Chapter 1: Burst
Lucy stared at the dying old man. His eyes were widened as his face scrunched in pain. Blood soaked the white bed sheet and he gasped for air. The small fingers had changed into a sharp, cold metal against his chest. The metal, however, struck his chest almost soundlessly. But it was sure painfully. He made a loud gasp as the metal, a blade as he presumes, pulled out of his heart and he felt thick liquid made its way to his mouth. Seconds later, he coughed roughly and spitting some bloods.
Cautiously, he eyed the girl. Her black attire was soaked in blood and her little fingers were all red with his blood. Her left hand carried a short katana that was also covered in blood, the weapon she used to injure him, he thought. But what caught his interest more was her expression.
The brown-colored eyes girl, as if being used for blood, ignored the thick and smelly liquid. It was as if the strong smell of metallic did not affect her nose. And again, her expression stayed the same; lips curved into a small smile, yet her brown eyes were dull. They were cold and hazy. They were lack of emotion.
Yet the trail of a lone tears didn't go unnoticed by him.
Ryu Yoshii didn't make any attempt to call for help. It was useless, he knew it. Then, after a little effort to breathe, he embraced his death rather peacefully. But he couldn't tear his eyes off of her. They shared a quick eye contact, then, he spent his last breath just to stare at his killer, trying to remember the every detail.
As another minute went by, the old man had died without her realizing it. She was planning a quick, silent kill, but the old man was quite tough to endure the pain even for just a minute-long. She knew that he was the kind of old man who never let his guard down, even with his old body. He knew that peoples were after his head and his famous business. That was why he was as strict as ever; never show his weakness even in his gray days. But he did show his weakness; the little girl. She, who had the same age as his murderer, was his weakness.
Lucy dropped her katana to the floor, creating a loud clang sound around the room. Her small figure sat on the soft and comfy bed. Slowly, she approached the old man and closed his eyes. As much as she killed people, she wanted to make them go to the heaven peacefully. And her father once said, one of many ways to guide them to the heaven was to close their eyes.
The little girl-slash-assassin–as her father prefers to– knew that he was a kind old man. An innocent old man who only wanted to spent his old days with his grandchildren. But her father also said that peoples tend to hide their bad side- their sinful side so peoples only sees his masked face. He was included. And Lucy, being innocent as she was, had agreed her father.
"Jiisan, I forget to give this back to you–" the door opened slowly with a soft creaking sound against the floor. "Jiisan..? Are you.. alright? Who is she?" The girl on the door asked. Through her crystal-clear blue eyes, Lucy could see the fear and the girl's legs were shaking slightly.
"May I have a little talk with you?" Lucy smiled, her childish voice never failed to fool her prey. "I want to ask you one or two things, if you didn't mind, of course." With the slightest effort, Lucy climbed down the high –for her size– bed easily, and then walked to the window by the bed.
The girl, was feeling both terrified and curious, stepped in and closed the door behind her. She followed the blond-haired girl as she saw the girl stared at the garden from the window. The dark room was illuminated by the moonlight through the window, and despite the moonlight, she couldn't see the girl's face, neither her expression. But she could smell a faint smell of metal– blood that came from her.
"My name is Mirajane Strauss," the girl introduced herself to ease the tension, smiling a little at her little action, even if the girl couldn't see her face. "And you are..?"
Lucy, her back still faced the Mirajane girl, widened her smile slightly. "Hello, Mirajane-chan," the other girl jumped slightly behind her as her name fell out of Lucy's lips. "Was that you, who came here thirty minutes ago, and had a quick chat with Ojiisama?"
Mirajane sighed inwardly; she thought the younger girl had this weird aura around her. I must be imagining. "Please, call me Mira. And no, it was my little sister, I came here only to give his hat back to him," she replied, fingers gripped the old hat tightly and sweats trickling above her brows. She bites her lips and asked her the questions she really wanted to ask. "Is something the matter? And Miss, are you bleeding?"
"Don't worry, Mira-chan, I'm not bleeding," Mirajane flinched. Lucy turned around to face her. She could hear Mira's gasp as she saw her hands covered in blood with her right hand gripped a short, bloody blade. "I think you are the one who will be bleeding, Mira-chan."
The door suddenly opened, revealing a younger girl than Mirajane with short silvery hair. "Nee-chan, let's go home–"
"Lisanna! Go away! Don't–!"
She didn't smile. A deep frown attached to her face, as a body of a young girl lay limply on the cold floor, bleeding furiously, soulless. Her long, wavy, silver hair dampened- tainted by red liquid, as her face faced the floor with an unnoticed pained expression by the killer. The killer's mask had been shattered into pieces when her prey screamed a deafening scream. For an unknown reason, a sentence before her scream was replayed for the umpteenth times inside her head.
"Lisanna! Go away! Don't–!"
What? Don't go nearer? Don't see? Don't cry?
Don't forget to avenge your sister?
Lucy snapped her head towards the slumped girl. The girl she was supposed to kill, too. Her very same crystal-clear blue eyes stared through her wide eyes at the body of her sister, then at the other girl. Then back to her sister. "Onee-chan… O-Onee…-chan..?"
With her shaky legs, she crawled to her sister's side, gently shook her shoulder. But her sister wasn't responding. And slowly, her body temperature went down. "N-No… Please, no, nee-chan, don't… d-don't leave us… d-don't leave m-me!" She wailed, begging for her sister to come back to no avail.
The blond-haired girl watched from the dark, she was retreating to the corner to contain a sudden burst of pain. She saw all the tears the little sister shed for her big sister. She heard her wails, she heard her cracking sobs, and she heard Lisanna's heart-piercing scream. And then she felt anger- fury towards her.
Lucy felt her aching chest; fluttering and hammered at the same time. She wasn't bleeding, but it still hurt. It was like something weighing her chest and she could not contain it, something that was heavy and incredibly awful. And dreadful.
Was it… guilt?
"Yoshii-sama! Yoshii-sama!" A loud, hurrying sound of footsteps gave Lucy no time to silencing the other Strauss family member. Reaching for her dagger from a pocket on her upper thigh, she shot one dagger for the remaining conscious girl, aiming to her arm. It grazed her elbow as she made an escape through the unlocked window. Her katana was forgotten.
"Yoshii-sama! Strauss-sama!" A voice of a man called or the three people. "Quick! Call for an ambulance and police! The villain must have not gone far!"
Behind the bushes in the garden, little Lucy crouched down lowly so no one could see her from the window on the second level she just escaped from. Mission: complete. She made a quick yet silent walk to the wall– climbed it and jumped out to the dimly-light boulevard on the CCTV's blind-spot. She made a quick walk to a narrow alley, snatched a cloth from the clothesline to wash the blood away, and then threw it to a hidden trash can. A few blocks from the execution place, another place, an apartment, was crowded with police and peoples. A long police line attached to its wall.
Lucy ignores it all, the police and the crowds. Softly, she hummed a song she had just remembered along the way back to her house. "London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down, London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady,"
Kilometers from the incident place, a boy, with his famous salmon hair, was carrying a wooden case out of a high tower. He was heading to his car, a peculiar, shiny black limousine car, with an older man following him behind. The man himself had this fiery red hair that was widely known as much as himself. Then again, his son was about to compete his fame. Despite being a stubborn as he was in the past time, and still stubborn by now, he was undoubtedly proud of the talent of his son, who was the complete opposite of his. And talking about what being a complete opposite, his character was another thing that was a complete opposite with his son.
"Son," he said after they entered the car. "You should take a day off from your job; you're still a growing child, after all." He grinned and glanced back to the road when his son wasn't answering.
Sometimes he wondered if he was a bad father.
"I'll think about it," come the curt reply from his son.
He grinned again as he faced his son and ruffled his spiky, almost defying-gravity hair. "That's my son! Now all you have to do is rest, and don't ever try to think of playing that instrument! Or else we will cancel all of our fun in this to-do list," he drew out a little paper of his breast pocket.
Natsu had to admit it; his father was so loud and extremely energetic. What did he eat to gain that much energy? Not fire, he was not a dragon in his childish children's book, wait, it was for children so it was supposed to be childish. Oh geez. Absent-mindedly, Natsu stared back at his violin case. He had this stacks of scores he had to learn. And after he learned it, he had to perform it in front of peoples by the Sunday of the last week of this month. How wonderful.
That means he only had three weeks at most to master it. Not like he couldn't handle, he was the genius after all, and he got the amazing talent of his on his side. Luck was on his side every day, surrounding him like a group of bees on their hive.
"Wood and clay will wash away, wash away, wash away, wood and clay will wash away, my fair lady,"
As the car stopped at a big intersection, a girl went by his car, humming a soft, classic song which he caught the lyrics quite clear. London Bridge, eh? And as the car went on, he caught himself smirking, a warm feeling spreading inside. A fragment of memory of his late mother replayed in his head. A soft, warm, and calming voice sang the same song as she tucked him to bed. And for the second time since the death of his mother, he actually smiled.