Disclaimer! All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; except Erin Blogger and a few extra characters not from the canon cast, who I made up for the purpose of this fan fiction. Any other unfamiliar names may be either other original characters or allusions to real-life people.

I know what most of you are probably thinking right now: oh man, when is this lunatic going to let go of her silly DN series and do something totally new? But, after writing this, I think that will be it. I can't promise anything (and I shouldn't, because nothing is written in stone except the names on tombstones), but it's leaning towards that way.

I know. Even I am awestruck by my own creativity!

This story is exactly what it says on the tin. It picks up where Story of the Century left off. Since the first story deviated from the canon storyline, this new arc is also going to be fairly different from the one we are familiar with, though it features many of the canon characters, old and "new" (new in the sense that they didn't appear in the first story but will get to here), with a few OCs; you'll know 'em when you see 'em. Another thing you folks are probably thinking: how is any DN fanfic, never mind this one, going to float with both L and Light gone? Like I said, I can't promise success, but I'm gonna give this the old college try. That is, when actual college isn't demanding my undivided attention.

All feedback is welcome with open arms!

WARNINGS! This story is not for children (though I must admit I don't have the means to make sure that no children see this). It contains pretty much everything that you would expect to see in Death Note as transcribed by a silly fangirl and amateur writer: violence, language, dark themes, themes in general, convoluted plot points, a few flashbacks here and there, some speculation and applied artistic license, callbacks to canon source material, et cetera, et cetera. This could even get darker than the first story, if you can believe it. It might. No promises.

As far as pairings go…for now I'll just say that there will be both opposite- and same-sex pairings, a little "sensuality" (if you know what I mean, jelly beans), and maybe some bestiality and necrophilia for good measure. Yep, I'm exploring new terrain here, that I am.

That get your attention? Ha-ha, nah, I'm kidding on that last bit.

Or am I?

All right, enough chit-chat. Let's rock 'n' roll!

AND THE STORY CONTINUES

1. Wayward

"Mello, Mello, I'm open!" Toby panted, waving his arms frantically over his head, his chubby face red as a beet with exertion and late November chill. "C'mon, pass the ball!"

Matt wasn't sure why Toby bothered, why anyone bothered. Mello didn't pass the ball, if he could help it. He passed it only when he deemed it strategically sound, and even when he did he would make a show about it and promptly steal the ball back if his teammate didn't reach the goal fast enough or looked like he was about to kick it from the wrong angle. A losing angle. In his mind, he might as well have been the star of the entire British football league, not some gangly fourteen-year-old swarming across the field behind the house with his fellow gangly fourteen-year-olds, with a few younger and older ones in the mix (with the exception of Toby, who was glaringly shorter and portly, "porky," as Mello affectionately called him).

If it weren't a rule that football was a team sport, Mello would play on his own, take on a complete team and vanquish them like a one-man army. Then again, he also needed people to show up and show off to. How could anyone look good when they had no one around to make look bad for comparison?

Mello had managed to dip and dive around the grabs made for him by the opposing team, huffing louder and looking flusher than any of them as his blonde locks flew wildly around his head like the mane of a lion on the chase. The biting autumn air and the exercise may not have had everything to do with the color swelling in his face. Dribbling the ball between his swift feet, he was that close to the goal where Scout stood guard, shuffling back and forth like a panicking crab. Rightfully so.

Matt expected him to go in for the kill. But like some predators, Mello liked to play with his prey sometimes. Most likely because it made him look and feel cooler. Matt couldn't see from his spot as the goal keeper on the opposite end, but he could imagine the wicked smirk cracking through his lips as he swung his bare, dirty foot back and smashed the stained and abused checkered ball, launching it about sixty degrees into the air where it would ricochet off of Toby's broad forehead like a pinball dinging off a target and scoring those last few precious points needed to beat the high score.

No sooner than when Toby plummeted face-first into the crunchy, browning grass did Mello stampede around him to retrieve the ball, taking full advantage of the distraction he had created and sending it sailing over Scout's outstretched fingers and bouncing into the loose, tattered net.

"Bloody hell, Mello!"

"What was that for?"

"You've really done it now, Mello," Toby snapped as two of his teammates dragged him back onto his feet. "Y-you did that on purpose!"

Mello ran a hand through his sweaty locks, looking quite pleased. As smug as a cat that had just caught and devoured a mouse. "You asked me to pass you the ball. I was just honoring your request," he laughed.

Honestly, at this point it seemed that the only reason Mello was allowed to continue playing the game was because he was one of the best players in the House, despite his poor sportsmanship. That, and Mello never took no for an answer. Matt personally found sports, anything having to do with strenuous activity and/or being outdoors, to be about as enjoyable as walking around with poison ivy stuck on his private parts. He was out here because Mello liked being out here. Someone had to mind him.

And he was no vampire like Near by any means.

Besides, he didn't have to do much of anything beyond watching. When they played, he made sure to be on the same team as Mello, and was always the goal keeper. With Mello's skills and thirst for the hot spotlight which kept the ball well on the other side, he didn't have to concentrate too much on minding the net. He could just stand there, as Mello politely put it, "with his thumb in his bum." Sometimes he'd even take advantage of his "loneliness" by finishing a game level on his new Nintendo DS Lite™.

Exhausted, cold, dirty and most in less than stellar spirits, the kids decided to call it a game and began their way back towards the House for warmth and Ms. Berkeley's hot cocoa. Toby, still seething from the humiliation he'd suffered on the field, made the mistake of charging up behind Mello and pounding him in the back with his small chunky fists.

Mello, not the type to turn the other cheek, retaliated by whirling around and grabbing the younger boy by a fistful of his short red hair, dragging him along like a shamed dog by its collar. "You think you can pick a fight with me? A porky runt like you? After I just whooped you like that in front of everyone?" he taunted.

"Hey, come on," Matt chided as they crossed the threshold. "Haven't you kicked him around enough?"

No one noticed Roger watching them from overhead beyond the wall-length window of his office, the semi-frosty mist of impending winter blurring his reflection in the glass. His mind was blurred with a cold snap of apprehension as his cell phone dangled loose in his hands, a messenger who had brought to him the news in but three impersonal words. Three words he had dreaded to see blink onto that screen for the longest time.

It's amazing, how something as small as two or three words could turn one's whole world upside down in an instant. Like a leaf falling off the tree in front of his office, yellow and withered, gliding innocuously on the breeze before landing in the bird fountain, not yet frozen over, shaking the water with ripples that stretched all the way to the edges.

Then again, most of their lives had never quite been right side-up to begin with, had they?

Roger turned to glimpse at the man smiling back at him in the picture underneath the windowpane. A warm and peaceful smile lifted the jowls hanging off of his mastiff-like face, tempered with a strange aura of sadness that only the few who had been close to him were aware of, like Roger.

Oh, Quillish…we both knew that this day would come eventually. You both had planned for it, including what I must do.

So why don't I feel prepared at all…?

He took a deep breath, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his large, pointed nose. Quillish did not visit often, so it wasn't unusual for him to be unheard from for months at a time, and when he did pay a visit, they tended to be brief but well-received by the children, who had considered him "the nice old guy who owns our school." As far as he knew, none of them knew that along with his known accomplishments as an inventor and philanthropist, he was also the mysterious Watari who worked under L. He had had his funeral service just a few weeks prior, having been sent back home as he would have wanted. It had been a sad event for the children, needless to say, to the extent that their acquaintance to him allowed. They were moving on the best they could. Quillish would've been pleased to see them do so; it was something that many of them were coming to learn and accept, if they hadn't already.

But the one who had done Quillish this favor never came back. He had told Roger not to expect him to, to say only what was necessary and only when the time came.

And now that it'd been confirmed that he was also gone, Roger knew that he could not hide this anymore. It was his duty to tell them. After all, one of them was supposed to step in, in case something like this should happen. A thirteen- and barely fifteen-year-old.

How were the two going to take this?

Gathering as much resolve as he could find, Roger pocketed his phone, left his office and stepped out into the hallway. His gut already tying itself into knots, he waited for the rambunctious mass to parade past him, his dark cobblestone-grey eyes scanning the bobbing heads for one in particular. He found him struggling against the wall with Toby in his fist by his hair, easy to spot with his long blonde hair and stark black clothes against the sea of color. Matt was squeezing himself between the two, trying to break the boys apart, telling Mello to cut it out. He too was easy to spot by the orange-tinted goggles buried in his mop of auburn hair and favorite striped shirt.

Sidling his way along the wall, largely unacknowledged (as usual), he reached out to break Mello's hold on Toby, wrapping his thin wrist in his gnarled, arthritic fingers. The same old routine.

Mello blinked up at him, almost as though he hadn't been bullying someone just moments ago. "Huh? Roger?"

"Mello, I need to see you in my office," said Roger, his voice soft and low.

Matt threw Mello a look that said, See? I told you to cut it out. Now you're busted, again.

Toby, nursing the top of his head, sputtered, "Ha! You're in hot water now! Serves you right for being mean to me!" He scampered off to join the crowd before he could hear Mello's comeback:

"I only pick on you because you ask for it! Run away like the worm that you are!"

Roger gazed wearily at the boy. It was still hard to believe that a child like him would even be considered for this. But then, he wasn't the one who'd picked. "Mello, please. Worms don't run. Matt, you can go. I don't need to see you."

"Yes, sir. Later, Mello." Matt couldn't explain why exactly, but something about the way Roger sounded felt funny to him. Gave him a vague twitch in his bones. Not the "ha-ha" kind of funny. Funny as in something bad had happened, or was about to. Something worse than Mello getting lectured—once again—on picking on less capable children.

But he said nothing about it. Maybe he was just still feeling the effects of the cold, and itching to go back to his beloved DS? Besides, Roger had always sounded rather burned out. Running a house full of kids, smart and temperamental kids like Mello, at that? The old man should consider retiring with his bugs. He took off, expecting to see Mello in their shared room when this was over, wearing his most petulant scowl.

Roger was still holding Mello's wrist as he glanced into the room next to his office. Whereas Mello usually had to be chased down all over the place, he didn't have to look far when he needed Near. Near could be found almost invariably in that room, fiddling quietly with a few toys or puzzles that lay scattered around him, almost as though he were putting up a barrier against the world outside. His wrinkled pajamas as pure and white as the tiles he sat on, he seemed to blend in to the floor, distinguished only by his hunched shape and mane of bleach-blonde hair that hung over his face, shielding his blank, steel-grey eyes so he could focus on the puzzle in his hands.

Linda peeked into the room, brushing her bangs out of her face. Under her arm she clutched a sketchpad. "There you are! Why don't you come outside, Near? The weather's lovely today. It won't be like this forever, you know."

"Oh, leave him be, Lin," said Quincy. "He won't go outside, no matter what. He's in his own world."

Near, not the type to waste words, muttered, "No, thank you." He didn't even look her way.

With Roger, he had less of a choice. "Near, can I see you in my office?"

Mello paused. Why would Near, that big-headed twit, have to be in his office too, if Roger was just going to chew off his ears for rough-housing with Toby?

Unless…this wasn't about that, at all. Maybe Near had squealed about his latest transgression against him just two days ago? He never put up a fight himself (as much as Mello wanted him to, if only so he could really humiliate him in front of everyone). He just stared with the stupidest expression on his face, almost like a sheep, act like it didn't happen, only to go to Roger behind his back just when Mello had started to forget about it.

Not bothering to ask why, Near grunted, "All right." He took his sweet time gathering his blank puzzle together, placing on top all of the pieces he had yet to put in place, never mind to stand up on his bare feet.

What weak legs, Mello thought wryly, watching the way Near wobbled a bit on his way. It's like he's got polio or something. He could never play football. At least I'm better than him in that respect.

Soon the two of them were in Roger's office. Somehow the room looked drearier than usual, the crisp afternoon sunlight pouring through the windows as the only source of light. Roger sat at his desk, clasping his hands in front of him as he tried to come up with how he was going to say this. Near had plopped down onto the rug and already resumed clicking puzzle pieces into place, while Mello stood as straight and tall as he could, his sharp, ice-blue eyes drilling holes into Roger's receding hairline.

"So what is it, Roger?" he asked impatiently. "What'd you have to see us for?"

The silence between them was so thick, any of them could probably slice through it, like frozen custard.

Roger sighed, keeping his eyes trained on his notes. There was no way to approach this except to get straight to the point. He couldn't bear to see the looks on their faces. He may as well have tossed a grenade into Mello's open mouth when he answered:

"L is dead."

"What was that?"

"Roger, what did you just say?" Mello demanded, fighting to keep from shouting but at the same time wanting so very much to do just that. Had he heard that right? He's dead? Roger couldn't possibly mean—

"I'm afraid L is dead. I'm sorry." The old man's apology came out softer, weaker, more hesitantly than his announcement.

Mello's voice had already developed a natural crack in it due to puberty, a fact that he had been initially ashamed of but never admitted to. The way it was cracking now, however, Roger knew that puberty had nothing do with it. It suddenly became louder, sharper.

"H—he's dead? L is dead? But—but how?"

L was invincible. He couldn't just die, like any other human being. This had to be a joke, something Roger had come up with to get back at him somehow. "Scare 'em straight," as they say.

No. Would Roger do something that mean-spirited? It wasn't likely. And why would he be telling this to Near, as well? Near was no trouble-maker. Not like Mello, anyway.

Near's only response to the news was the soft, unwavering click of puzzle pieces fitting into each other. Had he heard Roger's words, never mind cared for their meaning, he didn't make this apparent. Not that Mello expected him to.

He gasped, remembering something. Oh no.

"Was it Kira? Did Kira kill him? Come on Roger, you've got to tell me!"

"Probably."

Mello lunged across the desk, grabbing a bewildered Roger by his bony shoulders. His eyes suddenly became wide and feral with shock and denial. "But he promised that he would find Kira and execute him! And now you're telling me that he's been killed?"

"M-Mello!" Roger trembled in Mello's vice-like grip, having no idea what else to say, calling out the boy's name in hopes that he'd calm down and let him go.

Both of them were cut off by the sound of a thousand puzzle pieces tumbling to the floor. They turned to find Near with the empty board held over his head. He still wouldn't acknowledge them with his eyes.

"If you can't win the game, if you can't solve the puzzle…then you're just a loser," he said, his voice small and smooth, lifeless. "Kinda girly," as Mello and Matt would snark amongst themselves. He proceeded to put his puzzle back together, starting in the upper right corner and working his way across. Automatically, like a robot.

Mello held back a snarl and the urge to take that chair from the corner and smash it over his head. That was all Near was going to say about this? That L was a loser? Of course he had never been nearly as close to L as Mello was. To Near, L was just a model, but to him, he was a mentor. If what Roger was telling them was true, that he had in fact died, then technically yes, he had lost. Lost to Kira. But…

Mello turned back to Roger, his hand balling up into a shaky fist on his desk. "So. Which of us did he pick, me or Near?" That burning question, one that had plagued him ever since he had been told in secret that he was being considered to succeed L. The reason Roger would even tell them this to begin with. No one knew about this plan except the three in this office, and to a lesser extent Matt who had gone upstairs, who wanted little to do with any of it. So it had been ever since the incidents with the first generation of successors (Something that I would know since L told me himself, Mello would think, usually bursting with pride).

Roger couldn't look Mello in the eye, knowing that he wasn't going to like his next answer any more than he had, his previous ones. He wasn't so sure about Near, but Mello…

He peered up into his bushy eyebrows. "He hadn't chosen yet. And now that he's gone, I'm afraid he won't be able to."

For the first time in a long one, Mello didn't know what to say. L had never made his decision? Why? L might have been nigh invulnerable, but he also was the type to plan ahead. He would've picked his successor a long time ago, wouldn't he? As soon as he'd had his candidates. Not only had he not picked him, but he hadn't picked Near either, who had always been ahead of him on the roster?

This made no sense. L wasn't supposed to not make sense.

"Mello, listen. You too, Near. Can't the two of you…work together?"

Mello felt as though something was squeezing the air out of him. How dare Roger make a suggestion like that? Trying to deflect the problem onto the two of them. Well, it wasn't his job to choose the next L, only to groom those who had the potential, and Mello and Near were supposed to be problem-solvers. But this…

"All right. Sounds good," Near said flatly. Mello thought otherwise.

"It would never work, Roger!" he hissed. "We can't do this together. You know I don't get along with Near. We've always competed against each other. Always."

And I've always been number two. No matter how hard I try…

Outside, the wind howled softly against the window as it picked up. Out of the corner of his eye, Mello could see the last leaf on the tree, no longer able to hold on, snap off of the branch, soaring away on the breeze out of sight.

He imagined himself as that leaf. This house was the tree; it couldn't hold onto him. Nothing lasted forever. Sooner or later, he'd have to move on and leave this place. That should've been clear to him years ago, but now it had never been more so.

Mello broke the tense silence. "You know what? It's fine," he announced, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. The last thing he needed was to degrade himself in front of these fools with a tantrum.

Roger looked up, a blend of surprise and anxiety washing over his face.

"Near should be the one to succeed L. He's not like me. He never gets emotional. He just uses his head, like it's a game or a puzzle."

As he spoke, Near clicked the final piece in place, pausing to stare at the image before him. White space, filled only with a small black letter in the upper left corner. Bold and defiant, but unreachable.

L

"And as for me, I'm leaving this institution."

He was already heading for the door when Roger sprang up from his chair. Was it going to happen again? Would Mello snap and pull off the same stunt that B had?

"Wait! Mello—"

"Don't waste your breath," he snorted. "I'm almost fifteen. It's time that I started living my own life."

Not once did he look back as he slammed the mahogany door behind him, his temper finally starting to leak out of his hands. Near listened to his stomping footsteps until they became softer and then disappeared completely, locking his gaze straight ahead the entire time. All the same, he noted Roger's distress.

"Let him go, Roger."

"Let him go? I can't do that! He may be one of the smartest students in the House, but he's still a boy. Do you understand, Near?"

"You underestimate him. By the way you're telling me this, it seems you underestimate me as well. You've been trying to rein him in for as long as he's been here, but you never could, could you? Mello will survive on his own. I doubt he'd do anything to compromise Wammy's House in any way without making trouble for himself."

Roger groaned. "Don't tell me you're planning on leaving, too."

Near's voice gained a slight, almost unnoticeable edge to it. Roger didn't see his hands clench inside his too-long pajama sleeves, or his pale toes curl. "I will have to eventually, now that I'm the new L. You can start bringing me cases, but I think I'll wait two more years before I start globe-trotting. Fifteen seems to be a reasonable age to break off from home."

He wouldn't return to Wammy's House no matter what; he didn't count on whatever answers he would find changing that. He'd look like an utter fool after making such a promise and then going back on it.

But something didn't add up. Mello would not rest until he knew for sure. What had happened to L? Why hadn't he chosen either of them? Kira killed him, that's what Roger had said.

What if there was more to it than that? Here he sat in this cramped cubicle next to Matt in an internet café they'd come across in town. Today was November 30th. Two days ago, Roger had dropped the bombshell that rocked Mello's world.

Matt needed the practice, anyway. He needed to test his new program, see if it could successfully hack into a database without leaving a trace. Surely L would have sent Roger something pertaining to the Kira case, a file with his findings? He wished that Mello wouldn't sit so close to him; his breathing down his neck (heated and moist on his bare sensitive skin) made it harder to concentrate.

"I think all that chocolate's giving you halitosis or something," grumbled Matt. "Would it kill you to brush your teeth a little more?"

"Shut up and get me those files," Mello shot back before ripping a chunk off his unwrapped chocolate bar like a lion tearing apart flesh from a carcass, his teeth bared. As he run his tongue across the piece, savoring the smooth rich flavor, a thought came to his mind. A memory. Before L, Mello had loved chocolate as much as the next guy, and then some. L had been nibbling a chocolate bar the first—and only—time they saw each other. Classic milk chocolate, he could still remember. He had been gracious enough to share it with him. Him, a lowly student. He never told Mello who he was outright, but Mello knew. The things he spoke about, the way he seemed to look into his soul as he spoke, only L could look, think and speak that way. Somehow the chocolate tasted that much sweeter when L broke off a piece to offer him. It was like receiving communion for the first time, accepting the bread as the body of Christ.

Was it blasphemous to make such a comparison? Maybe, but God had screwed him over too many times for him to keep in touch. Nothing anyone did was good enough for God, whoever (or whatever) that was. With L…it was different. He must have considered him of at least some worth to go out of his way to see him when he could have been solving another case. Bringing another criminal to justice.

Since then, Mello had found himself drawn to the stuff a lot more. Eating it was his way of staying close to a man he so dearly admired.

Finally, Matt was in. Secretly, he was a bit apprehensive of what they would find, if anything. Mello worshipped L, more than what would be considered healthy. In fact, Matt had poked fun at him for this once or twice, asking if he had a crush on him or something, and both times Mello's response was blistering, as always.

Crushing on someone who'd had to be at least twice his age, the same way a teenage girl was sweet on a young teacher. How stupid! Not to mention, they had never met the guy. No one in the world knew what he looked like. For some reason, Matt pictured him as less than ideal in the looks department. Though himself a far cry from a health nut, even he understood that someone with that kind of job couldn't be the picture of fitness.

He would smirk to himself. Maybe that's the other reason he doesn't show his face?

But it had all been in good fun before.

He wasn't happy about L's death either, make no mistake. But at the same time he wasn't broken up about it, not like Mello was. It was hard to really mourn someone you didn't know anyway. When the news got back to him, the pang of sadness accompanying it was dull and detached, as he might feel when reading a stranger's obituary.

A few clicks, and a window popped up.

Just before this had all happened, now and then Matt would look at Mello, observe his intense devotion to this anonymity that they were somehow expected to emulate, and a twinge of something would pass through him. Was it jealousy? It was stupid to be jealous of someone they'd never met, who would never in a trillion years be interested in Mello in any way except as an heir to the title. Matt knew this. Still, he couldn't find another name for the feeling. Except maybe annoyance, but sometimes it felt a little too strong to be just that.

"What is it? What did you find?" Mello sputtered, shoving Matt against the wall.

"Hey!"

Mello was becoming desperate, if he hadn't been already. When was the last Kira-related murder? It'd been weeks since any fresh deaths of criminals had been mentioned on the news, from Japan which that L had deduced to be the center for Kira's activity about a year ago (rather epically, Mello had thought at the time when word had gotten out), or elsewhere.

His mind hummed with many questions, more than perhaps the average person could process at once.

"Matt, while you're at it, I want you to look up Quillish Wammy!"

"Hold on, will ya? I can do one thing at a time."

"Bullshit! I've seen the way you multitask!"

It was all up in front of them. Quillish Wammy, the founder of their humble House, had passed away on November 5th, at the ripe old age of 71. In Tokyo. Heart attack. His body was shipped back to his hometown in Winchester, almost fifty kilometers (about thirty-one miles) from their House, where he was now buried.

The boys looked at each other. Roger had neglected to tell them this little detail. "What was Mr. Wammy doing in Japan? Promoting a new product? And how could he have…last we saw him, he looked pretty healthy for an old geezer."

"No," Mello whispered, going numb with realization. "He was working with L. Mr. Wammy is Watari…or was." Roger hadn't told him this, either. Neither had Quillish. But then, in hindsight, how could Mello not have pieced it together before? Had he been so absorbed with L that he had all but forgotten the man who answered to him, was his face for the world? His hands, his eyes, his shield?

Now he was gone. Smited by Kira for the crime of association. They had taken the old man for granted and would never see him again.

The following is the record which contains everything I have investigated on the Kira incident. The fact that you are now reading this message means I am no longer alive at this moment.

I hereby leave this record as my firm achievement.

"No longer alive at this moment." Like he was only temporarily not alive. In an ideal world, that would be the case. L wasn't human; he was a machine that might get a blue screen now and then at worst, but just had to reboot to get back on track.

Matt cringed inside at the thought. He liked computers, but something about that was freaky, even for him.

The prime suspects were high school/ college student Light Yagami and rising model Misa Amane. According to this, L had zoomed in on them fairly quickly. The problem was proving their guilt. There had been a third Kira, Kyosuke Higuchi of the Yotsuba Group, but he'd turned out to be a red herring. He'd died on the spot just after they arrested him, and just days after the fact, the rest of the Group suffered mysterious deaths, as well.

"Was he high or something when he typed this?" he asked. "How can a notebook kill someone just by writing their name in it while you think about their face?"

"No. He wouldn't make up something like that. The killer notebook…the Death Note…this was the source of Kira's power. It explains his M.O. perfectly. Gods of death…shinigami…they do exist."

What if they were the only gods that existed? What benevolent god would allow things like the Death Note to exist?

"L must've found the notebooks. He was working alongside Yagami. His prime suspect."

A few rules had been found in the notebooks, put there almost as if to set up a convenient alibi for Yagami and Amane. The user of this notebook must write at least one name every 13 days, or else they die.

That rule almost let the culprits slip away. The only one in the task force willing to test the rule was L.

I knew from the beginning when I took this case that I ran the risk of being killed. I am personally not happy with the decisions I have made but had I not taken the actions that I did, Kira might have wiped out all of us.

"What?"

The demand flew from Mello's lips as soft and effortlessly as a single breath. Matt refused to look back at him. He didn't want to see his face, at that moment.

He couldn't entrust me or Near with the case? Didn't he think we could do it? But…we've been trained for most of our lives to take on cases like the kind L tackled. Does this mean…that neither of us is worthy of being L after all?

"Do you think Kira killed him by writing in the Death Note that he'd kill himself?" asked Matt.

"H-he'd have to have gotten his name to do that."

"Well, if what he said about these 'Shinigami Eyes' is true, then the Second Kira could've found out his name and told Kira. Or she would've killed him herself."

"Maybe. But…the way the dates are laid out. Something happened to Kira before something happened to L, or at least something happened to them both at about the same time. It doesn't make sense for Kira to kill L, and then he stops killing altogether."

"Unless the Kiras had a change of heart," Matt scoffed, aware of how likely that scenario was. Mello scowled in response.

The further they rolled down, the more unraveled Mello became inside. Matt could tell this because of the way Mello's breath grew shorter, more ragged. He was winding his rosary so tightly around his fingers, they looked ready to pop. But it was too late to turn back now.

"Mello. It says here that the killings stopped two days before Mr. Wammy died."

How was it that it had taken them so long to learn about L's death when the killings had stopped cold some weeks before? The last known criminal to have had a heart attack died November 3rd.

But, news about Kira-related deaths continued for two more days. November 5th. The day Wammy—Watari—died.

L had set up a trap. Somehow he must've seen through their plan to smuggle another notebook under his nose, stolen it, and switched it with a replica. Then he'd sold fake stories to the news people to make it look like Kira was still killing. He'd baited the two Kiras into exposing themselves.

Then why hadn't there been a public announcement about Kira's capture?

"Says that Light Yagami died right after he was exposed. November 5th. 'Under unforeseeable circumstances.' Does he mean like how Higuchi died? The Second Kira Misa lived though. She had her memory wiped so she couldn't be prosecuted, not without having to disclose the notebook's existence. Says that might've had to do with the fact that he burned both notebooks after all this happened. Talk about getting away with murder."

"That's it."

"What?"

"That's it, Matt. How could L have known what had happened to Kira if he had died before him? He…he must've used his power against him."

"What d'ya mean, like he wrote Light Yagami's name in the Death Note and manipulated his actions so he'd act the way he did and incriminate himself before dying?"

As monstrous as that idea sounded, it wasn't impossible. The only thing that challenged that theory was the fact that the Second Kira had been spared. He would've done this to both of them, wouldn't he?

Mello's answer came out hoarse, the circulation draining out of his fists, the tighter he clenched them. The chocolate snapped into useless chunks dropping at his feet.

"He used the Death Note on himself. Gave himself immunity to Kira's Death Note. Bought himself some time."

L, the Great Detective, had committed a mortal sin for the sake of solving the case of the century. Suicide. The act of rejecting life itself. Only the weak and spineless would resort to such a thing. A had done the same thing when he'd cracked under the pressure. B had attempted it, though for different reasons, and had been thwarted. At least physically. Psychologically, he was an overcooked shell up until he'd died in prison.

But never had he expected L of all people…

Matt wanted to feel proud of himself. He knew he didn't have what it took to be a detective, never mind a super-detective like L, nor did he want to try that path. But if they weren't supposed to see this file, L must've put as many locks on it as was possible. He, an amateur, after almost two hours, sore fingers and a stiff neck, had managed to crack all the codes.

But accomplishment was the last thing he felt right now. It didn't change the fact that L had had them believing that he was still fighting Kira, when in actuality he was dying. He had strung them all along. He still hadn't named a successor at the end of it all. Had that been deliberate?

Hadn't he considered that eventually they'd need to know and would find out one way or another?

Had he cared enough about them to even think of it?

He'd created this record to be read after he'd passed on. The dead didn't have to answer for anything. L had chosen the coward's way out. L, a coward. Was it possible to put those words together in a sentence?

Suddenly the stories he'd told him, about B and A and Los Angeles took on a whole new meaning, and for once, albeit against his will, he realized that Near had had a point back there in Roger's office.

"Mello…?"

Mello sat quiet. Like a volcano just moments before it erupted.

Firm achievement, my fucking ass.

Then the sugar found its way against the wall, snowing down on them in a cascade of glass and grainy white particles. Matt shielded his face, seeing Mello's legs spring up and storm out of the cubicle from underneath his arm.

Looking for something else to toss, Mello's destructive gaze turned to the dull red rosary that he had intertwined between his fingers, cutting into his flesh. The tiny cross swayed to and fro like the pendulum in the old grandfather clock back home. Why did he still carry this old thing around? Because he had given it to him? It was supposed to "protect him in times of adversity?" It burned in his hands every time he held it, the same way his mouth burned with the sickly-sweet aftertaste of chocolate. The same way his mind burned.

Why couldn't he just get rid of it already?

Snarling to himself, he undid the tangles of beads and jammed the rattling jewelry deep within his coat pocket.

Matt tried to go after him but didn't make it past the threshold. "Hey c'mon, Mello! You're blowing this out of proportion," he barked, trying not to make too much of a scene, but judging by the looks many were giving them, failing at it. "So he turned out to be a selfish arsehole—so what if—"

Never before had Mello's eyes bulged so far out with fury. It was like he was trying to blow Matt's brains out just by glaring at him. His words, his breath singed his cheeks like fire. "Save it. I'm done. I don't want anything more to do with him. Or Near, or any of them."

Matt froze. Even me? After everything? Just like that?

"The hell are you gonna go, huh?"

"Like I told Roger, to start living my own life. Don't try to follow me."

"But Mell—"

"I said don't follow me!"

Mello had pitched tantrums like this many times over the years, none of them worth taking that seriously. But this time Matt could hear a distinct malevolence in his voice, one that couldn't be so easily brushed aside. Like he was threatening his physical well-being if he took so much as one step after him.

Who would have thought that he'd be talking like this to the closest thing he'd had to a friend in a long time?

All this time I've been following a false idol. I invested everything in him. Now…he's abandoned us. He's abandoned me. I just can't stay anymore.

"So you think walking out yourself will make things right?"

Mello's head rattled, as though trying to come up with a strong enough argument that would justify his point. Instead, he gave a snort, turned on his leather heels, and stormed towards the exit. With the soft tinkle of a bell, he disappeared into the bone-white light of the autumn sun.

The already strong smell of cleaners almost became too much to bear. It made Matt dizzy and it pounded on his temples, almost like the scent of a fresh bottle of glue. That was what this whole experience was, like that time he'd tried huffing just to see what the fuss was about. After getting whacked with the mother of all headaches (from both the comedown and Roger's ear-chewing), he hadn't done it again since. There were plenty other things to experiment with.

Somehow, this headache managed to be worse than that. He sure could use something to take off this edge, right now. But what?

Trying to save whatever face he'd had left, Matt went back into the cubicle, ignoring the confused and bewildered stares and mutterings.

"Goddammit, Mello."

A strong word for someone who was barely fourteen. But no other word he could think of seemed strong enough. He rested his forehead against his knuckles, shaking his head. This was just another tantrum. His worst one to date, for sure, but a tantrum all the same. In a few days, Mello would cool off and come back, act like this never happened. Like he always did.

Right?

He knew he wouldn't get an answer, but he had to ask anyway. He plopped back into his chair, fixing his sleepy dark blue eyes on the words on the screen.

"Damn. How could you do this to him?"

"What was that? You actually want to meet him?" scoffed Deridovely, a big-lipped, eyeless mummy-like creature wrapped in bandages.

"That's right."

"Why waste your time talking to him?" sneered Zellogi, waving his rusted hook for a left paw, the feathers in his headdress rustling like catty words of gossip.

Gukku, a hairy shinigami with a goat's skull for a head, chimed in, "Yeah, it's not like he'll tell ya anything interesting."

"Forget it! It's pointless!"

"Shuddup and answer my question!" Lumen pulled out from behind him a weapon that resembled a zanbatō but was made up entirely of bone, like its wielder. He slammed it into the sand, rock and bone that made up the ground on which they sat, its mighty thump against a boulder echoing across the dark, endless plain as the only sound for immeasurable miles.

"I know he's around here somewhere," he growled, his fierce eyes burning from deep within his sockets, almost as brightly as the gems embedded in his goggles, as red as the band wrapped around his skull. "I wanna talk to this shinigami. I heard he had some fun in the human world."

The three, surprised and somewhat amused by his determination, conceded and pointed him to the far east, where there sat a cave that overlooked a valley of rusted chains and giant bones protruding from the ground like ribs from a half-buried decomposed creature. What did they have to lose? They even told him to make sure to bring an offering ("If you don't give him one of those, he won't bother with ya").

Lumen climbed up the crumbling steps in his lumbering way to find Ryuk perched over the edge of the cliff at the top of them, peering out at the empty gloom that stretched out below him. As soon as he heard the stranger approach, he turned his head, his blue lips still frozen in a grin, as though still replaying in his mind the great adventure he'd had in the other world. The living world.

The two stared each other down for what could have been eternity, if either of them could wait that long. "Who are you?"

"Call me Lumen. I've been looking for you. I wanna hear your story."

"Story?"

"I'll make it worth your while," he promised. He tossed an object straight on at Ryuk's blanched, mask-like face. Ryuk's reflexes were just as swift, and he caught it in his giant paw. His round, bulging red eyes gleamed with interest when he looked over the gift. An apple. An apple of course from this world, skinny and brown and wrinkled and that hung off the tall black things that resembled dead trees from the other world.

When was the last time someone had tossed him an apple? For that matter, when was the last time someone had been so brazen with him?

This new guy, Lumen…he just showed up one day and had been wandering all over ever since, too restless to nap or gamble like the others. Naturally, he was looked down on for it. What was the point to his wandering? Was he searching for something? There was nothing to be found here.

Maybe that was why Lumen had sought him out?

Ryuk chuckled. "I would've liked one that's a little more juicy, but oh well. It'll hafta do." Pinching the fruit by its short crooked stem, he dropped it into his cavernous mouth and took his time chewing it, his sharp teeth gnashing the dry fruit between them as though he were chewing on sand. No, this didn't hold a candle to the plump, juicy blood-red apples from the other world.

"I wanna go down to the human world," Lumen declared, a devious lilt in his words. "I'm sick of this place, it's so boring! I've heard that the human world is a lot more interesting."

Ryuk swallowed. He couldn't stop smiling. Where had he heard this before? Where before had he seen that otherworldly grin, so large that it literally split his face well up to where the ears would be if he had them? "Well, it's no use complaining about how boring it is here. Now, if you were thinking of doing something stupid, like changing the human world…that would be something."

He tossed his head. "Huh…I was getting bored, anyway. I'll humor you. Take it as my appreciation for giving me that lousy apple. I'll tell you the story of a human I once knew, just a couple years ago in fact, if you go by the human calendar. One who tried to change the world and become God."

Lumen perked up, prepared to give Ryuk his undivided attention, however much he had. Thus Ryuk launched into an epic, laughing or shaking his head now and then as he gave words to every memory that flashed before his eyes as fresh as the moments in which they'd happened.

Light Yagami had everything that any human could want: good looks, charm, intelligence, talent, wealth, a loving family, friends and most importantly a future. He was perfect in every way…so it'd seem on the surface.

But none of this was enough for Light. He may have been perfect, but the world around him was far from it. In fact, in his eyes it was rotten, almost as rotten as Ryuk and now Lumen saw their own world. But what could he do about it? He still had to go through college before he could so much as step onto the police force as an equal. He was slowly sinking into a pit of despair behind a mask of complacency.

Then he found that black notebook lying inexplicably out in the open in the schoolyard, courtesy of Ryuk, who had decided to make a different kind of gamble in hopes that something neat would happen. "I wrote all the instructions in the cover in English, since that's supposed to be the most popular language of the human world. I didn't really mean to drop it in that particular place. In fact, I think I had my eyes shut when I did it," he joked.

"How can you shut your eyes? Shinigami don't have lids over their eyes," said Lumen. "They sleep, but they don't have eyelids. Humans have them, though."

"Oh, yeah. Well, what I mean to say is I didn't look. I thought it'd be more fun to surprise myself, and besides I didn't have to. Whoever picks up a dropped notebook becomes its owner. That makes a sort of connection between him or her and a shinigami. I waited for a few days, and then used that binding whatever to find the kid."

By the time he had found him, Light had already filled out at least five pages with the names of the worst criminals, people who he thought were making the world rotten. If he at all had felt so much as a twinge of horror over the reality of the Death Note's power, Ryuk had missed that part (unfortunately), and when they had met, he had clearly gotten over it. Thanking Ryuk for introducing this power to him, he announced that he would now use this newfound power to change the world. The worst of humans would be punished for their sins, the pure at heart could live without fear, and those who even thought about doing wrong would think twice.

The world would be better, and at the top of it all Light would reign over as its god.

Ryuk paused to scoff. "Y'know, looking back, sometimes I wonder how much of that he really meant. He couldn't have known off the bat that the notebook was real; he had to try it first. A perfect guy like him, straight as an arrow, goes and kills a couple folks…I don't think he could handle that. He even told me, me of all people, when we met that the Death Note makes someone wanna use it.

"I dunno how true that is, but what a panic, to think that one human would try to change the entire world only so he can justify his own crimes. Or maybe he really did just care enough about his world to want to change it for the better? Who knows? You can never quite tell with humans. It's one of those things that make them interesting. At any rate, he introduced me to apples, so that's something."

It didn't take long for Light to start catching the world's attention through his actions. They started calling him "Kira," the Japanese pronunciation of the English word "Killer." Many praised him for his protecting the weak and bringing many crime victims closure. Others were more resistant. Oh yes, Light garnered some bad attention, as well. This crazy detective called "L" got on his case. That was when things started to really pick up.

Soon it became a game of, as humans would call it, cat-and-mouse. Each of them had to hunt each other down without knowing each other's name or face. Whoever was found out first would die.

Ryuk personally wasn't crazy about the guy, but Light found an equal, a kindred soul in L despite being enemies, something he hadn't found before in anyone else. L was just as cold-blooded and calculating as Light, and managed to get quite a few good licks in on him, though Light would generally pay him back in kind. Being the son of the chief of the police force gave him an edge ("It also made for some pretty awkward conversations around dinner").

Over those next few months they would get closer, under the pretense of a "good friendship," all the while trying to feel out each other's identity, enough so one could kill the other. Light would gain an ally in a girl with the Shinigami Eyes who was too much in love with him to be considered sane, as well as half in love with death. "She was cute, though, I'll give her that. Sometimes you couldn't help but feel sorry for her, what with the way Light played around with her and she let him. But underneath it, she could be nasty in her own right. Had Rem wrapped around her little finger and she knew it."

"A shinigami mooning over a human? You're making that up," Lumen clucked, disbelieving and frankly disgusted by the idea.

"I don't make things up, though I can't really blame you for thinking so. It is kinda silly. And it was bad for Rem. Light milked that for all it was worth."

Light had a penchant for bending the rules of the notebook to his whims without actually breaking them. Not only did he manage to clear his name with a couple of fake rules and a temporary memory wipe for them both, but he even got someone else to act as Kira in the meantime and take the fall. Some white-collar loser after status, and who had the hots for Misa despite being more than ten years her senior.

Eventually, it would all come to a boil. Misa found the notebook Light had buried and traded for the Eyes again, despite Ryuk's pointing out that her lifespan had already been halved from making the Eye Deal with Rem. She took up killing again.

L was going to test the notebook. He was going to hurt Misa. Already shaken from her dealings with Higuchi and Light, Rem wasted no time in using her notebook to kill off both L and his right-hand man. Or at least, she'd succeeded in killing one of them.

But L had somehow caught wind of Light's plan—or at least most of it. He used the Death Note against him. In one fatal stroke of irony, Light had gone from being just shy of the top of the world to being totally screwed. The looks on all his friends' faces when they circled him were priceless. Especially his old man's.

Now Ryuk had his dog-eared notebook open in his lap, staring at his crooked handwriting on one particular yellowed page. His name was still there, after all these years. Light Yagami. "Moon Night God."

"I figured that it was time to put him out of his misery. I didn't feel like waiting until he died in prison. That would've been boring, compared to everything that'd happened up 'til then. So, he lost the game. But, he did kinda win, too. That L guy died not long after he did, all alone. But before he did, he burned the notebooks. He wasn't as interesting as Light in that respect. I was kinda hoping he'd try it out, what with how similar he was to Light. I guess no two humans are exactly alike, another thing that makes them interesting…

"It's a shame, really, how it all ended so soon…I can't help but miss him, a little…"

How did this happen? How could it all amount to naught after everything he gave up? Wasn't Light supposed to be "the god of a new world?"

"No, Light. You weren't actually a god, back then," he murmured. "You were something else."

All this time of trying to become a god, Light had forgotten that for all of his brilliance, he was still human. Nothing he did could take away from that fact. Humans had flaws. If Light had any, it would've been that he had never once doubted his abilities. His foolish pride.

Was it the notebook poisoning his mind, or had his mind always been poisoned?

Ryuk noticed the lack of commentary from his visitor. When he turned to look into the darkness behind him, Lumen was gone. Like he'd never been there.

"Huh, he left." He hadn't noticed him lumber back down those steps. Had he even stuck around to hear the end of his tale?

So that's it, huh?

Wheezing, Ryuk returned to gaze out into the abyss. "Go ahead. Why not give it a shot? If you're lucky, some unbelievable guy might just pick up your notebook. Maybe you'll get to see something you'll never forget for the rest of your life. That's what I think.

"Wouldn't you agree…Light?"

"So did you find him?"

Umbra didn't look back at him as he ambled up behind him. He didn't have to. He could recognize that crunch of boots across the bone-white sand from anywhere.

"You were right, Umbra," Lumen announced, his gravelly voice carrying a faraway pitch to it, for he was still rapt by the story he had heard. Shinigami were not swept away by almost anything, most of them having seen it all. And yet the way he spoke, Umbra would have thought he had had…what did humans call it, an ecstatic vision? An epiphany? "That Ryuk had quite an adventure in the world below us. He told me everything and all I had to do was give him a measly apple."

In contrast, Umbra's words were as soft as the gust whipping sand into his dark unruly mane, or the last more or less peaceful breaths of a dying man. "How did it end?"

Lumen scratched his equally unruly mane as murky and brown as dried blood. "Huh? I don't know, I didn't stay for that part. I think the human he hung out with died or something. But who cares how it ended? What matters is that when Ryuk dropped his Death Note into the world below, this human did interesting things with it. He tried to become a god, like one of us, only more magnificent."

"Why doesn't it matter how it ended?"

"'End.' Heh. How do we even know what that word means?" Lumen snorted. "Humans have ends. They're born, they live a while, they die whether we will them to or not. But shinigami…we have no end. This boring world we live in has no end. Or beginning, for that matter. No one remembers where they came from or when. Even I don't know how I got here, and neither do you. We just are."

Umbra didn't partake in their games, nor did he speak very much. Instead, he watched. He listened. He observed. Once he'd had his fill of shinigami life, which happened fairly quickly, he would turn his sights to the many portals that opened into the world below. Admittedly yes, the human world seemed to have much more to offer with all its colors, its sounds, its vibrancy. But unlike their world, it was all finite, wasn't it?

If he were to go there himself, could he bear it?

He didn't know, nor was he sure he wanted to find out. Unlike Lumen, always wandering about in his quest for novelty, he was content to sit in one spot and watch from a distance, crouched on his long, spiny grasshopper-like legs, four of his spidery paws resting on his knees and two supporting his jaw. Probably no one would've known that he existed if it weren't for Lumen coming back time and again to chew his ear off about this or that (if he had ears to be chewed).

Besides, the only business a shinigami would have in the human world was if they'd somehow lost their notebook in that place. It didn't sound worth the trouble to him.

Lumen begged to differ.

He peered over Umbra's head, at the watery image of a girl tucked in her bed fast asleep. A black cat was curled up at her feet.

If Lumen could frown, he might have. "Huh. Seems that almost every time I catch you here, you're staring at that particular human. Why don't you just kill her, already? Make up for all the time you've wasted looking at her."

"I'm not interested in her. She lives in the same building as several other humans. I'm looking through all of them."

"That's funny. It just seems that every time you're at a portal, you keep going back to look at that one, for some reason. Not that I care what you do, 'cause I don't."

This was the sentiment for most shinigami towards each other's affairs. They didn't exactly have bosom friends in each other but some would congregate anyway, for games and whatnot. Perhaps because it was better than the alternative?

"You just contradicted yourself."

Lumen was taken aback. "Huh? What d'ya mean?"

Without looking at him, Umbra said, "You said that shinigami have no end. Doesn't the fact that you're suggesting that I kill this human to make up for lost time mean that we do have an end?"

Lumen grunted to himself. Shinigami didn't value reason and logic like humans did, only to the extent of how it applied to their lives, which beyond following the laws of their world and of their notebooks, was not far-reaching. Shinigami, unlike humans, had nothing to argue or squabble over except the occasional gambling foul, but even these were insignificant.

That was not to say that there couldn't be exceptions. "Well, that's my point! As long as we keep killing humans for their remaining years, we can live forever! Humans can't lengthen their lifespans, only shorten them. So we really do have no end."

"Then what's the point if this life is so boring?"

No self-respecting shinigami would admit to it, but deep down they were all afraid. Maybe their world was boring, but what else was there besides it and the finite human world below them? That was why shinigami killed humans, to collect on the surplus of time. No one could see their lifespans nor could they see each other's, but that didn't quench their drive to kill as they sensed their time slipping away from them. No one wanted to think about what would happen if, or when, their time ran out.

Perhaps shinigami were similar to humans, in that way. They just had the means to delay the inevitable. Indefinitely, if they wanted.

"We'll just have to make our own excitement," spat Lumen, tossing his head. "We've got all the time to do whatever we want. If Ryuk could do it, there's no reason why we couldn't."

Umbra squinted his white, beady, pupil-less eyes. "But the only way to get down there is if you dropped your notebook. I don't know if one visit to the human world is worth sacrificing your notebook."

Lumen clasped his large, skeletal paws. "Hmm…I'll find a way around it. I don't care if you go or not, but I'm doing this one way or another. That girl there doesn't seem all that special. She won't do. I need a human like the one Ryuk met. Someone like Light Yagami."

"How will you know when you've found him or her?"

Lumen didn't answer for a beat. He peered up through his goggles into the dreary nothingness hanging over them like a shroud. "I'll know. Guys like Light Yagami…must have some way of standing out from the flock."

Umbra doubted that discriminating in such a way would produce the same results that Ryuk's experience had. But he kept this thought to himself. As he listened to Lumen lumber away, his long ragged coat swishing behind him, he murmured, "Good luck with that."

When he could no longer hear Lumen's footsteps, he adjusted his view back to the messy-haired girl, who was now starting to stir and pawing around for her alarm clock.