Elfen Lied Fan Fiction ❯ Angel of Massacre ❯ Bloody Horns ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: I don’t own Elfen Lied, but I do own all of the original characters here. Elfen Lied belongs to Lynn Okamoto. It belongs to him at least until I buy the series from him…

Summary: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy’s death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael’s decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

Warnings: This is rated T for real bad language, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

Author’s Notes: This is the chapter that marks the beginning of Samael. Read on if you can stomach it, things are not going to get better.

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Angel of Massacre

Chapter three: Bloody Horns

It was darker than pitch black. I sat in an enormous, cavernous theatre. There were only two seats, side by side, and at first I thought I was alone. Then I realize that there was someone beside me. I turned my neck to set my gaze on it. There, sitting casually with his legs crossed, was a young boy. How I knew it was a boy eluded me for he was wrapped in white bandages. Sallow skin the color of ashes was exposed in thin stripes between the dressings. His entire head was bound in the same bandages. Despite this I could see two horns poking through the dressing. The stripes were torn apart in front of his left eye and a single eyeball sat in the socket. The iris was dyed midnight blue.

The boy’s own gaze was fixated at the gigantic screen. I didn’t want to look at it. Then without warning the mummified boy turned his neck to look back at me. His eye locked with mine.

“Don’t look at me. Observe the scene before you. Watch your life’s end.”

With a great effort I turned to look at the theatre screen. I was watching a horrible movie about the death of a young man’s entire family. I saw that he was standing on a flight of stairs and watching as a bald man shoots his father dead. I noticed that the teenager had horns growing out of his head. My heart went out to him. I can’t imagine what it would be like to go through what he was going through.

“It’s just a movie, don’t get so emotional. You aren’t a girl after all.” I admonished myself. The acting was good, that was for sure. The woman (probably the boy’s mother) was completely silent. All of the color in her face had drained away. She was obviously in a state of shock. Her poor mind couldn’t wrap around the image her eyes were sending her. “Huh, that woman looks awfully familiar…”

The boy beside me began to laugh. It began low and escalated into a higher chuckling. A heavy weight settled in my stomach. I suppose I knew what was going on, but I didn’t want to accept it. The laugher grew louder and more excited. The truth was too painful to admit, so I just watched the screen with forced ignorance. Ignorance was easier than acceptance, it was less painful. By now the boy was rocking back and forth in his chair, seemingly unable to breathe in. I hoped to God that he would suffocate.

Then he was silent in an instant. His eye bore into mine with such intensity. A sharp chill ran up my spine. I shifted in my chair, trying to get comfortable in the theater seat. I couldn’t look at the screen anymore. I didn’t want to because the more I watched the harder it was to be ignorant. Cold fingers clasped my jaw in a steel grip, and forced me to face the screen. Tears threatened to leak out of my eyes and I had no choice but to observe.

In the screen the scene continued to unfold. The horned young man was still watching as the two villains stood over his mother. It was so odd because the horned guy wasn’t making a sound. He was just staring at his father’s corpse. The bald fiend was grinning from ear to ear and leveled the gun at the woman. His lips were moving but the cavernous theatre remained completely silent. I knew what was going to happen, there was no mistaking it. An aching pain throbbed in my heart. I hadn’t even realized that the boy beside me had let go of my chin. Then he leaned in and his whisper slithered in my ear like a venomous serpent.

“That’s enough watching.”

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My eyes regained focus and I saw my father’s glassy eyes staring at a point above my head. Those eyes that I have appreciated for my entire life would never move again. Blood ran down in rivers from a quarter-sized hole in his forehead. I expected pain in my heart, but for some reason it wouldn’t come. I could feel the pain, but it was muted as though at a distance. The pain would come soon enough, when I was at my weakest. All I felt was a yawning hole in my heart and a dull throbbing pain set itself in my chest where my heart used to beat.

Slowly I tore my gaze away from my father’s face and looked at my mother. She had thrown her body over her lover’s corpse and hysterical sobs were wracking her slender body. Her face was buried in my father’s chest. I wanted to comfort her, but my feet didn’t move. I wanted to hold her, but my arms remained slack at my sides. I felt like a lifeless puppet with its strings cut.

Then my stare shifted to the criminals. The bald and tall bastards were still facing away from me. Despite the distance between us, I felt like the shaved fucker was standing just in front of me. His demented aura filled the room.

“He is enjoying this. He revels in the feeling of superiority and he’s trying to drag it out as long as possible.” I though bitterly. Odium swelled up within me like a tidal wave crashing against a cliff. I wanted him dead in more ways than I can count. My intestines withered in my stomach like a nest of furious serpents. My fingers curled into fists so tight my knuckles turned white. My unkempt nails dug deeply into my palms, but I didn’t notice the pain.

Then the trigger-happy thug lifted the gun again and took aim at Sarah Mordare. The throbbing agony in my chest increased in tempo. Mom lifted her tear-stricken face and stared down the barrel of the gun. Perhaps she saw a cure for her pain. Perhaps she saw a chance of escape from her torture.

Sarah Mordare was smiling when the second bullet pierced her forehead.

The yawning hole in my chest doubled in depth the second her soulless body landed on the floor. My mouth hung open slightly in a desperate attempt to scream. No cry would come. No relief to the torment. All I could do was watch through dry eyes as the soulless gunman pulled the trigger twice more. This time the bullets struck Mom’s stomach. The swell of her pregnant belly shuddered with each round. I heard out of control screaming as though from a great distance. Then I heard a silky voice as though it was right outside my ear.

“Your life has ended. Now you have nothing left of your previous life. If you don’t do something now, your new life will be extinguished before it even started. Just like that babe in the womb.”

The mad screaming came into focus and I found it was my own. I didn’t care, I was going to slaughter them! The two hitmen whirled around simultaneously and I swear the bald bastard looked like he was going to shit himself. His hands fumbled with another magazine as he frantically tried to reload the gun. Finally he slid the clip into the handle and pulled back the rack, depositing a bullet in the chamber. He lifted his thrice used murder weapon and took aim at my head. That’s when all Hell broke loose. I saw the shimmering air appear all around me in such great numbers that the world looked like it was underwater. Then they became opaque and solidified.

Over ten things appeared around me. They looked like glass snakes, clear, translucent, yet solid. But instead of a serpentine head at the end of each slender body, there was a human hand. These hands looked almost harmless, but I could feel the immense power in each fist. Five of them reached around me and covered me in a tight bear hug. I heard the gun firing frantically and eight .44 bullets appeared in the air in front of my face. They were so close I could have kissed their heated shells. Then I discovered that I had control over these “hands”. I could move them as easily as I could my own flesh and blood arms. If they could stop a bullet at this close of range, then they must be very strong. They must be strong enough to render flesh from bone.

Time for a field test.

Five of the arms remained curled around my body. Then the remaining six shot forth from behind me and attacked the bald bastard. One hand took hold of his Desert Eagle and ripped it from his grasp. A finger remained in the trigger. His painful screams were bittersweet to my ears. Two hands grabbed his arms, hoisted the man like a ragdoll, and flung him into the wall behind him with a sickening crunch. The gun wielding hand cocked back and flung the silver pistol onto the floor. The pistol cracked in several pieces and scattered across the floor. Then that hand raced forward, grasped the disarmed thug’s neck, and pinned him to the wall. He began to choke noisily, his face turned red.

My intense satisfaction was temporarily dulled as the mountainous gunman turned tail and ran. I couldn’t let anyone escape, not from me! Two arms chased after the man before he could take three steps. The hands wrapped around his ankles and pulled them from beneath him. His face landed on the floor and I heard teeth crack. I began to reel him in slowly, a rush of superiority nearly overwhelmed me as I watched him claw at the floor with his fingernails. Finally I took another hand and grabbed his charcoal hair. I lifted him into the air with the three hands and held him against the ceiling. I saw his hand scramble for his thigh and I realized that he was reaching for his gun. He had a Desert Eagle free from its holster before I took his gun hand and pulled it from the wrist. The gun plus his right hand landed with a pleasing smack.

The arms that were protecting me unfurled from my body and struck the helpless murderers. I strode down the remaining stairs and stood directly underneath the big guy. I turned to the bald guy, who was turning blue at this point. Oh he wasn’t going to escape me that way! I released the choking grip and drove a hand into his gut. He doubled over and I saw blood dripping from his lips. These arms are powerful! With five hands holding up the large hitman I had six more reserved for this motherfucker. Four of them swung out and grabbed his arms and legs. I held him in an eagle spread position against the wall.

I felt satisfied that the two men were as helpless as kittens in a sack. Then I turned to face the sadist and opened my mouth.

“Why did you do this?” I screamed in his face. He looked like he was going to faint and his right hand was bleeding profusely. “Why did you kill my family?! What drove you to slaughter everyone I knew and loved! TELL ME NOW!”

His face was drained of all blood and I saw his white lips move slowly. Too slow for me. I took my flesh and blood hand and grabbed his chin firmly. I brought my face up to his and glared at him with my blood stained eyes. His head dropped limply. The smell of piss wafted into my nose and I was immediately disgusted. I stepped back and swung a kick straight up between his legs. I felt the soft organs crushing under my foot. The bald man’s head snapped up and he tried to scream toward the ceiling. Before he could cry out a “hand” lashed out and struck his chin. His head cracked against the wall and he fell completely limp. What a useless motherfucker!

I wasn’t going to get anymore information out of him. I took two ethereal hands and grasped his neck and head. I began to twist his neck clockwise and his head the opposite way. First his spinal column snapped audibly. Then his neck began to tear and blood ran down the hand’s fingers. Finally, with a great heave, I tore his shaved head clear off of his shoulders. Blood spout out of his open neckline and splattered across the ceiling. Blood rained down and I felt the warm droplets against my clothes and skin. I lifted my hands with the palms up as if accepting a gracious gift. That wasn’t nearly satisfying enough for me.

So I turned to the bigger of the two thugs, who was still on the ceiling. I felt that I could take my sweet time with this guy. He was retching and vomit splashed onto the floor. I took two ghostly hands and pushed his mouth closed. It didn’t help as puke and blood leaked out from a sizable gap between his teeth. I was irritated now, I wanted answers right away! So I pulled a “hand” back and drove it straight into his stomach. The large man heaved up all of the contents of his stomach in one great discharge. I decided to wait patiently a second longer for him to catch his breath.

A half-second later I lost patience. I let go of the man and he fell onto the floor with a great smash. He staggered to his feet and began squeezing the stump of his right hand. Oddly enough, a calm look had passed across his face. He knew he was going to die and that there was no escaping it. This was a guy that was willing to spill his guts, no pun intended.

I spoke again in the same harsh voice, “Why did you kill my family? Are you acting alone or on someone’s orders! Tell me now and I won’t drag out your death!”

The doomed thug opened his mouth and I saw what a mess his maw had become. I didn’t care or feel sorry; I wanted to punch more teeth in. He spoke in a raspy voice, “I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to kill you or your family! You’ve got to believe me!”

I reached back and drove a solid punch against his face. He staggered backwards, but before he could fall I grabbed him again and held him up. I brought my face as close as I could but the stench of vomit was still on his breath. Then I snarled, “Oh you didn’t want to kill anyone huh? Does that make my family any less DEAD?! Answer me or you’ll lose your other hand!”

“No! I’m sorry it doesn’t make them any less dead! I’m sorry! You’ve gotta belie-”

His left hand landed on the ground with a pulpy smack.

“You aren’t nearly sorry enough to say you’re sorry! Stop crying and tell me something useful!” I roared in his tear-stricken face. Then I spit in his face and shoved him onto the floor. He flopped on the ground in agony. He wasn’t able to get up without his hands. With an irritated growl I grabbed his broad shoulders and pulled him shakily onto his feet.

“I’m sorr- (I growled). I’ll tell you what you want to know if you’ll let me-” With an enraged scream I grabbed his head and began to twist it. His shrieks got so high that my ears began to hurt.

“You think you can bargain with me!” I shouted in his ear.

Before I could turn his head all the way around, he cried out again, “My boss! His name! I can tell you his name!” I stopped twisting his neck and listened intently. A name would help speed things up a lot. I would be able to hunt this guy with greater ease. The large man opened his mouth and spoke, “My boss’s name is Noah-”

All of the world suddenly dissolved in flames.

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End Chapter Three: Bloody Horns

This is the end of the chapter. I hope you all enjoy it because it was fun to write. Michael’s humanity has died with his human side. Even though he now has control over his vectors he still isn’t out of the frying pan yet. The day still holds horrors in store for our young diclonius. Stay tuned in for more Angel of Massacre.

Something to note: the boy in bandages, the one that dwells in Michael’s mind, he is not the same as the bandaged person in Lucy’s head. This diclonius mind has a different personality. He’s still sadistic and malevolent. But he isn’t as impersonal and cold. He is more ambitious and abusive as well as casual. Unlike Lucy’s diclonius personality, he wants to get in the action. He isn’t going to appear when Michael’s powers awaken and then disappear for a long time. He will make many more appearances as he tries to micromanage Michael’s life through pain and abuse. His bizarre voice was inspired through multiple works of art. If you have played a game called The Darkness, then you have a good idea of what the bandaged boy’s voice came from. He doesn’t sound exactly like that, but I suppose you have an idea of what it may sound like.

PS. A reward for the first one to tell me Lucy’s real name.