Disclaimer: I don't own jack squat. :P

A/N: After a truckload of herp-derp fan fictions, I decided it was high time I tried writing something more involved. So here we are!

Bon à lire!

-Slay

A Day of Mercy

Chapter 1

The Next Town

-o-o-o-

He knew no wrath greater than that of seaside storms.

Rain tore fiercely at the ragged cliffs, drenching the manse atop their crags in heavy sheets of ocean spray. The roaring of tempest winds moaned through cold stone walls, the crash of thunder deafening in empty rooms.

He watched lightning glance off of thrashing black waves from a cushioned window seat, ignoring the rattling of the panes with a dark trance clouding his thoughts.

"You've inherited something terrible from me." The words were stuck in his head like a layer of pitch. He couldn't forget the dreadful weight in his father's voice—his eyes dim and dense like the last, simmering streams of dusk. "And there is nothing I can do to save you."

He wrenched himself suddenly from the window, and crossed the chamber to his bed, where he had flung his father's last gift to him in a blind fit of pain. He curled up on the crisp duvet and spotted the trinket in a passing flash of lightning. He took it in his hands, thumbs cosseting the sharply-cut amulet like the knuckles of a loved one.

"I'm going to die, Riku. And when I do, the curse that has plagued my days will become your burden to bear until the day you die…which will not come as soon as you might like."

While he hadn't been a very good one, Kira was his father, and the only family he had in the world; and to see him looking so old and weathered, practically decomposing in the sheets of his bed…it hurt. Deeply. No matter how many times he told himself he was better off without the man's harsh and loveless ways, Riku couldn't deny the fact that he was alone now. Their mansion held no servants, the surrounding land harbored no friendly faces. He was completely, unconditionally alone—and cursed.

"There is a way to free yourself," Kira had supplied, those unlit eyes suddenly soft and earnest. He watched Riku determinedly, voice temporarily strengthened by conviction. "There's a darkness inherent in all men, son." He'd glanced away quickly, seeming briefly ashamed. "And some are more susceptible to it than others." He raised a shaking hand to the amulet resting on his chest, gripping it tightly. " 'Free yourself from that darkness. Find your way to the light and let your heart be cleansed by it. Only then will the curse be lifted.' "

With a clear amount of effort, Kira slid the lavaliere up around his head, holding it out for Riku to take. "I never got it right. I never even understood what it meant." He chuckled humorlessly. "But maybe you'll be a better man than I was."

Riku had let the amulet drop into his waiting hands, staring with wonder and sadness at the bauble he had never been allowed to touch. …and then it was over.

Kira lay still and lifeless on his bed, eyes left eerily open, confusing what Riku saw with what he knew to be true. His father was dead—and he was on his own. At nine years old.

That was when the storm had blown in.

He knew no wrath greater than that of seaside storms; and now he knew no ache more crushing than the vicious hole his father left. The impending loneliness; the helplessness rushing up like cold bile in his throat; the choke of tears he didn't want to cry. He lay in a ball atop his own bed, wondering after his own fate with the amulet clutched to his chest.

He knew nothing of the curse Kira had suffered—only that it drove the man into hiding every night, and held him there until daybreak.

Riku peeked at his window, but the sun was impossible to find beyond the overhang of slate-colored storm clouds. Sunset couldn't be far off—he had spent the entire day doting on his dying father, daylight dwindling further and further each time he looked outside.

So it was coming. That terrible thing that plagued his father and sealed his own grim future was creeping up on him with every passing minute, and he had no idea what it was.

Riku changed for the first time that night, and the events that followed would forever be crowned as the most hellish of his memories; and they would haunt the corners of his mind for many years to come.

-o-o-o-

Riku had discovered early on that he didn't age very quickly. Shortly following his father's death, he'd found himself in the care of a kindly woman named Hama who resided in a town several miles south of the mansion. After finding him in the forest, worse for wear and completely lost, Hama took him into her home with open arms, fully intent on keeping him, since she herself couldn't have children. Once Riku had recovered from his bout in the wilderness, Hama insisted that he go to school, and Riku didn't object—after several days of loneliness, he was more than willing to surround himself with people, especially other children.

It didn't work out as nicely as he would have liked.

Sneaking out every night to hide his curse from Hama was bad—but when she started to notice his lack of development, Riku knew he'd have to leave. He had been living with Hama for just over three years when she voiced her concerns, citing that Riku hadn't gained an inch or an ounce since she took him in. She fretted that she hadn't been feeding him properly, or that he might be sick with something incurable, but Riku knew better; Kira had hinted at the curse drawing out his lifespan, and he assumed that meant his growth spurts, too.

He left Hama's house that very night, and didn't return.

From then on, Riku resigned himself to a life on the move, spending no longer than a couple of months in any given place. As he finally grew physically older, it became easier to slip through communities without attracting attention, without getting ensnared by orphanages and overly-benevolent households.

In fact, as time passed, people seemed less and less interested in him. To them he was just another stray dog, an untethered adolescent who ghosted down the streets during the day and vanished during the night. They may have been drawn at first to the uncommon moonlight shine of his hair, but once they felt the solemnity of his electric blue stare, they flinched and turned away, pretending they had never seen him at all. That was for the best; he wasn't in much of a position to make friends—or enemies.

Every night, Riku changed into something…else. Something much less presentable than a young man in the eyes of society. Something frightening; something dangerous.

The tremors started immediately after the sun slipped over the horizon, pulling the last few strips of daylight from his skin. They rippled and squirmed impatiently in his bones, churning and amplifying, shredding up through layers of flesh until the burning consumed his every nerve.

Then the snapping started. Deep sickening cracks would pop in his ears as his body achingly rent itself apart, breaking and rattling and rebuilding into something new—muscle tearing, skin stretching, his thoughts blinded by white-hot pain; it was awful. And it happened every night—and every morning. To his dismay, the frequency of the transformation made it no more tolerable, and did very little to settle the anxiety he felt anticipating it.

As a result, Riku worked vigorously to keep himself busy, right up until that last wink of sunset, so that by the time he returned to his hideout, he would have very little time to fret. The transformation would start, and then it'd be over, and then he could sleep right through his hours as a creature. That was the plan each night, and it was just fine by him.

His time was often monopolized by odd jobs—mostly heavy lifting and other grunt work for anyone willing to pay him. He'd get the task done quickly and efficiently, and then use the money to gorge himself on food, because God forbid he be hungry when nighttime came. The creature inside him didn't like being hungry, and had a very aggressive way of showing it.

The rest of his time was spent sight-seeing and thinking too much—hobbies which occasionally spilled into his work.

Fingers snapping.

"Hey boy'o," a quirky old voice hedged. "Everything hunky dory over here?"

Riku blinked a few times, then noticed he was holding a rather large box in his arms. He didn't even remember picking it up. He must have zoned out again. Crap.

"Oh. Yeah. I'm fine. Sorry."

"Deep thoughts?"

Riku hesitated, shifting his weight around under the burden in his arms. "I guess you could say that," he said finally, licking his lips and focusing on the newly-built garage he was supposed to be loading boxes into. He cleared his throat at the silence, and started tramping toward the garage again.

"..I really appreciate your help, kiddo," the old man called after him. " 'been meaning to move this junk for months, but I never had the strength t'do it myself."

After unloading the box in a corner of the garage, Riku marched back into the house, bee-lining for the next box. "Sure thing, Mr. Jenkins."

"You sure thirty munny is enough?" Mr. Jenkins watched Riku passing back and forth with soft concern. "Some of those are awfully heavy—and I'm sure you've got better things to do."

Hardly. Riku piled the last three boxes on top of one another, then hefted them with ease across the garage before depositing them in a corner with the rest. "Thirty is fine; I don't need much."

"Well, if you say so…" As Riku approached him, Mr. Jenkins produced an orange munny pouch and held it out to him.

"I may have tossed a little bonus in there for a job well done," he admitted slyly. "Who would of thought you'd get done in forty-five minutes flat? This would'a taken me hours."

"If you're gonna do a job, you should do it well," Riku replied mechanically, stowing the pouch in his jacket pocket.

Mr. Jenkins nodded plainly, a splash of something uncertain looming behind his pleasant smile. "Well, you take care, boy'o. Thanks again."

"Sure." Riku inclined his chin in farewell, then turned and sauntered out of the garage, feeling Mr. Jenkins' eyes on his back until he was well down the street. It might have touched his heart that the man was so clearly worried about him if he weren't so sure Mr. Jenkins' attitudes would change completely upon learning what Riku really was. Everyone else's kindness shriveled up and died—why shouldn't Mr. Jenkins'?

It didn't matter.

He wouldn't be here long, and the geezer would probably forget about him in a week anyway.

These thoughts hung in his head like a funeral shroud, souring his mood until his entire body reeked of despair. He slouched and pulled his hood up, the blaring summer sun boxing him into his own isolated pod of darkness. People stared as he trudged by, amazed that anyone could be wearing long jeans and a black jacket in eighty-degree weather.

It wasn't Riku's fault. He was cold-blooded; and rather than heat his skin, the kiss of sunlight merely stung it, a sensation that was virtually painless but very very annoying. So he dressed conservatively. Hang the wardrobe of the season.

What was more, he hadn't been anywhere this warm in a long time—he didn't own anything lighter.

Riku wasn't entirely sure what had lured him to this cluster of tropical islands in the first place. It certainly wasn't his being sick of cold weather—the freezing north suited him just fine. Maybe he needed a change of scenery.

The Destiny Islands were as tropical as they came, surrounded by crisp cyan waters and bursting with lush jungles, palm trees and small, quiet neighborhoods that melted agreeably in the sultry climate. On the northern ridge of the mainland, atop a high westward cliff, perched the tall and sunny buildings of Twilight Town, where he had run into Mr. Jenkins earlier that morning. Upon agreeing to move the boxes into his garage for a modest price, Riku had asked if there was any other work lying around. Mr. Jenkins had replied, "Oh there's always someone who could use a hand. 'specially around this time of year."

What, June? Riku would readily admit that he didn't know anything about the local holidays of the places he'd lived. And frankly, he didn't care. He himself had very few reasons to celebrate, and he saw no point in piggybacking off another's happiness; it wouldn't come from within. It wouldn't mean anything. So he canceled it out.

Though he supposed that if a holiday were coming up, people would be busier than usual, and possibly more willing to toss some cash his way for the grit-work they didn't want to do. Mr. Jenkins had suggested he swing by Market Street, "Folks post Help Wanted signs there all the time; if you want a little walk-around munny, that's the place to check."

Well he was certainly right about the signs. After several minutes of sifting through unfamiliar streets, Riku came across the broad and sloping thoroughfare of Market Street, where he did indeed find a bulletin board plastered with busywork. Raking over the invocations, Riku decided that keeping himself occupied until sundown wouldn't be a problem. He was about to rip down the directions to some dockhand job when he was startled by a scream. He looked up in time to see someone topple from the roof of a nearby building, hurtling dangerously toward the ground.

A/N: Oh noes! Day one in a new town and already people are falling from the sky! Who could it be? And what were they doing on the roof in the first place? Will Riku be able to save them? Will he even give a crap? Find out, in CHAPTER 2!

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Flame for a Chakram to the face!

-Slay