Puppets in a Tragedy

Summary: It's ironic that the future Bookman of all people should possess the heart of innocence, but as it turns out, the burden is not something one with a heart could bear. Too bad Lavi has not completely cast his aside yet.

Warnings: Un-betaed, crazy experimental writing style, character death, improbable theories and speculation on the heart, some violent imagery, spoilers for the latest manga chapters and fucking insane innocence.


The Earl was having a very good day.

It was Lulu Bell who came to him, a glitter of excitement in her eyes that was not quite reflected on her smooth, calm face. She'd not said a word, but he suspected what he was about to be presented as she guided him through the new and recently functioning ark. They came out in a small town, or at least the remnants of one, where he was greeted by an enthusiastic hug from Rhode. It was her that confirmed what he already knew.

He ignored the last remaining embers and the rubble that had once been buildings, and barely took in the smears of crimson liquid on the once white pavements. Tyki was more worthy of his notice, standing to his left smoking another cigarette, but even his importance paled in comparison to this. What mattered was right in front of him. A wall of crystal-like blue flames circling what could only be a human figure, though the effects of reflection and refraction and the hazy azure tint of the fire made it impossible to tell exactly which one of them it was.

The aura it gave off made him sick to the stomach, but even so, a shiver of excitement ran up his spine. This could be it. This could be what they'd been searching for. This could be the end of it all. He could barely contain himself as his sword materialised in his hand, one swipe easily dispersed the strange fiery substance (as he'd known it would, this was what his family had called him for after all) and the body within it fell out like a puppet with its strings cut. The boy's clothes were badly torn, exposing the raw red flesh underneath, and the side of his face was obscured by his long, charred black hair. One of his eyes showed through the strands, glazed over with exhaustion, resignation and bitterness, but still fully alert.

But the Earl ignored him, instead focusing on the katana still clenched in his hand. The same crystallised blaze that had surrounded the boy still encased the blade, and it flared indignantly. Refusing to admit defeat here but, like its wielder, too exhausted to carry on. The boy spat out a few choice curses that the Earl did not allow him to finish as he ripped out the weapons core and held it out for his family to see.

A shudder of anticipation went through them as they stared at the frail object too small to even fully cover his palm. Slowly, his finger closed around it, and though it thrashed violently, pushing back and struggling against its demise, it quickly faltered and was gone in a short burst of light.

It was then that he knew. This was wrong.

The Earl was having a very bad day.

But, as he stared down at the now unconscious body on the ground, he consoled himself in the fact that he still had something to take out his frustrations on.