Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction / Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction ❯ Amethyst Angel ❯ "The dead cannot cry out for justice; it is a duty of the living to do so ( Chapter 1 )

Tittle: Amethyst Angel

Pairings: Tsuzuki/Muraki (yes, you read that right), Muraki/Aya, Muraki/Crawford (or the other way around, I don't know yet)

Rating: this chapter PG, later NC-17

Disclaimer: They are not mine! The OCs are mine though.

Summary: Kritiker agents start disappearing and the Weiss assassins are investigating. Muraki gets himself in trouble too deep even for him. Crawford get's more and more disturbing visions and an ancient evil has come to world of the living to get was is his.

A/N: My biggest Thanks to my wonderful beta Conny, aka Blue Orange. I don't know what I would do without her!

<lj-cut text="Amehtyst Angel 1/?">Amethyst Angel 1/?

"The dead cannot cry out for justice; it is a duty of the living to do so

for them."

The flower shop was crowded with fan girls as usual. Yohji was

flirting shamelessly with the beautiful little things who batted

their eyelashes at him and watched him with soulful eyes. Aya growled "If you're not goingtobuy

anything, get OUT!" every five minutes. Not that it helped much. The

girls

batted eyelashes at him too, giggled and blushed. That was to be expected,

of

course, as "Shi-ne" glares don't work on crazed fan girls.

Giving a bouquet of irises to a squealing girl, Yohji glanced at his

team-mate and tried desperately not to laugh. The guy sure had no people

skills.

Thankfully for the peeved red-head, the phone in the back room rang, its

sound piercing the cacophony of squeals. Relieved that he could get out of

the room, he stalked through the back door causing pouts and disappointed

sighs in his wake.

Answering the phone, he heard the oh-so-familiar voice of Manx:

"Abyssinian?" she said.

Was Aya imagining things or her voice did her voice sound particularly worried?

"Yes?"

"I'll come this evening. Gather your team. We have a problem." the woman was

speaking in clipped, emotionless tone, which bode nothing good.

"Hai."

The line went out.

Something was wrong, obviously. Frowning Aya put down the receiver. After

short contemplation he picked up the receiver again and dialed a number. The

phone on the other side rang a few times.

"Hello?"

"Ken?"

"Yes, Aya? What is it? I was just going to a football practise with the

kids..." Ken definitely sounded annoyed.

"I know. But Manx called. Don't be late. Omi should be home soon too."

He hung up the phone.

Going back to the shop (and, of course, to the fan girls who met him with

eye-poking smiles) he shot Yohji a meaningful look.

Kudou Yohji knew very wellwhat that look meant: Mission. But, as he was still flooded with fan girls

offering him their phone numbers there wasn't anything he could do. Yohji

glanced at the clock. 3 pm.

Two more hours until closing time. Well, there was nothing else to do but

enjoy the attention and ignore the seething Aya.

As the minutes passed, the crowd of simpering fan girls slowly

decreased. Ken and Omi came back and almost caused a riot among those who

still

remained.

Finally, after much squealing, flirting and blushing the last of them left

and Aya locked the door with a relieved sigh. Sometimes these creatures were

scarier than the most dangerous of the psychos they faced on missions. A

small part of his brain that had retained his sense of humour (not that he

would

admit that to save his life) wondered if it wouldn't be easier

for Kritiker to simply send the fan girls to deal with the psychopaths.

The

poor criminals wouldn't stand a chance.

The four assassins started cleaning the shop and putting

the

flowers back in the in the back room. It was

an

annoying, tedious work and the four men did it quietly, each of them with

lost

in his own thoughts.

Omi thought of the upcoming mission as he had been told by Aya of Manx's

call earlier that day.

Ken thought of the Football World Championship and

hoped that he'd stay alive long enough to watch it.

Yohji thought of the date he'd probably miss today and that he'd have

to buy the girl a present [in order] to apologise for standing her up. He

didn't wish to lose that acquaintance as said girl could suck like a

vacuum-cleaner.

Aya thought of his sister's hospital bill wondering how

much Kritiker would pay him for this mission, and part of him worried about

Manx's tone.

Finally, at 7.00 pm Manx knocked on the shop's glass doors and Yohji rushed

to open it and let her in.

"Come in, Manx." he said, looking her over from head to toe and giving her

his most charming smile. "You're beautiful as always."

She ignored him completely and headed straight down for the mission room.

The Weiss members looked at each other. Something was wrong. They followed

the woman downstairs.

She had already sat down on one of the chairs and was fumbling through the

contents of her black diplomatic case. As all of them sat down she looked up

and started to talk in the same emotionless, clipped tone she had used on

the phone call earlier.

"As I already told Abyssinian, we have a problem." she paused, as if

wondering how exactly to put it. They looked at her expectantly.

"Kritiker agents are disappearing. We found a couple of bodies and were

barely able to recognise them by the teeth" Here she gave them a set of

photos.

Aya took his, looked at it and wondered what exactly he was seeing. Then it

hit him. It was a body, but it had no skin. It lay on the ground, the

muscles shining red, its limbs bent at odd angles, eyes torn out, mouth

opened in a endless silent scream, the tongue torn to ribbons hanging out of

it - a grotesque image of what used to be a human being.

Putting an effort not to wince he looked at Manx.

"Were all of them like this?"

"Yes."

He glanced over to his team. Yohji was still looking at the photo,

his face pale, his mouth a thin bloodless line. Ken was looking at the

picture, too, but he was beet red and his lips were pulled into a snarl. Omi

had

put the image down and was staring at the wall behind Aya with an unreadable

face.

Finally, Yohji turned to the woman.

"How many are missing?' he asked quietly.

"Currently we are unable to locate the whereabouts of ten agents, these

four" she pointed at the pictures "excluded"

Even Aya seemed to be surprised by those words.

"Fourteen agents?!"

"Yes..." but she could not continue as the next question came from Omi:

"Are you sure that all of them are missing because of the same reason?" It

was strange how a fifteen year old could sound just as emotionless as Aya

himself after what he had just seen. It was not only strange, it was

disturbing.

"Yes, Bombay, all of them went missing under the same circumstances. They

disappeared from their homes."

"From their homes?" Ken looked surprised.

"Yes. They went home, but no one saw them getting out. No one was seen

entering after or before them, we found no traces of other people than our

agents. The apartments were in chaos as if there had been a fight...or a cat

and mouse game. We found no blood though."

Ever the detective, Yohji asked:

"Was there any connection between the missing agents or those whose bodies

were found?"

Manx sighed and fixed a wrinkle on her red skirt.

"Not one we're aware of or one we could find."

She handed Omi a stack of files. "These are the files of all the agents -

missing or dead." Then she handed him a CD. "And these are photos of the

places where we found the bodies and crime-scenes."

Omi grimly took the files and the disc.

"Kritiker wants you to find the people responsible for this and dispose of

them."

Aya nodded quietly.

"I have to warn you, though. Some of the missing agents are one of our best

operatives. The fact that they were overpowered so easily means that this was the work of a professional. Proceed with great caution. There are

no suspects for now, but the people who could do this are very few."

"Schwarz?" asked Ken.

"That is a possibility, of course, but not the only one."

She sighed again and stood up.

"Well, this is it."

Throwing one last look at the photo Aya went to walk her out.

"I'll be working, if anyone needs me" Omi said, taking the CD.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When he woke up the first thing he realised was that he was bound and very

much naked. His limbs were restrained by steel manacles on his

ankles and wrists, spreading his hands and legs wide. The room, wherever it

was,

was pitch-black, without a single ray of light getting in.

He was lying on the cold stone floor. The air was just as chilly and he was

sure that had there been light he would have seen his breath as puffy white

clouds.

Needless to say, Muraki Kazutaka was not happy. He was used to putting

people in such position, not being put in one himself. The last time had

been in his childhood...but the sensei did not want to go back to that

unpleasant memory.

Yet there was something even more disturbing than the manacles: he did not

feel his power. Not even an ounce of it. Try as might, it simply wasn't

there.

Giving up, he decided to try the bonds with sheer physical strength. But

against steel, that was useless. Stopping his pulling, he took a deep

breath, exhaled and relaxed. There had to be a way to free himself.

A male voice, seemingly coming from all sides interrupted his thoughts:

"I'd stop trying, if I were you."

"Oh? Would you give up, were you in MY place?" Muraki asked his

captor smoothly, his voice calm and steady.

"No, I suppose not. But it's useless anyways." Muraki could feel the

mocking smile in that tone. "After all, your victims never gave up, didn't

they?"

"So, this is about revenge?" Muraki's mind was racing. 'Who could this

person be?'

The man, wherever he was, laughed good-naturedly.

"Oh, no, my dear sensei. I honestly do not give a damn about what you did or

did not do."

"Why am I here then? What do you want?" Muraki made a conscious effort to

sound as calm as if he was drinking his morning tea with Oriya. "Why

don't you show yourself? I'd like to speak face to face."

A long, silent pause followed.

"Are you scared sensei?" the man asked quietly and before Muraki could

answer he continued "But of course you are. You'd be a fool not to be and

you're not a fool."

More silence. Muraki lay and waited calmly.

Quiet steps approached him, their sound echoing in the room. Muraki felt

someone's breath against his cheek - hot and fragrant, scented with roses

and honey.

"You asked what I wanted, sensei." the voice whispered in his ear, softly,

intimately. "I want simple things" a pause "and you're just the right person

to give them to me."

Soft light illuminated the room. Muraki Kazutaka did not see its splendour,

the ornamented red marble ceiling, nor the heavy white velvet curtains, nor

the dark amethyst angel spreading onyx wings and holding a whip. He did not

see it for he stared into coal-black eyes on a pale and delicate male face.

Muraki did not believe in heaven or hell, or, in his arrogance,

considered himself above them. But in those burning black eyes, not having

an ounce of white, he saw Hell.

Pale lips, paler even than his own, smiled showing perfect and sharp white

teeth.

"I want my son, sensei."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blood. So much blood. It covered the floor, it stained the walls, it dripped

from the ceiling. Drip, drip, drip. Flash of light. The scene

changed. Now it was in black and white. Bodies torn to pieces. There was no

sound, only images and feelings. Terror. Fury. Agony. Hatred. Vengeance.

Malice.TerrorFuryAgonyHatredVengeanceMaliceTerrorFury...

Bradley Crawford woke up with a start, covered with cold sweat and gasping

for breath.

TBC...

Oh, dear. Well, how is it? Like it? Hate it?</lj-cut>