Disclaimer: I do not own Shadow Hearts, Aruze does, so don't sue. I only own the OCs and most of the story.
Author's Note: Okay, this is my first story, so don't be too harsh. Though helpful criticisms would be most appreciated, so please review. I've noticed there aren't many stories on Killer, which is a shame really. So, I decided to dedicate my first story to one of my favourite characters in the Shadow Hearts series. If you don't like reading about horror, gore, etc. then don't read. Other than that, I hope you enjoy it.
The year was 1915, when the whole world broke into chaos. It was a miserable, wet, November's day, but the terrible weather did nothing to quench the anticipation that the children in school harboured. Every one of them near the edge of their seats, some having to hold onto their desks in case they fell and made a fool of themselves. Their teacher's robotic voice hadn't even registered inside their brains, too excited to get out of this hellhole and run off home. The normal average school day you'd expect.
Once they were told to have a nice weekend, the children charged at the door. The smaller ones didn't stand a chance at surviving the stampede. One of them, picked himself off the floor and gathered his books. A small, skinny boy by the age of ten. His pale, chalky skin contrasted against his bright, fiery red hair. His large brown eyes, the right one covered by his bangs, narrowed as he looked at the crowd of kids, who were now fighting as to who got out the gates first. He followed after them, but made sure to keep a good distance away between them. His name was Matt Smith.
He was a quiet young boy with no friends. He had always tried to avoid their taunts and their snide comments. He tried to avoid the humiliation that the kids in school used to give him. All he wanted was to be left alone. Unfortunately for Matt, children can be so cruel. He was always picked on because of his skinny frame, he was always tagged the "weakling" in school, not only because of his physical features, but also because he had lost ever fight he has ever been in up to date. He was no match for the stronger and older boys in the school.
Matt gathered up his torn and tattered books, his parents couldn't afford to buy better ones, and headed towards the gates. It was quite a long walk from home, he had to pass several streets to get there. He walked by a few brick houses when the heavens opened. As the rain pelted down, Matt regretted that he didn't bring a coat, his mother would kill him if he came home in wet clothes. He began to sprint, zipping through a few people rushing to get into shelter. He decided to take a shortcut through an alleyway.
His feet made splashes when they hit the puddles. The rain rolled off of his flesh and travelled towards his now drenched clothes. 'Mom's gonna kill me…' he groaned, forcing his short legs to move faster. The sky gave out a roar, too loud for Matt to hear the splashes following behind him.
Someone grabbed his arm, turned him around and shoved him up against a brick wall. Matt looked up at the round face of the person that he feared the most, Tom Larkin, mourning the fact that he was shorter than him. Two other boys appeared behind Tom, though Matt didn't recognise them.
'It's a bit dangerous for a twerp like you to be running along here,' Tom shouted over the rain. Matt tried to get away but Tom grabbed him by the neck, 'Why are you in a hurry?' he sneered, tightening his grip. 'I'm just trying to have some fun'
Matt punched Tom in the stomach and tried to slip away. However the two other boys grabbed his shoulders and pushed him onto the ground. They started to lay into him. Kicking, punching, hitting and spitting at him. He tried to shield himself from the blows but to of no avail. Tom was a big bulky fellow, while the other two inflicted a massive amount of pain, he could deal worse. He started punching Matt's face, chest and stomach. Tom took out a small knife and penetrated Matt's gut, twisting and shoving the blade deeper into him, causing him to scream out in pain.
After what seemed to be agonisingly forever, they got off of him. Tom gave one last kick into the face and crotch, then headed off with the other two, leaving a bruised, bloodied, battered and broken boy- inside and out.
Matt crawled over gingerly to his books. They were torn and the ink was being washed out, he began to dread what his parents would do to him once they found out about the books. He clutched his stomach where the knife was driven into him. He tried to lift himself off of the floor but his arms buckled and his chin banged off of the pavement. He just lay there. He didn't know how long he spent there in the pool of water, mixing in with his blood and his tears. He hated crying. Crying meant sensitivity. Sensitivity meant weakness and the last thing Matt wanted was to be weak. He needed to toughen up and fast.
He grabbed hold of a nearby dumpster and hauled himself up. He limped onto the streets with his books. He took one step forward and his ankle gave way. People either walked past him or walked over him. No one bothered to ask if the poor boy was alright.
Matt gave up hoping for someone to care a long time ago.