As the man held onto his life for the last time, his vision blurring, chest burning, he had only one word in which to whisper:
"Damn you, Eru..." said man's look-alike muttered, his life ending in a few short moments, the other man in his cell yelling for the guard to get his ass over there, yet little did either of them know that the man who was just killed, was a mere sacrifice to a boy across the world, who had declared himself a god in his own mind. The mere thought could send a shiver down even the most calm men's spines: that someone you don't know, have never even met, could kill you without being affected. That you could die, and nobody would care.
Yet, that was quite untrue. No matter what you have done, at least one person will miss you, regret your death. Mourn you.
For this man, it was his old mentor, the man he felt the need to prove himself to, who missed him. Who mourned the criminal's death, having a feeling of loss so great that it burned.
The news of his younger's death came over a letter from the one who helped arrest the maniac.
Dear L,
I'm sorry that I haven't written you in so long, but I haven't had any news until now! It's so amazing! BB died a few days ago in his cell from a heart attack! Nobody even know how he got the heart attack, he was perfectly healthy and had no history of heart trouble. But, at least now you can rest in peace, knowing that he could never sneak out of jail and try to seek his revenge on you anymore! I'll try and write you again soon!
Misora, Naomi
L様
私があまりに長さにあなたに書いていない、しかし、現在まで少しのニュースもしなくてすみません! それはとても驚くべきものです! 掲示板は数日前に彼の細胞の中で心臓発作から死にました! だれも、彼がどのように心臓発作を得たかを知っていなくてさえいなくて、彼は、完全に健康であり、心臓病の歴史を全く持っていませんでした。 しかし、少なくとも今、あなたは安からに眠ることができます、彼が刑務所から決してこっそり出ないで、それ以上あなたへの復讐の機会を求めようとすること ができたのを知っていて! 私はすぐ、再びあなたに書いてみるでしょう!
南空 ナオミ
L looked once again at the letter in his hands, said hands shaking slightly. BB, he, he died? How could this have been?! The one person who L felt even intimidated by, the only person who he considered intelligent enough to hold up a conversation, his dark twin? The dark-haired man, who is normally completely under control of his emotions, ripped the paper in half, cursing the lady who had written it to him. Cursing the translator who made it all that easier to read. Cursing even the postal system that sent it to him.
"Eru, would you like to have some time alone?" his loyal helper, Quillish, asked him, stepping towards the door, without turning his back from the grieving L.
"Yes, Watari. Thank you." the man gritted through his teeth, glaring at his feet, gripping his knees to tightly that his knuckles turned white, the wrinkles in his jeans most likely leaving marks on his pale skin underneath the vice of a grip being put onto them.
The old man bowed slightly and then left, closing the door as to ensure that the younger man had a chance to vent without his ego stopping him just in case someone walked by, just in time to witness this meltdown of sorts.
Most people say that when someone you love passes away, you should remember them fondly, that you should only remember the good times. But, what are you to do when the only good times you had were either when the one you loved was a child, or when they were trying to kill you? What are you to do then?
Are you to stare at a picture of them with fondness in your eyes, tears escaping your tear ducts?
Or are you supposed to rest on a bed, thinking about your past with them?
Maybe you are supposed to walk and visit a grave for that particular person, giving them your prayers.
Yet, the three smartest detectives in the world did none of these. No, he ranted about how God was punishing him. How this couldn't be. How he wouldn't believe that the only person that he allowed to be respected and put on such a high pedestal, that he would admit that he may have even loved, he wouldn't believe that he had died. He just yelled and screamed, throwing things everywhere. Yet, his hand stopped just over a picture of him, and, himself? No, it wasn't a double picture, it was him and his old heir. Beyond Birthday, as he was referred to.
The man obsessed with the number 13.
The man obsessed with proving himself.
The man who was obsessed with his senpai.
The man who's senpai was obsessed with him.
L didn't know what to do, his mind was like a ferris wheel, no, like a roller coaster with a lot of loops. Him not having time to think as he is tested in all aspects, in his courage, willpower, strength, as well as his analytical ability. He needed to have a release, spying a newly wet spot on the glass covering over the picture that was taken so long ago. He wiped it away with his thumb, letting said thumb glide over the younger boy in the picture. It was a smaller version of L, with his features differed slightly from L's. He had decided not to wear make-up during the picture, L remembered, the boy's actually tanned skin looking like a golden coating over his childish frame. It looked like a little angel looking up at Satan's messenger.
Oh, how ironic that was. That the one who looked the most innocent ended up being the least innocent of all. Oh, how L was grieving this loss. His mind was still reeling, yet now he was angrier. He pulled open his laptop, searching for a cause of heart attacks in very healthy people.
What he found made his teeth grind, his mind now focused on revenge.
His equal, the man who had almost surpassed him, was dead for non-natural causes.
He was dead, because someone killed him.
Someone killed him as punishment.
Someone killed him as a sacrifice.
Someone killed him, simply for their own enjoyment.
That someone's name was Kira.
L now new what he had to do to avenge his old friend, who may have even been his first love:
He had to punish Kira. The man who killed his one and only equal.