While this will hardly be, by any means, the strangest thing I have ever written, it is certainly different from my usual 'repertoire' of stories. The tone is darker, the themes are more mature, and there will be character death—then again, I'm basing the plot off the movie The Crow, so all that is to be somewhat expected.
Now, I am by no means the first author to come up with this idea; the concept of using Tamers characters does seem to be unique to me (at least, on this site), but one of my favorite Teen Titan fan-fictions is actually a story titled The Crow: Black Robin, by the author Rider Paladin. It was later crossed-over with a YuGiOh version, The Wolf Demon's YuGiCrow, both of which I highly recommend.
"Come back here, Shuichon!"
Children laughing.
"Ne, ne, I'm telling!"
"No, you're not." Hurried footsteps across the wooden floor. A squeal. "Gotcha! You know you can't outrun us."
"Mama! Mama!"
"Children, please." A motherly voice. Stern, but somewhat amused. Smiling. "My goodness, you'd think we lived in a zoo."
More laughter. More squeals.
"Ne, ne, Ryo-nii-san! Save me!"
A snicker. "Who's side do you think I'm on?"
"Traitor!" But the words were spoken amidst a fit of giggles.
"Boys," A second voice from the kitchen. Male. "Torturing the witness can wait. Dinner's almost ready. Go help Akiyama-san set the table."
"Yes, sir."
"Okay, Papa."
A close, loving environment. One meant to be shared with friends and neighbors.
The sound of ceramic being placed upon a cushioned wooden surface. A tiny body plopping down on the softest cushion. The smell of home-cooking, mixed with warmth from a small fire lit in the corner of the room. Rain mutely pounding against the shut windows.
Then, without warning—
A crash.
A scream.
Gunfire.
The Crow: Digital Domain
("Resurrection")
Somewhere in the distance, the hour rang midnight.
A single crow circled the blackened skies, letting out a piercing cry that reverberated off the rows of cold, marble headstones below. It sensed a restless soul within these grounds—one who had been so terribly wronged in Life, and would never find peace in Death until it could seek restitution. Swooping down, the winged creature came to a perch atop the grave marker and waited.
Moments later, a hand broke through the softened topsoil. The crow gave a series of loud caws, as if to guide the soul back to the living world, while the rest of the figure slowly pulled itself to the surface. A young man, no more than 19 years at his premature demise. He gasped for air, desperate to keep the dust and mud from his lungs, and soon found oxygen. In time, he successfully pulled himself to a low kneeling position atop his grave and paused to catch his breath.
Dirt was streaked across every last inch of his skin and hair, both soaked with sweat. His clothes—the ones he had been buried in—were soiled and torn beyond recognition, leaving several parts of his toned, muscular frame exposed to the elements. The evening was cool, but he felt no physical discomfort. No pain.
He sat up, eyes blinking into focus, and the first thing he saw was his own name carved into the tombstone:
Akiyama Ryo
1990 - 2009
Beloved Son and Friend
His fingers lightly traced over the words, as if to make sure he were not hallucinating.
The crow called for his attention, and he turned to see it perched upon an adjacent stone. This one bore the name of his father. He looked just beyond, where he caught a glimpse of a double-grave that held the Lee family patriarch and matriarch. But only when he saw its neighbor, the final resting place of his childhood friend, Jenrya, did the tears fall.
Leaning back, he lifted his head to the sky and gave a loud cry. One that told of unimaginable pain and sorrow. The skies responded in kind, clouds opening to release a heavy fall of rain upon the earth.
o*0*o
The streets were vacant, like the entire neighborhood had been completely abandoned. Or forsaken. Rain continued to pound unforgivingly against the sidewalks, where dirt and ash blended together in streaks of black and grey. Broken glass from windows littered the pavement, and though some of the lower floors had been partially boarded, most of the higher windows remained exposed.
His old apartment building was in no better condition. When the door wouldn't open—it looked to him as if the locks had rusted over—he reached for one of the planks nailed over the nearest window and yanked it off with surprising ease. The hole beneath it was just large enough for him to squeeze through, so he casted the piece of wood aside and climbed in.
Dust coated nearly every inch of the hallway, indicating that no one had been there in some time. Most of the bulbs had burnt out, leaving only the dim light streaking through the windows to guide him. He traipsed up the stairs, the wood beneath his heels creaking beneath his weight. The third floor was even darker, to the degree where he had to graze his fingers over the numbers of the doors to read them.
Eventually, he came across the number he was looking for. 311. Where the Lee family had lived...and died
Where he had died.
Pushing the door open, he stumbled inside. There was little remaining in the tiny two-bedroom apartment. What hadn't been confiscated by the police or the government had most likely been looted by desperate neighbors. His eyes adjusted quickly, and he was soon able to make out the faint chalk outlines of four bodies on the living room floor. Each coated in a thin layer of dried blood.
Inhaling sharply, he turned away and collapsed onto the couch—one of the few remaining pieces of furniture—as a wave of mental images assaulted his senses.
The door opened to reveal a smiling Shuichon sitting on the couch. Once she saw who it was, she instantly jumped up and ran over to embrace him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, almost knocking him to the ground.
"Hiya, kiddo." He grinned down at her.
"Jen-nii-chan, Ryo-nii-san's here!" She cried out.
"I'm coming, I'm coming." Jenrya appeared from the kitchen, flecks of water clearly visible on his dark green jacket. "You know, sometimes I think Shuichon likes you more than me."
The energetic ten-year-old stuck her tongue out playfully. "I do."
"Well, that answers that." Ryo grinned and knelt down to pick Shuichon up. She gave a cry of surprise at the action, but wrapped her arms around his neck happily. "Come, you. We have a biological brother of yours to make jealous."
Shuichon.
She had been there that fateful night, when the yakuza had come bursting through the door...yet, for all he had searched. Ryo hadn't been able to find her name on any of the nearby graves back at the cemetery. What had happened to the little girl he once loved like she were his own sister? Was she still alive?
A faint gasp escaped into the air, and Ryo lifted his head to glance over the couch armrest. Standing in the open doorway was a solitary figure staring directly at him. He had to squint for a moment to get a better look in the dark, but soon shot up with a start upon recognizing Shuichon's petite frame.
"Ryo?" The girl called out hesitantly. "Is that you?"
"S-Shuichon?"
"I...saw you go through the window." She explained. Her voice sounded oddly distant. "Nobody ever comes here anymore, so I was curious. I followed you."
A genuine smile appeared on his face, and he stood up to great her. "Shu—"
When he approached, however, she recoiled back. Almost instinctively. He froze on the spot, smile rapidly fading. For a fleeting moment, he thought it was simply the surprise of seeing someone she had thought dead...but the longer he looked, the more that wasn't the case. She was fearful, yes, but not of him. Of what he was: a man.
The picture grew clearer in his mind with every subtle jerk of her head, the way her eyes darted back and forth in a cloud of perpetual suspicion. How she retreated into herself the instant he had tried to approach. All the physical signs were there, each one eating away at his aching heart.
They hadn't killed her—what those men had done to his precious little Shuichon was even worse. Her innocence was lost, spirit forever broken.
"Are you an Angel?" She suddenly asked him.
"Huh?" He blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Well...you're dead, Ryo-nii-san." She explained simply, sounding eerily unfazed by that particular fact. "You died with Jen-nii-chan when the bad men were hurting me. The doctors told me. So, are you?"
He stared after her, uncertain. "I...don't know."
"Are you here to make the bad men go away?"
He thought about it for a moment, then nodded.
Shuichon stepped forward and grabbed his hand. "Come on, then."
She pulled him into one of the apartment's bedrooms—the one she used to share with Jenrya—and sat him down on the bottom bunk. He watched with mild curiosity as she shuffled through mostly empty drawers for a few moments before coming across a small pile of clothes that hadn't been taken. Pulling out a pair of black leather pats and a black t-shirt, she handed them both to him.
"Change," she ordered.
He obeyed without a single question, politely stepping into the hallway bathroom to do so. His tattered garments were thrown on the floor and immediately forgotten as he slipped into the musty, yet clean set of clothing. They had, no doubt, once belonged to Jenrya—a thought that came with a small pang of sadness—yet fit him surprisingly well. The pants were just loose enough to be comfortable, while the cotton fabric of the shirt clung to his well-toned chest like a second skin.
Once he was dressed, Ryo paused briefly to stare at himself in the mirror. The rain had washed away most of the dirt, but it had also left his brown hair to fall limply over his eyes. He always used to spike it with a little gel, but saw no reason to do so any longer.
Shuichon was absently shifting through a bag of old makeup when he returned to the room.
"Sit."
He did.
After a few more seconds of riffling, she apparently found what she had been looking for: a jar of white face-paint, probably left over from some old party costume. She twisted the cover off and immediately set to work smearing a thin layer of the creamy foundation over his face. Once she was finished with that, she grabbed a tube of black lipstick and outlined both his eyes and lips.
Not finding it in himself to protest, Ryo sat quietly in wait. He could feel the cold, waxy substance taking shape over his whitened features, twisting his lips into a deranged smile while black, vertical lines over his eyes gave the illusion of tears.
"There," Shuichon stepped back when she was finished. "Now you look the part."
He took that as an invitation to inspect her handiwork. There was a nearby vanity table in one corner, and after a few strokes of his arm to remove some of the grime that covered it, he stared at the sinister image reflected on the glassy surface.
She was right: the face he now wore was that of an Angel. An Angel of Vengeance.
A slight shift in wind alerted him to the sudden reappearance of the crow that had led him out of the grave. It came to a perch atop the vanity mirror. He glanced up, meeting its ominous gaze. The corners of his lips twisted into a malicious grin, further enhanced by the paint.
Behind him, Shuichon was reaching into the closet to retrieve her brother's long, black trench coat. She pulled it from the hanger with a single, sharp tug, then folded it over her arm to bring it over to him.
"What will you do now, Ryo-nii-san?" She asked softly.
"What I was brought back to this world to do," he stated, first looking to her then at his new familiar. "Make Yamaki pay for what he did to us."
o*0*o
It was raining that night—but, then again, that wasn't really saying much because it rained all the time in Shinjuku.
17-year-old Makino Ruki pulled the hood of her jacket a little further over her eyes to shield herself, but otherwise paid the weather little heed. She no longer cared that her jeans were thoroughly soaked, the dark material appearing almost black, or that both her thin, grey jacket and the white t-shirt beneath it clung to her skin.
Nor did she really care when the district's resident street scum sent her their usual means of approval at her appearance. The whistles and lewd cat-calls hardly phased her any more; when one of them went as far as to note how she was beginning to resemble her infamous mother, the hostess Rumiko, she simply cranked up the volume of her walkman and continued on without a glance backward. Any vocal protests on her part would only encourage them.
By the time she reached her intended destination, it was just after one in the morning: a dingy, little bar, hidden in the alleyway of one of the Red Light back-roads. The sign hanging just above was in desperate need of repairs, the door looked like it had seen one too many beat-downs over the years, and a notice in the filthy window clearly expressed the desire for all individuals not yet of age to stay out.
Ruki walked right in without hesitation.
Once she was inside, she threw back her hood and gave a quick scan of the room. A slight frown appeared when she spotted her mother, draped all over one of the Yamaki clan's henchman. Ruki couldn't tell if the woman was drunk, high, or both...but at least she was somewhat decently dressed that night. The last time, she had found her passed out on the floor, in nothing but a mini-skirt and low-cut bra. Tonight saw her in a tight, red dress that, while sporting an extremely low neckline, fell past her knees in length.
Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Ruki pulled the earbuds from her ears and tucked them into her pocket before making her way across the room. The usual crowd seemed to be gathered that evening as well. A sweep of the room revealed an assortment of drunken "businessmen", drug addicts, and their scantily-clad female companions. Most were such regular patrons that Ruki could identify them by name. Alternative music blared from the room's speakers, mostly rock or metal. The scent of alcohol and marijuana was as pungent as ever, mixed with a blend of heavy sweat and sex.
She tried desperately not to vomit all over the floor at the thought, knowing that her best friend would likely be the one to have to clean it up.
As the daughter of the bar's owners, Juri regularly pitched in to help out when other waitresses called in sick. That night was no exception, as Ruki found her dressed in the usual work attire of black shorts and a white scoop-neck tank top. She was serving a few mugs at one of the back corner tables, finishing up the last of her shift. Yet, it was with a warm smile and patient tone that Juri rattled off the completed order to her two customers.
The 16-year-old was about as opposite of the typical Shinjuku lifestyle as one would come to expect. Her parents—or, to be more specific, her father and step-mother—had less than upstanding reputations, and doted more on their customers than their children. Juri, on the other hand, had somehow grown into a sweet, gentle girl who was always looking out for others. She wasn't bad to look at, either, making her one of the favorites among many of the bar's patrons.
"Hey, Juri!" Ruki called out to her with a wave.
Juri looked up upon hearing her name, but so did the two she had been serving; Ruki recognized them instantly as Hirokazu (who often went by the nickname 'Kazu') and Kenta, errand boys of the local yakuza. They couldn't have been any older than she, though no place in Shinjuku would ever dare refuse them service with their ties to the Yamaki clan.
"Well, well," Hirokazu—the self-proclaimed 'tougher' of the pair—gave a lecherous smirk as he took in her rain-soaked appearance. "You're looking particularly good this evening, Ruki."
"Get bent, Kazu."
"I'd much rather see you in that position, if you know what I mean."
Ruki's eyes narrowed dangerously. It was hardly a secret that the boy had been trying to get into her pants ever since he hit puberty, and his recent attempts had grown more audacious than ever. Unlike the Shinjuku street scum, however, Hirokazu refused to be ignored.
Fortunately, Juri chose that moment to step in: "Ruki, please. He's not worth it."
"Damn right, he's not," she muttered darkly, sending one last scathing glance in the boy's direction before storming off towards the back room. "Come on, Juri."
The two quickly retreated to one of the vacant couches along the wall. It was extremely filthy, with the leather covers having been worn to the point where stuffing stuck out along the edges, but it was better than some of the alternatives.
Juri plopped down onto one of the cushions wish a sigh, wiping the sweat from her brow. She reached up to loosen her hair from its high ponytail, allowing the damp locks to fall freely down her back. Ruki joined her a moment later, frowning when she noticed the deep circles beneath her friend's eyes.
"How's business been?" she asked
"Okay, I suppose." Juri forced a smile. "I pulled in nearly two-hundred today."
Ruki's frown only deepened. "Yeah, but working how many hours?"
"Not too many."
"Bull," Ruki called the girl's bluff easily, sighing. "Juri, you're gonna end up killing yourself from exhaustion. It's not worth it."
"It's not a bad job. Really." Juri looked away. "I mean, the chefs cook for me whenever I want, and my parents let me keep all the tips I receive."
"It's degrading."
"It's...all I have."
Ruki heaved a sigh, leaning back in her seat. The leather beneath her creaked from the shift in weight, though the sound was easily drowned out by the heavy base-line pulsating through the air. She couldn't argue; the bar pretty much was all Juri had. She had grown up in the abominable atmosphere, leaving a permanent stigma on her reputation.
On the rare occasions when she attended school anymore, Juri would generally find herself on the wrong end of her peer's wrath. Those who hadn't been told by their ignorant parents to stay away from her would make constant snide remarks about how she was such a bad influence. Part of the wrong crowd. They used to say worse things, before Ruki proved that a suspension was totally worth the price of punching out anyone who dared.
"I heard from Takato today," Ruki spoke up, deliberately changing the subject.
Juri's cheeks flushed. "You...did?"
"He misses you," she stated bluntly. "He wishes you would just leave this place and go be with him. For Christ's sake, Juri, the boy wants to live with you!"
"But...his parents hate me." Juri's shoulders slumped from genuine sadness.
"That's 'cause they don't know you," Ruki insisted.
"It doesn't matter, anyway, Ruki. You know why I can't leave."
Ruki fell silent, lips pressing together into a tight line. She did know.
As if on cue, a tiny voice called from the nearby doorway: "Nee-chan?"
The two girls looked over to see Juri's 6-year-old little brother, a blanket clutched tightly to his chest. With his free hand, he rubbed at his eyes.
"Oh, Masahiko!" Juri was at his side instantly, kneeling down with a gentle smile. "Honey, what are you doing out of bed?" She smoothed a rogue strand of hair back as she spoke.
"Somebody broke the window. It woke me up."
"What window?" Ruki asked.
Masahiko looked at her, as if only then realizing she was there. His face scrunched up for a moment, even though Ruki came by so often that he knew it was okay to talk to her. She could be a little scary at times, but she was his big sister's best friend and that automatically made her a good person.
"The one 'cross the street," he told her. "People were yellin' and stuff, too. Bad stuff."
The girls shared a nervous look over Masahiko's head, but tried to hide it from him. There was no use in worrying the poor boy over a hunch.
Instead, Juri leaned forward and wrapped him in a hug. "I'm sorry they woke you. Do you want me to tuck you back in?"
Masahiko nodded, and Ruki had to resist the urge to smile at the scene.
Juri had practically raised the little boy herself since the day he was born, even though she had only been nine at the time and he was only her half-brother. While the Katous were hardly the most neglectful parents around, it was often Juri who had seen to the little nuances of caregiving, such as storytelling and playtime. On more than one occasion, she had also made sure the boy was properly fed and went to sleep at a decent hour.
Hell, Ruki wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest if, one day, Masahiko started calling her 'Mama'.
"Come on," Juri reached for the boy's hand and turned to leave. "I'll be right back, Ru—"
The front door slammed open, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Even those who were obscenely drunk froze in a mixture of awe and terror as a crowd of tall, burly men entered. They glanced around, surveying the scene before them with watchful eyes. A few very obviously liked certain vantage points, but said nothing on the matter.
Above, a new song began to play. Heavy metal, with a pounding drum and screaming lead vocalist. One of the men seemed to take offense to this, unabashedly pulling out a .45 and sending a bullet directly into the speakers. There were screams and the sound of metal frying as sparks flew to the ground. Then all went silent.
After a brief pause, the men nodded to themselves and parted, revealing a surprisingly clean-shaven blonde dressed in a pristine manner. But his smile was as oily as his slicked-back hair as he peered at the room over the top of his sunglasses.
Ruki's grip on the armrest tightened as she recognized him; subconsciously, Juri pulled her little brother closer to her.
"I'm looking for the owners," the man stated, addressing the room as a whole. "Got some business to talk. They around?"
A drunken woman stumbled forward, torn between bursting into a fit of laughter and passing clean out on the ground. "M' husband runs the place. What c'n I do for a fine gentleman such as yourselves?"
The man gave her a good once-over. She was somewhat decently dressed for the nightlife, despite her more mature age. A modestly cut v-neck black dress clung to her like a second skin (which wasn't saying much, given that the skin beneath it was thin and gaunt), falling just past mid-thigh into a wave of shredded fabric. Her hair was piled up into a high bun, and she had on surprisingly little makeup—unfortunately, most of it had smeared over the course of the night.
"Where's your husband, Katou-san?" he inquired.
She shrugged wildly. "Dunno. Sorry, but he's gotta be around here somewheres." A grin. "Anythin' I c'n do t' help?" She staggered forward, practically throwing herself against the man's three-piece suit. A finger lightly trailed down the front of his jacket.
The man's expression remained blank as he lifted a hand and slapped her away, sending her sprawling to the ground.
"Fuck off, wench." Ignoring her weary moans of pain from having struck her head against a chair leg, he straightened his suit and continued on, "Once more, I'm looking for the owner. He's got three seconds to come out before my boys here turn this place into their new hunting ground."
To emphasize his point, they simultaneously cocked their guns.
"Three...two..."
"Oh, call off your dogs, Yamaki." A burly man stepped out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. He didn't seem particular disturbed by the recent turn of events, including his wife's current state. "The fuck you want now?"
Yamaki gave a charming grin. "You know what I want. Same thing as ever: to go into business with you."
"I told ya once, and I'll tell ya a thousand times more." He grunted. "I ain't selling, and I ain't in no mood to go into 'business' with ya. I could give two shits if you and your boys wanna turn this place into your new favorite hangout...hell, I don't care if you bring your guns! But this income's all I got."
Yamaki shook his head lightly. "That's your problem, geezer: you lack vision. This place has the potential to become one of the greatest hot-spots in the better part of Shinjuku."
"You mean strip club," the man snapped. "And I ain't into that shit."
"You're already halfway there." Yamaki gestured around the room. "We all know damn well what goes on after hours. Might as well be getting' in on the profit of it all, don't you think?"
"I got kids, y'know," he replied defensively.
Yamaki's eyes instantly traveled over to where a very pale Juri still clung tightly to her little brother. As he got a better look, his grin only widened.
The room was still as he polished shoes echoed off the hardwood floor, each step slow and deliberate. His men chose not to follow, but watched the scene unraveling before them with identical smirks. Juri was frozen to the spot, unable to move—even as the man walked right up to her, reached out to tilt her chin up, and lightly turned her head from side to side. Inspecting her, like she were nothing more than a piece of meat on display.
"Juri...was it?" She gave a shudder as her name slithered from his lips. Clearly, he'd remembered her. "My, my, how you've grown. I remember when you were still a chubby little thing clinging to the hems of your late mother's skirts."
Our of fear, Juri said nothing.
"You've got quite the little lady here, Katou." Yamaki called back over his shoulder. "You should be proud. Why, with a little training, a little time, I could even see her making a fine addition to those under my...employment."
Something inside Ruki snapped, and she shot up from her seat: "You get your filthy, fucking hands off her right now!"
Yamaki looked surprised at the sudden outburst, but quickly regained his composure. He did let go of Juri, if only so he could turn his attention to the red-haired girl before him. Removing his sunglasses, he raised an eyebrow in approval as he took in her wet clothes and the resemblance to her mother.
"Fiery thing, aren't you?" He chuckled lightly. "I'd be careful if I were you, little girl. Never know when that temper of yours might get you into trouble."
Ruki openly scoffed. "Gotta do better than that. I've heard scarier threats from the bums in the park."
Oh, Yamaki liked this one! "What's your name?"
"Why should I tell you?"
"Because I asked nicely."
"You forgot to say 'please'." She shot back dryly, folding her arms over her chest. Normally, it didn't bother her when perverted, old men stared...but something about this guy just felt plain wrong.
"Hey!" One of Yamaki's men called out to her menacingly. The hand holding his gun twitched. "The fuck do you think you are, taking to the Boss like that?"
"No, no. It's alright." Yamaki held up a hand to calm the man, never once taking his eyes off Ruki. "I'll remember you, little fiery one. Count on that."
"I'm flattered," was her sarcastic remark.
Yamaki held up a hand and snapped his fingers; his lackeys abruptly holstered their guns and turned to leave without question.
"Don't forget, Katou-san" he called to the owner as he passed. "Offer's still on the table. And I don't give open offers to just anyone."
Juri's father gave a loud huff, but said nothing.
It wasn't until long after Yamaki's group had gone that Juri let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her shoulders slumped from both physical and emotional strain. Around her, the room slowly began to stir, nobody sure if they should continue partying or move on to other establishments of equal or lesser reputation.
"You okay, Juri?" Ruki asked, a picture of calm as she moving to her friend's side.
"Y-yeah, I'm fine." The girl answered, despite being visibly shaken.
"Whoo-ho-ho!" Hirokazu slipped in between the two, giving a low whistle of approval. "I knew you were tough, but that was impressive, Ruki. Standing up to the Boss-man like that..." He slung an arm around her shoulder. "I gotta say, I am incredibly turned on right now."
"Then go buy a hooker like all the others." Ruki rolled her eyes, shoving him off. "Never gonna happen."
"You say that now, babe, but—"
"Come on, Kazu." Kenta—the obviously smarter of the two, in Ruki's opinion—stumbled forward. "Let's blow this joint. I'm fuckin' bored."
Hirokazu sent one last leer Ruki's way. "Like the boss says, offer's still on the table."
"Yeah, only you'll give that offer to anything in a skirt."
Kazu looked as if he were to make some smart comeback, but his drunken partner started tugging harder on his sleeve. "Yeah, yeah. 'Till next we meet, Ruki."
When his back was turned, Ruki made a show of shivering violently, brushing at every inch of her jacket in vain attempts at ridding herself of the boy's lingering presence. She twisted her face into a series of ridiculous expressions, earning a giggle from Masahiko once he peeked out from behind his sister's leg. Even Juri couldn't resist smiling.
"Guh. Now I'll be having nightmares for a week," Ruki stated, turning to her best friend with a smirk. "And on that note, let's get Masahiko here back to bed, what do you say?"
o*0*o
Around 2:30, Ruki found herself back on the street, heading for home.
For the moment, it had ceased raining, though the air was still thick with humidity. Her hood had fallen back to where it hooked onto her ponytail, clothes dry enough for her to leave the jacket partially unzipped. She wandered down a few of the back alleyways, hoping to avoid any massive puddles. The neighborhood wasn't exactly the best, but it was far the worst, either, so she had few problems with deviating from the main road.
Roughly two blocks from her apartment, she heard the sounds of someone drunkenly moaning in the shadows. She rolled her eyes, figuring it was just a random squatter, and proceeded to exude an aura of total apathy. The street bums tended to leave her alone once they realized she could give two shits that they were there.
"Hey, Ruuuuuki!" a slurred voice called out to her. "I din know you lived 'n this part o' town."
She froze, closing her eyes as a low groan escaped her lips. It was Hirokazu. Just great.
"Ruki! Yo, I'm talkin' to you, 'ere!"
He was alone, she mentally assessed. There were no signs of anyone else in the area. Kenta had probably passed out in some sleazy nightclub during their escapades, and being the good friend he was, Hirokazu had just left him there.
"Hey, Ruki!" She felt a hand on her shoulder, roughly spinning her around before she could shrug it off. His eyes narrowed at her as he leaned in, the scent of beer heavy on his breath. "I said...I was talking to you."
"And I was ignoring you," she replied back, pushing his hand away. "Now go home and sleep it off."
He grinned. "Sounds like a plan. Care to join me?"
"Not for all the gold in Japan."
Any other time, Hirokazu would have simply shrugged off her rejection with a smirk and witty comeback. It was like he got some sort of perverted thrill at getting her riled up, since he seemed to enjoy doing so often. But he had been heavily drinking the last few hours, the booze warping his brain into a dark haze of anger. Rather than laugh away the situation, he frowned at what he now perceived to be an inexcusable lack of respect.
"Y'know," he took a step forward. "I think I've had just 'bout enough of your attitude. You do know who my boss is, right?"
"Yeah. If I recall correctly, I told him off this evening," she reminded him.
"Wrong." Another step. "He decided to show you some mercy. 'Cause that's the kind of guy he is." Then another. "I, however, am not feeling so generous anymore."
She raised an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be a threat?"
"No. This is."
With a strength Ruki hadn't realized he possessed, he grabbed her by the jacket and slammed her up against the wall. It was enough force to roughly slam the back of her head into the rough concrete, leaving her momentarily disoriented.
Before she even had a chance to recover, he pressed his body tightly against hers. One hand moved to unzip the rest of her jacket, the other holding her wrists behind her. His face was a mere inches from hers now, every breath an assault on her nostrils. Her head swam, but though she struggled fiercely against him, he only smirked harder.
"Get the fuck off me!" she hissed.
She tried to twist herself free, but the way he'd grabbed her wrists was too awkward, making it difficult for her to move without sending a sharp pain up her arm. She could feel his eyes leering down her shirt, which was still partially transparent from all the moisture. The baby blue bra she had on underneath was easily visible, and he was easily enjoying the view.
"You should feel honored, Ruki," he murmured into her ear, one finger reaching beneath her collar to toy with the strap. "All the 'offers' and I still chose you..."
He was barely coherent, but the underlying meaning behind his words was all too clear.
She tried to scream, only to have him cover her mouth with his grimy hands. They wreaked of sweat and vomit, causing a wave of nausea at the pit of her stomach. Her eyes widened as he leaned in close and began to lightly kiss her earlobe. He was pressed to sightly against her now that she could feel his arousal pressing into her hip. Hard.
Again, she struggled, her cries of protest muted. But he was deceptively strong...and for the first time, she began to wonder if he had been been holding back all this time.
One of his fingers reached for the hem of her jeans, lightly trailing over the spot where denim met bare skin.
Please, no...no! Someone help me, please!
Suddenly, just as Hirokazu was about to work her pants zipper, there was a gust of wind...
..and Ruki was free from her lecherous clutches.
Her whole body trembled violently as her legs gave out beneath her, sliding her back down the cement wall until she all but collapsed on the ground. She thought she would faint any moment; her head still spun from where Hirokazu had hit it earlier, the blood pounding in her ears. Struggling to catch her breath, Ruki forced A tall, dark figure had pinned her potential rapist against the opposite wall by means of a single hand wrapped around his throat, feet dangling helplessly over the ground.
"I see you yakuza scum haven't changed." The figure—a boy—spoke. She knew his tone was meant to be cold, but something about his voice sounded oddly soothing to her ears. "Nice to know you can always count on that much."
"Who—" Hirokazu tried to speak, but was cut off as more pressure was applied to his windpipe.
"A face from your Boss's past. That's all you need to know." He dropped the boy unceremoniously on the ground, leaving him to gasp for air, then slowly turned to face her.
Through slightly blurred vision, Ruki looked up in time to see her savior's face come into view beneath the dim moonlight. He had painted it in what was obviously meant to be a terrifying mask—lips twisted into a deranged smile, while his eyes cried black tears. She pressed her back a little further into the wall as he approached, lightly gasping when he knelt down before her.
"Hey," he called to her gently. "You okay?"
Not trusting her own voice at the moment, she swallowed inaudibly and nodded.
The strangest thing happened then: he smiled at her. A smile of genuine relief that she was unharmed. In that fleeting moment, Ruki saw a glimpse of the boy behind the mask...of the eyes that seemed to sparkle with concern, softening into a look that suddenly seemed so...so kind. Something she hadn't experienced in a long time. Especially from a complete stranger.
"Why...did you save me?" she found herself asking
"Because you needed saving."
It was such a simple explanation, she was left speechless.
He seemed to take her silence in jest, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. She stared up at him with a mixture of fear and awe, not caring if she was obvious or not, and moved to accept...when a flicker of movement behind him made her gasp:
"Look out!"
He turned around just in time to be met with a knife plunging into his chest, Hirokazu's hands grabbing the hilt so tightly his knuckles turned white. Blood poured freely from the wound as he twisted it further, either oblivious or apathetic to the flecks of crimson splattering across his face.
Ruki's hands flew to her mouth in horror, vainly trying to hold back her screams
The boy twitched, his muscles erupting into a brief series of spasms from the shock, before falling still.
A second later, his head shot up; grabbing the knife his his chest by the hilt, he ripped it out and drove it into an unsuspecting Hirokazu. The yakuza lackey barely had time to register what had happened to him before he fell back, dead.
Ruki felt the blood drain from her face as the stranger stepped back, seemingly unaffected by the gaping hole where his heart should have been. The blade had gone so far as to slice through his ribcage, pieces of bone sticking out amidst the heavy flow of blood. She thought she would be sick just looking at it...but he simply held a hand to his chest, more out of a sick fascination than pain. Like he didn't even feel it.
"Oh, my God," Ruki murmured, struggling to her feet. Every inch of her felt numb, like she was running on autopilot. "We...we need to get you to a hospital. We need to...to..."
But she trailed off as she realized the wound had already begun to heal itself; within seconds, there was nothing more than smooth, unmarked flesh beneath the torn shirt.
"Holy shit!" she exclaimed, stumbling back in shock. Her eyes met with his. "W-what are you?"
His expression was eerily neutral as he turned and answered, "An Angel."
"Angel?" Ruki's brows furrowed together in confusion. "I don't—"
The sudden cry of a bird interrupted her mid-sentence. She jumped, startled, and turned her head in time to catch a small, black crow take flight. The ominous creature hovered in the air for a brief time before disappearing into the darkness of the night sky.
Curious, she turned back to her mysterious savior...and was met with an empty spot where he had stood.
To Be Continued...
