AN. Oh dear. Time does pass fast. Just yesterday I was worrying about Tsuna's Birthday! So, I would like to take this wonderful opportunity to thank those who have constantly stuck with me despite my insanity :3
This is an AU. Yes there is mafia, no there is no mention of the Vongola. No there will not be romance. Yes there will be some blood. Clear? Good.
I mean no offense to the religious. I am merely taking the concept of Heaven and Hell and creating this story So please don't force me to come to Youth – I'm an atheist! … Probably… Also, I realize that Hibari and Tsuna are both completely OOC. Oh well, instead of Fem!Tsuna or Fem!Hibari, just think of them as Rebel!Hibari and Byakuran-ish!Tsuna.
If there's anything wrong, feel free to tell me. Flames will be used as background effects for Hell.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters of Katekyo Hitman Reborn. All belongs to Akira Amano apart from the plot.
Without further ado, to the man of the evening… HIIIIIBARI KYOUYA!
(Also Known As Skylark.)
ONLY IF GOD IS A TAPEWORM
(Which will never happen, by the way)
The onyx-haired angel growled as the heavenly crowd filtered in, humming perfectly harmonized hymns. Those infuriating songs were everywhere in heaven! In the churches, the palace, the streets, from the mouths of every guard and Angeling and soldier came melodic major chords that were so sweet and soothing it made him want to throw up his ambrosia.
Skylark was tied to five wooden stakes with golden thread as thin as a spider's web, each tiny link perfectly embroidered and just about as delicate as dew. The marble floor felt ice cold beneath his bare knees, nothing like the warm cotton that everyone had described. The Celestial General broke his train of thought as he spread his white-clad arms, extended all six untainted wings, and addressed the crowd with what seemed like the most beautiful voice in the entirety of the Universe.
"Citizens of the World of God! Citizens of Heaven! Prepare to Forgive!"
The hymns broke into an outright song, and Skylark would have flattened his ears against his skull if he could, under the onslaught of what these people call 'Holiness'. To him, it might as well be 'Holey-ness', so painful and maddening it felt as the melody pounded at his temples, trying to drive holes through his skull.
"Skylark!" The Celestial General turned to the chained 'sinner'. "You have been charged with increasingly violent movements towards your peers, the continuous refusal of acknowledgement to God, interference and interest in mortal lives that were not ordered and required, and failure to show up at Prayers. Because of all this, you shall be punished for it."
The crowd chanted in sync in the background, voices lowering and rising in multiple melodies, overlapping and underlying, weaving and knitting. Yet again, Skylark growled aloud in anger and frustration.
"The Hall of Judgment would have preferred that you be condemned to the life of a demon, serving Lucifer in Hell to learn the true pain of sin, and that Heaven is where you would want to be. But the representatives of Heaven want to give you a second chance."
Cue dramatic change in scales from the crowd.
"A chance to redeem, to be reborn in a new light, and to learn from your mistakes. To once again be in the eye of God, and be forgiven for your wrongs. We ask that you fall down to your knees and renounce your sins, ask for forgiveness; and in turn, we shall give it to you." The General paused, and his stern face morphed into a fatherly expression as he regarded the Skylark once again. "We know your heart's desire, Skylark. You are not evil, and you are not corrupted. You are a strong-willed, yet gentle, angel, and we need you in the heavens. Rejoin us, and we shall once again welcome you with open arms."
The crowd had stopped chanting, and was admiring the silver-blond General, his forgiveness and his welcoming. They tittered among themselves, urging the chained angel to renounce his sins and be forgiven, to embrace the light of forgiveness and love that God had shed upon him.
As if he would. Only if they told him that God was a tapeworm. Which will never happen, of course.
Skylark spat at the General, making the crowd take a collective intake of breath. He ignored them – they were spineless fools, all of them – and spoke in his raspy voice, "Burn in Hell."
At once, the hall was silent. A pin dropped in the center of the hall would have been heard throughout the gigantic structure. Then, after the shock had started to wear off, the idiot blond of an angel –who thought that Skylark had any remorse in his actions – spoke again. His voice was cold and hard, commanding, "Then burn you shall."
Skylark felt himself be hoisted up by the hovering golden chains to a pre-prepared cross that was singed and burned from the previous punishments that had been inflicted upon the once-angels, now burning in the fires of Satan. Four large daggers floated towards him and, with a burst of speed, slammed into his wings and nailing them to the horizontal bar.
A strange sensation blossomed, and he gasped in shock. Everything was always dulled in heaven – it was an attribute of the older angels to have a sort of immunity to any type of physical wounding. But now it clung and it expanded, tearing apart his bones and limbs as crimson blood flowed from his wounds like a red river.
"Skylark!" The crowd was practically wailing their respective notes as the General gave his final order. "For your sins, you shall be condemned to hell!"
He let out an ear-splitting scream as he felt his left wing be lit by flames, searing deep into his skin. Slowly, the flame travelled down the bones, and he jerked and twitched and felt muscles that he didn't know sear and contracted in agony. It reached his back and started climbing up, etching ancient runes into his back – runes that told a biased story of betrayal and sin.
The floor around him glowed red, or perhaps it was he who was seeing red. At the back of his mind, he vaguely heard the melodies of a song that was slowly rising up to its climax, each melody falling perfectly into place into the complex ritual that was being performed.
And then he felt a sudden tug at his gut and momentarily felt the world jolt.
Heights.
He was falling. It was a strange, weightless sensation, as he rushed past glittering stars and watched as the Mortal World come closer and closer, closer than he had ever seen it, closer than he had managed. The pain intensified, and he gasped before gritting his teeth.
Skylark had just learned the meaning of physical pain.
Slamming into a cloud, he started feeling something rip at his face. Something white and cold, and soon, he was wet and shivering and numb.
He spiraled down unevenly, his right wing desperately flapping to keep him balanced; his left was nothing but a mess of tendons, blood, and bone, twitching and extending uselessly. He saw the mortal world, its many grooves and dips. The white color that seemed to blanket the landscape was nothing like the clouds above. As Skylark watched, the ground crumbled and morphed, forming an endless tunnel straight into the furnaces of Hell.
Beyond the edges of the sharp circle was eternal suffering to those who were condemned to eternal life in Satan's tight clutches. Tales, which the Angelings had passed around before they were Bathed and unable to speak of it, came to him. There will be molten hot leashes and spiked collars that will forever remain on his neck. There will be hunger and thirst that would gnaw at him like dogs but unable to make him succumb to death.
And he was spiraling straight towards it.
There was a shudder than ran through him.
He felt determination.
He didn't want a life in Hell. He didn't want to. And he won't go into Hell.
But nothing happened. The hole loomed closer and closer, nearer and nearer, and slowly, despair began to seep into his bones. Ominous and threatening, the darkness lunged at him, and he closed his eyes.
What happened next, he never comprehended. There was a jolt down his wings, and the darkness gave way to light. He was thrown unto a surface that was hard and uneven – rather like the marble floors up in the soft white clouds, if not with thousands of grooves and uneven patches. Wincing, he felt something jerk out of his shoulder, and realized that it was his arm.
Everything ached, and he felt as if he was very much in Hell. The world felt cold – freezing to a point of numbness, and everything around him was covered in white.
But through the red he saw something move towards him, shouting incoherent things in a strange language and waving his hands. It looked very mortal.
Then the red gave way to black, and he felt himself sinking, sinking into welcoming darkness.
-KHR-
Reborn looked at his student, then at the black-haired boy who was being tended to said student.
"Tsuna," The hitman's voice sounded tight to his ears, and he fought to keep it casual. "How can you be so calm?"
The brown-haired boy looked up from his vigil and smiled at his tutor. "How can I not?"
The hitman gritted his teeth. Oh dear, his molars were going to be flat and square if this continues on further. "An Angel must have done terrible wrongs to have been Condemned! This creature is dangerous, and if we –"
The rant cut off as Reborn stared into hurt caramel eyes.
"How could you, Reborn?" His student all but demanded, taking Reborn back at the sudden show of boldness. " 'Creature'? Did you not hear of the legends surrounding Fallen Angels? They are rare – once per millennia, perhaps, or maybe even rarer! We should consider ourselves lucky to have him here!"
"Fallen Angels don't really have a clean record." Reborn stated.
"You don't exactly have a clean record either." His student retorted fiercely.
Then they lapsed into uncomfortable silence that followed the rare arguments between student and tutor. Both pairs of eyes turned upon the subject in which they were arguing about.
The black-haired boy lay on his stomach, sleeping soundly. Completely ordinary-looking, except if you disregard the wings. His right was a half-burnt feather wing. His left was a gnarled looking claw, like a bat wing with no leather.
It was the first time in recorded history that a Fallen Angel had fell through the skies through snow.
And it was also the first time in recorded history that a Fallen Angel was rejected from Hell itself.
-KHR-
"I see you've finally woken up." Tsuna gave one of his warm smiles as the young boy blinked owlishly in surprise.
He opened his mouth, and then closed it with a look of hesitance and confusion, as if he wasn't quite sure what language Tsuna was speaking in.
Then, in perfect Japanese, he answered, "I'm sorry, I don't understand what language you are speaking in."
Reborn resisted the urge to hell the little brat to his way to Hell.
-KHR-
"Why were you Condemned?" Reborn demanded as Kyouya – or Skylark, since this boy still insisted that he was speaking English though it was clear that he was speaking perfect Japanese – one day as the latter worked through a platter of steak, eyeing it was uncanny interest.
Tsuna shot the Sun Arcobaleno an extremely dirty look at the sudden and extremely rude question, but the Failed Fallen Angel just shrugged. "I hated it. They hated me for hating it."
"And I supposed you can explain why Hell rejected you?"
The piece of steak was slowly chewed until it couldn't have been anything other than liquid beef, and then it was swallowed. It was quite some time before the young boy shrugged again. "I had an Angel wing on me. Hell liked its victims stripped and helpless and impure."
Tsuna nodded calmly. "I suppose it had something to do with the snow."
"It put out the fire that was supposed to burn them."
"Logical, I guess."
"Incredibly and undeniably yes."
The three fell into uncomfortable silence as they waited for Kyouya to learn how to swallow anything thicker than water.
-KHR-
The rival Family members were speechless. Granted, most of them had their throats slashed or their vocal chords ripped out, and other with their other body parts strewn across the room thanks to a certain black haired half demon.
Kyouya stood, in white-and-black gear now splatted with red, his demon wing – claw – inching slowly up the Enemy Lieutenant's chest as the man messed his pants in fear. The putrid scent of waste stung the Fallen Angel's nostrils and he scowled in disgust.
With one bit of applied force, the man was dead, and Kyouya lowered the Desert Eagle pistol he had shot the man with and yawned aloud with unconcealed boredom.
"Kyouya." His brother sighed in exasperation as he tossed down another disemboweled victim. "I have told you just about a million times, do refrain from scaring them so much before killing."
"Can't help it, Tsunayoshi. Mortals are just so predictable."
"I'm predictable?"
"Most certainly not. You're inhumane."
Tsuna gave a pout that would have looked ridiculous on any other 28-year-old but somehow managed to fit perfectly into the brunette's features. "That's so mean! I'm hurt!"
"Mhm." Came the uncaring reply.
"It's true! You can hear it shattering, see?" Tsuna hugged Kyouya, as if to but was shoved away in a hurry.
"All right, all right! I believe you!"
"Will you apologize now?"
"Only if God is a Tapeworm."
"Impossible."
There was a shrug. "You never know."
Tsunayoshi's laughed rang like a warning bell throughout the night.