Hi, this is my first fanfic ever. Bit lyrical at first, but REALLY ANGSTY later. So bear with me. This is a oneshot but may be adapted into a prologue for a longer chapter fanfic if reviews are good. I do not own D-Gray Man or any of its characters, never will, so on with it!

Fire crawls up the side of the mansion cackling with insane wit, meandering like the veins of ivy now withering in searing pain. The sharp odour of vaporized varnish hangs in the air over the cracking casement, through which the fragile half-light of sunset precedes the sun's true flames. A thunderous crash: yellow-fingered claw gouges out the fragile panes of glass as easily as a bird's fluttering heart. A glowing grin glares for the tiniest manifestation of time at the insides of the chamber; then the flames leap forward in its breaching of the fortress. Tongues of incandescent light rip out a graceful chandelier, mangling and twisting the metal into a crooked spider's burnt-out husk. They taste the air before them, curling with excitement at the scent of fear that exudes from the hungry depths. Over crisping wooden floorboards swarm a multitude of exploding lights, tumbling over each other like growling leopards at play.

A voice like liquid nitrogen softly intones, "Cease." With a speed born of rushing emptiness, the flames turn and flee eastward, through shattered casement and dying light, leaving a smattering of dust drifting, alighting on the mirrored surface of black leather shoes.

"What a glorious display," drawls the owner. "A pity it came at the price of my favorite pair of shoes." The voice flows with the skill of an orator with eloquence born not of practice, but of natural expertise. The chamber shivers in response, all warmth but a memory, rapidly fading in biting cold. In the disappearing bars of yellow light from fading sun, the pathetic bundle of rags piled in a corner whimpers. It has every right to. The shoes are neatly making their way around pools of once molten metal, now freezing over with the passing of their presence. Well-paced steps that approach without haste, click-clacking smartly against stone. Tyki Mikk stops with a smile in front of the cowering Finder.

"Are you the one I am looking for?" asks the handsome face with a line of crosses across the forehead, half-obscured by a sleek top hat. With a gentleman's flourish, a card appears, which, defying all laws of gravity and centripetal motion, spins gracefully on his fingertip. The Finder shrinks even further into his filthy rags.

"How might you be this fine evening?" Tyki says conversationally, his smile widening with macabre pleasure. "Is he the one?" he quietly murmurs.

"NO HE ISN'T! NOW STOP WASTING TIME AND CONTINUE WITH THE MISSION!" explodes a tiny figure from the face of the card, hammering its fists against the bars of its cell.

"Alright, alright. Sheesh," Tyki glares. "Now what will I do with you?" he dispassionately directs at the Finder. "I see you're not an exorcist, just another pathetic little lesser human in my way."

The Finder's hands scrabble quietly behind his back, fumbling hopelessly against a large metal box half-melted by the heat. A tiny, almost imperceptible click announces a successful connection to Headquarters. With a lazy, yet blindingly fast motion, Tyki brings his immaculately handmade shoe down on the Finder's hand. A surprisingly loud crack echoes across the stone chamber, a variation of the melody of a Finder's tortured scream, all a perfect symphony to Tyki's ears. His grin widens, showing snow white teeth in a charming shark-like smile.

"I know you can all hear me."

Horrified silence emanates from the handset. With difficulty, Tyki represses a laugh. No need to waste more time.

"I am currently looking for an exorcist by the name of Allen Walker. Do yourselves a favour, tell me his location, and I will spare this worthless excuse for an existence in front of me."

The silence changed in pitch, from terror to quiet determination.

"Very well. Then know that in this game, no gambler can ever win a victory over me. I hold all the cards, and the Ace of Spades belongs to me. Get out of my way, and have a pleasant evening."

With a short, light laugh, Tyki smashes the metal box into pieces. He looks with bemusement at the Finder's face, pinched white with pain, and wonders what his skull would look like if he did the same to it. With a magician's theatrics, Tykki produces a black-winged butterfly, and whispers, "Go forth, Tease."

Outside the mansion, the last sliver of orange disappears below the horizon. As Night dances in her little eddies over the darkening sky, another show is starting in little burnt stone chamber on the second floor of an abandoned mansion. A show in which one participant laughs with morbid delight and the other screams for release.