Author's note: Alas, once again I am sorry. It's Hellsing I blame for the multiple delays, and Invader Zim, and other works… and cowritten pieces… summer…. I've been busy. Anyways, once more thank you to readers who read through both author's notes and filler chapters (that's right, you guessed after reading that last chapter) and my beta. who fixes the run-on sentences. Actually, filler is putting it a tad strongly; it's more a setup chapter…
If you guys seriously were reading this for a purpose other than bursting out into spontaneous laughter I have to wonder if you are perhaps more insane than I am. Me, whose inner demon is a two-thousand five-hundred sixty three year old megalomaniac.
Disclaimer: If I owned Death Note, the world would be mad, and there would be a magic dance party. I don't own anything else, either. Only my fingers, which are eaten by those evil plot bunnies. CURSE THEM!
Beta's Note: This was further delayed because of my workload. It actually would have been posted a good three/four weeks ago if it weren't for me being so freaking slow. SO SORRY. D: I edit this and double-edit plus help write/final draft the co-written projects, plus life…. Gnar. Once again, my bad.
"You've got to be kidding me," muttered Naomi as she watched the disheveled but unmistakable Light Yagami drag himself through the front door. That was, of course, after he bumped into the frame, dropped the keys, swore rather loudly, and then fell backwards into the bushes.
"This guy is worse than I thought. Not only does he kill my fiancé, kill me, and thousands of other people—he goes off and has one night stands…. What do his parents think?" Naomi was starting to believe that there was no such thing as a victim, but if there were, then Light must have had one troubling childhood.
"Well, I know where he lives. Time for revenge, I suppose." Naomi wanted something special for revenge but so far her brain was so waterlogged that all she could come up with was drowning him in a pond. Drowning hadn't been horrible—not horrible enough for the thing that killed her with a smile.
Thing, half-spirit… it wasn't even human anymore. Naomi was glad—she was glad that he no longer had the right to say he belonged to the human race. No human could talk that smoothly; no human could have so easily killed her.
"He needs a better death than drowning. Maybe being dead makes you strong enough to rip someone's heart out and force them to eat it." That might also be painful for her though, as heart-eating was rather nasty to watch. Dissecting cow eyes in Biology had been enough; she didn't need to watch someone eat a heart. Still, it'd be worth it to see the look on his pretty face.
With that in mind Naomi stood, attempted to wipe off the grass stains on her pants and walked up to the house.
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Light fell down six times on his attempt to climb the stairs. It was single-handedly the worst day of his life. Being stalked by the FBI, killing Lind L. Taylor, having a near panic attack when trying to kill Naomi Misora…. Nothing compared to having to deal with two insane bastards. At least one of them had the decency to admit it, but as far as Light was concerned, they deserved the heart attack that he would eventually deliver. That is, assuming he could find another Death Note.
Nathanial, that sly bastard, knew exactly what he was doing when he burned that thing. It didn't matter that he hadn't gotten the whole notebook. Without the original copy, Light was barely holding onto ownership; it was only a matter of time before he forgot everything. Even then, he might be able to stitch a corset or something like that—perhaps a bracelet. But eventually, he would run out of paper. Nathanial was not a new player to this game; he had obviously used a Death Note before and knew the rules just as well as Light did.
L was less of a threat than the red-headed maniac. L didn't know anything about the Death Note, and therefore wasn't of much interest to Light at the moment. Besides, if anything, Nathanial was making it easier for him to kill people without L breathing over his shoulder. That is, it would be easier if he had more than a few scraps of his Death Note.
Of course, with this new Kira in the picture, things were changing once again. This new Kira was cunning, crafty, but didn't look to be genius caliber like L or Nathanial (despite everything, Light firmly believed that Nathanial was genius material). And they clearly worshipped Kira—a Kira supporter would give up their Death Note for the greater cause. Still, whoever it was had the eyes, and that would mean caution. Who knew what they were really planning?
Clearly, everyone had gone insane—and he meant everyone. Even he was feeling a tad loopy, but he assumed that was more due to lack of sleep than any type of brain malfunction. Everyone else, however, was just plain nuts—off their rockers, lost their marbles, et cetera—to the point where it made Light wonder if there was even a point saving a bunch of maniacs when he made his new world.
Utopias aren't defined as having a population gone insane. That did put a tiny wrench in his plans. If only he could solve both problems simultaneously; that would make his life so much easier. And of course he could do it; after all, he was Kira—the original, the first, the only. Light Yagami didn't take no for an answer.
He had never been so happy to see his bed. If anyone ever called him at two in the morning ever again, they would be suffering heart attacks for the rest of their short lives.
"You sick bastard," muttered a purely female voice that Light swore he had heard before—probably less angry and accusing, though.
Indeed, what kind of sick person would deny him sleep yet again in the same night; did they know who they were dealing with?
"Goddamn, woman, do you know what time it is? Dammit, what time is it? It is four in the morning! Speaking of which, what are you doing in my room?!" Light sat up from his bed, forcing his eyes onto the dark figure, noticing the letter opener she clenched in her hand. His letter opener, if he was looking right.
"Shut up, Kira! I have waited… I don't even know how long for this moment, and I am going to enjoy it." She sounded as if she was serious, but the letter opener was a mite bit distracting and if Light had stopped being afraid of Ryuk, he didn't have to be afraid of some dark-haired woman with a blunt knife.
"Is that a letter opener?" he asked curiously, his eyes locked on her 'weapon of choice'.
"That's not important. The important thing is that I am going to kill you… very slowly…."
"Well, of course it's going to be slow," interjected Light, closing his eyes briefly. "It's a letter opener. That thing is about as sharp as a spoon. Couldn't you find anything slightly more threatening?"
Light couldn't help but be amused by her cry of aggravation as she threw the letter opener against a wall. It was at that moment that he noticed the lean shinigami laughing like a hyena. His good humor vanished. Of all the blasted shinigami to betray him, it had to be Ryuk. She probably gave him a bushel of apples. Damn fickle gods of death….
"Well, Ryuk, how did she force the information out of you? Torture? Death threats?" Light said accusatorially at the god of death, giving the best evil eye he could muster—not very impressive, considering the lack of sleep hindering him.
"Yeah, Light, well, she gave me apples. You never gave me apples. Remember that whole camera thing? No apples then, either…. Nope, you deserve this you apple-Nazi." Ryuk was apparently just as amused by the dark haired woman as Light was. That girl looked so dreadfully familiar…. A past date, perhaps?
"Apples, I knew it. You should be glad I denied you. You're an addict. You'll never quit unless you go cold turkey." Light felt his energy level dropping; the adrenaline was slinking out of his system once again. He felt his eyes closing, even as he attempted to glare at a certain death god.
"I am trying to be threatening, here! Neither of you are helping! GODDAMMIT!" She looked near temper tantrum. Light felt the corners of his lips twitch up.
"Well, you're failing miserably. Now why exactly are you trying to kill me? You never said." Light was a little confused on that point. Even with the lack of sleep, he was fairly sure that he would remember if someone wanted to kill him.
"Because you're a conceited bastard who kills people so he can proclaim himself a god," she said with a completely straight face.
"I am… not conceited. I am confident. There is a difference."
Just then, it hit him like a freight train. No wonder she looked horrible. She was dead. He had killed her. He very clearly remembered saying farewell to Naomi Misora long before she set foot in his room with a letter opener.
"Oh, my God! You're dead!" he shouted, and for the second time in his life he fell on the floor, covered in fear-produced sweat, stifling the urge to scream. Yes, this was by far the worst day of his life.
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"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?!" cried Naomi in utter dismay as her intended victim once more lost interest and began to fall asleep.
"Well, I am now. I'm sorry, but could you threaten me a little later—maybe three in the afternoon? I have had a horrific day and would love some sleep." He certainly wasn't as charming as Naomi remembered; in fact, he looked like a mess. His hair was still in perfect position, but his expression hardly looked as arrogant as she wished.
Oh, well, you couldn't expect everything to go as planned.
"You've had a horrific day. You killed me, as I recall. And I have spent all day being stalked by a pretzel…."
"Shinigami, god of death—not a pretzel," interrupted the murderer offhandedly. How he could do that when a dead person came back to life and threatened to kill him was beyond her.
"Shinigami, then, and then I found that since I'm dead I can't pay for anything with a credit card or convince my landlord to give me back my clothes…." She glared at the murderer before he could interrupt again.
"Since you're dead, I assumed you wouldn't need material objects such as food and money. Was I wrong?" he asked with a blank expression.
"Well, maybe I could have bought a gun! Then maybe you would have three bullets in your goddamn head by now!" shouted Naomi, wishing she had the strength to tear the murderer apart.
"I thought you said you wanted to take this slowly," remarked Light casually, looking slyly at the dancing pretzel, who began to chortle madly. Naomi couldn't help but feel that if taken out of context that quote didn't sound quite so threatening.
"DON'T SAY IT LIKE THAT! Goddamn, I should just bash your head against a wall!" Naomi was running out of patience needed to exact revenge; she might just have to face the facts that she had no talent in vengeance and violence.
"Or maybe you should stab yourself with that letter opener," interjected (yet again the bastard) the rather humored Light Yagami.
"I'll stab you with a letter opener!" She felt so childish, but it couldn't be helped—he started it!
"No, you're bashing my head against a wall. You said so yourself."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did."
"No."
"Yes, you did."
"WELL YOU'RE A DIRTY MURDERING-LYING-SCHEMING-SON-OF-A-BITCH!"
"Don't insult my mother."
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L looked up from his sixth slice of cheesecake at his poor, overworked task force. His dark glare was left unmet by all but Matsuda, who couldn't find anywhere else to look.
"So, we're going to review these Kira tapes one more time." L could almost taste the agony of his men—good, he wanted someone else to suffer with him.
"But, Ryuzaki, we've watched them five times," complained Matsuda, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
"I don't care. If you're really as smart as you seem to be, then you'll be able to come up with something brilliant. Isn't that right, Matsuda-san?" asked L in a snide tone of voice. It was making him feel oh-so-much better.
True it was childish, but L's pride was still aching and nothing had been done to fix it. Not even pestering Light had solved his problems. Things were getting serious when all cheesecake did was make him feel angrier. Someone had to pay.
"But Ryuzaki, I'm not as smart as you are…."
L almost smiled as his ego grew to the size of Godzilla once again. This was why he had hired Matsuda; he was always good use when his ego needed stroking.
"I know, Matsuda-san…. Believe me, I know."
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"So, Ryuk, where did you find the dead broad?" asked Light casually, rubbing his eyes and refusing to stare at the clock. He was not going to fall asleep during his final hour. That would be a complete contradiction to his near omnipotence. Besides, it was just embarrassing.
"I am not a dead broad, I am your executioner!" shouted the dead broad, searching around his room for some better weapon than a letter opener.
"Yes, well, we all have our fantasies," remarked Light, examining his fingernails in mock interest. Maybe she was a troll and would turn to stone as soon as the sun rose. He hoped so; he didn't think he'd make it till five a.m.
"Er, she was walking around a park, sort of yelling, like the angry guys in taxis." Clearly, Ryuk had not gained any more brains during his short absence in Light's life. What a pity. Oh, well. Light was still the greatest genius in the world. L ranked at a low number two, possibly three if that bastard Nathanial was as good as he seemed.
"I was not! You two both deserve to rot in Hell." Clearly, Naomi's impatience hadn't improved within the course of the conversation. Maybe she really was a troll….
That would actually explain a lot.
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Raito knew things had gone downhill when he found Light strapped down to his bed, whistling a World War I marching tune. As if this wasn't disturbing enough, he saw Ryuk cackling in the corner, downing several apples at once, all the while staring at a girl whose face shouldn't have been so familiar.
Raito lived his life as a paranoid bastard. He remembered every enemy he ever made, no matter how brief their encounter. Naomi Misora was no such exception. Besides, she looked about ready to shoot Light's (his) head off.
The problem with the whole 'making up good deeds' was that there were very specific guidelines. Instead, Raito liked to keep it in a short list like form, just to make it easier for him to wrap his head around.
One, never ever kill a human. Whether this was inadvertently or directly, if he so much as looked at a human and it keeled over, he would immediately find himself suffering a heart attack and bleeding profusely. Not to mention waking up to see Light Yagami cackling over a sheet of paper, staring at his first victim on the television set.
Two, don't touch anything. If a human somehow noticed that something moved, or if something was wrong, it was his fault—and bam, there went his heart again. Very painful, and he didn't need reminding that it might be a bad idea to mess with things without humans noticing.
Third, protect Light Yagami above all else. For some reason, his lifespan was still tied to Light's. So if his former self wound up getting maimed or dying, it was curtains for Raito, making it a prime objective to keep the little bastard out of trouble.
Although rule number two seemed void, Raito wasn't going to risk losing his skin to number one and three. Heart attacks were painful and he liked to avoid them; besides, he was fairly sure Light was adverse to dying young. Even though his ego was the size of a meteor, they were still related (if not the same person), and that meant something.
"What are you two doing up so early?" asked Raito in mock amusement as he managed to squeeze himself through Light's window for the fourth time, causing Light to stop whistling and break into a glare. Useless ingrate. At least Raito wasn't tied to a bed.
"Dear God, Kira, can't you keep anyone out of your room?" asked a furious, if not frustrated Naomi. Harsh and sarcastic, her words reflected Raito's personality, probably due to the fact that she must be dead.
Raito waited for the panic to set in, where he would realize that she was probably a hit man sent to kill Light and, inadvertently, kill him. Not only was she a hit man, but she was one he knew, making it three times more dangerous. If she went to L, he had no way of protecting Light; he'd be executed before he had a chance to say 'not guilty'. And she probably knew that, so why the hell was she in his room threatening him with a pair of empty fists? Clearly, she had not thought the whole assassination thing through—comforting and disconcerting at the same time. Actually, no, it was just plain confusing.
First, Raito's neat little list of rules gets thrown out the window along with his old Death Note, and now Naomi Misora comes back as some undead vengeful zombie bent on world destruction. Could his life get any worse?
"Apparently not. Hello, Nathanial, have you come to steal my soul?" Light smiled wistfully before closing his eyes and leaning his head back against bed covers. Raito blinked. Before he died, Raito had never had a sense of humor—where did all the cynicism come from? Light was not sarcastic, much less that morbid.
"Er, no, apparently I've come to save your ass. You owe me for this one." Raito turned his attention to Naomi Misora, who had picked up something that looked vaguely like a letter opener and was moving in his direction. Clearly, she meant to skewer him with it. Oh, goody.
"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" she asked as she jabbed the knife-like object into his shoulder. Luckily, it was too blunt to do any real damage—but it still hurt. Not as much as being hit by a car, though. That had been painful.
"Nathanial Lawilett at your service. Magician, detective, mad man extraordinaire! And at the moment, that poor soul's rescuer, so shut the hell up, bitch, and ditch the knife before I kick your ass." What could he say—he had no patience for terrible assassins. He had enough of them in the first years of his existence. And they just made things ridiculously awkward, especially when they had tried to chase him through terrible traffic.
That was the first time he had decided to test run his terrible driving. It got him out of a nasty scrape with a couple of renegade dead people/things/whatever they were. Of course, it wasn't that pretty when he accidently ran over one of them, then crashed into the other one. Over all, it was a huge mess that everyone learned something from. One, never let Raito near a car. Two, don't try to kill him on his own turf.
He had thought those lessons had struck home with whoever had managed to convince him to curse himself and give up his name. Clearly not, as Naomi the Martyr had shown up in his old bed room with a dull spoon for a weapon.
Of course, not that Raito felt like saying this out loud—he had done a lot of stupid things in his life-time, one of the worst being the time he attempted commit suicide by drinking himself to death, which had almost been as painful as a heart attack. That's actually what started the coffee obsession. Despite what people said, coffee didn't break up a hangover—but it had been worth a shot.
Even thinking about it made him want to puke. Dear God, he hated alcohol. He shuddered and turned his attention back to the 'armed' Naomi Misora, who looked about ready to jab him again, causing him to launch into terrible-coordination-action.
"You punched me!" exclaimed Naomi Misora while rubbing her red nose, which he had failed to break. Damn good for nothing dead limbs.
"Yeah, well, you were about to jab me again!" sputtered Raito while moving forward and tripping Naomi before she could say anything else. He was having far too much fun with this.
"Nathanial, you bastard! Get out of my room before I kill you!" shouted a more awake Light, who twisted within his bonds so that he could glare at Raito with a look that told everyone exactly who he was. Apparently, it wasn't a night for subtleties, and Light was over his good humor. Good—so was Raito.
"You, kill me? Really, Light, I didn't think you capable! I mean, beside the fact that you look like a teenage girl in a terrible bondage-slave situation, you really aren't that threatening. Oh, you looked at me—oh, my heart, it hurts, it hurts! Really, try to get a beard. Maybe that will help a little to make you look more masculine."
Raito knew exactly what hurt the most, and the woman jokes were always the worst. He remembered the humiliation even after being dead for God knew how long. They still hurt. It was the worst thing in the world to be told he looked more feminine than his younger sister.
"You aren't going to find my Death Note. Even if she kills me, I'll take it to the grave." Light was sneering, now clearly affected by Raito's insults.
"No, because she isn't going to kill you. Do you have that little faith in me?" asked Raito, trying to judge his abilities as a rescuer. They weren't looking too good. But hey, he had been a pro at killing.
"Yes, I really believe that even though she has nothing but a letter opener, she is more likely to kill me than you are to save me. In fact, your being in the same room as her might doom me anyway."
Raito hated to say it but his younger self had a point…. Damn.
Of course, five seconds later, Light's point really struck home. Naomi Misora, in all her wisdom, had decided it was a good idea to lift the false drawer and thereby trigger the explosion. Raito began to wonder if this day could possibly get any worse.
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Naomi hadn't been listening very closely to the stranger, whoever he was. But he was a useful distraction to search for a better weapon—for God's sake, the boy was a mass murderer. He had to have a weapon more lethal than a letter opener. And without further ado, Naomi Misora went digging through Kira's desk drawers.
At first there was nothing too exciting—pens, diaries, textbooks. Nothing dangerous or painful enough for her taste. Reaching below the diary, she realized that he might have a false drawer. After all, he was Kira—he must have expected people to paw through his drawers. Well, she found him now.
With a sigh of relief, she lifted the false bottom, turned her head at a muttered curse and giggling from the mad death god, and was engulfed in fire. No, her revenge was not going well at all.
Author's note: FINALLY! Anyway, review folks.