CHOSEN

Chapter One: The Hunt.


Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.

Thanks to all who reviewed/faved/followed, and sorry for the couple weeks wait on this. I spat this out in a five hour guilt-and-drug-induced writing session and edited it right after while I was dead inside, so I apologize in advanced for any spelling/grammatical/continuity errors. Anyways, let's get on with it!

(See end of chapter for author's note).


No one knew how the fire started, only that what had once been was no longer: the shack that had housed Kabil and his little wife was long gone by the time the first rooster crowed and the villagers stirred to the stench of sulfur and smoke, pouring out of their respective homes like ants from a demolished colony, and pooling anxiously around the fire.

The flames were black and they burned for days. The villagers shuffled anxiously around it, diverting their eyes in passing, only speaking of it in the most private of whispers as the black light glowed outside of their huts, casting strange shadows on the sleeping world around it.

Some speculated the cause of it, some prayed that the fire would spare their families, and some even mourned for Kabil and Akna, as the couple hadn't been seen since the mysterious destruction of their home, but one whisper was common amongst them all, joining together in their conviction and trailing out into the air with the smoke: Xulub. However, when the wind blew and the day started again, the air was blown clear. No one seemed as willing to accuse in the light of day, for fear of bringing the black wrath onto themselves. And still, the fire burned.

Offerings were laid out beside what had once been a shack, evidence of the home long since burnt away, and the fire dug out a deep pit in the earth beneath it. Days passed, and the pit rounded out until a perfect orb of surreal black fire could be seen from any point in the village. Fear, clammy with anticipation, hung around the village, heavier than the humidity in the air.

Mercy, the people silently cried. Mercy. For such an omen had never before been seen, not in their documented history. Helpless, they waited, although for what they were unsure.

A young woman by the name of Atziri, too, waited, although her pain was far more singular and unique than the others: she was mourning her baby sister, lost to the world only days ago. She hadn't spoken to her family in years, as her husband and children were now her family, but she recalled the golden days of her innocence with a wistful fondness: the last fragments of her memories nothing but ash, consumed in Hell fire, she felt an aching hole in her chest that even her children could not fill.

She hadn't been able to sleep much since the fire began, and that night was no different. Sitting, waiting, elbows resting on the window sill as she stared at the flames in the distance. There was no moon that night, only the stars and the faint purple glow of black fire, and it was eerily quiet, with only the cracking and popping of the inferno polluting the silence.

Until, as quickly as they'd started, the flames were extinguished. Atziri snapped out of her daze, having fallen into the warm state between sleep and consciousness hours into her waiting, brown eyes staring wide into the darkness. No crack or pop could be heard - although Atziri could feel from the shift in the air alone that the cursed flames were indeed gone - and a heavy, unnatural silence took its place. Not even the animals in the forest surrounding the village dared make a sound.

Atziri held her breath with the world.

A shrill cry pierced the night air, shattering the quiet abruptly. It was a pitiful, gurgling sound, and the telling lurch in Atziri's swollen breasts was all too familiar. Atziri's husband and children silently stood behind her in the window, even the baby waking silently in its crib, and similar clusters of little brown faces could be seen in every opening – in doorways and windows and even brown eyes in the gaps of wooden board walls – all listening, knowing, but refusing to go out and see it for themselves.

Had someone gone outside that night, they'd have found a baby girl writhing in the smoldering ashes that had once been her home, mewling and squirming in confusion. Had someone gone outside that night, they may have thought the scene beautiful: a perfect child rising from the ashes, like a phoenix with wisps of brown curly hair and unnaturally bright, jade green eyes.

But the brown faces stayed put in their little homes as they listened to the girl scream her newly-formed lungs clear, and when the sun rose the next morning, chasing away the uncertainty of the night, the cries stopped.

The phoenix girl was gone.

No one understood, and no one spoke of it the following day, nor did anyone approach the blackened pit, for fear of agitating the monster it had spawned the night before. They simply clung to their tentative relief at having been spared the Devil's wrath, unaware that they were still waiting, in a sense.

Their first gift had been fire, the second a phoenix, but the third was nothing more than a whisper; it crept over them in the night, adept with a deadly, blameless grace, bringing forth angry welts and glassy eyes.

The Red Village, that's what the world named them when they were gone: it was the sort of phenomenon that went unmentioned by most of the world, as they were made uncomfortable by the uncertainty of it all. Doctors and specialists alike were stumped by the discovery that an indigenous village had been wiped out apparently overnight, by an unnamable disease comparable only to that of the Black Death, and that all traces of said pestilence had seemingly disappeared back into the dark without a trace, the only evidence of its existence being hundreds of red men, women, and children tucked peacefully into their beds, mouths gaping with rigor and eyes bulging, but hauntingly tranquil nonetheless.


Continents away, an infant girl sat naked on a dark doorstep, her fat limbs flailing and her brown face tinged pink with the nightly cold. Around her neck sat a black necklace, the chain flush against the newborn's lumpy neck, a stone of jade green – identical to that of her eyes, which had prematurely taken up vivid color – hanging from it, looking ridiculously large as it rested on the baby's small chest.

A couple emerged from the house, drawn out by the crying babe, expressing their shock to one another quickly and in hushed tones. The woman, spurred by maternal instinct, gathered the child up in her arms, tucking the naked infant carefully into the folds of her cloak.

Her husband frowned down at the baby, taking up the pendent of her odd necklace and gently examining it in calloused fingers. It had a certain antiquity to it, a perfect oval stone framed in intricate black metal. Moving to remove the bulky item from the baby, the woman snaked a hand around the back of her neck in search of a clasp. Instead, white hot pain met her, and she snapped her hand back to find that her fingertips had been left pink, shiny, and taught. The infant girl, having quieted to a gurgling dribble since being picked up by the woman, began to scream once again, doubtlessly due to the burning necklace.

"It burned me!" the woman told her husband, and surely enough, a similar reaction occurred anytime someone tried to remove the necklace. The chain would grow and shrink, always resting as a comfortable choker on the girl's neck, but was strangely clasp-less, and clearly cursed so as not to allow its removal.

Her necklace was wholly unsettling to the couple, but they took in the baby all the same. Their country was unkind to orphans, and they had no way of ensuring the girl's safety outside of their direct care. They were unusually kind people, with three young daughters of their own; food would be tight with an additional mouth to feed, but the couple could only hope that someone would show the same kindness to their children in turn, should the need ever arise. In their country, even as the poor farmers they were, they knew they had been left better off by the wars than many others.

And so, by the soft glow of the hearth that night, they bundled up the child in raggedy hand-me-downs and laid her down in a dresser drawer they'd lined with blankets. The man who would be the girl's father reached down into the bundle once more, careful not to wake the sleeping girl, and turned the pendent of her necklace over.

Etched into the back, in crisp, capital lettering read a single word: "LUCY."


Lucy was a very calm baby, her newfound family soon discovered; she'd idly kick her feet, her bright gaze mature – almost intelligent – for her age, and often transfixed on a distant, invisible point in the corner of the room.

Invisible to the others, that is: Lucy could see it, clear as day, sitting in the corner. It liked to watch her, smiling with pointed teeth and bulging green eyes, its skin black as pitch, complete with horns on its head and hooved feet. It usually just observed, laughing occasionally, but sometimes it would offer a comment, although at this point it was more to itself: the infant girl had no cognizant speech skills yet, and while she was not a normal girl in many ways, age had her trapped in a universally familiar state of ignorance for the time being.

"Whore of a mother, let me show you how rotten this world can truly be," it would mutter, when moods of particular wickedness overtook it and its hatred overflowed out into a venomous dribble. "I have plans, yes, plans, she'll see…"

Lucy didn't mind, though; for her, life included Xulub, and she had no reason to be afraid of such a constant presence. In a way, Lucy's infantile mind had projected a paternal role onto the Devil: she'd even laugh when the creature reappeared in the corner after a long absence, innocently happy to see her mysterious companion.

As years passed and Lucy grew, her mother and father assumed the creature she occasionally spoke of was an imaginary monster – unsettling to hear about, sure, but certainly nothing for adults to fear – and Lucy soon realized that no one else could see Xulub.

At the age of five, Lucy was a bright and beautiful young girl. She maintained the unnatural calm from her infancy, but it came off as tranquil rather than frightening. The girl, ironically enough considering her origins, simply overflowed with life: she showed kindness to all around her, singing softly as she did her chores and trailing along happily behind her sisters when they were finished.

And how her sisters adored their baby sibling, whether they were related by blood or not; and it was rather clear, as they grew, that the girls didn't share the same genetics as Lucy, but the three elder sisters never paid any mind to it. Yes, with her bright green eyes standing out vividly against smooth brown skin, marred only by a beauty mark located bellow the left outer corner of her eye, her petite frame surrounded by a wild halo of dark curls, Lucy certainly stood out from the family at first glance. But she, too, ignored this, instead simply appreciating her sisters for their individual characters: the three of them, all older than her, were only a few years apart in age.

The eldest of the three, Zeina, was tall, athletic, and with a fearsome temper. She took to the leadership that came along with being the eldest child easily, as though destined for the role, and protected her sisters with a fiery, almost violent, determination.

Behind her was Aseel, and she was only a bit shorter than Zeina, but rather than possessing her elder sister's narrow, sharp, angular frame, she was soft and womanly, almost plump when the winter months kept her indoors. Aseel was the one who coddled them when they were sick, who kept the younger ones clean and fed when their mother was too busy. Lucy admired her beauty and her easy, maternal kindness.

And finally, there was Uri, a tiny girl who loved books (no matter how hard they were to come by, somehow, she would always mysteriously acquire reading material) and learning, and would constantly spout off useless information at the slightest provocation. Not that it was all useless; she was rather useful when the girls played in the woods together, her memory good for reminding them of the poisonous plants to watch for, and her quick strategic abilities saving them from getting into trouble when their games went too far.

The girls were inseparable, even when they fought, and their parents were so thankful for their close bonds as their nation deteriorated – unbeknownst to the innocent children – into chaos and war around them.

Lucy could sense the tension, though – she had a knack for reading people, it would seem – just as she had sensed her need to keep Xulub a secret. Her intuition, the reason for her calm nature, seemed stronger than her sisters, although Lucy didn't understand it much, so she kept it to herself. Still, though, she would read the unrest in her father's stiff shoulders, in the deep lines around her mother's mouth, and Xulub would laugh.

That was all Xulub did now: watch, sometimes disappearing for random amounts of time, and displaying amusement at strange cues. Lucy had tried talking to it before, but it always ignored her, just pointing its wide grin at her while it wheezed excitedly, and so the child had learned to act as though it weren't there at all.

One night, however, it spoke to her:

"It's time."

Lucy had looked up from her dinner bowl, frowning slightly at the creature and cocking her head to the side in confusion. It simply laughed again, that familiar wheezing sound enough to tell her that Xulub had no intention of clarifying its cryptic statement.

POW! POW! POW!

Three loud gunshots echoed in the distance, silencing the family's merriment, the change as abrupt as a bucket of water being poured over a hearth. Lucy's father whipped his head in the direction of the window, straining to listen. Distantly, the excited shouts of men could be heard, and Lucy watched her mother's face visibly pale.

Without a word, her father stood from his chair and walked into the room he shared with their mother. From their dresser, he withdrew a tiny key and inserted it into the lock of the trunk at the foot of their bed. Lucy strained to see inside the trunk, intrigued, as she'd never seen her father open it before. It had always been locked, ever since she could remember. From its depths, he drew out a long, old shotgun, a box of ammunition, and a cleaning kit. With deft fingers he set about quickly cleaning and loading it. From the familiar way he did it, Lucy guessed he often handled the shotgun, perhaps maintaining it at night while his family slept.

The sounds of the men outside grew louder, and no one else moved from the table.

"Amina," her father said, addressing her mother with uncharacteristic sternness. The older woman nodded her head, the jerky movement along with her pale coloring giving away her unease, before her husband walked outside, shotgun in hand.

"Listen, my girls," her mother whispered. "You're going to go out the back and hide in the woods. Uri, you remember the way to my sister's house, yes? It's miles away, and I know it's cold, but you must run there. All of you. Zeina, you will have to carry Lucy, but you are strong." At this, her mother took a deep, shuddering breath, as if forcing down tears. "And Aseel, dear, I have a bag packed for you to carry. My girls… you must be strong and take care of one another."

Hastily, she grabbed a bag from the unlocked trunk and thrust it into Aseel's soft arms. The responsible one, she would keep track of their things and ration it all between the four of them when the time came. Uri, with her perfect memory, was already working out the quickest way through the woods behind her sharp eyes. Zeina, so strong and protective, scooped the littlest of the sisters up in her arms. Lucy felt an ache in her chest when her mother kissed each of them on the forehead.

"Go, my girls. Now, you must go, and do not turn back no matter what."

Lucy noticed that Aseel was crying, and that Zeina's expression was even steelier than usual. Uri, not much older than Lucy, still had that hard, calculating look in her eye.

"We will meet you at my sister's, my girls, now go!"

Lucy clung to the promise, but she knew that it was empty. Her mother didn't plan to join them; she'd just said her goodbyes.


It was when they were traipsing through the dry underbrush, the dark wood opening up, preparing to swallow them, that they heard the first gunshot.

POW!

"It was father's gun, he got them," Zeina ground out, and Lucy fixed her green gaze on her sister's grim expression. Lying, her intuition told her. She's lying.

Lucy's little heart beat faster against her ribs, but she remained silent. The girls paused for a moment in the underbrush to mourn their father before continuing forward. Had they turned around, they'd have seen his body sprawled out on the other side of the clearing, opposite of them, but the sounds of soldiers whooping told them all they needed to know. Gritting their teeth, they continued forward.

Zeina's bony arms bore almost painfully into Lucy, her sister's grip was so tight, but the girl knew better than to complain. Instead, she peered over the eldest girl's shoulder, so that she was the only to see their childhood home as men in uniform poured into the front of it. A scream, another gunshot, and they were orphaned.

From the window, Lucy could make out Xulub's black, horned head smiling back at her, its body jerking familiarly as it laughed.

Aseel's soft weeping could be heard over the sounds of triumph coming from what had once been their home. Zeina clutched Lucy harder. Uri was the one to keep her composure, a stony mask of logic sliding easily over her features as she took the head of their ragtag team and began to run in the direction of their aunt's house.

They made a decent head start before they heard the loud soldiers entering the forest behind them, still too far to see through the trees, but Lucy's insides screamed that it wasn't enough, that they would soon catch the little girls and execute them as they had their parents. Uri picked up her pace slightly, her sharp mind no doubt having come to the same conclusion.

The girls hurried along, Zeina's grip readjusting on Lucy as her arms doubtlessly began to feel the strain of fatigue. Lucy briefly wondered if her sister would leave her behind, but she selfishly hoped she wouldn't. Zeina's legs were long and fast, but the men were still gaining, fighting for some unknown war that had been raging since before Lucy's birth, a war with two enemy sides. Enemies to them, to Lucy's family, at least.

"We have to split up, they're likely to follow one set of footprints," Uri rasped, her voice hard. Lucy looked down over Zeina's shoulder in surprise, not having even considered their faint footprints in the thin layer of white frost that covered the ground, and again she was thankful for Uri's cleverness. "Our aunt's house is miles North, see the star? It's under it, just keep going."

The three girls, one with the fourth in her arms, nodded to one another fiercely, trying to steer their minds away from teary goodbyes as they all ran off in separate directions.

Lucy stared over Zeina's shoulder, her chin bouncing against it and jarring her jaw slightly with each of her sister's long strides. For a time, the sounds of the men quieted and a small, hopeful voice within her wondered if Uri's plan had truly worked, that perhaps the men had given up or followed only one of them.

POW! Zeina let out a choked sob, her knees almost buckling beneath her, but remembering her tiny sister in her arms, she pushed herself on. Lucy tried not to wonder which of her sisters lay dead in the snow tonight, nothing but a frozen red smear to be reclaimed by the forest.

The child could hear the men running behind them now, although they were a bit quieter and their counterparts more distant, revealing that Uri's plan had indeed failed; the men had stopped for a moment to split into three groups, one for each tiny trail. They whooped and hollered to one another, the sounds of merriment confusing Lucy.

Why? This wasn't the way soldiers fought, not the ones in Uri's books, and they certainly weren't the type of opponents to take up arms against. But still here they were, being hunted like animals in the night.

The realization felt like ice. Hunted. That's what this was to them, it was nothing more than a game for them to entertain themselves with. Anger joined the adrenaline coursing through her veins, and she thought of her mother and father and sister lying dead in the snow, and all for a game. The soldiers, disillusioned from years of war, tormented them simply for the thrill of it, and Lucy fought the urge to be sick.

POW! A second gunshot, more shouts, and suddenly Zeina and Lucy were alone in the world.

Zeina pumped her legs faster than Lucy had ever seen them go, and she clutched her so tight that Lucy could hardly breathe. Their path was twisting through the snow now, no longer following the bright star that clever Uri had pointed to. Before Lucy could register what was happening, Zeina was thrusting her unceremoniously into the hollow of a dead tree.

"Be quiet now, baby sister, and when the men are gone follow the star." Lucy felt her sister press her chapped lips to her forehead before Zeina kicked away the footprints leading up to the tree and took off sprinting in the opposite direction.

Lucy could hear the men running now, too, much closer than she'd been able to hear them before. They seemed to hesitate a moment near her hiding place, clearly noticing the scuffling in their trail, but eventually they followed Zeina's path.

She will get away, Lucy told herself. Zeina is too strong, they will not catch her.

Her gut twisted, and Lucy felt hot tears pour down her cheeks. Lucy had a knack for telling when people were lying, even if the lies were her own.

POW!

The men could be heard cheering in the distance, joining the sounds of Lucy's choked sobs, and behind her, she heard a familiar wheezing laugh.


A/N: This chapter actually had to be cut a little short, so this story arch will finish in the following chapter. It ran a little longer than I'd planned and I didn't want the ending to come off as rushed, so yeah… Sad cliffhanger it is.

Lucy (yeah the Devil definitely thinks he's funny!) is just a baby here for most of this so we don't know much about her character yet, and we probably won't until – uhhhhhhh – the third chapter? Fourth chapter? One of those. Don't worry, things seem crazy now, but I actually have a plan. It may not be a good plan, but I have one! So yeah, coming up: more sad, angst, then some violence and Xulub developments, sad, angst… What was I saying? Oh, yeah, then Wammy House eventually. Things will lighten up a bit, have some dark humor thrown in there, and Luce will reveal her true colors. And L, whom I love (duh). I'm excited for this story, if you couldn't tell!

(Reviews are love ~)