Disclaimer: I don't own Elfen Lied. Everything in the Elfen Lied universe belongs to Lynn Okamoto. However, all of the original characters in this story belong to me.

Summary: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy's death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael's decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

Warnings: This is rated T for bad language, drug usage, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

Author's Notes: Guess what, I'm not dead. It's time we returned to what makes my story great. And one of those things is the occasional chapter where I throw about random pieces of my jigsaw puzzle. I'm just reaching in my cauldron and throwing a handful of hints and spoilers into the air.

What you see is what you get.

Angel of Massacre

Chapter Twenty-One: The Mean Mummy Man

Noah Brimstrome sat on a custom-designed chair in front of his home personal computer. It was a gigantic villa overlooking a cliff side facing the great wide ocean. The entire oceanfront wall was made of windows, giving Noah a spectacular view from sunrise to sunset. The villa had two floors; the central room had an open ceiling all the way to the skylight. This was one of nine houses that Noah owned. It was also one of the smallest houses that Noah owned. But Noah had his own personal airport nearby with at least two luxury jets always warmed and ready for flight at Noah's slightest whim.

At the moment, Noah was on the second floor office, where one of three personal computers was located. This select computer was not connected to any network. Inside its own firewall (designed by Noah himself) and several levels of encryption, were files known only to Noah. They held information about Experiment KINGOFTHEHORNS that not even Jeremiah could reach. There were video files that were so secretive, that the computer was designed to immediately self destruct and melt itself if the wrong password was entered more than once. To this end, there were capsules of phosphorous hidden inside the tower, positioned just above the heat-sink and hard drive. When the KILLDSK program activates, the capsules open and deposit all the phosphorus. Given that a hard drive can reach over 140 degrees Fahrenheit, the heat alone would ignite the phosphorous upon contact. Complete destruction of the hard drive with the added bonus of severely burning anyone nearby. Noah has heard rumors that Jeremiah's own computer has dynamite strapped to the computer and chair. It's like he's deliberately trying to out-paranoid Noah.

Fortunately, Noah has indeed put the correct password in and nobody has gotten burned. Except maybe the technician who installed the capsules. But he got a brand-new Ferrari for his troubles, so there aren't any real casualties. With the threat of bodily harm out of the way, Noah accessed the video files and scrolled down to his personal favorite video: Therapy Session #616. He opened it up with Windows Media Player and leaned back in his chair, fingertips pressed together to make a steeple.

Therapy Session was not the 616th session in the Mordare line of sessions. It was only the 168th one in fact. But there were 448 other sessions that dated before the Mordare family. There were many families that unwittingly took part of Experiment KINGOFTHEHORNS, and all of them failed to produce a proper male diclonius. It took many failures before Michael Mordare was born.

The video was dated on the 11th of October, just seven days after the incident where Sarah tried to physically abuse Subject D-1, and received a brutal arm injury for her folly. The video opened up a little shaky as the therapist carried the camera on his shoulder. He brought it into a room where there was a seven year old Michael Mordare sitting in a small chair. The boy was turned around in his chair, looking at an empty corner with a frightened expression. His horns looked slightly too big for his head still, but he was growing into them. His hair was a pinkish color; it would darken as he grew older.

The therapist politely asked Michael to face him in his seat. Then he put the camera on a stand underneath a one-way mirror. Noah remembered that the therapist was so scared that he gave Noah his final will and testament. At that point in the experiment, everyone was thinking that Michael's powers had been fully activated and a vector-powered meltdown was imminent. Noah wasn't sure himself, but just to show confidence, he had attended the session personally. He was in a viewing room on the opposite side of the one-way mirror.

Michael sat down in his seat properly and obediently. Then the therapist opened up with some simple questions about the incident. The therapist was hiding his fear well. He asked Michael about what happened when Sarah tried to slap him. Michael just sort of mumbled. The therapist asked him to repeat it louder. Michael said that he didn't remember what happened. All he saw was Sarah holding her arm and shrieking in pain.

"And also, there was a lot of red."

The temperature of the room felt like it had dropped. There was something chilling in the way Michael said it. He spoke like it was a fascinating sight. Suddenly he whipped around in his seat, looking in terror at the empty corner. He slapped his hands over his ears. His red eyes were focused on some point just above the floor. Noah paused the video and leaned closer to the flat-screen monitor, focusing on Michael's face. Tears trembled in his ruby eyes.

Noah played the video again, leaning back in his chair. The therapist kept asking questions, and Michael kept insisting that he didn't remember who hurt his mommy. He seemed scared and refused to look in the corner again. Noah paused the video again and enhanced the picture in the corner. There was absolutely nothing there. Was Michael exhibiting some form of dementia? The trauma of injuring his own mother obviously forced him to repress his memories of the event. But could there have been more to it?

Finally, the therapist was finished asking questions. He turned and left the room, leaving the camera behind. For the longest time, the video was completely silent, save for the sniffles of the young diclonius. Then, for no apparent reason, he turned his head back toward the corner and started to scream.

Then he stopped screaming almost immediately.

A serene expression passed over his face, like he was falling asleep. His misshapen head even began to bob up and down. His hair covered his eyes as he slouched forward. The audio went silent again. One minute passed. Two minutes passed. Three minutes passed. The therapist hadn't returned yet, he was still talking to Noah in another room. He was begging for his life.

Then Michael's head lifted up slightly. His hair still obscured his eyes. He scooted his butt off the chair and walked straight at the camera. He stood right in front of it and didn't move. His facial muscles twitched randomly, like he was trying to make a funny face. But the expression that emerged was nothing short of nightmarish. It looked like what you get when a child gets some molding clay and tries to make a smiley face for the first time. The grin that emerged was twisted and perverted into a smile that completely ruined the purpose of smiles. There was nothing warm or happy about the smile. Michael's facial muscles stretched that terrible smile across his face.

Noah felt another chill run down his spine.

Michael then began to shamble toward the therapist's chair. He stopped beside it, his head tilted in consideration. Then without warning, he threw himself into the wooden chair. His left upper arm slammed against the arm of the chair. The chair flipped over and clattered to the ground. Michael landed in a crumpled heap. Then he pushed himself up with both arms and gasped in pain. He sounded surprised. His horned head whipped around and Noah could see his alarmed eyes briefly. Then he began to cry loudly, holding his arm with his right hand.

There was the sound of a door flying open and a nurse ran into the room. Michael looked at her and stretched his arms toward her. The nurse stepped back, out of view of the camera. She didn't come any closer to the injured boy. Michael looked confused as wet tears streamed down his face. The therapist entered the room and ordered the nurse to pick him up. The nurse hesitated before walking toward Michael. She was treading like she was barefoot in a field of broken glass. Frankly, Noah didn't blame her. The nurse kneeled in front of Michael and inspected his arm. There was a shiny new bruise on his left arm. She asked for a bag of ice and got it within seconds. She then asked Michael to hold it against his bruise. The nurse left the room and then didn't come back. Noah never even got her name.

The therapist asked Michael how he got hurt. Michael shook his head furiously and pointed at the empty corner.

"The mummy man hurt me. The mean mummy man made me hurt me!"

The rest of the video was meaningless, so Noah closed the video file and shut down the computer. He stood up and stretched his arms. Then he took a walk around his luxurious villa. The sun was halfway below the horizon. The reflection on the ocean made the sun appear as a whole circle. The red glow illuminated the entire villa, casting glistening lights off the waves.

It was this session that convinced Noah to anonymously donate twenty thousand dollars –pocket change- to the Mordare family. It seems as a result, the 617th session was less eventful. Michael didn't seem to remember hurting himself. He didn't even remember anything about the mean mummy man. It was like the entire session had been erased –or repressed- from his mind. Noah didn't know what would have happened if the Mordare family hadn't reconnected. There was a small possibility that Michael may have stabilized himself without intervention. But for the sake of the experiment, Noah helped the Mordares provide a healthier growing environment for the diclonius.

Noah retrieved a bottle of rare wine and poured himself a small glass. He rotated the glass in his hand, peering at the blood red sun through the amber fluid.

Or perhaps Noah did it out of a small sense of guilt, knowing that without him, that family would never have been burdened by a diclonius. If it wasn't for Noah, then Michael would have been born a completely normal human boy. In a very real sense, Michael was Noah's responsibility. Of course, it didn't hurt that Michael's escape convinced the Director to give Noah full authority over every resource the Diclonius Research Facility had to offer.

Noah smiled as he sipped from his glass. The exotic taste swirled around his tongue. Was there anything better than sipping a delicious wine while watching a perfectly constructed plan fall into place? Even the persisting diclonius couldn't harsh Noah's mood. After all, the longer the diclonius rampaged, the longer Noah had access to the Facility's resources. Noah would let Michael—no, Subject D-1 run around a while longer. After all, there was still his ace in the hole.

There was nothing that could stop Noah's ambitions.

Not.

One.

Damn.

Thing.

End Chapter Twenty-One: The Mean Mummy Man

This was yet another chapter where I just reached in and threw a handful of jigsaw pieces at you. The mental image you should have of me is that of a morbidly obese naked man gaily prancing around a field of sunflowers, throwing pieces of a puzzle around like a billionaire would throw silver dollars. Now imagine all that drawn in the art style of Scott Ramsoomair.

Just in case you haven't figured it out, I have a financially beneficial deal with Brain Bleach Co.