Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own "Death Note".

Light looked into the mirror. Watched his own reflection for a couple of seconds. Straightened his neck a little bit, and pulled the razor down his right cheek, drawing a flesh colored trail where there used to be white foam. Then he lifted the handle of the sink and rinsed the razor blade. He lifted the blade once again and drew another clean line right next to the first one. It was a perfect line. He was perfect. He was God. And gods were perfect.

The bathroom was almost completely white – white, square tiles, a square sink over a square table. White towels. Blurry, square glass walls around the shower. And a vase of orchids on the table, its green stilk the only thing to break the whiteness of the bathroom.

Although, he must admit, it was kind of boring. No, not kind of – it was boring. There were no obstacles anymore, he had reached his goal, he was god, the world was perfect, there were almost no criminals left in it. It had been entertaining with L and Near. He had had someone to fight against, someone was making everything worth doing. It was no fun anymore.

Suddenly pain shut through his face. He gasped unwillingly. Lost in thought, he had not paid attention to the razor blade. This was bad. He had never done it before. He was being careless. It was a small, round wound on the right cheek. No, more like a scratch. A little drop of blood trickled down his cheek and mixed with the foam. Red and white. He was not perfect anymore. The scratch had spoiled his image.

He cursed. He usually didn't curse. It didn't sound well. That too spoiled his image.

Then he bend down over the sink and smacked some water into his face. He grabbed the white towel and drew off the water. A little blood stained the towel. How odd. It had been many years since he had seen his own blood.

Light threw the towel onto the table and reached out for the toilet paper. He must not be seen like this. It would be embarrassing. He tore off a piece of the roll and cleansed the remaining blood off his cheek. It was not very much. The wound was almost invisible now. But was it good enough? He was God. God could not afford to look sloppy. God must look perfect. Should he stay indoors until the wound was healed? No, he could not do that to his people. Would it not be even worse than sloppiness to let down his people? They trusted him. He could not fail their trust. Even if he had to look sloppy.

Light once again looked at his own reflection. It had been three years since he had killed Near. He hadn't changed his appearance. God never changed his looks. The auburn hair was still hanging down his forehead. He was naked except for a white, fluffy towel. He had just taken a shower.

He dropped the towel and reached out for the clothes on lying in a neat pile next to the orchids. It was a black suit. A completely black suit, slightly lighter shirt, white tie. He always wore the same suits. It was all made out of silk, and slithered lightly over his skin as he put it on.

Light smiled at himself in the mirror as he brushed invisible dust off his shoulders.

The scratch did not matter. How could anyone notice a single fault in all of this… perfection?

Mikami was walking behind God. Their shiny, black shoes silently slithered over the marble floor. The palace of God was almost entirely in marble. It was build in a kind of old style you would connect to the late 1700-hundreds. The walls around them in the enormous hall where God had his throne were of white marble, the floor white and brown in a marvelous check pattern. On the walls were pictures of angels and saints. God had designed it himself. Most of his palace looked like this. It was amazing what God could build in only three years.

God was on his way to his balcony to greet his people. He did this every morning at exactly 10 a.m. after breakfast. God never woke up late in the morning. No proper people did that. Mikami loved God.

Mikami had noticed something different about God this day. God always looked the same. Mikami dressed almost completely like God, the way God had told him to, he wore a black suit, black shirt and tie. Only Gods tie was white.

But today, God was different. His face was different. It was wounded. It was a small, round wound on the right cheek, hardly noticeable, actually more like a little scratch. If Mikami did not know any better, he would have guessed it to be an accident of shaving. But God never had accidents. God was perfect. So Mikami did not ask. God had his reasons.

The great doors to the balcony were opened by men in black clothes and sunglasses. They bowed deeply to God as he walked past them with a silent nod. Then he smiled. Mikami noticed that he always did so when greeting his people.

The bright sunlight of May nearly blinded Mikami and reflected in his glasses as God walked out onto the balcony, and Mikami stayed invisible just inside. Immediately deafening cheers erupted from the gigantic crowd on the ground.

A joyful smile broke through the dissembled mask on Lights face. He simply could not help it. In the beginning he had to tried hard not to burst out laughing, because the cheering crowd reminded him of his victory over L and over Near once again. But it had gotten easier. Now he just smiled.

There were fathers with children on their shoulders.

Screaming teenage girls. Light chuckled almost silently at this. Screaming teenage girls. How amusing.

And there were women who begged him to bless their babies.

Schools on field trips.

Elderly people who were just waving flags. Yes, that was another thing. The flag. He had thought it unnecessary for each country to have its own flag, flags would only separate the nations and start unfriendliness. There were nothing he would like less. So he had created an entirely new one. It was white with a red cross vertically printed over it.

Light lifted his arms to greet his worshipers, immediately the cheering stopped, and they all fell to their knees before him. There must have have been millions. Behind him he heard Mikami and the to guards kneeling as well.

Light's balcony was of sandy marble, beautifully and simply decorated with two angels on each side. Right below the balcony was a statue of himself in gray stone. He liked the statue. His statue self wore long, coat like robes, like those angels bore, flapping gently around him in a soft breeze that had long since died out. His arms were spread in an embracing gesture, a kind smile on his face. The Saviour. Kira the Saviour. Light the Saviour. Light Yagami.

"Arise, my children," he shouted, not very loudly, he should not overwork his voice, but nonetheless everybody heard him, for all were quiet. They stood up.

Light was just about to bless them like he used to do, but then something odd happened. A sharp pain cut his face in half, coming from the left cheek. It burned, and he let out a noise of agony he later was ashamed of, and as his hand reached the small cut he staggered backwards. He felt blood trickling innocently down his fingers. Suddenly Light realized what was going on.

Then someone glided in front of him, like a man-shaped shadow covering the sun.

Mikami arose from his kneeling position on the floor as God told had him to. He folded his hands and bowed his head to receive the blessing like he did every morning.

Then something happened. Mikami's eye caught a little, black silhouette sitting on the roof of the smaller castle next to Gods palace, Mikami's own home. The silhouette was holding what looked like a long stick or… a rifle. A sniper.

Mikami's jaw dropped, he did not understand how…

Something small and black, barely visible, pierced the air like a lightning of coal. Then a gasp of pain sounded from the balcony. God was stumping a few steps back, then standing there in a sort of crippled way, his bloody hand on his left cheek…

Mikami gasped, and before he could think, before he even knew what he was doing, he had stepped onto the balcony and taken the one step to stand in front of God. He spread out his arms to protect his master.

It was not a moment to soon. As though all the air was beaten out of Mikami's slim body in a single blow he doubled up. Like a fire sent from Hell itself had been smacked into his stomach, it burned, it screamed, it sprouted agony. His hands shut down to the wound and blood colored his hands, staining the beautiful creation of God that was the balcony. Mikami fell to his knees, almost paralyzed with shock and pain.

"God…" he called in a whisper. His vision was growing black, the edges were blurry, he could not see, sounds around him melted and became one swirling mass he could not decipher. "God!"

Then everything was black.

Light had understood the situation the moment the bullet smacked into the railing after painfully grazing his cheek, making a cracking, round hole in the shiny stone. He was being shut at. The people in the place did not understand what was going on, the sniper had been completely quiet, a silencer on the weapon, all they could see was their God, clucthing his cheek, one of the black suited assistants standing in front of him.

Then Mikami suddenly fell to his knees, collapsing, his white hand with desperate tightness gripping his stomach, from which blood were showering the balcony, soaking the fine suit, while he called out for Light.

Lights eyes quickly moved to the most likely place for the sniper to be, the roof of Mikami's castle – and sure enough a little, black figure was sitting there, holding what Light assumed to be a rifle.

"On the roof!" Light shouted to the men behind the doors as he slung himself through the opening into safety.

The men lifted their walkie-talkies and said a few words, before they raced outside, grapping Mikami and pulling him in. His unconsciens body drew a trace of red behind it.