Tri-ni-Sette
"Pazza... donna!"
Guglielmo gasped, his vision clearing, and he watched the scene unfolding before him. The woman's arms were locked around the man's thick neck, her incomprehensible strength causing him to drop the bottle. He howled, grappling with the lunatic, his meaty fingers trying to pull her arms away. Yet her hold tightened even further, sinking deeper into his neck, forcing onto his throat. He hacked, saliva flowing down his neck.
Guglielmo looked around, seeing his neighbors looking out of their windows, yet none of them had the intention to intervene. All of them were staring, watching it as if it was a form of entertainment. He felt his insides churning, and he took the chance to back away from the wrestling duo, his limbs still numb from the near-death experience.
"No one touches Guglielmo!" She screeched. "No one touches mio figlio!"
A sickening crack resounded, and Guglielmo barely suppressed a scream as the man foamed at the mouth, his whole body convulsing like a distorted doll. His neck was twisted at an ugly angle, his skin going so pale that amidst the flickering streetlights, his appearance was akin to a ghoul. The boy crawled backward, on all fours, frantic and terrified as the big, burly man known to him as a monster collapsed into a heap.
The spectators cheered, seemingly pleased with the outcome. Guglielmo then saw the woman, who emerged from behind the dead man, her hair disheveled, her bony hands reaching out towards him.
"Mio dolce bambino," she purred, her voice raspy and haunting to hear. "Come to your mamma."
Guglielmo's chest was constricting, his whole body unable to move. The murderer was now prowling towards him, her beady, black eyes fixated on him like a predator on a prey.
No, he shouted in his mind. Get away from me!
"Guglielmo, mio figlio."
He retched, rejection filling his entire body and he screamed, the loudest he had ever screamed in his whole life.
"You're not my madre!"
And the woman froze, unmoving for nearly a whole minute.
"I'm... not your madre?"
Guglielmo instantly knew something was going very, very wrong. He willed himself to move, but every fiber of his being was too numb, too afraid to move in the presence of this woman.
"If... I'm not your madre, then..." She gasped, her eyes going wider and wider, her bloodlust oozing out. "I'll kill you."
She cackled, clearly going out of her mind as she dove straight towards the boy. And Guglielmo knew he was going to die. He was just stupidly sitting here on his bottom, for this woman, who killed his real madre, to kill him.
A pebble was thrown at the woman's right eye.
She screeched, and before she can react, another pebble hit her in the face. She let out a whimper, dropping onto the ground, her attempts to go for the kill temporarily thwarted.
"G! Run!"
And Guglielmo, as if his body was no longer his own, defied the fear he had in his head and stood up. He was heeding the voice's command, he realized. He felt his presence, and truth to be told, Giotto was standing not far away from him, one arm reaching out towards him.
He grabbed it.
The two children ran like their lives depended on it, and Guglielmo could barely keep up with Giotto's speed, had not the sky child held onto his hand. The woman was screeching like death, and he could hear her crazed footsteps, following closely behind them.
At this rate, Guglielmo knew that she will catch up.
"Giotto-"
"Don't you ever let go of my hand, G!"
His eyes widened at his words, a foreign yet endearing warmth hugging his heart. He hated the feeling, and he yearned for it. Why? he wondered. Why does this hurt so much?
His thoughts were cut short the moment her ragged breathing breezed past his shoulder, and his nerves seemed to disconnect for a second.
She was right at their heels.
He looked straight ahead, at Giotto who never stopped. He had to let go. He can't have him killed because of this crazy lunatic chasing them. He was ready to release his grip until he noticed two silhouettes, standing underneath the dim streetlights as if waiting for them to go over.
One of the silhouettes lifted an arm, pointing something at them.
A gun.
A click.
"Giotto, duck!"
A single gunshot rang in the air. He could hear the impact next to his ear, and he could hear her body falling flat onto the ground. The smell of blood exploded into the air, and Guglielmo panted heavily, his eyes looking up at Giotto, who appeared as disoriented as he was.
"Finally she's down." A deep voice said. "Good work, Severo."
"What did she do again? I don't remember." The gunman said nonchalantly.
"Went nuts and stole our files."
"Hmm?"
"Apparently, she was instructed to kill the Rossi, but she kept their bambino alive. Probably thought the child was her dead kid. Then she went full-blown cuckoo."
"Ah, Rossi." remarked the man with a disinterested tone. He then looked their way, his green eyes looking almost hungry for blood. The gunman hummed a small tune, his long legs approaching the two children.
"Shall we kill these two as well?"
"Whatever, just don't make a mess." The other man said. "I'm outta here."
"Addio!" The gunman laughed as his companion left in an unassuming fashion, the man soon disappearing into the darkness. Then, stopping right before the two boys, the gunman's arm extended, a deadly weapon pressing on Giotto's forehead. Guglielmo felt fear rising in his throat, and he gazed at the blond's small back, which seemed so fearless, so firm even at this critical point in time.
Did he not fear death?
He then glanced at Giotto's hand, which did not loosen its grip on his.
Guglielmo then noticed one thing.
Giotto's hand was shaking.
"Oh-ho?" The gunman named Severo chuckled. "That's a nice look you've got there, kid."
Giotto did not reply. His orange eyes were only glaring straight at the man, clear and unwavering. The gunman's mouth stretched into a creepy grin, his gleaming white teeth contrasted against the night backdrop.
"I've decided," he declared. "I'll kill you in ten years time."
His eyes then switched their target to Guglielmo. His eyes scanned up and down, noticing the boy's flaming red hair and piercing red eyes.
"Ah, the Rossi's kid."
Beads of cold sweat ran down Guglielmo's neck.
"I liked your padre a lot," he said. "He was really fun, I tell you. But the boss lost interest in him, so he had to die. A real pity."
However, his tone did not have an ounce of sympathy. It was a sadistic mockery, and Guglielmo would have screamed at the man if only his vocal cords had not stopped working a while ago.
"I'll spare you too, so make yourself interesting in ten years time, Rossi."
The man then turned around, his silhouette soon melting away into the night, and all that was left on the lonely street was a dead woman, and two children who had brushed past death.
"G,"
Guglielmo looked up, watching the clear, orange eyes of Giotto, whose hand was still holding tight onto his. The trembling of his fingers did not stop.
"Are you okay?"
Guglielmo couldn't believe what he was hearing. Why was Giotto asking him this? He was the one on the verge of death, the one who could have died a minute ago.
"Why?" He murmured, his voice shaky. "Why are you so concerned about me?"
For a child who had been living in the storm all this time, he did not understand why Giotto was doing this. He had seen the ugly side of people. The deceit, the violence, the darkness. No one would reach out to him, not in this chaotic world of his.
"Because you're my friend."
At that instant, the furious storm within him calmed down, and he felt the tempestuous weather inside him dissipating away gently within the expanse of a welcoming sky.
Tears fell.
"G? G?" Giotto asked, flustered. "Why are you crying? Were you hit by that woman? Are you hurt?"
He shook his head, rubbing his tears away with his sleeve. Can he really stay in the light? With this boy who called him a friend?
"Don't cry, G, don't cry anymore," Giotto said as he hugged the small, shaking figure of Guglielmo. It was like a sign of approval, and Guglielmo only cried even harder, the boy suddenly relieved of the darkness, of the hurricanes and the squalls.
The storm finally found his sky.
Morning arrived sooner than he thought. In the comforts of the Adelardi house, Guglielmo found himself lying on the same bed he left two nights ago, and he watched daylight seeping in. It was like a friendly reminder, that he was alive, that he was safe.
It turns out, the woman he called madre and the man he called zio all his life, were both wanted. Both by the law, and the mafia family feared by the people of Leggero.
The Nero Famiglia.
They were the ones who instigated the murder of his real madre and padre, people who he had never seen before, nor had any recollection of. In the end, he had no clue on where he really was from, and the only hint he had was the fearsome mafia.
And he was far too young to comprehend any of this.
He laid on the bed, his injuries still hurting him in waves of pain, and he watched the ceiling, the zig-zagged light rays and the pretty dust that floated in the air. Meanwhile, Giotto was lying on his own bed, in deep sleep, the boy drained from the excessive running and the near-death experience.
"Are you awake, Guglielmo?"
"Signora Adelardi!" He exclaimed, struggling to sit up, prompting the wheelchair-bound lady to tell him to lie back down, and to lower his voice. She rolled her wheelchair over, closer to the boy, and she gently caressed his hair. Guglielmo flinched, for he was still not quite used to people being kind to him.
"Guglielmo, does it still hurt?"
"Yes, but it's much better."
"Good, good."
"Signora Adelardi?"
"Yes?"
"What happened to my... The two of them?"
Camilla sighed, her palm rubbing the little boy's hand back and forth, comforting him.
"They're gone, Guglielmo, they won't come back anymore."
"I don't need to get beer for anyone anymore?" The boy carefully asked, the scars on his body throbbing.
"No, you don't need to."
"I won't get hit anymore?"
"No, you won't get hit anymore."
He stifled a hiccup, his hand rubbing his eyes to stop it from getting wet. No more darkness. No more of that horrid house of nightmares.
Lorenzo then entered the bedroom, his tall figure framed by the door itself. Camilla smiled at him, and Lorenzo nodded his head with a triumphant grin. She turned back, at the young child who was still full of wounds, inside and out.
"Guglielmo?"
His eyes met her tender gaze, and he tried to breathe.
"We've received permission from the town hall to take you in."
He momentarily stopped breathing, his wine-red eyes widening in disbelief.
"Do you want to live with us?"
This can't be happening to him.
"You don't have to call us mamma or papà," Lorenzo added. "You can just stay with us."
He did nothing to deserve such kindness.
"Can I... really?" He gasped. The couple nodded their heads simultaneously, and Guglielmo could only desperately suppress the urge to cry, and nod back in reply.
He swears he'll protect this feeling. This feeling of sheer happiness.
It's been five years since that incident where he nearly died. G started living with him, his papà, and his mamma since then. And he can't even remember when was the last time he didn't do something without G with him. They were as close as brothers and did nearly everything together.
Yet lately, G has been disappearing everywhere, the boy behaving like a quiet, foreboding storm. He would come home late. He would miss his lessons with Giotto's madre, and he would skip breakfast. Most importantly, he would return home with a bruise or two and claim that he tripped over a curb or banged into a tree.
And today, Giotto was walking down the streets alone, again.
He was annoyed. Really annoyed. Whenever something wasn't in order, he'll have this uncomfortable feeling, this uncomfortable premonition that usually turned out right. It was a strange innate ability he had, and as much as he didn't understand much of it, he didn't hate it. Contrary, this Hyper Intuition (a name he had decided upon) has helped him on numerous occasions.
And if this time it never failed him as it always did, G would be around this area.
Bingo.
The boy, whose height was taller than most of the other children of Leggero, made him stand out. And if you add in his distinct red hair, G would be one of the hardest people to miss on the streets.
"G,"
The boy glanced back, letting out a sigh when he saw the blond, who was wearing his usual fresh white shirt and brown pants, walking up to him. With a troubled frown on his face.
"Where'd you get that bruise from?"
"It wasn't my fault, alright? Igor was the one who started it first, and there is no reason why I shouldn't beat him up."
Giotto only frowned even more at G's answer. His best friend had only gotten more involved in fighting with the other children lately. As much as the two of them had once escaped death together five years ago, he did not like G's rash and rough behavior. More like, he was worried that G will one day land himself in inescapable trouble, where he won't get away with his life intact.
"You went into the alleys again, didn't you?" Giotto questioned. G's shoulders hunched slightly, and Giotto immediately knew that his intuition had given him the right answer.
"G,"
"I get it." The red-haired boy snapped. "The alleys are filled with dangerous people, and I should avoid them. But tell me, Giotto, what other way do I have in order for me to get more information on them?"
Giotto pursed his lips, watching an agitated G avoiding his gaze, looking straight into the alley that was right next to them. His red eyes dulled, his glare piercing through the darkness like an arrow.
"My parents were killed, Giotto."
"I know."
"You've done so much for me. Your madre and padre have done so much for me." G said, his voice strained. "But in the end, I still want revenge. And you of all people should know how important it is to me."
"I know." He sighed. "But that doesn't mean you should be as reckless as you are now."
"..."
G fell silent, and he clicked his tongue and shoved his hands into his pockets. Giotto was perceptive. Maybe too perceptive, and as much as he valued his friend more than anyone else in Leggero, Guglielmo sometimes hated that Giotto always saw through him like it was child's play.
"If you want to enter the alleys, at least bring me along."
And this was what Guglielmo really liked about Giotto. That reckless side of his that resonated with him. While he knows much of it was out of worry and kindness, he still liked that his best friend would take risks alongside him.
"Alright," he replied. Giotto smiled softly, and then, he quickened his steps, strolling right next to the red-haired boy.
Looks like he won't be walking alone on the streets today.
"Hold up, Guglielmo, you jerk!"
Giotto gasped, trying to run as fast as his legs could carry him. Though he liked to spar with his papà and G, he still hated most physical activities. Running included.
He knew going into the alleys with G would bring trouble, and it did, in the most annoying way ever. Ten-year-old children like both G and himself should not warrant such attention.
"Care to explain?" Giotto shouted at his friend, who was a few steps ahead of him thanks to his remarkable physical abilities. "Why in heavens are Igor and his gang chasing us with knives?"
"He provoked me." G replied.
"You could try learning to control your temper, you know."
"That arse deserved it," G murmured. "He was talking trash about you, and there is no way I will let him get away with it."
Giotto could no longer get any words out as he stared at his friend incredulously. They turned around the corner, heading deeper into the alleys.
"What?"
"No... Just..." Giotto wheezed, trying to catch his breath. "Surprised, that's all."
"It's nothing to be surprised about," G sighed. "Dead end ahead."
"Great, what's the plan?"
"As usual."
G ran slightly ahead, and the moment he reached the wall, he bent down, his back forming the perfect runway. And Giotto stepped on his back, springing himself up, and upon kicking the wall, he flew up. Igor and the other boys yelled in surprise, and Giotto was now plummeting downwards. He elbowed Igor right at the back, causing the boy to shout in pain, his spine having to have taken a full impact. Meanwhile, G was charging at the other five boys, his deft moves easily disarming the boys. Dull knives landed onto the dirt with a clatter, and Giotto followed up with a quick punch into each of their stomachs, causing them to grovel on the ground, all wailing for their mamma.
"Kuh..." Igor gritted his teeth as he gazed up at the two boys. "Guglielmo, you and that trovatello-"
And a knee was sent straight into Igor's belly. The boy coughed violently, and he clutched his stomach, bowling over from the pain.
"G!" Giotto shouted.
"I told you, Igor, if I hear you calling Giotto with that word again, I'll break your finger."
And Guglielmo got closer to Igor, whose eyes went hazy when his hand was grabbed by the red-haired boy.
"G!"
"I'm not gonna have anyone disrespecting you, Giotto!"
Igor shook his head vehemently, yelling, his finger about to be bent backward.
"G, enough!"
He released his grip, and taking the chance, Igor ran off, his underlings following him, all groaning and whimpering at the same time. Giotto looked at his friend, the furious expression on G's face slowly dying away.
G clicked his tongue, barely controlling the urge to spit out a few vulgarities, and he kicked away one of the knives, frustrated.
"I know how much you hate being called that." G said. "So why stop me?"
"Because violence will never solve anything," Giotto admonished. "But..."
G then met the same vast, clear orange eyes.
"... Thanks for standing up for me."
G rubbed his neck, feeling embarrassed, and proceeded to pretend to ignore Giotto. The blond, while amused by the red-haired's reaction, said nothing. G then brushed past his friend, ready to move out of this corner of the alley. It was then when he was suddenly tugged from behind, by none other than Giotto himself. He landed on his bottom painfully, and in his confusion, he was ready to shout at Giotto for being so abrupt. However, a hand covered his mouth, prompting him to keep quiet.
His irises shifted to their left, and he watched Giotto, the boy's orange eyes appearing incredibly alert. He was not moving, and neither was G. The red-haired boy waited with bated breath, wondering what was going on.
"Listen," Giotto whispered as he slowly released his hand. G straightened himself up, still confused, yet he made sure to open his ears. Footsteps that were not far away from them clacked and G knew instantly that whoever these footsteps belonged to, were not of the people of the alleys.
Two muffled voices then spoke, soft, yet audible to both of them. The walls amplified their voices more than expected, and both boys could hear their conversation as clear as day.
"Did you bring it?"
"Here, the boss has signed the agreement."
"Good, I assume you are aware of the date and location of the raid?"
"Yes, in three days at the town square. Wouldn't miss it."
"Perfect. I trust that the Nero Famiglia will produce results."
"And we thank you for providing us this wonderful opportunity, signor. It is about time for this town of light to fall into our hands."
"I'll look forward to that."
"Likewise."
The footsteps then clacked again, this time, brisk and fading away. It did not take long for the noise to totally disappear within the alley, and the two boys waited it out, for caution's sake. Giotto then finally stood up, one hand pressing his chest as he breathed a sigh of relief.
"They're gone." He said. G, on the other hand, was still sitting against the wall, his hand balling up into fists.
"It's them," He exhaled. "It's them, Giotto."
"They're planning a raid." Giotto uttered, a frown sitting on his brows, while G stood up.
"We'll catch them." G declared with a determined fury. "I'll catch them, and I'll make them spill out why they killed my parents."
"No,"
"What? Why?" G protested. "Isn't that why we're doing this?"
"Our primary purpose this time, cannot be for revenge."
"Then what is it? What's more important than having that evil famiglia gone?" G cried out, exasperated and vexed.
Giotto then gazed into his friend's eyes, his orange eyes flickering with resolution.
"The town," He said firmly. "We have to protect the town from their raid."
G fell silent, for he knew that Giotto was right. As much as he wanted the Nero Famiglia dead, he should have never prioritized his revenge over the safety of the townspeople of Leggero. And he felt ashamed that he had almost let his emotions get the better over his rational thought.
"So? What's the plan?" And this time, it was G's turn to ask. Giotto closed his eyes, thinking, and finally, when his eyes flashed open, G could see a noticeable glint in his friend's eyes.
"I have an idea,"
The shaman was still as she looked up, her azure blue eyes holding a mysterious reflection within them. In the comforts of her famiglia's mansion, she relaxed, her eyes flitting towards the table. A box that was intricately designed, seemed harmless on the outside, but whatever it contained, was incredibly precious and dangerous.
She felt his presence behind her, and turning her chair around, she greeted the person that was standing there with a solemn expression.
"Zechariah,"
"I would prefer if you'd call me by my alter ego's name, Sepira."
"It doesn't change that both names apply to the same person," the shaman said, and she pursed her lips. "Another one disappeared, I presume."
The man, who was wearing an iron hat with a checkered design to it, said nothing. Sepira understood his silence, and she glanced at the box once again.
"The stones are weeping." Sepira lamented with a brooding expression. "At this rate, the world balance will topple."
"We can just establish another i prescelti sette." Zechariah, or also known as Checker Face, muttered monotonously.
"No," Sepira objected. "I've gone along with your decision centuries ago, but I will not permit you to repeat another tragedy like the Arcobaleno."
"Then what do you propose?" The man asked as he tapped his finger on the tip of his cane. "What do you see, shaman?"
Sepira let out a deep breath, a smile gradually forming on her face.
"Rings," she said. "That will never place stress on their wearer. They will be split into two sets of seven rings, each set holding their unique 'miracle' like that of the pacifiers."
"Sepira, don't tell me..." Zechariah gritted his teeth, his hands gripping the head of his cane tight. "You plan to grant all of the stones' power to humans? To that abominable species?"
"Zechariah, as much as you hate humans, you must never deny how indispensable they are to this world," Sepira said, her steely eyes looking at the man, who had disapproval written all over his masked face. "Our ideals have always been different, and I don't blame you."
"Then you should very well understand that I will not agree to this plan."
"That's why I will not grant all the rings to them, Checker."
"I'm listening."
"I will keep one set for me and my famiglia, and I will grant the other set to a human chosen by the rings," Sepira explained. "Is that better?"
Zechariah pondered for a little while, and he noticed the look in the shaman's eyes. They don't lie, he remarked in his head. And he knew very well that the shaman's decisions were never wrong.
"But...," he trailed off. "Why you and your famiglia? Why not you yourself?"
Sepira shook her head somberly. "I have to protect the Sky pacifier. Besides... I don't have much time left."
The man fell silent. He couldn't say anything in return to his fellow being. He had experienced such partings a number of times, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Even though he had the strongest life force out of them all, it amounted to nothing if he was powerless to prevent the dying out of his species.
"If I'm lucky, two more centuries. If I'm not, fifty years." Sepira added.
"Who will take over you? And who will take care of the Sky pacifier?" Zechariah muttered.
"My descendants,"
"Descendants?"
"The future showed me." She affirmed, and the man nodded in understanding.
"What about the human that will be chosen by the other set?"
Sepira simpered, looking pleased with herself. Her fingers ran across the box cover knowingly, as she answered, "He'll appear soon."
"A human child," She continued. "Who is able to wield the Sky Flames of Dying Will."
The man stiffened, unable to swallow Sepira's prediction. No human has been able to witness a Flame of Dying Will, much less wield it. Yet, her visions were never wrong. Not even once.
"Very well," he agreed, albeit reluctantly. "So, what shall we name this new system that you came up with, shaman Sepira?"
The woman broke into a wide smile, her eyes twinkling with wisdom.
"The Sea knows no bounds. The Clam passes down its form from Generation to Generation. The Rainbow appears from time to time before fading away." She sang. "These shall be the rules that bind them, the 'miracles' that the rings and the pacifiers will withhold. The three sets of seven."
"The Tri-ni-Sette."
Some Italian definitions (courtesy of Google Translate)
Pazza donna - crazy woman
Mio dolce bambino - My sweet baby
Addio - bye
i prescelti sette - the seven selected (referring to the Arcobaleno)
Tri-ni-Sette - While I know that the Reborn wiki page states it as "Tri-ni-set", I assumed "Sette" to be more suitable since the word means seven in Italian.
