The mittens were just ridiculous, but it was an entirely different matter when a Special Bullet was to be included. With the weapons of the silver-haired boy so loyal to him, Mukuro bombarded Sawada Tsunayoshi with explosives.
The explosions of dynamite drowned out the single shot of the Arcobaleno's gun, and both of them waited for the smoke and explosions to clear and reveal the fate of the Vongola Decimo.
A bullet. That, he hadn't expected, and the Arcobaleno had been quick, just as expected from a cursed infant.
There was no breeze inside, not the natural kind, but smoke was by nature intangible, and could not remain for long. It parted like the curtains to a stage, revealing what had previously been hidden.
Bloodied and ragged, Sawada Tsunayoshi lay on the ground, eyes closed, and breath near-gone.
His clothes remained on his body, and there was no wreath of fire on his brows like when he had fought Lancia, an underdog by all definitions but as fierce as an Einherjar.
(Something stirred inside, and it wasn't disappointment. It wasn't.)
"I don't think I need to rebuke you out loud," said the Arcobaleno suddenly, and as if they were the words to a magic spell, Sawada Tsunayshi's eyes opened, and there was a light in them.
Stained with blood and dirt, clothes ragged, and the mittens on his hands the only clean thing about him, the Vongola Decimo was, incredibly, still alive.
Well, Mukuro corrected himself. The mittens weren't the only things clean about him. Even now his eyes were clear of despair. There was still hope and determination, somehow.
(Did he once have eyes like that? Had, with all the violence and pain, and the fear, and all the wretched memories that were both his and not sullied them until –
Until he gave up on hope, because the only thing guaranteed in this world, in this living hell, was despair.
Or maybe he never did, because-)
"It doesn't matter." He moved Chikusa's body, and swung down the trident, to end this. "It'll be problematic for me if you die here."
Something, other than the piercing of the targeted flesh, stopped the descent of the trident. Holding one of the spears was a hand, gloved in that ridiculous mitten.
The Vongola Decimo had moved at a speed Mukuro hadn't caught. Granted, it was through Chikusa's eyes, without his glasses, but still.
Like the cocoon of the chameleon before, the mittens began to glow with a bright, orange light, a supernova going off until –
It wasn't just Chikusa's eyes that confirmed it for Mukuro, but also Ken's, and the two that came with the Vongola. The woolen mittens were no more, replaced instead with sleek, black gloves. A metal 'X' was on the back of the hand, and bands of metal wrapped around the wrist and fingers, as if to support them.
Mukuro focused his eye, and no – it was no illusion. The transformation, whatever it had been caused by, was real.
The trident prong held in his grip snapped off, like a dried twig breaking.
"Mukuro," growled Sawada Tsunayoshi, voice low. "If I don't defeat you . . ."
Flames, a bright orange, lit at the front of his forehead, just like it had when he fought Lancia. A crown of fire worn by a prince, a mane of amber flames for a young lion. "Then I won't be able to die in peace!"
(Die in peace? Was there even such a thing?)
Mukuro made Chikusa's body jump back, wary of unknown variables. The bullet had obviously struck its mark, proof of that clear in the flames that danced at the front of Sawada Tsunayoshi's brow.
And yet, it wasn't the same. Not the cool, almost tranquil gaze, not the clothes still on his body, and certainly not the way the flame was almost calm, not a wild raging blaze.
"You seemed quite a bit more fired up in the fight with Lancia before," he said, fishing for information.
"The Rebuke Bullet brings out the calm fighting will in Tsuna," replied the Arcobaleno, still content in the expository role rather than fighting himself. While Mukuro preferred to not have to fight an Arcobaleno, he didn't like the unknown variable he represented, and didn't trust the hitman when he said he wouldn't interfere. Words didn't bind and neither did honor. Only death and power did. "It's a completely new bullet – different from the Dying Will Bullet – with a totally new hidden power."
What a ridiculous name. New power, new 'weapon' or not – could it hold up to skills forged in the paths of hell itself?
Mukuro moved Ken's body to attack from the Vongola Decimo's back while speaking through Chikusa. The calm light of his eyes never broke as Sawada Tsunayoshi, with one hand, grabbed Ken's head to force him to a stop and knock him back with a swing from the other arm. All without turning his gaze, or even blinking.
With Chikusa's body he threw forth a barrage of needles from the specialized yo-yos – or so it would have seemed. While the illusion played out, he moved forwards –
And Sawada Tsunayoshi struck him, knocking Chikusa down with a blow to the face. Like Ken's body, the hit to the head made it so that the entire body's balance was knocked askew.
It was a clean blow, one that meant Sawada Tsunayoshi could somehow see through his illusions. The ones he wrought through the first path.
But he shouldn't have been able to. He hadn't been able to, just before.
Hyper Intuition, the Arcobaleno called it. From the fabled Blood of the Vongola.
Mukuro could accept that explanation, that his latent potential was awakened by the bullet. After all, if Sawada Tsunayoshi's eyes could see through illusions and warp the sense of reality for others, then why should he be so arrogant as to assume that there wouldn't be other powers, from different sources than those Mukuro knew?
It was in something else that Mukuro saw his advantage. The reason why Sawada Tsunayoshi had come, the way he had reached out to a boy trying to stab him just because he knew and cared for Futa de la Stella. "But surely you haven't forgotten – that this is your friend's body? Can you really strike at me? At them?"
The answer, as Mukuro expected, was no. The Vongola Decimo's new powers didn't matter, not when he refused to use them to strike at the bodies of his friends – even as they, possessed by Mukuro, beat him soundly as if he was a sandbag.
"You're wrong," corrected the Arcobaleno – who was truly starting to get annoying, because if he wasn't going to fight, he should at least have the decency to stay silent on the side. "Tsuna knows that the way you're using both Bianchi and Hayato's bodies are damaging them. Rather than fighting and exacerbating their injuries, he's protecting their bodies."
Mukuro faltered as he realized that the cursed infant was correct, and Sawada Tsunayoshi knocked the silver-haired boy's body out with a sharp blow to the neck that paralyzed it, leaving it beyond competent control. The Poison Scorpion's body followed shortly after her younger brother's, collapsing like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
The Vongola Decimo reached out to let their bodies fall onto his arms, and not the floor.
"Sorry about the wait," he murmured in a voice befitting the calm, unbroken light of his eyes, carefully setting them down on the ground. "Reborn, you look after them."
With all the contracted bodies out of commission, Mukuro had only his own form at his disposal. The fragmented visions came together as one – his own.
"Show yourself, Mukuro." Sawada Tsunayoshi turned his head and his gaze towards his direction. Even the shadows wouldn't hide him, Mukuro knew, not from those eyes. "You're still alive, aren't you?"
('Alive' was far more relative a term than most thought, at least for Mukuro.
But in the conventional sense of the word, yes, Mukuro supposed, he was alive. His heart was beating, pushing blood through his body, and he breathed air in and out of his lungs.)
That fire burning at his brows strengthened the Vongola Decimo, as did the gloves he wore. He no longer had other bodies to control. Illusions wouldn't work with him now. Neither would beasts be a threat.
Mukuro had to meet him in combat, but the Asura Path alone wouldn't be enough.
"Out of the six skills I possess for battle," he said, as all things came to a circle, as it should. "There's one more I haven't shown you, remember?"
That special bullet might have strengthened Sawada Tsunayoshi, but it could not give him knowledge that he didn't possess. The Arcobaleno answered once more. "The fifth path – the realm of Humans."
There was always at least a seed of truth in myths, a reason for their creation. "Exactly. This world that we live in presently is the realm of humans. Among all six states, it is the ugliest and the most dangerous of worlds."
The light in Sawada Tsunayoshi's eyes shifted, as if in doubt. Proof that he did not understand the true evil of the reality he lived in, even now.
Of all the realms, it was the humans that was the worst.
"I am not being cynical. Because I hate this world, I hate this skill the most." Mukuro raised a hand to his right eye. Hating something and making use of it were two different things, not mutually exclusive. "If possible, I would rather have not used it, but . . ."
His fingers dug in without hesitation, drawing blood. The pain was physical, familiar – and almost a release, for all that he felt within. An expression of the ugliness festering within him that could not be seen, and in that sense, a relief.
And with it released the powerful aura of human greed, that terrible force demanding everything, even if it meant destruction.
Mukuro hated using it, but the fifth path had its uses. Sawada Tsunayoshi could not keep up with his strength or speed now.
He threw him around a few times, each blow meeting their mark squarely. The last strike threw him across the large room, into the wall.
(Fragile things that human beings were, but terrible, so terrible, and –
Why – couldn't – they – all – just – die)
"This is the difference between us," he said, keeping his words from being panted out. The fifth path strained his body – and while much of it was psychological, he was also growing tired himself. "An infinite abyss. This is – a warm-up, you could say."
It was the literal difference of life and death.
"No."
The word was almost growled out, and from where he was, on the other side of the room, the orange aura exploded, doubling in amount like flames fed a gust of air.
The gloves – not mittens, comical and harmless, but dangerous – rose to his brows, covering the top part of his face from Mukuro's sight. The sleek, black gloves, almost weapon-like – odd as the phrasing might be, but true – caught on fire, the same one as the crown he wore.
There was no smell of burning (cauterized) flesh, no smoke, no pained expression, and that aura was in his fists now as well as his brow. "If that's all you have, I'm very disappointed."
The power of the human path was ugly, despicable, and every second with it made him feel like his entire body was covered and filled with live ants, and that single sentence – that taunt, that challenge, that provocation – was all it took for Mukuro to nearly forget that wretched sensation.
"I," he snarled back, vocal cords made guttural by humanity's ugliest, basest evils and by default its true nature, "am going to have some goddamn fun with you."
But, as he engaged in combat and found out firsthand, there was more to that orange aura than just the Vongola Decimo attempting to look bigger, like how a cat puffed up its fur to bluff. It wasn't aura, and it wasn't normal fire – as his trident found out, when a grip from those burning gloves melted the metal.
Selective heat, Mukuro realized when a second later, the other – also blazing – gloved hand was used to strike at his head. He dodged the blow but not the heat that the fist emitted.
That was no aura.
"Unlike a normal aura that can only be seen by certain people," the Arcobaleno explained, continuing his lecture as if this was a normal lesson. Of course a cursed baby would have the strangest of tutoring sessions. "The Dying Will Flame is made up of compressed energy that possesses a destructive power of its own."
Whereas aura was a response to power being present. Like shadow cast due to a light source, rather than the light itself.
As Sawada Tsunayoshi charged him, Mukuro had to reorganize his strategy. Keep him at a distance and wear him down. He did have the advantage in reach, with a weapon, and with their physical abilities nearly on par – the boy with his Dying Will Flames, and Mukuro with the Human Path – he could win this.
The Vongola Decimo disappeared from where he had been, right before him just as he swung down the warped pole hard enough to crack his skull, and Mukuro started, briefly seeking out signs of an illusion.
He didn't catch any trace of such a thing, but he did feel a violent shift of air from behind him, and as impossible the idea instinctual response made him turn –
Just in time to see Sawada Tsunayoshi there, a fist wreathed in fire swinging down.
Both hands holding the distended pole in front of him, Mukuro somehow, miraculously, kept the fist from actually hitting him. It saved him from taking the hit directly – a boon, undoubtedly, because being punched by the Vongola Decimo right now would have been like being hit with a hot iron with the same amount of force – but the result was him crashing into the ground and skidding a distance away ungracefully.
What had that been? Through the pain his mind raced. Teleportation? Had those 'Dying Will Flames' somehow given the Vongola Decimo the power to teleport?
No, surely that wasn't it, that was ridiculous. Maybe –
"Are you done warming up yet?"
Oh, throwing his own words back at him. Mukuro supposed he had deserved that. This calm Sawada Tsunayoshi, vastly different from when he had fought Lancia – and every other instance he had seen him – was tranquil, but his words were biting. Clever.
It enraged Mukuro, beyond what the human path usually drove him to. He would exact payment for that in blood.
He bared his teeth in a snarl and laughed, because laughter did hide fury so well. "What a delightful miscalculation," he purred. "I won't even need to gather resources to cause conflict within the mafia when I get your body – I could just cause it directly, with your own hands."
Sawada Tsunayoshi's eyes, burning a bright amber, didn't waver, per say, but there was a slight shift at Mukuro's words.
"So your goal is conflict within the mafia."
The hitman was tied, body and soul, to the mystery that was the cursed infants of the rainbow, and he did not see – or rather, he did not see enough. What a small scope he worked with, what a limited horizon he assumed was everything.
"No, no, that would be too petty. I plan to possess VIPs from all over the world."
He would play the games he never quite did when he was a child. Games of war, mock battles waged on each other, between friends, or between toy soldiers.
"Then I'll control them and drown this ugly world into a pure and beautiful sea of blood."
That should be about enough to wash away everything that disgusted him about this world.
"A world war . . ." he trailed off, not quite liking the example. Europe had been the center of two such events prior, and it was Japan that was ground zero twice. And yet none of those events had been enough to change the ugliness of humanity. What Mukuro wanted demanded more blood, more change, and so perhaps the term wasn't entirely accurate. Or perhaps the term had not been used correctly before, and his plans would culminate in the true definition being identified. "Does that sound too fake?"
Neither student nor tutor answered or even reacted, which was a pity. Filthy mafia that they were, stained in the worst and more than deserving of his vengeance, Mukuro would have liked to see their faces be affected with negative emotions. Shock. Terror. Horror.
(Just like the adults of the Estraneo, who couldn't take what they did, how pathetic-terrible-ridiculous-ironic)
"But first," he said, because he had priorities. "The mafia must be annihilated."
And that was why Sawada Tsunayoshi was first.
Fully human in every sense of the word, that was what made them react.
"Why are you so fixated on the mafia?" questioned the Arcobaleno.
Those amber eyes were fixed on Mukuro and were he a lesser man Mukuro would have thought they were piercing, down to his deepest, darkest secrets. "A grudge?"
Astute of them, they were close to understanding what the seed that had taken root in him and led him to awakening was.
But Mukuro had regained his breath, and his mind was stable once more – meaning, he could use illusions that would not be as easily perceived.
"You'll find out," he said. "When your body is part of my plans."
And with that swept forth the illusion, a creature cut out of the shadows of hell's abyss, shaped in his image like his own shade given life. It charged towards the Vongola Decimo, who did not react or flinch away.
"It's an illusion," he stated, correctly, but Mukuro had expected him to see through that. With intuition on par with the likes of what he had demonstrated, Mukuro had no plans on being a one-trick pony.
"Gah!" The stones hidden in the illusion struck, and the waver in resolve made the illusion effective as an attack. Not as strongly as he might have liked, but Mukuro drew satisfaction from the pained groan Sawada Tsunayoshi emitted while holding a hand to his face.
And he did not waste the opportunity. Mukuro leapt, the pain of the human path mixing with the exhilaration, the adrenaline, and victory was in his grasp.
"Tsuna," the Arcobaleno said, not snapping or raising his voice, but urgently nonetheless.
"I know!"
Flame coated his fist, and just as Mukuro struck down, he was gone – no, in mid-air, swinging, almost flying towards him from behind again.
Caught off-guard, Mukuro tried to react, to dodge or even to block, but it was too late, his back too open and unguarded. The blow was harsh to his face and were it not for the human path, he would have been knocked unconscious as he was smashed into the ground.
But being conscious was the only thing he had. He could move, but he wouldn't be able to catch Sawada Tsunayoshi off-guard, and nor could he beat him in physical combat.
At least, not without a distraction. Not without Sawada Tsunayoshi lowering his guard.
It was a gamble, and the stakes his life.
(What else is new?)
Quietly, Mukuro cleared his mouth of blood, and only once it was clear did he chuckle. There would be no weakness shown, not in spirit if he could not prove his physical strength. He would not plead for mercy.
"So this is the Vongola Decimo," he mused, raising his head so there was eye contact. There would be no death on a surgical table, this time, but this was preferable. Not favored, but better than his previous deaths, even if it would be final. "The man who defeated me."
If.
Mukuro briefly considered congratulating Sawada Tsunayoshi for his victory but decided against it. The boy wasn't even bragging, and sarcasm would slide off him like water off a duck's feathers.
Instead he went straight to the point. "Kill me."
The coin of fortune flipped. Heads, he would die. Tails? He would come out victorious.
"I'd rather die than fall into the hands of mafia scum like you," said Mukuro. A taunt. A dare.
A gamble.
The coin landed.
"I can't do that." Sawada Tsunayoshi turned away –
And his back, unguarded and vulnerable, faced Mukuro.
Tails.
Before the Arcobaleno could call his student out for his foolishness – for turning his back on an enemy not confirmed dead, a fatal mistake – Mukuro leapt up, out of the hole created by his fallen body, and grabbed both wrists.
Perhaps, in a story, the hero's offering forgiveness to the foe who tried to kill him and take over the world might impress the defeated antagonist and convert him to the side of light.
Foolish boy, steeped in the comforts of fragile peace and blinded to just how cruel the world was.
It was from his hands that Sawada Tsunayoshi had his strength, and Mukuro would have been foolish to miss it.
So he didn't.
A solid headbutt to the back of the head left Sawada Tsunayoshi swaying, and Mukuro didn't give him a chance to regain his balance. Both of them had their arms out of use – the Vongola Decimo because Mukuro held them, and Mukuro because he was restraining him – which left Mukuro's legs free to kick the defenseless back and sides repeatedly.
When Sawada Tsunayoshi stumbled, nearly collapsing into the only thing holding him upright – ironically, Mukuro's grip on him – that was when Mukuro threw him, towards the wall where the trident head was buried, points sharp and ready to impale anything thrown onto it.
There. It was his victory now. Airborne as he was, there was no way for Sawada Tsunayoshi to change directions, and no way for him to defy gravity.
With an animalistic scream, Sawada Tsunayoshi roared wordlessly – and his hands caught on fire once more. Twin meteors, tails long and blazing, erupted and curbed his projected path until he was all but hovering, midair, the pull of gravity shoved aside.
The hands, each a shooting star of amber fire, turned, and Mukuro understood the secret behind the speed of his former movements, the almost-teleportation like quickness that had caught him off-guard more than once.
A fatal miscalculation on his part.
A meteor himself, Sawada Tsunayoshi flew across the air, defying gravity, and he was there, right in front of Mukuro, and there was nothing he could do to fight.
Like an avenging angel, wreathed in fire, Sawada Tsunayoshi grabbed him by the head. If the Vongola Decimo's Flames came from his hands and his forehead, then Mukuro's skills came from the eye, his path into the realms of Hades.
He screamed, heat swallowing his face and flames nearly blinding him.
But in the fire, beyond even the aura around his eye, Mukuro saw it – the bright, silver light. As clear and obvious as the full moon on a cloudless night, the light blazed from within the Vongola Decimo's heart, not quite of the same source as the flame he wore like a crown but just as bright.
His intent crashed around Mukuro like a howling storm, determined will so loud that it drowned out Mukuro's thoughts, and all the whispers of Hades that perpetually haunted him.
'I want to stop you! I want to protect my friends!'
Nowhere in that fierce desire did Mukuro sense murderous intent of any kind. Even now.
And the light he carried inside, protective as the legendary Aegis, responded, spilling out like a tidal wave. It washed over Mukuro, and he fully expected – prepared, even – to die a sixth death, because this was it, this had to be it.
What he received wasn't the familiar feeling of death and slipping into Hades once more, perhaps for the final time.
The closest thing Mukuro had to compare the sensation to would be a warm shower, washing away all the mud, the sweat, the blood, the exhaustion. It washed away the discrepancy between his body and soul, the wretched aura of the Human Realm, the haunting whispers and cold clutches of Hades. What had been clinging to him like dried blood caked at the cogs and gears of a machine were burnt away instantly.
It was all that and so much more, that Mukuro had nothing else he knew of that which he could compare the experience to.
The light brought him a sense of clean tiredness, as if it would be okay for him to fall asleep. As if he was promised a restful night of healing slumber, free of nightmares and memories of what was both and yet not his, the kind of sleep too distant and unfamiliar in his mind to feel like a real thing.
To fight its rush would have been like fighting becoming wet in a storm of rain – pointless and impossible. And despite the loosening grip on his consciousness, Mukuro couldn't fight it, not really. Everything that motivated him – the spite, the hate, the fear, the despair – was washing away, and without it –
What was he? What could sustain him?
Mukuro slipped away, no foothold beneath him, but it was a fall that did not fill him with fear. Not when, to the end, the eyes fixed on him held no will to kill – even now.
And he was never one to believe, but if he was, Mukuro might have said that Sawada Tsunayoshi would not, even now, strike the killing blow and finish him off.
Mukuro's screams faltered and stopped, and his eyes were closed when Tsuna withdrew his hand, lit with fire.
He was unconscious now, lying in a crater of rubble. Truly unconscious, Tsuna knew.
The Flame at his forehead flickered, and began to extinguish.
"It's done," said Reborn, quietly – but in the silence of the hall, even that was loud.
The last of the fire fizzled out, and with it Tsuna felt a warmth curl out of existence. Not in a bad way, at least not in full. Like stepping out of a warm bath. There was a part of him that missed the warmth, the comfort, but like feeling clean and done after a bath, there was also a sense of rightness, of something being completed.
That feeling didn't last long, because Tsuna remembered that basically everyone except Reborn had been seriously injured. "We need to call an ambulance!"
Or five. The more the better. The sooner, the better.
"Don't worry," said Reborn, holding up a cell phone. "The Vongola's medical staff has arrived in the area. They've already administered the antidote to Lancia."
The sigh of relief came from deep within him. Lancia had been difficult to fight against – because he was strong – but Tsuna still remembered how the large man had moved to protect him from the poisoned needles.
Even after everything he had been through, the man was still extraordinarily kind-hearted, enough to act to keep a virtual stranger from harm. The kind of strength of heart only heroes in movies had, Tsuna might have believed.
Speaking of Lancia, though . . . .
Tsuna turned to the crater he had played a part in creating, and the person that still lay in it. Earlier, he had been certain that Mukuro was truly unconscious, but now . . .
"He's not dead, right?" Tsuna asked Reborn, needing affirmation that he wasn't a murderer, that he hadn't made Mukuro's name a truth and turned him into a corpse. "He's fine?"
Reborn actually sighed, as if Tsuna was dumb for worrying about ruining his future. "You're too kind."
Too kind? Lancia was kind. Tsuna just didn't want to go to jail. Besides, Mukuro was a terrible person but that didn't mean he deserved to die. He stepped a little closer, carefully, to peer at Mukuro and check for himself.
"Don't get any closer, byon!" snarled a voice, startling Tsuna.
Ken and Chikusa had regained consciousness – and judging from the verbal tic, Mukuro wasn't possessing them this time.
That didn't stop them from crawling towards Tsuna, bodies covered in blood and wounds, like zombies determined to eat him or break into pieces trying.
Tsuna tried to back away because of the sheer terror of the sight, but Reborn slapped the back of his leg, and his small hand hurt far more than it had a right to. "Don't be afraid, Tsuna. They don't even have the strength to walk."
And that was true, because even now, they were crawling, arms trembling with the effort, but the fact that they didn't stop, eyes burning, meant –
"Don't touch Mukuro-san," snarled Ken, like an angry dog – like the ones that were chained, but still strained at it, ignoring how their collars strangled their necks in their effort to howl and bark at Tsuna when he passed their house, furious intent making it clear that given the chance they would love to shred him to pieces.
That meant Mukuro meant a lot to these guys. Because those dogs wanted to protect their house and owners, and these two were the same. It didn't matter that Tsuna had no intent on robbing the house or hurting Mukuro. Well, hurting Mukuro any further.
Maybe it wasn't the same, because it didn't make sense. Tsuna didn't get it. "Why do you do so much for Mukuro?"
He was a guy who controlled Lancia and made him kill his family. He took over the bodies of others like Bianchi, Futa and Gokudera, and ignored their pain, their safety and their health. Heck, he had taken control of Ken and Chikusa's body, and treated them the same way he treated Gokudera and Bianchi!
Tsuna couldn't imagine being as protective as they were to a guy like Mukuro. If someone did that to him, he would have run the first chance he got. "You guys were possessed and used by Mukuro, and your bodies were just-"
Used until they were ragged and torn, without any concern for their wellbeing, Tsuna wanted to say, but he was cut off.
It was Chikusa who spoke, not Ken, and the contempt was clear even in his flat words. "Don't speak as if you know anything."
"This is nothing for us-byon." Ken pulled himself up to his elbows. "Compared to back then? That was suffering."
'This was nothing'? "Back then?"
Reborn, surprisingly, showed interest. "What happened? Speak."
Ken raised his head and smiled. It was an expression full of fangs, and no joy or mirth whatsoever. The blood running down his face, and the scar bisecting it horizontally made it a frightening image, like a serial killer from a horror movie. "We were guinea pigs, for human testing conducted by our own 'Family'."
Tsuna needed a moment for that to sink in before he fully understood.
"I thought so," said Reborn, and Tsuna didn't understand how he could be so calm about it. "You're part of the Estraneo Family, aren't you? That's why you have the Possession Bullet when it's been forbidden."
"Forbidden?" Ken spat, and what hit the ground after leaving his mouth, while hard to make out in the dark, looked more like blood than saliva. "You guys just labelled it like that for your own convenience."
It was a bullet that made it possible for people to completely possess other people. Tsuna could not think of a reason as to why it shouldn't be forbidden, but Ken wasn't done.
"Thanks to that," he huffed out, exertion clear. "We were persecuted – by everyone. As if the mafia is high and mighty, but no."
"Labelling us as brutes," murmured Chikusa, and his flat tones made it all the worse, because his stoic manner made a larger emotional impact. "They shot at us when they saw us. We were worth less than bugs."
Ken laughed harshly. "And that just made the adults of the Family all the more motivated to experiment and make special weapons-byon. And you want to know who they turned on first?"
No. No he didn't. Tsuna didn't want to be here, feeling like he was on the edge of something terrible. If he heard, then he was –
"Us. The children of the Family. Every day was like hell for us, and every day, one by one, our friends died, and there was no way out – no way for us to live." Something wet ran down Ken's face, following the path left by the blood, but unlike the blood this was clear. Ken didn't seem aware that he was crying.
Tsuna felt like crying, himself.
"But he . . ." Chikusa had to stop, to take another ragged breath, and he didn't continue, only looked to Mukuro, and for all that his face was still blank, there was a desperation in his eyes, a light that said if he were to die, he would move forwards as a ghost.
"All by himself, he destroyed that miserable life, and took us out of that hell." Ken couldn't hold himself up on his elbows anymore, and he crumpled back to the ground. "For the first time since birth, there was a place for us to go."
That didn't stop the blond from his struggle. He reached out, and pulled forth, inch by painful inch. Chikusa did the same. "We can't have you destroy that!"
Reborn had said that Mukuro and his fellow escaped convicts were exiled from the mafia. Tsuna hadn't given that description any thought, because at the end of the day, mafia or not, it didn't change the fact that they threatened his peaceful life and wellbeing.
He should have. He really should have, if not then, right after Reborn said so, then after, as he fought Mukuro, heard his plans. He should have realized what would have driven Mukuro to want a world war, to bathe the world in blood. He had felt it – the grudge, the hatred clear in him as they fought. It wasn't fair and he should have realized –
And then what?
As if they were a racing car smashed into the concrete barriers on the side of the road, his thoughts came to an abrupt, painful halt.
Should he have done nothing for Gokudera, who stood between him and the barrage of needles and took the attack with his own body? Should he have turned and left Yamamoto alone down in the buried zoo? Should he have ignored Futa's fear? Should he forget Lancia?
Should he have let his body be taken so that more blood could be shed? For war, with the start being his own body being controlled against his will? Losing everything, even his name, while he was trapped in his own body like Lancia, forced to do terrible things?
No matter what he felt towards them, the answer couldn't be changed.
Joshima Ken and Kakimoto Chikusa crawled forwards, each movement a monumental fight. It said a lot, about just how much Mukuro meant to them.
"But," Tsuna swallowed. Maybe it was selfish of him, to hear their suffering and still decide that his was a bigger priority to him, but it was. "I can't just sit back and stay silent or do nothing when my friends get hurt either."
Because they had been hurt and hurt badly at that. Ryohei had been attacked, as had other Namimori students like Mochida and Kusakabe. Hotaru had acid thrown on her face, and it was only by sheer luck that she could heal herself that she was fine. Gokudera was in pain, forcing his injured body beyond limitation just to come with him. Yamamoto risked his arm for his sake, when once he would have died because he could no longer play baseball due to injury. Bianchi was stabbed. Futa was controlled. Haru, Hana and Kyoko were threatened, their lives endangered. Hibari, though he wasn't exactly a friend and probably never would call anyone a friend, was still badly hurt because Rokudo Mukuro came for Tsuna and threw Namimori into terror.
"That's my place to go."
The wildfire in Ken's eyes flickered, faltered, and Chikusa, though blank-faced as Tsuna had always seen him, stilled.
His answer wouldn't change, but it still hurt him, a little, to see that despair in their faces.
When he heard the door open, he was almost glad for the distraction from his discomfort. "Who-?"
"The medical staff has arrived," said Reborn.
With the sound of something heavy sharply cutting through the air, a black blur passed his eyes and Reborn stiffened with alarm.
Tsuna only made out the shapes when they – manacles and chains made of black metal – snapped around the necks of Mukuro, Ken and Chikusa. The chains, long and heavy, extended from the thick collars to the figures that entered.
Even by the outrageously ridiculous standards Tsuna had regarding the Vongola, the trio that entered couldn't be medical staff. They wore bandages, but they were frayed linen things covering every bit of flesh as if the newcomers were mummies, and everything else about them was clothed in black. A top hat, old-fashioned coats with fur lining that enveloped their entire bodies, and they radiated menace like the sun radiated light and heat.
"Who are they?"
"Vindice." Reborn was solemn as he removed his hand from the Leon gun, where it had flown the moment the chains whipped through the air. "The enforcers of the mafia world, who put to trial those that can't be held by conventional means or laws."
The sound of metal sliding against itself drew Tsuna's gaze back to the bandaged enforcers, and what he saw made Tsuna force himself to keep looking, despite his fear.
"Wait!" he protested, because the three of them were being dragged across the floor by their chains. It was callous, and they were being treated like they weren't human or even living beings. Even luggage might have been treated with more care than they were. "What are you doing?!"
"Don't, Tsuna," warned Reborn, and just as suddenly as they had appeared, the Vindice disappeared like ghosts. "It's risky to get on the bad side of the Vindice."
For Reborn, usually so full of confidence and willing to get into a fight (read: push Tsuna into chaos and suffering) to say such a thing cautiously was what really drove the point in for Tsuna.
But no matter how scary the Vindice were, Tsuna still had to ask. "What will happen to them?"
"They'll be put on trial for their crimes and punished accordingly."
If it had been a police officer that took them away, Tsuna might not have thought about it any further. Or maybe he would have, but not like this. Not with this weird mix of uncertainty and worry and concern and guilt he was feeling.
"What . . . kind of punishment?"
A part of him wanted to close his eyes and pretend that all of this had never happened. That he didn't see Rokudo Mukuro or Joshima Ken or Kakimoto Chikusa, hadn't heard their words filled with old, painful rage, didn't just see them dragged off roughly, pitifully.
He had to ask, though, because he destroyed their place to go. He did it to protect his own place to go, and if he had to do it again, he would choose to do the same, but –
"Who knows?" Reborn cut off his guilt and thoughts of moral obligation without any hesitation. "But it won't be anything light, for sure."
Before Tsuna could protest at that answer, too simple and lacking sympathy, Reborn beat him to it. "We don't live in a kind world."
No, Tsuna realized, they didn't.
And that was the saddest realization he had today, that the world he lived in could be so cruel and cold, that safety was a little like the illusions Mukuro used – reality until it was shattered, so easily broken. That today, he had seen a glimpse of a world beyond the boundaries of his lucky one, where children were experimented on to the point of death by adults who were supposed to protect them until they wanted to start massacres out of hate.
Tsuna couldn't dwell on those thoughts for long. Not because they were too heavy and he wanted to raise his spirits, but because the pain finally came through, to the point where it might have been quicker to list parts of him that didn't feel like they were dying, and Tsuna fell unconscious with exhaustion.
AN: I was going to wait until a banner but it's Hotaru's birthday so have an upload with no Hotaru in it (next chapter, promise).
And Usagi's blessing – wishing that Tsuna would be happy – is finally used as more than a proof of trust for the outer soldiers. It was always meant to be used (at least, as the purifying force) in the Tsuna vs Mukuro battle. There's a little more than just the blessing in action here but that's explained in the next interlude so don't worry about it.
For those who don't know yet, Mikrokosmos has been uploaded at last. It's a collection for parts that either have been cut out of Petrichor (due to speed, or irrelevancy, or being too OC-centric since I usually get bored reading those and I wrote it, so I figured others would prefer not having to scroll through that here), are AU, or just something I wanted to write (this person).
+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+
Mukuro back in K4: where is the line you won't cross?
Tsuna in K6: I'm sorry all that happened to you, but you threatened my friends and I can't let that happen.
+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+
Mukuro in K6: teleporting by Flame? Ridiculous.
Byakuran in TYL, as a giant face projection: Hi~
The Vindice, popping out of Flames fueled by sheer spite: You're under arrest.
Kawahira: Hmm?
Mukuro: …
+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+
Sweet Dreams~