Welcome to chapter twenty-two! This chapter is so short, and I'm very sorry. I really wanted to split up the Teito Hotel confrontation into two parts, so it just resulted in it being a bit shorter than usual. Or, a lot shorter than usual. But anyways, thanks a bunch if you left a review! It means a lot to hear from you guys :)
To Beist: Yeeesss, I'm so glad you liked the fight scenes! Writing stuff like that is my thing! And to be perfectly honest, even after writing the ending, I'm not sure if I made the right decision regarding who won and who lost.
And to one of my lovely guests: there'll be a chapter a bit like that once the story ends, but once again, the story is not ending just yet. There are still a few chapters left, and this isn't even the climax of the story! Trust me, it's not nearly dramatic enough to be the story's climax.
Chapter 22: The Burning Horizon
What was death, exactly?
L had never really considered the concept, seeing he'd always made sure not to form emotional attachments to his subordinates. When they died, he just accepted that they were gone, and didn't bother to think about what exactly constituted death. Why were they dead? What did being dead mean? Scientifically, death was defined as the absence of brain activity—but was that all there was to it? There was a great ethical debate, L knew, over whether or not the definition of death should be expanded to include the failure of the heart to pump, the ceasing of the movement of the chest, and the stilling of the body. Should death really just span the death of the mind? The question went. That's suggesting that the only thing that constitutes someone's identity is their mind. It's saying that their appearance, their quirks, their body in general, doesn't matter.
And in the other corner, there were those who said, we're suggesting that the mind is all that matters because the mind is all that matters. Once brain death occurs, the person can no longer awaken, can no longer function, can no longer do anything at all. Therefore, brain death is all that matters. The person's body is insignificant; it's no more than an empty vessel.
But the person's body still matters! The body is a part of someone's identity, you can't just kill it once brain death occurs! It's murder!
You can't kill something that's already dead!
So the argument went.
Personally, L had never really examined either side, and had never deigned to choose one. He was less interested in the concrete definition of death, and more interested in all the details that weren't so certain. He was more than one hundred percent sure that everyone wondered about what happened after death. Would there be heaven, hell, or some manner of limbo? The general mystery of the life—or lack thereof—after death, had kept humankind mystified for centuries. And, of course, despite being the world's greatest detective and one of the most intelligent people alive, L had no idea what would occur after he died.
Although, he mused, it was quite certain that if he was going anywhere, it would be hell.
He supposed that he might be okay with that. Especially, he thought, if the alternative was some sort of horrible purgatory. L wasn't like most of his kind—he existed to think, to solve, to pick apart mysteries and provide the outside world with solutions. To be sent to purgatory, a place in which nothing happened, forever, seemed to be a hell of its own. No, that wasn't accurate—it seemed worse than hell. Being trapped in a place devoid of all mental stimulation for all eternity was undeniably worse than any sort of torture that could possibly be devised for him—which was why, L thought, he would much rather end up somewhere that at least provided some level of mental activity, even if said activity involved a great deal of torment. It was strange, he thought—he knew that most other humans, when faced with the decision between an eternity of peace and an eternity of pain, would choose the obvious. Peace, even if it was boring, was still peace. Pain, even if it was entertaining, was still pain.
And even if a soul ended up in some heavenly plane, did that mean that they were able to communicate with the other souls there? If, for example, L found his way into some sort of paradise, would Light be there once he died? Would they be able to communicate? Would they have even a single memory of their past lives?
And Light…would he be judged for Kira's actions? Was this judge who placed each spirit in their correct afterlife someone who saw in black and white, or in shades of gray? Was there a judge? Who claimed to have the power to decide who was good and who was evil, and where they should go after death? Just whose power had Kira been attempting to steal in his righteous judgments?
Or, perhaps, there was no great power judging all those beneath him. Maybe the world was just as mundane as it seemed, and the afterlife was a concept created for the comfort of humans, so they had a way to say, this isn't goodbye. I'll see you again after the lights go out. Perhaps L's debate over the specifics of death were meaningless, and after he died he would be met with nothingness, just as he feared—but he wouldn't have the capacity to care, for he would be, in a word, unaware. It might be just like sleep sans the dreams. At the moment of death, L's mind could just…shut down, and never reboot, so to speak. He would be trapped in a sort of purgatory, yes, but he wouldn't be aware of it. It would be just like falling asleep. Just like flipping a switch.
Would that be what happened to Kira?
When Kira died, what would happen to him? He was a separate personality, yes, but did that grant him a different soul? Would he separate from Light to wander the world as a spirit? Would he be cast down to hell, to purgatory, to limbo…to heaven? Or would he just fall asleep and lose awareness, slipping into a coma-like state?
What was death, to Kira?
Was it an eternity tucked away in the back of Light's mind, completely subdued? Was it a happily ever after of drifting along in a heaven-like space? Was it a tiny cell blazing with hellfire, one like the cell he'd been locked in while in confinement?
What could kill Kira?
Many things could kill Kira, L knew—an ordinary knife to the heart would do it, as would a gun aimed to the chest with a compressed trigger, as would a heavy blow to the head, an untreated wound, or, most ironically, a heart attack. Most things could kill him—the trick was finding something that wouldn't just kill him, but would also leave Light unharmed. That narrowed down L's options staggeringly, and suddenly he was left with two choices—burn the notebook, or shoot him with that special bullet. Either way, Kira lost, and L won. Either way, Kira died, Light survived. Either way, the nightmare ended.
What could kill Kira, indeed. L knew an assortment of things that could kill Kira. L knew countless methods that could leave him dead.
The trick was finding something that was killing Kira. Right now. In this moment in time.
And unfortunately, nothing was killing Kira at the current moment in time.
Nothing.
But L hadn't realized it yet.
L's entire body remained tense as he braced himself for the crack of the gun, for Kira's cry of pain. He waited for the murderer to fall to the ground, for the red to fade from his eyes, for a gentle amber to replace the scarlet. He waited for Kira to die, and for Light to return to him, fully in control and fully aware. But as L stared into Kira's undeniably red eyes, he realized that something was terribly, horribly wrong. And a moment later, he realized just what that something was.
The shot hadn't fired.
And Kira, the bastard, was smirking up at him as if he'd known all along that the bullet wouldn't find a home in his skull. He said nothing, not yet—but his smile was never-ending, stretching ear to ear, twisting his handsome features into a nasty expression of satisfaction.
It took L a long, tense moment to register just what had happened. But when the realization finally pierced his skull, the detective frowned deeply and checked the safety. It…it was off. The gun should have fired…why hadn't it? What was going on?
Kira, still smirking, pressed up against him, attempted to rise.
L slammed him back against the floor immediately. He pressed the gun so hard to the murderer's forehead that he was sure it would leave an imprint, and a moment later he pulled the trigger again, and then once more just to be sure.
No shot. The gun wasn't firing.
Kira laughed, not yet caring to speak.
L drew his hand away from Kira's shirt to pop open the clip and make sure the bullet was still there. It was. So why the hell wasn't the gun firing? His mind moved in slow motion, seemingly unable to tell him just what was happening.
From the haze into which he had fallen, L was almost completely unaware of Kira, whose hand had twisted free of his grip. Said hand darted upwards in a nearly untraceable blur of movement, and a heartbeat later he was wrapping his fingers around L's gun and wrenching it from his grasp. L's head jerked up, a wild, surprised look in his eyes, but by then it was too late—one, harsh blow had the detective's head spinning, and all it took was a light push to send him crashing to the ground beside his fallen adversary.
Kira moved faster than was possible—he launched to his feet, all signs of blood loss and physical fatigue gone, and a moment later the monster planted one foot on L's chest and held him there, helplessly writhing on the carpeted floor. Kira pressed down harder on the detective's chest just to hear him gasp, digging his heel in without mercy. A sadistic grin painted his features, and L was reminded hauntingly of Beyond. That…was not a comparison he wanted to make.
"Oh dear," Kira purred smugly, rubbing the sole of his shoe back and forth across L's chest playfully. "Are you having problems with your gun, Lawliet?" He held up the weapon teasingly, dangling it between two fingers like a child would a toy—a very dangerous, very nonfunctional toy. "Don't tell me it won't fire, after all the effort you put into getting here!" He faked an expression of shock.
"What did you do?" L spat, struggling against Kira's weight. It was no use—the teen was much stronger than he looked, and was having no trouble keeping the detective firmly pinned to the ground. And the gun…there was no way it had simply malfunctioned.
"I didn't do anything!" Kira insisted innocently, though his smirk said otherwise. "Misa did all the work. You were very foolish, Lawliet, calling her so boldly and asking for a gun of all things. And to protect Light! How laughable! It might have worked, too—your little scheme may have flown right under the radar, escaping my gaze entirely—but you miscalculated. You miscalculated just how cautious I can be. You see, my dear detective, Misa's cell phone was bugged. I thought that this might happen, that you might attempt to use her to get to me, and I took the necessary precautions. I never imagined that you'd be so foolish as to just call her like that, though! Oh, Lawliet, you were so foolish! That little bug on that little cell phone was your undoing. I heard everything you said to her—and once I knew that whatever you were planning involved the use of a gun, I took a few more precautions. I got in contact with Misa and ordered her to tamper with the gun so it would be unusable. I admit, I was slightly concerned that you would test it before you attempted to use it on me. I was genuinely worried—that is, until I saw you pull out that broken weapon, and I realized that you hadn't tested it. After I saw that you were too stupid to make sure your weapon was functional, I knew that I'd won. If you'd just tested your gun, if you'd just realized that it was nonfunctional, if you'd retrieved a different one before you confronted me, then I could be dead now. If you weren't such a fool, this would already be over! You really trusted your life, and my life, to Misa?"
L flinched from his position beneath Kira's boot. In his obsession with making sure the successors weren't suspicious and making sure the bullet was safe, he'd overlooked the most basic aspect of his plan—the functionality of the gun. How could he have been so stupid? Why hadn't he tested it? Misa had even left it loaded for him, and he hadn't bothered to fire off a single shot. Kira was right—he'd acted foolishly. He should never have come here alone, not when he wasn't sure that every aspect of his plan was in place. It had been his undoing.
"And that's not all," Kira whispered, putting even more weight on L's chest as he hunched over, staring the detective in the eyes. "I know, Lawliet. I know why you were so desperate to shoot me with that gun—or rather, the bullet in the gun."
L froze, his eyes widening. Just how much did he know? How much had the Shinigami King told him? From the sound of it, the King had told him everything. L's advantage was gone. No, wait—that wasn't right. L's advantage wasn't gone, he'd never had it in the first place. The more he learned about the King's involvement, the more he became convinced that Kira was meant to win this little skirmish.
His attention was drawn back to Kira as he popped open the clip and shook it so the singular bullet fell out into the palm of his hand. He held it up to the light, observing the black, ethereal glow of the material. "It's very surreal to know that this little thing could kill me," he murmured. His eyes flickered to L, still holding the bullet aloft. "I could destroy this, you know. I could take it with me, throw it out to sea, burry it somewhere you'd never find it, and that would be the end of it." There was a long pause as Kira examined the bullet, and L feared that he really would throw it out the window, flush it down the toilet, or something equally damning. But instead Kira slipped the bullet back into the clip and pushed the clip back into the gun. "I could do all that," he drawled. "But I'm not going to. The Shinigami King promised you a single shot, and no matter what I do, you're going to get it. Until you've taken aim and fired, this bullet will just find its way back to you. No—the King will find his way back to you, and he'll give you this little bullet back. No matter what I do, you're going to have a chance to shoot me. Of course, you know as well as I that you might very well miss. Or, if I kill you first, you might never have the chance to use your shot." He shrugged, rolling the bullet between his fingertips. "And besides all that, if I attempted to get rid of your precious bullet now, all the challenge would be gone! I challenge you, L Lawliet. I challenge you to track me down and shoot me before I have a chance to become a shinigami. I challenge you to save your precious Light."
L marveled at Kira's arrogance. Here he was, the only thing in the world that could kill him and leave Light unharmed, and he was giving it back to L for later use—even if it was true that the Shinigami King would return to him the bullet until he had the chance to use it, Kira should, at the very least, attempt to get rid of it. "Very arrogant," he snarled, before realizing that it wasn't the best idea to question the murderer's logic.
"Perhaps," Kira purred. "We will see."
A sudden crash echoed through the hotel, resonating from one of the lower floors. A moment later, someone screamed, and another crash followed the first. Muted voices came from below, and a series of small thuds met L's ears, shadowed by a loud, booming sound that could only have been a gunshot. Several more followed. He frowned, remembering Kira's reaction when L asked him whether or not there were other people in the hotel. Maybe, maybe not. We shall see.
Kira heard the noises as well, and for just a moment his eyes darted towards the door. His smirk dissipated slightly, and he murmured, "It seems that a fight has commenced downstairs. You were followed here."
L's eyes widened. "Impossible!" he blurted out. "There is no possible way someone could have followed me!" His mind flitted back to the heavy doses of sedative he'd injected into the successors. It was possible that they had worn off by now, but unlikely. He wondered who it was that was shooting.
And then he remembered.
Matt…he'd only had half a dose of the stuff. It should have been enough to knock him out for a good couple of hours, but…clearly that wasn't the case. It had to be him. No one else could possibly be downstairs. But how had he found him? How much did he know? L recalled the suspicious look with which Matt had regarded the tea L served him. He'd assumed that the successor's suspicion was just a figment of his overactive mind—but now he wasn't so sure. Maybe, just maybe…Matt had known his plan, even then. If that was the case, then it was all-too-clear to see just who was shooting in the lobby. And if he was shooting, then there was only one person he could be shooting at.
As if reading his train of thought, Kira smirked. "It'll be okay," he droned. "I sent Beyond downstairs to deal with anyone you may have brought with you as backup, or any stalkers or followers."
"No!" L rasped, the pressure on his chest becoming more and more painful. "Call him off! You can't hurt him!" He wouldn't tell Kira who was downstairs. It was ridiculous, but some irrational part of his mind was whispering that if Kira didn't know who was downstairs, he wouldn't be able to hurt him.
"Don't worry," Kira responded, clearly overly pleased with himself. "Beyond won't kill them. Whoever they are, he'll just rough them up a little. After all, that person following you was a part of my plan. Imagine it, Lawliet! Your little successor—whichever one it may be—rushes up here and finds me standing over your broken, bleeding body. He thinks you're dead until he gets closer and checks your pulse. Then I step back and let him peel you off the ground and haul you back to headquarters."
"What's the point?" L rasped, shifting slightly in a faint attempt to throw Kira off him.
"The point? Why, the point is the pain it causes you and the task force! I don't want to kill you until I become a god, but in the meantime I don't mind seeing more of your delicious pain…" Kira pressed down on L's chest with startling pressure, and the detective felt a series of small pops lace through his chest. L's lips parted instinctively, but he just managed to contain his scream.
That was a mistake.
Kira's expression twisted into one of fury. He slammed the gun down on the table with a snarl, snapping his hand down to grip L by the hair. He yanked the injured detective to his feet, tugging painfully on the tangled black mass that L called hair. L found himself pinned face-first against the wall he'd had Kira against mere minutes ago. Kira twisted one arm behind his back painfully, shoving his already damaged chest against the hard plaster. L snapped his teeth shut, tasting blood. He must have bitten into his tongue…it was painful, but in the face of Kira's abuse, it was nothing.
"Stop trying to keep yourself quiet!" Kira hissed, drawing the detective's body back a few inches, only to slam him back in place moments later. L was hauntingly reminded of the way Beyond had knocked Light out on that fateful night so long ago—the night he'd taken Light from him and set into motion everything that followed the regaining of the teen's memories. The comparison was chilling, and L hated it.
Seeming immensely displeased with L's lack of vocalized pain, Kira twisted the detective's arm harshly, fingers bruising pale flesh. Much more of this and L was going to have a dislocated shoulder to deal with. He clenched his teeth even further, making sure his tongue was out of the way this time. He didn't want to hurt himself any more than was necessary. He realized then, with a start, that Kira was waiting for him to respond. But no, L would not give him the satisfaction. And so he turned his head to one side, gnashing his teeth in refusal to speak.
"I warned you…" Kira murmured. He drew back slightly. Then he wrenched L's arm, hard, and the detective had no choice but to scream as he felt an intense pain in his shoulder. That was it—it'd felt the joint collapse. Kira, the bastard, had actually done it. "There…" the monster purred smoothly, grinning savagely. "That's better." He pressed gently on the collapsed joint, and this time there was nothing L could do to hide the noises that were torn from his throat. His sounds of discomfort only served to make Kira increase his efforts. The monster released his arm and spun him around, his hand clenching around his throat. L choked as his air was abruptly cut off. He struggled viciously, finding the strength to kick at Kira's legs, but with every second he was weakening, and he knew he wouldn't last long.
The monster tilted his head to one side, that demented smirk widening impossibly. "Do you know what this is, L?" Kira whispered, and L shuddered as those full lips brushed his neck. "Do you?"
L barely managed a shake of the head.
"You don't? Then I'll tell you…" Kira slammed the back of L's head against the wall, and all fight left the detective. He pushed back the darkness edging his vision as the monster tightened his hold on his throat. L's lungs were burning, and tingling numbness was beginning to spread through his extremities as his body began to shut down. He felt a rumble against his chest, and he realized dimly that Kira was laughing. "My dear Lawliet," he whispered. "This is checkmate."
L's mind was too scrambled to recognize the meaning behind that statement. He raised a hand sloppily to Kira's arm, tugging faintly in an attempt to get him off before he lost consciousness. "L-let… me…!" he stuttered. Let me go! His thoughts were slowing. I thought…you didn't want to kill me!
Kira just tightened his grip further, sneering nastily, and for a moment L was convinced that he was really trying to kill him, here and now. But then, just as L's vision was fogging over and going dark, the monster's grip was gone, and the dark-haired detective was sliding to the ground hazily. He coughed as he drew in breath faster than his damaged throat could manage. He was aware of how he must look, gasping for breath as he crouched at Kira's feet. The red-haired boy nudged L onto his back with a foot, leaning over him to observe the flushed appearance of his face as he struggled to regain his breath.
"Beautiful…" Kira whispered menacingly, prodding L's dislocated shoulder with the toe of his shoe. L whimpered painfully as the already tender area was touched. "I'm almost tempted to keep you here as my prisoner instead of letting you go running back to the investigation team. Your screams are just so intoxicating."
"Monster!" L choked, unable to do much else.
"So it seems," Kira responded carelessly. More shots came from the lower floors, the sound echoing through the lower floors and bouncing off the blood-streaked walls. Kira turned his head towards the source of the noise, clearly irritated. "Let's wrap this up. I'm a busy man, you know. I have better things to do than beat you to death."
L opened his mouth to ask what he meant by "wrapping up," but before he had the chance to make a noise, a terrible pain shot through his side. Kira… had kicked him. He felt another light pop in his ribs. He wondered through a haze of pain how many bones he'd broken. He heard a slight rustle, then jolted miserably as Kira's blow connected solidly with the same spot. L hissed softly. Kira's low chuckle reached him.
"I'll see you in a five days, Lawliet—no, wait, it's midnight. You have four days, now. So I suppose I'll see you then, my dear detective. On the night of the New Year."
L had not the strength to respond. His eyes blearily tracked the movement of Kira's leg as he drew it back for one last blow. He heard a swish of movement. Felt a pinprick of pain in his head that swiftly grew into an agonizing sensation that covered the entire left side of his skull. His vision fuzzed over, and this time he was unable to draw himself back from the edge of unconsciousness.
Then his eyes glued themselves closed, and darkness consumed him.
†††
Blood dripped down Matt's face. The salty substance dribbled in between the two lenses of his goggles, snaking down his nose and flowing over his bloodied lips. There was a nasty cut at his hairline. It stung. But then again, most of his body stung at this point. Beyond's knife was far too fast for him to keep up with—he had various slash marks crisscrossing all over his body, the shallow cuts growing greater and greater in number until it was nearly possible to play a game of chess on Matt's chest. Beyond didn't seem to be trying to kill him. If he'd really been trying, Matt had no doubt that he would be in a much worse condition. As it was, he was slightly dizzy from loss of blood, and every cut Beyond had made stung like hell—but he didn't think he would die. But then again, he'd been wrong about these kinds of things before.
At least, Matt reflected, Beyond wasn't in much better condition. He wasn't bleeding as badly as Matt was, but he was bruised and beaten, the purple and red marks already blossoming all over his pale skin. His dark shirt was stained even darker with blood, both Matt's and his own. One eye was swollen from where Matt had managed to clock him with the butt of his pistol. He was half surprised that neither of them had lost a tooth during their vicious fight.
They had reached a slight lull in their battle, a moment in which both of them drew back and simply stood there, hunched over, gasping for breath. Matt cursed internally, wishing that he hadn't used the rest of his bullets before this moment. If only he had even a single bullet left to shoot at Beyond! He struggled to get his breath back, cursing his sloppy use of ammo and Beyond's superior dodging skills. If he could just have a few moments more to rest, then he could charge at Beyond and catch him off-guard. Just a moment more, and—
Beyond's phone rang.
Matt blinked, surprised, as an American pop song sounded from the cellular device that Beyond was suddenly fishing out of his back pocket. He flipped open the phone and held it to his ear.
"Yes?" he asked, and Matt could do nothing but stare dumbly because he couldn't believe that this moron was taking time from the middle of their fight to take a goddamn phone call. "Already?" A pause. "Very well." Beyond drew the phone away from his ear and closed it, slipping it back into his back pocket. His reddish eyes found Matt's. "Looks like we're done here. It's a shame… I would have liked to play with you a little more."
Matt frowned, opening his mouth to ask what Beyond meant and who had called him, but the murderer cut him off before he had a chance.
"You can go see L now. Kira's done with him."
Panic tore through Matt. "Done with him? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is he dead?" His fingers clenched and unclenched as if he longed to twist them in Beyond's shirt and shake him violently, ripping from him the answers he so desperately sought.
"He's not dead. Though I can't say if he's unharmed." Beyond shrugged insouciantly. "He's in room 1313, waiting for you to save him. I'd hurry, kid."
Matt wished bitterly that he could shoot the bastard, kill him for what he'd done. But before he knew what was happening, Beyond had maneuvered swiftly around him so that he was between Matt and the door to the outside. Snow was falling in sheets now, creating a frosty glaze across the glass of the doors. Beyond grinned at his opponent toothily, lodged his knife between his side and his belt, opened the door, and strode out into the cold. Matt wanted to run after the monster and finish what he'd started, with his bare hands if he had to. But L was his top priority, and he had no idea what Kira had done to him. As much as he longed to kill Beyond, it would have to wait.
The third ranked successor turned away from where Beyond had exited. He located the stairs and began to sprint up them, not trusting the elevator. Room 1313…
He hoped he wouldn't be too late.
†††
Matt burst into room 1313 boldly, not caring if Kira was waiting on the other side with a gun. He darted down the small hallway, passing the bathroom and the bedroom, and found himself in a large, lavishly furnished living room. His eyes scoured the room for Kira and L, and immediately he spotted a pair of red eyes glowing in the darkness. He recognized them immediately.
"Well, well, well," Kira purred, stalking out of the shadows and into the dim light, said light casting eerie shades of darkness across his face. "I didn't expect you to be the one who showed up."
"Who did you expect?" Matt questioned, not really caring about the answer.
Kira seemed just as uninterested in the response to the question, and instead, he asked, "Tell me, Matt, why did you come here?"
"I'm going to save L," the successor growled, eyes scanning the room. There was no sign of L. Where was he? Was he already dead?
Kira cocked his head curiously. "Save L? Save him? I'm curious, Matt—why do you want to do that?"
"He's my friend," Matt responded hesitantly. "I have a responsibility to protect him from the likes of you." All the venom was absent from his words, and Kira realized it.
He smirked ear to ear, and murmured in that thick, velvety voice, "Oh no, Matt…don't tell me that you're having a hard time realizing that I'm Kira, and not Light? You look so terribly conflicted…don't you recognize me for the monster I am?"
"I thought you were justice," Matt mocked, though Kira was right—he gazed upon the scarlet-haired teen, and all he saw was Light. All he could see in those red eyes was the ghost of someone he cared about, someone he had come to like. He knew, logically that this was Kira. And Kira had held a gun up to his head, had threatened to pull the trigger. And he had pulled the trigger, Matt knew. If the gun had been loaded he would already be dead. But still—despite all that, despite the fact that this person had attempted to kill him, he couldn't see him for the monster he was. He couldn't see him as Kira. All he saw was Light, even now. All he saw was the person that had brought so much happiness to L.
The teen raised his face skywards, offering up his demented grin to the ceiling. "I am a monstrous sort of justice. I am a demon of the law, an executioner of the people—in both meanings of the phrase."
Matt slowly inched into the room, eyes still searching for L.
"Oh, are you looking for L?" Kira asked innocently, tucking his hands in his pockets.
"Yes," Matt ground out furiously. "Where is he?"
"Hmm…" Kira trailed off, waving a hand noncommittally towards the corner of the room.
Immediately, Matt's eyes snapped to the location. His stomach twisted as he realized that blood was streaked down the wall, staining the carpet thickly. And there, lying in the center of that pool of blood, just barely hidden by the furniture—
"Oh my god!" Matt gasped. "L!" He darted past Kira—no, he tried to dart past Kira—but he was easily stopped by a hand twisted in his collar, hauling him away from his fallen comrade.
"Not so fast," Kira murmured. "I have something to give you."
"You've given me plenty already—no, you've given all of us plenty. Your so-called gifts are poisonous, Kira. We don't want anything from you."
"No? I think you'll want this one." Kira reached a hand into his pocket, and Matt realized with a sickened sort of fascination that his hand was painted red with blood, no doubt from his fight with L. No, fight wasn't the right word—it had been a massacre, if L's tattered form had anything to say about it. When Kira's hand reemerged, he was clasping a bloodstained index card between two equally bloodstained fingers. He twisted it, and Matt saw that on one side there was printed a large, intricate L in gothic font. On the other, something was scribbled in red pen, but he wasn't sure what. Kira waved the index card teasingly before the successor, drawling, "Don't you want this? It has some valuable information on it, my friend."
It was tempting. But it would be like accepting a deal with the devil, and Matt wasn't inclined to give up his soul for a scrap of paper. "No, Kira. Get that thing out of my face."
The murderer frowned, seemingly offended. "But my dear Matt, you want this. Don't you want to know my plan?" He held it inches from Matt's chest. "Go on…I want you to have it."
When Matt still refused to take it, Kira sighed, yanking the teen closer by the collar and forcibly shoving it into his vest pocket.
"Don't lose it," he growled. His fingers uncurled from Matt's shirt and released him entirely, allowing the successor to dart across the room in L's direction.
Matt paid no attention to Kira as he dropped to his knees beside the unmoving form of L. Blood was pooling beneath his head, saturating the carpet and turning it an ugly shade of red. Matt pressed two fingers to L's throat, reassuring himself that he was, in fact, alive. Then he rolled him over and ran his fingertips through the bloody hair, locating a large gash that felt swollen to the touch. Matt felt a drop of blood slip off the tip of his nose, splashing down into L's hair, and he was reminded that he wasn't in the best position either. He raised the back of his hand to his forehead and attempted to wipe away the scarlet, only succeeding in smearing the stuff over his face.
A slight shuffle drew the successor's attention to Kira. The red-haired teen was moving for the door, hands shoved in his pockets uncaringly.
"Hey, wait!" Matt called after him, stunned. "Where are you going?"
Kira paused, hand inches from the door. "I'm done here. I'm leaving."
"You're…you're not going to end this here and now?" Matt asked, stunned. He could hardly believe it—here he was, too injured to put up much of a fight, and Kira was just…walking out?
"This ends on the New Year," Kira insisted in a low tone. "Not a moment sooner. I've already played my hand, and L's already played his. Now, I'm just waiting for one last thing. There's just one player left who hasn't entered the game."
He means us, Matt realized. The successors. We haven't played our hand yet.
"We can't play a proper game until the board is set up properly," Kira went on. "And the board won't be set up properly until the New Year. On that day, it will be over. On that day, by the time the clock strikes twelve, this will end, and I will become a god."
Become…a god? Matt opened his mouth, intent on asking further questions, but before he could, Kira was already speaking again.
"You'd best be getting your little detective back to headquarters. He'll bleed out soon, and you're not in a much better position yourself. Beyond did quite a number on you—though I've seen him do worse."
Matt realized with a start that he was right—he was beginning to feel lightheaded, and he still had to make the trek through the snow to reach headquarters. And L wasn't looking good. His flesh was even paler than usual, sickly by comparison.
The door opened suddenly, and Matt's eyes snapped back to Kira.
"Good luck, Matt," Kira purred, radiating confidence. "Oh…and one more thing. That gun right there, over on the table? Take it with you."
"Why should I—?"
"Just do it. You'll understand once L wakes up."
And with that, the door slammed shut, and Kira's footsteps faded into nothing.
For a long moment Matt just stared at the space from which Kira had just vanished, a part of him contemplating rushing after him and taking him down. But just as he began to take a step towards the door, the sound of rustling cloth sounded from behind him, and Matt realized that he couldn't leave L alone. Kira's downfall would just have to take place another day. The sound of rustling cloth sounded once again, and Matt turned back towards L worriedly.
"L?" Matt asked cautiously, moving to his side and dropping to his knees beside the detective's form. He reached out hesitantly, shaking him in a weak attempt to wake him up, but he received no response. "L, come on, wake up!" Sill, there was no reaction. Matt felt a swell of panic rising in his chest, and he realized suddenly that L could be seriously hurt. After all, Kira had promised that he wouldn't kill him until the New Year, but he hadn't promised that he wouldn't beat L within an inch of his life. He had to figure out just how bad his injuries were, and fast—if he was in critical condition, then he wasn't sure if he'd be able to make it back to headquarters in time.
Matt rolled the older detective onto his back and looked him over. The first thing he noticed was his shoulder—it looked out of place, and Matt immediately suspected that it was dislocated. He gently pressed on his shoulder and found his suspicions correct as his fingers probed the joint, which was clearly damaged. The shoulder had been dislocated. Other than that he was horrifyingly bruised to the point of looking like some sort of sadistic painting, and the left side of his face was swollen and cut. He had obviously been struck harshly there. He may have sustained a concussion—no, actually, if all the blood dripping from the back of his head had anything to say about, L had definitely sustained a concussion. And depending on the severity of said concussion, L's life could very well be in danger. He didn't want to think about how hard Kira must have struck him to split the back of his head open so horrifyingly. Moving his investigation to the detective's torso, Matt swiftly yanked L's shirt up. The sight that met him was stomach churning. Kira…he'd done quite a number on his victim. Matt brushed his fingertips over the black and blue skin, wincing as they came away bloody. A few ribs were definitely broken, and the skin was split almost everywhere the successor turned his gaze. It seemed as if Kira had turned his mortal enemy into a red, blue, and black artwork.
The good news—it didn't seem as if he was in critical condition. But his concussion…it might be serious. He had no way to know if there was swelling in the brain, and if that was the case…
Well…things wouldn't be good.
He had to get him back to headquarters. Matt stooped to draw L's limp form into his arms, but he paused suddenly as he remembered Kira's words. He wanted me to take the gun…should I take it with me? Matt straightened his spine, eyes raking down the table—and sure enough, there it was. A very old, very battered handgun. He shouldn't take it, Matt knew. He shouldn't do as Kira asked. But something, something deep within him, was screaming for him to take the gun in hand. Something about this gun, something about the way it sat upon the table and stared with nonexistent eyes, made him want to listen to Kira.
I don't have time for this! Matt snarled internally. L is hurt, and I need to get him back to headquarters as fast as I can! He reached for L one more time, then stopped—and a moment later, against his better judgment, he was darting across the room and scooping up the handgun. He shoved it in the waistband of his pants and returned to L's side in a heartbeat.
He scooped the body of the detective up in his arms, carrying him bridal-style towards the door. His eyes flitted about this way and that in a search for Kira, just in case he was planning on hanging around to ambush him once again, but the monster was nowhere to be found. He would have liked, just as the case was with Beyond, to track the murderer down and make him pay. But L was hurt to a degree that Matt didn't yet know, and both of them were disarmed. And Kira had the Death Note. It would be meaningless to attempt to go after him. Matt balanced L's body on one knee as he momentarily freed one hand in order to open the door. He carried L down the various flights of stairs, refusing to stop and rest. With every step he took he felt the effects of blood loss more and more, and he knew that he had to reach headquarters before he became too weak to carry on. He hadn't realized just how badly he was hurt. The gash above his head was spouting blood, dribbling down his face, flowing over his goggles and seeping into his eyes. The rest of the cuts covering his body dripped painfully, and Matt knew without looking that should he glance down, he would see nothing but red—his clothing was completely soaked through and slashed to pieces, so he looked like he'd been attacked by something akin to a werewolf.
Matt had reached the streets. He pushed open the doors of the hotel and carried L out, well aware that the cold weather was the worst possible thing for the two of them. If he collapsed due to blood loss, then there would be no saving them; the snowstorm would send them to death long before the New Year. But still he persisted, cursing the lack of people and cars on the streets as he headed for home. Each step was a battle. The snow around his feet thickened, pulling at his soaked jeans and clogging his shoes, numbing every bit of skin it could reach. Blood dripped off both Matt and the detective he carried as they neared the headquarters, leaving scarlet splotches in the crisp snow. The effects of the cold were already setting in. Matt's feet were beginning to go numb, the terrible, tingling feeling spreading further and further up his legs as he walked, creeping up into his fingertips. He was beginning to feel sleepy.
No! He told himself firmly, gasping for breath, wincing as the frosty air stabbed at his lungs painfully. Between the cold and the blood loss, if I go down now, I won't wake up again! I owe this to L, I owe it to him to get him to safety! The headquarters was visible now. He prayed to every deity in existence that Mello, Near, and Watari had awoken from their drug-induced slumber by now.
He moved as swiftly as he could, fighting the cold that was turning his whole body sluggish, hauling L across the last few yards to reach headquarters. He staggered up to the gate and stabbed at the keypad with thick fingers, entering in the security code to the best of his ability. He sniffed to keep his nose from dripping. L's form was getting heavier and heavier as the snow whirred around him, making it nearly impossible to walk. Bus still, he stumbled up the steps to the entrance, unlocked the door with the correct passcodes, and forced his way into the warm building. The heat blasted him head on, and after the frigid cold of the outdoors, it felt like stepping into a furnace. The heat stung Matt's face, and as comforting as it was to be in such a warm area, he knew that neither he nor the person he carried were safe just yet. If Matt collapsed now, there was a strong possibility that he would bleed out, and L could quite conceivably die of trauma to the head.
"Mello!" Matt rasped out, dragging L further inside. The doors shut firmly behind them, automatically locking. "Near! Watari!" He struggled to keep moving towards the elevator, but it was too much—his legs gave out, and he topped to the ground, expending the last of his energy to thrust an arm out in between L's head and the floor. Blood mixed with melting snow, pooling around both detectives and spiraling outwards like a scarlet spider web. "Mello!" Matt called again, forcing his voice to rise above a weak rasp. "Mello, please…"
There was a long silence. Then—thank god—a loud series of bangs sounded from the upper floors. A torrent of curse words came streaming down from above. It seemed as if Mello, at least, was waking up. A few more crashes sounded, then two more voices joined the first. There was the sound of a light scuffle, and the sound of something heavy being moved. A few moments later the elevator dinged, and three people crashed forth from the double doors, eyes bleary, forms drooping sleepily. Mello's clothing was twisted, and his hair was tangled. His shirt was on backwards—how that had happened, Matt would never know. Near's eyes were slightly glazed and his hair resembled a bird's nest. Watari was the only one who looked moderately normal, though he too appeared exhausted. The sedative must still be in their systems.
"I need help!" Matt gasped out, catching their full attention. To his relief, all hints of exhaustion vanished from their eyes when they saw the condition of L and himself. "Please!"
The next few minutes were a blur of movement. Matt was dimly aware of being moved to the infirmary on one of the higher floors, being laid down in a cot across from L. He felt warm hands, the hands of Mello, stripping him of his soaked, bloody clothing and beginning to dab at the shallow wounds. He felt a dull sting as the antiseptic found the slashes. Someone was removing his goggles and wiping away the blood on his face, pressing a cloth against the sluggishly bleeding gash at his hairline. It hurt, but the pain was increasing rather than fading, and Matt realized with a nearly inaudible sigh of relief that he wasn't going to die. Then blankets were being pulled over and around him, and someone was worriedly whispering in his ear.
It was warm here, and safe.
Matt closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Ooh, we're getting close to the endgame! Only four in-story days left until the New Year! Oh, how I wonder how this story will end…
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if you did, please leave me a review!