A bolt slid away, and the lock in the iron and wood door of his prison cell clicked as a key turned inside of it. The noise alerted Gray into a sitting position. Glancing at the patch of sky, visible from the small portal at the top of the wall opposite from the door, gave him a slight indication of the current time. The near full moon was positioned high in the sky, pouring in a single beam of moonlight through the portal—the only light that pierced the darkness of his cell. It had to be around midnight. The guards had already given him his meal for the night, and it was far from the time for his morning meal to arrive. There was no other reason for them to be visiting him. The last time the guards visited him at an unscheduled hour, they put a black cloth bag over his head before shoving him into a large trunk. After some rough travel, he was thrown in this new prison and locked up without a word of explanation. Gray had a feeling something was about to happen again.

Are they moving me to another prison? he thought, flicking his eyes to the door as it swung open, and two masked guards rushed in.

The light from the hallway hit his eyes, temporarily blinding him. They grabbed him by his arms, dragging his dirty and reeking body from his spot in the corner towards the manacles dangling from one of the walls. The guards made quick work of encasing both his wrists in heavy iron cuffs that bit viciously into his skin before exiting the room, slamming the door shut. The cell was cast back into near darkness, allowing his eyes to readjust. Gray listened for the turn of the key or for the iron bolt to slide back into place, but those sounds never came.

They didn't lock the door? He stared at the closed door for a moment, making sure the guards weren't about to return before testing his restraints. The manacles were old and covered in rust. Though he was chained, the length of metal links allowed for him to take a few steps away from the wall. He turned and examined where the metal was imbedded in the pale stone on either side of him. He pulled on the chains, but found that they still held firm.

No wonder they didn't bother with the door.

Gray swore under his breath, before running a hand through his matted black hair. The chains clinked together as he moved, disturbing the usually silent space. He was more upset over the added discomfort the shackles now provided instead of their added security. Even if he could manage to get out of his manacles, Gray wouldn't have tried to escape. It would be a fruitless endeavor.

For starters, Gray didn't even have a clue as to where he was. He didn't even know if he was still in Italy or even in Europe. For what little he knew, he could be in some prison located on an island in the middle of the ocean. He suspected he had to be by some body of water. When they transferred him to this new cell, he could have sworn he had felt waves rocking around him. However, without any visual clues, he couldn't confirm his suspicions.

It was hard to gather any type of information from his surroundings. In his first prison, it felt like he was trapped underground. He had no means of tracking the days except for the three meals he received, so time stretched on unmercifully long. It was a nightmare he never wanted to experience again; that alone had almost made him go mad. Thankfully, a benefit of his new cell was the sliver of sky he could see from the portal, allowing him to gaze at something other than darkness or dirty walls.

Besides trying to figure out where he was taken to, Gray couldn't even learn why he was taken in the first place. No one spoke to him. The guards that brought his meals or cleared away his waste bucket never responded to any of his taunts or questions, and every person he encountered wore an elaborate mask that completely concealed the face. Gray didn't know how much longer he could last like this.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, interrupting his thoughts. Gray tilted his ear towards the sound, listening as the footsteps proceeded to grow louder—closer. He could immediately tell that the footsteps didn't belong to any of the guards that rotated standing watch in front of his door. Unlike the sluggish shuffle he grew accustomed to hearing, these steps made up a gait that was sure and steady, each step ringing with purpose and power. Even though his cell didn't allow him to see anything except for the dirty pale stones that made up the walls, thanks to the moonlight pouring in, Gray knew someone important was coming to visit him.

The steps stopped outside his door. He could hear muffled voices but couldn't make out any of the words. He heard the pair of guards march from the door, their steps receding in the distance.

What's going on?

The door swung open, the light from the hall momentarily blinding him again. Gray heard the door shut as he blinked the spots away from his sight. Once his eyes readjusted to the darkness, Gray beheld his newest visitor. The masked man strode to where the moonlight pooled on the cell floor. It was almost as if he had waited for Gray's eyesight to readjust just so Gray could watch him walk. The man carried himself like a king about to hold court.

With the light shining on him, Gray could see the man was dressed in a fitted black suit, and his mask was actually a helmet that resembled a skull of a horned monster—a demon. It covered the upper portion of the man's face, even hiding the man's eyes behind black slits. His mouth and nose, however, were visible, and a row of sharp teeth framed the bottom of the helmet. A strange spiral motif was scrawled across the upper portion of the helmet, and a plume of purple fur fell down his back.

If the man's appearance wasn't intimidating, the aura he was giving off was disquieting enough. Although he hadn't spoken, and his eyes were hidden, Gray could feel the man staring at him with a strange intensity. Waves of cold bloodlust radiated off the stranger, making Gray take half a step back from him. There was something about the man that made him tense. From his demeanor alone, Gray could tell that this man was the reason he had been rotting away in prisons for who knows how long.

"So am I correct in assuming you're the reason why everyone around here is wearing those silly masks? Is this some fan club of mine or something?" Gray spoke in order to interrupt the growing silence that was making him quite uncomfortable.

"I see two weeks in near seclusion has kept you lively," the man responded.

Two weeks! Straining to keep his features neutral, Gray leaned against the wall, crossing his arms to disguise his shock. He hadn't realized only that short amount of time had passed. It had felt like months.

"Look. If you wanted an autograph, all you had to do was ask. I appreciate the enthusiasm to meet me. It's touching—really it is, but," Gray held up his hands and gestured around the area, his chains rattling with his movements. "was this all really necessary?"

"An autograph?" The man smirked. "Tell me, why would I want something like that?"

"You're not some crazed art enthusiast who wanted to meet me?" Gray blinked. With no information to go on, that was the only guess he could come up with as to why he was being held prisoner. It was a little extreme, but some people really liked art.

"Oh, that's right." The man snapped his fingers, his voice lifting as if he just remembered who Gray was. Reaching into his suit jacket, the man pulled out a piece of paper and began to read. "Gray Fullbuster—an American artist originating from New York. His main medium is oil paints which he uses to create vivid and life-like depictions of people and breathtaking scenic views. Discovered after a rich investor saw his rendition of the book cover "Hide the Stars," Fullbuster has been heralded as a painter that creates depth and emotion in his works unlike any other artist…Sounds impressive." The man crumpled up the piece of paper before letting it fall to the ground. "That is…if any of it were true."

Gray uncrossed his arms and straightened from the wall. "What did you just say?"

"Gray Fullbuster doesn't deserve any of that praise; he didn't paint anything." The man kicked the crumpled paper into one of the dark corners of the cell.

It wasn't arrogance that made Gray so upset at the man's accusation. He was used to dealing with critics. It was the man's false claim that Gray didn't create the art he slaved over that angered him. Gray had talent—that was undeniable. However, someone once told him that raw talent would never be enough. Discipline was needed in order to cross the threshold into greatness—to give his talent a form that the world could see and enjoy. All he had was his art; everything he did was for it. Art was the foundation he built his life on.

"Don't look so cross," the man continued. "I'm not denying your abilities. We both know that Gray Fullbuster doesn't really exist."

His body stilled. A phantom breeze sent a shiver down his spine as the man smirked. Gray didn't try to hide his shock this time as he stared at the masked man.

"You know, I was quite surprised when I found out that you were still alive. All these years I thought you were dead. But look," The man gestured at Gray. "here you are—unfortunately still alive and breathing."

The helmet hid any identifiable features as Gray strained his eyes to capture some detail that might give away the man's identity. There's no way that…

"But I was able to find a silver lining to the unexpected news of your resurrection—one that allows me to obtain something I thought I was robbed of by your supposed death all those years ago. Now, I can finally have my revenge against you." A cloud drifted over the moon, momentarily plunging the cell into complete darkness before it lazily drifted past. The man shook his head and laughed dryly. "You know it's almost comical looking at the whole scheme of things. I remembered back then you were so pursuant on your own revenge that you wouldn't listen to anyone. I thought you had gone mad, but now I finally understand how you felt. The need for revenge is intoxicating. Exhilarating! No wonder you couldn't let this feeling go. In planning my revenge against you, I've never felt more alive."

"I hate to break this to you, but whoever you are, you got the wrong guy. I don't know what you're talking about." Gray tried to mask his movements as he tested the hold of his manacles. Everything inside of him was screaming to get away. The cold bloodlust rolling off the man was freezing the blood in Gray's own veins. He didn't like where this conversation was going. He needed to escape. Now. He didn't care if he found out he was on an island; he would rather brave the ocean than listen to this man talk. The masked man was hinting at things that he shouldn't know—things no one should know.

"Don't you dare pretend to be innocent," the man snapped. "You can't hide your sins in front of me, Sterling."

Gray's whole body froze. "How?" he asked quietly. "How do you know that name?"

The man scoffed. "I know more than just your real name, Sterling Surge. I know your father was the one who taught you how to paint, but it was your mother who made you fall in love with art. Did you forget about them when you created this new life for yourself?"

"Who are you?" Gray demanded as memories flashed behind his eyes. All at once, he remembered his father working in his studio—how his brow would furrow in concentration, but his eyes were always alight with joy. In another memory, his mother was smiling as she wiped paint off Gray's face. Flashes of more memories he buried deep within himself continued to run through his mind. He hadn't forgotten them. He just didn't want to remember them. Remembering them meant remembering the pain associated with them.

"Silver and Mika Surge. I wonder what your parents would say if they could see what their only son did with their sacrifice."

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about!" Gray growled through clenched teeth. "I-"

"You failed to avenge them," the man cut in. "Their murderers are still out there while you've been prancing around, pretending to be someone you're not." Gray's breath hitched. The man's words punched him in the gut, waves of guilt washing over him. Images of his dead parents filled his mind—bodies strewn in the street. White snow fell, turning crimson as it touched the ground. His mother's blood dripped from his hands, her final words echoing in his head…

"Stop! You know nothing about them. About me." Gray hated how raw his voice sounded. He couldn't keep the pain from his words. He couldn't hide how much the man's words were affecting him. This man, whoever he was, was digging up ghosts Gray had long since buried. He had given up on his revenge for a reason. He had buried it right alongside all those ghosts—ghosts that should remain buried.

"You're right, Sterling. I don't know who it is you've become." The masked man's hands shook as he spoke. "I never thought my побратим, my blood brother, could forget about his parents and what they've sacrificed for him. I never thought he was capable of forgetting everything—everyone."

The man turned his back to Gray as if the sight of Gray was too much to bear at that moment. Gray's mind raced. He had never told a single soul about the things that haunted him, not even Lucy. There was only one person in the world who could know all this information—only one person who he thought of as a побратим.

"It is you. It has to be." The man's shoulders twitched when Gray spoke. He turned back towards Gray, reached up, and removed his helmet. "Lyon."

Lyon smirked at Gray, his spiky, bluish-silver hair seemed more silver in the moonlight. The dark irises of his slanted eyes were hard as he stared at Gray. It had been eight years since the last time they'd seen each other—eight long years since that tragic day. Gray stared at Lyon and understood then. If Lyon was the one who had kidnapped him, then Gray finally knew why he was here. All the anger, frustration, and pain seeped from his body, pooling at his feet. His whole body slacked. The time had come—the time to pay for his sin. It also explained why no one had talked to him all this time. There was no point in speaking to a dead man.

"I see you haven't completely forgotten everyone. I'm touched," Lyon acknowledged.

"I haven't forgotten a thing," Gray said, staring back into Lyon's eyes. "I remember your promise eight years ago. Kill me. I deserve to die for what I've done. Take your revenge, Lyon."

Lyon's voice went dark and cold. "You deserve more than death after what you did to Ur."

Ur, the name of his sin—the name of the woman he killed. The mention of her silenced Gray.

"You do remember her, don't you? Or did you toss her memory aside, too, when you became Gray Fullbuster?"

"I-I could never forget her," Gray replied quietly. Ur. The image of her haunted his dreams and every waking moment. The guilt he carried over what he did weighed on him with every breath he took. It had been eight years, but not even time could dull away the pain the memory of her brought.

"After the deaths of our parents, she took us in. Ur, one of the most feared mafia Bosses in Russia, tossed aside her title and faked her own death just so she could raise a couple of eight-year-old brats," Lyon said. "She didn't just raise us, though; she trained us too. She knew what kind of emotional scar witnessing our parents deaths would leave on us. Ur transformed that pain into a tool we could use. From dawn 'til dusk, she taught us how to protect ourselves and others. Those ten years we spent together in that cabin in the middle of nowhere were some of the happiest years in my life. It was intense, but she was right there beside us, encouraging us to continue—to move on. But you couldn't do that could you?

"You kept obsessing over your revenge. You wanted to kill all those responsible for murdering our parents. I didn't blame you for feeling like that. I wanted revenge too but not at the cost of sacrificing the second chance at happiness our parents gave us by giving up their lives. All you thought of was your pain—your suffering. You didn't care if the world burned around you as long as you had your justice. Ur saw it. Ur knew the blood lust you were swimming in. Why do you think she made you paint? Why do you think she forced you to sit in that studio for hours, not letting you come out until you painted your frustrations away? Ur knew what painting had meant to you—how it still meant something to you. She wanted you to cling onto that memory of your parents and make you realize that although they were gone, they were still with you. That was the kind of woman you shot down."

Gray remembered long days spent staring at a blank canvas. He could hear Ur and Lyon moving about the cabin, laughing and working together while he was forced to sit and stare at nothing. He was angry—so angry all the time. He hated painting; he never wanted to see another stupid painting in his life. After all, it was a painting that caused his parents to die.

Gray's parents owned a small art store, and his father gave painting lessons on the side. Lyon's parents owned an antique shop next door to them. Their parents were already friends, and Gray and Lyon grew up together. Gray's father, Silver, discovered a painting in a nearby town when he went to go and buy more art supplies. He gave it to Lyon's father to have it appraised.

The Russian Mafia's main line of income came from the Black Market. One of the mafia gangs heard about the rare painting Silver had found and tried to purchase the painting for themselves. Even though the sum of money they offered was astronomical, Silver and Lyon's father knew that the painting was priceless. Ur was the Boss of this faction and personally came to oversee price negotiations. However, Silver had decided to donate the painting to a museum, so that everyone might enjoy the work of art.

Another mafia faction heard about the painting Ur's faction was trying to acquire. They attacked Ur in the middle of her negotiations with Silver and Lyon's father. Their Boss had ordered them to leave no survivors. Mika and Lyon's mother shielded their sons with their bodies before Ur's faction could dispose of the rival gang members. Gray had never seen so much blood in his life; everything was red.

He kept replaying that scene over and over again in his head when he sat in the studio. His body would shake with rage. The life he knew was wiped out, covered over in red. At first, he would refuse to paint; he had sworn off art. However, Ur was as stubborn as Gray—even more so, actually. His anger would get the best of him, and Gray would throw black or red paint over the canvas just so he could leave the suffocating space.

After months of producing nothing but splattered paintings, one day, as he threw red paint onto the canvas, he saw it. He didn't know if it was the angle or how the paint had landed, but he saw a scene opening up before him. Gripping his brush, he moved the paint around, adding more colors to it in order to bring to the surface the image he was seeing. The roaring rage in his heart quieted as he painted. He no longer saw his parent's dead bodies—his father's covered in blood and snow, and his mother's covered in blood and paint. He didn't see white or red or black but the multitude of colors his parents taught him to see the world was made of. When he set down his brush, Ur was there. She said nothing as he wept. It was as if she knew no words were needed.

After that, Gray threw himself into Ur's training. He wouldn't let his trauma break him. Those roaring emotions would not drown him. He realized something that day; he had survived the attack for a reason. Enduring the tough training meant he would get stronger, so nothing could be taken from him—not even his revenge.

"Eight years ago, I let you go that day out of respect for the time we spent with Ur. Although, I promised you the next time I saw you, I would kill you. I should have killed you that day—something I long regretted. Two years after that day, I received word that you were dead. I went back to her grave—the grave you put her in—and told Ur she could now rest in peace since her murderer was rotting in hell. I also swore that I would surpass her—that I would take her teachings and become one of the greatest mafia Bosses in the Russian Mafia history. I would become strong for her, doing whatever it took so scum like you couldn't take it away."

"You're—"

"That's right, Sterling," Lyon smirked. "I became one of the three lords of the Russian Underworld, Sub-Zero Emperor."

Lyon's eyes blazed. In a flash, he had Gray pinned against the wall. Cold steel pressed against Gray's forehead as Lyon released the safety of the gun he held. Gray never resisted, though. He knew this day would come; he had hoped it would come. For eight years, he had carried this sin, and it was only fitting that Lyon would be the one to end his life—to provide his punishment.

"It would be so easy to pull the trigger and end your miserable excuse of a life," Lyon whispered harshly. "If we were in the same situation eight years ago, I would have done it, too. One shot. Bam! You're dead." Lyon trailed the gun down the side of Gray's face before stepping away from him and replacing the safety. "But what would be the point of that?"

"What?" Gray's brow furrowed as Lyon stepped back into the moonlight.

"Like I said, there's no point right now. All my years of hatred and need for revenge would be over in a flash."

"I said to kill me! Take your revenge y—"

"I will kill you, Sterling; don't you have any doubts about that." Lyon tucked the gun back into his suit, where a hidden holster was located.

"Why not kill me now? It's been eight years. Don't you think you've waited long enough? Why draw it out any longer?"

"Because you want me to kill you." He bent down and picked up the helmet he had dropped a moment ago, holding it at his side. "You want to die. You want to be released from that sin you carry. There's no fun in killing someone that wants to die. Killing you now would only be doing you a favor. And I owe you no favors."

"I've been wanting to die all this time, but I remembered you promised me you would be the one to make me answer for that day—for my sin. Keeping me locked in here is not going to change how I feel. No matter how much time passes, I still want to die. Do it now. Take your revenge."

"I knew you would say that." As the night wore on, the beam of moonlight gradually started to disappear from the cell as the moon slowly continued its nightly passage across the sky. Lyon hadn't been there long, but Gray had felt as if years had past; he wanted Lyon to finish this. "Do you want to know why I've kept you locked away in dungeons these past two weeks?"

"To torment me?" Gray guessed.

"Though your discomfort in this place does provide some satisfaction, I was actually waiting on my guest of honor to arrive."

"Guest of honor? For what?"

"I'm holding a grand festival to celebrate my revenge—to celebrate your death." Lyon spread his arms wide. "It's going to be a glorious affair. I've invited many of our old friends to attend—some of them dying to see your death as much as I am. However, I had to wait for one final person to arrive."

"So you're turning my death into a spectacle?" Gray leaned against the wall behind him again. "Do whatever you want. I don't care how I die as long as you're the one that kills me." It was the truth; he didn't care. He didn't care about any of it. He was going to die. Lyon had made that crystal clear. Why should he care how Lyon killed him? The end result would be the same.

Lyon reached back into his suit jacket. Gray thought he was pulling out his gun again—that he understood Gray's resolve to die and get it over with, but instead of a gun, Lyon pulled out a small piece of paper. Somehow, that seemed worse.

"No, not your death," he replied.

"Lyon…" Gray's body was rigid. "This guest of honor—who is it?"

"Was it a love rejection which led you to set your sights on Juvia?"

"How do you know Juvia?" Gray noted how Lyon's voice softened at the mention of Juvia, but he couldn't shake his focus on that piece of paper in Lyon's grasp.

There's no way he would…

"My connection with Juvia is none of your concern," Lyon snapped. "I'm going to make sure that you won't be able to hurt her. She won't suffer a betrayal from you. After I tell her the truth about you, she'll definitely thank me."

How Lyon talked made Gray assume that this guest of honor he referred to wasn't Juvia. A sense of relief flooded through Gray but only briefly. Lyon was hinting at something—someone. If he was going to get his revenge on Gray then he would need to…

"She's would've made a nice catch," Lyon continued, staring at the paper in his hand. "It's a pity you never advanced your relationship after all those years. I wonder, was it out of guilt for what you did? Or were you immediately stuck in the friend zone? Smart girl if the latter was the case."

"Lyon." Gray's teeth ground together. "Who is it?" His heart beat rapidly, sweat dripping down his back despite the cool of the night.

"Well…not smart enough if she chose to be friends with you."

"Tell me," Gray growled.

"You see, Sterling, killing you just wouldn't be enough. I want you to suffer first. I want you to break the same way I was broken. You need to feel the same way I did that day—that day eight years ago when you took away someone I cared about right in front of me."

Gray took a step towards Lyon. "You can't mean—" Don't say it. Don't say that name. Please, don't say that name.

"Tomorrow night my celebration will be held. At the height of the party, that's when it will happen—that's when I'll break you. I'm going to make you watch as I take her life, and you'll be unable to do anything about it." The piece paper fluttered to the ground, and Gray's eyes strained in the darkness to view it.

"No." His word was a strangled cry as he saw the face staring back at him. Her long blonde hair framed her face, and her brown eyes were smiling at him from the floor. "L-Lucy?"

"Yes! Lucy Heartfilia—my guest of honor. Her death is the catalyst for my revenge." Lyon stepped on Lucy's picture, grinding it into the ground. "I need her to die—for you to feel the pain of losing her before I kill you."

"LYON!" Gray roared, his chains going taunt as he strained against them in an effort to reach him. "Don't you dare touch her! She has nothing to do with this. Your revenge is against me. Kill me, damnit!"

"The only problem I have with killing your friend is deciding how to do it? There's just so many ways to kill someone." The moonlight was almost gone from the cell, casting Lyon half in light and half in darkness. Lyon stood there, watching Gray—a wicked grin on his face. "Should I allow my men to have some fun with her first before I carve up her pretty face? Should I poison her and make you watch as she writhes in pain? What about throwing her from the building and making you see her splattered body?" Lyon laughed, his face growing more sinister. "Or should I just shoot her down like you did Ur? "

"I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you, you hear me?!" Gray snarled as he pulled against his restraints, the chains rattling in protest. "If you so much as touch her, I'll rip you to pieces."

If Gray didn't have those damn manacles on his wrists, he would have done it too. Lucy. Not Lucy. She was his best friend. It was because of her that he was able to obtain a few happy memories in his new life. He never forgot about his past; he always knew one day he would answer for his sin, but Lucy's friendship gave him a small bit of light to look at before that day came. There was no way he was going to drag her into this. He wouldn't be the cause of her death. He wouldn't allow her to die.

"That's a nice look in your eyes. That's what I need to see. And when I kill her, just imagine how you'll look at me then. I can't wait." Lyon placed his skull helmet back on his head and stepped out of the last sliver of moonlight to stand mere inches from Gray.

"LYON!" Gray cursed at him violently as he kicked and thrashed, pulling with all his might on his chains, but they still would not budge. The moonlight was gone from the room, everything was darkness. He heard Lyon's sure and steady steps move slowly towards the door, each step ringing in Gray's ears. The door flung open, and the light flashed in Gray's eyes.

"Stop! Lyon! STOP!" He needed to get free. He had to save her. He didn't want anymore blood on his hands. She didn't deserve to die—not her.

"Don't worry, Sterling. I'll tell her you said hello," Lyon said as he departed, the door slamming shut. Gray heard Lyon's laughter echoing in the space as he walked away. The sound of it grated against Gray's ears.

"DON'T HURT HER. COME BACK YOU BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU DAMN IT! I'LL MAKE YOU PAY! LET ME OUT OF HERE! LYON!" Gray roared. The manacles bit viciously into his skin, blood swelling up and dripping down his arms. He didn't feel the pain; all he could feel was anger. His friend was in trouble, and he was trapped in here. If he had known this would happen, then he would have made an escape long ago. Now, Lucy was in danger, and he needed to save her.

"LUCY! LUCY! LUUUUUCCCYYYY!"

Gray cursed and roared and thrashed about. He would break his arms if he had to—if it meant he would be free of those damn shackles. As if knowing his intent, the door swung open, and two guards stepped in. His rage was dulling his senses and he didn't even hear them return. A sharp pain filled his head before he collapsed to the ground, still muttering Lucy's name.