-.-.- Lukas' Interlude -.-.-
My job goes against everything I stand for. I kill those that I cherish the most, deep in my heart. Yes, I have one, shriveled and tiny as it may be, it still beats. A Violet-Eyes was born into my very own family, a stain upon our heritage. As soon as I saw his cursed eyes, my brother should have been dead to me. I knew the rules. Mother knew the rules. But how could we, needy and soft-hearted, leave him to such a fate? A babe as adorable as was possible, cooing at us lovingly, ceaselessly seeking our attention, sucking at our fingers sweetly... It was more than impossible.
So, instead of following the laws of our people, we rushed into hiding. We relocated to a small, secluded area and never took my precious brother outside. He grew to be five, old enough to speak, old enough to know his name, to know mine, to call it cheerfully every time I returned to the home he was never allowed to leave. Old enough to feel fear, to recognise pain, to experience a broken heart.
How he was discovered, I still do not know. All I knew was that, as I swam into our home, there were four very unfamiliar men inside. But I did not need to know them, for I knew their title. These were the ones we were trying so desperately to avoid, to protect my beloved from. These were the Hunters, the enemy.
My mother sobbed pathetically, cradling my stunned brother to her bosom, doing her best to shield him from the men. They took no notice of me, and I was in a state of such disbelief that I was unable to so much as breathe, let alone speak.
They shouted ugly words, demanded that mother relinquish the child, prodded at her ribs painfully with their sharpened sticks. I could taste the blood in the water, could see where her wounds bled, yet she still didn't yield. They became angrier, their prodding becoming true stabbing. She cried miserably as she was punctured repeatedly, as her blood dyed the water in our home red.
Her body could only take so much, and, with one final sob, she left it, going limp, her face twisted in an agonized death. The men didn't miss a beat, seemingly unfazed by their murder. One of them reached forward, taking my brother by the hair, yanking him away from the dead mother he was frantically clinging to. His yelp of pain was what finally made me move, though I wasn't even aware of it.
I rushed at one of them, but I was too small to do any actual damage. He gasped, but quickly regained himself, and shoved me away roughly. I screamed, knocking into him again, this time with even less effect. Another one of the men grabbed me by my arms, pulling me away from his partner. I thrashed wildly, trying to kick away from him, to no avail.
He commanded me to cease my movements, to stop wasting time, lest I wish to end up like my mother. I shrieked with rage, struggling as fiercely as I could manage, and finally freed an arm. I used it to draw my brother to me, held him closely, tightly, my fingers turning white where they squeezed him. He too clung to me, sobbing in fear.
The men growled, one pulling at me, another at my brother, struggling to separate us. I held on as tightly as I could, but it was not enough. The men were, simply, much stronger than two children who's combined age was likely not even half of the youngest Hunter's. I heard a loud cracking sound, then felt an immense pain shoot through my body, resonating from my shoulder. I relinquished my grip with an agonized yelp, bringing my hand to my shoulder. The action only made another wave of pain course through me, a sob forcing its way out.
My brother wailed, bringing my eyes to him once again; His arms outstretched, fingers reaching for me desperately. But I was much too late. One of the hunters had already ensnared him with his arms, and was dragging him out of our home. What was I thinking, releasing him for even a second? I tried to follow, but another held me back, snatching the arm that was paining me so. I shrieked, crumbling to the floor, cradling my shoulder, sobbing morosely.
I knew I had lost. I was too debilitated, and these men were too strong, too cruel. They all followed behind the one dragging my still screaming brother, only one lingering behind. He warned me not to follow, or I would see yet another gruesome sight, and I would not be spared. His piece said, he kicked his tail in my face, sending me backwards. I landed painfully, but could only muster a loud whine.
And they were gone. After only a few seconds, I ceased to hear my brothers cries. He was, like my mother, lost to me. Only I remained.
I screamed his name, over and over. No response.
And I howled, wailed in anguish. I pulled at my hair, kicked my tail at the ocean floor, sobbed until I was sick. I cradled my dead mother to me, wept precious pearls into her hair until no more came out. I bit my lips until they bled, then bit into my fingers until they did the same.
I was found a few days later, my head resting on my mother's long-lifeless stomach, nearly dead from starvation. My shoulder was garishly dislocated, and never truly managed to heal. It still causes me problems if I twist my arm the wrong way, or if I am hit in the shoulder too hard.
I was a shell of myself for many a year after that. But, eventually, my constant fear and remorse shifted into a bitter hatred. A hatred for what, I wasn't sure. At first, it was definitely for the Hunters, the heartless men that had taken my brother away from me. However, as I was frequently reminded, they were only doing their job. Perhaps it is a bit warped, but, unable to fight against the majority rule, I began to hate the eyes that had sentenced my beloved brother to an untimely death. God damn it, why did he have to be born with such accursed eyes?
And, as my bitterness ate away at me, I began to hate all those with the same trait. What right had they to remain alive if my brother could not? Was he not worthy of survival? He was more worthy than any of the low-life scum that hid in the darkest of coral reefs. How dare they survive? How dare they!
And that is how I find myself doing something loathsome. Killing those who I was once exactly like, ripping apart families that were fruitlessly trying to secret away their precious, cursed kin.
Emil, if he had somehow lived to see this, would be mortified. He wouldn't speak to me. He would leave me, never return, hate me. But he isn't alive, and it doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore.
A/N: I've had this saved for a very long time, actually, and was never sure where it would fit. I decided that this would be the best place for it though. In my opinion, it's important to get into Lukas' mind, at least as far as his occupation is concerned. Because I'm sure that everyone can agree, it's hard to see Lukas as a cold-blooded killer without a reason behind it. And so I wanted to explain his reason in his words.
I hope it gave you guys some insight, at least. And look forward to chapter 16 soon! It's already written, believe it or not. But I'm going to wait just a little while before posting. Maybe a couple of weeks. Better than a month or two, right?
This is also kind of a "sorry" for the long wait for chapter 15. I hit a bit of SuFin block, and was having trouble with it. But I'm back on track now, thank you for holding on!
With that, I bid you adieu~!
KuroRiya
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