The art of war isn't always fought on the battlefields. Or perhaps, a better way to phrase this is to say that battlefields aren't always conventional... or necessarily accessible. The art of family warfare is that which cannot be easily entered or stopped. However, there are certain variables that are always constant.
One, it is always personal for every family member, and anyone else involved.
Two, it is always
bloody. Blood is dangerous, even before it is spilled.
Blood is dangerous, even before it is spilled.
Darius Sr. DeValle
(Deling City – 20:05)
A man rounded a corner in a torrential downpour.
He'd lost his trailer four blocks before and that had given him some sense of relief, but he knew it wasn't time to relax. Just because he had lost the ones following him didn't mean they couldn't find him, or that he couldn't make a fatal turn. He quickened his pace. If he could just get to the safe house, he'd be protected.
Until then, he couldn't relax.
"Goddamn Deling family," He cursed under his breath as he made his way into a dark alley. His foot hit a particularly large puddle, and caused water to leak into his shoe. Coupled with the water cascading down in sheets, he was soaked, and it was getting worse.
"Whose idea was it to put the safe house on the damn outskirts? Wish those jackasses had given me a chance to get to my car…"
His legs, while cold, were burning. He'd run for almost ten blocks across the accursed Deling City, and the journey, being slowed by the slick ground seemed to loom horribly in front of him. He gritted his teeth against the pain, and grabbed the fence in front of him. His arms pulled him up and over, and he began his hastened pace down the alley.
Wasting no more time, he pulled a cell phone from his pocket. Holding down a number for a moment, he slammed the phone to his right ear. As he waited for an answer, he made his way across a busy street, barely being missed by a vehicle as it went way too fast for the conditions. He ignored the yelled curse as he made his way into another alley.
The voice startled him, but the situation he found himself in brought him to full attention.
"Look. They've hit most of the fronts on Third and Brenton. My crew's been wiped. I'm heading to the safe house. I need some back up!" He screamed into the phone, taking a left into a narrow pathway.
"What's your location?"
"I'm close to the safe house. You've gotta help me," He started, then silenced himself. A splash behind him had alerted his senses.
"I'm being followed."
The voice was silent for a moment.
"The safe house should be sending support any moment now," The voice responded.
"I hope so, cause those Deling shits aren't friendly."
"Less talking, and keep moving."
The man shook his head.
"Friendly as fuck, aren't ya."
He received no response, and smirked slightly despite his situation. His feet carried him through more alleys and led him closer to the outskirts. Somewhere along the way, he barely noticed that he wasn't being followed anymore.
"What's your current location?"
"I can see the safe house now. Where the hell is my back up?"
"Shut up. You'll have plenty once you're in the house," The voice scolded as the man, drenched as he was, ran to the side of a small building. A small keypad met his vision, and his eyes quickly adjusted to the dim lights.
"Three-Oh-One-Two-Six," The voice replied.
The man smiled as the door opened, and he stepped inside. Soaking wet, he made sure the door was closed behind him, and then turned on the light.
"Hey, you said there was people here, right?"
He looked around confusedly.
"I don't see anyone."
"Check the rest of the house, you moron."
The man sighed quietly, and made his way through the house.
The back entryway, empty.
The kitchen, empty.
The bedroom, empty.
"Where the fuck are they?"
"Check the front room. If Deling thugs are attacking, this place is probably on high alert."
'High alert, my ass' he thought as he made his way into the front room. His eyes immediately slammed shut. A quick intake of breath alerted the voice on the other end of the phone to a change in the situation.
"What is it? What did you find?!"
His mouth opened for a moment, to attempt to speak. But the words never left his mouth as pain shot through his abdomen. He slowly looked down, and saw the blade that had pierced his stomach. He didn't even have time to gasp as the phone was taken from his hand.
"Hey, answer me!"
The gloved hand brought the phone to a face; a woman's face. Her crimson lips curved up into a smile.
"I'm sorry, he's unable to take the phone right now. It appears he's had a bad case of death. I'll let him know you called," Her smoothly soft voice taunted.
The voice was cut off as the phone was tossed into the air, and sliced in half by a quick slash from her katana. With a smile, she pressed her own phone to her ear.
"It's me. I found him."
"He was DeValle, that's sure. He knew the code to the back entry."
"Fine. I'll be there in five."
She closed the phone, and slid its silver body into a small clip attached to her belt. Then, she pulled the blade in, sheathing it. Checking her gloves once more, black leather in nature, she looked out across the room. She could see what had shocked the man, and that was it's intended purpose.
It hadn't been difficult once she'd gotten her way into the safe house. The man at the door had no chance, and neither had his buddies. They were all the same. Fools who thought, and she used the term lightly, with their crotches.
She'd left the bodies in specific locations, each with specific wounds tailored to bring about the most shock and disgust. And look what it had netted her. She smiled at her last target, then walked away, her high-heeled boots clicking quietly against the concrete floor.
This idea was based out of a random strange thought I had, and was wrote up while in a voice chat. The Deling family is obviously recognizable, and the DeValle family may not be to you, unless you've read Nightfire's Eternal Requiem, and Dimensional Legend: Ben's Story. It might be helpful to read DL if you want to get a feel for this. Otherwise, just consider this a Mafia-type fic, semi in the style of Peptuck's 'Ronin.' If you don't know what I'm talking about when I say 'Ronin,' then you have not experienced in the way that it was meant to be experienced.