"It's... it's cursed... Your son is cursed" said the priest, as he picked up the book that had fallen from the man's bookshelf.
"Father, how do you know?" the man asked worriedly. He looked towards the next room where his wife had just finished giving labor to his first son. "In-house labors aren't that rare! Most families in this area of Italy have no choice since the nearest hospital is —"
"That is not what I meant. This book fell out of the book case, correct? Take a look at what page it landed on."
The priest stepped closer to the man and showed him the book. "Oh dear lord..." the man gasped, staring at the picture of the Leviathan, a demon of envy. Minutes that felt like hours passed before the man said a word, "...What should I do, father? I can't kill my first son, I just can't!"
"Then raise him. Do not give him away and do not tell your wife of this. Sometimes, we can change fate. If you raise him right, he may not turn evil. If he shows signs of being cursed, kill him at once."
"… Yes father."
For almost 12 years, the boy did not show any signs of being cursed. On the day of his twelfth birthday, all that would be changed.
One of the kids in his village shared the same birthday as him, so their birthdays were always celebrated together. One could say they were best friends, almost brothers.
A few days before the fourteenth of November, the boy had seen a toy in the window of a shop across the street from the bakery he and his mother were going to. He told his mother of it, but she said, "We're short on money right now, but we'll try." Knowing of his family's tight situation, he tried not go get his hopes up.
Coming home from school the next day, he overheard his parents and his friend's parents talking about the toy. His hopes were brought up.
On the day of the party he waited in anticipation, eager to open his presents. When the time came to open presents, he and his friend opened them together. One by one, he shredded the wrapping off every box, but did not find the toy in any of them. After looking at his parents with a forced smile, he glanced toward his friend who was playing with his new toy, the same toy the boy wanted. Enraged with jealousy, the boy grabbed the nearest item, a thin roll of left over wrapping paper, and started hitting his friend. The flames within the boy hardened the roll and made it more dangerous. His friend pleaded for help, but the boy attacked anyone who got near, making it nearly impossible to assist his friend. The boy screamed, "Why!? Why not me!?" as he thrashed his friend with the now blood-covered roll.
The boy's father was able to stop his son before the final blow. There was a look in the boy's eyes, similar to the eyes of the Leviathan, just before he dropped the roll and cried in his father's arms. The guests cried, "Demon! Devil child! Leviathan!" in horror. His friend's mother wept as her husband checked his son's heartbeat. "It's faint, but he's still alive," were the last words the boy heard before blacking out.
When he came to, all the guests had left and his dad explained everything. His mother broke down in tears when she heard the truth. After that day, everyone in the village avoided him. At school, his friends no longer played with him; at the shopping center, most avoided his eyes when he purchased items; his village shunned his whole family. As years passed, there were incidents where gangs tried to rob him, but they were no match for him. Every night, he came home with blood-stained clothes and refused to talk to his parents.
He never got too violent towards anyone after that incident with his friend. After a few blows to the face, gangs would run away in fear. The boy, now a young man, was oblivious to the fact that he sometimes fought mafia families. Many families saw him as a growing threat and decided to destroy him.
One rainy day, men from many different families cornered him in an alley. The young man had been in a bad mood all day so he wasn't in a mood to fight, but when one of the henchmen shot at him and grazed his newly bought leather jacket, he closed his umbrella and slashed at them as if it were a sword. The tip of his umbrella was thin and sharp and became harder with the flames within him. One by one, the men shot at the young man but he never fell. His arms, legs, and even his face were covered in a mix of his and their blood. "Why won't he die!?" cried some of the men. "He's a monster! A demon!"
Just as he was about to deliver his final blow to one of the men, the man was shot from behind. Everyone, including the young man, looked towards the direction of the shot. On top of a building stood a man, about the same age as the young man, holding two guns. He jumped off and shot anyone in his way. The men scrambled to make a pathway. As the man walked towards the young man, the men whispered to each other saying, "Isn't that Vongola Nono's son, Xanxus?" with others replying, "Yeah, why is he here? I thought the Varia only handled high class assassination missions."
Xanxus stepped up to the young man, who was now on the ground, and kicked his stomach. "Hey trash, do you want to live or die?"
The young man panted as he caught his breath, "I… I have no reason to live… but I'm afraid of death…"
Xanxus smirked and violently grabbed the young man by the collar, "You're strong, but you need to become stronger." He threw him to the ground, "Scum like you belong in my team."
"If I join your team, will I have a reason to live?"
"You will live to kill and work for me, and only for me. You got that, trash?"
For the first time in years, the young man felt truly happy. He never heard of this Xanxus man, but he liked everything about him. The young man glanced to his side and saw the men either gathering bodies, trying to help the wounded, or containing the aisle for Xanxus. He admired everything about him. Everything about Xanxus was all the young man ever wanted in life. He was envious.
"Oi, trash," Xanxus growled.
The young man looked up.
"What's your name?"
The young man looked down, thought for a moment, and smirked. "Leviathan." he answered.
Xanxus smiled with a wild look in his eyes, "I like that! I'll call you Levi. Leviathan is too long." Xanxus said as he spun around and started to walk away. Levi grabbed his beaten umbrella and scrambled to his feet, following in Xanxus' footsteps.
More years passed and Levi got used to the Varia. He got stronger and became the self-proclaimed right hand of Xanxus. The Varia grew and grew as more people joined. There was Belphegor, also known as Prince the Ripper; there was Mammon, a greedy child; there was Gola Moska, a giant robot; there was Lussuria, a man full of lust (for other men); and there was Squalo, a swordsman full of pride. There were other members too, but those seven were the top assassins in the Varia unit of the Vongola family.
Levi did all he could do to get Xanxus's attention and praise like the day they met, but the other members were more outstanding. Xanxus did not completely ignore him since he was at his side almost 24/7, but the others got more praise from him. Levi was like a dog begging for his master's attention, but the other dogs were much more charismatic and better looking. He started spiking his hair and pierced his bottom lip and left eyebrow, but Xanxus' attitude toward him did not change. One night, Xanxus sent the Varia on multiple assassination missions, except Levi. "Boss," Levi started, "Are there any assignments for me?"
Xanxus was resting in bed, still awake. "Let me sleep," he growled.
"Yes boss." replied Levi as he slowly closed the door so Xanxus could fall asleep.
He slugged to his room, slammed the door shut, and didn't turn the lights on. "Why does everyone else get his attention more than me?" he thought as he fell on all fours. His voice choked as he whispered to himself, "Why can't he look at me...?" and tears slowly flowed from his eyes and dripped off the tip of his nose.