Snippet #2512385

When the walls started exploding, spraying the crowd with fragments of cement and plaster, Fredrick did what came naturally: he protected the person closest to him, pushing them to the ground and shielding them with his body. Unfortunately for him, no good deed seems to go unpunished.

A particularly large chunk of cement smashed Fredrick in the lower back, but it didn't faze him. Serlina managed to throw up a shield of Rain flames at the last second, protecting Fredrick and those around him from the heavy debris.

When the dust settled, Fredrick looked down at who he managed to save with a smile. "I gotcha," he said, grinning goofily, his eyes squinched in effort.

He didn't expect to get punched in the face.

"Unhand me, cretin!" Came a familiar voice, though Fredrick couldn't immediately identify it. Reeling backwards, he fell onto his side, holding his mouth with his hands, countenance overtaken by a look of unadulterated shock, which gave way to fear as he realized who he'd so selflessly pushed to the ground.

It was the kid from before. The one who'd called him out of his name... again. Fred had noticed the kid lagging behind him like a stalker as he slowly made his way towards the front of the crowd earlier in the presentation. On several occasions, he attempted to lose him by taking a quick turn or picking up the pace, but sure enough the kid would always be a person or two away from him. Serlina would point him out. For a stalker, he was pretty bad at being inconspicuous, all things considered.

Multiple explosions rang out from the direction of the stage, shaking the very ground itself. A massive cloud of smoke billowed up around the area surrounding the stage, veiling it and a few of his friends in an inky opaque gloom. More debris showered the area as strange red balls hurdled about, bouncing off walls, crashing into chairs, and smashing out the overhead lighting.

"Ow!" Fredrick whined, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. He levelled his gaze upon the boy before him. "What'd you do that for?!"

The boy silently picked himself up, completely ignoring Fredrick's question in lieu of dusting himself off. He then fixed his collar with both hands.

For Fred, it was like deja vu. "Uh... sorry... again," he muttered, sighing.

"It's okay," the kid said, his tone soft and amiable—much to Fredrick's surprise. The boy's entire demeanor had changed. When before he was a petty brat, he now seemed more innocent and unassuming.

"Wha?!"

"I said: it's okay. Or, rather, it will be." The kid took a step closer to Fredrick, offering him his hand. "Hi, my name is Alastor. Alastor Rizzo, but you can call me Al." The kid took a quick look around the room, taking in the destruction. "I don't know what's happening, but we should get out of here, right?"

Fredrick had yet to accept the kid's hand, electing to stand on his own. Something about this kid seemed off to him.

"Fred! Duck!" Serlina shouted in his mind. Fred ducked just in time to dodge an inflamed Palla that hurtled overhead, smashing into a nearby table before bouncing away.

"Come on!" The kid Alastor prompted, his voice becoming more high-pitched, his demeanor overly innocent. He was still holding out his hand, wanting Fredrick to grab it. "Please!" The kid looked away, his posture becoming submissive. "I'm scared! I-I... I just want my mommy..."

.... . .

Fredrick felt like a fool. Worse than a fool. He felt like a bully. First he bumped into this poor kid, and then he bowled him over, and now the lad was begging for his help. The Vongola Rain guardian wilted visibly. How could he ever have thought twice about this innocent child? The boy just wanted some help!

"I'm so sorry," Fred said, his voice going up an octave. He grabbed the kid's outstretched hand with his own. "It'll be okay. Let's get out of here, and then we can find your parents, okay?"

Alastor nodded, still refusing to meet Fredrick's eyes. "Okay," he muttered meekly.

"Serlina!" Fredrick's faerie box weapon heeded his call, zipping to appear beside his face.
"Ready to fight?" She asked earnestly.
"No... uh, no. Not yet," he stammered, looking to her. "First we have to get this kid out of here. His name is Alastor and he needs our help!"

Unbeknownst to Fredrick, a malicious smirk had wormed its way onto the boy Alastor's face.

"Isn't that right, Alastor?" Fredrick asked, turning back to his youthful charge.

Alastor didn't respond, his head still bowed, the top half of his face shrouded in shadow.

"Al? Are you okay? Don't be scar—"

With one violent tug, Alastor pulled Fredrick towards him, nearly causing the taller boy to lose his balance. Taking advantage of Fredrick's tumultuous position, Alastor loosened his grip on his enemy's hand, choosing instead to close his fingers in around the Rain guardian's ring finger—around the Vongola Rain ring itself. With a motion as slick as an eel, Alastor tugged once again, slipping the ring off Fredrick's finger.

Almost.

Fredrick regained his balance much quicker than Alastor expected, snatching his hand away from the boy—ring and all.

"Tch." Alastor hopped backwards a couple of steps, taking in the fact that his ploy had failed. "You stupid asshole," he said, his words dripping with contempt, a finger pointed accusatorially at Fredrick. "I can't believe they let someone so gullible be a ring bearer! You don't deserve it!" Alastor struck a pose, his leading leg somewhat bent at the knee. "I know you must suffer from traumatic dumbass syndrome," he began hushedly, speaking more to himself than to Fredrick. He eyed his knee while he spoke, making a fist with his right hand. "So I'll make this as simple as I can..."

With a swift vertical stabbing motion, Alastor brought his closed fist straight down upon his own knee—like a judge pounding a gavel. To Fredrick, it seemed as if the boy were gripping a stick or rod of some sort, though there had been nothing in his hand a moment ago. Despite all of the commotion surrounding them, an eerie silence settled over the immediate area, muffling all other sounds.

A tingling sensation flared at the point where Alastor's fist contacted his knee, surging throughout his body like a storm. It was a moment before the boy overcame the rapturous feeling, taking a moment to calm himself.

Three... two... one...

"Come," he uttered, his eyes screwed shut, face contorted in extreme concentration. "Hour Hand."

Alastor began to pull his fist upward away from his knee, his movements lacking haste. What followed his clenched fist was not nothingness, however, but a gunmetal-silver machete-like blade no shorter than the length of two daggers. The boy pulled the weapon from his own knee as cleanly as a master chef would a blade from a knife block. When he was finished, there was no trace of damage or discoloration anywhere around where he'd summoned the weapon, as if he'd called it from out of thin air.

The boy crouched in an obviously practiced stance, holding the blade parallel to the floor, its lengthwise edge staring Fredrick dead in the face. A soft translucent blackness emanated from the weapon, captivating the Rain guardian. Within it were tiny lights and various other things that twinkled and popped to some unknown rhythm. Fredrick couldn't help but think of whole galaxies being born, filling the universe with their light.

Of planets dying, their luminescence snuffed out forever.

The kid Alastor spoke his next words very very slowly: "Hand over the ring or die."