For the first-time readers, welcome. Just a few things before you begin. This story is based off the Bio Booster Armor Guyver manga rather than the anime or the OAV, but it also features elements from both live-action movies (remember the first one? No one ever does). This fanfiction takes place about eighteen years after some of the events that take place between books 16-20, but seeing as we don't know what happens beyond that, some events from the manga are left in, while others are removed to compensate for this story. If you do not know the storyline of the Guyver manga, I highly recommend you visit Star's Guyver page and do a little research before beginning. That way, you won't be completely lost when reading this.
Upon reading through Liberi Fatali again, I realized how desperately it needed to be edited, and some aspects altered to better fit the storyline for the later story. Some of the stuff I wrote made no sense at all, even to myself. So here it is; Liberi Fatali 2.0, new and improved, easier to read and enjoy, with new lemon-fresh scent. Some scenes will be altered for new concepts, and keep a look out for new ideas and added part. Some chapters will even be re-written completely.
Liberi FataliWritten by Kyheena (aka Omega WEAPON)
Chapter One: RazorsBy the time Fukamachi Fumio was finally let out of class, the sun had set low in the horizon, staining the sky a rich, deep poppy red and casting long black shadows along the ground. He was in a good mood that day. He had aced the algebra test that he was sure he was going to fail at (by his standards, that wasn't getting anything higher than a B+), and he actually got through the day without being tainted and teased from afar, which was a daily occurrence at most. As annoying as it was, he had learned to put up with it over the years. He had clean-up duty after school, but that was almost pleasurable; he had been teamed up with one of his loose-knit friends and they had actually be allowed to listen to the teacher's radio as they worked. Now he was walking home at a brisk pace, whistling along the way, his laptop computer slung comfortably over his shoulder in its handsome carrying case.
Still, he had the feeling that the day had gone a little too perfect, a little too smoothly. Something was going to happen. And that "something" was sneaking up behind him that very instant.
With a smile, Fumio stopped walking, still keeping his back straight and continued to stare straight ahead. "I thought you knew me better than to be sneaking about like that, Eijirou." He said to nothing. "Might as well come out so you don't look so much like a rat on the prowl."
"Think you're so fucking smart, don't you, Elf-boy?" Came the jeering voice of Eijirou Tokoi, a cocky and dull-witted junior whose sole purpose in life was to make Fumio's high school life as miserable as possible. Unfortunately for him, did not seem to be working too well; he just came off as incredibly annoying. Fumio never knew why he was always the target of the junior's circle of bullying. Although he was of slender build, Fumio still stood head and shoulders taller than Eijirou. His skills in Aikido and Kendo swordsmanship was almost a local legend. And if that was not enough, there was still the little matter of who his parents were… But he did not need to run for his parent's help every time Eijirou decided to give him a hard time, nor use them as means of intimidation. He was more than capable of taking care of himself, in both his skills as a martial artist, as well as other…well…special abilities that were, for the time being, unknown by almost everyone else.
This evening, Eijirou was not alone. By the time Fumio turned around, he saw that Eijirou was flanked by four other boys, all about the same size and wit as their leader. If intimidation was their means of attack, it had no effect. Fumio only gave a small smile, his posture still held tall and unwavering. "I'm not saying I'm smarter than anyone, but I do have to say that I pride myself in not being out-witted by a brick."
He did not expect for Eijirou to catch that remark, and by the blank look on the older boy's face, he had succeeded at it. Fumio was in too good of a mood to be getting into a strife of any kind. Instead of coming up with some sort of comeback, Eijirou only drew himself up again, meeting Fumio in the eye. "That's quite a nice little laptop you got there, Elf. Tell you what, let's make a deal; you hand over your little toy and I might go easy on you today. I don't appreciate looking like a dumb-ass to you when taking a test." Step two of Eijirou's means of getting under Fumio's skin. He'd been after his laptop for the better part of two years now.
"Hey Eijirou, I have a great idea. How about…no?"
Rage flashed across Eijirou's face. If there was one thing he hated more than anything else in the world, it was when people did not do what he said. On top of everything else that he was grudging Fumio for, that only made everything come crashing down. "Okay, that's it. You are dead, Elf-boy!" With that, Eijirou charged at Fumio with all he had. Fumio was expecting this, and was by no means alarmed.
Eijirou aimed for a well-placed blow to Fumio's face, but the taller boy saw the attack long before it ever was delivered. The bully lunged, moving in for the strike, but it never came. Fumio had tilted his head back ever so slightly so the older boy's last finger missed his face by a mere inch, causing Eijirou to overbalance and fall right into Fumio's upraised knee. With a loud grunt of pain, all the wind in Eijirou's body was forced out of him in a rush, stars flashing before his eyes and he fell onto the ground, doubled up from the blow he had received to his middle.
"All right." Fumio said, turning to the other members of Eijirou's gang. "Who's next?"
For a few seconds, the remaining boys only stared at Fumio, slack-jawed and eyes bulging. Apparently they have never seen Fumio fight before despite the stories and the rumors of how quickly he took down anyone who threatened him. But seeing their leader gasping and wheezing on the ground seemed to give them, stupidly enough, courage. "Y-you're gonna get it, you fucking Elf!" One of the boys said, and taking it as a sort of cue, charged the much calmer boy.
Fumio sighed. He really did not want to put up with any of this today, but now it did not look as if he had a choice. "Very well…" he said softly, and tossed his laptop into the air before rushing in to meet his attackers.
What occurred next happened so fast that if anyone had been watching, it looked as if the fight had happened in fast motion with the strength and chaotic grace of a whirlwind. By the time Fumio's laptop fell back down to earth, he gracefully caught it in his hand by the leather handle and slung it back over his shoulder. All of the attacking boys were unconscious, lying in formless heaps on the ground. Unconscious as they were, though, there was not so much as a scratch on any of them. "Amateurs." Fumio snorted at the lifeless forms. "When will the lot of you learn…"
He was never able to finish his sentence; something was coming up behind him, and fast. Without turning around, he already knew that Eijirou was back on his feet and coming back for a second round. Fumio glared over his shoulder, and sure enough, the older high school boy was almost on top of him, this time brandishing an old but very solid-looking pipe in his hand. By the look in his eye, Eijirou very well meant to smash Fumio's head in.
Fumio ground his teeth, his violet eyes narrowing dangerously for the first time that day. "I warned you, Eijirou! Don't mess with me!" Fumio spun around on his heel with a graceful, fluid motion that looked impossible for a mere mortal to pull off, arm outstretched and hand flat, ready to take the pipe out of his attacker's hand and knock the living daylights out of Eijirou at the same time.
Neither one happened.
When Fumio brought his hand around, something bright and blue blazed from his fingertips, like a very bright spark of light, thinner than paper and quicker than anything he had seen before, and flew straight at Eijirou. "Yow!" The boy cried in alarm, ducking his head as the laser of blue light flew at him. It hit the pipe and to Fumio's amazement, cut it cleanly in half. He had seen incisions made by diamond blades before, but this was far more perfect than anything one of those blades could have made. And it did not stop at the pipe, either. It flew on, quick as lightning, and made the same beautiful and flawless cut through the trunk of a tree, through the entire length of a dumpster, and half-way into the wall of the building behind it before it finally disappeared.
Fumio and Eijirou stared at the destruction caused by that light, whatever it was. The top half of the tree was laying in the street, and the top of the dumpster had fallen to the ground as well, spilling its contents all over the place. Papers, glass bottles, aluminum cans, and even larger pieces of debris like old furniture and boxes had been cut as neatly as everything else had. The bricks of the building looked to have one black line painted onto them, but the line was too perfect, the incision too fine to be made by any type of blade.
The two boys looked back at each other. Fear flooded Eijirou's face, replacing the rage, and he dropped the half pipe he was holding. The others boys had awakened as well, and they all looked as terrified as their leader; they had seen the strange occurrence too. Then they were on their feet, on the heels of Eijirou as they ran away frantically the way they had come. They were not completely afraid though; Fumio still heard the calls from their retreating backs.
"Freak!"
All traces of his good mood vanished like smoke. The strange light that had flashed from his fingers had replaced all other concerns he might have had until that point. What was it? Would Eijirou and the others tell others about what had happened?.
More importantly, what was he going to tell his parents?
A black cloud hung over Fumio's head as he made his way back home, dragging his feet, eyes cast to the ground. True, Fumio had known his entire life that he was different from everyone else, he just never knew why or how he was so abnormal. There was a good chance that the story of what had happened today would be circulating around the entire student body by lunch tomorrow, complete with Eijirou's point of view of how Fumio tried to take his head off.
If he had not moved, it probably would have, considering how easily it cut through medal, wood and solid stone.
A pity.
Before he knew it, Fumio was standing outside the wrought iron gate of his home, looking up into the windows, their curtains drawn to keep out the afternoon sun. He drew a deep breath, running a hand through his black hair, trying to compose himself. It would not do him any good if he came in looking like a mess, especially if his mother was right there. She always knew when he was harassed at school, like some sort of odd sixth sense natural in all mothers, and would continue to probe at him until she knew all the details. And no matter how much he tried to make it look as if nothing was wrong, she always found out anyway. Most of the time, her other sources came from a call from the principle's office. With another deep breath, Fumio opened the gate and walked solemnly to the front door.
Lucky for him, his mom was not in the front room when he cautiously poked his head in. Heaving a silent sigh of relief, he slipped into the entrance, slipping out of his shoes and closing the door with as quietly as possible.
Fumio almost could not believe his luck when he made it up the stairs – especially the one that squeaked like a wounded mouse when any pressure was put on it – and into his room completely undetected. Once he was in his room and the door safely closed behind him, he released the breath he was not aware he had been holding. Of course, being able to sneak into the house was no victory. He had a habit of always greeting his mother when he first got home, and a break of that tradition would have her worrying and looking for him in no time. She always seemed to be worried about him when he did not say hello to her when he came home from school… Yet, in the world they lived in, that was understandable. But right now, he needed the short amount of time that he had to collect himself, to cover up any evidence of today's squeamish on the way home.
With a sigh, Fumio lay his laptop on his desk and crossed his room to lay down on his bed, but ended up stopping in front of the mirror instead.
There were many days when he would look at himself in the mirror without so much as a second thought, but something about today's events made him think everything over.
At first glance, Fumio looked like a normal, sixteen-year-old high school sophomore, tall for is age with longish black hair that nearly touched his shoulders and not too bad looking in the face. On closer inspection, he was anything but normal. For one, he had pointed ears; that was where Eijirou's favorite insult came from. Then there were the markings on his face. When you first looked at them, the looked like tattoos, but what ever ink was used was too even, the lines too perfect, and the color never faded. He was not born with them, but they just faded into existence when he was thirteen; to small triangles on the outside corners of each eye, the top points directed towards his temples. Even more striking was the mark on his forehead, which looked like four teardrops connected at their points to form what appeared to be an upside-down cross. He had similar tattoo-like markings on his hands two; two stripes on each that started under his pinky fingers and wrapped around to the underside of his wrists.
But the most startling feature about Fumio was his eyes. They were bright violet, and seemed to glow with their own internal light.
Not exactly what he'd call "normal".
Sighing again, Fumio completed his journey to his bed and fell down onto the soft covers, face first. For the time being, he just lay there. After what seemed like hours he finally rolled over, staring up at the ceiling, deep in thought. The silence of the room pressed down around him, as heavy as the thoughts that circulated through his head. He needed something to quiet those thoughts and keep him from spiraling into the depression that he was already leaning dangerously close to.
He turned his head on his pillow, looking at the stereo that was sitting on his desk among the pile of papers and schoolbooks. What happened next would surely scare the hell out of anyone who was… well… anyone. The pair of headphones that had been set on top of one of the speaker was suddenly lifted into their air, as if an invisible hand had picked them up, the cord unraveling itself before plugging into the headphone outlet of the system. Silently, the headphones floated over to Fumio's bed where they fit themselves perfectly on his head. At the same time, CD cases scattered on his desk were re-arranging themselves until one finally opened, the disk removing from the tray and hanging in mid-air as the lid of the CD player opened, ejected the old CD back into its proper case, and accepted the new one. The stereo switched on, the volume and equalizers set themselves appropriately, and the music began to play softly through Fumio's headset. Beethoven's Fifth Movement; he needed time to think, and music to assist in that process.
This was the other feature about Fumio that was far from normal.
Ever since he was little, he had the ability to move objects with his mind. He knew that telekinesis was rare, but the condition in which he had it was – if the power were considered "normal" – way beyond the norm. All the stories he ever heard about the power had said that besides being extremely rare, the majority of the cases were extremely weak. The users were barely able to move a pencil without coming down with one hell of a migraine afterwards. Fumio never experienced those sort of side effects, and he could certainly do more than move a pencil.
As a child Fumio did not have too many friends, but it did not bothered him. In fact, it never bothered him, simply because he never had the need for any. Like any little boy, he would to play hours on end with plastic figures of toy soldiers, or building blocks that could be used to create towering skyscrapers. It was how he played with them that was so extraordinary. While he played as his favorite "good guy" figures, the "bad guy" figures would always move on their own, advancing against the rebelling forces with Fumio as their commander. Sometimes full-scale battles would break out between them, and Fumio would sit on the couch, watching the whole thing, the battle reenacted as he saw it in his mind.
Later he went on to manipulating heavier objects. It started out with suspending dishes in mid-air to drip-dry as he washed the rest; that always scared his mother. Then he went onto moving furniture or other such objects out of the way when he was doing other chores. There were times when he could get all the furniture in the front room to levitate a few feet off the ground while he vacuumed the carpet, even when he quickly learned to not do that when his parents were home. When he was seven he even lifted his uncle a good five feet off the ground by accident, and his uncle was not exactly what you would call a small man.
That still was not the end to Fumio's amazing feats. While walking home from school when he was ten, he spotted two men mugging an old lady across the street. When he was sure no one was looking, he reached out with his mind and seized both of the men by the backs of their shirts. It had looked as if the hand of an invisible giant had come to her rescue, lifting the two muggers clean off their feet and smashing them together with a sickening crunch. While they lay unconscious on the ground, Fumio softened his power to poke around in their pockets and remove any stolen articles they might have after the purse was returned to the old lady. The stolen objects and the two hog-tied muggers appeared at the front of the police station later that day, courtesy of an anonymous stranger. And when he was thirteen, he had stopped a car speeding down the street, lifting it up off the pavement and placing it back down further down the road, at the next stop sign to stop it from hitting a child whose ball rolled out into the street.
Of course, his parents were well aware of Fumio's "gift", but they still discouraged him to use it in public. That he could understand even at a young age, but that was no reason to say that he could not have a bit of fun with it every once in a while. Most of it included getting back Eijirou for all the misery he caused to Fumio throughout his years of high school. There was always the weekly prank of Eijirou and his group slipping in a well-placed item of cafeteria food on the floor, or dumping a scoop of chalk dust into his hair. Luckily, he was too dull witted to trace it back to Fumio, nor did he have the evidence to back it up. Fumio's sweetest form of revenge was the day he turned a toilet in the boy's bathroom into a bedey when Eijirou had to use it. The memory of the incident still brought tears of laughter to his eyes whenever it was mentioned.
But what happened today…was something that had never happened before. Fumio lifted a hand from under his head and stared at it, studying the stripes that wrapped around his wrist more closely than he ever did before. He closed his fingers, looking them over. Nothing seemed out of place on them; there were no visible marks, and there had been no pain, but that blue light that cut through practically anything had seen had come from these same fingers. Frowning, Fumio sat up on his bed, removing his headphones, thinking. Fingers still together, he made a swiping motion with his fingers, his arm making a wide, graceful half-arch.
Nothing.
He did it again. Still nothing.
His frown deepening, Fumio thought back to earlier that day when Eijirou attacked him. He thought of the murderous rage in those dull eyes, the swinging steel pipe, and sheer desire wanting to beat the living daylight out of him just because he was different. His violet eyes narrowed as he made the motion for a third time. This time, in a blinding flash of blue light, an electric blue razor flew from his fingers and struck a pot holding a fern sitting on the corner of his desk. The razor cut through the pot as if it was made of paper, made of water, and the fern toppled to the ground, the pot and roots split perfectly in half, black dirt scattered all over Fumio's clean rug.
"Oh, shit!" He cursed, perhaps a little louder than he meant to. He clasped a hand over his mouth and looked over at the door. It was no use, though. The fern had make an awfully loud crash when it fell. Trying to keep from panicking, Fumio kicked the sliced pot under his bed. He did not care if his parents saw the dirt; it was the cleanly severed pot that would draw their attention.
Sure enough, within moments, he heard the all-too-familiar sound of footsteps coming up the stairs and a knock on his door a few seconds later.
"Fumio?"
Fumio nearly heaved a sigh in relief; it was his dad. At lease he would not freak out over a little split dirt. "Yeah? Come in."
The doorknob turned and Fumio's father, Fukamachi Sho, walked into the room. Sho was a handsome man in his late thirties, but one would never guess his age by looking at him. All of Fumio's acquaintances at school had a hard time believing that he was not younger than twenty-five. "You all right, son? We heard a…oh, well I guess that would explain it." His eyebrows rose in an amused fashion when he took in the ruined fern.
"Yeah…little accident. Sorry 'bout that, I'll clean it up."
"It's alright, don't jump up..." His sentence trailed off as the dirt began to lift from the carpet, condensing into a black ball until every speck of soil had been collected into it. "Well, I guess that takes care of that. We didn't see you after school. Are you feeling alright? You look beat."
"I…" Fumio's plan of collecting himself before going downstairs had failed miserably. He probably looked worse now than he did after the fight. Finally he sighed and sat back down on his bed as the ball of dirt deposited itself in a wastebasket under his desk. "Yeah Dad, I'm fine. We just had that big algebra test today, so I'm a little worn out from that." He forced a smile, but he knew that he father suspected other wise. Fumio was never exhausted from such a trifle manner as a test.
"Okay, if you say. Your mom's almost has dinner ready. Will you be down?"
"Yeah, I'll be down in a few minutes."
Sho smiled, pat his son on the shoulder before leaving the room. Once he was gone, Fumio let his smile drop. Just when he thought he had things under his control, he always lost it again. With a final sigh, he picked up the fern from his floor and set it on a few sheets of scrap paper. He would re-plant it in the yard after dinner.
Fumio hardly paid attention during dinner. His mind was still upstairs and in the ally way where the fight had taken place. By the time his mother asked him for a third time how he did on his algebra test, he finally heard enough of the question to answer. "Huh?" He finally tore his gaze away from the mashed potatoes, which had been swirled into spiraling patterns on his plate. "Oh…uh, fine. Got a ninety-eight percent on it, so that's not bad, huh?" Still, his parents did not look comfortable with his prolonged silence and blank gaze.
His mother, Mizuki, looked even more worried about him than his father. "Fumio…you're not being yourself tonight. Do you have a fever? You're so…out of it." She even reached across the table to lay a cool hand on his forehead. It was a ridiculous question, all three of them knew that it was not because he was sick. All his life, Fumio' immune system was super-strong against any sort of illness-causing agent.
"I just have a lot on my mind, what with final exams coming up and. Like I said, I had that algebra test today, and then there's still the chemistry exam tomorrow and debate in language class on Friday… I have a lot to prepare for this week, and it's been wearing down on me." By the look on their faces, he knew they were itching to ask him if Eijirou had been bothering him. Since they knew that Fumio wouldn't have told them if the bully was picking on him even if they did ask, they held their tongues.
Instead of pressing further, his mother only smiled gently at him and said, "You have been working very hard this week, so why don't you go upstairs and rest? Your father and I will take care of the leftovers." She looked around the table. "Not that that will be much of a problem." Fumio almost smiled; the day's earlier events certainly had not effected his appetite. Even when he was staring off into space, he had still managed to clear away three helping by himself, and even that that was still considered a light meal for him.
"Are you sure? I feel well enough to help."
"You mom's right, you need to relax, especially with that debate coming up. We've been practicing for it all week, and I don't want you to loose to exhaustion. However, you can call your cousin; it's her birthday today. But do it soon. Her parents are taking her out to dinner."
Fumio nearly slapped himself in the forehead. Naru's birthday. He had not forgotten about it – he had kept reminding himself throughout the course of the day that he was supposed to call her tonight – but recent events had overruled that thought. "Yeah; I'll do that now." Fumio hastily made his way back up to his room and picked up his cell phone that was sitting on his desk, dialed her house number, and returned to his bed while the phone rang on the other side. For a moment he was afraid that they had already left, but smiled when someone on the other line picked up.
Naru was two years younger than he was, and he felt it was a crime that he did not see her more than he should, especially since she and her family lived just across town. His uncle was his mother's brother, and he, his wife Natsuki, and their two children, Naru and Sachi, were the only other family that Fumio knew he had. But that did not matter; he and Naru had been very close while growing up. Even though they lived across town, she and Sachi was almost like little sisters to him.
It was his uncle who answered. "Hello, Segawa residence."
Fumio reached up with his free hand and pinched his nose shut to make his voice sound different. "This is a special collect call from your favorite nephew, will you accept the charges?"
Over the line, Tetsuro laughed. Fumio always had a different greeting when he called their home, and no two were ever alike. "Hello, Fumio. How are you?"
Fumio's smile grew as he unplugged his nose. "Hello Uncle Tetsuro. I'm doing alright, I'm just calling to wish Naru a happy birthday. Is she around?"
"Yes, let me go get her. We were actually going to leave for dinner in a few moments."
"All right, I won't take long."
"Let me go find her." There was silence on the line for a few moments, then the shuffling of someone picking the receiver back up.
"Hello?"
"Happy Birthday from your favorite cousin."
On the other line, Naru squealed "Fumio-kun! Thank you!" Then she giggled. "You're also my only cousin."
"Well, I certainly can't fool you any more, can I? Guess you're getting too smart for me now that you're a whole year older. How old are you now? Ten? Eleven?"
Again, Naru giggled. "I'm fourteen today, silly."
Fumio mocked amazement. "Wow, fourteen? That's really something. See, when you get to be my old age, you begin to forget stuff like that. Enjoy it while you can." Naru was laughing, and for the time being he forgot all about his problems from earlier that day. "So, where are your parents taking you?"
"We're going to that really good Italian place in the city."
"Wow, that sounds good. Are you doing anything special?"
"I'm having a party on Saturday with some of my friends from school."
"That sounds like fun. It's been years since I had a birthday party."
"Do you want to come?" Naru piped up.
"Hmm…" Fumio was silent for a short while, making it seem as if he was really thinking about it. In fact, he was; he had to be careful about when he was invited to big social gatherings, just in case something went wrong. But he did want to see Naru again. He had not seen his aunt, uncle or cousin since Christmas, which was around his own birthday as well. "Well, sure, I guess so. You do realize that this is going to cut into a very important night of watching scary movies, eating pizza and playing video games, don't you? Besides, do you really want an old fart like me hanging out with a bunch of your friends?"
"You're so funny, Fumio." Naru giggled. "Of course I want you to come. Oh, and bring Aunt Mizuki and Uncle Sho with you, Mom and Daddy want to see them too."
"Consider it done."
"Yeay!" Naru cheered. "I'm so happy you can come! It starts at seven! I have to go, we're going to go to dinner now. Mommy says 'hi'."
"Hi Aunt Natsuki." Fumio said, as if he was speaking to her directly.
"Bye, bye, Fumio! I'll see you Saturday!"
"Good night, Naru." Fumio said, and hung up the phone.
Once again, his good mood had returned to him. Talking to his cousin always made him feel good, and he was happy that he was invited to her party.
But then his eyes fell on the plant that was still laying on his desk, and everything came rushing back to him. He shook his head. No. He was not going to let something like that ruin this for him. He was only sixteen; he did not need to be worrying about this kind of stuff right now. Apparently it only happened when he was angry, and as long as his temper held, he would be all right. Nothing to worry about.
Right?
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To Be Continued…------