[Reborn] Hunger Games (khrfest)
Prompt: khrfest Belphegor - psychokiller; “I kill people when they’re not polite.”
Summary: Squalo hates being the babysitter, especially when they're on a mission, and he's stuck with the two of them. TYL setting.
This is actually more on comedy and nonsense than anything else. And Bel didn't end up being the serial killer I wanted him to be.
UPDATE: 03/25/12 (Wow, can't believe it's been almost 2 years) A cleaner, edited version of this is up at AO3. Please read that instead, thank you!
Hunger Games
Blood stained every inch of surface of the underground parking lot. Squalo glanced at their handiwork with an uncharacteristic frown. Something didn’t feel right, something that was out of place.
“Hey, brat,” he yelled at Fran, who was perched on a fallen beam, poking every dead body he came across for boxes. “Where the fuck is that crazy prince?”
“No idea,” came the singsong reply. Squalo gritted his teeth in annoyance.
“He must be upstairs, getting rid of the others.”
The swordsman glared at their new recruit, who just shrugged away the burning stare.
“Better be glad the boss finds you useful, you fucking brat.” Squalo growled, before turning away to find Belphegor. That crazy kid better not do anything stupid.
--
Don Ricardo Amalfi knew something was not right when he entered his office that was devoid of any bodyguard and light. He tried the switch, but the light remained out of power. The lightning and thunder outside was his only source of light, and after a great flash, his worry grew when he realized everything was arranged too orderly--even his things that were left in disarray.
He shivered in fear. When he felt a cold draft of air passed through him, in a sealed room, he began to shake in terror.
Trembling hands grabbed for the handgun hidden in the first cabinet of the desk. But before his fingers could completely wrap around the cold metal, a great shadow loomed over him.
Jerking away, Don Ricardo ran to the opposite side of the room, gun lying forgotten on the floor.
“W-Who are you?”
The stranger only grinned, the rest of him hidden behind the curtain of shadow. Then another flash from outside; Don Ricardo screamed in terror.
The young man--his would-be killer, he realized, if he didn’t escape now--made a ‘tsk’ sound, frowning disappointingly at him.
“That was not really nice, Mr. Pigface.”
His mind raced in chaos, thousands of thoughts colliding against one another until nothing remained but confusion, and in such a state he demanded the young stranger to leave.
The young man wasn’t pleased, clearly enough. Any form of expression disappeared. All that remained was a blank face and a too shiny arc of floating knife behind him, like a pair of surreal wings.
“I do not like people who are not kind to me because I am a prince.”
One of those knives flew across the air in the blink of an eye, and then he screamed and screamed even louder when one followed after another. The pain seared in every part of his body. Never had he felt so warm yet so wet at the same time.
“Do you want to know what I do to very bad people?”
He shook his wildly. He must have pissed himself in fear, yet he didn’t care, not when that face was once again grinning maddeningly.
“I eat them.”
He screamed. Those were the last words he heard before the thunder made its last roar, blinding white then turning into nothing but black.
--
When Squalo arrived at the mansion’s main hall, he felt like he had stepped into a scene straight from a horror movie. Everything was too quiet, too eerie. Worse, there was no Bel in sight.
“Voi, you sure he went here?”
“Yessu.”
Squalo ignored the terrible urge to stab the annoying brat in the face. There was a damn good reason why they had the ultimate rule of never leaving Belphegor alone. One, it meant letting a psychokiller on the loose, and two, someone had to deal with the annoying froghead, because the froghead only goes on mission if their lunatic prince does. He had no idea how the fuck their trash of a boss allowed this when he wouldn’t even eat steak that wasn’t fucking Angus.
Squalo despised having a mission with either of the two idiots. He’d take a glass to the head than be left for a whole night-or worse, a week-with them. He wasn’t Lussuria who was built to handle morons. For fuck’s sake, he was the fucking Sword Emperor of the Varia.
“VOI! GET THE FUCK OUT HERE NOW YOU BLOODY DAMN IDIOT PRINCE!”
“Wasn’t that a bit redundant, Chief?”
“Shut the fuck up, brat.”
Resisting another urge to dice the stupid frog there and then, Squalo trudged on deeper into the west wing, the first floor first. Best to find the Don’s office. Bel would most likely be there. He had no doubt Bel surely ran after the old man, just to toy with him like a cat to a mouse.
He stopped only when the scent of blood permeating the hall became too strong, and this time he was sure his senses weren’t just imagining it.
“What are the chances of Bel mincing the old trash already?” he asked the useless frog absently. Fran yawned in response. Damn cheeky moron. Should have killed him before Boss spared him.
Following the coppery scent, Squalo ended up outside the door second to the last of the west wing. A large patch of blood had already settled into the carpet of the doorway. There had to be more of it beyond the shut double-doors.
With a loud yell, Squalo kicked the door down, sword arm waving in the arm. It was the best way not to imagine whatever artwork Bel had made out of their target.
Their prince was sitting on the large desk occupying almost the entire window side of the room, knives everywhere on the floor. There was no body of their target on sight though. Squalo’s annoyance only turned into anger.
“What the fuck did you do this time, you stupid moron.”
Bel grinned and laughed his usual laugh. Behind him, Fran whistled loudly. Don’t be so damn happy, you stupid frog, Squalo thought darkly, every possible scene of a raging, tantrum-throwing boss in mind. These two idiots just can’t understand the fact that he, the Chief Commander, gets the damn blame for every single fuck up they do. He, Squalo Superbi, the fucking Chief Commander, gets the whiskey glass to the head every damn time they decide to be a bunch of baboons.
“I’m a prince, you commoner.”
“Fine, you stupid moronic prince,” Squalo growled, hands perched on his hips. If Lussuria was here, that disgusting peacock would be laughing his ass off already. “Where the fuck is the trash?”
Bel grinned, and Fran whistled again. Fuck. Goodbye, another good night’s sleep in a soft bed.
“My tummy.”
Fuck.
“What did he taste like?” the stupid froghead asked.
“Like shit. He’s nothing but fats. I think I ate a diseased liver.”
Squalo bit back a scream. With all force he could muster, he slammed the two heads together, thin lips cracking into a wide grin as he watched the two skulls crash and bleed and the two bloody idiots howl in pain.
“You idiots are going to fucking explain this to the boss. I ain’t explaining a single shit of this. Am I fucking clear?”
The painful, almost dying groan from the two was enough to appease Squalo.
END
Summary: Squalo hates being the babysitter, especially when they're on a mission, and he's stuck with the two of them. TYL setting.
This is actually more on comedy and nonsense than anything else. And Bel didn't end up being the serial killer I wanted him to be.
UPDATE: 03/25/12 (Wow, can't believe it's been almost 2 years) A cleaner, edited version of this is up at AO3. Please read that instead, thank you!
Hunger Games
Blood stained every inch of surface of the underground parking lot. Squalo glanced at their handiwork with an uncharacteristic frown. Something didn’t feel right, something that was out of place.
“Hey, brat,” he yelled at Fran, who was perched on a fallen beam, poking every dead body he came across for boxes. “Where the fuck is that crazy prince?”
“No idea,” came the singsong reply. Squalo gritted his teeth in annoyance.
“He must be upstairs, getting rid of the others.”
The swordsman glared at their new recruit, who just shrugged away the burning stare.
“Better be glad the boss finds you useful, you fucking brat.” Squalo growled, before turning away to find Belphegor. That crazy kid better not do anything stupid.
--
Don Ricardo Amalfi knew something was not right when he entered his office that was devoid of any bodyguard and light. He tried the switch, but the light remained out of power. The lightning and thunder outside was his only source of light, and after a great flash, his worry grew when he realized everything was arranged too orderly--even his things that were left in disarray.
He shivered in fear. When he felt a cold draft of air passed through him, in a sealed room, he began to shake in terror.
Trembling hands grabbed for the handgun hidden in the first cabinet of the desk. But before his fingers could completely wrap around the cold metal, a great shadow loomed over him.
Jerking away, Don Ricardo ran to the opposite side of the room, gun lying forgotten on the floor.
“W-Who are you?”
The stranger only grinned, the rest of him hidden behind the curtain of shadow. Then another flash from outside; Don Ricardo screamed in terror.
The young man--his would-be killer, he realized, if he didn’t escape now--made a ‘tsk’ sound, frowning disappointingly at him.
“That was not really nice, Mr. Pigface.”
His mind raced in chaos, thousands of thoughts colliding against one another until nothing remained but confusion, and in such a state he demanded the young stranger to leave.
The young man wasn’t pleased, clearly enough. Any form of expression disappeared. All that remained was a blank face and a too shiny arc of floating knife behind him, like a pair of surreal wings.
“I do not like people who are not kind to me because I am a prince.”
One of those knives flew across the air in the blink of an eye, and then he screamed and screamed even louder when one followed after another. The pain seared in every part of his body. Never had he felt so warm yet so wet at the same time.
“Do you want to know what I do to very bad people?”
He shook his wildly. He must have pissed himself in fear, yet he didn’t care, not when that face was once again grinning maddeningly.
“I eat them.”
He screamed. Those were the last words he heard before the thunder made its last roar, blinding white then turning into nothing but black.
--
When Squalo arrived at the mansion’s main hall, he felt like he had stepped into a scene straight from a horror movie. Everything was too quiet, too eerie. Worse, there was no Bel in sight.
“Voi, you sure he went here?”
“Yessu.”
Squalo ignored the terrible urge to stab the annoying brat in the face. There was a damn good reason why they had the ultimate rule of never leaving Belphegor alone. One, it meant letting a psychokiller on the loose, and two, someone had to deal with the annoying froghead, because the froghead only goes on mission if their lunatic prince does. He had no idea how the fuck their trash of a boss allowed this when he wouldn’t even eat steak that wasn’t fucking Angus.
Squalo despised having a mission with either of the two idiots. He’d take a glass to the head than be left for a whole night-or worse, a week-with them. He wasn’t Lussuria who was built to handle morons. For fuck’s sake, he was the fucking Sword Emperor of the Varia.
“VOI! GET THE FUCK OUT HERE NOW YOU BLOODY DAMN IDIOT PRINCE!”
“Wasn’t that a bit redundant, Chief?”
“Shut the fuck up, brat.”
Resisting another urge to dice the stupid frog there and then, Squalo trudged on deeper into the west wing, the first floor first. Best to find the Don’s office. Bel would most likely be there. He had no doubt Bel surely ran after the old man, just to toy with him like a cat to a mouse.
He stopped only when the scent of blood permeating the hall became too strong, and this time he was sure his senses weren’t just imagining it.
“What are the chances of Bel mincing the old trash already?” he asked the useless frog absently. Fran yawned in response. Damn cheeky moron. Should have killed him before Boss spared him.
Following the coppery scent, Squalo ended up outside the door second to the last of the west wing. A large patch of blood had already settled into the carpet of the doorway. There had to be more of it beyond the shut double-doors.
With a loud yell, Squalo kicked the door down, sword arm waving in the arm. It was the best way not to imagine whatever artwork Bel had made out of their target.
Their prince was sitting on the large desk occupying almost the entire window side of the room, knives everywhere on the floor. There was no body of their target on sight though. Squalo’s annoyance only turned into anger.
“What the fuck did you do this time, you stupid moron.”
Bel grinned and laughed his usual laugh. Behind him, Fran whistled loudly. Don’t be so damn happy, you stupid frog, Squalo thought darkly, every possible scene of a raging, tantrum-throwing boss in mind. These two idiots just can’t understand the fact that he, the Chief Commander, gets the damn blame for every single fuck up they do. He, Squalo Superbi, the fucking Chief Commander, gets the whiskey glass to the head every damn time they decide to be a bunch of baboons.
“I’m a prince, you commoner.”
“Fine, you stupid moronic prince,” Squalo growled, hands perched on his hips. If Lussuria was here, that disgusting peacock would be laughing his ass off already. “Where the fuck is the trash?”
Bel grinned, and Fran whistled again. Fuck. Goodbye, another good night’s sleep in a soft bed.
“My tummy.”
Fuck.
“What did he taste like?” the stupid froghead asked.
“Like shit. He’s nothing but fats. I think I ate a diseased liver.”
Squalo bit back a scream. With all force he could muster, he slammed the two heads together, thin lips cracking into a wide grin as he watched the two skulls crash and bleed and the two bloody idiots howl in pain.
“You idiots are going to fucking explain this to the boss. I ain’t explaining a single shit of this. Am I fucking clear?”
The painful, almost dying groan from the two was enough to appease Squalo.
END