My throat hurts… and I'll be back in school in merely a few weeks. Yada ne…
Anyways… Enjoy!
-o0o-
- Cracks -
-o0o-
It was cracking, the carefully constructed mask that he had adorned his face with since that fateful day…
It was cracking, falling to pieces before his very eyes as he stared into the mirror, seeing what he had become…
It was cracking, uncovering the true face which lay beneath…
He had been backed into a corner, with no way out as the sound of that accursed music resonated within him…
The Devil's Sonata…
-o0o-
As soon as the piano's wicked but still stunning sound reached his ears and resonated within his heart and very soul he was already under its spell and unable to resist its temptations. Soon both his hands danced across the keyboard even if his fingers were still aching a bit, but as he continued playing the music gradually numbed his pain and senses in general.
The music which he played was not his own; it had never once been his own and his truly. It was all a borrowed talent.
He played the great masterpiece until its very end and when it had ended he still sat motionlessly, staring down at the keyboard with a dead expression in his eyes. In the end he had been nothing but a doll where someone else was holding the strings.
He looked at his hands, as if he had never truly seen them before.
These fingers which had been the sole reason for his so called greatness was never his to control, never his to play the piano with.
The Shadow had merely been using him in order to be able to play. Surely the Shadow had been a true master when it came to music, but it was merely a puppet master as it was holding the strings attached to his limbs, making him dance at its convenience. And it had right to do so, since he had been the Shadow's from the very first time that his fingers touched the accursed white keys.
In the end he was but a prisoner in his own body, in his own mind, free to control for the Shadow. In the end there was only one way out…
-o0o-
The cell phone slid out of his stiff fingers and silver eyes widened slightly before sliding closed. The teen swayed a bit before slumping into the seat. A few seconds went by before the teen once again opened his eyes, looking around with a semi aware expression. He spotted the phone and picked it up, pressing it against his ear.
"What is it?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
"That depends…" the voice on the other end replied. "Who am I currently speaking to?"
"Allen."
"Where did the other Allen go?"
"He fell asleep…" Not-Allen replied. "Because you triggered something…"
"Really?" Deak said in a flat voice. "But I guess I shouldn't be surprised, since the multiple personality disorder thing applies to both of us…"
"Not really…" Not-Allen tilted his head to the side with a sigh. "You're just split while I actually possess the body of a teenage boy. Fascinating, is it not?"
"Are you a ghost?" Deak asked with a great amount of curiosity.
A feral grin appeared on the white-haired teen's face as silver eyes glimmered briefly before closing.
"Who knows?"
-o0o-
Meanwhile, in another part of the train Kanda pulled on a pair of gloves before picking out a plastic bag he had carried inside of his leather jacket and unwrapped the small package within, uncovering a Walther PPK. He let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding and took it, making sure it was loaded and ready to go before he turned his head from his position behind the corner, making sure that there would be no excessive witnesses that he would need to off once he was finished. Kanda attached a silencer to the gun before he entered his unknowing target's compartment.
The target and his apparent bodyguards were on their feet pretty quickly, but Kanda took no chances and shot three very accurate bullets into their respective skulls. Their death had been swift, way swifter than they deserved. After all, in Kanda's opinion the Yakuza didn't deserve mercy, not from him and not from anyone else. Kanda knew their world after all; he had entered right into it the very moment he shot two men in cold blood. It had been the same night as Bookman had taken him in; since he felt that he could no longer face either Tiedoll or Daisya. It was that same night that he had dedicated his life in search of vengeance, training eagerly before plunging into the abyss and walking the path of carnage.
He calmly walked over the bodies, bent down and picked up the suitcase his target had been carrying. No locks. They were getting careless, not to mention ignorant. Kanda opened it and fished out a black envelope and a cell phone before closing it again. Then he lifted it from the seat, once again walking over the fallen bodies with an uncaring expression on his face. Then he placed it in the middle of the compartment, fully visible, before he opened a window and threw the gun out before exiting the compartment and making his way away from the scene of the crime.
Someone would find the bodies eventually, very soon according to his instincts, but even so this particular event would probably be written off by the police as a confrontation between gangs. The police force interfered very little when it came to internal affairs of the mafia, likely since most of the superior officers considered it to be the best. There would be an investigation, but Kanda knew well how to cover his tracks by now.
Still, there was one little precaution that needed to be made…
-o0o-
"Say Kanda…"
"What is it?" was the hissed reply.
"Can I let you in on a little secret?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I hate music."
He was laughing, from the bottom of his heart while Kanda gave him a very sour look, but he couldn't tell now, could he?
"One of these days Kanda, I hope that you too find it in you to come to one of my concerts… I send you tickets if you want…"
"No."
He looked mildly disappointed and a shadow cast itself across his gentle features.
"Are you sure you don't want to hear my secret?"
"I'm sure."
"But I would like you to meet somebody…"
"Who?" Kanda instantly questioned.
"An acquaintance of mine."
-o0o-
For every step that I've taken
For everything I have forsaken
For every beat that comes from my heart
For every hit I break apart
A path of carnage
Is all that's left for me
Since a destroyer
Is all I'll ever be
-o0o-
"If a personality is subjected to too much strain it splits…" Deak said in an amused voice. "So… what's your excuse?"
-o0o-
Kurozaia: …
Zaia: Do you even know where this story is going?
Kurozaia: … Maybe?
Zaia: What will happen in the next chapter?
Kurozaia: How the Hell am I supposed to know that?
Zaia: You're the author. You write this story.
Kurozaia: Well that still doesn't prove anything… or does it? I don't know anymore… whether it's the cold I'm coming down with or the low blood sugar levels in my blood, I don't know.
Zaia: Sugar addict.
Kurozaia: As if you're any better…
Zaia: I never claimed to be.
Kurozaia: *stares* Whatever you say. I'd like some REVIEWs. My threat about the evil piano remains. The box below is caaaaaaaaaallling for you.