===Chapter 2===
The Cheney Household
"This is much sooner than I expected, Levy murmured, disquiet. No corpse was pleasant to look at, but poor Master Eucliffe here had seemed to suffer only a single blow, leaving him far more intact than Lady Alberona the previous night.
"Straight in, up under the ribs," Constable Macao summarised with a low whistle. "The bastard clearly knows where to aim."
"No murder weapon this time?" Jetson questioned as he scribbled away furiously.
"None. Nothing connects this murder with the one last night. They could be completely unrelated."
Levy looked up at Macao sharply, her eyes hard. "Do you really believe that?"
"No," he said with a sad sigh. "But we have another lead this time. There is man called Rogue Cheney. He is…was the best friend of Sting Eucliffe. He was apparently in the vicinity at the time, but didn't see anything. Still, it's probably worth questioning him further."
"It's not like there's anything else we can do," Levy agreed. They never noticed the green haired man hiding at the end of the alley, listening to as much as he could. Hearing them about to leave, Fried pushed his collar up to cover his face and strode away.
===][===
"Are we sure that this is the right address?" Levy asked, staring at the large mansion in amazement. It turned out that Cheney was a name she had just about remembered from the press. They were famous for….something, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.
"Yes, Levy," Jetson replied, flipping through his notepad. "The Cheney household are in the business of medicine. Last year, they reported a profit of…"
"Thank you, Jetson," Levy responded, cutting him off. This was troubling. A family with such wealth could form blocks, even for the law. If they decided to close ranks and not participate, this could become a thousand times more difficult.
They headed through the front gate and past the elaborate garden up to the main entrance. Levy stretched up to slam the knocker three times against the door. At last, the door opened to reveal the Cheney's butler – an enormous man with shocking green hair. He peered down at Levy as if suspecting a joke and then alighted on Jetson.
"Ah, you must be the Inspector," he rumbled in low tones. "We've been expecting-"
"Actually, I am Detective-Inspector McGarden," Levy chimed in, forcing herself in front of the butler. He managed to hide any surprise well. "This is my associate, Dr Jetson."
"Please, do come in." The butler, who identified himself as Orga Nanagear after a brief questioning led them to a drawing room and told them to wait. Apparently Master Cheney was partaking of his morning ablutions and would join them shortly. He left as the door knocker sounded again.
"He's washing?" Jetson asked with a raised eyebrow. "Destroying evidence?"
"Let us not get too paranoid, my friend. Innocent people bathe too. At least, I hope you did this morning!" Her eyes twinkled with humour but suddenly she cried out as a person pushed roughly past her. She barked an angry cry as she span around to see that the man was none other than Gajeel Redfox.
"Watch where you're going," he growled.
"Excuse me!" Levy huffed, quite irate. "It is ungentlemanly to barge into a lady."
"I ain't no gentleman, and you're no lady," he replied languidly. Jetson snarled and balled his fists, infuriated that someone could be so crass to Levy. Gajeel smirked as he noticed the movement. "Not in a million years could you take me."
Levy wanted to stop him, seeing that it would be a mistake, but Jetson was too fast. A fist lashed out at breakneck speed. Gajeel's head slipped to the side calmly, dodging it by the merest fraction of an inch. In return, he smashed a hand into Jetson's arm, overbalancing him and sending him head over heels to the floor.
"Take that as a warning. I'm in a good mood today," Gajeel said in the most annoyingly cocky tones. Levy was quite amazed, not thinking that anyone could keep up with Jetson's reflexes.
"Do you think that you could limit your fisticuffs while in my house?" Asked a smooth, cultured voice. Levy turned as Rogue Cheney entered the drawing room. He was a young man in his early twenties at the oldest, with mid-length black hair and the same red eyes as Gajeel. But where Gajeel's features were broad and brutish, Rogue's were refined and smooth. There was no familial resemblance, save for those eyes. Still, it might be worth checking…
"I didn't think that both of you would come at the same time," Rogue commented. "Please Inspector, allow me to finish my business with Mister Redfox briefly."
"Please continue," Levy asked, curious to watch. She heard Jetson rise to his feet behind her.
"Is it ready, then?" He asked Gajeel eagerly.
"I wouldn't have bloody come if it wasn't," Gajeel responded with trademark truculence, waving around the scabbard in his hand. Levy hadn't even noticed it in his rudeness and cursed herself. She was a detective for crying out loud! Try to be more observant! She opened her eyes and paid attention.
This man Rogue was a dispassionate man. He didn't respond at all to the other man's brusqueness. Still, he seemed to light up at the prospect in Gajeel's hands. He cut a dapper figure in an exquisitely tailored suit.
Gajeel on the other hand was an outwardly argumentative person, and dressed scruffily to boot. Still, he was a blacksmith – proper finery would be quickly destroyed, so that in itself was not an indicator of lazy hygiene. Combined with his general demeanour however, would lead one to suspect Gajeel of not being a well turned out individual. But…he handled the sword well. He clearly treated the iron with better care than other human beings.
"Exactly as requested," Gajeel stated, drawing the gleaming sword. "Three and a half foot ceremonial blade with a basket hilt. It's not sharpened, so you're not likely to do yourself an injury with it."
"It is most beautiful," Rogue agreed warmly. Levy watched him take the sword and scabbard separately and sheathe the blade. He clearly knew how to handle a sword. "Thank you Mr Redfox. I shall have my accountant make sure that you have your payment within the day."
"Most gracious, my lord." There! Levy couldn't help but see that. The words did not match the demeanour at all. Gajeel looked much more interested in punching Rogue in the face than giving such politeness, but held himself in check. For the money, presumably. Gajeel marched out of the room, making it feel much more spacious. The man had one hell of a presence.
"Now Detective-Inspector, what can I do for you?" Rogue asked politely.
"We're here to talk about the murder of Sting Eucliffe," she started, heading right for the jugular. If Rogue was upset, he gave no outward sign of it. His eyes continued their dispassionate stare.
"I'm not sure how much help I can be to you, Inspector. I wasn't there. I happened upon his corpse."
"Well, can you describe to me the events of the night?" Levy asked as Jetson poised with pen over notepad. Rogue shrugged.
"Sting and I were hitting the taverns. It is common for us to do so; you can ask the barkeeps in the area if you wish to verify that. As we were staggering home, Sting headed into an alley to…" Rogue's mask slipped, his expression becoming uncomfortable. "…empty the contents of his stomach onto the sidewalk. The next thing I heard was him calling my name. I thought that maybe he'd gotten lost in the alleyways in his inebriated state, but then I heard him scream again."
Levy noticed that while his face was calm, his fists were clenched, trembling.
"That scream…it was the scream of death. It will haunt me for the rest of my life. I wish that I had been closer, able to intervene in time, but I wasn't. By the time that I reached him, he was bleeding to death. Maybe he was still alive at that point, but he was so far gone that I couldn't say."
"I'm sorry to press you on such a grim topic Master Cheney, but did you not see his assailant at all?" Levy asked kindly, gently. Rogue shook his head.
"I am no expert, but I did hear footsteps fleeing the scene. They sounded heavy enough to be those of an adult man, but I suppose that's no great surprise."
"Weren't you scared? Perhaps he could have killed you as well."
"I confess that my thoughts at that time were not particularly clear. Seeing my best friend lying dead left me in a panic. In retrospect I wish that I had run in the other direction and alerted the police immediately."
Levy nodded along and then switched topics, wrong-footing the young Cheney. "What was the sword for?"
"Ceremonial purposes," Rogue replied after a moment.
"I gathered that, but what ceremony, exactly?"
"I imagine that you know that my family is in the medical business. My father is a doctor, as was his father. I cannot pretend that has not given me a great life with opulent wealth…but it is not the path for me. In one month's time I am to be sworn into her majesty's armed forces as Lieutenant Rogue Cheney. This sword is for that occasion."
"Congratulations. I imagine that the uniform will suit you," Levy said with a smile. She frowned as a thought occurred. "But don't the army produce their own weapons?"
"Mr Redfox is ex-military himself. If you'll excuse the vanity, I thought that I'd rather enjoy spending the money to get a custom made sword from an expert in the field. It is one of the privileges of wealth."
"Ex-military? Just how old is Mr Redfox? He cannot be more than his early twenties, surely?"
"Is this…professional curiosity, Inspector?" Rogue asked, completely straight-faced. Levy flushed slightly. In hindsight, that question had been quite meaningless. It had nothing to do with anything. But…wasn't he a lifelong blacksmith? She'd thought that it'd been his profession for years, perhaps even his heritage. She had to confess the timelines didn't seem quite right.
"I have never asked, but Mr Redfox is a rather…violent man. If I had to hazard a guess, I would suggest that he was drummed out of the service for disobedience or fighting within the ranks. An early retirement, so to speak. So he switched from a career of beating men to one of beating iron."
Levy couldn't help but smile at that choice of words. Perhaps he was emotionally void, but Rogue appeared a most erudite and well-mannered person. She could get used to his style of humour. She bid him a good day, and promised to return if she had any news on the killer of his friend.
===][===
"So, we're no closer to finding anything out," Jetson sighed outside of the Cheney household. "Other than the assailant was probably a full grown male. Not particularly surprising."
"Perhaps, but these two gentlemen - Mr Cheney and Mr Redfox - are quite interesting. I feel like there is something more to the pair of them." Levy was so deep in thought that it took her a moment to catch Jetson's inscrutable expression. "I mean purely in the sense of this murder, of course!"
"Neither is linked to the murder in any serious way," Jetson replied irritably.
"Really?" Levy's eyes shone. "Mr Cheney was the one to find the body. The killer will always have the opportunity to be there first, which means that he's currently our number one suspect. I'm not going to rifle through his garbage but for the moment, I want to keep an eye on him."
===][===
The full moon rose high into the night sky, illuminating London below.
He needed to do it! He was alpha male, and people didn't know it! He needed to proclaim his name from the rooftops! Of course people would disturb his domain and challenge him; he had to send a clear, undeniable message.
The Slayer was here. Under his heavy cloak was a sword this night; a weapon to cause considerable damage, much more than a mere knife. But he needed a victim, someone to be his ink to write the message. He just had to be patient; someone always violated his domain.
There! Three sets of footsteps. That made sense. In the light of the recent killings, people were afraid of him, moving in bigger packs. Good! That would make the message more strongly. Three men, all preening fops. They'd have no chance. Even worse, they were drunk. They were always drunk, weren't they? He hoped for sober prey soon to spice things up a bit.
The Slayer pounced like lightning, far too fast for the drunken men to react. With one swift motion he pierced the shortest's heart from behind, sliding in between ribs expertly. The pommel crashed into the face of the second man disorientating him briefly.
He used the moment to kill the third man, a taller man with darker skin. His head and body went separate ways. The staggering man recovered enough to cast a horrified glance at his friends and scream their names.
"Eve! Ren!" Balling up all of his courage, Hibiki swung a fist at his would-be murderer. Silver flashed and his arm went flying aside. He screamed in pain as the bastard laughed.
And then he too died.
The Slayer began his art. Organs were his brushes as he smeared his name on the wall, laughing and singing to himself. At last he admired his handiwork, the name 'The Slayer' tattooed on the wall in huge crimson letters. Let London tremble before his-
"Here! This way!" A man shouted, heavy footsteps crashing on the cobblestones.
What?
"You sure, Bixlow?" Said another voice, also male but lighter in tone.
"The screams were this way, I'm sure! Then I could hear the bastard laughing!"
"What a hassle!" A female voice complained.
The sound of metal on metal. Blades being drawn. A gun being cocked.
Heart pounding with adrenaline, the Slayer hurried into the night. What was this? Was he being…hunted? No, that made no sense, he was the hunter. But this feeling made him uneasy. He didn't like it; he would have to ponder this and take action.
===][===
A match lit, his cigarette ignited, Laxus' hands sheltering it from the wind. He walked calmly into the alley, ignoring the three dismembered carcasses as if they were just scenery.
"My apologies Laxus, he got away," Fried said, bowing low. Bixlow and Evergreen stayed nearby, worried of their bosses' wrath, but unwilling to leave Fried to handle him alone. Laxus didn't respond, instead slowly turning to regard the name on the wall. He chuckled.
"Is this guy weak in the head? 'The Slayer'? It sounds like the name a child would call himself while playing in the schoolyard." He took a long drag on his cigarette. "Don't fret the small stuff Fried. We weren't going to catch him in one night. We should consider ourselves lucky to have found him at all, seeing as he's one man and London's a big place. Still, let's get moving. I don't want to be here when the coppers arrive."
Laxus and his henchmen left, leaving the three men to rot in the street.
