Wow, seventh, eighth? Chapter… Hahaha. Pretty sweet if you ask me. I'm actually sort of excited for the new turn of events that are taking place in this story, as well as my life! Got a decent job… albeit it DOES take up most of my time, but hey, I'm not a social person anyways, so whatever time I have, is spent writing!!! I'm in love with limewire, totally and completely. It helps me download music I want and, or, need at the time, to get my inspirational juices going! Lately, I've become obsessed with a band called "Apocalyptica" which is actually an instrumental metal band!! They only have a few vocal songs, one which is REALLY popular "I Don't Care" by them. But my favorite is "Ruska." It's based on a Russian lore, no words, just instrumental. It's really beautiful. I'd suggest just looking them up, and downloading and ALL the songs you can. They're definitely worth it.

Uhm, I'm not quite sure how long I'll take the background story, except I'm pretty stoked for it. I thought at first, "God damnit. I don't WANT to continue! I have other projects!!" But I figured what the heck. It's interesting, and if it'll make people happy, I'll do it. So, on with the slight detour we shall take! Other than that, not much. If you've read the last chapter, you know my requirements for requesting one shots and all. You know the disclaimer, yadda yadda. Alright, on with the story then!

DISCLAIMER: Mur. Yeah. I dun own any of the characters, or the music. But if I DID!! All of them would be openly GAY. And the music would be played in every home.

IMPORTANT: I like reviews. Please be nice to me and review. :3 Thanks.

Till next time then,
Lady Pickles, aka, The Cornflake Girl

letthebodieshitthefloorletthebodieshitthefloorletthebodieshitthefloorletthebodieshitthefloorletthebodieshitthefloorletthebodieshitthefloor

"Change my attempt, Good intention
Limbs tied, skin tight
Self infliction, his perdition."
"Wasteland" by 10 Years

Love After Death
chapter seven

"Run, run, run, as fast as you can. Because Death's about to come catch you."

Luxord was silent, as the ringtone drolled on. He held the phone to his ear for quite some time, his mind rolling over this new information. Someone was after him? So he was now the prey. It was only a matter of time, before someone got scared he was getting too good, and he needed to be put down. He just wondered why it hadn't come earlier. Finally hanging his phone up, he set it on the counter, and walked to the shower, turning the water off. Finishing wiping down his body, he tossed the towel in a corner, and walked out of the bathroom, and across the nearly empty living room, to his bedroom. Pulling open drawers, he dragged out his clothes, and set pants, shirts and such on the dresser, turning to grab a heavy military duffle bag from under the chair next to the dresser, and putting it on the bed. Shoving jeans and shirts halfway into it, he left the top half free, grabbing some socks and boxers, shoving them in the side pockets. Then pulling a pair of black jeans from the floor, he pulled them on, ignoring the boxers, and doing them up, grabbing a plain white shirt, and pulled it over his head, reaching for a plain black jacket. Being as inconspicuous as possible was best. Grabbing some socks, he sat on the bed, pulling them on.

So, "death" was after him, huh? Interesting name, for an assassin. If a bit common. Surely, it'd strike fear in the hearts of some lesser people, but did nothing for him. He'd never been afraid of death. Not even when he was small, he never was. It's what made him a good assassin. He didn't care if he died or not. But he didn't WANT to die right now. Just because he didn't fear it, nor did he care too much, didn't mean that he wanted to. No, not yet. He had a few things to do first.

Standing slowly, he picked up his bag with him, and made his way out of the room and into the next door over. The room was lined with shelves upon shelves of weapons ranging from priceless swords, to custom made guns. They were his babies, his loves. He spent money on them, and worshiped them practically. They gave him money, and made him feel useful. The smooth action of slicing a body, pulling the trigger and watching the bullet fly through a body. The tender way a pistol lovingly caressed his hip when he wore it. How he could grip the handle of his sword, and watch the blood slide down the crystal clear blade like ruby rain drops. He got a high just watching the weapon work.

He raised a hand, running it along his favorite blade. A 1793 samurai blade. He got it from a museum, and had the worlds best sword crafter fix it. He gingerly picked it up by the handle, and with a quick thrust, the blade hummed through the air, making a soft sigh. A few more strokes and the blade sang for him. Gently, he set the blade down, eyes soft. As if it would be the last time he ever saw it. With a heavy sigh, he visited a few more of his weapons, only actually taking his sawed off 1873 Winchester double barrel shogun, his Automatic Uzi, A 4.5 browning, and a small firestar, which he fitted into the halter on his hip. Putting the rest into the duffle bag, he opened the cupboards, and filmed through the ammo boxes, pulling out six, and lining them up in the bag. With a heavy sigh, he zipped the bag up, and moved out of the room, taking one last look, before turning the lights off.

In the main hall, he set his bag down, and picked up his sunglasses off the small shelf, along with his wallet and keys. His phone rang again, bit he ignored it, pushing his feet into the black hiking boots. Bending over, he tired the laces quickly, standing, and slipping the glasses onto his face. With a small smile, he picked up the bag, and opened the door one last time, ignoring the incessant ringing. The door shut, and the phone on the counter stood still. Minutes passed, as the phone rang again, vibrating on the counter, sliding closer to the edge. Smoke began to fill the room, as the heat rose. Again, the phone vibrated, falling off the counter, making its way across the linoleum floor with every vibration. The jingle rang loudly every time, an unimportant, typical ring. The smoke began to get thicker, and soon crackling was heard. With a loud whoosh, and the room was set on fire, the flames licking at the small phone. The plastic casing began to melt with the heat, leaving its gears exposed.

And with one last whine, the phone vibrated itself an inch, before the fires consumed it, and the entire building went up in flames. Guns melted, swords too. The ammo went off, creating loud bangs, many of them. One right after another, like a battle going on. Posters curled with the heat, and went up in flames. Chairs, couches. The bed was surrounded by flames, the blankets catching it. The floor grew weak, and it fell through the floor, down, with a loud crashing noise. It hit the rotted wood and kept going. Walls fell down, the building beginning to crumble.

And on the sidewalk across the street, watching the building with a solemn face stood Luxord, his hand in one pocket, the other holding the bag. He stood in honor of the weapons falling, and the building which housed him going under. With a nod, he turned, and began to walk away, the sounds of the building crashing loudly, as people began to scream and run out of their buildings. Luxord had his headphones on, listening to "Ave Maria" by Beethoven. Fitting good-bye to the only home he'd really actually considered home. As fucked up, and crappy as it was. He couldn't hear the screaming, or the loud booming from the fires, but he saw it all, all of it from behind his dark glasses. He saw the fear as people ran out in all manner of dress, making their way into the street. Children watching with enormous eyes, mothers moving to protect them. Turning to look over his shoulder, he saw the fire truck trying to get close enough to try and attempt to put the fire out. Or at least contain it. Nothing was going to stop that beast from roaring its mighty head. He saw people gathering, and looking upon the scene, getting ash stuck to their bodies.

What was so exciting about a fucking fire? But, it was human nature to be obsessed with natural disasters. Turning back to head away from the fire, he kept moving, shouldering past people, his head slightly down. No one noticed him, because he didn't want them to. No one bothered to see if he needed help, because he didn't need them to. He looked like another face in the crowd, someone to be forgotten. Bland and totally, easily forgotten. Scary thing is, is that if you think hard enough, there's more that stands out about him, that anyone else. He's carrying a duffel bag. He's wearing sunglasses at night. His hair is such a true platinum, it's rare. His goatee is perfectly trimmed. He had a well built body. He was tall, around 6'4", and big hands. His walk is graceful, and he never missed a step. But no one ever notices him. He blends in by not saying anything, by keeping to the peripheral side of a person. He never makes eye contact.

And without a word, he'll slip off to somewhere in the world, and even if he was standing right in front of you, you'd have never known he was there.

letssingasongforthebrokenheartedasilentprayerforthelatedepartedandiain'tjustgonnabeafaceinthecrowdgonnahearmyvoicewhenishoutitoutloudit'smylifeit'snoworneveriain'tgonnaliveforeverijustwannalivewhilei'malive

Luxord was sitting on the seat of a bus, next to the window looking out. The night was dark, and the vehicle barely had anyone on there. Pretty much one elderly lady sitting a few seats before him, a couple ten seats behind, on the opposite side. The driver, and a mother and child in the front. He didn't need to keep a close eye on any of them really. He knew a killer of the bat, and none of them were killers. Actually, from what his mind could gather, the driver was on his last hour, the elderly woman was getting back from the grocery store, the couple was going home from a bar, and the mother and son were leaving their house, father probably kicked them out, or something. She was trying to cover up her sobs, and her son was looking to the ground, kicking his feet that were dangling off the seat.

He rested his head against the cold pane of glass, and watched the city lights pass them by, in a haze of bright flashing colors. His MP3 player skipped some, when the bus ran over a speed bump at a slightly illegal pace. There were passing cars, and the gentle sound of Mozart playing on his MP3. He liked classical music. It was the true soundtrack to life. Ever moment of everyday required a master piece. Most people thought rock fit, maybe it did. Rap sure as hell never fit in. No, music was like candy.

You needed to remember to throw away the (w)rappers.

Smirking, he watched as they passed an intersection, and slowly headed up a bridge. As they teetered up the slope, they got to the top curve, and stopped. The bus heaved, and jerked slightly, letting out a slight whine. Pulling his headphones off, Luxord looked around, wondering what the hell was going on. People were starting to pile out of their cars, and look to just ahead. Making his way down the aisle, he looked ahead, and just two cars down was a bomber. He held his bomb high, screaming loudly that he was going to do it. Luxord growled, this throwing complications into his situation. He couldn't do much more than sit back, as the police were slowly advancing on the man. The man looked scared, easily taken over. He didn't know why he needed to do this, but he did. The cops tried to persuade him to drop the bomb. He looked like he was seriously contemplating it, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Drop the bomb already, you ass." The drunken man from behind him hollered out his window, his wife trying to tug him inside, grasping their situation, and even trying to calm her raging husband. But he would have none of it. He tried to crawl out of the window, falling to the pavement beside their bus, scraping his face. But he didn't seem to care, getting up and stumbling over to the bomber, yelling profanities at him, looking like a ridiculous ass. "We wanna go home, now give them the damn bomb you cock sucker!"

The bomber looked severely pissed, and was yelling at the drunk who leaned against the railing, cops moving to try and stop the drunk. But they didn't have to, because at that moment the world moved. It shook the bridge cracking under the pressures, as cars moved with the rumbling, the drunk falling over the edge and into the black abyss known as the Manhattan River. He screamed as he went, and it was all that was needed before the bomber dropped the bomb, thumb leaving the button. The minute it touched ground it exploded, body parts, machinery pieces, and concrete flying in all directions, the force ricocheting off the bus. The heavy vehicle started tipping to the side, the woman sobbing, the elderly lady flying into the window, her frail bones cracking, and Luxord threw himself over the mother and child, his body creating a wall between them and the glass that they hit. The bus rocked and landed on its side, Luxord flipping the pile around so once again he was the one who hit the glass, the mother and child landing on him, the elderly lady hitting right beside them, her spine cracking, killing her instantly. The driver jumbled in his seat, his belt choking him as he reached out gasping for air, the belt tightening around his neck, turning his face blue. The drunk woman fell and hit a pole on her way down, and lay crumpled on the ground, where the window had smashed through.

The only sound was the driver wheezing for air. Luxord came around, the mother and child crawling off of him quickly, as the mother picked up her son, sitting down, looking around with shock in her eyes. Luxord groaned for air, feeling the glass shards in his back, but he knew he was alive. For now. Rolling onto his side, he noticed the driver. Not a compassionate person by nature, but he wasn't going to let someone choke to death. Making his way over, his jacket torn and ruined, his shirt blood soaked. With his blood. His jeans ripped from the glass, legs cut, he forced his bleeding hands to pull a knife from his pocket and it took a bit to get a good grip, cutting the seatbelt, the man falling on him. They fell to the broken glass of hell, Luxord getting one through his shoulder. He gave a panting moan, and tried to move the heavier man off of him, whose belly flopped around as he tried to crawl out from the small pit they were in. When he couldn't do it, Luxord pulled himself up, breathing ragged. He was trying to stand as the bridge rocked, the middle cracking apart. Luxord heard the distinct sound of crumbling concrete, and stood up roaring, "GET OUT NOW!!"

The mother and child screamed in panic, as the man looked around franticly. Luxord braced himself against the wall slightly, and kicked at the front window shield with his foot, breaking the already cracked glass. The pane fell, and he began to push the man out. "Go, head for the side of the bridge we came. COME ON!" He yelled, lips split, face cut. He grabbed the bar, and swung himself up onto the bus, and moved over the broken glass, his boots crunching it beneath him. He shoved the mother and her child in the direction of the open window. "Move it. NOW." HE snarled, and she stumbled her way over to the front of the bus, lowering her son down first, then herself, trying to crawl out. Luxord made his way to the back, stepping over the dead elderly woman, to the drunken woman. He shook her shoulder slightly, and she moaned in pain. With a slight growl, he heaved her up over his shoulder and on his way back, grabbed his duffel bag. Tossing his duffel down to the floor, he gripped the bar tightly with his hand, and swung his legs over and landing on the ground next to his duffel. Picking it up, he walked through the open pane, and started making his way off the bus, the woman waking.

"W…where am…" She screamed when she remembered everything. Her legs kicked, and her arms flailed, Luxord having trouble keeping her on his shoulder, as the bridge rocked again. He wrapped his arm tighter around her waist, and tried to keep his footing, the middle of the bridge sunk in, and the one stable paved place began to sink lower. Luxord tried to run, weaving through the cars, trying to beat the cracks that shot cars in the air, and knocked them in his path. Trying to avoid being squished.

He saw a car fall through a crack behind him, with a creaking noise, and he yelled, trying to run faster, the woman clutching to him, no longer struggling, but watching as the cracks came closer, tearing up behind him. He jumped over a crack in the bridge, moving off, and tripping over a crack in the street, sending them sprawling. The woman fell under him, and he fell over her, as a car landed next to them, the bridge finally collapsing. Panting in pain, he rolled off of her, and lay on his back, looking to the sky. Filled with gray, foreboding clouds of his impeding doom. He closed his eyes, and tried to breath. Hard when you heard a screeching noise, and loud honking. Looking up, he saw a taxi skidding on its side, heading right for him and the woman. Pulling himself quickly up, he grabbed the woman, and laid his body over hers, as the taxi hit a crack in the ground and rolled, flipping on its side first, its back, and then it flew right over their heads, landing within inches of their bodies, on its bottom, continuing to roll. The woman screamed again, her arms clutched at Luxord, her eyes wide. That's when Luxord noticed something about the woman.

She was a man.

His eyes took in her appearance. Red hair, green eyes, pale skin. Slender, and long. Wide hips, which he'd mistaken for feminine hips at first, but now he could see they weren't round enough. But it was the mans eyes that caught him. They weren't scared. Not at all. They were they eyes of someone who'd seen death. Who was used to death. Rolling off of the man, he grabbing his pistol off his hip, pointing it to the mans head, who, at the same time pulled out his own. Where the man had kept it, Luxord didn't know. But the important thing was, was that this had to have been his mysterious predator. They stared at one another, and the man smiled wickedly. "You're pretty good at surviving."

"I try." Luxord replied, watching him, his grip tight, steady, on his weapon. People around them were running, the confusion of the bomber, the bridge, the earthquake, and now two men with guns pointed at each others head. Luxord could imagine a song right now. 'Ruska' by Apocalyptica. It fit the moment almost painfully well. They eyed each other, unable to move or get around it. "Who sent you?"

"No one did, pretty human." The redhead responded with a dark grin, full of malice. "You've killed too much. Time to let go, and come home." There was something that flashed in his eyes. Something that made Luxord shiver.

"And if I don't want to?"

"I'll make you."

"I don't think you can."

"Don't try me honey. You haven't seen death yet."

"What do you mean? I'm looking right at him." Luxord responded, and was rewarded with a dark smirk. As if he was correct. But he did know just how right he was. His finger tightened on the trigger. Neither of them could make it out, unless both left. Alive. And he couldn't let this man go. He'd just be back to attempt to kill him again. There would be no end. But he could die yet. Hands tight, his mind whirred, trying to think of a way out. The redhead seemed to be doing that as well. But he didn't appear to be too worried. "Why aren't you trying to leave?"

"Because unlike you, I know I'll survive a bullet to the head." He replied, eyes dancing as he moved to the right, Luxord moved to the left. They whipped around, facing each other again, slowly backing away from one another. "But, I suppose since you survived everything I handed you tonight, I'll let you live. For now."

"How generous of you." Luxord replied with a growl. His arm was starting to ache, and the man slowly put his gun down, Luxord mirroring his motions. As he slid his gun into it's holster, the redhead moved a hand into his pocket and pulled out something flashing. Luxord whipped his gun out again right away as the man tossed something in the air. Setting the gun aside, and reaching a hand out to catch it, he looked at the object with bewilderment. His old phone.

"I'll keep in touch. Try not to be late on our first date." The redhead winked, turning to leave. And with him went all his problems. So far. Luxord looked at the phone, undamaged, completely fixed. Or, was it just a copy? No, he knew his phone. The scratches there. Looking up at the direction the redhead had disappeared off to, and growled lowly. There was no way in hell that man had just disappeared off into the oblivion. No way had he fixed his phone in less than two hours. Hell that he'd managed to do that at all… Something about this, 'death' chilled him to the core, and he didn't like it. Not one bit. With a frown, he turned his head, hearing honking, and seeing a semi head in his direction, he groaned loudly.

"Oh shit, not again. Are you ever going to give me a fucking break?!"

there'ssomethinginsidemethatpullsbeneaththesurfaceconsumemeconfuseingit'slikeaselfcontrolifearisneverendingcontrollingican'tseemtofindmyselfagainmywallsareclosingini'vefeltthiswaybeforesoinsecure

OH SNAP!
You made it!

Hahaha.

Pickles taste good with Ramens.

Serious!

I'm totally stoked for this and all now. It's taking an interesting, GREAT turn. I'm really excited. DEATH! HUMAN! LUXORD! ASSASSIN! And they met on a bus, stopped by a bomber, which went off when an earthquake hit, and there was a stop fight. "Fatal Attraction" anyone? I'm stoked. More than stoked, I'm fucking AMAZED. xDDD

Sometimes, yes, I even amaze myself.

Uh, Thanks to….

MayAllYourBaconBurn for like, commenting and stuff.
And to Ramen, for like, commenting, supporting me, and listening to my insane rants.

Thanks to my teachers, Dresang and Fauss.
Without you two threatening me with your torture weapons, I wouldn't have gotten off my lazy ass and written out this damn chapter. In one day.

Thanks to Limewire. EPIC.
And a shit load of Classical music.
Seriously, just LISTEN to Apocalyptica, and Beethoven.
It makes the story hilarious.

Alright, and I'm OUT. OwO

PLAYLIST:
"Crawling" – Linkin Park
"Twilight Princess (Legend Of Zelda)" – Apocalyptica
"It's My Life" – Bon Jovi
"Ave Maria" – Beethoven
"So Cold" – Breaking Benjamin
"Ruska" – Apocalyptica
"I Don't Care" – Apocalyptica
"Let The Bodies Hit The Floor" – System Of A Down
"Dust In The Wind (Live)" – unknown
"Lost In the Dark Ft. SMG" – Dark By Design
"Get Out Alive" – Three Days Grace
"Nothing Else Matters" – Apocalyptica
"Knife Called Lust" – Hollywood Undead
"Wasteland" – 10 Years
"This Love This Hate" – Hollywood Undead
"Sanitarium (Welcome Home)" - Apocalyptica