Hi! I'm putting my A/N at the top for the time being lol. Anyways, I would really like to thank guest and zane122.34 for the reviews. I really enjoyed seeing them, so I'm pumping this one out for you guys!
BTW; there are going to be one or two chapters that are the years before she meets the LOV. She's gonna meet them the same time as dabi and toga, but she's might run into those two in these years. She's 13 as we know, but she'll be meeting the other villains at around 17ish. Yea, this matches the official timeline cause dabi is 24 when he appears. Anyways, I've taken too much time with this A/N, so enjoy and please leave a review!
TW; this chapter has more explicit gore than the last, and this story may continue to contain such. Please don't read if you don't like it :)
Parison - a partially shaped mass of molten glass.
Shivers racked her body, and her lips were tinted blue as she tucked away into her own body. The crimson puddle around her has just barley stopped growing, and it matted her hair to her body, and her skin felt both crusty and frozen. She was afraid to move, afraid to once again tear open the laceration that wound harshly down her neck.
The are plenty of other injuries on her person, each deep and each a reminder of her weakness. Agony burnt through her in waves, retreating momentarily only to return tenfold, but she could no longer wail. She couldn't call out, or even cry. Exhaustion had seeped into her bones, but her misery seemed to have no end.
Samara Neizy had never been at the bottom of the world before, she had always had someone to help, or someone to guide her along and catch her once she tripped. Now, now Samara had fallen from her pedestal, into the lanes where traffic doesn't stop for a near-dead orphan.
She was all alone, and that's what she hated the most. She had always detested being alone, even when she wasn't. Being alone, to her, felt like being forgotten. Like she wasn't important or interesting enough to stick around, like she was so worthless she could be abandoned easily.
Kainen had always called her dramatic, declaring that he would never leave her, and he would be by her side forever. And Kainen was a liar.
Samara doesn't want to be alone right now, as everything burned and throbbed. She wanted her brother. She wanted her friends. She wanted anyone who was there. But, that was no one. She wouldn't be helped, but the desperation in her begged the world otherwise.
Actually, it's near afternoon now. The streets not too far from her is bustling with people. A few have even glanced at her, not that she noticed, but they had just grimaced and moved along.
What a world. A child, left in the alleyway to rot away, and yet no one thought twice. Samara was beginning to realise this, and, despite the bursting pain, pulled herself up against the wall so she could watch the alley entrances. As her back hit the wall, a hoarse sound, similar to a scream, escaped her mouth, but it faded away.
As sad, as it was, she was left in this position for a few hours. And it's not that nobody saw her. No, in fact, multiple people had passed through the alley, doing nothing more than throw her a pitiful glance. At some point Samara had fallen asleep, and, when she awoke, the dark twilight that was nightfall had already come, settling over the sky like a thick blanket of isolation.
Samara had woken to the spuds of bottles clinking, and laughter with occasional hiccups. The sound had cluttered the once quiet alleyway, and Samara was immediately as alert as someone in extreme pain with heavy blood loss could be. Her eyes were blurry, but it was a different blurry to how it was when her used her quirk.
One of them, with snakes for hair, had somehow spotted him in his intoxicated state. He leered, nudging his friends as he jerked his head in her direction. The largest of the group, some junkie with four arms and four legs, much like a spider, turned towards Samara. In each hand, he held a bottle, three green and one brown.
If he had payed closer attention to the girl he was approaching, we would have noticed the dullness in her eyes, void of any light. He would've noticed the aura surrounding her, the one that screamed she didn't care. The one that said she couldn't care less who died or lived.
However, drunkards aren't known for their observational skills. As the man sauntered over, his goodies trailing unsteadily behind them, Samara tilted her head in their direction. Her eyes were glassy, and she was beyond tired. Her navy hair covered one of her eyes, still knitted with dried blood and coated in dust and ash.
She registered the men, but was more paying attention to the comforting clinking of glass. Her vision cleared slightly, enough for her to make out how many bottles of sake and beer the men held.
She couldn't really remember the last time she had used pre-made glass for her quirk, because Kainen had made sure she trained herself on expanding the amount of glass she could produce. A wave of fresh anguish washed over her, pain in her chest greater than any of the wounds she had received. She showed no outward reaction, but within her a storm had brewed, raging and colossal, icy and burning all at once.
Samara was so deep within her inner torment, that she hadn't noticed the three men had neared her. One of the three had slowed, and, being the most sober, was rightfully startled at the fore of the young lady before him, before he could stop either of his friends, spider-guy had already reached out. He grasped Samara's face, pudgy fingers seeping into her torn and bloody skin.
That seemed to do the trick. Of signing off the final sentence in these poor mens lives.
Samara was yanked for her internal suffering, something she supposed she should be thankful for. But, facing the cruelty of the world is the last thing on her mind, now of all times.
All of a sudden, she was aware. Her eyes cleared, and all she heard was clicking of glass. The man who had grabbed her stumbled back, surprised by the sudden clearness of her eyes. Samara was still on the floor, but now her breathing was uneven, and her eyes had a glint to them.
The spider guy stepped forward in tandem with medusa wannabe, and the both reached for her. Samara reached up her hands fluidly, and something similar to a manic grin spread across her face, cracking the scab of the largest laceration on her jaw.
The two men paused, and the third was stumbling towards them in an effort to pull away his friends. However, no movement could have helped what happens next.
The glasses Medusa-guy had been holding, two in one hand, came together with a loud shattering sound, much like the sound glass makes when being shattered. Medusa-guy jumped, and threw the glass(es?) away hastily.
However, the now deforming and reforming glass never hit the floor. Instead, it hovered in the air for a few moments, before it reformed with a heavy tinkle, sharpening into something resembling a rough shuriken.
Swiftly, and before any of the men could move, the shuriken spun harshly and rocketed towards Medusa-wannabe. The was a slick slicing sound, and the glass shuriken embedded itself into the brick wall of the alley.
All was silent for a few moments, before Medusa-wannabe fell to his knees, as his head slid off his sorry little body and onto the floor. His now corpse fell forward, slumping awkwardly onto the concrete as a burgundy fire spilled beneath him.
For a few moments, the two other men stood in horror at their friend. Breaking out of it, the spider-guy screamed, as he stumbled towards the alley entrance. Before he could escape, all of his glass bottle morphed, encapsulating his hands. He was rugged back by the glass, and he was powerless against it.
A sickening crunch echoed in the alley, and spider-guy had his mouth open in a silent scream as the glass caved in on itself, condensing over his hands. He crumpled to his knees in searing pain, breathless gasps leaving his lips as the glass reshaped itself and left his hands.
All that was left of them was mushed flesh with bone fragments, and yet no skin was broken. His vision went blurry with tears, and he could only kneel there in terror and agony.
The third man, having watched this all, was shaking in his very skin, as he eyed the girl who had now pulled herself up against the wall so she could lean on it. Feeling like it's better than nothing, the fool charged at her.
Samara turned to the one she had designated the second one of her victims, smile growing breathless as he neared. Her eyes were crazed, and by now the top of the injury on her he had started flowing with blood again. Number two was getting closer, a meter or so away, when clinking sounded behind him.
He made the mistake of pausing, glancing behind himself in fear. With last thing he saw was the reflection of his own eyes in the jagged planes of the glass racing towards him. The block of roughly shaped glass rammed into his face, and he rocketed sideways, connecting to the wall with a crack and slight yelp. Quickly, the brick of glass sharpened, pulling back before ramming soundlessly into the already mangled face of number two.
The glass pulled back, tinkling echoing in the alley along with drops of blood and an airy laugh. The glass dripped crimson, and the gore spread in the alley. Being the only one left, spider-guy, or number three hadn't resigned to his fate yet, yet he was struggling greatly to move, let alone stand.
Unsteadily, Samara walked over to him. Stopping in front of him, Samara summoned the glass trickling with gore to her, and chiming echoed once more as it reshaped into a shape much like a spear.
Leaning on it, Samara peered down upon the face of number three. She scoffed as she saw the tears on his face, face growing dark as she spoke.
"Tell me, what were you trying to do. Why did you come to me?"
Her voice rung clearly in the night, hoarse, scratchy and yet intimidating to no end. Despite her appearance, and her weakness by wound, her tone felt much more like a demand than a question, no matter how quiet it was.
Three didn't respond, only sniffling and sobbing freely. The pain he was feeling was substantial, and he couldn't anything.
Samara let out a breath of disbelief, eyes losing their malicious and sadistic gleam as her gaze bore into him. Sighing, she lifted herself, walking over to number twos body. Before Three could even think, the lump of glass split in two, and half spun back towards him.
Samara kneeled in front of Two as a splatter and thump sounded behind her. She tugged Two's jacket off him, and tore a strip of his shirt. She tied the strip of fabric on her second deepest cut, on her torso, the shrugged on the jacket.
Tokyo had long since fallen quiet, so no one was around to see Samara stumble out of the alley, bloody and hurt, as she gobbled away from the cavern she had left behind. Her eyes were blurred, more than before, and she just kept kept walking until she reached a water source, the river beneath a bridge. There, she would scrub the mess from her body, sobbing uncontrollably as the night finally fell silent.
The next morning; Tokyo news
TODAY, merely two days from the massacre of the Neizy household, three bodies are found in an alley blocks away from any local pub. With no survivors, it is impossibly to know what happened, except to know that these poor souls were attacked, and brutally murdered. Some believe that this isn't a coincidence, and the attacker of these three men may be the same person responsible for the collapse of the Neizy household. We will provide more information as we get it, but, for now, let us pay our respects to all the lives lost in recent events. Stay strong Tokyo, and stay safe.
"Master? I am unaware of who did this, I'm sorry-"
"Don't be. I do. Let her be, I will collect her when the time comes. And it will come, rest assured."
A cold chuckle resonated in the room, intimidating and self assured, as a large, unseemly man settled his chin onto his hand, his scarred face somehow managing to stretch into a menacing smirk.