was too advanced for his age.

'I'm…' Timoteo hesitated, thinking hard and thinking fast. Whatever he said now would change both their lives. 'I'm Timoteo,' he drew the words out slowly so that the child could understand.

Number-20 accepted this answer. Everyone had a name for the convenience of distinguishing between individuals, he knew that much from interacting with the professors. Now the uncertainty lay behind how much this stranger knew. Visions of the freedom that was a thin line away flashed across his mind again and suddenly, immense hatred boiled forth along with the desire to hurt, to kill. If it weren't for this man and his comrades, he would have been released already, he would have been free and out of this place.

But then, if it weren't for this very man, Number-20 would have been killed. This stranger, whilst responsible for denying him his freedom had also saved his life.

'What am I?' It was the undying source of his curiosity, the unanswered question that represented the essence of his very existence. He doubts he could really attain a satisfying sense of security while that fact remained unknown. It was what he strove to know. If the basis of his being was uncertain then how could he continue living? What was the point of anything at all if he didn't even know what he was?

He could see Timoteo taken back at such a question, it was beyond his expectations. Clearly, even he believed that knowing this simple fact was an assumed fundamentality for any living being. If you didn't know what you were, you simply did not have a place in this world.

'You are a human,' Timoteo claimed with such conviction that any doubts that Number-20 had were instantly washed away, 'a peasant, like me and the rest of us.'

A human. A peasant. After searching so long, this stranger in front of him could answer what Number-20 thought was unanswerable with such ease! Such sureness! Where could this certitude possibly originate? Why did this man have the intolerably simple answer that he had been unable to know all his life? But such information heavily contradicted what he had been taught! They told him that he was different, and that he wasn't one of them!

'What's my name?' Number-20 demanded suddenly. This man could be lying, he had to be certain that the truth was all he was getting. Only the truth mattered.

'Your…name?' Timoteo stared at him before seeing the tiny metal tag that Number-20 wore on his wrist. Gently, he grabbed the boy's hand to have a closer look at the label. The tag was silver with two letters engraved deeply onto the surface: 'XX'. Timoteo wondered vaguely if this was the 'name' given to the boy by the scientists.

'Your name is…' he contemplated for a while before making his decision, 'X..an…Xanxus. Your name is Xanxus.'

'You're wrong,' Number-20 replied crestfallen. So this man didn't know the truth after all.

'Wrong?'

'My name is Number-20,' the raven haired boy corrected, 'not Xanxus. No one is called Xanxus here.'

'You're the one who is mistaken, child,' Timoteo told him softly, 'Number-20 is not a name. Your name is Xanxus, it has always been Xanxus,' he lied.

Number-20's mind was a muddle, this new 'labeling' was completely unanticipated. But the man was so certain, how could anyone be wrong when they were this confident with what they spoke?

'And you are also…my son,' Timoteo finished, making up his mind once he realized that the boy had been brainwashed, 'I'm your father and I'm here to take you home.'

Xanxus knew about sons and fathers and the unique bond they shared. The professors taught him all kinds of things but not once did they mention that he himself had a father, and now he also realized that they never told him his 'true' name either. What else hadn't they revealed to him? If he went along with this stranger…no, with his father to whom he rightfully belonged, maybe more uncertainties would be answered. Timoteo spoke to him with an air of concern and Xanxus had never heard anyone else speak to him like that, ever. This was acknowledgement, he understood now, this was how it felt to be recognized as an equal. This man valued him and respected him despite having never met him before.

Xanxus was going to ask his father more questions before an unfamiliar smell met his senses. Smoke. Timoteo smelt it too and stood up abruptly. Something was on fire in the nursery and the person responsible for it came strolling down the hallway. It was the blonde man who murdered the infants in their cradles. Xanxus almost jumped at the sight of him, it was the man who threw the axe at his head whilst asking him to remain still, the man who – if not by a stroke of luck – would have murdered him whilst he was sleeping.

'Visconti, did you find anything?' Timoteo asked upon seeing the last of his comrades.

'Nothing at all…' the blonde replied lazily, throwing a sharp look at Xanxus who stared back defensively. With a scowl after seeing Xanxus' eyes, he added 'you should put that one out of his misery.'

'This child is my son,' Timoteo declared with fierce pride. Visconti snorted before setting fire to the room, 'your kindness will be the end of you, Timoteo,' he commented sardonically before the three of them escaped the burning nursery.

Gently, Timoteo lead Xanxus outside into the low district. The sight was so spectacular that Xanxus couldn't help admiring every little detail of the scene. He recognized the sky, the sun, the earth, and the trees, everything that he had been taught by the professors was epitomized by the stunning beauty that he currently beheld. But he didn't have time to intricately observe his environment because Timoteo was hurriedly dragging him towards the hover-van parked near the entrance.

'Gentlemen, this child is my son,' Timoteo announced to his team. They paused, dumbstruck before shaking their heads wearily, disapprovingly. Xanxus didn't care, he was used to such treatment both from Julius and the professors. He didn't care where he was going, all he knew was that being with Timoteo provided him with answers, and that was enough for now. He wasn't free, but he'll find a way out somehow. His previous 'world' had been destroyed by seven men whose motives were unknown, this was his only path to save himself from destruction. He'll take it willingly.

With one last glance at the place he grew up in, now burning ferociously to the sky, Xanxus gave his 'nursery' a silent valediction before walking towards his father. But as he turned around, a distant memory stroked him like a soft breath of wind. The nursery seemed to whisper its final words as though it was placing on him a curse …

…you are different…it whispered, dust hissing in the air around him.

…you are not one of us…the blazes were spitting but a soft pit pat of the rain also began to appear, countering the burning flames.

You have the power.

x.x.x.x.x

'Home' was located in a place called Hyrae. On the western side of Tephire city, an area relatively close to the borders of the High District. Xanxus felt as though he was reborn, for the sheer enormity of this new 'world' only accentuated the insignificance of his previous life.

He thought he understood the concepts that defined life after he could read everything, but now did he know that there was more to life than just reading symbols off preserved slabs of paper. To understand meant to truly experience, not to examine the experiences of others. He learnt much from his own feelings of the aesthetic world and soon, he realized that his so-called life at the nursery studying elements and conceptions through texts written by faceless beings without physically encountering those concepts, was nothing but a lie. All lies.

Truth lay only in his own interpretations. Information acquired from manuscripts was only someone else's construction of truth. He had always allowed himself to believe what was transcribed onto those texts and that, he recognized, was his ultimate mistake. His vision of truth had been manipulated. He thought he knew it all, but he knew nothing. He thought those symbols were the constructs of the physical world, the building blocks of all existence, but they were only symbols. Meaningless without the intention behind them.

But now, he understood the importance of choosing, governing his own life. He would consider everything, take whatever was thrown at him, expose himself to all forms, perspectives and outlooks before making his own choice. That, he concluded, was freedom.

Xanxus learnt about the paradigms of his community, what was valued, what was condemned. He observed companionship through the bonds the other children shared with each other, but did not share with him. He learnt that progression was disparaged by society. He also learnt that difference, ambition and potential were transgressions.

He felt the sacred parental bonds through his father, the person he could rely on and trust.

He learnt about physical pain through the way the other peasant children treated him. They disliked him. Disliked his eyes. They punched him. They kicked him. Pain felt cold. They hurt him.

And he hurt them back. Anger fueled his actions, gave him strength. The professors never taught him violence. Causing pain to another being was never a coherent notion in Xanxus' mind, but now he knew. Strength was a different kind of ability to what he was used to. Strength was beauty.

His first encounter with the other children awakened a slumbering beast inside his soul. It was only a few days after Timoteo brought him to Hyrae village. He was curious to see others his age and wanted to communicate with them, his father was at 'work' so Xanxus had full freedom around the village.

There was a group of them gathered near the village square, they were taller and older than Xanxus was. As he moved closer, he couldn't feel any connection towards them so he stood and watched silently as they played with each other. He recognized laughter, joy and happiness on their faces. Xanxus wondered vaguely what those emotions would feel like if he were to experience them.

After a while of watching, one of the girls noticed him and pointed, stimulating the others to turn around and look. One of the boys approached him and the others followed, Xanxus had to tilt his head upwards to look at their faces. They were much older.

The laughter stopped now, they weren't smiling as they studied him.

'Who is he?' The girl asked one of her friends who shook her head. Whispers broke out, unfriendly and harsh.

'…never seen him before…'

'…his eyes…'

'…scary…'

Xanxus stood unreceptively as he listened to their remarks. These kinds of comments weren't new to him, in fact he was expecting such a reaction. The boys started to gang up around him, they were tall and intimidating, but Xanxus was much too experienced to feel pressured by their stances.

'Go!' One of the boys yelled and stepped forward, evidently trying to scare what he thought was a little boy.

Xanxus stood his ground, confused. The boy looked annoyed when he thought that Xanxus had not understood him.

'Darry, I don't think he understands you –'

'I understand,' Xanxus cut in. Some of the children jumped slightly, startled that he had spoken. More perplexed than ever, Xanxus remained silent, trying to decipher why they were telling him to leave. He was used to the fear, even more used to the dislike for his eyes, but nevertheless people generally accepted his presence. He was simply watching and learning, why did they tell him to leave?

'Then g-go!' The boy called Darry repeated, 'w-we don't want you here…'

'Why?' Xanxus challenged. Why did they want to deny him his learning experience? What harm did he cause by watching?

'Your eyes,' Darry replied, frowning as he made eye contact with Xanxus, 'they aren't normal.'

Eyes of a monster, Xanxus remembered. It was always his eyes.

'Just leave!'

'No.' Xanxus replied, feeling a small spark ignite in his chest. Another boy standing next to Darry moved forward and gave Xanxus a rough push. Xanxus fell to the ground, dirt and dust floating into the air around him, choking him. A tight feeling broke out from his stomach, a mixture of anger and confusion. Mostly anger. And pain. It burned like ice on his skin, like the areas that grazed the ground when he fell.

He stood up, eyes blazing. He grabbed the boy who pushed him and threw a punch without actually realizing what he was doing. His body moved on its own. A loud crack was both heard and felt by Xanxus as his hand made contact with the boy's face. Xanxus smelt blood but nothing could stop the thrill coursing through his veins. The exhilaration was not due to the pain he caused to another person, but due to sense of self worth he acquired from standing up for his own rights. Submission was a non-existent concept to him, even the professors knew this.

He didn't care what reason these children had for denying his presence, but he won't just allow them to dominate him. It was against the natural flow of his body, a contradiction to the manner in which his mental and physical states of being functioned.

Upon seeing his friend fall, Darry and the others moved in. Xanxus was overwhelmed but he let his body take control. Fighting felt so natural, as if he was born to do it. Physical pain was nothing. He punched and kicked but his movements lacked grace due to his inexperience. They were stiff, forced movements. Incomplete and elementary, but Xanxus knew such basic movements were the primitive constituents for something great, something extraordinary.

His first encounter with the children resulted in bruises and bloodshed. He dealt damage but received as much as he gave. His opponents were bleeding and they glared at him as he left with so much hatred in their eyes.

'Don't come back you monster!' They yelled as Xanxus walked away limping slightly, leaving a group of injured victims behind.

Xanxus was hurt. Not from the insults, nor the hatred, nor the injustice, or the discrimination, or the fact that they called him a monster. Not from those petty things. Not from his wounds either.

He was hurt by the fact that they tried to deny him truth. They tried to deny him the opportunity to learn. Why couldn't he watch them? He was merely observing the intricate components of this wider world and yet they felt the need to refuse such things to him.

But then he remembered his fighting experience, and the fire that was only a spark transformed into a full burning flame as his mind revisited the memory. He had no doubts that what he displayed a few minutes ago was pure potential. He had potential. He had raw strength. Xanxus understood. Strength and Intellect were the dichotomous constructs of power. Power was beauty. Power was truth.

With this knowledge, rejection did not matter to Xanxus. He was different, he was not one of them, it was his fate to be rejected. His life was centered around individual achievement. His sense of self worth could not be fulfilled by others, only by himself.

When he went home that day, he looked in the mirror for the first time in his life. He observed his face carefully, tracing the lines of his mouth and nose. Xanxus knew immediately why everyone was so afraid if his eyes. They were red, pure crimson. 'Normal' peasants had eyes of various hues: brown, blue, black, even grey. But red was different. Red symbolized death. Blood. Red represented the destructive force of fire. Red signified monstrosity.

It was something he could not control. Why fear him for something completely irrelevant to the choices that he has made? If he was born with different colored eyes, would they view him differently perhaps? What logic stood behind that?

His father came home a couple of hours later, bringing with him precious food. Meals were a luxury in the Low District and fortunately for him, his father's job allowed him to obtain a steady supply of food. When Xanxus was at the nursery, he and the other infants were fed nutrition pills. He had never tasted food before, it was delicious. They sat opposite each other as they ate.

'Are you going to tell me how you got those injuries?' His father inquired, smiling. It had only been a few days and yet Timoteo was speaking to him as though they had known each other for years.

'They attacked me,' Xanxus replied, tone impassive and emotionless, 'I was only watching them.'

'They?'

'The other children.'

'Did you defend yourself son?'

'I fought back,' Xanxus explained, 'I don't know how, but I fought them.'

Timoteo nodded approvingly, 'I'm glad you did not let them take advantage of you. Times are harsh, you need to take care of yourself while I'm gone. But tell me, why did they attack you?'

Xanxus paused. 'They were scared of my eyes.'

'Nonsense,' Timoteo said stiffly, 'they shouldn't be scared of your eyes. Now…'

Timoteo tilted Xanxus' chin so that they made eye contact. 'I've heard a different story from children's parents on my way back,' his voice was stern, 'they say you found and injured them purposely whilst they were playing in the village square.'

'They're lying,' Xanxus said in the same flat, cold voice, 'they hate me.'

'Why would they hate you?'

'Because I'm different from the rest of you. I'm not one of -'

Timoteo slammed his fist on the table looking shaken. Xanxus' eyes widened slightly but he did not lose his calm.

'Xanxus,' his father said slowly. Xanxus noticed wetness in those gentle brown eyes, they were glossy in the white light. 'You're the same as the rest of us. You are a human, never ever believe anyone if they tell you otherwise.'

Surprised at this sudden outbreak of emotion, Xanxus nodded quickly. His father so desperately insisted that he was just like the rest of them, and this gave him a sense of security. His father wouldn't lie to him.

'I trust you Xanxus,' Timoteo continued, 'when you're old enough, I'll teach you how to fight and defend yourself but for now, you're too young. If those children attack you again, I don't want you to get injured fighting them, I want you to tell me.'

Xanxus didn't nod, nor did he refuse. But he couldn't help feeling slightly disappointed that his father wouldn't teach him the art of combat. His father, despite knowing everything else could not see the fighting potential within him. It was disheartening but Xanxus accepted it. They dined in silence for a while before Xanxus burst out what he had been holding in for a long time.

'Everyone hates my eyes,' Xanxus remarked quietly. It wasn't a complaint, it was just a simple statement, a fact that he noticed. Timoteo paused before replying.

'One day, you'll find someone who will think your eyes are beautiful,' he said.

x.x.x.x.x

All kinds of places and groups
of people who have an admirable
history would, almost certainly,
distance themselves from me.

x.x.x.x.x

Over the next few days, Xanxus sought to practice himself by finding an isolated area in the village. These attempts resulted in no success. He only ended up punching and kicking empty air, without sense or reason. He needed guidance, otherwise his potential would be wasted. How frustrating it was to not have the opportunity to develop his potential into individual ability! His frustration only lead to anger and anger brought out the worst in him, stimulated him to hurt, to destroy.

It had been a week since his first encounter with the children and he had made no progress at all. It was during another one of Xanxus' fruitless efforts to train when the children came again.

Xanxus was punching a nearby tree before a sudden movement caught his attention and instinctively, he sidestepped, avoiding the rock that was thrown at him. He couldn't help marveling his own superhuman reflexes, his insane reaction speed that had saved his life once before. But his wonder didn't stop the bubbling anger in his stomach as he turned around to face his attackers.

The one who threw the rock was Darry. The peasant boy was accompanied by five of his friends who were all carrying armfuls of rocks. Xanxus noticed they still had bandages from their previous injuries but he didn't feel sympathy or regret. He couldn't understand why they had come to find him, especially when he had left them alone.

They didn't speak as they formed a circle around Xanxus, hands drawn back preparing to throw those firm projectiles. Xanxus silently stood his ground, alert and ready to dodge anything that they were going to throw. 'Go away', he wanted to tell them, but that would be a proclamation of their victory and an open confession of his weakness. He didn't like weakness.

The rocks came flying fast but he was faster. Their aim was good but his reaction speed was better. He didn't know how he came to have such abilities but the more he dodged, the more desperate he was to find a means to develop his fighting potential. But before the next wave of rocks were launched, a man stepped out from shadows so suddenly that Xanxus was almost scared out of his wits.

'Don't you kids have anything better to do than fling rocks at a little boy?' The man directed his accusations at Xanxus' attackers. His voice was carefree but the raven could interpret the threat behind those words. Darry and his gang upon seeing an adult, left silently without a backward glance. The rocks were dropped and forgotten as the boys ran away, leaving Xanxus with the dark haired stranger.

'I didn't need your help,' Xanxus snarled at the stranger.

'I'm Tsuyoshi,' the stranger said, ignoring Xanxus completely. He had black hair, black eyes and looked about the same age as Timoteo. Xanxus glared at him but before he could reply, Tsuyoshi grabbed him and hauled him over his shoulder. Xanxus calmly watched as Tsuyoshi started walking with him hanging off his shoulder.

'What are you doing?' Xanxus asked coolly without struggling despite the fact that this man was carrying him like a baby.

'Funny… I thought you would struggle,' Tsuyoshi remarked lightheartedly at Xanxus' docility, 'I'm taking you to my house.'

Xanxus could sense something deep behind this man but didn't voice his opinions. Instead, he allowed himself to be carried all the way to Tsuyoshi's residence, curiosity deepening when he noticed that the man owned the local weapon store. Only when they were inside did the adult put Xanxus down but not before giving him a pat on the head. Xanxus was completely bewildered at Tsuyoshi's eccentric display but focused his attention on the various weapons hanging around the store.

'Have a seat kid,' Tsuyoshi grabbed a chair and pushed Xanxus onto it. Grinning, he sat opposite Xanxus who stared at him blankly.

'So, what's your name?'

Xanxus tried to intimidate the man by looking into his eyes but to his surprise, the adult did not seem unsettled by his red orbs. Admitting defeat, Xanxus grudgingly answered the question.

'And how old are you Xanxus?'

The raven paused before the memory of the glowing digits flashed across his mind. 'Six.'

Tsuyoshi laughed before holding out his hand, 'I'm Tsuyoshi. Tsuyoshi Yamamoto. I'm thirty-two this year.'

Xanxus did not respond to the handshake. He could sense overwhelming power from this adult, he could feel it as he studied the man's face. Each wrinkle, crease and scar represented a timeless amount of experience and knowledge, an interminable scope of accomplishments.

'You've got power,' Xanxus said, examining the other's eyes, attempting to read his emotions.

'And you, little Xanxus, have some quite impressive reflexes,' Tsuyoshi chuckled withdrawing his hand when his handshake was denied, 'not to mention that you talk much too old for your age.'

'Teach me,' Xanxus commanded, disregarding Tsuyoshi's claims but the man only laughed harder.

'Hell no~,' Tsuyoshi stood up abruptly before opening the front door, 'I don't condone violence kid.'

'Yet you own a weapon store,' Xanxus murmured, refusing to leave. This was too precious an opportunity to bypass, he wouldn't accept a denial.

'Well…you got me there,' Tsuyoshi shrugged, 'but don't misunderstand, little Xanxus, I didn't carry you here so that I could teach you how to kill someone.'

Xanxus noticed the sudden change in tone and abruptly halted his request. Tsuyoshi was serious.

'What was your purpose then?' Xanxus asked, sounding impatient for the first time. He didn't give up hope, there was a reason the man dragged him here. There must be a reason.

'Just to get to know you better,' the adult smiled again, motioning for Xanxus to leave, 'it's not everyday you see a six year old dodge stones in that fashion.'

Glaring but showing none of his anger or disappointment, Xanxus stood up and headed out the door. Right before he stepped outside, Tsuyoshi called again.

'Don't be upset little Xanxus,' Tsuyoshi commented playfully, 'I won't teach you, but feel free to visit my store if you want. I can give you some tips if you're interested.'

Xanxus left without a reply. Tsuyoshi didn't need to tell him that, he was going to return tomorrow anyways, whether Tsuyoshi invited him or not. That night Xanxus lay in bed thinking of ways to impress Tsuyoshi, to prove to the adult that he had potential. But his mind could not construct a plan that did not seem either absurdly reckless or downright stupid so he decided to wait patiently.

He continued to make visits to Tsuyoshi's store but never brought up the request of training again. Instead, he watched quietly as the older man went about his business and studied, absorbing all the information that he could. It turned out that Tsuyoshi was a weapon crafter and spent his life shaping and assembling artilleries of various sorts. Xanxus would watch with fascination when the man was at work, meticulously scrutinizing each detail the other put into the objects of war, sometimes even touching and holding the items to have a better look. Tsuyoshi didn't seem to mind, in fact he went on as if Xanxus were not there at all, although he made an occasional comment or two when he noticed the boy's questioning expression.

The raven visited every day during the opening hours. Tsuyoshi was the only adult, the only human being in the village apart from his father who would properly talk to Xanxus. Making his way to the man's weapon store became a daily routine after Timoteo had left for work.

Xanxus learnt that there were different materials and uses for them, metals could be combined with each other to form alloys even stronger than their counterparts, old weapons could be broken down and their components extracted. He personally had no interest in this branch of skill, but Tsuyoshi acted as though his life revolved around the art of breaking and composing weapons. He learnt that Tsuyoshi always collected the raw materials himself, taking with him a hammer to search around the outskirts of the village for rocks that could potentially contain a precious metal ore. He frequently joined Tsuyoshi on those trips and helped him look but such an act of consideration was more due to Xanxus' desire to remain on Tsuyoshi's favorable side rather than him genuinely wanting to help. But during those trips, Xanxus also learnt about the art of mining and the importance of the authentic raw constituents in the quality of the final weapon. He found that there were several different rare metals that could be combined with normal steel to gain unique properties that were far superior to any ordinary metal.

'Titanium,' Tsuyoshi said one day, showing Xanxus a picture from his data book whilst the boy was watching him work, 'able to withstand even the most extreme temperatures and conditions without losing its unique chemical properties.' Xanxus looked indifferently at the photo of the silvery metal that Tsuyoshi had collected.

'Mithril,' the adult continued, bringing out another photo, this time of a dark blue material, 'extremely durable but also extremely light. So light that it contends all laws of nature…I wonder how such a metal came to exist in the first place.'

Tsuyoshi turned to another page in his book. 'Adamantite,' he explained, pointing to the orange metal, 'easily moldable when melted but once settled, it becomes diamond hard.'

There was an unmistakable trace of longing condensed in Tsuyoshi's voice as he explained, so strong that Xanxus immediately realized that the man had finally revealed his unmitigated desires. Xanxus made sure to remember those pictures clearly and accurately in case the time came when he would need that kind of knowledge.

'The three legendary metals, little Xanxus,' Tsuyoshi finished, closing his book and waiting for the boy's reaction, 'when you combine the three of them together you make a material they call…the Magic Metal,' the man finished lamely.

'The most elite weapons are made from Magic Metal amalgamated with regular steel,' Tsuyoshi continued as Xanxus listened intently, 'the highest ranking members of Vongola utilize weapons made from Magic Metal because this metal has the ability to…absorb and amplify flames.' The craftsman explained with such undiluted fascination that even Xanxus was slightly shaken at the knowledge.

'Have you ever crafted a weapon from this metal?' Xanxus inquired calmly.

'Oh ho! Many times!' Tsuyoshi exclaimed laughing, 'but that doesn't make it any less precious.'

Xanxus then proceeded to ask about the nature of flames. And then, when he was about to leave, Xanxus asked for a hammer.

From that day on, Xanxus would make secret visits to the wastelands outside of Hyrae village after Tsuyoshi had closed his shop. Sometimes Tsuyoshi wouldn't even open his shop; 'my wife is sick' he would tell Xanxus with an apologetic voice. The raven spent those days in the outskirts searching for the three metals that Tsuyoshi had shown him. If he could provide Tsuyoshi with those materials he so persistently desired, Xanxus was sure the older man would repay him.

When Timoteo inquired about the hammer, Xanxus explained about Magic Metal and what he learnt from Tsuyoshi. His father expressed both surprise and amusement when he listened to Xanxus' attempts at finding the legendary metals and the motivation behind them.

'I'll take you to Vongola when the time comes,' Timoteo promised Xanxus, but the boy wasn't interested in committing to his father's organization just yet.

His first few days searching yielded a null result but he didn't give up. He tried to copy what Tsuyoshi did by examining the rocks closely and smashing them in the right areas to crack them in half perfectly but now, he realized that simply creating a dent on the rock itself required a lot of strength. Thus, he could only start with the small rocks on the ground as he could not risk denting the larger boulders in case he damaged the minerals inside. 'This area is a living treasure trove,' he remembers Tsuyoshi saying, 'but whenever I'm unsure if I can successfully split a rock, I leave it be.'

Xanxus left the area with aching arms during his first few weeks of searching.

As the months drove on, Xanxus found that rock cracking became easier the more he did it. It was similar to reading, he remembered, at first the symbols were hard to connect together but the more he read the clearer they became. Eventually they flowed together flawlessly like whispers in the wind. Xanxus does not remember much of his life at the nursery now, it felt like a faraway dream, a different lifetime. Memories of it were slowly creeping away, eroded by the torrents of new events that overcame the old.

Six months later, Xanxus finally managed to obtain ores of the three legendary metals.

When he placed his discoveries in front of Tsuyoshi, the older man was wide eyed with surprise. Xanxus held his breath as the ores were carefully examined by the craftsman, in case he had made a mistake and his endless months of searching had failed. After a while, Tsuyoshi slowly placed the metals down and looked up, eyes bright with amazement.

'This is shocking, little Xanxus,' he said gently, 'these…these are the Mithril, Adamantite and Titanium ores. Just how long did you-?'

'Six months,' Xanxus answered, with relief that his discoveries were real. He had succeeded after unbearable periods of searching. 'They're yours now.'

'But why?' It was one of those rare moments when Tsuyoshi looked genuinely astonished. It was very different to the calm and carefree personality that Xanxus was used to.

'Train me.' Was all Xanxus said. Tsuyoshi studied the boy for a long while before sighing and putting the precious ores away.

'Listen carefully kid,' the craftsman said with his back toward Xanxus, 'I appreciate this. I really do, and you have no idea how impressed I am with what you've done.' Xanxus stared back emotionlessly although his heart yearned to know Tsuyoshi's next words.

'You have potential,' he continued, 'it seems as though you were born to become a fighter. You're more clever than any seven year old I've met, perhaps even more so than most of the adults I know.' He turned around and placed a hand on Xanxus' head.

'But I'm a swordsman, little Xanxus,' he explained earnestly, 'my specialty lies with the blade…' he drew his sword and placed it on the table in front of them. 'You are not a swordsman. You have unrestrained potential but none of it resides in this weapon, that much I knew from the moment I met you. And therefore, no matter what you do, I cannot help you.'

For some reason, Xanxus was not surprised at this answer. Maybe it was because there had always been the nagging feeling in his gut that told him Tsuyoshi was not and could never be his teacher. And yet he had tried despite his instinct telling him otherwise. Only after hearing the truth uttered explicitly to his ears did Xanxus realize that he knew this was going to happen from the moment he decided to find those ores.

It didn't stop the disappointment from creeping over him like a plague. The radiant light that had glowed in his soul for months now was overcome by darkness. But deep within the darkness he was feeling, a small voice spoke to him and reassured him. There was still hope, the voice said, his actions were not futile. He'll have to wait patiently to see the results.

Tsuyoshi looked at him strangely although Xanxus let none of his emotions reach his face.

'I understand,' Xanxus' voice was firm.

He only voiced his discontent to his father who nodded and tried to sympathize with him with warmhearted words.

Meaningless words, thought Xanxus.

x.x.x.x.x

He was eight years old before he got blood on his hands.

He had murdered a peasant child. The one who laughed and made fun of his eyes.

For some reason it annoyed him now. They way they laughed at him, and him only. Two years ago, fresh out from his nursery, he accepted such treatment as part of his fate. He thought he was different to them, and that difference fueled their revulsion. But his father told him otherwise, that he was the same peasant child as all of them.

And his father never lied.

So why was he the target of their hatred? It was only his eyes, all the hatred in the world originated from those crimson orbs. It disgusted him, they way they judged him based on something he could not control.

So he killed one. The boy was older than he was but twice as fragile. Xanxus crushed him mercilessly with anger as his nourishment. Mining had given him strength. Reading had given him intellect. The end result was power. Beauty. Truth.

When the boy broke, Xanxus felt tremendous authority in his hands. A fusion between raw bestiality and excitement. This was what it felt like to dominate and control. To have someone else's life at his fingertips. It was a feeling that never left him, even long after his father dragged him home.

The only guilt that Xanxus felt from ending the child's life came from his father's reaction. He had never seen Timoteo so distraught over anything. He doesn't think Timoteo even felt close to this when his own men slaughtered the professors at his nursery. There were tears in the old man's eyes that night, sad tears of disappointment. But Xanxus didn't understand what the big deal was.

'Promise me,' his father commanded shakily, 'promise me that you'll never kill anyone again.'

'No,' Xanxus wasn't expecting this kind of reaction. Killing provided an effective solution to the obstacles in his life. It gave him power, made him feel worth. He didn't like it when people tried to deny him these things. Never before had he been aware of his bloodthirsty nature, but now that he had found it, he absolutely refused to let it go. Killing made him feel better than the rest of them.

His father looked up helplessly but when he saw that Xanxus was dead serious, he slumped his shoulders in defeat.

'Do you realize the consequences of ending someone's life?' Timoteo asked, 'do you realize what you've done?'

'You killed the professors at my nursery the day you met me,' challenged Xanxus. You were the one who denied me my freedom when I was about to be released. The unspoken accusation was apparent despite his emotionless voice. The two individuals eyed each other silently before the old man broke the silence.

'You leave me with no choice Xanxus,' Timoteo murmured wearily, 'I'm sending you to the Vongola. If you want to kill, then you'd better do it for a cause.' His father then gave him the silent command to leave.

The next day, Xanxus paid a visit to the weapon store.

'I killed someone,' Xanxus said, heaving himself onto the stool next to the table where Tsuyoshi was working. The swordsman almost dropped the weapon he was crafting before looking at Xanxus silently, endeavoring to work out whether Xanxus was lying.

'Well this is surprising,' Tsuyoshi replied in an impassive voice. 'Little Xanxus has become Little Murderer I suppose.'

'My father's sending me to Vongola,' continued Xanxus. Tsuyoshi chuckled before ruffling Xanxus' hair.

'Your wish has come true then,' the swordsman grinned, 'they'll train you. Didn't you always want someone to teach you combat properly?'

'Are they good?'

'Why are you asking me?' Tsuyoshi raised his eyebrows.

'You work for them,' Xanxus revealed, to Tsuyoshi's surprise, 'you make weapons for them, you know their elite members.'

The craftsman was silent, evidently dumbfounded that Xanxus knew about this.

'Sneaky little Xanxus,' he kept his surprise hidden and continued to work, but not without wondering how much else Xanxus knew. 'They're the best you'll find.'

x.x.x.x.x

Timoteo lead him into an underground area not far from Hyrae village the next day. Xanxus noticed that a lot of things were built underground to avoid the surveillance of this 'Grid' organization. However upon entering the area, Xanxus could tell that it wasn't Vongola's true headquarters but something else. It looked like some sort of training ground.

There were kids older than he was training on the equipment, practicing, having friendly matches with each other. A tall, blonde man stood in the middle of the grounds, supervising the children. What looked like a baby was sitting on his shoulder. Xanxus shivered as they walked near him, feeling the same kind of power from this man as he did from Tsuyoshi. This was followed by immediate respect for the looming figure.

'Iemitsu, this is my son Xanxus,' Timoteo addressed the tall man like an old friend and gestured toward Xanxus. Both the infant and the man gazed down at the raven with vehement indifference, a way that made him feel a mixture of discomposure, fervor and insignificance. The infant sitting on Iemitsu's shoulder jumped down to have a better look at Xanxus' face.

'Hmm,' the blonde baby peered, 'his eyes are strange.' Xanxus drove his gaze into the bright blue irises of the infant.

'So this is it?' The baby asked Timoteo. The old man nodded before turning around to leave, 'Colonello, Iemitsu, I leave him in your hands.'

Xanxus felt a sense of vulnerability as he watched his father leave. Slowly, he gazed up at the man called Iemitsu, attempting to study him through eye contact.

'I wont accept that look kid,' Iemitsu warned with silent fury as he peered into Xanxus' eyes, 'we only give that look to our enemies.' Xanxus quickly dropped his gaze. Iemitsu crouched down so that Xanxus was at his eye level, Colonello sat calmly on his shoulder.

'I've heard about the murder you committed,' Iemitsu murmured softly so only the three of them could hear, 'how old are you kid?'

'Eight,' Xanxus replied, letting none of his nervousness reach his voice. He stared back at Iemitsu, ready to take whatever was thrown at him.

'The Vongola don't like murder,' Iemitsu said calmly but Xanxus heard the warning behind those words, 'especially not by children. We give severe punishments for murder of any kind, unless it's that of a Grid hunter. As the head of Vongola, I enforce these rules with utmost severity.'

Xanxus didn't answer so Iemitsu continued. 'Now that you are part of Vongola, your murder won't go… unpunished,' he declared in a low voice, 'Colonello and I will meet you here afterward for your punishment.'

'Got it,' Xanxus replied impassively, not breaking eye contact. Iemitsu looked slightly perplexed at the speed at which Xanxus accepted this.

'Good…' the man stood up with a shadow of a smile on his face, 'today, you'll be watching and observing.' Iemitsu pointed to the seats on the sides of the room. Xanxus wasn't fooled by harmless exterior of those commands. Watching…observing. It was a test. He could sense it, a chance to construct a notable first impression. Thus, he sat down quietly and observed the proceedings in front of him, trying to absorb as much information as he could from what was happening.

This kind of thing was naturally easy for him. How long had he spent in his childhood years, acquiring information from simply watching and learning the occurrences in his surroundings? From every action and movement, a hundred deductions can be drawn, a hundred hidden messages explored.

Xanxus listened to every word Iemitsu said when he addressed the group. He watched and acquired information on every individual who was being trained. Ten boys, ten girls, lined up and performing drills that were ordered to them. But Xanxus also paid extra attention to Iemitsu himself and the infant sitting on his shoulder. They were the two that interested him the most. For the rest of the day, he sat there collecting valuable information on the Vongola by what the two elites displayed.

As the hours went on, one of the teenage boys who was a head taller than the rest of the cohort looked in Xanxus' direction. The boy had spiky black hair and thin eyes that conveyed loneliness and rejection. When they made eye contact, the boy jumped slightly and quickly looked away flustered, but it wasn't due to fear. Xanxus scrutinized him for a while, noticing the way he tried desperately to immerse himself with the other teenagers, striving to feel…accepted. The raven was only vaguely interested in why the others so customarily rejected the other boy because as far as he could see, there was nothing out of the ordinary about him.

He doesn't have eyes of a monster, Xanxus thought silently as he continued to watch the tall boy. Unable to find an answer, Xanxus diverted his attention back to Iemitsu and Colonello.

The spiky haired boy came over to him during break time, hands slightly fidgeting. Xanxus quickly darted his eyes around the room and as he expected, everyone had split into groups and were eating and laughing together, save for this boy. The tall boy had his hands behind his back and was biting him bottom lip nervously as though he wanted to say something. Xanxus noticed symptoms of fear but surprisingly, it wasn't fear of his eyes but fear of rejection. He also noticed that the boy had a strong, muscular build, evidently attained through vigorous physical exercise.

'You're…uh…new,' the boy said meekly, trying to initiate a conversation with Xanxus, 'my name is Levi.'

'Why do they reject you?' Xanxus probed suddenly, completely disregarding the introduction the boy gave.

Levi looked both embarrassed and ashamed.

'I'm too big,' he answered sadly, not looking at Xanxus, 'I'm only seven years old and look at the size of me. They think I'm a monster. They call me Leviathan, I hate it.'

Xanxus stared impassively, to some extent moved by the knowledge that Levi was younger than he.

'They hate my eyes,' Xanxus replied in a bored voice.

'Eyes are nothing,' Levi remarked accusingly, 'at least you're not twice the size you're supposed to be. If I had a choice, I'd rather have your eyes. At least then, people wont hide their children when they see me.'

'If they hate you,' Xanxus stated in the same inattentive voice, 'why crave their companionship?'

Xanxus could not understand the motive behind Levi's actions. Why seek acknowledgement from other people when they were unwilling to give it to you? What significance lay behind the opinions of others? He had long recognized that the impression he gave to the world was negligible to what he was and is and will be.

'Loneliness is excruciating,' Levi stated in a small voice, 'I'll keep on trying until they accept me. Anything is better than being alone.'

Xanxus could see through Levi's weaknesses as if they were made of glass. Insecure. Diffident. Born to follow, not to lead. Craves acceptance. Needs agreement from others. Self-worth determined by others. Unconfident.

An undisguised contrast to himself. Not that he cared.

When the training sessions started again, Xanxus studied Levi's movements carefully and this time, he found that he understood the purpose behind each action. There was a connection, he realized, between Levi's unique personality and the movements he made during his fights. Maybe it became clear all of a sudden because of his deepened understanding of Levi's source of motivation.

It was a valuable connection that Xanxus discovered. If a person's actions were influenced by their past, then conversely their intrinsic objectives, ambitions and values could also be inferred through the examination of their fighting style. But such deductions were far from easy, especially for a group of strangers he barely knew about. He had to understand the nature of combat before he could be sure of his suspicions.

When the session was over and the teenagers were dismissed, Xanxus saw the tacit command for him to reveal his observations. Slowly, he approached the two Vongola elites in the middle of the training grounds, mentally formulating an order in which he should disclose his discoveries.

'Well?' Colonello jumped down from Iemitsu's shoulder and landed on the space in front of Xanxus.

'You gathered the recruits from various parts of the low district, not just Hyrae village,' Xanxus began. He was almost certain of this fact judging from the recruits' various dispositions, clearly they have not been brought up in the same context. 'You gathered them in the hopes of developing them into soldiers for Vongola.'

Not allowing Colonello or Iemitsu to interrupt, Xanxus continued.

'You Vongola are currently on stable ground in the war against Grid, thus you choose to train only twenty individuals. Your wish is to defeat Grid, but only to fulfill your true objective which lies beyond that. You,' Xanxus directed his claim at Colonello, 'are a sharpshooter whilst your partner specializes in hand-to-hand combat.'

'Also, from the lack of swords in this area, it is clear that the Vongola lack a proficient swordsman,' Xanxus said, thinking of Tsuyoshi.

He paused, inwardly admiring the confounded expressions on their faces. It was explicit evidence that both Colonello and Iemitsu had heavily underestimated his intellectual capacity, that he had ultimately acquired their respect and best of all, that all his statements thus far were true. He had crushed their expectations to dust. It felt good. Thrilling.

'Anything else?' Iemitsu grinned, clearly impressed.

'You're not the head of Vongola,' Xanxus said, drilling his gaze into Iemitsu's brown irises. There was a moment silence wherein the exchange of glances between the two men was not missed by Xanxus.

'The way you speak about Vongola's objectives,' the raven continued, 'you sound as though they aren't your own goals but someone else's. You wouldn't speak of your own dreams the way you do about the goals of Vongola. You're trying to fulfill the wishes of another person, and that person is the real Vongola leader.'

Iemitsu paused before crouching down to Xanxus' height.

'Just what are you, kid?' He asked in a low voice with all seriousness.

'Timoteo's son. A peasant, like you.'

'You've got some…skill,' Iemitsu murmured slowly.

'I know.'

Iemitsu threw back his head and roared with laughter. 'Alright Xanxus…let's see whether your fighting skill is equally competent to that of your brain.' Iemitsu stood back up to his full height and motioned for Colonello to step aside.

'Now, punch me –'

Xanxus threw the punch the instant the command was given, allowing no time for the adult to prepare. But Iemitsu was ready for this and easily sidestepped before returning his own hit on Xanxus' abdomen.

Xanxus bit back a yell as painful vibrations from the hit resounded through his body and he thought he heard glass breaking as the fist made contact with his skin. The punch sent him flying across the training grounds before he crashed into a weapon rack. He felt as if his bones were shattered to powder, as if all the forces of the world had been condensed into that single attack. Pain. So much pain.

Breathing heavily whilst lying face down on the floor, Xanxus attempted with all his might to get back onto his feet. His body was shaking, trembling from the potency of Iemitsu's attack. He realized that blood was flowing down his chin from his mouth, leaving a metallic taste as it surfaced his taste buds. His vision was slightly blurred but he could make out the rough figures of Iemitsu and Colonello a distance away, waiting for him to rise and return. Ignoring the protests from his body, Xanxus stood up with shaking legs but only to collapse again.

Strong. An attack that hit only the stomach but left a devastating impression on the body. An attack that created no permanent injury except the intensely demolishing pain on the body, and only pain. An attack that had such a proficient amount of control and discipline behind it, despite seeming like an ordinary punch on the surface. Too strong.

Xanxus felt pathetic as he tried to regain steadiness on his feet. He forced his quaking legs to hold him up, ignoring the throbbing pain in every cell of his body. The punch had blasted away every wisp of his energy but he refused to show his tutors any weakness. He hated weakness.

'You're still conscious?' Colonello asked in disbelief as Xanxus walked heavily towards the centre of the grounds, leaving behind him a trail of blood and pain. The raven's expression was blank despite the screaming agony within his body.

Before Xanxus could recover properly, Iemitsu leapt forward with intention of attacking again. Xanxus saw it coming but despite his mind being able to react to the punch, his body simply could not respond in time. He stood powerlessly as Iemitsu's fist approached his face at inconceivable speeds, body too numb to move. Strangely, unlike Iemitsu's previous attack, Xanxus sensed no danger in this one, prompting him to stand his ground calmly. As he expected, right when the hand was millimeters from his face, Iemitsu stopped the attack.

'Not trying to avoid eh?' Iemitsu commented, relaxing his posture a little, 'if I hadn't stopped my attack, you would have died.'

'If you wanted to kill me, you would have done so in the first punch,' asserted Xanxus in a tired, weak voice, 'you wouldn't kill me after what I told you. You just wanted to test me.'

Iemitsu exchanged another look with Colonello before giving a curious sigh.

'You have way too much confidence for your age,' he remarked in dark wonder, 'I'll make you a deal, kid.'

Xanxus listened carefully despite already knowing what the offer was going to be.

'I'll forgive you for the murder, but only if you become my student.'

'What happens if I refuse?' Xanxus asked although having no intention to refuse such an exceptional offer.

'Murder is punishable by death.'

Xanxus gave no answer but his quiet acceptance was clear to Iemitsu and Colonello.

'Good, then your presence is expected here from today on,' it was Colonello who spoke this time. He jumped up and gave Xanxus a friendly slap on the face before leaving the area with Iemitsu.

x.x.x.x.x

At the age of ten, Xanxus had become what they would call a natural born fighter.

Under the guidance of Iemitsu, his extraordinary potential had been carefully shaped and refined into solid, undeniable talent. Almost everyday, his mornings were spent training with the other twenty recruits and his afternoons with Iemitsu alone in person. The progress he made was incomparable.

It gave him more confidence than knowledge itself. It made him feel special, the fact that he was the same as the others but better than they were. It changed his way of thinking drastically. His previous outlook on life had been reconstructed into a richer, superior one. Now that the extent of his strength was confirmed by his physical displays, he no longer cared about anything apart from showing the world what he was capable of, showing them the vigor of this strength. It gave him a feeling of personal achievement when he overwhelmed his opponents, when he showed that he was the one in control and their struggle was insignificant.

Insignificance. He loved inducing that feeling into the others around him. He loved making them feel worthless. It was an unending source of fuel for his fire, to have anyone and everyone cowering under the frightening capacity of his power. Fear was never a foreign emotion for those who set eyes on him, in fact it was a decorative aspect of the atmosphere whenever his presence graced the scene. Grid was an external threat to the low district but within Hyrae village, Xanxus was the true monster.

Nothing else mattered anymore apart from his own power. Strength was the only basis that Xanxus made his judgments on which meant that a large majority of the world was just a pool of pettiness that wasn't worth a second of his attention.

He was superior in both combat and intellect, the components of success. Associating himself with those who are physically and intellectually inferior became an abominable notion in his mind. Weaklings didn't deserve a place in this world.

During Iemitsu's collective training sessions, all his peers were afraid to fight against him. All except for Levi to whom the benefit of having something akin to friendship far exceeded the injuries he received after sparring against Xanxus. The tall boy found it to follow Xanxus everywhere the raven went even though Xanxus couldn't care less what the other boy did. He does admit however, that Levi's strength far exceeds that of the other recruits but nevertheless can only be classified as mediocre at most.

'You're so strong,' Levi told him in awe, 'I'm glad that I'm your friend.'

Friend? The word had little meaning in Xanxus' ears but the statement made its mark in Xanxus' mind. It was a concept that resided in the back of his head, behind all the confidence and ambition. Levi considered him a friend, just like Tsuyoshi did, maybe such things would mean something later.

Levi resided in the Vongola headquarters like all parentless individuals of the organization. Xanxus learnt about Vongola's inner members and proceedings through Levi's descriptions. The more he listened, the more interested he was in obtaining a position within that organization. It was a position of power. It became part of his ambition.

But as time flowed by, other interesting matters began to arise.

When Xanxus visited Tsuyoshi's store one day, he found the man holding a newborn baby in his arms. He looked overjoyed at the child, as if nothing in the world mattered save for the individual in his arms. The only time Xanxus had seen that kind of look in his eyes was during the occasion a lifetime ago when he had brought the ores of the three legendary metals. They shone with excitement and wonder, of dreams fulfilled and wishes accomplished. They shone with pride and glory.

'My wife died giving birth to him,' Tsuyoshi said without looking upwards as Xanxus watched the baby curiously. He stared at the newborn with emotionless red eyes, no spark of connection. Nothing. Xanxus wondered vaguely what he would have looked like after his birth, he remembers glowing digits and voices. When Tsuyoshi looked up at Xanxus, he grinned before commenting, 'you're still the same as ever, little Xanxus, and yet you've changed so much since the first time we met.'

'He's weak,' commented Xanxus apathetically as he coldly scrutinized the baby. It was hard to believe that he himself had been in such a state before.

'You would have been too,' Tsuyoshi replied, stoking the baby's head causing the infant to laugh, 'he'll be a good swordsman when he's older, I can see it.'

'The best?'

Tsuyoshi paused and looked into his son's big, amber eyes before answering.

'Not the best…' he said slowly, 'but one of the best.'

'That's boring,' Xanxus stated uninterestedly, 'what's his name?' The boy was Tsuyoshi's son and that fact itself made the infant a worthy individual to remember.

'Takeshi,' Tsuyoshi answered and his face lit up with pride and joy.

Xanxus remembered Takeshi in case the boy would later on prove to be a formidable opponent.

x.x.x.x.x

Years passed as Xanxus trained under Iemitsu, acquiring unrivaled skill in hand-to-hand combat along the way. Iemitsu taught him one-to-one, shared with him various accounts of experience from his own battles and told him everything that Xanxus hoped to know. Between them there was mutual respect. To Xanxus, Iemitsu was the embodiment of power, a level of strength that he endeavored to achieve with every last flame in his body. To Iemitsu, Xanxus was the exemplary student, the epitome of brilliance in every branch of fighting, every style, every category. The ideal disciple who emulated all expected standards and more, making improvements at monolithic magnitudes, tearing apart the boundaries of human achievement.

'I think you've realized by now, the kind of potential you have,' Iemitsu said to him one day.

Xanxus didn't answer but he didn't need to. They understood each other so well that words hardly needed to be expressed for communication.

'As your teacher, whatever course of action you decide to take holds me responsible as well. With power comes responsibility – '

'Get to the point,' Xanxus growled.

'Your strength will be needed for defeating Grid,' Iemitsu said, 'there will be a point in time when I can no longer control you like I do now, I sincerely hope that you decide to use your power for a good purpose.'

'Tch, I use my strength for whatever I wish,' Xanxus answered brusquely. Iemitsu paused before laughing.

'You're as confident as ever Xanxus,' he grinned, 'you've grown but you're still a kid. You're hardly any different to when I first took you in.'

Xanxus stared coldly at his teacher who wasn't intimidated.

'You want me to use my power to help these peasants?' Xanxus asked in a mocking tone, 'grow some eyes old man, all they can do is cower when I'm near. They fear me. They hate my strength and they hate my eyes. Why the fuck should I help them?'

Iemitsu smiled understandingly, 'helping benefits everyone Xanxus. If I hadn't helped you develop your potential, you would still be the confused eight year old who knew nothing about combat.'

Xanxus scowled, refusing to admit it. Many many times did he think about what could have possibly happened to him if he hadn't met Iemitsu. The resulting thoughts made him shudder; he would never have achieved this level of strength, he would never have experienced the complete joy of fighting, he would have been the same as the rest of them. Deep down in the abyss of his being, Xanxus was genuinely grateful for what Iemitsu had done to him.

'Haha, now that I think of that day, I realize how much you've grown,' Iemitsu commented happily, 'back then you were this short,' he pointed his hand to Xanxus' shoulder, 'and I punched you so hard you couldn't walk properly! Do you remember Xanxus?'

'I don't remember anything,' Xanxus replied coldly, lying through his teeth. He remembered it as if it were yesterday. The humiliation was absent then, but rose to surface now whenever he thought of the disgraceful position he had been in.

'Of course you remember,' Iemitsu laughed, pointing a mocking finger at Xanxus, 'you're just too embarrassed to admit it. I know you too well Xanxus!'

You don't know me at all, thought Xanxus inwardly. The notion of using his strength to protect the weak, to protect those who have always despised and shunned him was more than revolting. Monster. He remembers too well, those times when he was a child, those times when they threw rocks at him for learning. Back then, only his father and Tsuyoshi would talk to him without cringing in revulsion.

Even now, when he was this strong, they still detested him.

No one admired power for what it was. No one saw the beauty behind it, the potential it posed. Such limited-minded outlooks disgusted Xanxus more than anything.

He didn't care if it was himself that they based their hatred on, for he was used to that kind of rejection. But what offended him to no end was the fact that they hated his strength, they hated his intellect, they hated power. Power is beauty. Power is truth. Their blindness was intolerable.

Whenever he took a stroll around the village, he would hear whispers hissing around the hushed crowds. The monster has grown, they would say, its eyes burn brighter than ever. Whenever he walked past Tsuyoshi's store, Takeshi would be seen swinging a wooden stick around. Takeshi would greet him happily whenever Xanxus visited the place.

'Little Xanxus is here!' Takeshi would say, waving happily at the red-eyed boy. Three years old was too young an age for Takeshi to recognize what the village branded as 'danger'. Xanxus would ignore him or glance indifferently at the boy, meeting smiles with emotionless glares.

'Get lost.'

'Do you want to watch me practice?' Asked Takeshi, brandishing his stick in the air cheerfully, not taking the coldness to heart.

Just like his father, Takeshi was never influenced by Xanxus' rudeness or indifference. It partially made Xanxus feel disappointed that he could provoke fear into all who saw him, but not into a three year old boy. But it also made him respect Takeshi.

x.x.x.x.x

When he was fourteen, Xanxus was officially accepted into Vongola with Levi, recommended personally by Iemitsu. They were registered as exceptional rookies and thrown into the hands of one of the elite members.

'Your strength is incomparable,' Iemitsu told Xanxus, 'but you lack experience.'

Xanxus accepted this fact and didn't fail to understand the hidden meaning behind it. It was Iemitsu's way of telling him that he had learnt all that was there to teach. With this in mind, Xanxus allowed himself to be placed under the management of another Vongola elite.

On his first day entering the headquarters, he and Levi were sent to what looked like an interrogation room lit up by an eerie white light.

'Who do you think will be in charge of us?' Asked Levi excitedly, fidgeting as he waited in the empty room.

'Who cares,' Xanxus replied indifferently. Whoever their supervisor was didn't make a difference to him.

A while later, the metal door opened and a hooded infant floated inside, followed by a blonde child wearing a gigantic frog hat. Xanxus' eyes widened slightly as he saw the infant who gave off the same aura as Colonello. After both individuals were inside the room, the door closed abruptly and a period of silence washed over the room as each person studied the next.

Xanxus knew at first glance that the hooded infant was the Vongola elite Iemitsu talked about. Within the baby he sensed unparalleled ability, just like he did with Colonello. The little boy that followed him however, Xanxus detected nothing exclusive save for a heavy killing intent. The boy's eyes were covered by a mass of blonde hair, neatly cropped whilst his mouth was widened into a chilling grin. Atop his head was a bizarre frog hat.

'This is it?' The baby commented lazily, floating in front of Levi to have a better observation, 'two people…'

Xanxus found it hard to study both the hooded baby and the blonde boy because their eyes were covered.

'Recommended by Iemitsu,' the baby read off a piece of paper in a bored voice, 'Levi, which one's Levi?'

Levi nodded slowly, listening carefully as the baby continued to read, 'thirteen years old, hard-worker, strong resolve…'

The baby sounded as though he'd rather be anywhere than here as he ploughed through the descriptions that Iemitsu had given him.

'…above average physical strength…'

'Mammon, can I kill them?' The blonde boy spoke up frowning, sounding impatient.

'No you can't kill them Bel,' Mammon replied lazily after he had finished reading Levi's recommendations, 'now, Xanxus…'

The baby turned his head over to Xanxus, 'Iemitsu's put some impressive claims about you…'

Xanxus could tell that Mammon was scrutinizing him despite their eyes not meeting.

'Fourteen years old and exceeding the level of an A-class Grid hunter he says,' Mammon stated, 'arrogant, exceptional amount of confidence, inhuman reflexes, broad intellectual capacity, extremely observant…'

'Shut up,' Xanxus growled impatiently, 'this is a waste of time.'

'…rude, uncommunicative, short-tempered…' continued Mammon ignoring Xanxus completely.

'You two along with Bel will be forming a small rookie squad that I'm in charge of,' Mammon commented in an indolent tone.

Xanxus raised his eyebrows slightly as he heard this. He noticed Levi staring in disbelief at the fact that the boy was going to be 'teamed' up with them.

'This is how it will work,' Mammon started, 'Now that you are part of Vongola, you are expected to contribute. You're expected to fulfill every mission I assign to you. Most of them will involve a confrontation with Grid hunters or nobles meaning that there's the possibility that you won't survive.'

A minute silence, before the baby continued.

'I couldn't care less whether you live or die, but for my convenience, it's better if you stay alive,' he directed these statements at Xanxus and Levi specifically. Mammon seemed to have a fair amount of confidence in Bel's abilities.

'With that being said, your first mission begins tomorrow. I'll meet the two of you here with Bel,' Mammon ordered lazily before floating away.

x.x.x.x.x

The missions were dangerous. Xanxus had heavily underestimated the standard of tasks that would be given to him by Vongola and he learnt it the hard way during his first mission. It was clear that not one of them had taken Mammon's words concerning the life-threatening nature of these assignments seriously. Bel, judging from his jesting attitude thought that the concept of war against the Grid hunters was an immensely fun adventure. Levi, Xanxus could tell, simply did not grasp the fact that his life was dispensable by Vongola, no longer protected by the safety of the training grounds and thus overlooked the consequences of failure. For Xanxus, his arrogance was his downfall. He learnt now that simply charging into the scene without a suitable plan was essentially suicide. Strength won battles but teamwork completed missions, and teamwork they lacked.

They failed miserably on their first attempt. By an extreme amount of luck, they managed to escape back to the headquarters with their lives although the injuries they received left them bed-ridden for a week. Mammon visited them during their rehabilitation period, lazily remarking that he had expected this to happen.

None of them needed Mammon to remind them of the danger behind the missions again. They had learnt their lesson quietly.

The missions after that were completed with much more severity.

Now that Xanxus was part of Vongola, he was expected to live at the headquarters meaning that he spent most, if not all his days underground. He rarely returned to Hyrae village.

He learnt about the skills and abilities of the other elite members, in case he would need to fight against them one day. Levi pointed frantically at the boss of the organization when he walked past, who also happened to be an infant like Mammon and Colonello. Reborn, he was called. Xanxus had no opinion on Reborn except that he gave him the same impression as the other two infants.

Levi and Bel got along well, both during and out of missions. Xanxus remained conservative and only listened when they conversed with each other. Although they also frequently argued, one look from Xanxus was enough to silence both. It was a generally accepted secret between the three that Xanxus was the strongest. Mammon despite being lazy, sometimes took the initiative to join them on missions. His illusions were extremely beneficial.

'What's with the frog hat?' Levi asked once curiously, touching Bel's peculiar headpiece.

'Just like Mammon~' Bel answered grinning childishly. Xanxus understood now, Mammon when he wasn't floating would always have a frog sitting on his hood. There was a strong bond between the illusionist and Bel, a bond he could not relate to.

As Xanxus gained more experience, the missions they received became gradually easier to accomplish. The three of them were no longer regarded as rookies but as capable members of Vongola. Their number eventually increased to four when Mammon joined them, the supervisor-rookie connection now non-existent.

Xanxus sometimes saw his father when he was walking down the corridors of the headquarters. Those times, they would nod to each other in acknowledgement before going back to their own business. You're the same as everyone Xanxus, he remembers his father telling him, being stronger doesn't make any difference.

Rumors of his strength had spread throughout the organization. Consequently, not only Xanxus himself was feared but also the rest of his squad. Only the leaders of the other divisions were not intimidated by him.

As the years passed, his strength and experience rose to epic proportions.

x.x.x.x.x

'Tenth of the red moon,' Timoteo commented with a smile, 'the day I found you.'

Xanxus stared back at his father impassively.

'Your 17th birthday son,' he laughed. Xanxus didn't catch the significance behind this fact.

'So what?'

'So we have to celebrate,' his father exclaimed cheerfully. Xanxus raised his eyebrows in surprise. 'I'll meet you back at our home in Hyrae village this afternoon so we can have a nice father-son talk.'

Xanxus gave an annoyed growl and left. He didn't see the point of any celebration for turning seventeen, but he listened to his father nevertheless.

Xanxus left the headquarters after his mission was finished for the day. When he walked past Tsuyoshi's weapon store, Takeshi was practicing against a wooden stump. When the boy saw Xanxus, he gave his usual friendly wave which the raven ignored. Xanxus noticed improvement within the boy as he spared a glance at the young swordsman, no doubt the fruitful results of Tsuyoshi's training.

Reaching his home, Xanxus ventured inside the frayed wooden house after realizing his father had not arrived yet. Quietly, he explored the place whilst various objects triggered memories of his childhood. The place was his sanctuary, the place where his life truly started. He wandered into his old forgotten room, the small bed he slept on every day after Timoteo found him. Enclosed in dust and dirt but the experiences were still there, written on the covers. Xanxus gave a tiny smile to himself when he remembered those precious times, a smile he let no one else see.

When his father had still not arrived, Xanxus continued to wonder around the house until he stood face to face in front of his father's room. The only place in the house where he had not explored during his youth those times where Timoteo left for the whole day and returned late at night. It had always been locked, but now when Xanxus twisted the knob, the door opened easily. So easily as if the room was enticing him to enter, to discover the hidden secrets, to unearth them from their hibernation. Xanxus suddenly felt cold as though a rough wind had hit him.

Shuddering slightly in spite of himself, Xanxus entered Timoteo's room, step by step. Cold. So cold. He didn't know why he was shivering. The room chilled him to the bone. Slowly and curiously, Xanxus approached the metal desk in the middle, a haunting thud echoing after every step. He recognized scattered documents that looked like pages ripped out of a book, hologram maps and recordings, an old croala located on the side of the desk.

Losing interest in the desk, Xanxus studied the cabinet behind the desk. Opening one of the draws, Xanxus came face to face with a pile of plastic balls. Curious, he picked one up and opened it from the crease in the middle. He heard a crackling sound before a recording of Timoteo's voice played. A memoir, Xanxus realized suddenly. Closing the ball, he noticed the label stuck on the surface depicting a certain date. Heart thumping, Xanxus opened the other draws, all containing plastic balls sorted by year and month.

10th RM, year 1021, Xanxus found the date that he desired, hands shaking although he didn't know why he was feeling this way. His curiosity unbearable, the desire to know what his father thought about him during their first meeting escalated inside him, taking control of his movements. The ball felt ice cold. He opened it and listened. Timoteo's voice flowed out periodically from the device. The messages were fragmented but Xanxus could make out the general meaning behind the words. The beginning posed no interest to Xanxus but he waited…until the raid was mentioned.

'…my men and I had finally tracked down their base. It took a while but we managed to pinpoint it at co-ordinate 302,306…I couldn't believe my eyes, there were so many peasants supporting Julius' actions, I had to kill them all…they had a dangerously large stock of Bayflower, I can't imagine what would have happened if we didn't find…. A boy was in the midst of all the chaos, he had red eyes like fire…'

Xanxus' attention was completely focused on the ball, his hands trembled with anticipation.

'…I couldn't believe…a child!...he had been brainwashed, I could tell. His condition was horrible…asked me who I was, I couldn't just leave him in this mess…I told him he was my son, I lied to him but I had to help him…I don't know what he was, he's not human, he's not the same as us peasants but his state was so poor that I could not bear to leave him - '

The recording stopped but Xanxus did not notice. His hands no longer trembled but his eyes shone bright as ever. At that moment nothing else in the world mattered except the truth that he had just heard, spoken directly from his father's own mouth.

…I lied to him…Fragments of the recording replayed in his head…I don't know what he was…

Xanxus felt an unbearable pressure in his chest. It was a lie. All a lie. Everything that Timoteo had told him…lies. Twin forces of ice and fire clashed within his body, creating resounding vibrations of confusion throughout his being. His internal world started to deconstruct, disintegrated by the bitter truth revealed from an era of sleep. His mind utterly disillusioned, thrown into a realm of chaos by the recording.

…he's not human…he's not the same as us peasants…

He wasn't a peasant. He wasn't the same as everyone else.

Timoteo had lied to him all this time.

Timoteo, whom he trusted.

He had been betrayed.

Throwing the plastic ball into his pocket, Xanxus let out a bloodcurdling shriek, releasing all his bottled up confusion. Everything attacked him at once, all his insecurities that have been screened by Timoteo's lies up until now came bursting forth, transformed into pure, undiluted wrath. What was he? The question never once touched his mind after he had met his father, but now it reemerged into the surface. His ultimate uncertainty, the fact that governed his place in the world, his life, his fate. Governed everything.

And now, his mental structure demolished and fell into dust, his security invaded by the piercing truth that he was neither noble nor peasant. It hurt, more than the injuries he obtained, more than anything, that he did not even know what he was.

If he didn't know such a simple fundamental fact, he simply did not have a place in this world.

Furious and burning in cold wrath, his savage desire to find Timoteo punctured through the surface at once.

The last thread of sanity slipping rapidly out of his control, Xanxus ran out of his home. The place where he was fed all the lies. The place where false memories were shaped and formulated by one single individual. Timoteo. The name fueled the murderous intent within Xanxus, induced agonizing hatred that drove Xanxus to kill and destroy.

With leaden steps, Xanxus traced the path to the Vongola headquarters but he did not have to walk long. A thin shadow at the edge of the horizon showed his father already approaching from the other direction. Timoteo squinted curiously when he spotted Xanxus walking towards him.

'I apologize for being late son – '

'Shut up,' Xanxus snapped, voice shaking in fury, 'you fucking pathetic old man.'

Timoteo looked aghast at the sudden acrimony.

'What –'

But Xanxus did not let him finish. With cyclonic speed acquired from training, he silenced Timoteo with a forceful punch to the face, sending the old man crashing to the ground. Blood spurted from Timoteo's mouth as he attempted to recover from the attack.

'Son –'

'You're not my father,' Xanxus cut him off, eyes burning with untamed wrath. His voice albeit calm, echoed an intrinsic danger, 'you're a fucking liar.'

Timoteo slowly got to his feet, old age hindering his athletic abilities. 'Explain yourself, Xanxus,' he ordered calmly, ignoring the blood flowing down his chin.

Xanxus moved with breakneck speed and locked the old man in a vice-like grip, securing him by his greyed hair. With intentional force, he yanked Timoteo's head back so that they made eye contact. Years of growth caused Xanxus to now tower over his father. With his other free hand, he took the plastic ball from his pocket and replayed the sample.

After the recording finished, Xanxus removed his grip on Timoteo's hair and shoved him to the ground again. Face scrunched up in sorrow, Timoteo slowly stood up again, looking at Xanxus with all hints of apology written on his expression.

Xanxus stared at Timoteo expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

'I'm not a fucking human,' Xanxus growled in a dangerously low voice, 'you said so yourself.'

Timoteo closed his eyes and sighed before replying.

'Listen Xanxus,' he said calmly, 'I don't deny what I said in the recording – '

'You lied to me…all these years,' the raven interrupted, his piercing gaze never leaving the soft brown orbs of his father. Each word threatened to unleash a flood of barbaric frenzy, spoken in the authoritative tone that only Xanxus could emanate. But within the aura of hatred, a thin line of uncertainty hovered delicately. There was still hope, the small voice in his head told him, his father's words might be justified.

'…I…have,' Timoteo admitted quietly, not removing his gaze from Xanxus. The raven's eyes blazed with hurt and betrayal at the explicit confirmation of his worst doubts. The small light of hope vanished completely and only darkness filled the gap that used to be his sense of security. The chasm that until now, contained the emotional trust and faith Xanxus placed in his father.

'You betrayed me,' Xanxus hissed menacingly, accusingly. You fed me lies. All lies. Even when I trusted you.

Without waiting for his father to reply, he leapt forward and launched a flurry of attacks, fueled by advancing rage. Timoteo whipped out his staff and attempted to block the lightning-fast hits seemingly coming from all directions. Realizing the hidden strength beneath those punches, the old man jumped back to a safer distance and moved into stance, a hint of desperation gleaming in his eyes.

'Son, listen to me,' he panted, eyeing the raven steadily in case another round of unfriendly attacks were initiated, 'at this stage, it doesn't matter at all whether you are a human or not –'

Xanxus ignored his father and threw a vicious punch toward his abdomen, a punch avoided just in time by Timoteo. The old man took another few steps back to regain his safer distance.

'Understand this Xanxus,' Timoteo begged now, 'what you are doesn't change anything. It doesn't make any difference –'

'It makes all the difference in the world,' Xanxus claimed in a thunderous voice, menacing enough to disrupt the governing forces of the heavens. Devoid of forgiveness, sufficiently intense to send all the nerves in Timoteo's body into perplexed insanity. The raven delivered a forceful kick, causing a loud crack as his foot made contact with his father's face. With no more hesitation in his eyes, Timoteo launched two fireballs from his staff as he flew backwards from the kick, generating a small explosion. To his shock, Xanxus possessed no visible damage after taking such an attack head on.

'You've grown weak, old man,' Xanxus snarled, smiling dementedly whilst approaching his father slowly, 'or maybe, I've just become too strong…'

Timoteo's staff arm trembled slightly at the sight of his son walking ominously towards him. The areas where Xanxus had hit ached terribly, each wound's agony contributed by half-guilt half-physical pain. Gathering up another heap of his power, Timoteo fired a flame ball directly at his son but to his surprise, Xanxus met the blast with his fist. The flame ball disintegrated harmlessly into heat as the force of Xanxus' punch demolished its structure. Speechless, Timoteo started to slowly take a step back for each step Xanxus took forward. A flash of fear crept into his spine like a parasite.

'You've improved…too much,' Timoteo commented aghast, staring as though the man in front of him was a foreign individual rather than his adoptive son, 'I never noticed your potential…I had no idea -'

'You knew nothing,' remarked Xanxus, thinking of those lonely times during his childhood when he was almost at the point of begging his father to train him. No one saw his potential back then, no one except for Tsuyoshi and even he refused to help. Those were times he wished to forget. His strength unacknowledged, undeveloped, ignored.

Painful times.

Xanxus moved with unimaginable speeds behind his father who stumbled as he delivered a perfect uppercut to the old man's jaw. Xanxus noticed the inevitable effects of old age, his father could not even react in time to block. In his raged state, Xanxus felt unusual strength behind his movements that wasn't present under normal circumstances. If Timoteo were fighting during his prime, this might have been a close match but currently, the difference in strength between the two men was phenomenal. They both knew it.

Under the scorching red sky, the painstaking battle between them dragged on. Xanxus was toying with his father now, punishing him with sweltering anger for the years of lies and fabrication. For years of constructing false memories, for years of confinement. He remembered the promise during his life at the nursery. The professors were going to release him.

Release him.

But this old man had denied him that freedom. This man came and destroyed everything.

And now he was going to pay for it.

Xanxus allowed frustration to take over as he punched and kicked his father, creating crimson patches on his olive skin. Timoteo as many hits as he took, refused to back down. He stood, albeit weakly, holding his stance ready to defend against upcoming attacks.

'Do you wish to kill me?' The old man asked with a voice full of sorrow and guilt. The two men locked glances but Xanxus felt not even the slightest trace of sympathy as he scanned into his father's remorseful eyes.

'Yes.'

Any further exchange was unnecessary. The unmovable amount of certainty behind that answer convinced Timoteo that he was fighting a monster. If he didn't fight back, only death waited ahead. Slowly, he lit up the orb of his staff and secured his grip with both hands, making his decision.

Xanxus ran forward, gathering strength in his right fist with the intention of breaking his father's weapon. Pushing forward, he relentlessly forced his hit on the handle. As soon as his knuckles came in contact with the staff, Xanxus felt as though a gush of icy wind knocked him. He froze at the sudden cold, eyes widening as numbness spread through his body. He stared at Timoteo incredulously but found only sadness in his eyes.

'I'm sorry son…' Timoteo whispered when their faces were inches apart. Xanxus let out an audible growl as he noticed fragments of ice forming rapidly on his body, encasing his limbs in a chilling prison. Frantically, he tried to move his limbs but his body would not respond. He struggled to take a step back, to remove himself from the staff but the ice already restrained his legs. He had no idea what his father had done and he started to panic as the ice rapidly crept up to his neck.

Pupils dilating in frustration, he attempted to break out of the icy mold with limited success as the freezing substance crawled onto his face. He choked on a gasp as the ice covered his mouth, his nose and slowly his eyes. Heart beating rapidly, he took one dark glance at his father. The last thing he saw was Timoteo's face covered in tears of grief before blacking out.

But he was still conscious.

He was still aware of his senses despite losing all connections to his surroundings. Despite not being able to move or control his body.

The feeling reminded him of a life that seemingly occurred eons ago, of glowing digits and voices in his head. The memory appeared in his mind yet again, like in those sleepless nights curled up by himself, revisiting the only moment in his life when he felt fear. The lifeless bodies of those professors, the blood decorated walls, running for his life through a corridor of uncertainty. Except this time, the visions travelled deeper and further than what he normally remembered.

He remembers opening his eyes to meet blue digits on the ceiling of his cradle. Familiar words whispered in his ear along with those images.

…you are different…

Xanxus understood now what those words implied. He had been born different and can only be different. Such a fact had been decided since his birth, he had no choice in the matter. It was the one thing he could not control or change. It was his fate to be hated and despised.

…you are not one of us…

He was not human like they were. He was better.

…you have the power…

Before he knew it, he was shaking. A flame ignited in the core of his being, scorching all corners of his body, bringing unimaginable rage. He welcomed the heat as it burned through his chest, allowing his mind to reach its limit of coherency. He felt a different kind of anger and this anger gave him power. Something inside him that had always lain dormant was now threatening to burst forth and incinerate everything.

He let it take over his body.

A moment of silence hovered in the air before his soul erupted into flame.

Crack. Xanxus felt the prison around him shatter as fire surged from his hands. His body felt so scorching hot, so fucking good. Raw, undiluted power flowed from his soul, through his veins, accumulating into the palms of his hands. Heat vibrated around his body, destroying the prison that trapped him, making him feel vivid and fucking alive. So alive that he could laugh.

Panting with untamed bestiality, Xanxus inhaled breaths of sweet air, regaining his eyesight as he became more aware of his environment. When he opened his eyes, he saw Timoteo staring with doom written on his face.

Xanxus did laugh at his father's pathetic expression. But first, he observed his own hands which were alight with bright orange flame. He gazed at the beautiful fire he conjured and understood immediately that this was what the professors had been looking for all those times. This was the power. Power birthed from his wrath.

And he could control it as if it were a limb on his body. He manipulated at will, allowing it to dance at his fingertips. Right in front of his father who could only stare helplessly at the deadly new source of power Xanxus acquired.

'..Impossible…' Timoteo whispered unsteadily as he realized that his ice prison was broken.

Xanxus only laughed. A harsh, condescending laugh that echoed into the sky. A laugh that accentuated the helpless situation Timoteo was in.

'Old man, how do you explain this?' Xanxus taunted in a voice demented from his usual, 'what lies will you make up this time? Entertain me.'

Timoteo stared back speechless.

Xanxus didn't spare time for any replies. He sent forth his newfound flame with a swing of his hand, creating a ball of energy and directing it at the residential areas to his left, all with the intention of testing the destructive power of the flame. He wasn't disappointed as the flame-ball destroyed through a line of houses before stopping a couple hundred meters away, killing whatever peasant residing in the pathway of the blast. He grinned slightly at the incredible effect of his attack before preparing another blast in his hand.

'No Xanxus!' Timoteo yelled as he glanced at the results of the flame in horror, 'they have nothing to do with this. You're killing innocent –'

'Shut up,' Xanxus growled, eyes flaring dangerously. Those fucking peasants were far from innocent. 'Try and stop me.'

He fired a blast to another area and watched with malevolent pride as the fireball burnt through layers and layers of fragile housing. Locking eyes with his father, Xanxus created another ball in his palm and smiled provocatively. This time, Timoteo summoned up his own flame, channeling it through his staff, preparing to counter Xanxus' flame. He leapt toward Xanxus.

The raven accepted the silent challenge. Holding his flame hand on eye level, he aimed the blast at his father's approaching figure. Slowly, he fed the fireball energy from his soul, increasing its size. Timoteo brought his staff forward, clashing the two forces together.

They stared at each other impassively on opposite sides of the flame wall. Xanxus watched his father's face scrunch up with concentration. He paused, allowing Timoteo a false sense of security for a second before increasing the power of his flame suddenly. Xanxus grinned with satisfaction as his father's eyes widened at the sudden increase in power. Timoteo was at his breaking point.

Looking into those brown eyes one last time, Xanxus summoned forth an exponential burst of energy, completely destroying Timoteo's flame, shattering the orb of his staff into useless crystal shards.

'Pathetic…' he commented quietly as he released the fireball, allowing it to completely engulf his father. The old man struggled to remain on his feet, his effort resisting the current of the blast causing his skin to slowly transform into ash. Xanxus watched apathetically as his flame of wrath burnt Timoteo's flesh, sending them into specks of dust in the air.

'What are you…Xanxus…' Timoteo gasped his last words as his face began to crisp and blacken. His body, finally overwhelmed by the strength of Xanxus' power, disintegrated completely, leaving behind only powdered charred remains that were carried away by the wind.

Only when there was absolutely no trace of his father left did Xanxus halt his flame.

He felt more alive than ever, despite accomplishing his initial objective. He paused before feeling his pocket, ensuring that the spherical memoir was still tucked inside. Paying no attention to the ruined houses around him, Xanxus began walking toward the Vongola headquarters with plans already constructed.

He neither cared nor felt bothered by the notion that he had just murdered his father. The man who raised him up, treated him with kindness and kept him safe.

The man who fed him lies for eleven years.

All that controlled his mind, body and actions was his undying rage. His steps were calm as he made his way toward the entrance but his eyes flashed murder. Revelations and realizations flowed into his mind with each step.

It was about time he showed these weaklings real power. It was about time he let them know what it meant to defy that power. It was about time he gave them a reason for fearing and hating him. It was about time he taught them true terror.

Monster.

They can label him as different, brand him as a monster. None of it mattered anymore because now he realized he didn't want to be like them. If being the same meant surrendering his strength and power, then he didn't want to be the same.

Nobody appreciated strength for what it was, nobody respected it. Sure the Vongola elites were eager to acquire individuals with unique abilities and help refine those abilities. Sure they trained rookies, transforming them from weaklings into fighters. But all that was done with the intention of winning the ongoing war against Grid. They only wanted strength because the situation at hand required it; they wanted power in order to obtain freedom from the noble governed society. For the time being, they will value strength but when peaceful times surface, they will eventually shun aside individual strength and adapt a pacificatory lifestyle. Nobody admired strength for its beauty. Nobody apart from himself sought to refine their own abilities because they genuinely admired the thrill of combat or the sense of achievement obtained. He was too different to them, and that's why he is stronger…better.

Maybe difference was a gift.

Storming into the headquarters, Xanxus found Mammon floating the other direction moments after entering.

'Boss?' Mammon inquired curiously, sensing immediately that something was wrong.

'Assemble all the members of the Varia squad at the training grounds,' Xanxus ordered, voice raw with killing intent. Mammon didn't dare disobey and flew off quickly to notify the members. The raven closed his eyes briefly, dwelling in his rage for a moment. His mind was miraculously clear. At that moment he felt unstoppable. Dangerously reckless. He had to do this before the elites found out.

It didn't take long for all the members to gather. When Xanxus entered the training grounds, they were all huddled up in a confused mess. Whispers and mutters filled the air.

'Shut up,' Xanxus commanded. All attention in the room suddenly moved to the raven. Mammon came hovering beside him, looking puzzled.

'You're dismissed from the Varia. All of you,' Xanxus moved straight to the point. An outbreak of curses and complaints broke forth. They looked at him disparagingly.

'Where's boss?' Someone asked.

'Yeah, where's Timoteo?' This was followed by a wave of agreements. They all looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

'I killed him.'

Silence.

The mood darkened immediately. Xanxus had no patience for their petty lamentations, whether they believed him or not was not his problem.

'Any complaints?'

There were none. Slowly, the members seemed to accept their resignation and gradually filed out, emptying the training grounds. Mammon looked at him incredulously as if about to question the certainty of his statement but he saw the truth soon enough in Xanxus' murderous red eyes.

After a few minutes, the grounds were empty save for six men. Timoteo's six guardians, just like Xanxus expected.

'Trash, get Levi and Bel down here,' Xanxus growled to Mammon before approaching the six Varia veterans. He'll be done with them quickly enough. The illusionist wasted no time floating away to complete the task.

The old men glowered at Xanxus as he walked towards them with a vindictive gleam in his eye. He studied them carefully, a shadow of a smile gracing his face as he scrutinized their aged figures.

'You're lying,' Nougat said slowly.

Xanxus provided no time for him to react. In a flash, his hand was around the old man's neck and his flame of wrath summoned forth a once. Before any of the guardians could even register what had happened, Xanxus incinerated Nougat's head with a blast from his palm. The man's body fell limply to the raven's feet.

'Am I lying now?' Xanxus taunted, eyeing the five others indifferently. With no more doubt, the five men pulled out their weapons in attempt to protect themselves.

Too slow, Xanxus thought, moving to the next individual and killing him mercilessly, splattering blood over the weapon racks. Nothing stopped the bestial pleasure coursing through his veins as he committed the murders. A perfect revenge for what they made him go through as a child, for the freedom they denied to him.

He noticed the wearing effects of age and how it slowed their movements, delayed their reaction speeds and weakened their attacks. Perhaps when they were young, their abilities might have been on par with Iemitsu himself but that made little difference now. Xanxus slaughtered them one by one mercilessly with his bare hands. He felt nothing except the exhilarating thrill of battle, the joy and fulfillment of a revenge accomplished.

In less than a minute, five men had fallen lifelessly to the ground. Save for one person only, who Xanxus purposely left for last.

Visconti.

Xanxus remembered the axe thrown at his head. The fear he felt hiding in the dark that time whilst Visconti murdered the other infants. Visions of those memories only fueled his murderous intent.

Moving forward at once, Xanxus rammed the blonde man into the hard metal wall, his hand gripping Visconti's neck tightly. Oh he was going to enjoy this, very much.

The man swung his axe forward weakly but the raven blocked the attempt effortlessly. Grabbing Visconti's axe hand, Xanxus brought forth a surge of power, burning the axe along with the blonde's arm into charred powder.

The old man shrieked. It sounded like music to Xanxus' ears.

Through Visconti's pants, Xanxus threw a punch at the other's abdomen, puncturing his burning fist through flesh and entrails. The old man's pupils dilated and swayed as they made eye contact.

'I…knew…he should have…killed you…back then…' the dying man uttered as blood dripped down his chin. Xanxus ignored him and released a burst of flame from the hand that was still inside Visconti, reducing his body to ash immediately. The burnt remains of the cloud flame user dropped to the floor forming a pile of sooty dust.

With a satisfied grunt, Xanxus wandered to the centre of the training grounds, admiring the splashes of blood flowing down the walls and the lifeless corpses slumped like torn rag dolls. Quietly, he stood there and waited for Mammon to come back with Bel and Levi.

Only a few moments passed before Bel, Levi and Mammon entered the training grounds to face a scene reminiscent of hell. Xanxus stood in the middle of the after-chaos, eyes dark, arms folded with blood decorating his clothes. The demoniac glance he sent towards them rendered them speechless, freezing them in their tracks. Bel's grin was missing as he examined the aftermath of Xanxus' wrath and he tensed immediately when Xanxus began walking towards them.

When Mammon recognized the bodies on the floor, he immediately held back the words in his throat. No one failed to realize that the corpses belonged to the six guardians of Varia. The three of them stood silently as Xanxus approached like a demon from the murky depths of hell. When the raven reached them, he stopped, running his cold red eyes over his team members.

'From now on,' Xanxus said quietly but his voice echoed throughout the area, 'the four of us are the Varia.'

He looked emotionlessly at them, waiting for any objections. Xanxus didn't fail to notice the collective sigh of relief after his statement. They nodded without hesitation but their eyes still lingered on the bloody mess behind him.

'From now on,' Xanxus continued and they immediately diverted their attention back to him, 'I decide who goes in this shitty squad.'

Finishing, he walked wordlessly past them, exiting the area. They did not question his orders.

'Boss…there are scars on your face,' Levi called meekly from behind. The tall man was about to run after Xanxus before the tilt of a head from Mammon stopped him.

Xanxus felt his face with a bloodied hand after he heard Levi's call. He traced his fingers over his skin, smudging crimson fluid across his cheek. Whether there were really scars on his face he couldn't tell, but he did know that the truth discovered today was enough to form deeper, permanent scars beneath his skin. Scars that would not disappear until he discovered an answer. Scars that reappeared with a rebirthed insecurity that rose to the surface for the first time in eleven years.

Because after seventeen years of living, he still did not know what he was.

x.x.x.x.x

News of Xanxus taking control of the Varia spread through the headquarters like ripples in a pond. The person responsible for the brutal murders of Timoteo and his guardians posed a popular rumor and initiated many discussions within the organization. Ex-Varia members wasted no time in sharing the information that Xanxus, Timoteo's adoptive son, claimed to have killed his father and was last seen confronting the six Varia guardians.

Thus, despite such a feat sounding impossible in most members' ears, Xanxus being solely responsible for the deaths of the Varia leaders was the only logical explanation for the event. Only the elite individuals of Vongola could deduce from careful analysis of the bloody scene, a confirmation of these rumors.

It had only been two days since Xanxus' infamous slaughter when Iemitsu and Reborn paid him a confrontation.

Xanxus was in his newly acquired room, thinking hard of the actions to take with his latest ability before Iemitsu entered without knocking, Reborn sitting on his shoulder.

The infant's eyes were dark and emanated pure anger. Xanxus showed no hint of intimidation, he had long seen through the nature behind the infants to know that as frightening as Reborn could be, he was only just a baby. The real threat was Iemitsu, the only person in Vongola whom Xanxus admittedly acknowledged as his superior. All the rage and fury could not diminish the mentor-student bond between them. It was a bond that Xanxus respected. He was also the reason why Xanxus did not attempt to dominate Vongola completely.

'You killed your father,' Iemitsu growled in quiet disbelief. He sat down opposite Xanxus, a metal desk separating them. Reborn said nothing and only watched silently.

'So what if I did?' Xanxus stared at his teacher, cheek resting on his palm. Iemitsu's hands balled into fists and his eyes flared dangerously. Xanxus noticed heavy disappointment behind that anger.

'Why?' Iemitsu asked with forced calm. He looked torn between his desire to fight Xanxus and his unconscious wish to forgive his best student.

'No reason,' Xanxus replied, not understanding the cause for Iemitsu's disappointment.

Before either man could speak, Reborn who was sitting on Iemitsu's shoulder pulled out his gun in a flash, pointing it at Xanxus. The raven watched apathetically as the infant snapped, unable to withhold his rage any longer.

'Enough,' Reborn said calmly although his sooty black eyes spoke destruction. He continued to point the gun at Xanxus.

'Murder is punishable by death,' Reborn quoted slowly as his finger hovered over the trigger, 'your attitude disgusts me.'

Xanxus could sense Reborn's full intention to pull the trigger. He wasn't aroused, although all his senses screamed danger. He sat apathetically with no move to defend himself, knowing full well that if Reborn did shoot it would be the end of his life. Xanxus sensed every desire from Reborn to kill him right there, but somehow he knew the infant was not going to carry out his threat.

Eying the gun carelessly, Xanxus gave a small, sardonic chuckle.

'You won't kill me,' he hissed, grinning savagely at the infant, 'you'll only be weakening your forces.'

Reborn didn't reply. His fingers shook slightly on the trigger but after a moment he withdrew, just like Xanxus expected.

'Timoteo was someone close to us,' Reborn said coldly, hatred deep in his glance, 'If circumstances were different, you'd be dead.'

'Hah,' Xanxus laughed, 'but unfortunately for you, my strength is needed if you're planning to win this war.'

Eyes hooded, Reborn silently jumped off Iemitsu's shoulder and left for the door, 'you're Iemitsu's student. I'll let him decide.'

Xanxus admired the infant's extent of self-discipline, his ability to prevent his bestial cravings for revenge from overcoming his responsibility as a leader. He felt himself respect Reborn just a little. The door slammed shut, trapping Xanxus inside with Iemitsu's company. Iemitsu was studying him carefully, perhaps still unable to believe that Xanxus had done what he did.

'I didn't teach you to murder your own kin,' he stated quietly, gaze never leaving.

Xanxus shrugged. Even in his erupted state, he couldn't help feeling somewhat guilty at Iemitsu's displeasure. Never in his experience training with the other had Xanxus ever disappointed his teacher. It was a foreign reaction that he disliked.

'You didn't know me enough,' Xanxus replied, mustering up some respect.

'What is your objective?' Iemitsu probed suddenly, gazing sharply at his student.

'Strength.'

'Is acquiring strength why you killed your father? Do you realize what you've done?' Iemitsu hissed in disbelief. 'Do you realize the consequences –'

'Shut up,' Xanxus sat up suddenly. Too many memories now. Iemitsu's words reminded him too much of Timoteo's words the first time he had killed someone. He didn't want to remember anything about his father. He wanted to forget.

'That old man betrayed me,' Xanxus snarled, eyes gleaming as visions of his childhood flashed across his mind. For a moment he thought he saw Timoteo, crying silently in disappointment and sorrow for the faceless child who was murdered, but when he blinked again he saw only Iemitsu looking at him questioningly.

'I don't know exactly what he did,' Iemitsu murmured slowly, 'but I do know that Timoteo would never betray anyone, especially not his own son.'

That fucker isn't my father, Xanxus wanted to say but held back. He clenched his teeth, holding in the vehement truth. He wouldn't reveal his darkest secret, not even to his teacher. This was his own endeavor, something he wasn't going to share until the day came when he found an answer.

'I know you Xanxus,' the blonde man stated, 'I'm too familiar with your recalcitrant nature, so much that I'm certain you've made a grievous misunderstanding.'

You don't know me at all, thought Xanxus angrily. He didn't want to talk about his relationship with Timoteo. He didn't want to think about that fateful day when his nursery was raided and his world slaughtered, right before he was about to be given freedom. He didn't want to remember those times when he put so much faith in his father. It only gave him emptiness when he remembered how reassuring it was to know that there was someone in the world who would not betray him. How wrong he was.

'Get to the point,' Xanxus breathed shakily, eager to change the topic, 'you didn't come here to lecture me. You came to tell me something.'

'Even now your intuition impresses me to no end,' Iemitsu commented solemnly, 'you're right, I came to inform you on distinctive matters.'

They stared at each other blankly before Iemitsu took a deep breath.

'I've been diagnosed with an illness,' Iemitsu announced quietly, 'a bacteria that rapidly ages the cells within my body. I don't have long to live.'

Xanxus scowled, eyes wide with surprise. This was completely beyond his expectations, this was something he had never even considered. Someone of Iemitsu's strength to die of something like a petty disease? What was this bullshit?

'Impossible,' Xanxus snarled, unable to believe this.

'I'm touched to see that you still have some concern over my health,' Iemitsu responded in an emotionless voice.

Xanxus made a noise that sounded somewhere between a snarl and a gasp. This man was his teacher, the person who made him what he was. It was impossible to not feel something after knowing that he was going to be defeated by something like a stupid sickness. It was a waste, a shame.

'How long?' Xanxus growled, thinking hard at the implications of this new information.

'Two years if I'm lucky.'

Fuck. No wonder Reborn couldn't afford to kill him.

'I know you Xanxus,' Iemitsu repeated, 'I know that after I'm dead you'll definitely make an attempt to take Vongola. There will be no one here to stop you. Thus, I came to negotiate.'

Xanxus sneered, fists clenching.

'I have a son named Tsuna,' the blonde started, 'a child right now, but when he becomes of age I plan for him to lead Vongola. Reborn is currently taking the initiative to train him, he's agreed to hand over his position.'

The raven said nothing. Truth be told, he had no intention of taking the Vongola yet but the idea of submitting to a stranger, not to mention a mere boy repulsed him.

'I'll allow your disgraceful murders to go unpunished if you agree to these terms. After I die, you will not overthrow Vongola during our weakened state, instead you will lend your strength to aid us in this war against Grid. When my son becomes the leader, I request that you accept him.'

'What makes you think I'm going to comply to these orders?' Xanxus snapped.

'I know you will Xanxus,' Iemitsu stated confidently yet coldly, 'your resolve as a warrior is such that you wont refuse your teacher's dying request.'

Xanxus said nothing because Iemitsu hit the truth on the spot. He didn't want to admit it but the blonde planned this perfectly. As cruel as he was, Xanxus could not deny the respect he had for Iemitsu. As his student, Xanxus felt it was his duty to accomplish his mentor's final request.

'You'll lend Tsuna your strength until Grid is annihilated,' Iemitsu finished, getting to his feet. Turning around, he strode to the door before halting abruptly at the entrance.

'I almost forgot,' he said softly, tilting his head slightly to the side. Xanxus watched intently, wondering what else Iemitsu could possibly tell him.

'From now on, I want nothing to do with you.' The statement was direct and impactful. Without hesitating, Iemitsu left, closing the door forcefully behind him.

Xanxus' eyes were hooded as Iemitsu's footsteps echoed away.

Only then he realized he felt a sense of loss that made him regret killing his father, just a little bit.

x.x.x.x.x

Staring upward at his home, Xanxus gripped the spherical memoir tightly in his palm. With his other hand, he lit the ragged wooden house on fire and watched it burn quietly. The flames sizzled and cracked under the orange sun, roasting bitter memories in tandem with wood and metal. He watched with flames dancing on his ruby eyes.

His rage-fueled adrenaline had died down significantly over the past few days. His sense was slowly coming back to him, causing him to realize the recklessness of his behaviour and actions.

Xanxus felt as though he had woken up from a dream. Now that he thought carefully about what had happened, he felt as if it were someone else who committed the brutal murders. He recognized his lack of control over his raged state, where all rationality and reason became non-existent. How easily had he allowed his emotions to completely dominate his better judgment! His actions were so reckless; he didn't even consider the consequences back then. Losing his temper, despite feeling differently at the time, actually weakened him instead of accentuating his strength.

Xanxus did not like being angry to the point of madness. Avoiding such a situation was his best option.

That way, he wouldn't regret his actions later when his coherent side returned. He preferred being in control.

With his old home razed to ashes, Xanxus made his way to Tsuyoshi's store, tucking his father's voice recording neatly into his pocket.

The swordsman was polishing his newest creation, a beautiful silver katana whilst Takeshi stood at the back, swinging around a different sword.

'Little Xanxus has come again,' Tsuyoshi commented lightheartedly whilst he ran a silky black cloth over the blade, 'I shouldn't be calling you that anymore right?'

Xanxus paid no attention to the familiar greeting, instead his eyes were transfixed on the gorgeous weapon in Tsuyoshi's hands. Ignoring Takeshi's friendly wave from across the room, Xanxus examined the intricate details of the sword, feeling a strange but irrefutable connection to the weapon. The unconscious twitch of his hand betrayed his desire to touch it.

'I finished it yesterday,' Takeshi explained when he noticed Xanxus' curious gaze, 'its name is "Pride".' Carefully, he handed the object over to the raven.

When Xanxus' skin came in contact with the blade, a familiar sensation swooped upon him suddenly. The feeling was so strange he couldn't exactly deduce what had caused it. It lingered as he traced his thumb over the engraved symbols. Even when he abandoned his grip on the weapon, the feeling remained. It was as though he and the sword shared a mysterious past together, as if they shared a forgotten history.

'Unusual?' Tsuyoshi peered, a knowing gleam in his eye.

'This is…Magic Metal.' Xanxus replied slowly. But he suspected that only this fact itself was not why he felt such a distinct bond to the sword.

'Impressive…you still remember what I taught you,' the swordsman grinned, re-gripping his creation. Swiftly, he placed the blade back into its sheath and laid it out on the table.

'For your son?' Xanxus asked quietly. For some reason, he felt responsible for the fate of the alluring sword, as if he too had a contribution to its creation. He wanted someone worthy to have the honor of using such a precious weapon.

Tsuyoshi paused, evidently uncertain of how to answer.

'I originally had the intention for this sword to belong to Takeshi,' he murmured softly, eyes glazing over the slender object, 'but now that it's finished…I feel like it's supposed to serve a different swordsman. It doesn't suit Takeshi…I can say that for sure.'

Xanxus released an astonished sigh, not removing his eyes from "Pride".

'Besides,' Tsuyoshi continued, 'Takeshi's already in love with another sword.'

Xanxus looked over at the boy who was practicing. He recognized immediately the weapon in Takeshi's hands.

'Your own,' the raven answered. How many times had he seen that very blade attached to Tsuyoshi's belt? Xanxus knew even from a very young age that Tsuyoshi valued his sword above life itself.

The old swordsman chuckled but Xanxus could uncover a touch of sadness in the laugh.

'Well? Little Xanxus?' Tsuyoshi asked, standing up to hang Pride onto the wall behind him. The raven knew it was time to reveal his own purposes for visiting.

'I killed my father,' he announced abruptly. The room darkened considerably, even Takeshi stopped his practice and looked over at Xanxus.

'So the rumors were true,' the craftsman threw a piercing look into Xanxus' red eyes. The raven scrunched his eyebrows slightly, feeling somewhat unnerved at Tsuyoshi's dismayed glance and Takeshi's expression of disbelief. For a short moment, Xanxus felt his anger rise. He was sick of the disappointment from those around him.

'I want you to make me a weapon,' Xanxus growled impatiently, avoiding Tsuyoshi's eyes.

The old craftsman looked both extremely taken back and relieved by the unexpected request. He sat down excitedly, disappointment forgotten and interest evidently arising.

'Interesting!' All attention was now focused on Xanxus' request, 'you've always specialized in hand-to-hand combat. Why now-?'

Xanxus wordlessly summoned forth his flame of wrath, lighting up the shadowy room with an alluring orange sphere in his palm. Eyes round, Takeshi dropped his sword and ran forward to admire the glowing ball. Even Tsuyoshi looked impressed at Xanxus' new power, despite his disappointment a minute ago.

'Well well…what kind of weapon are you thinking of?' Tsuyoshi observed Xanxus' flame with awe.

'Guns.'

'Interesting…' he replied, eyes widening, 'although I do prefer crafting traditional weapons –'

'How long will this take you?' Xanxus cut in. He needed the best weapon from the best possible constructor; he'll gladly wait for extended periods if it meant a quality product. Tsuyoshi began to smile.

'How long did it take you to collect those ores?' He asked reminiscently, bringing childhood memories back into the recesses of Xanxus' mind, 'assuming that you'll be wanting an object made from Magic Metal.'

'Six months,' Xanxus remembered clearly, the experiences of that kind of labor embedded deeply in his memory. It was something he would never forget, a significant stepping stone in his life.

'Then…that's how long I'll need,' Tsuyoshi hesitated suddenly, eyes darting away slightly. He didn't look at Xanxus.

'I'll be back in six months then,' Xanxus growled abruptly, turning to leave. As he took a step to the entrance, a small tug on his hand brought his attention back. Takeshi was staring up at him curiously and eager to know something.

'Little Xanxus, did you really kill your father?' He asked in a hurt tone, smile absent.

'Get lost you piece of shit.'

With a jerk of his arm, Xanxus removed his hand from Takeshi's grasp and strode off, but not without looking quickly at Tsuyoshi. There was no doubt about it, something was dreadfully wrong. Xanxus rarely saw that kind of expression on the craftsman's face. He sensed the man's confusion and dilemma. But strangely he also detected pain in the man's eyes, as if he was about to give up something precious.

As much as he tried to deny it, he couldn't shake the feeling that Tsuyoshi had not been completely honest with him. The old man was hiding something important.

Xanxus thought hard for a while as he walked away from the store, deciding whether or not to confront Tsuyoshi on this matter. In the end, he chose not to.

Whatever problem Tsuyoshi had was none of his business.

x.x.x.x.x

'…302,306…'

Xanxus replayed the location of his nursery with the plastic ball of his father's diary recording. Walking around the area, he surveyed the floor carefully for any sign of a burnt entrance.

When he spotted a large rectangular opening, his heart skipped. Cautiously, he took small steps down the rusty stairs, mentally preparing for anything that he might find down there. The area was dimly lit by natural light but Xanxus could recognize the aftereffects of fire. Walking around the gigantic hall-like room, he caught sight of the ashen remains of Julius next to figures of broken and cindered machinery. He continued to walk down the hallway, memories flooding into his mind.

Now that his perceptions were not influenced by fear, Xanxus discovered various other rooms that did not lead to his nursery. He ignored those entrances and continued walking, eager to find the room where he was birthed. Only when he reached the very end did his instinct tell him that the room in front was indeed his nursery. Without halting, Xanxus stepped inside the darkness.

Using his flame as a light source, Xanxus looked around the place eagerly, his heart thrashing between his ribcages. He just needed a hint, whatever that might have survived the fire to provide him a clue to his foggy heritage. Scrutinizing the room, his burning excitement eventually transformed into morbid disappointment as his discoveries amounted to nothing. Only ash, dusty remains disturbed from years of peaceful settlement. He couldn't even make out his own cradle.

Xanxus left his nursery and ventured back into the gigantic hallway, frustration burning in his body. Desperate now, he made visits to the other rooms in the hopes of discovering something, anything to point him in a direction. However, even after he explored the foreign nurseries, he still could not unearth anything except ash and soot.

As he returned to the area where Timoteo and his men murdered Julius, Xanxus found a hidden area that had been evidently ravaged but fortunately, undestroyed by the fire. With new hope, he opened the metal draws and scattered the multitude of binders with the intention of revealing any hidden documents they might contain. All the tomes were missing, presumably taken and destroyed during the raid.

But as Xanxus opened the last of the binders, a ragged piece of paper flew out in front of his eyes. Releasing a breath of surprise, Xanxus snatched the precious document, scanning its surface for any clues. The original document had been torn, judging from the frayed edges of the sheet. Xanxus saw in bold letters, the word 'Bayflower' written on the top corner of the document.

Bayflower… His father mentioned that word in his memoir. Curious, Xanxus began to read the extract.

'Bayflower – a rare poisonous substance found naturally in specific locations beyond Tephire city. With identical resemblance to water, both chemically and physically, it can also be artificially produced with the correct chemicals. Because of its potentially hazardous nature, the substance has been banned and regarded illegal by both Vongola and Grid.'

Xanxus paused, deciding whether or not to continue reading. The document clearly had little relevance to his heritage but it was the only remaining link to the nursery.

'When dealing with this substance, beware of leakages and mixtures. It is indistinguishable between water and thus should only be used when injecting for the release of infants – '

Eyes freezing mid sentence, Xanxus reread the statement, mind blank with shock.

…should only be used when injecting for the release of infants…

…release of infants…

…release…

What did this mean? Xanxus felt his previous world fall into pieces when the true meaning behind the sentence slowly came into grasp. Confusion danced within his mind as the information was slowly absorbed.

Release meant…injecting infants with Bayflower? What was this bullshit?

'- to provide a conveniently rapid death.'

With dizziness slowly creeping in, Xanxus shakily leaned against the wall, heavily disturbed by what he had read. This whole time! Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply with attempt to clear his mind and accept the truth. Accept that his misinterpretation had governed many actions and choices in his life. Had his visions been simply constructed by words and thoughts without substance, all originating from this misunderstanding?

Fuck. Xanxus angrily punched the wall, cursing his own naivety. Those professors were planning to kill him back then. Julius had been planning to kill him, and would have killed him if not for the stroke of luck that brought Timoteo to the nursery that very day. All those dreams of freedom were just dreams. Dreams that weren't ever going to be fulfilled.

Crumpling the paper up, Xanxus threw it into the corner before storming out of the nursery. So much deception! Had his whole life up to this point been a lie? Had he really been making the correct choices? Even those goddamn professors had meant him no good.

Just who could he trust in this fucked up world?

Tsuyoshi. The Varia. The small voice in his head reassured him, just like always. His rage calming a little, Xanxus nodded comfortingly to himself. There were still people who wouldn't betray him, people he could rely on. Although they were useless, they were still better than nothing.

He paused before bursting into maniacal laughter, his voice echoing into the endless red sunset.

Just how long before insanity overtakes him?

How long can he go on like this?

x.x.x.x.x

Iemitsu died three months later. Defeated by sickness.

Xanxus attended his outdoor funeral, located near the entrance to the Vongola headquarters. He observed the proceedings from afar, his men standing close by.

Two years? Fucking liar, you couldn't even hold on for three months! Xanxus grunted as various members were paying their respects to Iemitsu's body. No hint of sadness or grief blemished his features.

He felt as though he couldn't feel anything anymore after his discovery at the nursery. Nothing except anger.

Thus, he only watched impassively as the funeral went on, no sense of loss for his teacher.

Even so, he never forgot about Iemitsu's last request.

It was after Iemitsu's funeral when the rest of the Varia headed back into the headquarters. Xanxus remained behind, even when everyone else had cleared away.

Standing in front of the memorial stone, he was about to pay his own respects before a sudden movement in the corner of his eye diverted his attention to a figure that appeared in mid-air. Xanxus froze as he recognized the cold black eyes and the unkempt brown hair.

Julius! His mind screamed at the sudden intrusion but the rational side of him remained unbothered.

'An illusion,' Xanxus commented calmly to no one in particular although the notion that someone else knew this man caught his interest immediately. Sure enough, Julius' figure disappeared with a ripple of air before a man with dark blue hair replaced. Xanxus identified the individual as the recent newly appointed Vongola squad captain.

'Just as I expected, you're from the nursery too,' the man smiled cryptically, 'Xanxus.'

Xanxus' interest was deepened when the blue haired man pushed his hair sideways to reveal his right eye. From afar, it appeared to be red with a foreign symbol imprinted onto the surface of the iris.

'So what,' Xanxus growled, thinking of the oddities that grew at the nursery.

'Kufufufu, I also grew up in that hellhole,' the man replied, 'they call me Mukuro Rokudo. I escaped that place long before it was destroyed.'

I don't give a fuck, Xanxus wanted to say except he wasn't in the mood to be bothered by rookie leaders.

'We have the same objective,' Mukuro stated quietly, 'to decipher the means of our existence –'

'You're asking for my help, scum?' Xanxus snapped impatiently.

'No,' Mukuro replied seriously, red eye gleaming, 'I'm merely enlightening you on simple facts. I've been observing you for a while now, your ignorance can be quite moronic.'

Xanxus twitched his fingers, absorbing the insult calmly. He could tell the Mukuro in front of him was merely an illusion, and it would be pointless not to mention humiliating to lose his temper due to insults alone.

'You blame the world for your pain, but ignore your own actions that might have caused it,' the illusionist continued, 'you believe that you are completely unique in your suffering, that no one else has experienced exactly what you have and thus no one else can truly understand you.'

'Get to the fucking point,' Xanxus growled.

'All monsters are alienated in their own way,' Mukuro murmured deeply, locking eyes with Xanxus, 'you live and live and one day, when you glance into the outcast eyes of another, you'll recognize them as your own***.'

The raven grunted, sensing a profound history behind Mukuro, perhaps even as great as his own.

'You claim that you understand me?' Xanxus laughed cruelly, staring so intensely into Mukuro's eyes that the illusionist had to break their eye contact. This man had nerve to openly voice such assertions?

'Not at all,' Mukuro replied calmly, surprising Xanxus slightly, 'but I can tell that you are nearing your breaking point.'

'What did you say?' Xanxus snarled, eyes alert and flaring, unnerved by the fact that Mukuro had hit the truth.

'Don't deny it Xanxus,' Mukuro cut in, 'you're about to give up –'

'Do you want to fucking die?' Xanxus felt his rage crawl back. Mukuro gave a quiet sigh before continuing, ignoring the raven's demoniac glare.

'Don't allow the society to consume you. Take and accept what you're given. Understand the world you live in. Monsters like us stimulate hatred from all corners of this community but whilst they struggle to survive, we succeed quietly and independently. We thrive in this chaotic world just like we were meant to whilst the rest of them perish. Our pain gives us purpose and strength.'

Xanxus clenched his teeth as the illusionist lectured him, secretly impressed. Oh he knew the truth behind Mukuro's words. He just didn't care.

'Corruption and prejudice infest this world like lingering plagues, giving birth to monsters like us. They create us and yet they blame us for the destruction we cause. This world cares not about what we couldn't control and it despises us for what we were born as, not the choices we have made.'

'Tch, what's it to you if I'm crushed?' Xanxus asked sardonically but acknowledging the actuality behind Mukuro's claim. He didn't know why this illusionist was motivating him to stay alive.

'The Vongola need to win this war in order for me to fulfill my own objectives,' Mukuro answered with calm finality. Slowly, his illusion started to disappear, signaling the end of their discussion. Xanxus watched him fade into the air.

Then, leaving his teacher's grave quietly, Xanxus headed back into the headquarters. Breaking point…he could laugh at that bullshit, he cursed himself for ever thinking of giving up. But nevertheless, he had met someone with the same perceptive outlooks as he, perhaps they were more similar than he originally thought. Xanxus didn't need his instinct to know that the illusionist was beyond competency in his abilities.

Mukuro Rokudo.

He'll remember that name.

x.x.x.x.x

A few months later, Xanxus took another visit to the weapon store, this time with the intention of claiming his guns.

His trust in Tsuyoshi made him certain that the products were going to impress him. He felt like a child waiting for his prize, unable to calm the anticipation within his body as he walked into the store.

However, when he entered the familiar place, he knew instantly that something was amiss. Dead silence hung in the air, except for a soft sobbing noise at the back of the room. No 'Little Xanxus' greeting met his ears, only the faint sound of a child crying. Steadily, he approached the noise until he came face to face with Takeshi down in a corner, hugging his knees and looking shaken. The boy lifted his head quickly when Xanxus' shadow covered him.

'Little Xanxus?' He whispered quietly, eyes wide with fright but not from Xanxus. Faint tear tracks glistened on his cheeks.

'Where's your father kid?' Xanxus asked gruffly, scanning the room impatiently.

'I don't know,' Takeshi replied apprehensively. He stood up slowly, staring hopefully at Xanxus as if the raven could answer that question himself, 'h-he disappeared yesterday morning. He hugged me and left. I looked all over the village but I couldn't find him.'

Growling, Xanxus diverted his attention away from the frightened boy and began to search around the store. He didn't need long to find a brown box placed on Tsuyoshi's usual work counter. Without hesitating, Xanxus opened the package to come across two beautifully crafted black guns.

He gave a sharp intake of breath when he glanced at the weapons. With shaky hands, Xanxus held them carefully, scrutinizing the crimson 'X' on each gun and the lustrous metal with each edge uniquely carved. His mind was lost for a few moments as his eyes glazed over the objects, taken in by their magnificence. Only when he recovered did he suddenly sense a very familiar connection toward the guns, identical to what he felt when he saw 'Pride'.

He felt that strangely, he had some kind of contribution to the creation of those guns. And yet he was absent for the whole six months when Tsuyoshi constructed them. The feeling didn't make any sense but his curiosity was ignored when he noticed that something else was inside the box. Placing his treasure neatly onto the counter, Xanxus noticed a piece of paper left at the bottom of the box.

Curious, he unfolded the sheet to reveal a note. Ignoring Takeshi's questioning tug on his pants, Xanxus began to read the small handwriting.

.

Little Xanxus, if you happen to be reading this, I'm guessing you've already seen the guns that I made. It is in my hopes that they are agreeable to your taste. Forgive me, but there were many things I kept from you all these years.

The truth is, I've been on Grid's hit-list for a long time, even before I met you. To them, I am an infamous weapon crafter for the Vongola. They've wanted me dead for many years now, but I took refuge in Hyrae Village, out of their sight for a long period of time.

However after the birth of my son, I've taken many years to finally decide that my lifestyle cannot continue like this. My mere existence poses a potential danger for Takeshi. If Grid finds out that I have a child, they will definitely use such knowledge against me, I wouldn't put it past them to take him as a hostage.

Thus, I have decided to give myself up to the nobles. For the safety of my son because he is yet too weak to defend against Grid forces. They'll execute me, but I've had many years to prepare for this. Death is just another enemy.

My dying words to you are words that you probably won't believe. I've known you since you were a child, and I've known about your rejection and your alienation. I've known about your rage, and your tendency to lose all rationality under that rage. I've known about your limitless potential. I promise that you'll find someone like yourself. You aren't alone. Don't lose to this world.

As a final request and as payment for the guns, I want you to take Takeshi to Vongola. He'll fit in well. I've taught him everything I know as a swordsman, the rest depends on his own choices. Heed my plea and don't inform him that Grid was responsible for my death. I don't want him living a life driven by revenge.

Tsuyoshi Yamamoto

P.S. I wasn't completely honest with you concerning the construction of your guns. The six months did not come from my search for the legendary metal ores, instead each day was spent crafting the weapons themselves. The magic metal came from the ores you fetched for me as a child, I kept them all these years. Back then, I thought they were too precious to be used for anything however as my time grew short, I decided to use them for my final pieces. 'Pride' and 'Wrath' (your guns) are both made from the Adamantite, Titanium and Mithril ores you found that time. They are my swan creations, I put my honor and joy into crafting them.

.

Xanxus reread the note a couple of times before pausing, accepting and placing the letter back onto the table.

'So he's dead…' Xanxus grunted impassively, wondering why he didn't feel anything. When Takeshi heard this, tears began to roll down his cheeks again. Xanxus watched the boy mourn for his father, admiring the direct contrast between Takeshi's reaction to his own for the same situation.

'W-why?' The young swordsman asked shakily, voice condensed with hurt and confusion, 'he was fine when he left…'

Xanxus hesitated before making his decision. He told Takeshi everything, the whole truth behind Tsuyoshi's death and disappearance, ignoring the elder swordsman's request. One thing he learnt from his experiences was that the truth should never be hidden or denied from those who had the right to know it. If Takeshi couldn't handle the reality, then maybe he deserved to be crushed by the forceful currents of the world. After Xanxus finished his explanation, he observed the boy quietly, interested in his decision.

'I…I want to become stronger,' Takeshi said quietly, looking at Xanxus determinedly. The tears disappeared now.

'To destroy Grid? To avenge your father?' Xanxus tested.

'No.'

Xanxus raised his eyebrows, staring down at the boy expectantly.

'F-father wouldn't have wanted me to fight for hatred,' Takeshi told the raven confidently, 'I want to become stronger to prevent this from happening. I'll protect my friends so they won't be taken away from me, like you Little Xanxus!'

Xanxus burst out in sardonic laughter, 'stupid kid…you think I need you to protect me?' Nevertheless, he accepted Takeshi's answer. You truly are your father's son, he thought to himself. Turning around, Xanxus grabbed his new weapons before heading to the doorway. Takeshi followed him, carrying his father's sword.

'Wrath…' Xanxus whispered softly, bringing his guns close to his heart. A fitting name for his weapon. Tsuyoshi had done a spectacular job, even Xanxus quietly acknowledged that fact. The realization that he himself had found the materials used to make the guns only deepened his attachment to the new weapons.

Before he could step out of the store, a strangle sensation pulled him back. Halting, he turned around and instinctively glanced at Pride hanging on the wall. The sword forged from the results of the endless labors during his childhood glowed in the semi-darkness. Xanxus pondered about whether to take the sword with him or not. If he left such a precious object in there, it would no doubt be stolen by some passing peasant. But if he took it with him, how was he supposed to ensure that a worthy swordsman would find it?

After all, the sword was partly his own creation too. Its fate was also his responsibility.

But in the end, he made his decision to leave the sword hanging where it was. Xanxus, with Tsuyoshi's note folded neatly in his pocket, with Takeshi at his heels, returned to the Vongola headquarters. The young swordsman was in awe when he laid eyes on the underground area.

'Your new home kid,' Xanxus told him, 'whatever happens to you now is none of my business.'

With that, he left Takeshi by himself. He was sure that the boy would survive fine in this new environment; after all he was not a monster. He would be accepted by the others.

That night when he called Mammon to his office, he demanded that the weapon store in Hyrae village be branded as Varia property. The illusionist didn't hesitate to carry out Xanxus' orders.

Xanxus slept soundly. Now that Tsuyoshi's store belonged to Varia, no peasant would ever even dare enter that place, let alone steal from it.

It was his only way of preserving that beautiful sword along with Tsuyoshi's legacy.

Pride.

Xanxus wondered if any worthy swordsman would ever find the blade.

x.x.x.x.x

Several years passed as Xanxus grew from a teenager into an adult. Whenever he contemplated his past, he always looked back with disbelief. How different it was now, without Iemitsu or Tsuyoshi to lecture him. Without them to teach him. All he truly had now was the Varia.

He frequently wondered about his heritage and how he could discover that answer. The knowledge that there were other cities beyond Tephire presented itself a valuable possibility. Even though such a concept was heavily disbelieved amongst the Vongola, Xanxus knew enough to understand that nothing was impossible. Thus, he willingly assisted Vongola whatever conflict they had with Grid because victory meant opening the barriers to new places. New knowledge.

The training grounds like usual, was his place of shelter. Takeshi would frequently be found in that very place, honing his swordsman skills.

'Little – I mean…Xanxus!' Takeshi would greet as usual whenever he saw Xanxus, 'you want to watch me practice?' He would ask keenly.

Needless to say, Xanxus ignored him. But sometimes he caught glances of Takeshi's moves and was secretly impressed. Swordsmanship was a completely foreign branch of combat to Xanxus. Tsuyoshi was right; he was definitely not made to use the blade.

He could only appreciate the art of sword fighting when Takeshi sparred with his silver haired friend who happened to use dynamites. Xanxus did watch Takeshi practice sometimes, but only when he was resting from his own training session.

Vongola also acquired new members as time flew by. Xanxus made only little attempt to observe those newly appointed squad captains although he was fully aware that there would come a time when he will need to cooperate with them.

The day when Tsuna finally took on the position as boss, the boy made a visit to the raven's office.

Xanxus sat in his chair silently as Iemitsu's son entered. One glance and he could tell the boy was self-conscious but determined to impress him. He could see a mixture of fear and respect in the brown eyes.

'Xanxus?' Tsuna greeted, nervous but confident at the same time.

'What the fuck do you want?' The mere sight of Tsuna only added to Xanxus' disappointment. This boy looked like a disgrace to Iemitsu.

'I…' the boy hesitated, clearly intimidated by the raven's rudeness, 'the Vongola need to win this war against Grid.'

'So what?'

'Are you willing to lend me your strength?' Tsuna asked determinedly, fire blazing in his eyes. For a second he looked like a true leader, but Xanxus could still detect the boy's concealed worry that he'll reject.

'I am,' Xanxus said slowly, thinking of the promise he made to Iemitsu. Tsuna looked openly relieved.

'Really?' The Vongola boss asked eagerly, unable to believe what he heard, 'I…uh…thank you Xanxus.'

'Don't thank me you piece of shit,' Xanxus snarled, 'I owe your father. Don't even think that I'll have respect for you.'

Tsuna held his breath, looking stricken but nevertheless still reassured and thankful. He left with a smile on his face.

Xanxus only scowled at the fact that Tsuna was now officially his boss.

But the debt he owed Iemitsu was of far greater value, so he didn't complain.

x.x.x.x.x

As Xanxus neared the age of twenty-four, he felt a strange sensation that the breakout between Vongola and Grid was drawing near. Vongola had acquired more strength than ever over the years. The six squad captains including himself were the strongest in his experience at the organization. All was well until Mammon's sudden visit to his office one day.

Xanxus looked at his subordinate impassively, 'what is it scum, you'd better have a good excuse for bothering me.'

Ignoring his boss' question, Mammon sat in front of Xanxus on the hard metal table.

'Grid is planning to assassinate me during my next mission,' he told Xanxus calmly.

Xanxus paused, before bursting out in vicious laughter. Mammon sat quietly as Xanxus snarled disdainfully, red eyes gleaming with mirth.

'Is that all you have to tell me?' Xanxus remarked, sneering at the illusionist, 'are you telling me that you're afraid? You want to drop out of the mission?'

'No,' Mammon shook his head, unbothered by Xanxus' condescending attitude, 'I plan to die at their hand.'

The Varia boss laughed even harder after hearing this.

'Now you've learnt to joke as well, you stupid illusionist,' Xanxus snorted, 'get out of my sight.'

But Mammon didn't move.

'I purposely leaked the information of my next mission so they could prepare,' the infant explained as if Xanxus had not spoken at all, 'I want to commit assisted suicide.'

Xanxus scowled when Mammon disobeyed his orders and remained on the table. When he sensed the seriousness behind the infant's words, he only growled.

'Too bad trash, I've still got uses for you. I never gave you permission to kill yourself.'

It would be a pain in the ass to find another illusionist with Mammon's level of ability.

'I've decided that life is pointless now, even if we do win the war,' Mammon continued, ignoring Xanxus yet again, 'I'm tired, I supported Vongola in the hopes of releasing my curse but now I know it's futile. When I was about to give up back then, I found Bel and decided to continue my pointless –'

'I don't give a shit,' Xanxus snapped at the infant.

' - life to raise him up. Now that he's grown up, he no longer needs my help anymore. I detest this baby form, I've searched so many years for a cure but failed. Even if Vongola wins this war against Grid, it does nothing for my curse. For that reason, I'm going to give up my life.'

'Stupid trash,' Xanxus growled impatiently, 'I don't give a shit about your reasons, they mean nothing to me. Your death damages the reputation of Varia, so I fucking order you to stay alive.'

Mammon didn't reply. Instead he jumped off the table and floated to the exit without giving an answer.

'Look after Bel,' the infant said emotionlessly, floating out the door. Xanxus only grunted, confident that Mammon wouldn't dare disobey him.

x.x.x.x.x

The next day, an uproar within the headquarters woke Xanxus from his sleep. Both Bel and Levi ran to his room to inform him of the news that appeared on the croala that morning. Waking and dressing immediately, Xanxus as much deduced what had happened from the expressions on their faces.

'Boss! Mammon…he – ', Bel looked distraught, expression contorted into shock and disbelief. Levi was close behind.

They needn't say more because Xanxus already knew what happened.

Mammon's warning the previous day did nothing to stop the growing rage that ignited in his being. A familiar rage that reappeared after seven years, a feeling he didn't want to feel again but he couldn't stop in his current situation.

That fucker disobeyed him!

'Grid killed him,' Levi whispered quietly, shaking his head as if he did not want to believe it.

Xanxus ignored him and stormed his way across the hallway, intending to find the entrance. Anything to isolate himself. The dangerous fury was threatening to consume him with every step, if he lost himself now, he'd end up murdering half the Vongola members before anyone could stop him. Burdening the Vongola meant undermining Iemitsu's request. He had to find an empty area where his untamed rage could be released without costing Vongola the war.

Fucking piece of shit!

He snarled to himself, attempting to beat down his fury with little success. How dare that scum disobey him! Xanxus was shaking in rage, so much that he didn't realize he ran into somebody whilst he walked.

'Xanxus!' It was Takeshi, 'I heard what happened to your friend -'

'Move kid,' Xanxus pushed the boy –now teenager- roughly to the side. Friend? Don't make me laugh. That trash illusionist embarrassed me! He ignored my fucking orders!

'You want revenge right?' The swordsman refused to move, 'I'll come with you, I'll help –'

'If you come with me,' Xanxus panted from trying to suppress his rage, 'I'll fucking kill you.' He couldn't have Takeshi of all people near him during his raged state. If the teenager died under his hand, it would be poor repayment for those guns. Ignoring the hurt expression on Takeshi's face, Xanxus stormed off again. Not long after, he was stopped by Tsuna who begged him to remain inside the headquarters. Xanxus brushed him off like an irritating fly, baring his teeth.

When he was alone, outside the Vongola headquarters, he allowed himself a moment to breath.

Mammon disobeyed him.

Xanxus tried to beat down the fire burning vigorously in his stomach. He tried to hold onto the very little control he had of himself.

Taking a hover-car, he jumped inside and took off into the skies, isolating himself from the headquarters. Why the fuck did he care about Iemitsu's request anyways?

Only when he was hovering stationary in the air did he pause again. Holding both hands to his head, he tried to tame the roaring beast inside.

Mammon betrayed him.

Xanxus felt his face grow warm whilst a war clashed inside his body. Rationality versus bestiality. Only one may emerge victorious.

Betrayed him…just like Timoteo did.

At the thought of his father, Xanxus lost all sense of control. His face burned as his fury erupted, bringing forth his intrinsic murdering intent. He felt like his skin was on fire. He needed to kill, to hurt, to destroy. And he knew the perfect place to satisfy his savage desires.

Stepping down on the accelerator, Xanxus released a shriek of fury as his inner monster roared. He manipulated the hover-car until he landed next to the Western Tower of Tephire City. One of the three great pillars of the High District, it was a monument belonging to Grid.

Infested with grid-hunters, waiting to be slaughtered.

Xanxus entered the tower with murder in his eyes. Without hesitating, he pulled out Wrath and fired multiple highly condensed blasts at the unaware nobles.

And then came chaos.

A flood of A-classes gushed out from every entrance in sight, hurrying to eliminate the intruder. Xanxus felt intense pleasure as nobles fell to his guns. He charged forward, taking them on all at once, killing them one by one mercilessly.

He felt his joy couldn't be stopped and he lost track of time as the murders continued. However, slowly, just a little bit, he felt something akin to fatigue as he continued to fight. He lost count of how many died already, but the number of new Grid-hunters coming to join the battle seemed endless.

Xanxus forgot that they were A-classes, much more skilled than the average fighter. He underestimated the strength of the force residing in the tower. He continued to fight, surrounded by countless bloodied corpses but he also felt himself lose strength as the battle dragged on. A new urgency punctured his rage as he realized what he had gotten himself into.

He was getting overwhelmed. The grid-hunters were not surrendering, on the contrary they were strengthening as he slowly lost to exhaustion. It took much more effort to defeat an A-class now compared to before.

Xanxus was losing.

He screamed with fury and released another burst of flame, blasting back the surrounding Grid-hunters. However they recovered quickly before leaping back to counterattack. Xanxus' legs were close to giving away, his body now shaking, almost all his energy sapped.

It didn't take long for Xanxus to fall to his knees as A-classes subdued him. He snarled at them, red eyes blazing with fury. Some were intimidated, but those that weren't continued to hold him still. One of them stepped forward and removed his guns.

Fuck!

Xanxus yelled as Wrath was taken away from him. With one mighty heave, he attempted to kill the grid-hunter holding his precious weapons but as soon as he moved, a forceful hit landed on his back, sending him crashing to the floor.

No…not my guns, anything but my guns…fuck!

He tried to lift his head from his position but a foot pushed the back of his head down, burying his face into the floor. Desperate now, Xanxus struggled on the floor, using all his strength to throw the nobles off.

'Keep struggling and I'll kill you,' a foreign voice commanded. Someone brought Xanxus to his knees and pulled his head back, forcing him to face someone. A man with shoulder length brown hair. Xanxus recognized him as Taros, leader of the Grid hunters.

The raven spat in his face.

Taros growled in annoyance before backhanding Xanxus forcefully. Xanxus felt blood spill forth from his split lip. Cursing himself for his helpless situation, he could only watch as one of the A-classes handed Wrath to Taros. Xanxus glared with all the contempt he could muster whilst the Grid captain twirled the black guns in his hands.

'Don't touch…my fucking guns you…piece of shit,' Xanxus panted, head dizzy with fury. He felt so weak. So fucking weak.

Taros only laughed.

'Hey you, take these guns back to my room,' the noble gave the weapons to one of his subordinates. He then diverted his attention back to Xanxus kneeling on the floor.

'And you…filthy peasant,' Taros whispered harshly, 'are coming with me.'

Xanxus was helplessly lead into a Grid hover-van and transported to the main building. He stumbled wearily as grid-hunters pushed him around until he reached an area that looked like a common room. Many heads turned his way as he was thrown to the floor, Taros looming over him.

Curious whispers broke out, Grid men stretched their heads from whatever they were doing to get a better look at him. Only when Taros explained to them the situation did their eyes widen and their glances turn into those of fear. Apparently taking out over a hundred A-classes was a monstrous thing to do.

Monster. They whispered.

But Taros wasn't afraid. Nor were his followers.

In the next few hours, Xanxus experienced true humiliation as they poured drinks on him, beat him up and ridiculed him. All whilst the other nobles watched and laughed. Never in his life had he been in such a pathetic position. Never in his life had he been humiliated in such a manner.

His red eyes glazed over all the onlookers, attempting to remember their faces so if by any chance he manages to make it out alive, he'll kill them all personally. Their smiles made his insides clench.

He could only close his eyes as they punched and wounded him. He refused to show them weakness, to allow them the satisfaction that their actions were working. When Taros forced him on his knees, Xanxus heard a click behind him. Almost immediately after, he felt an intense stinging pain on his back as something slashed him. He almost yelled in pain but he bit his lip, swallowing all sound that could potentially escape his lips.

Taros was whipping him with a laser. All whilst he was saying something. Xanxus didn't listen, his mind was too focused on dealing with pain he had never in his life experienced. It was the perfect torturing device, Xanxus' eyebrows twitched with each hit, he didn't know how long he could last like this. But he couldn't give up…he must not give up.

'VOI, Taros you fucker, I didn't know you were this low to use the whip on an innocent onlooker,' a rough, foreign voice resounded through the air, cutting into Xanxus' mind.

The raven opened his eyes and his vision darted toward the source of the sound. A man with long silver hair sat in the corner near the window, it was he who spoke. Xanxus made rapid eye contact with the man and suddenly, his mind froze just for a second as his red eyes met silver. Just for that second, he felt he saw everything behind that man, he felt himself looking deep into those foreign eyes as if they held all the secrets in the world. All the answers to his questions.

You live and live and one day, when you glance into the outcast eyes of another, you'll recognize them as your own.

Mukuro's words echoed in his head as he studied those silver eyes. And then he understood why they were so unique.

He felt like he was looking at himself. He felt he saw a part of himself within that man. It was strange to see eyes that looked so familiar, but belonging to another individual. They weren't red, but they were definitely eyes of a monster. Like those of Mukuro, and Byakuran. Like his own.

A second later, the intense pain on his back reappeared and Xanxus scrunched his eyes closed.

'God Superbi, you're as clueless as ever. Don't you know who this bastard is?' Taros commented mockingly.

Superbi? Could he be Superbi Squalo the peasant S-class Grid-hunter? Xanxus never bothered to remember their faces, only their names. But he couldn't ponder further because the laser whip was back on him.

It took all of Xanxus' effort to not scream in pain. Whatever happened around him did not reach his senses, nothing except the agony caused by the weapon in Taros' hands. For an eternity, he crouched on his knees as the never-ending whip slashes landed on his back, breaking skin and tissue.

When the whipping stopped a few hours later, his back was so numb he couldn't even feel the blood flowing down his back, dying the carpet red. He didn't hear when Taros ordered for him to be locked up, he only blindly allowed himself to be thrown into a pitch-black cell.

Xanxus didn't have the energy to even move let alone escape the ropes bounding him. The injuries from the whip ached like ice on his skin but most of his pain came from his guilt of losing Wrath. Tsuyoshi trusted his last creations to him and yet he lost them to the enemy. If the notion of tears existed, Xanxus could cry from the shame of losing the two objects most precious to him.

He felt like giving up, seeing no possibility of escape. The small voice in his head, even at a time like this, reassured him that there was still hope.

Xanxus sat up against the wall with all his effort, thinking desperately for a plan to escape. A minute later, the door of the prison opened, releasing in a flood of light. Dread filled Xanxus as the Grid-hunter entered. He opened his eyes to study his visitor. As he glanced into the eyes of the figure at the door, Xanxus recognized with an unusual flame of hope, that it was Squalo. The S-class with eyes so similar to his own.

At the sight of those silver orbs, Xanxus let slip a moment of weakness as his despair appeared on his face. Squalo was still staring at him in wonder.

Nevertheless, Xanxus gathered a pool of his remaining energy in his hands and waited, preparing to defend himself before his jailer could kill him. However, what he wasn't expecting was Squalo cutting his ropes with one swift motion of the blade. A trap, his mind naturally warned him. The Grid-hunter must be doing this to lower his guard down. Xanxus wasn't going to fall for it.

When Squalo brought a bottle of water to Xanxus' lips, the raven didn't move, suspecting poison mixed with the water. His senses were fighting against his decision, desperate for the clear liquid. But his mouth remained shut because he remembered Bayflower.

'Voi, open up you piece of shit. I'm not going to hurt you.'

For some reason his body trusted this man and his mouth flew open eagerly. Xanxus cursed himself for accepting the liquid, expecting to fall dead any moment. When he felt nothing except the satisfaction of his thirst quenched, confusion started to creep in.

They exchanged a few words, their names. Xanxus didn't understand why he felt only warmth when Squalo lifted him up against his will. His instinct as a fighter kept his guard up and reminded him that this man was the enemy, but his body complied to every action Squalo made. Xanxus felt no danger when he leaned against Squalo's muscular body as the young man supported him and lead him out the prison.

At first he thought it was a trick but when Xanxus realized that Squalo was serious about helping him, he refused to move.

'I'm your enemy,' Xanxus stopped forcefully, reminding Squalo of the consequences of his actions but at the same time, indirectly questioning his motives. He saw Squalo think hard, possibly unsure himself as to why he was risking so much to help a stranger.

'No. You're not my enemy. Vongola or Grid, none of this matter to me. You have strength and I respect you, hence I can't just watch you die in this pathetic state…'

You have strength and I respect you.

Perhaps if someone had said this to him during his childhood, Xanxus would have been happy beyond belief. But his circumstances have changed so drastically with so many betrayals, so many false images and lies that he no longer cared. Squalo's words might have meant something before but spoken now, they were without substance to Xanxus' ears.

The raven nodded before allowing Squalo to guide him outside. If this S-class was risking his life to help him, then Xanxus would let him. He didn't feel the need to warn Squalo of his stupidity, or inform him that his actions might backfire later. Survival held Xanxus' primary concern; he'll even accept aid from his enemies in his dire situation.

Quietly, Xanxus went along as Squalo drove him to his own home in the high district. The raven didn't complain when Squalo's servants cleaned him up and gave him his own room. He lay there unmoving whilst observing all features of Squalo's gigantic house, formulating plans on how to escape when he recovers.

When Squalo paid him a visit, Xanxus tried to catch all conversations between him and his servants, collecting information on their capabilities. He'll have to fight them eventually if he planned to escape. Xanxus' ears perked up when Squalo directly addressed him with his servants watching. Xanxus took this moment to properly look at all three of them.

He noticed that Squalo was a swordsman. His two servants however, he could only take in their appearances. Their names were Lussuria and Fran, Xanxus paid special attention to their actions in case they gave away their abilities.

Xanxus flared in anger when Squalo accused him of winning through treachery but his fury died almost immediately when he noticed the guilt and understanding behind Squalo's eyes as he apologized for his words.

'Xanxus,' Squalo claimed, silver eyes meeting his own, 'You need us, you need to stay here or you won't survive with those injuries. I'll let you stay with us, under one condition.'

The raven's expression remained impassive although a flash of surprise lit in his belly. Xanxus tried to consider all possibilities on what Squalo could request. Zenos? Information on Vongola? Loyalty to Grid?

'Spit it out trash,' Xanxus growled impatiently, annoyed at the newly emerged problems with his plan.

'You have to fight me as soon as you're back to normal. Until then, you'll stay here.'

What? Xanxus stared blankly, trying to hold in his relief. This idiot wanted to fight him? As payment for the rescue? Under normal situations, Xanxus would have laughed at the sheer idiocy of Squalo's request. If this man wanted to sign his own death contract, then Xanxus felt no reason to deny it to him.

'Fine,' Xanxus replied immediately. Perfect. Before he was planning to escape using brute force, but now he didn't even need to plan out the bastard's death. Fighting was the perfect excuse to kill him. He'd be doing Vongola a respectable favour also.

However guilt bubbled slightly in his stomach when he saw the happiness on Squalo's face after he had accepted the offer. Was this the way to repay someone for saving his life? Xanxus brushed away those thoughts.

Perhaps Squalo really did admire him for his strength, but Xanxus could not be moved by that alone, especially not after all the hatred he experienced because of his strength. Why would this man's beliefs, out of the countless others Xanxus had experienced, be any different?

It seemed too good to be true. Squalo could not possibly have the same values that he did. No one in the world admired the beauty of strength except Xanxus. This mere Grid-hunter should be like the rest of them.

After he had dined with Squalo and his servants, Xanxus decided to approach the swordsman.

Xanxus thanked him. Not because he meant it, but because he thought it would be a clever way of lowering Squalo's guard. Squalo's genuine admiration was evident in his eyes, but Xanxus spared no thoughts about that. Instead, he spoke sincerely, kindly even, in order to gain Squalo's trust.

That way it would be easier to betray him.

x.x.x.x.x

Xanxus spent the rest of the night planning his actions for the period he was going to stay. His strategy was simple: gain as much information on Grid as possible, recover quickly, fight and kill Squalo along with his two servants, escape back to Vongola. Easy. But no matter how simple his plan was, he could not forget the excruciating pain in his heart when he remembered that Wrath was still in the enemy's hands. He reprimanded himself heavily for losing those guns. He felt as though he had lost a part of himself. Perhaps he could figure out a way to retrieve them, after he returned to Vongola.

Xanxus found his perfect chance to question Squalo the next day whilst the other man was fixing his bandages. Except Squalo made the first move.

'Ugh, why did you do something this stupid in the first place?' Squalo questioned in annoyance.

'No reason,' Xanxus answered quickly, unprepared. He didn't want to voice his reasons, they were trivial, embarrassing to reveal. Now that he had time to think over his actions, he didn't want to share his shame with anybody. He didn't want to remember that he had almost lost his life due to his arrogance. Squalo continued to question him. Xanxus, being careful to not expose anything important, answered as abruptly as he could.

'Geez, what the hell could they have done to piss you off this bad?'

'They challenged my honor,' Xanxus lied. He didn't lose his temper because Grid challenged his honor. He lost because…because he was too egotistical to accept betrayal and treachery. Mammon that piece of shit. Xanxus rarely lied, but now he felt it was the right thing to say in front of someone like Squalo.

When they looked at each other, Xanxus took a moment to restudy Squalo's eyes. He didn't fail to notice Squalo doing the same to him. The swordsman always looked so…mesmerized by his red eyes. Xanxus had finally met someone who wasn't afraid of his glance, he didn't know whether he should be happy or not. Ironically, this very person was his enemy.

The swordsman then proceeded to lecture him about keeping a cool head. And after that he yelled about forgetting to train and how much time he had wasted talking to Xanxus. Squalo stood up and left hurriedly.

Train? Xanxus could laugh at the Grid-hunter's naivety. He could laugh even harder at the amount of luck on his side ever since Squalo helped him. Not only was Xanxus getting an invitation to kill the swordsman, but now also a free view of all his abilities. It seemed that everything was opening itself up, everything was falling into place perfectly.

Until he watched Squalo train.

And then Xanxus saw true beauty. He saw moves that outshone anything he'd ever experienced or known. He watched as Squalo played with his blade with outrageous skill. Xanxus had seen Takeshi practice before, but those moves only paled in comparison to Squalo's display.

As he continued to gape in awe at the Grid-hunter whilst he trained, Xanxus understood slowly that this time, it was his own expectations that have been crushed to dust.

His view on Squalo changed completely. Here was someone who had spent hours upon hours refining his skills. Xanxus knew from his own experience that moves of that caliber did not just appear under normal circumstances. One had to truly believe and understand the art of combat in order to achieve what Squalo had.

Xanxus had underestimated Squalo.

That night, images of Squalo's training session visited Xanxus in his sleep. He rolled around in bed, unable to fall into slumber because those stunning moves kept reappearing in his head. Those moves that he could never achieve himself and could only admire from afar.

He wanted more. He needed to see more.

x.x.x.x.x

Xanxus almost let slip an expression of shock when he saw Pride in Squalo's arms as the swordsman returned the next day.

His difficulty withholding his amazement was further tested when Squalo handed back Wrath wordlessly. Unimaginable gratitude blossomed within him, the same kind of gratitude he felt when Iemitsu proposed to train him. But he didn't express such emotions. Instead he nodded.

Xanxus' heart slammed rapidly against his chest as he examined his precious guns carefully. Only relief washed over when he confirmed that they were indeed, the weapons Tsuyoshi had given him.

Only then did he divert his focus to the sword in Squalo's lap as they ate dinner quietly. The familiar connection Xanxus felt convinced him that it was real. Pride had somehow found its way into Squalo's hands. He couldn't believe it.

If the sword had chosen Squalo…then this changed everything. If Squalo's was Pride's true wielder, then the swordsman was no ordinary human. Xanxus didn't deny that the Grid-hunter deserved such a valuable weapon, especially not after the performance he witnessed the previous day. But he still couldn't understand how on earth both Wrath and Pride managed to fall into Squalo's grasp.

That is until, he listened to Squalo's conversation with his servants.

'…had to destroy a peasant village,' the swordsman explained to the others.

'Which area?' Xanxus asked suddenly, an unexpected chill down his spine. Squalo threw him a map.

The raven didn't flinch when he recognized Hyrae village as Squalo's assigned area. So dangerously close to the headquarters…

Maybe it was his imagination, but Xanxus felt a portion of his painful memories wash away with the knowledge that Hyrae village no longer existed. The place reminded him of lies and fabrication, everything that he wanted to forget.

As he sat there observing Squalo intently, a swirl of new emotions emerged within Xanxus. A mixture of gratitude, respect and a strange desire he had trouble explaining. For some reason, he didn't want to betray Squalo anymore, not after he returned Wrath in perfect condition. Xanxus felt nothing when his life was saved, but he couldn't help feeling thankful after his guns were given back. Not to mention that Squalo's incredible abilities would fit well with Varia. Vongola needed good swordsmen, Xanxus wanted a good swordsman by his side and he fancied this one.

Only then did he realize how beautifully satisfying it was to meet someone he could read and interpret so easily. Someone who possessed the same views on strength that he does, someone who was so strikingly similar to himself. It was intriguing, to completely understand an individual to the point where their actions were so predictable. Xanxus couldn't deny it any longer.

He wanted Squalo.

x.x.x.x.x

The following few days, Xanxus couldn't take his eyes off Squalo. He examined his every action and tried to deduce the history behind the swordsman. How he came to possess such unique skills, such unique values and beliefs.

'Xanny, why are your eyes red?' Lussuria asked one day when the four of them were sitting around the living room.

Xanxus didn't reply. Because I'm not human. He groaned inwardly, hating it whenever someone reminded him of his uncertain heritage.

'He's like a monster with those eyes,' Fran commented in his monotone from the other side of the room.

Xanxus grunted, too familiar with the labeling. How easily he was called monster for something beyond his control. He didn't ask for his red eyes, and yet almost everyone he met acted as though he chose his eyes to look that way. As if he was responsible for his appearance.

'I like them,' Squalo voice cut in quietly, a rare occasion. Lussuria burst out laughing but it wasn't mockery. Xanxus stared at Squalo impassively, unfeelingly.

Squalo looked away silently, as if uncertain why he liked Xanxus' eyes.

Lussuria couldn't stop laughing.

x.x.x.x.x

Xanxus felt strange satisfaction when Squalo came back from the party fuming and humiliated.

All he knew was the nobles had disgusted Squalo. This meant that the chances of Squalo converting to Vongola had increased…just a little bit.

The raven had long decided that Squalo and his servants were going back with him. Not only was it obvious that Squalo didn't belong with Grid, but Xanxus absolutely refused to have Pride serving the enemy.

When they had their promised match, Xanxus' wish to have Squalo on his squad deepened.

It was only after physically fighting against the other that Xanxus could really understand the swordsman's fighting style and extent of ability. Xanxus didn't kill Squalo like he planned a week ago. Instead, he enjoyed the rare spar where his opponent could actually keep up with him instead of being overwhelmed.

And after witnessing Squalo fight using Pride, Xanxus was certain that the sword was meant for Squalo and Squalo only.

'Voi, how you do keep beating me?' Squalo asked curiously when they were resting.

Xanxus laughed inwardly, admiring how much he learnt about the Grid-hunter during their long training session. Squalo's fighting style was beautiful, but risky. One that relied heavily on chance, one that involved sacrifice. It was a give all-or-none style that Xanxus found unusual yet befitting for someone like Squalo. This lead him to suspect that Squalo's life must have been one containing a great deal of gambles.

'You take…a lot of risks,' Xanxus tried putting his answer into words. It was due to a lot of reasons actually, not just because of Squalo's fighting style. It was also because Xanxus was able to read and understand his movements, better preparing himself to defend against those attacks.

Squalo seemed to accept this. Although Xanxus could tell that Squalo didn't understand, the swordsman did not raise any questions.

Instead he made a promise, sealing their fates together, intensifying the bond between them.

And Xanxus kissed him.

x.x.x.x.x

When Xanxus heard Squalo's past, he found it unsurprising mainly because he deciphered as much from studying Squalo's moves.

Xanxus thought it was the perfect opportunity to recruit Squalo, especially considering all the hardships the other had suffered under the hands of Grid. Except Xanxus' 'strategy' didn't turn out the way he expected.

'So you work for them because they forced you to…scum,' Xanxus tested. He said it to tease the other man, not grasping the offense that was interpreted.

'Voi, forced? They didn't force me, I chose to!'

'Even after what they did to you, you continued to let them use you...' the scarred man pointed out, 'you don't cease to serve them even after the pain you suffered under their hand.'

Xanxus stopped when he saw the expression of outrage and hurt on Squalo's face. They exchanged a few more words, Xanxus felt his own temper rise as Squalo continued to deny the truth.

The glare Squalo sent took Xanxus back just a little bit.

'Try living the life I had,' Squalo explained with forced calm, 'being beaten down and overcome every time I had the impression I was succeeding. The whole time, I've been ruled over by those who are deemed more powerful by default. I've been abused to the point of death all because I wasn't strong enough to prevent it. Try experiencing the things I have, and then tell me what's more important than the extent of my own power.'

Xanxus paused, appreciating the truth behind those words. I understand completely…

'Why don't you work for Vongola?' The raven asked with a hint of sympathy in his voice.

This was it. This was the moment Xanxus had been planning for two weeks now. Now is when Squalo accepts the offer and sides with Vongola, abandoning Grid once and for all.

But Squalo rejected.

Rage and incomprehension bubbled in Xanxus' stomach as the swordsman left for his room. Rejection was the last thing Xanxus had expected. How dare that bastard!

That night he reconsidered his plans and attempted to construct new ones after the unexpected turn of events.

x.x.x.x.x

However as the next few days flew by, new opportunities presented themselves.

Squalo hadn't returned for three days now. Lussuria was hysterical whilst Fran only subtly disclosed his own worry. Xanxus also found the swordsman's disappearance strange. Squalo couldn't have been angry to the point where he'd abandon his own home to avoid Xanxus. There was only one explanation Xanxus could think of.

'That scum got found out,' he explained to Squalo's servants. He was surprised at how easily they believed his judgment.

No, he was sure that Squalo's crimes had been discovered. He didn't know where his certainty came from, but Xanxus trusted his instinct.

The truth did not reassure Squalo's servants, but it did work to Xanxus' favor. Squalo could no longer work for Grid meaning his only choice was to side with Vongola. That is, if Xanxus could successfully return the favour and rescue him.

'What do they do to traitors?' Xanxus asked Lussuria.

'Execution,' Fran replied darkly, 'or auctions.'

Execution…fuck! Xanxus growled as another problem rose to the surface. His insides grumbled as he pictured a dead Squalo.

'But Franny, they wouldn't execute master,' Lussuria cut in indignantly, 'he's too valuable. They'll probably sell him at the auctions.'

Xanxus hoped sincerely that Grid was planning to auction Squalo, otherwise he'd let hell break loose. That idiotic swordsman was going to be his swordsman, Xanxus was not going to let those fuckers take him away.

So he formulated a plan and demanded that Fran and Lussuria assist him. They complied, but mostly out of fear.

On the day of the auction, Xanxus took Pride along with Lussuria and Fran before burning the house down, erasing all evidence that Grid could potentially discover.

When they rescued him, Xanxus' insides roared with joy because now they were all heading back to Vongola and Squalo had no choice but to fight alongside him.

Upon reaching the headquarters, he and Dino left for the meeting. Xanxus could handle a meeting with the knowledge that he had gained three formidable members to his Varia squad.

He even nodded in acknowledgment at Takeshi's look of surprise and amazement upon seeing him.

'I'll explain later kid,' Xanxus cut him off when the young swordsman was about to blurt a question.

Xanxus didn't like explaining things, especially not to all the elite members about where he had been this month if he was alive all along. So he abruptly told them the important things and left them to figure out the details themselves.

And then he went off to find Squalo. When they finally had time alone together, Xanxus wanted to hear Squalo's decision.

'You'll fight for Vongola?' Xanxus asked impatiently, grabbing Squalo's newly trimmed hair a bit harder than he intended.

'No.'

The beast within Xanxus snarled but the voice inside his head told him patience. Nevertheless, anger flashed in his eyes. Why was this bastard still refusing to work for him? What choice did he have?

'You're mistaken,' the swordsman explained, locking silver eyes into red.

'I fight for you, Xanxus.'

x.x.x.x.x

Xanxus didn't mind when Squalo followed at his heels whenever he went. In fact, he actually liked the swordsman's company.

They trained together frequently. Xanxus kept Squalo by his side, understanding completely the rejection the swordsman faced from the rest of the Vongola. He understood the alienation Squalo felt in the new environment, the uncertainty and insecurity.

The news that an S-class Grid hunter had been allowed into the organization created much talk amongst the members. Needless to say, Squalo was treated with distrust by most of the members.

But Xanxus didn't care because Pride had chosen this man as its master, and to the Varia boss this meant that Squalo could be trusted.

Xanxus also heard from Takeshi about how what an amazing swordsman Squalo was. The raven was surprised that Takeshi did not recognize Squalo's sword, but he kept that knowledge to himself.

With Squalo by his side, the raven felt true companionship.

x.x.x.x.x

A month later, Xanxus lost his temper for the third time in his life.

'The fuck do you mean I'm not going with you trashes?' Xanxus snarled at Bel and Levi, 'you're ordering me?'

Bel and Levi looked frightened but they held their ground together. Fran and Lussuria, newly appointed into the squad, watched in the background.

'Boss…' Levi looked close to begging, 'please consider this carefully.'

Xanxus didn't answer, but secretly he knew they were right. This was an assassination mission, one that didn't require his abilities to complete. In other words, he'd be useless anyways if he went along, especially considering how much Grid wanted him dead.

'Fuck…' Xanxus growled, undiluted shame spreading through his body. He'd only be slowing them down if he joined and that knowledge humiliated him.

They understood his answer as an affirmative. His squad left that morning whilst Xanxus felt a feeling that was all too familiar take over his body.

He lost it soon after.

x.x.x.x.x

Xanxus felt regret for the first time ever after losing his temper.

True regret.

Trudging silently back to his room, coldness crept up and spread around his body as the consequences of his actions began to sink in, slowly and painfully.

He had almost killed Squalo. All because he couldn't stand the humiliation of being useless.

Xanxus closed the door slowly, mind dizzy with guilt. The only person in the world he could relate to and understand. He almost…almost killed. Just what if he had?

He felt cold. Even his hands.

At that moment it seemed as though something new grew within his body. Emotions previously locked and neglected all throughout his life, sneaked inside through the crack in his heart. Waves of water hit him, washing his rage away and leaving only pain.

You finally meet someone who understands you completely. And now you've lost him too.

'Shut up…' Xanxus growled to himself, bringing his hands to his head. The foreign emotions grew stronger now, they threatened to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes, trying to dispel the waves of guilt vibrating through his soul. Why did he give a fuck anyways?

And then all the emotions that have been bottled up burst forth. Feelings that should have been with him but were incinerated by his burning rage every time they appeared. Feelings that attacked during his only time of vulnerability.

Sorrow, guilt, remorse and pain stabbed him like icicles, tearing his heart and mind apart.

You're happy aren't you? Maybe you should kill him like you killed your father…

Xanxus snarled as he remembered the murder he committed when he was seventeen. He doesn't remember feeling much back then, but now only sadness and regret pooled in his mind when he thought about his actions. Before he knew it, the guilt awoken from its hibernation stabbed him and he realized the sheer brutality of his actions. Timoteo...

I killed him…myself…I killed the only person who saved me when I was about to die…I killed the person who raised me up with love and care when no one else did…I killed him…

The pain was unbearable, he wanted it to stop. Why was he feeling all this now? Why was he being reminded of what he did before?

Xanxus couldn't take it. His heart felt like it was freezing from the emotions he should have felt during those times. He collapsed onto his knees with his eyes scrunched shut and attempted to end the distant memories.

Not once did you ever thank him for what he did…

The voice in his head accused him now instead of reassuring him. Xanxus didn't want to think about it but he couldn't ignore it. He didn't want to face the truth. It was too painful. But the visions didn't stop.

You're happy aren't you?

Xanxus bit back a yell and he shivered violently from the cold. Stop it…Fuck! Stop it…

Did it bring you joy knowing that your teacher was going to die?

Iemitsu's face flashed across Xanxus' mind and the raven felt the never-ending assault of guilt once more. He told me…I knew he was going to die…and yet I didn't care…not even after all he taught me…

You blissfully watched him die without ever appreciating what he did for you…

Xanxus brought his fist to the floor and screamed. 'S-shut up…' he whispered shakily to no one but himself. He couldn't take this anymore, why was he feeling so much sorrow? So much remorse? So much regret? He never felt anything back then when it happened, why was he reduced to this state by just memories?

He realized now, that these were the emotions he was supposed to feel when it all happened. Except he didn't at the time. They remained locked in a small portion of his soul back then, but now they were breaking free and attacking him all at once.

You didn't even try to help cure him…you just sat there and watched.

Xanxus shook his head frantically but there was nothing to deny. It was all the truth and nothing but the truth.

And Tsuyoshi. You knew something was wrong and yet you did nothing.

'Fuck…' Xanxus murmured helplessly, thinking of his old friend. He sensed something off that day, and it had been Tsuyoshi's silent plea for help. But he ignored those pleas.

The only person who talked to you when the world rejected you. You didn't even care…

Xanxus panted and his eyes burned yet he had no tears to shed. The lost pieces of his past fell and landed around his mind, accusing him, reminding him of his cruelty, of his inhumane behaviour. It brought his attention to the arrogance and carelessness that graced his previous life, sprouting them in front of his eyes. He felt terrible.

I watched them all die…everyone who made an impact on my life and shaped me...

He was lying on the floor now, defeated by regret and shame.

Timoteo, Iemitsu, Tsuyoshi, the three people who genuinely cared about you. You let them go like they were trash. You felt nothing for them.

And now, when you've finally met someone else who loves you for the reason nobody else ever considered…

You beat him to the brink of death, and laugh while you do it.

If Xanxus could cry, he'd be weeping silently. But his eyes were dry and he couldn't release his pain through tears. He had to endure it. The image of Squalo bloodied and crushed, looking up at him desperately with dulled silver eyes appeared in front of his vision.

And then Xanxus felt himself break. He felt himself admitting silently, saying words that never even set foot in his mind prior to this. I'm sorry…everyone.

But the regret wouldn't stop. Neither did the guilt or the sorrow. They ate him up like a plague.

You complain about how they alienate you.

You complain that they call you a monster.

You hate it when they call you monster.

'No!' Xanxus growled, trying to shake the silent accusations away.

But the truth is, you're every bit of a monster that they say you are.

Memories erupted like the burst of a firework. Xanxus saw Timoteo crying, Iemitsu's disappointment, the helpless gleam in Tsuyoshi's eyes, Squalo's look of contempt…

And more.

Xanxus saw Timoteo's look of amusement when he brought back the hammer, Tsuyoshi's amazement when he presented the legendary ores, Iemitsu's pride whenever he surpassed his teacher's standards and Squalo's fervent excitement when they sparred.

Only then did Xanxus realize he missed them. As much as he tried to deny it, as much as he hid those feelings, he missed them. He missed telling his father about his insecurities, seeking comfort from the old man. He missed those visits to Tsuyoshi's store, watching the craftsman create another stunning weapon. He missed Iemitsu pointing out the flaws in all his moves during their training sessions.

His childhood was filled with uncertainties, but those men helped him through. They supported him and pulled him up when he fell. They made him what he was.

And he let them die.

Breathing heavily, Xanxus shakily rose to his feet and stumbled towards the mirror. He studied his eyes.

The eyes that started it all. All prejudice against him was based on these two ruby orbs. They are the eyes that received so much hatred from the world. Even from his own village. The eyes that were the reason for his alienation and rejection.

The eyes that Squalo loves so much.

Xanxus felt so much shame as he remembered what happened. So much pain when he remembered that he heavily injured the man who swore to fight for him, the man who risked his life to help him, the man who respected him instead of fearing his strength.

He wanted Squalo. He couldn't lose Squalo, especially after he had lost everyone else because of his ignorance.

Then hold onto him.

x.x.x.x.x

When the Varia returned from their mission later that day, Xanxus was still locked in his room, trapped in the deep repentances of his past.

It was Bel who knocked and interrupted the raven during his session of revelation.

Even as he looked at Bel, Xanxus felt a slight twinge in his heart. So much fear in his posture…

Although Bel hid his nervousness well, Xanxus could easily tell the anxiety behind the prince. It only made him more ashamed, that even those closest to him looked at him with apprehension.

'What is it?' Xanxus growled softly. Perhaps awareness of his losses had made him slightly more appreciative of his followers.

'We failed,' Bel replied darkly. Xanxus suddenly understood the reason for all the fear. Bel was expecting a punishment.

But in his state, Xanxus couldn't bring himself to punish them. Maybe yesterday he would have, but not now after the painful lesson he learnt a couple of hours ago.

'And?' Xanxus asked. He knew Bel hadn't told him everything.

The prince seemed astonished at how easily Xanxus accepted the news.

'The flamboyant one got captured,' Bel continued, studying his boss carefully.

Xanxus paused for a moment, thinking hard on the consequences of this information. If it was Lussuria, then Squalo would no doubt…

'Anything else?' Xanxus grunted calmly. Bel shook his head.

'Then leave,' the raven ordered but Bel didn't move.

'What's our punishment, boss?' the prince questioned curiously, unable to believe that Xanxus had forgotten. The Varia boss hesitated before answering.

'Meet me…at the entrance tomorrow morning. Both of you.'

Bel tilted his head inquiringly but didn't ask anymore. He turned and left, realizing that something was wrong with his boss.

When the prince had left, Xanxus went back to pondering the news that they lost Lussuria. He had the fleeting suspicion…no, he was certain that Squalo would make his move.

He had no solid reason as to why he believed so, except that he knew Squalo too well. So Xanxus decided help him, as a means to make up for what he did.

He knew words would be meaningless to someone like Squalo. But his actions may send a different message.

That night, when Xanxus slept, he wished that he never lost his temper.

He dreamt that Squalo was in his arms and beside him.

x.x.x.x.x

When Squalo, Fran and Takeshi appeared at the entrance the next day, Xanxus was far from astonished.

But when Squalo acted as though nothing happened between them, Xanxus was taken completely by surprise. So much that he had to ask when they were alone, if Squalo was still willing to follow him.

'Why the fuck wouldn't I?' Squalo snapped back at him whilst they were on the hover-car to the Eastern tower.

Xanxus stared at the swordsman carefully, unable to believe his ears. Here was the undeniable confirmation that Squalo was willing to follow him forever, no matter what happened. This man's resolve was unmovable.

When the surprise showed on Xanxus' face, Squalo kissed him furiously in return as if to say 'snap out of it'.

It was all the reassurance Xanxus needed.

x.x.x.x.x

When Squalo was overwhelmed with grief, Xanxus could only watch.

I don't understand at all.

He stood impassively as the swordsman thrashed about on the floor, desperation etched onto his face.

And whilst Squalo was sleeping and recovering from a day of trauma, the most Xanxus could do was stand guard outside his room.

But during that time, he too mourned silently, for those who shaped his life.

For Timoteo, Iemitsu and Tsuyoshi.

x.x.x.x.x

In the end

You learn that he was destined to stand beside you.

x.x.x.x.x

In the end, even with Grid defeated, that same unanswerable question visited him.

What am I?

Xanxus still did not know such a simple fact. The insecurity that haunted him for most of his life continued to haunt him to this day, even right after the attack against Grid.

He hated the difficulty of obtaining an answer. He hated how he had no means of obtaining an answer.

He hated how it was always that little gap in his mind that refused to be filled. He hated how it never allowed him to experience a sense of security. Noble, peasant…they all knew what they were. And because of that, they would always be a step ahead of him in this matter.

He'd be endlessly wondering himself what the others already knew. They knew what group they belonged to, who they were supposed to side with, what they were supposed to support, what they were supposed to do. It had all been determined from the very moment they were born.

But Xanxus learnt especially during his own encounter with the first Axel, that this was also the reason for the distinct segregation of people who are more or less the same race. Internal division, stemmed from hatred passed down to each generation after another.

What one noble may have done, the entire noble class receives blame. When a peasant steals from a noble once, it is assumed that all other peasants would do the same. They don't see that each individual, despite being born the same race can be completely different from each other. Why should one person be blamed for what another person did?

The nobles had their own reasons for holding the city like this. The peasants had an equally valid reason to fight back. All those reasons sourced from prejudices and grudges tossed around, covered up by the excuse that they were different and thus cannot live peacefully together.

What difference really existed except the one that they claimed to exist? There was no difference at all between noble or peasant. Both breathe the same air, live in the same world and share the same city as home. Both require the same fundamental aspects in order to exist, both have the same chemical components making up their body, both feel shared emotions.

Just how was he different to the rest of them?

He had been rejected all his life just because he had been born different. Just because he looked different.

But he lived and survived like they did. They despised him for a reason that had no substance.

It's strange yet incredible how they so easily constructed an excuse to treat him that way. It's unbelievable when they tried so hard to create differences when reality claimed that there was none. They strove so eagerly to separate when nature had meant for them to stay together.

And finally only after the war was over did Xanxus truly understand his father's words to him.

After Squalo spoke some sense into him. And after he silently sat down alone, pondering all his life experiences, amalgamating them into one big life lesson. He finally found the answer he was looking for. Not exactly how he would have liked, but an answer nonetheless.

'…what you are doesn't change anything. It doesn't make any difference…'

Timoteo's words rang in his head.

In the end, Xanxus realized that the question he so longingly desired an answer for was completely insignificant.

What am I?

Who gives a fuck what he was. Why did he waste so much time trying to discover that answer?

Why fret so heavily over something he had no control over? His father was right, and he should have listened back then.

What he was did not define his life the slightest. In fact, it was irrelevant to everything about him.

This whole time, he thought that his purpose and fate had been decided from the start, and that he needed to know his heritage in order to carry out his determined role. He thought his identity had been decided at his birth.

But now he knows that his identity is actually determined from the choices he has made throughout his life. His identity is defined from what he experiences, his values and beliefs.

He is the one who constructs his own identity.

Knowing what he was wouldn't change anything he is now.

His heritage was a useless piece of knowledge.

Xanxus no longer desired it.

And perhaps it was this realization that made him feel significantly more secure as he sat beside Squalo in the hover-van. No matter what happened now, his own question had been answered. He wondered if monsters like Mukuro and Byakuran would find their own answer eventually.

On the surface, the Varia thought the trip around the world was to search for Xanxus' identity, but Xanxus was no longer interested in such a search. He agreed because he wanted to stay with those he knew best, and those who knew him best.

And it did hurt him to know that his father, his teacher and his old friend were not here to join him. They all died deaths that he was capable of preventing. They would still be here if he had not been so blind.

But Xanxus learnt from his mistakes.

He won't throw away those close to him like he did before.

He'll appreciate them.

Even as the hover-van was flying into the uncertain future, Xanxus could confidently claim that he was not worried the slightest.

He had those who would pull him up if he fell.

He had Squalo who would stay beside him forever, and stay with him during the harshest of times so that he wouldn't have to suffer through it all alone.

No, he wasn't worried at all.

Because in the end, there was nothing to be worried about.

- THE END -

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*Sleep-learning, Aldous Huxley anyone?

**The Giver – Lois Lowry (I recommend this book) [concept of release]

***Minority – Imtiaz Dharker (poem)

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[A/N] - Okay, forget Xanxus, this fic is a fucking monster. If you read it all, I salute you.

I tried to explain as much as possible (especially on Vongola's side) so I hope this answered a lot of your questions. If the second half of the story seemed a bit rushed, it's because most of it is already addressed in detail in my other fic ('within pandemonium').

Apologies - for the sappy/OOC Xanxus. If you're going to leave me a hate review telling me how OOC he was, I prefer you not to (because I beg for your forgiveness). Of course I know Xanxus isn't the type to appreciate his comrades, but for the sake of getting a message across (read below), I decided to do it anyways.

And finally, the underlying message of this story:
Basically, when you make judgments/jokes on somebody for things they could not control (ie. appearances, race, religion, sexuality), you make them feel as though such things are significant when they actually aren't.
Who cares what they were born as, it's the decisions they make based on the opportunities around them that truly construct who they are.
Monsters aren't born, they are made by the injustice and discrimination shown by society and the world around them.

I re-quote Mukuro's part (because his speech is essentially the essence of this story): "This world cares not about what we couldn't control and it despises us for what we were born as, not the choices we have made."

Of course, that is an exaggeration (our world is not like this), but that doesn't mean such notions don't exist. People from a certain nationality get blamed for what the majority of their nation has done. Or there are grudges that last between two sides for what those in previous generations have done. Children get blamed for the crimes of their parents.
A whole nation might get blamed for something that was decided by a single individual (the leader).
When someone does something once, you get the impression that they do it all the time, and that everyone from their country also does it.

As human beings, it's part of our instinct to judge someone automatically. But next time you do it, make your judgments based on the decisions the person has made in their life, what they have decided to do etc. rather than their looks/race/sexuality and similar features.

AND FINALLY: Thanks for reading.

`SlamShady