PLEASE NOTE that this is a spin off to ultraviolence. You may not understand ultravice without having read ultraviolence first, and I highly recommend all new readers to read ultraviolence before starting ultravice.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fairy Tail or any of its characters. The sole ownership of Fairy Tail rightly belongs to Hiro Mashima.
SUMMARY: The immortality and immorality of Gray Fullbuster, infamous death demon and harbinger of a wicked vice. This is the story of a broken boy and how he was coaxed into the iron maiden-embrace of villainy. gray&ultear
~lyrics are from Arsonist's Lullaby by Hozier~
/
when i was a child, i heard voices
some would sing and some would scream
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LATE DECEMBER: CHRISTMAS LIGHTS AND HOLLY WREATHS, FULL BELLIES AND ROSY CHEEKS.
A family huddles by a roaring burnt-cherry fire, mother and father cradling a small boy in fortress-arms. Outside there swirls a fearsome storm. Naked tree-limbs pound against frosted windows, snowflakes pirouetting and tumbling to earth. Mother and father both hush their fidgeting son, all gentle smiles and sweet nothings.
"Hush now, Gray. The wind can't hurt us here," the woman whispers in a soft voice, fire embers reflected in dark eyes.
Father presses a gentle kiss to his son's forehead, nose pressing against unruly ebony locks. "There are larger things to fear, son."
The house bones tremble under the force of the blizzard. Gray shudders with each creak, fearful that the walls will tear away and leave them stranded in an unforgiving nightmare. "Mom, I'm scared," he whines, reaching hands pulling at his mother's blouse and hair.
Mother acquiesces and pulls her son into a warm embrace, offering the love only mothers can afford. "Silver," she calls her husband in a muted whisper, "can you go check that I locked the front door?"
Silver strokes his wife's cheek lovingly, careful to not stir the child in her embrace. "Yes, love."
Something possesses him then, and he kisses his wife so passionately that he is certain heaven has opened its door to them. Dead kings and saints hold out gilded hands, welcoming them to a paradise unlike any other.
"Silver," his wife gasps, cheeks flushed, "what was that for?"
"You should know me by now, Mika," he says with a wink, ignoring the nervous fluttering in his chest. One last kiss, and he takes the house keys from their place above the mantle and starts towards the front door.
The windows are all covered, heavy drapes holding the cold at bay. But still he feels as though there are eyes in the shadows dancing along the kitchen walls. Firelight manipulates time presence and time perception—
a single fist becomes a mighty mountain, brushing the high ceilings and filling entire rooms.
Gray watches his father guide the house key home into the lock, hears the clicks and sees the greedy teeth swallow nickle and silver. There is one single moment of silence and then sparks fly. His father, a king amongst men in his young eyes, is swallowed by a fire dragon. Mika holds her son tight in trembling arms, crying for her husband and praying for a miracle.
A brutish man steps through the gaping hole of their entryway, gun cocked and ready to deliver death. "Silver," he cackles in a scratchy voice, "Come out, come out wherever you are, ya fucker!"
"Deliora, please! We paid our debts!" Mika cries, crystalline tears falling to her son's shoulder.
Gray is shocked still; an ice sculpture forever suspended in time. The monster his mother calls Deliora stomps closer to the living room with heavy steps, and a meaty fist slams into his mother's cheek. The woman screams and cups her face in one delicate hand, tears tumbling down her neck.
"Shut up, you filthy whore," Deliora sneers, "I'm here for your coward of a husband. One more word and you're dead, ya hear me?"
"Please—!"
A spray of bullets.
Blood.
So much blood.
His mother's still-warm hand keeps him pressed against her breast, but her chest is still. Gray wants to scream but there are no words for this bittersweet sacrifice. Instead he keeps very still beneath his mother's dead body, listening to Deliora's retreating footsteps with increasing dread.
Mommy can't be gone.
Mommy can't be gone.
Mommy can't be gone.
"Deliora," he can hear his father wheeze, and Gray finally lets the tears stream down his cheeks.
"Surprised to see me?"
"I told Avatar… that I would handle it. I have the money… it's right here."
"Too bad you're a year behind payments. Really now, Silver, did you seriously think you could outwit the kings and queens of organised crime?"
There is a brief silence; Gray hears a click and his father's sharp inhale.
"Gray," his father whispers faintly, Adam's apple trembling against the blade at his throat, "I love you, my son."
The monster growls something intelligible, something that sounds bad and horrid. Deliora's features widen and lengthen in the dancing firelight, eyes reflecting bloodred. Silver closes his eyes and raises his head to the heavens, lips mumbling a silent prayer.
Gray watches a monster slit his father's throat.
Gray watches a monster grin maliciously as ruby red coats his meaty fists.
Gray watches a monster toss his father's body to the floor.
Gray watches a monster stomp towards him.
Fee-fi-fo-fum,
I smell the blood of a doomed man's son.
He cries and thrashes against his dead mother's hold. He knows that she can no longer banish demons with one flutter of full, long lashes. Monsters crave little boy blood. With a scream, he escapes his mother's death-grip and runs blindly for the staircase in the dark.
Be he 'live or be he dead,
Shadows dance along the walls. Each one looks like Deliora; AK-47-horns and switchblade-claws. They chase him as he stumbles up the stairs and locks himself in his parents' room where he is sure Deliora won't look. Monsters never haunt grown ups. He keeps the lights off and treads very softly, hand clamped tight over his mouth to quiet the sobs.
I'll grind his bones to make my bread.
The monster stomps up the stairs, house-bones trembling under each footfall. His home tries to send the monster away; taps on windows that send the monster in the opposite direction of their charge. Creaks on steps draw the monster further away, as does the slamming of doors and the shattering of windows.
"Stop fucking running, ya little runt!"
The walls urge him to hide little boy, you need to leave. He can smell your blood and hear you breathe—
Fee-fi-fo-fum,
Little boy, here I come.
Gray climbs from under the bed and hurries into his parent's en-suite. It smells of love and angel dust here; floral moisturisers and old spice aftershave. He tears open the vanity cupboard and finds it cluttered with his mother's makeup and perfumes. There's no time to crawl in here.
Panicked eyes devoid of all childlike wonder scan the small bathroom for a stairway to heaven. There is none, only a darkdark room with no hiding spots. He aches for his mother's tender kiss, his father's calloused tickle attacks. The monster is right outside the door.
Gray dives into the tub, huddling under the window and praying that his parents will be there when that door opens. If only the night were a nightmare; if only's and what if's.
Fee-fi-fo-fum,
I'll rip out your bastard tongue.
The door splinters inwards. Gray holds his breath, tears endlessly streaming down pale cheeks. The monster roars and bellows and screams—
"Ready or not, here I fucking come!"
"I'm gonna send ya into the afterlife, so you and that slut of a mother and traitor-father can be one happy family forever!"
"I'm gonna tear your throat out with my teeth."
A beam of light carves a path through the dark. The storm quietens as the monster's heavy breathing increases in volume. It draws closer and closer and ohgodsno he's here.
Synthetic curtains fall around him like a bride's discarded veil, gunpowder and sweat clouding his nose. He can barely breathe.
"Gotcha!"
A gruff hand pulls him up by the scruff of his neck like an unwanted puppy, bloodied knife pressing into the skin beneath his ear. Deliora inspects him like he is dinner, keenly searching for any unsightly blemishes that may not taste so nice.
"Skinny little shit you are. You ain't gonna be filling enough, son. Maybe I'll hunt down all your friends and have them for dessert."
The words are whispered, foul both in nature and scent. Gray shies away from the monster's gaping maw. Blades and AK-47's, grenades and glocks.
"No," a single syllable is what finally tears open the floodgates; Gray screams and pleads, promises to never tell anyone anything. Just let him live.
The monster says nothing, but Gray's father has always said that actions speak far louder than words. A lingering touch is a cry for help, balled fists a proclamation of steadfast resolve.
A tongue dragging across bloodied lips screams I'm hungry I'm hungry I'm hungry.
Deliora's shadowed eyes flicker a second before he lunges. Monstrous hands ready to break bone enclose around his leg, and he is yanked across the tiled floor. The house shudders in defeat as the blade carves a path from his right shoulder to his hip. Gray screams, broken-voiced and pain-stricken.
Blood.
He is half-white and half-red. Crimson and snow, daises and red roses—
he can smell your fear.
With small fists, Gray pounds against the monster's flesh, rakes his nails across human skin that hides the demon within. He catches Deliora's eye and suddenly he is tumbling, falling, flying. The monster rears back with a yelled curse, stumbling in the dark.
The window the window the window
Gray sprints to it, feet slipping on the ruby-streaked tiles. His mother's candles crash to the floor as he clumsily climbs on top of the tub. Bare feet slip on cold ceramic, shaking hands searching for the window latch.
"Get the fuck back here!"
Hands yank at his legs and stubby fingers dig into split flesh. Gray screams as the monster further tears open his wound, searching for an artery to yank out and hang him with. Blood gushes and fills the tub—
THE WINDOW THE WINDOW THE WINDOW
Finally, his fingers find the latch and slide it across. Glass panes and Jack Frost, candle wax and talcum-dust. There is no time to think. Blindly, he kicks out at the monster and manages to squirm away long enough to crawl on the window ledge.
There is no time
Without a second thought, Gray closes his eyes and soars—
(vive le roi).
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you'll soon find you have few choices
i learned the voices died with me