Ex Nihilo
First there was nothing, and then -
Something.
As his sight slowly comes back to him, he braces himself for it to hurt. Bright colors pass through his field of vision, red, green, blue, then finally bright, searing yellow. He expects to flinch, to squint, but he doesn't.
He isn't sure, in fact, if he actually has eyes.
There is a pressure somewhere. Familiar. A noise, too, subtly pounding all around him.
Oh, that would be
His heart. How could he have forgotten his heart?
The pressure increases, moving in and out. The kiss of air to his lungs, the tissues and capillaries flush with the memory of what it's like to breathe, to be alive.
((L Lawliet.))
He turns his head towards the voice. He thinks it's his head, at least. And he thinks it's a voice, though there is a note to it that sounds distinctly inhuman. If he thinks about that inhuman note too hard, he feels something akin to insanity bleed into his mind.
No, no. I'm not supposed to know this. Not supposed to be here.
"L Lawliet!" The voice is sharper now. Decidedly female.
The colors in his field of vision shimmer and dance, then finally converge and lengthen, pulling out in various directions until he can identify legs, arms, then at last a face.
"L Lawliet! Wake up!"
My, it's a pushy voice, an odd mix of exasperation tinged with amusement.
"I'm awake."
And suddenly, he is, crouched on the floor in his most comfortable position, though he has the sense that his body isn't all here, yet. Still, he is awake and he is L.
"Phew, good." The woman smiles broadly. She's dressed in a lab coat, a clipboard pressed to her chest. The wrinkles around her eyes, paired with the frowsiness of her hair, suggest that she is comfortably middle-aged. She speaks in English with an American accent.
"Do I know you?" The very tip of L's thumb slips into his mouth. Ah, so he does have a thumb, at least.
"Not personally, but I do know you. I'm Michelina." She offers a hand, as if to shake his, or perhaps help him to his feet.
"No, thank you." L stares at the woman, noting her concerned expression, then looks past her to his surroundings. They're in a laboratory, of sorts, though many of the gadgets and equipment mounted to the walls are completely unfamiliar to him. The lighting is soft, even soothing, and there's a quiet hum in the air.
It reminds him of engines.
"Am I in the afterlife?"
Because if there's one thing L knows, it's that he's dead.
I'm dying. He did it, he really - I'm dying!
I knew he
I'm
It's the last thought L ever had, and given how much it terrifies him, it might as well have been the only thought he ever had.
"This isn't the Afterlife. There is no Afterlife. Not for you, anyway."
"Why not for me?" L wonders aloud. He wasn't an infallible person, perhaps, but he does not think he was evil.
He was just too late.
"You're a soul. Souls do not go to an Afterlife, they only go to Mu."
"Mu," L mutters.
Nothingness.
"Off the floor, now," Michelina says, her voice suddenly stern. "You're being a little slower to adjust than I expected."
And with that, she yanks his hand away from his mouth and hauls him upright. She's five-foot nothing, but seems to have the strength of a longshoreman.
L gives a stunted cry, once again bracing himself for pain, the stiff pop of joints and the ache of long-dormant muscles. How long has he been dead? But once more he feels nothing, not even the solid floor beneath his feet.
"Ah, sorry about that," Michelina says, seeming to notice. "Let me give you some more substance."
She pats him up and down until he can feel the brisk, efficient movements of her hands. He looks down and sees his body, dressed in its regular uniform of jeans and a white, long-sleeved tee-shirt. His feet are bare, more clean than he remembers.
He's overwhelmingly glad to see his body, which is curious, as he never thought of it much before, when he was alive. It was mostly a place for his brain to sit. He fed both body and brain their preferred fuel (sugar), and gave the former regular exercise, not out of vanity but because strength and agility were necessary in his line of work.
Though neither body or brain saved him, in the end.
"Ahh." L stretches, delighting in the renewed sensation, then opens his eyes wide. That hum in the air, it must be engines. "This isn't Mu," he deduces, rather obviously.
"Nope."
Michelina walks over to the far end of the laboratory-like room, her heels clicking along the floor at a business-like clip. She raises her hand and a wall slides out of the way, revealing a massive, round porthole.
"This is Pandæmonium."
"Pandamonium," L repeats, aware that his pronunciation doesn't sound quite like hers.
"Have a look."
He toddles over to her, stepping gingerly on his bare feet. It doesn't hurt to walk, but it still feels novel, somehow. When he looks through the porthole, he expects to see outer space, a vast field of stars and pinwheeling constellations. Instead, he sees something he can't rightly identify. Strange blobs of iridescent ichor, teaming and blooming like bacteria in a petri dish.
A vast field of...ooze.
It's inelegant, but it's the best he can do.
"I suppose in more technical terms, it's the fabric of time and space, but for all intents and purposes, it's the name of my world. Pandæmonium."
"I see." L feels calmer than he ought to. "And why am I here?"
She meets his eyes directly; they are an ordinary shade of blue, but for the first time he sees something utterly fathomless inside of them.
Michelina is no ordinary woman.
"You've been chosen as a Champion," she says simply.
Champion?
"Wait. This is the fabric of time and space, you say?" He tips toward the porthole. He must have a closer look at this 'ooze.'
"Oh no, you don't." She pivots him around sharply. "I should have known better than to give someone like you a glimpse of all that."
"So you made a mistake?" He lifts his eyebrows. "I suppose that means you are not a God."
"Ha," she snorts, her expression hard and impatient. "Not hardly. I'm a glorified babysitter."
He pouts a little. "Does that make me a child?"
Michelina's face seems to soften. "No. As I said, you're a Champion."
"Then I am a Champion that loses." Even he can feel how bitter his smile is. "You'd do better to choose someone else, Michelina-senpai."
"You didn't lose. And really, there's no need for honorifics."
He says nothing.
"Light Yagami won, but that doesn't mean you lost."
He stiffens all over, jaw clamping shut at the sound of Yagami's name.
I'm dying. He did it, he really - I'm dying!
I knew he
I'm
"Don't be stupid, L. You played Tennis, did you not?"
Still, he doesn't move a muscle.
"You ought to know that the player who wins the first set hasn't necessarily won the whole match."
This time L speaks, though he doesn't have much to say as of yet. "Alright. I'm listening."
She breathes out what sounds like a sigh of relief, then turns him around to face the porthole again.
"First, I'd like to introduce you to someone."
His eyes widen at the sight before him.
"L, this is the Universe. Universe, meet L."
No. NO. NOOO
I don't wanna die!
Misa! Father!
I CAN'T
Anyone!
Ryu
The fire burns him inside and out, crackling so fiercely it nearly deafens his thoughts. It doesn't burn his body, but his very soul. The pain -
NOOO!
It doesn't end. It doesn't end!
But then it does, just a little. Just enough for him to hear a low, evil cackle. The sound of it makes the flames dance higher, licking over the skin of his soul, devouring it.
"Some God of the New World. You burn just as hot and shit-stinking as any other soul."
Ahhh! You lied, Ryuk! You said there would be nothing. No hell, no afterlife. Just nothing!
"You blubber too much."
That voice again, hateful and merciless.
"You think I'm evil? I'm JUSTICE, motherfucker!" And then the laugh, the insidious cackle.
It's taunting me. Taunting me!
"Damn right I am. It's just too fun, isn't it?"
And then all at once, the flames are gone, and the pain with it. He's gasping hard, his throat raw with unspent screams.
"What are you, what…?" He can barely speak, his heart is pounding between his ears so hard he fears his skull might burst open.
"Relax, I'm just fucking with you."
It's the same voice, but amiable now. Nearly friendly.
Reality gathers around him and takes shape. He can feel something solid beneath his sprawled out body. He's no longer on fire but he can still smell burnt flesh, hear the roar of fire in the air.
"Get a hold of yourself, Light Yagami."
A shadow looms over Light, featureless and black. He blinks his eyes hard and when he opens them again, he's looking into the face of a man.
"Ah, there you are."
"Where am I?" Light manages to croak.
The man smiles. His face looks ordinary enough, youthful and blandly handsome, but when he smiles, his teeth glint just a little too hard. Like a switchblade, flicking open in the firelight.
"Where do you think you are?"
"Hell."
"Is that right? Interesting."
Light tries to find words, but he hasn't the air. No matter what he does, he can't seem to catch his breath, but some time passes - how much, he doesn't know - and his gasps finally die down to a low panting.
"This isn't hell," he determines.
The man lights a cigarette, bored. "No such place, kid."
Light sits up, angry. "You tricked me. You made me think - you..."
"Oh, you're one to talk." The man's laugh is practically a guffaw. "Isn't so fun when someone fucks with your head, is it?"
Fuming, Light comes to his feet easily enough. He's naked, coated in a sickly sheen of sweat and filth, and yet the man looks effortlessly crisp and cool in his designer suit. It's not far off from the kind Light himself used to favor, before -
Before.
"This isn't hell, but I am dead."
"Correct." The man blows odorless smoke in his face.
Light waves it away fussily, just the same.
"Let me guess, you're masquerading as Satan?"
The man shrugs, almost looks sheepish. "Caught me."
"Who are you, then?" Light manages to make his tone less demanding, more civil. As far as he can tell, this is man is the only person around, and thus the only source of information available.
"Cut the act, kid. You can't charm me, so don't even try."
Light's temper flares up inside him, chasing any pretense out. "Just tell me who the fuck you are."
"Ah, that's more like it." The man flashes his switchblade smile again. "Name's Lucas, and I'm your liaison."
"Liaison to what? Or whom?"
"To your next great adventure, of course."
"Speak in specifics or don't speak at all."
Lucas tips back on his heels, appearing impressed. "So this is the real Light, is it? I like your directness, so I'll return it in kind. You've been chosen as a Champion."
Now it's excitement and hunger that flares up inside Light, burning just as bright as his temper.
Champion?
Of course.
Of COURSE.
"And what does being a 'Champion' involve?"
Lucas jabs a thumb over his shoulder, pointing in the direction of a mansion that Light somehow didn't notice until now.
"Let's head up to my pad. I'll give you the manual. And some clothes, too."
The Universe is beautiful, but to call it beautiful seems a tragic understatement. It's endless and endlessly complicated, glimmering with stars and supernovae and galaxy after galaxy. It's also shaped like a cat, purring contentedly, tail twitching every so often. L thinks it must be dreaming.
"Why is it shaped like a cat?" L wonders aloud, his forehead pressed to the porthole.
"Oh, is that what you see?" Michelina sounds amused. "It's hard to look at in three-dimensions, but I sometimes think of it as a cat, so perhaps that's why you see it that way."
L reaches out, trails his fingers against the glass. "I like you, Cat."
Michelina touches L's shoulder, a sad smile shining in her eyes. "She's dying, L."
"What?" L breathes. "No." Utter sadness pours through him. His death and life are nothing, a brief spark that ignites for a second, forgotten even before its light fades. But the Universe - no, it can't die.
"I'm afraid so. And I had such high hopes, too."
L straightens up. "I don't understand. All the literature I've read on the matter indicates that our Universe is a young one, roughly 12-14 billion years old, and likely to continue for at least hundreds of billions of more years."
"She is young. That's a large part of why she's so vulnerable."
L wants to ask for hard data, for quantum trajectories and relative probabilities, but his intuition tells him that these are crude tools for discussing what Michelina likely understands on a much more sophisticated level. A level utterly beyond his comprehension. This is the only reason he can think of for why she's speaking about the Universe as if it were a small child.
Glorified babysitter, indeed.
It's rather rare for L to feel like the stupidest person in the room. It's a revelation. He almost likes it.
"What is the purpose of the Universe?" His voice is rusty.
"The purpose of the Universe is purpose, and purpose only. To exist and progress."
"Toward what?"
"I don't know."
He gives Michelina a shrewd look, and she blinks at him modestly. "Much as your kind can only speculate about your purpose, my kind can only speculate about the purpose of the Universe."
"And what is the purpose of 'my kind,' do you know that?"
"Yes. You are a soul, and souls are the detritus of the Universe. You are of the Universe. She is the origin of your energy, and what you do with that energy determines her purpose."
"Detritus of the Universe." L ponders this. "So, souls are the dandruff that the Universe shakes off her back."
Michelina blanches a little. "That's a rather crass way to put it, but since it's a metaphor you can grasp, I'll allow it."
"So if she's dying, then it must be the fault of human souls. Dandruff gone astray."
"Yes and no," Michelina says, enigmatic. "The tide of souls must flow toward purpose and progress if a Universe is to thrive, but if that tide ebbs away from progress, into darkness, so goes the Universe with it."
"When you say 'progress,' are you referring to evolution?"
"Well," Michelina's mouth puckers, and L is once again struck with how difficult this must be for her, explaining the unfathomable to a mere infant. "Darwin's theory of evolution is but one type of progress, but continued biological evolution does not necessarily negate spiritual devolution. Under the right circumstances, a whole congregation of souls can be guided away from enlightenment, pushed toward fear."
L understands at once. "Kira. Kira changed the world, just as Light intended."
Michelina nods. "I'm afraid so."
"So he was evil, after all."
"Stop that." Michelina swats at him with her clipboard. "Never use such pedestrian words again. There is no good or evil, there is only progress or lack of progress, and degrees in between."
"Correct me if I am wrong, but I believe that it was you who said the Universe is dying, and not 'the Universe is no longer progressing.'"
Michelina's face twists, looks chagrined. "Touché."
"If Kira's actions have hastened the death of the Universe, then his actions were evil."
"Fine, L. Call it evil if you must, but know that it was not evil for the reasons you think that is was."
He stares at her in a way that prompts her to continue.
"I realize that by your human ideologies, murder is 'evil,' but it is not Kira's murder of innocents and non-innocents that did harm; the harm came from how he altered humanity's perception and robbed them of free will."
She flicks out her hand, and the image in the porthole changes. The Universe is gone, and in its place is Earth. It looks darker than it does in schoolbooks and NASA pictures; less beautiful, somehow.
"That's your world, L," Michelina points. "And it's in Shadow. Kira's influence will drag humanity back to another Dark Age. The souls there now believe that anyone who commits even the most minor of crimes should be put to death, lest they become a greater threat in the future. The children and ancestors of criminals, even, will be killed in hopes to stamp out any genetic components. They will hunt down and snuff out anything that does not fulfill Kira's vision of Justice, and they will not progress."
Her voice cracks on the last words, and L looks at her sharply.
"Near may have killed Light, but he was too late to kill Kira," she finishes.
L thinks it over. "Near killed Light?"
She nods. "Only with the help of other souls."
"Mihael and Mail?"
Another nod.
L wants to be pleased with his protégés, but he's chastened by the fact that they are likely dead. And that they still lost, just like him.
L slips the tip of his thumb into his mouth, gnaws on it lightly.
"If my world is doomed to Shadow, then what is it I'm meant to do?"
"Doomed? Are you sure?"
"Doomed, that's right. Pretty much." Lucas ignites another cigarette. Light fights the urge to bat it out of Lucas' perfectly manicured hand.
As soon as Light walked across the threshold of the mansion, he had arrived on the other side in a fresh set of casual clothes, his body perfectly clean, as if he'd just had a long shower. Lucas had guided him into a home office roughly the size of a small movie theater, then sat him down to face a giant, wall-mounted computer screen. Then, he began to explain.
"I don't understand," Light says, a dreaded lead ball forming in his stomach. "You mean even though I'm dead, the world just forgets me? Forgets Kira? Everything I worked so hard for just disappears?"
"Pretty much." Lucas points his cigarette at computer screen. The image of Earth is crisp, high resolution, but there can be no mistaking that it looks darker than Light remembers. More rotten, somehow.
"Ungrateful," Light hisses under his breath. "Ungrateful pigs."
"Why are you blaming them?" Lucas' voice is irritatingly casual. "It was you who screwed up."
Light whirls on him. "How? How did I screw up, exactly?"
"Beats me, but if you hadn't, the world wouldn't be rotting away, would it?"
Light grits his teeth, reluctant to admit that Lucas has a point. What did Light do wrong? Maybe he died too soon. Maybe choosing Mikami to be Kira was a mistake. Maybe that freak successor to L, Near, launched a wildly successful smear campaign in the wake of his death. Maybe -
L…
L's fault. L still won.
Fuck L!
"Don't look so gloomy, kid. Like I said before, you're a champion. That means you get a second chance."
Light doesn't yet dare to be hopeful, but he's curious despite himself. "How, exactly?"
Lucas clicks the mouse on his desk, and the image of Earth is replaced by a second, nearly identical image of Earth. The only difference is that this one still looks bright, less tainted.
"We send you to world V 2.0."
"What?" Light says, disbelievingly.
"Oh, come on, don't be coy. You're one of those eggheads, right? Surely you know about parallel worlds?"
"I know of them in theory and in theory only."
"Well, they're not a theory, they're real. Remember those fixed lifespans that Shinigami can see, floating over everyone's heads?"
Light is jolted by the mention of Shinigami. What role do they play in everything Lucas has told him? Shinigami can kill humans, but Light is wise enough to realize that Shinigami aren't one-tenth as powerful and important as whatever Lucas is. Light's own Shinigami hadn't told him a thing about the Universe, he just ate apples and followed him around, looming like a portent reminder of the world's ugliness.
"Of course I remember the lifespans," Light snaps, frustrated by the growing realization that he knows so very little about anything.
"Those lifespans are assigned at random, arbitrarily, every time the Universe spits out a new soul. The lifespans are absolute, but there's a work-around. Sometimes an unexpected event, an anomaly, takes place that shortens or lengthens a lifespan, and a replica of that soul shows up in a replica world to live out that new lifespan."
"How can my soul have a replica? There's only one me." Light is rather offended, even a little repulsed, by the idea of some second or third version of Light Yagami, especially one who is living out the life that he, the first Light, deserves.
"There's only one you," Lucas agrees. "But to put it in familiar technical terms, your soul can multitask. Even while it's here in Pandæmonium, talking to me, it's out there in one, two, three, or more worlds, living out a different lifespan."
"What happens when all my other lifespans run out?" Light asks dazedly.
"Well, that's when you end up in Mu for good."
Light shakes off the daze, all at once understanding. "You're going to send me to a parallel world, and I'm going to live out a different Light Yagami lifespan."
"Hey, good, you catch on fast. I guess you really are an egghead."
"We chose this particular world because it is the one most closely aligned with the one you lived and died on. In this world, Light Yagami has the Death Note and is acting as Kira, and you are the great Detective L, investigating Kira."
"Mm, you mean that's not the reality in every world?" L finds it hard to imagine himself being anything but Detective L, doing anything other than investigating Kira. It is equally hard to imagine Light without the Death Note, not being Kira.
Michelina smiles vaguely. "I can neither confirm or deny that. I can only speak to you about your world, and world V 2.0."
"Can you tell me about Death Notes? Why do they exist? Are they something that your people created?"
Her smile disappears, she looks offended. "I certainly had nothing to do with them. All that I can tell you is that both Death Notes and Shinigami are one of the more insidious forms of temptation thought up by certain other colleagues of mine."
Certain colleagues, is it?
L ponders whether or not Michelina has a soul. He hadn't really thought about souls one way or the other in his first life, but now he supposes he must accept it. Humans have souls. No, they are souls. That's how Michelina put it. Which means that there is an 88.9 percent change that she herself is not a soul.
"I've been wondering, why do you carry a clipboard? I don't see you using it for anything."
Michelina appraises him, rather approvingly, it seems. "My, you don't miss much, do you, L? The clipboard is just a prop. I figured you would respond better to someone who looked official and scholarly."
"That was a clever thing to figure, but what do you really look like?" He slips his thumb into his mouth, regards her with his most fascinated gaze.
Michelina tilts toward him, her smile making her suddenly pretty. Younger. "Now, now. You wouldn't be able to handle what I really look like."
"Yes, I could probably fall for you," L states matter-of-factly. "But I will end this line of questioning. I can already see that you will tell me no more and no less than what is necessary."
"Smart boy," Michelina murmurs, but there's a hint of rosiness to her cheeks. "Now is as good a time as any to go over the rules, Champion."
L nods. "At your leisure."
This time, she really does look at the clipboard.
"Rule One: The Champion L must never speak to guileless souls about anything that's come up in the course of this conversation. To do so will result in immediate forfeit."
"That makes sense." And it does, though L knows he will find it difficult not to tell other humans that the Universe is an adorable, precious cat.
"Rule Two: The Champion L can only win if he can convince Light Yagami to willingly renounce the Kira ideology. He cannot win by having Light Yagami arrested, executed, assassinated, or tortured into submission. He must win within a certain period of time, but will never know how much time he has. When and if the Champion L wins, all of Light Yagami's remaining lifespans will be recalled and his soul will enter Mu forever."
L purses his lips together. This one will be difficult. With the knowledge he has now, it would quite easy to arrest Light Yagami and put an end to his murder spree, but to change Light Yagami? And within some nebulous time limit? It could be as long as ten years, if he's lucky, but perhaps it's only ten months, or even less.
L is a detective, not a miracle worker.
Still, he does love a challenge.
"Rule Three: The Champion L may call upon the entity known as Michelina for guidance on no more than three occasions. The entity known as Michelina can only advise and guide; she cannot intervene directly."
To that, L has no comment. He considers it a boon to have Michelina's assistance at all, even if he can only call on her three times.
"Rule Four: The Champion L will face obstacles and temptations designed to thwart him in his goals. He will also encounter guidance along the way, though it may not be immediately recognizable as such."
Throwing in temptations doesn't seem fair, but neither is it surprising. L sucks on the tip of his thumb again, suddenly craving sugar. Most things that tempt him are fairly simple and harmless.
"Rule Five: The Champion L will not lose his memories of the Death Note for any reason, but he will only see a Shinigami if he comes into contact with its Death Note."
Michelina lowers her clipboard. "That's all there is for the official rules." She glances at a wristwatch L could swear she wasn't wearing before. "We have a little more time. If you have questions, I suggest you ask them now. I'll answer if I am able."
L would like to ask her more questions about the Universe. Is it the only one of its kind? Are the others? What happens to a Universe after a dies? And what happens to it if it thrives?
But L knows that to ask about such things would only derail him from his task. He must change Light Yagami, make him renounce Kira. He will need all the help he can get.
"Is Light Yagami truly capable of renouncing Kira?" he finally asks. He doesn't know what he's looking for - reassurance, perhaps, that this challenge isn't a fool's errand.
She smiles at him, tilting her head. "Souls are capable of anything. That is the whole point of free will."
L drops to his familiar crouch, running his thumb lightly against the edge of his lower lip. He wants to believe Michelina. He wants to believe, but he isn't entirely sure that he does.
And yet, in order to win, he must believe it. He must believe that all souls are capable of change. Even Light Yagami's.
"Are all souls the same?"
Michelina crouches down next to him, impressively spry and limber for a woman of middle-age, though L has deduced by now that her body is a mere construction, and thus irrelevant.
"Yes and no. Souls are like people. They are people. All different and unique, yet possessing the same strengths and weaknesses, albeit to varying degrees."
L lifts his head, gazing at her through wayward strands of blue-black hair. "If that is true, how is it that a single soul can throw an entire world into a Dark Age?"
Michelina appears unsurprised by his question. "Light Yagami had no special destiny, L. Any soul with a Death Note could have done what he did. The difference is, the others chose not to."
"And it's a simple as that."
"Yes." She sides scoots toward him, coming a little closer. "You must not regard Light as infallible. To do so would make you no better than one of his followers. You must believe that he is capable of change, and that you are the one who can inspire that change."
"I take it that Michelina has not encountered many sociopaths in Pandamonium, otherwise she would be more familiar with their built-in deficiencies."
Michelina erupts in laughter, hugging her knees to her chest. "You think there are no sociopathic types here? Oh, dear L. If you only knew the irony in your words."
"I have said something funny?" Curiously, L has no urge to join her in laughing.
"No, no. You are correct, actually. Some souls are very stubborn - even, perhaps, deficient. This does not change the fact that in order to win, you will have to operate under the hope that Light Yagami is not one of them."
"That will be difficult. I am still holding a grudge over the fact that he killed me."
"It's called a 'Challenge' for a reason, L." Michelina's voice softens in sympathy. "Have faith in yourself."
"I do not much doubt myself," L says, though that is only a half-truth. He comes to his feet and stretches, tipping his head from side to side. "I just do not care for Light Yagami."
"Yes, I realize that," Michelina says, also standing. Her tone has cooled somewhat. "Before we part ways, I'd like to offer you some final advice, L."
"Oh?"
She turns those fathomless eyes on him, and the ground seems to dissolve a little beneath L's feet.
"Draw other worthy souls to you, they can give you strength. Use your intellect, but remember that it is not the only tool at your disposal. The judgment of the intellect is only part of the truth. And remember who your friends are, but remember that in this world, they may not be your friends."
L puzzles over this. Her words almost sound like riddles.
"And one last thing. This time, a disclaimer."
L lifts his eyebrows. A disclaimer?
"At least one of the things I've told you today is a lie."
"Hold on, kid. Hold it!"
Lucas hauls Light away from the office door, forcing him back into the room. Though he struggles to get loose, Lucas' grip seems impossible to break, and Light is tossed into the chair as easily as a discarded shirt.
"You can't just march out of here, all gung-ho to get started. I haven't even gotten to the rules yet." Lucas gives Light a disgruntled look and sits down at his computer.
Light snorts quietly to himself and wonders where Ryuk is. Ryuk, who watched him bleed out on those warehouse stairs, snivelling and terrified. He's back in the Shinigami Realm, Light supposes, using up whatever was left of Light's first lifespan.
"Ah here we go," Lucas says. With a few keystrokes, a powerpoint presentation pops up on the oversized monitor "Please save all questions for the end.".
RULES OF THE CHALLENGE.
The text is in a glittery, animated font, so bright and tacky that Light rolls his eyes. He strongly suspects that Lucas enjoys irritating Light, even in minute ways.
RULE ONE: THE CHAMPION LIGHT MUST NOT SPEAK TO GUILELESS SOULS ABOUT ANY KNOWLEDGE HE GAINED TODAY. TO DO SO WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE FORFEIT.
Light finds this request reasonable enough. Why would he share the secrets of the Universe with anyone else? It's the sort of information that would be wise to keep to himself, much the way he kept the secrets of the Death Note to himself. Or mostly.
RULE TWO: THE CHAMPION LIGHT CAN ONLY WIN IF HE CONVINCES THE DETECTIVE L TO WILLINGLY EMBRACE AND PUBLICALLY SUPPORT KIRA'S IDEOLOGY OF JUSTICE. HE CANNOT WIN BY HAVING L MURDERED, ARRESTED, OR OTHERWISE INCAPACITATED. THE CHAMPION LIGHT MUST WIN WITHIN SEVEN YEARS, AND IF HE WINS WITHIN THAT TIME ALL OF DETECTIVE L'S REMAINING LIFESPANS WILL BE RECALLED AND HIS SOUL WILL SPEND ETERNITY IN MU.
"Seven years." Light speaks up, ignoring the fact that Lucas asked him to save all questions until the end of the presentation. "There were about seven years between the day I found the Death Note and the day I died. Is that why you chose that number?"
Lucas looks up from his keyboard. "What makes you think I chose the number? We have committees around here. Lots of red tape. Not too different from your world, actually."
Light doesn't believe Lucas for a second. There might be a committee of some kind, but he's pretty sure Lucas is in charge of it. Ever since Lucas brought him to the mansion, he's schooled Light with the indifference of a paid messenger, but Light hasn't forgotten the man's switchblade smile, nor his low, disturbing laugh. That laugh of unbridled power.
Remembering that sound, Light phrases his next question carefully.
"Is there any reason I can't use the Death Note to transform world V 2.0 into a Utopia ruled by Kira's justice? Try to finish what I started in the last world, in other words. Or is that prohibited?"
Tilting forward in his chair, Lucas regards Light through a veil of smoke, his eyes equally veiled. "It's not prohibited, but it's not the goal of the challenge so it doesn't win you any extra credit, either."
Light can live with that.
"Anyway," Lucas sighs. "Quit interrupting the presentation, okay?"
RULE THREE: THE CHAMPION LIGHT MAY CALL UPON THE ENTITY KNOWN AS LUCAS FOR GUIDANCE AS NEEDED. THE ENTITY KNOWN AS LUCAS CAN ONLY ADVISE AND GUIDE, HE CANNOT DIRECTLY INTERVENE.
Ha. Light has no intention of asking for Lucas' assistance if he can help it. Not because he's above seeking out assistance - indeed, during his first lifespan his collection of pawns were crucial, and even Ryuk proved helpful on rare occasion - but because Lucas scares him.
Is that it? Does he scare me?
Light cannot remember truly fearing anyone when he was alive. Not the NPA, not the SPK, not the Shinigami. Even L, who Light rightly should have feared, only captured Light's interest, firing up his competitive streak like no other person had before.
And yet something about Lucas sends off warning bells in the most base, primitive part of Light's brain. Even the odorless smoke the older man blows in his direction makes goosebumps pop out on Light's skin, dries up his mouth until it feels as if it's lined with wool. He wants to run. Hide. He won't do either, his pride won't let him, but oh, how he wants to.
RULE FOUR: THE CHAMPION LIGHT WILL FACE OBSTACLES AND TEMPTATIONS ALONG THE WAY, BUT ALSO GUIDANCE, IF HE CAN MANAGE TO KEEP HIS EYES OPEN FOR IT.
Manage? Even the Powerpoint presentation seems to be doing its best to taunt Light.
RULE FIVE: THE CHAMPION LIGHT WILL NOT EVER LOSE HIS MEMORIES OF THE DEATH NOTE, BUT HE WILL ONLY SEE A SHINIGAMI IF HE MANAGES TO TOUCH ITS DEATH NOTE.
Manages. Before he can stop himself, Light is slumping in his chair a little. He hasn't even started the challenge, and he already feels fatigued.
No. Stop that. You have to do this again! They haven't got the best of you yet. You can do this.
You're the only one who can.
THAT'S IT FOR RULES, HAVE A NICE DAY. :)
The text of the final slide glimmers obnoxiously on the screen, surrounded by bouncing chibi versions of Lucas, all of them grinning madly and waving pitchforks.
"That's it, kid. Any questions?"
Light sits in stoney silence. It would be smart to ask questions, he knows, but tendrils of fear are still crawling through his stomach. nibbling away at him.
Maybe later. The Rules, after all, explicitly state that he can call on Lucas any time.
"Excuse me," a soft voice interrupts, along with a subtle knock against the office's door frame.
Light watches as a slight young man, practically a boy, pads across the rich carpet, his feet bare, his head lowered just slightly. "I heard voices," he says in a bland murmur. "Are you almost finished?"
The boy is one of the most peculiar creatures Light has ever seen. He's paler than even Ryuzaki was, but his hair is a bright, flame red, hanging to his shoulders in messy waves. His face has little expression to it, but its features have a captivating, androgynous beauty that's nonetheless tinged with spookiness - the lips lush but slack, the eyes a milky violet, huge but blank.
"Gabe," Lucas stands up from his desk, his ever-burning cigarette suddenly vanishing from his fingers. He appears rather pleased to see the man; clearly, they're friends, of a sort. "Do you have a message?"
"Michelina wants you to know that she's finished."
"Ah." Lucas takes in a deep breath. "Efficient as ever, I suppose."
"Who's Michelina?" Light asks. Lucas' eyes dark out at him, whip-fast, and Light flinches.
"She works for me."
For some reason, Gabe smiles faintly at this. Light notes the smile, but ponders it no further. He's got too many other things to think about, now.
"Right, where were we?" Lucas pats down his suit. "Ah, questions. Got any?"
Light shakes his head. "Not right now, I guess."
"Alrighty then!" Lucas comes toward Light in a single, energized leap. "Allow me to escort you to your second lifespan." He offers out a hand.
Light stares at the man's hand, fighting the urge to shrink away. "Will it -?" Hurt, he mentally supplies, though the question is too absurd for him to finish.
Lucas seems to guess at what Light means, anyway, and a broad smile cuts across his face. "You should have asked while I was still taking questions. Too late now, I'm afraid."
Fine. Light can take a little pain. He can even take a lot of it. He claps his hand over the other man's, squeezing his fingers firmly, and a tingling warmth immediately passes between their clasped palms. The sensation makes Light's whole body jerk, but he hangs on, just the same.
Gabe takes a step closer, his milky eyes lit with curiosity. "I've never seen it done before."
A rolling sphere of light builds between their hands, dark purple and bright white. Light stares at it, a little fascinated, a little afraid.
"One more thing."
Light darts his head up to look at Lucas. The man is still smiling, but his eyes are tinged with the last thing Light would ever expect to see there: sympathy.
"At least one of the things I told you today is a lie."
"What?"
Light's outrage is swallowed up by the glowing sphere, which suddenly swells into a vortex, noiselessly blotting out all of his vision.
And with that, Pandæmonium disappears.
NOTES: This isn't the last we will see of Pandæmonium and its denziens, so if anything about that aspect of the plot is confusing, it will hopefully resolve itself later on. Meanwhile, can you tell who Lucas, Michelina, and Gabe are meant to be? I hope so.
I should reveal here that this fic will probably be quite long, with at least 2 major arcs in addition to the underpinning "Champion" arc. Also, it may not have been clear in this chapter, but neither Light nor L were informed that the other is a Champion. They both believe they are in this alone.
Thanks for reading! Feedback always welcome.