Never underestimate a Kaiba.
That's what gets you in trouble.
.
Well after midnight, deep in the darkness of forgotten time, Amaya Kaiba sat. She liked the dark; she preferred it. There was something romantic about removing outside influences, leaving her alone with her thoughts. There was music in the silence, and she'd always been able to hear it. Even as a girl, she'd always had an affinity for doing her most important work by moonlight. So it was that she sat, quiet and content, in the dark.
The stranger had no name that mattered to her; she didn't care to ask for it, and he'd never offered it. That, too, was romantic; that she would look at this man, barely more than a boy, and have no idea what to call him. How foreign that was, how tragic, that the most simplest and frivolous of possessions—a name—should take so much away from a person's identity.
After all, what was a name but a trinket of sound offered by a person's guardians?
It was so little.
It meant so little, on its own.
And yet, it took so much away from someone, to not have one.
The nameless stranger lay prone on the floor in front of her, hands and feet tied fast. Was he asleep? Amaya didn't think she would sleep in such conditions; but his breathing was quiet, even, and easy. Perhaps he was asleep. Amaya wasn't sure if she was touched or affronted.
The door creaked open.
Amaya watched, from her little blanket of night, savoring the moment. Oh, how this should have been obvious. How she should have anticipated it. Amaya wondered, idly, how she hadn't. But then, that was the thing about bringing new members into the family, wasn't it? So many little things needed to be done, so many little things demanding attention. This was especially true since Gozaburo wasn't here to carry his share of the burdens, leaving Amaya to shoulder every little minute detail.
"I don't know what you were thinking!" came that soft, familiar voice; its owner crouched down to untie the nameless stranger. "Coming here to find me? You're an idiot! We have to move quickly. This is the only chance I can risk giving you. The next time you need to reach out to me, go home! How do you expect us to do our part in realizing Lord Dartz's grand design if we get ourselves killed?!"
Amaya moved, slow, sinuous, like a serpent.
She didn't feel sorrow, not exactly.
But she grieved all the same.
Gunfire roared in the witching hour, the barrel of Gozaburo's favorite revolver breathed fire against the shadows, and Amaya watched Mio Nishihara crumple against the wall. Amaya fired again. Again. Five times, the barrel smoking like simmering embers.
The nameless stranger was lucky; he died quickly, one bullet splitting his skull.
Mio was not so lucky; she wasn't so lucky at all.
Amaya looked down at the girl, eyes flinty. "Honestly, Mio," she said, "I ought to have anticipated this. It's a shame I didn't. It's only natural that you would be roped into a death cult. You, so young, so impassioned to do good in the world, so desperate to heal people, duped into believing that the greatest kindness you can offer our entire species is to snuff it out. You're an idealist. I can almost respect your vision." She shook her head. "But I'm sorry, dear. Not today. Not here."
Mio tried to speak, tried to offer some measure of defiant prattling, but she had no voice.
Her throat wasn't there anymore.
Amaya watched her suffer.
"I don't like killing," she said. "It's so final. There's no chance for growth, for transmutation, for apotheosis. Perhaps, given time and training, you could have become a real catalyst for change. But you made the mistake of allying with my enemies. When you step into my house, with access to my children, that cannot be permitted."
Amaya kicked the nameless stranger's corpse aside and set one foot onto Mio's chest. The girl groaned, as best she could, with the pain of it; she made a wet, gurgling, pitiful little sound. The mistress of the manor leaned down and tilted Mio's chin with the barrel of her husband's gun.
"You ought to thank whatever god you abandoned for this Lord Dartz," she said, "that my husband isn't here. You don't want to know what he would do to you. Whatever you can imagine, I can promise you that it would be worse. You would beg the devil for mercy days before he gave it to you. The last blessing I can give you, after your years of service to this house, is this: I prefer certainty to ceremony."
Amaya lowered the gun, fired one last time, and strode from the room.
Silence came back, nervously.
.
"Nishihara?" Isono asked, looking as flummoxed as a farmer from the Middle Ages learning about telephones. "There's no way. You're . . . certain?"
"I watched her myself," Amaya said flatly. "She signed her own death warrant. I take no pleasure in this. There is no honor or glory in bloodstained hands. But I will never permit a danger to my family to exist under this roof."
Isono bowed. "Of course, Mistress."
Amaya heaved a sigh. "Damn it. There's nothing to be done for my husband except to wait for him to check in. For the moment, we must secure the grounds. Move in twos. I don't want you blinking without warning someone else. Am I clear?"
Isono bowed again. "Yes, Mistress."
There was electricity in the air, something that Amaya couldn't pinpoint. But it told her that things were different now. It wasn't that she'd spilled blood; so much blood had already been spilled in, and on account of, this house that it was an insult to think one more corpse would change anything.
It was something else entirely.
Something she'd never known before.
Amaya Kaiba was not a superstitious woman; however, like her husband, she knew better than to doubt her own instincts. Sometimes, there wasn't a logical reason for something. Sometimes, there was no way to guess why she knew something, how she knew she had to do something, and it was best to just act. Sometimes, thinking was the worst thing you could do.
Sometimes, thinking was what got you killed.
Amaya didn't think she was fearful for her own safety; she'd been fully prepared to die since the day she turned thirteen. It was the children she feared for.
It was the children she killed for.
Always, forever, her children.