Berwald Dressed in Blood
Note: This definitely isn't my first fanfiction (nor is it my first SuFin), but it's been well over a year since I've done fanfiction that isn't a reader-insert. This is, however, my first published here. It's loosely based around the plotline in a book I read earlier today, Anna Dressed in Blood by Kendare Blake. Also, please let me know if you think this deserves a more strict rating than Teen - I'm unsure of whether or not it needs a Mature warning but you never know. Future cover art will be my own work.
Warning: Gore involved.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, nor do I own Anna Dressed in Blood and any other references I may slip in. I am merely playing around with my writing skill, these characters, and this plotline.
As I walked, I absently reached down to my thigh to be sure my dagger was still holstered in its place. At the moment it was disguised as a normal hunting knife so I wouldn't alarm any blissfully ignorant civilians I might run across. I ran my hand up my thigh and to my hip, following the strap of the leather garter belt to the pouch on my other thigh. My grip on the fancy porcelain hiking stick tightened as I let my hand fall to my side: My knuckles turned white, and I could feel my ragged nails digging into the heel of my palm.
I could feel it. I was closing in on her.
This one looked innocent enough. She had been hiking with a boyfriend and another male friend. Somewhere along the line, she had twisted her ankle. They had stopped near the edge of a cliff so she could rest and call for help when the friend sort of… Went insane. He pushed the girl and her boyfriend to their deaths, called for help, and then committed suicide by cop. Of course, he told the police that he was so jealous of the boyfriend for getting the girl he had "loved all his life", as he put it, before he got them to shoot him.
Now, when people stopped for a rest at the cliff she died at, they would find her sitting against a rock and holding her ankle. She was supposed to look like an angel, so of course anyone would be willing to help her. As soon as they were close enough to touch, though, she would grab hold of them and force them over the edge of the cliff, always breaking an ankle on her victim in the process. She had become dubbed the Succubus of Angel Point. I shook my head. People had no imagination, no creativity.
When I finally reached Angel Point, I kept an eye out for people, specifically people sitting against rocks near the edge of the cliff. I heard her before I saw her. She was sobbing softly, and when I stepped into the small clearing in front of the drop, she came into view. The rumors were true. She had flawless, pale skin and gentle curls framing the face of a goddess. When she looked up at me, her slate grey eyes softened, and the tears seemed to slow.
"S- Sir! Please, I need help… My ankle…" She reached out with a slender hand, practically begging me to take it. I moved a few steps closer so she could reach me if she really wanted, and I slowly inched my hand toward the dagger.
I don't know what it was. Maybe she saw the dagger I was reaching for and knew what it was; maybe I was close enough. Suddenly she was on her feet, her chest rising and falling in quick breaths. A gaping hole opened in her stomach where a large rock pyre had impaled her. The skin on her face was scratched away bit by bit until only half of it was recognizable, as if she were falling again, and large locks of her hair disappeared. It looked like it had caught on the plant life and been ripped from her scalp in the fall.
She lurched forward on her good foot and made a grab for me, but because I was expecting it I was able to easily dodge her. I quickly dropped the hiking stick and grabbed the hilt of my dagger, holding it against my arm in what most movies would call a "ninja stance": I was crouched on one leg, the other spread straight to the side, my free hand in a fist against my stomach and the hand with my dagger holding the blade parallel with my arm and my arm parallel with my chest.
She staggered toward me a step and managed to get one hand on my shoulder as I bounded away. She began pulling me toward her body, grinning an insane smile. I gave her a sly smile. This was just what I wanted. I dug the blade of my dagger into her heart, using all my force. The grin slipped from her face, and her hand fell off my shoulder. I pulled the dagger out and embedded it between her ribs two more times for good measure.
Thick black liquid like crude oil began seeping from where I stabbed her, as well as from her death injuries, her eyes, her nose, and her mouth. Her face split in a silent scream of agony. What was left of her skin that was uncovered by the liquid began bubbling. The ground shook, and suddenly she crumbled to dust. Before the dust could settle, a breeze with a mind of its own carried the dust over the edge of the cliff, bringing with it whispered apologies from the angel's voice.
I gave half a smile as I scooped up the hiking stick and put away the dagger. Normally they weren't regretful or apologetic like this one. From what I had heard about her before today, though, she had been the town sweetheart before she died. Apparently she never refused anyone help and would always try her best to be sure everyone was happy. She must have lost control due to the shock of her death.
I shook my head and began making my way back to the cabin my mother and I were renting. Now that this one had been dispatched, it was time to be on our way to the next destination. When I walked in, my mom was waiting at the kitchen table with Belgian hot chocolate and her special concoction of oils meant to protect. I rolled my eyes as she drew a shape on my forehead with it, but I knew better than to argue her.
As I drank, Mom began cleansing the dagger. Once she finished washing off the oily liquid, she blessed it with holy water of her own creation, rubbed it down with her oil concoction, dripped sacred elk blood onto the tip, and then sunk it into the jar of salt. She stood staring out the window above the sink for a moment before turning to me. She was beginning her moon eye act again.
"Oh, Mom, please, don't…" I began.
"Tino, I really don't like you going out doing this all the time. I didn't like your father doing it then, and I don't like you doing it now. Your father-!" she began. She choked herself up and turned away, pressing a hand to her mouth.
I stood and moved to stand behind her, hugging her the way I did when I was still an innocent little boy. "It's okay, Mom. I'm alright. I know what I'm doing."
Mom turned to look at me, smiling softly through her tears. "That's what your father used to say to me… Before he died…"
"I know." I smiled at her and put my arms around her shoulders again. Mom held me tight, and when she finally let me go she wiped her eyes and smiled.
"I only say this because I'm worried about you…" she said.
"I know, Mom. I don't like making you worry, but I'm the only person in the world who can do this. I wish there was another way, but it's my legacy that I inherited from Dad," I replied. She nodded sadly and picked up a mesh bag full of dried herbs, placing it in my hands.
"Go take your cleansing bath. I can start packing things while you do. We'll leave in two days."
As I reclined in the passenger seat of the moving van, bobbing my head to my favorite metal, I watched the passing scenery and smiled. Being in the car with my mom was one of the only times I felt truly safe. I reached forward to turn it up a little more when my favorite song came on, but Mom grabbed my hand and stopped me. She glanced at me for a moment before turning her eyes back to the road.
"You know I'm here for you, right? With anything you might need?" she asked.
"Yeah, Mom. I know that." She was silent for a moment, glancing at me once, before speaking again.
"Have you talked to those friends of yours recently? What were their names – Matthias, Lukas, and Emil? How are they doing?" she asked.
"I don't know. Lukas and Emil aren't much for talking, and whenever I get a hold of Matthias he just goes on about his most recent party. But they all try to keep out of this business if they can help it," I replied.
"I see… Why don't you give them a call when we get there?"
"I don't know. I'll think about it." I turned to the window and began watching the trees as we passed them. I took a sip of the fountain drink I had gotten at the last gas station we had stopped at.
"What about dating? Have you found anyone you like?" she asked suddenly. I choked on my drink and spat most of my mouthful into my lap. While she patted my back and I coughed up a lung, she apologized for bringing it up so suddenly. "I'm sorry, honey, but even people like you deserve to be happy, and that's what I want for you. So… Have you? Anyone?"
When I finally could breathe normally, I answered her. "No, Mom. I'm not interested in dating," I said as I dabbed at the liquid spots on my legs.
"Okay. I'll stop asking about it." Something about her tone made me not want to believe me, but I'd take that for now at least.
Conversation stopped, and I reached down to my feet to pat Hanatamago. She was an adorable little dog, but she also served as our sensor of sorts, and our hook in sanity. That little dog had saved my skin once before, and I was glad for her.
I sat back and began watching the scenery again, smiling when Mom turned up the music again. As I absently tapped the beat on my thigh, I began thinking about our next "case". The town we were heading to was once a prosperous logging town. It wasn't as busy as it had been in the past any more, but it got by well enough. It was supposed to be a quaint little place, full of "old-town charm" and stuff like that. That wasn't what we were heading there for.
We were heading there for another hunt.
According to local legend, there was a ghost there with a lot of mystery surrounding it. There was this boy whose family owned the only quality boarding house in town. They were throwing a party for some reason or another – I think it was the birthday of someone in the family – and about an hour before the party began he was found dead in one of the vacant rooms. He had had his throat cut and was stabbed several times, too many to count. His clothes had been a white dress shirt under a grey waistcoat with matching slacks, but when they found him it was almost impossible to tell that they had once been light colors. All the blood had stained the clothing a deep rust red.
The boarding house was soon abandoned, but people went back. That was when the killing began. Anyone who set foot in the house, or even on the wraparound porch, would be ripped apart like a piece of fried chicken. No one had ever come back from going inside. However, one policeman who had been investigating some disappearances had heard the rumors and never went inside. He looked in the windows he could reach. In the window to the basement, he saw nothing but human bones, pulverized flesh, and gallons of blood. The ghost had been given a nickname.
Berwald Dressed in Blood.
Ever since I had been tipped off about this ghost by my friend Alfred, I couldn't get the idea of getting rid of him out of my head. My training would be complete, and I could finally consider myself a true hunter. I couldn't wait to get there so I could begin my research and, eventually, the real hunt.