Revenge Is Mine - prologue

by KatiKat
 
 

The sun was setting, coloring the sky blood red and orange.

The graveyard was silent, the only sound the screeching of the iron gate being pulled open.

Two men stepped through the elaborately ornated iron wing. One was the master, leading the way, his right leg having a small limp. The other was the servant, walking two steps behind, his alert eyes combing the surrounding area for trouble.

The man was dressed all in black. His expensive suit, his coat, his gloves, his shoes... His long brown hair was tied back at the nape of his neck. His walking stick hit the pavement with a rhythmic tap-tap. The last rays of the setting sun glinted off the mask that hid one half of his face. It was silver, etched with intertwined spirals and swirls. The mask covered his forehead and both of his deep blue eyes then ran from his left cheekbone over the bridge of his nose down to the right side of his jaw. The expression on his face was cold and distant.

The men walked through the rows and rows of graves and tombs, heading for the one they came to visit from such a distance. And then they finally reached it, nothing more than a simple marble plate with gold etched letters, hidden among expensive tombs, looking small and forlorn. Fresh earth surrounded it, the grass gone from recent digging.

The servant stepped back in reverence, leaving his master alone with the buried one.

"Hey," the black dressed man whispered, his voice harsh from an injury that took its toll and mangled his body. "I'm sorry for coming so late." He paused as if waiting for an answer. A flock of birds passed above his head, crying out, the death one stayed silent though.

Etched letters, painted in gold. Two dates, one name. 176 AC - 205 AC. So young, gone before his time came.

The man reached into his coat and pulled out a single blood red rose, careful not to break the stem. He then crouched down stifly, pain shooting up his injured leg. He ignored it. In the last ten years he learned to live with pain - the pain of the body and the pain of the soul.

He laid the rose down on the white marble plate, then ran his fingers gently over the etched name. "She didn't even bury you under your own name," he croaked out again. "Not Milliardo, the Prince. But Zechs, the Soldier, the Traitor, the Black Sheep. Not worthy of the royal tomb." His voice cracked with silent fury.

The sun disappeared behind the horizon and the sky darkened. The first stars appeared on the dark velvety canopy.

"I've loved only two men in my life, precious, now one of them is lying in a grave, alone in the dark. Dead by his own hand." He fell silent, gazing down at the name he never thought he would see carved in a gravestone.

He lifted his hand from the gold etched letters and closed his hand in a fist. When he spoke, his voice was full of menace and arctic cold. "I don't know what happened, precious, but I will find out. I will uncover who hurt you so much that you thought death was the only escape. And I swear to you," his voice grew even more quiet, "they will pay."

With a last glance, a last caress, he got up, leaning heavily on the cane. Without looking back, the black-clad man headed for the gate, the servant falling in step behind him.

And when he sat down on the expensive plush seat and the servant closed the door of the limousine, he laid the walking stick aside and reached for the stack of files, lying on the seat just opposite him. He leaned back comfortably, then switched on the small reading light just as the car was set in motion, the engine humming quietly under the hood. He opened the yellow cover of the top most file and read the first name...

Lucrezia Noin...


TBC