Katekyō Hitman REB0RN!: The Next Generation



a part of Katekyō Hitman REB0RN!: The Next Generation, by Lloyd999.

Proud island nation of the Japanese.

Lloyd999 holds sovereignty over Japan, giving them the ability to make limited changes.
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A lot of the Vongola's attention is in Japan, thanks to the Tenth as he lived in Japan.
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Proud island nation of the Japanese.


Japan is a part of Earth.

2 Places in Japan:

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Miyamoto Keiko [1] "You're speaking to a champion, an apex predator."

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Shaji Ai Character Portrait: Fredrick Dill Koenig Character Portrait: Joel Lambe Character Portrait: Cain  Vongola

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Fredrick's father, Lorenzo Koenig, was more than just a genius engineer and black market weapons dealer. He was also a self-described "badass mechanic". At the moment, Fredrick was riding shotgun in one of his father's recent engineering marvels—a 3D-printed electric sportscar. The thing looked like a cross between a Lamborghini and a Camero, complete with sharp edges and jutting contours. The car itself had a pristine white paintjob, though the tires and rims, along with being bulletproof, were painted pitch black. The windows, too, were tinted to such an extent that they were impenetrable from the outside. When Fredrick inquired about the color choice one day, his father told him red and black are fast colors, Freddy, ya gotta think strategically; no cop expects the white car to be the speed demon. The memory brought a small smile to Fredrick's otherwise morose countenance, however fleeting. Currently, the sports car was bobbing and weaving through lanes of traffic, going nearly twice the speed limit of course, though that wasn't surprising considering his father was the one driving. Every so often, the man would mutter a slew of cuss words under his breath as he downshifted, making an obscene gesture at another driver and threatening vehicular homicide. Apparently, the rival motorist slighted him in some shape or form. Fredrick didn't really understand it, but it was usually hilarious to watch.

Not today, though. After everything that'd happened, the kid just wasn't in the mood for fun. Instead, he just sighed softly, his chin in his palm as he stared out the passenger-side window, a newly forlorn look fresh upon his face. In the back of his mind, Fredrick was hoping against hope that something would stop them from reaching their destination. Maybe a flat tire, or the car's battery going dead, or a bridge collapsing and they get stuck in immovable traffic. Something. Anything to stall them from reaching their final destination. As usual, luck was not on the boy's side. Within fifteen minutes, they exited the main road and entered an area saturated with trees and mountain life. It wasn't long before they rolled up to their destination: a large mansion on top of a hill. It was a Vongola-owned property in the countryside, managed by none other than the Lightning guardian himself, Joel Lambe.

In total, they'd been driving for around half an hour. GPS calculated that the trip should have taken double that. Yeah, his father had something of a lead foot. "Pedal to the metal" wasn't just a euphemism where he was concerned. Fredrick sighed again, looking down at the backpack that sat on the car floor, between his knees. He really didn't want to go.

"You ready, Fred?" He father asked, putting the car in neutral and pulling the brake lever before cutting the engine.

"Yes," Fredrick muttered, though from his tone, it was obvious that he didn't mean it.

Koenig turned to face his son, his expression somewhat concerned. "You didn't bring any web-accessible devices with you, right? No cells, pads, laptops..."

Fredrick shook his head in response, still staring down at the bag between his knees. "Yeah, dad, I know."

Despite his son's confirmation, Koenig continued, "... because I can almost guarantee that I've seen some iffy activity on the Vongola's server logs, and you guys shouldn't take any chances, especially with Cain in that condition—"

"Yeah, dad, yeah," Fredrick snapped, his tone dismissive. "The network and stuff. We know." Fredrick looked out the window towards the mansion. "There's no service out here anyway."

The two sat in awkward silence for a minute, the chirping of birds and clicking of the car's engine as it cooled the only sounds to reach their ears. After a while, Fredrick glanced briefly over at his father before looking back down at his backpack, wringing his hands. He realized that the old man was just trying to help, but... ... it just wasn't fair. None of it! Why did his ring have to get taken like this? Why was he so pathetic as a Vongola... as a hitman, a friend, a human being? He sighed, opening his mouth to apologize, but Koenig spoke first.

"You know," Koenig began, his tone upbeat and airy, "your grandfather was a gifted assassin—a natural legendary hitman." Fredrick closed his mouth, chancing another glance up at his father and caught his eye. The old man rarely if ever spoke of his father—Fredrick's grandfather. As he understood it, the two men weren't exactly on the best of terms. Koenig grinned as he continued. "He didn't have time for any of that girly numbers crap, which was pretty much the full extent of his respect for my interests at the time... but anyways, he was an unstoppable combat artist." Koenig reached out and placed his hand on his son's head. "And every day I look at you, you remind me so much of him. You could maybe use a bit more of his blatant assholery—... er uh, fearless boldness," he said, correcting himself with a chuckle. Fredrick grinned at his father's bad joke despite his sour mood. "But in terms of ability, you are every bit the hitman he was. Probably even better, at your age."


"Really. You just have to summon the courage to bring it out, Fred."

"But I don't like hurting people like granddad... and I lost the ring. I lost Serlina..." He sighed, his grin evaporating. He thought back to his conversation with Joel, the experience gnawing at his psyche. "What if they don't even want me to be in their family anymore?"

It was his father's turn to sigh. "If you keep worrying about the what-ifs, you'll never get anywhere, kid." He pushed down on Fredrick's head playfully, forcing him into a half-bow. "If you're so curious, why not walk up there and ask 'em yourself?" Suddenly, Koenig's voice gained a slight edge. "Either way, you're getting out of this car in the next 60 seconds and I'm leaving, and I won't be looking back. I'm already gonna be late, and you know how your mother is."

Fredrick gasped audibly, the fear in his eyes nearly palpable. "But—!"

Koenig pressed a button on the driver-side door, popping the locks. "Out out out," he said, making shooing motions with his hands. "I need to hit the road."

Looking defeated, his shoulders slumped, Fredrick pulled the door handle and exited the car. Instead of swinging outwards like a typical car, the passenger-side door flipped upwards like a bird's wing. Begrudgingly, the boy stepped out of the car, hauling his backpack with him and slinging it over his shoulder. With a grunt, he reached up to grasp the car door and pull it down, but his father's voice stopped him.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Koenig reached under his seat, pulling out a small bag about the size of a large book. "Here," he said, tossing the bag. Fredrick caught it like a professional football player, his reflexes taking over. "It's a little something I whipped up to, uh, help you along."

Fredrick looked down at the bag, eyeing it with a curious expression. "What's inside?"

"You'll figure it out. Now hurry up and close my door."

Fredrick did as he was told, folding the door from its winged position back down into place. It locked in with an audible click.

Immediately, Koenig rolled down the window. "Don't try to contact me, because I'm not gonna come pick you up early. Have fun!"

Fredrick only managed a slight wave before his father's car jetted forward like a hellfire missile, engine purring. In a matter of moments, he bent a corner and was out of sight. Fredrick turned towards the house, flipping up the hood of his hoodie, pulling the drawstrings tight. As he made his way to the front door, he felt as if he were walking through molasses, each step harder than the next. Eventually, he reached the door and brought his hand up as if to knock, but then thought twice about it. Still the question remained: what use was a ringless wannabe Vongola like him, anyway? What was his purpose in being here again?

Several minutes passed as Fredrick just stood there outside of the door, motionless, his hand frozen in an almost-knock. He was confident that Cain, Shaji, Joel, and the others were already here, since he'd left out a little later then as planned. Would they even want to see him? After a while, he sighed, putting his arm down and turning from the door. He really didn't want to be here. They didn't need him, right?

His first thought was to call his father back to pick him up, but that definitely wouldn't work. No service out here for starters. Plus he had no phone on him... and his dad would just laugh and say no. Hmm... maybe he could just walk back. Fredrick pondered the extreme amount of walking that that would entail and immediately put that possibility out of his mind. With one final sigh, the maybe-Rain-guardian dropped his backpack and took a seat on the stairs leading up to the doorway. Perhaps he could just wait out here forever.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Murasaki Eri Character Portrait: Fredrick Dill Koenig Character Portrait: Miyamoto Keiko

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Murasaki Eri & Miyamoto Keiko

One day after the Vongola HQ event, late afternoon...

"Keiko?" Eri knocked on the door of a nice, modest-looking house that looked like it had been well-taken care of by skillful hands. Eri was greeted by the door opening and Keiko's mother smiling apologetically at her.

"I'm sorry, she hasn't come out from her room since she came back yesterday. Eri-chan, come in."

Eri withdrew her sneakers and placed them on the porch before stepping inside, bowing in the traditional way. "Excuse me, I'm coming in."

"Eri-chan, this is also your home just as it is ours, no need for politeness." Keiko's mother laughed, knowing fully well that Eri probably won't listen. The white-haired girl had always done this no matter how many times she was told not to. In response, Eri gave a half-embarrassed, warm smile.


Eri knelt down to receive a hug from Keiko's eight year old brother, ruffling his shortly cropped dark blue hair. "Hi Daiki."

"Eri! Keiko won't come out and play with me..." Daiki complained, staring up at her with sad, puppy-dog eyes.

"Daiki, that's Keiko-neesan to you." Eri reprimanded, before giving him a reassuring smile.

Keiko's mother smiled at her and took Daiki with her, "Come now Daiki, mama's going to make some dinner and needs Daiki's help. Eri-neesan will make sure your neesan comes down to eat."

As Eri made her way upstairs, she could hear Daiki's excitement and his energetic footsteps against the wooden floor, running to the kitchen. She made her way to Keiko's room. She stood outside for a short moment, now hesitant on whether to disturb Keiko.

'She must've been through a lot. I mean... the Vongola, or what's left of it, are scared of her.' she thought to herself, only to be interrupted by a soft voice through the door.

"Ri-chin... it's you isn't it? I can smell you." A short pause, then. "Come on in then. The door's not locked."

Eri entered the room to see a rather unexpected situation, Keiko curled up in bed with blankets bunched up all over her as if the dark-skinned girl wanted to hide herself from the world. The room was a mess, Keiko's awards and trophies strewn all over the floor. And at the corner of the room, a yellow glint. Keiko had thrown her ring and chain across the room. Eri picked it up and looked at Keiko, who had emerged from her blanket shell, her hair a mess and her eyes puffy.

"Keiko, this-"

"DON'T SHOW IT TO ME!" Keiko growled, her eyes starting to glisten again. "I don't want anything to do with that thing anymore."

"Okay, okay. I won't." Eri set the ring and chain on Keiko's dresser before making her way to Keiko and sitting on the edge of her bed. "What's wrong? I haven't seen you around. And you haven't answered my e-mails."

Keiko nodded to the yellow flip-phone that lay shattered on top of a bunch of clothes. "It was being annoying."

Eri sighed and starting to peel the blankets off the stoic Keiko, slowly unraveling the girl like a messily wrapped present. When she was done, Keiko sat there in a blue tank top and black shorts staring at her. Eri clucked her tongue and tried to pat down the midnight blue locks that were waywardly sticking out. Vulnerable, Keiko gripped Eri's wrist.

"Stop..." Keiko's voice trembled, teardrops falling onto her lap. Eri was surprised to see her friend in such a state.

"Kei-chan..." she said in a gentle manner, continuing to pat Keiko until she eventually relinquished her grip on her wrist, accepting the warm gesture and crying at the same time.

"I thought you died... I saw the most horrible scene before me." she said, resting her forehead against her friend's shoulder. "I couldn't... I just lost it."

"Shush. I'm here. You know I won't die that easily." Eri comforted her. "We both know I'm the stronger one."

This caused Keiko to enter a state of choked laughter before she recovered, "You wish, Ri-chin."

Then she was serious again, looking up and staring at Eri. "I went out of control and I could have killed someone. Anyone. That innocent Vongola gu-"

"Shush. It's over, Kei-chan. You didn't, that's all that matters." Eri interrupted her. Keiko sat up straighter, uncertainty written all over her face.

"But what if it happens again?! I can't afford to do that again!"

Eri stood up and made her way to the dresser, picking up the ring and chain before looking back at Keiko sternly. "Miyamoto Keiko."

"I believe you won't do it again. You have to trust your heart rather than what your senses are telling you. You can beat illusions, I've seen you do it. This isn't any different-"

"But Ri-chin, it was an illusion about you, I ca-" Keiko stopped when Eri smiled warmly at her.

"You can, Kei-chan. You're a Champion. You have cubs to take care of. You're a Sun, you nurture and protect, give life, heal." Eri walked towards her and put on the ring and chain around Keiko's neck. "Look at it Kei-chan. There's a famiglia that needs you. What can you provide for it?"

Keiko picked up the ring and looked at it. "I am the Sun. I nurture, protect, give life and heal."

"Yes Kei-chan. The famiglia needs their Sun, and I need my friend."

Keiko looked up and gave her a small smile before standing up. "But I..."

Before Eri could even interrupt her, Keiko's mother already beat her to it.

"Keiko~ Eri~ Dinner's ready~" she called from downstairs.

Keiko and Eri looked at each other. "After dinner?" "After dinner."

After dinner...

Keiko and Eri laid side by side in Keiko's bed after enjoying a warm hearty meal. "Did you enjoy mum's curry and miso?"

Eri nodded.

"...It's getting dark."


They shared a long moment of silence before Eri got up. Thinking her friend was going to leave, Keiko bounced up from bed and reached for her. "Wait, Ri-chin!"

This apparently startled the white-haired girl, who jumped and looked at her. "Kei-chan!"

"Sorry... I just thought..." Keiko retreated back to bed.

"Silly Kei-chan." Eri got up and started picking up the trophies on Keiko's floor. "I can't leave you like this when you haven't even given me a proper answer."

"...So instead you're going to clean up my room?"

"Mhmm, I can't stand it. It's filthy." Eri said, pointing at Keiko with something she picked up from the floor. There was a short pause and Keiko gave her a raised eyebrow. "What?"

Keiko pointed at the object, "That's my underwear, Ri-chin."

At this, Eri turned ruby red and quickly dropped it. "You're cleaning up your clothes!"

"Hahaha, yes ma'am."

After a long while of cleaning up, Keiko stared at Eri who was sipping from a canned drink that her mother graciously brought in. "Ri-chin... it's late."

"I'm staying the night. And every other night until you feel better."



Right now...

A black sedan rolled up the driveway to a rather luxurious-looking mansion. Eri pulled down her sunglasses to admire the scenery outside as the driver slowed down.

"Miss, we're here. Is this where you live?" the driver looked at the mansion. Eri handed him several notes and left the car.

"No, a family member does. And keep the change." She watched as the car drove off. It was a long journey to the countryside, but she found that she enjoyed it. The view was great and the fresh air. Amazing.

It's been several days since the events at the HQ and spending nights at Keiko's place. Eri smiled, holding up several voice recorders that Keiko had supplied to her. That girl sure knew how to make apologies. Sure, Eri was a bit pissed that her friend didn't accompany her here but Keiko said she had reasons. With that in mind, she pulled her bag along to the main door and saw the timid Fredrick sitting on the stairs to the doorway, no doubt backing out.

"Koenig. I see you made it." she walked up the stairs, and reached forward to knock the door. "WE'RE HERE!"

While they waited, she turned to face Fredrick. "Nice to see you again. I take that the offer for dinner hasn't been cancelled yet?"


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Miku "Elizabeth" Risso Character Portrait: Donovan Shmautz Character Portrait: Flandre Valiere Character Portrait: Trevor Twenty-Seventh Rizzo Character Portrait: Alastor Lorenzo Koenig Rizzo Character Portrait: Hildegarde Faust

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Fredrick was rendered nonplussed, finding no other recourse to Shaji’s words but to sit back down in his chair, his eyes widened by confusion. He wasn’t exactly sure what to think of all of this. Aliens? Really? Fredrick listened to his friends go back and forth and wondered if it was all some sort of show. Someone just comes out and says “hey, I’m an alien,” and that’s supposed to be believable? He gave the Mist-guardian-aka-alien a once over out of the corner of his eye, not able to muster the courage to look at her directly, lest he meet her eyes by accident. Simultaneously, he toyed with the ring she’d given him, continuing to roll it in his hand like a worry bead. The B-ranked ring. The one that was supposed to act as the stand-in for the Vongola ring he’d lost.

Just a few days ago, everything was so simple. He and Serlina would banter back and forth. Cain would be on his feet, skating about. Joel, however serious, wouldn’t have such a grave look on his face. Nami wouldn’t have been hospitalized. Keiko would be her usual alpha self. And Eri… Eri…re

Fredrick sighed. When Joel left the room, he stood. Something rumbled and wrestled in his gut, but he wasn’t sure what. He just knew that he felt even worse than he did ten minutes ago. This whole week was just getting worse and worse. Grabbing his bags, he unceremoniously made his way to and up the stairs in absolute silence. He’d been here before, and if things were going to be like last time, his room would be on the third floor. As the only other guy besides Joel, he’d probably end up rooming with Cain. Not that it mattered. Usually, Fredrick enjoyed Cain’s company, though, perhaps, not today. Not with his failures hanging over him like a storm cloud.


The bright bursts from dedicated camera flash units bathed the area in a pearly white, matched only by the incessant clicking of shutters as they snapped closed, capturing the sight before them for all to behold. Beyond the antics of the gaudy media press core was a stage, and on that stage stood a dapper man behind a podium. Flanking him were several individuals that looked like agents straight out of the Secret Service. Standing off and to the left were several other individuals. The first was yet another man, as dapper as his counterpart behind the podium. This man, too, was flanked by others, though they were quite distinct in their appearance. They had the presence of an organized gang, or mafia outfit, or something in between. They gave menacing stares to whichever press photographer was unlucky enough to look their way.

Behind the hastily erected stage was a massive pristine skyscraper of a building, with big golden letters on the front that read: Vongola Incorporated. It was the Vongola’s—or rather CEDEF’s—corporate business headquarters, and today, they were tasked with delivering to the world a press conference to tone down fears and ensure the company’s bottom line remained unaffected by recent events.

The man on stage held up his hands, quieting the audience of reporters and journalists, all of whom were throwing out random questions about this or that. After a moment, the flickering of camera flashes slowed to a minimum, and the blurting out of questions stopped entirely.

It was a moment before the man spoke.

“Good afternoon,” he began, grabbing the sides of the podium with his hands and leaning forward. It has a somewhat intimidating effect on those journalists and camera people in the front row, all of whom gave him their undivided attention. In the distance, TV crews could be seen roaming the area, their cameras tracking the man’s every motion, his every mannerism. There were also reporters and news anchors—the usual talking heads—chattering on about something or other, making pointed gestures at the man, but when they noticed he’d started speaking, they, too, quieted down. The man had to be perfect here, on this stage, for the Vongola and for CEDEF. Fortunately, this was his forte. It was moments like these that DiCaccio had been preparing for his entire life.

Now was the time to shine.

“And welcome, all,” he continued, offering the crowd a fortified smile. It was transient. He looked down at the podium for a few moments, eyeing the cue cards he’d so meticulously organized across its surface. Giving them a once over, he found his talking points and, without skipping a beat, began. “Now, as we all know, this isn’t the first time that I’ve come to this stage and held a press conference with a massive elephant in the room.” He paused for a very slight moment, formulating his next words. “Of course, I’m referring the concerted suite of physical and data-network attacks against this company, and the rumors that our internal systems have been breached. I’m also referring to the accidental collapse of one of our research facilities, of which is in no way tied to the network attacks whatsoever.”

DiCaccio brought one arm down by his side, leaving the other on the podium, taking a slightly more relaxed posture. It was having the intended effect on the audience, who swayed and bobbed with his every gesture. If he knew one thing, it was how to subtly work a crowd, even if they were reporters from the Ivy League.

“Now, earlier today, I received an update from my team on these two separate issues.” He was sure to stress separate by raising his voice as he spoke the word, but not by so much that it seemed untoward or drew the attention of skeptics. “With respect to the network attacks, we continue to see important progress across different parts of our strategy in identifying and tracking these lawless perpetrators, and containing the threat they posed.” He emphasized the past-tense of the word posed. “First, we have our personnel and our facilities in the United States conducting a full network audit. Over the last seven days, thanks to the data yielded from this audit, we have managed to stymie the malicious activity of our attackers and restore functionality to the vast majority of our affected systems. Meanwhile, we have urgently provided additional funding to our subsidiaries and partners to reimburse them for any potential loss-of-revenue this downtime may have incurred, including our Swiss and Brazilian branches.”

DiCaccio glanced down at his cue cards again before making eye contact with the audience once more, never losing his tempo. “Today, I can gladly say that we have successfully brought an end to this attack on our network.” He paused. “And though it was attempted, our data centers have not and never were breached in any form or capacity by any foreign party whatsoever.” He ended his words on a beat, his voice low. The man projected gravitas. He projected truth. He knew all the answers, held all the cards. The audience was eating from the palm of his hand. “Furthermore, we have traced this attack back to a so-called ‘hacker cell’ in China, and the authorities are pursuing its members as we speak.”

DiCaccio took a brief moment to reassess the crowd. He grinned ever so slightly. They were still his.

“I’d also like to take this moment to address the accident that occurred at one of our research facilities several days ago. Earlier this afternoon, I spoke personally with the Prime Minister and his cabinet about the incident. At 6:42PM, the facility experienced catastrophic integrity failure, after which it imploded and collapsed. Luckily, there were no casualties and few injuries, all of which were treated on scene. Vongola Incorporated, in joint with the Prime Minister and the government, has opened an investigation of indefinite length into the incident. We are devoting substantial resources and are determined to find the root cause of the collapse, and to ensure that none of our other facilities are vulnerable to the same structural deficiencies. The Minister of Land, Infrastructure, Transport and Tourism himself will be travelling to the remains of the facility in person to meet with those conducting the investigation and will receive an update from them on their progress. He will also be meeting with other members of the local community that were affected by the collapse.”

DiCaccio lifted his chin faintly. It gave him an air of being “above it all,” but without arrogance. It was just the effect he wanted. “Again, I can assure you all that, without a doubt, the two incidents are not related in any discernible way. The moment we have more information, we will make it available to the public.” DiCaccio glanced over his shoulder at the man that stood off to the side of the stage, who was surrounded by his own posse. “I will now hand it off to my good friend Samuel Kapachio, who will take some of your questions.”

The man identified as Samuel Kapachio came up to the podium with a purpose, he and his posse exchanging places with DiCaccio and his. DiCaccio gave Kapachio a slight nod as they crossed eyes, but Kapachio ignored him completely. After their last conversation, the response was not unexpected, and DiCaccio took it in stride. He recognized that Kapachio was always better at ad-libbing, while he himself was a consummate master at swaying the crowd.

Kapachio knocked the first few questions out of the park with quick, sharp rhetoric that left little room for follow up. Eventually, the press began to back off, realizing that Kapachio was not one to be easily trifled with. DiCaccio nodded in respect. All seemed to be going according to plan.

Little did either of the men know, someone had appeared at the very back of the crowd of hungry press core members. The person began moving forward, making his way through the Fourth Estate with ease. After gently pushing aside the first few camera men and news anchors, other people began to move out of his way automatically. After a certain point, the crowd slowly but surely began to part like the red sea, with this one person walking down its middle, hands in his pockets, head held low, black hair hiding his eyes and casting a shadow over a majority of his face. The person was taking his sweet time, walking at a very casual pace but with an air of purpose.

On a nearby roof stood a CEDEF agent in tactical gear, looking over the crowd. In his hands was a high-caliber gun of some kind, itself giving off a greenish glow. More than likely, it was a box weapon. The agent tensed visibly, having noticed the commotion at the back of the crowd. Immediately, he locked on to the source of the disturbance—the suspicious person making his way towards the Vongola higher-ups on stage. The agent brought his weapon to bear, aiming squarely at the figure’s exposed head and torso. One pull of the trigger would be all it took to end this potential threat, yet if the person swaggering forward noticed he was within the agent’s sights, he didn’t seem phased in the slightest. The agent tapped a device on his chest, which responded with a beep.

“A1, this is A3. We have a susp—”

A shadow overcame the agent, taking him before he could even react. A dark-skinned hand shot out, wrapping around his mouth, muffling his voice. At the same time, his box weapon was snatched from his hands. The agent was dragged backwards and silenced.

On an adjacent roof was another CEDEF agent, who was peering through a pair of binoculars. When he noticed the person walking towards the stage, parting the crowd, he immediately radioed his compatriots.

“A3, this is A2. Tell me you have visual on this.”

No response.

“A3, copy?”

The agent turned, aiming his binoculars towards the adjacent rooftop and saw his fellow agent, incapacitated.


The binoculars the agent was holding were sliced in half whilst within his grasp. In the next moment, this agent was also silenced.

Back down on the ground, the person strolled forward, utterly unperturbed. Unlike the reporters that parted in his wake, the two CEDEF agents within the crowd were not so easily intimidated. The agent on the left noticed the person’s advance first and held out his hand, palm forward, yelling “halt!”

Immediately, DiCaccio, Kapachio, and their respective entourages all turned their heads, interrupting the conference.

Perhaps the person did not hear the agent’s order, because he didn’t even miss a beat. He kept moving forward purposefully, as if the agent wasn’t standing in his way a few meters ahead.

Suddenly, the agent disappeared, as if whisked away to Kingdom Come. The second agent soon stepped out of the crowd and into the person’s path, looking around as if confused before drawing his weapon. He opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound that came out was PUGH! It was the sound one made when punched in the stomach, or something to that effect. In the same instant, he, too, disappeared. It was as if the hand of god had simply plucked the agent out of existence.

The person continued his advance with the same exact pace and posture, only now he had the attention of everyone in the audience and those on stage. Whoever stood in his path quickly got out of the way, making a straight line from him to the podium behind which the Vongola higher-ups stood, bewildered expressions fresh upon their faces.

When he approached what remained of the front row, the CEDEF agents surrounding DaCaccio leapt into action, hopping off the stage and creating a defensive line. In response, the person halted his advance, leaving several meters of distance between himself and the agents. The press core took the hint without hesitation, giving the scene a wide berth, clearing the area.

They were snapping up a storm of photos, however, and the camera crews and news organizations in the back were now all focused on this mysterious person.

DiCaccio came to stand beside Kapachio. “It’s him,” Kapachio hissed. “It’s those Rizzo that perpetuated the attack on our facility earlier.” He turned to face DiCaccio. “And I assume your guardians are still in hiding, licking their wounds? Class act, for the so-called Eleventh boss.”

“Now is not the time, Samuel,” DiCaccio muttered in response.

“I told you you had a storm brewing, DiCaccio, but you didn’t listen to me. No, you heeded the command of some punk and his ill-prepared gang. Now look at us.” Kapachio put a finger to DiCaccio’s chest. “This is your mess now. Clean it up.”

“I intend to.” And with that, DiCaccio hopped off the stage, his agents making room for his advance. The second-in-command of the Vongola came to stand before his agents, who formed around their leader like a powerful river. He stared at the person before him. Even though his head was bowed, DiCaccio recognized him immediately. “You. You’re one of those Rizzo’s, no?” DiCaccio glanced at the audience of spectators, reminding himself to choose his words carefully. “Somehow I knew you’d find your way here.” The inflection in his voice signaled that he wanted the person to respond, perhaps with banter, perhaps with a demand, however, the person remained silent, his head still bowed.

After a moment of awkward silence, DiCaccio continued. “Heh,” he said, his hands behind his back. He walked laterally, towards the left end of the line of bodies his agents had formed. He didn’t want to get in the way of their line of fire, after all. “No matter how good you think you are, it was very brave of you to come here alone, into the seat of the Vongola’s power.” He made a sweeping gesture, indicating his agents.

In the distance, more agents began to pour out of the Vongola headquarters building, and others from nearby enclosures. Even more agents were beginning to push their way through the crowd. All of them headed for the person. The Rizzo.

“But also very foolish,” DiCaccio said, narrowing is eyes in preparation for his riposte to the Rizzo’s arrogance. “Boy.” His voice was dripping with so much contempt that it was nearly palpable. The CEDEF agents that were pushing their way through the gaggle of media elites finally burst out from the group, surrounding the Rizzo member.

The Rizzo member only grinned, finally lifting his head and catching DiCaccio’s eye. And then he held up his hand, palm facing his own face.

And then DiCaccio’s expression melted, shifting from one of smug superiority to utter horror. On the stage, Kapachio and his posse mimicked DiCaccio’s expression.

On the Rizzo member’s finger was none other than the Vongola Sky ring. THE Vongola Sky ring. “Hi. My name is Alastor. Alastor Lorenzo Koenig Rizzo. And I’m your new boss.”

DiCaccio didn’t hesitate for long. “Arrest him!” He bellowed, making a lateral slicing motion with his palm, signaling his agents to action.

The CEDEF agents converged on the Alastor like the plague, but if Alastor was perturbed, again, he didn’t act like it. He didn’t even flinch, he just waited.

When the first few agents came within arm’s reach, they were immediately blown backwards, their legs and arms splayed as they flew through the air to collide painfully with other agents several meters away. Appearing beside Alastor was someone entirely new. The kid had a broad smile on his face, even winking at one of the agents playfully. His short orange hair was matched by his soft-featured face. It was as if he’d always been there, or he’d just moved too fast to be seen. When three other agents neared the duo, explosions rang out all around them, causing the agents to falter. Like a meteor smashing into the Earth, yet another person appeared, this time a woman. She landed like a monster, the asphalt splintering beneath her feet as she slid a half meter to a complete stop. The woman was heavily toned, yet somehow remained slender and wholesomely thin. Her skin, a deep rich brown, seemed almost radiant. She raised her finger, wagging it as if to a naughty child.

“No no no,” she chided, her voice artificially deep.

After another few moments, the trio was joined by two others.

There was an uneasy silence as DiCaccio stared, dumbfounded.

“As I was saying,” Alastor said, stepping forward, holding up the Sky Ring for all to see. “I have the Vongola Sky ring. That means I may lay claim to your empire, correct?” When DiCaccio didn’t respond, Alastor smirked. “Hmm. Well, consider me your boss, then. And them,” Alastor said, holding out his hand and referring to the Rizzo behind him. “They are my guardians.”

Several of the closest CEDEF agents started muttering amongst themselves. Alastor truly had the Vongola Sky ring on his finger—there was no mistaking that. The agents looked to DiCaccio for direction, attempting to hide their confusion behind their querulous façade, not turning their back to the perceived Rizzo threat.

Where DiCaccio was silent, Kapachio was not. “I’m afraid that’s not exactly how it works,” he said, eyeing Alastor. “Rizzo.”

In the next instant, the posse that surrounded Kapachio dropped down off the stage, moving to stand between DiCaccio and his agents and the Rizzo. They numbered seven in total, each dressed in tight fitting, outlandish leather outfits. What Alastor could only guess was their leader stepped forward, a man perhaps slightly older than Alastor himself. He casually gripped a black sheathed longsword in his right hand. A small equally-black retractable chain connected the weapon’s hilt to its sheath, dangling ominously. It was an interesting device for Alastor to behold. Such weapons were certainly outdated in his time.

“I am Yemyais,” the leader proclaimed, “son of Xanxus, disciple of Sword Emperor Yamamoto, and leader of the Varia, and I challenge you for ownership of the Sky Ring and the title of Eleventh Boss of the Vongola Famiglia.”

For the first time, Alastor looked taken aback. Surprised even.

Kapachio picked up on this. “I have the Cervello on call,” he snorted, a snide smirk spreading across his face. “They will arrive momentarily. You will then lose and hand over the ring to us. Got it?”

Alastor didn’t respond. Hildegard’s eyes darted to the left for a fraction of an instant, trying to gauge Alastor’s demeanor and prepare for his next move.

Suddenly, Alastor stepped forward. The Rizzo followed him, staying in their triangular formation. Yemyais and the Varia mirrored them, stepping forward as well. They met in the middle of the space, Alastor standing a yard or so away from Yemyais.

They stared each other down in silence, but it was Alastor that spoke first. He held up his hand again, putting the Vongola Sky ring on display. His said but a single word, a single command: “Bow.”

It was Yemyais’s turn to be taken aback. “Uh… say what?”

Alastor lifted his chin, straightening his collar with his non-ringed hand. “I said,” he began, making a swift downward motion with his ringed hand, pointing towards the ground with his index finger. “Bow.

A sound like an inbound missile inundated the area and the people within it. Few looked up, and so few were prepared for what came next.


It was as if the very Earth itself was shaken to its core. Excluding the Rizzo, everyone in the general area fell to their feet, the miniature earthquake causing them all to lose their balance. Kapachio managed to use the podium to keep his footing, but soon disappeared into a haze of dust and debris that cloaked the immediately vicinity around the stage. The Varia, however, were not so lucky. They ended up on their knees.

Alastor looked down at Yemyais, who was on his hands and knees before him. The Rizzo boss has quite possibly the most condescending look ever conceived plastered across his face. His next word came across like a dagger to the eye.


The media reporters and press core journalists, once they regained their footing, began to vacate the premises with reckless abandon, some even screaming. They left their cameras, their gear, their jackets and wallets. Anything that wasn’t already on their person, they ditched in panic.

Yemyais looked up to see Alastor staring down at him, his face contorting into a sneer. “You’ll pay for that.” The leader of the Varia shot up to a crouched stance, one knee nearly touching the ground, his left hand on the handle of his sword, his right hand holding it steady at his waistline. His weapon was glowing with a dark shade of orange. “Feel my wrath,” he muttered. Alastor raised an eyebrow, a comical expression on his face. The Varia leader was holding the sheath of his sword in an odd way, as if he were grasping… a gun?

“Ligre Zero.”

Yemyais depressed a hidden trigger on his hilt, and the blade fired from it in a flash, the sound of a gunshot ringing out. Using the momentum to his advantage, Yemyias guided the attack vertically, up the Rizzo boss’s abdomen and across his face.

The attack was fast, indeed, but it was not fast enough. At the last second, Alastor leaned backwards, dodging the attack entirely, though not with ease. The look on his face said he wasn't expecting something like this, and he wasn't. That was a surprise attack, and it was highly effective.

And it wasn’t over.

“Ligre One.”

Before the blade had even finished moving upward, Yemyais twisted his wrist, reversing the blade. Another gunshot echoed, this time from the sword instead of the sheath. The weapon darted back downward, at an angle, as if propelled by some powerful downward force.

Alastor hopped backwards slightly, just out of range of the attack. However, he did not dodge it completely. Part of his suit and undershirt were ripped, and exposed the skin hidden beneath it. Alastor frowned. “Tch.”

Yemyais took the tempo, surging forward in the fraction of a second it took Alastor to regain his balance.

“Tempesta Six.”

He twisted the blade once again, and the sound of yet another gunshot emanated from it, causing it to thrust forward with unnatural force. With this final move, he would run Alastor through, ending him entirely.

However, before the blade reached its intended target, it was stopped cold. A hand gripped the raw blade itself, the act seeming to halt the weapon’s momentum entirely. The orange-haired Rizzo had stepped in and terminated the assault easily.

Yemyais had a look of incredulity on his face, the result of having one of his best attacks stopped dead by someone’s bare hand.

Alastor, on the other hand, was looking down at his suit and shirt, which had a neat slice through them. He touched the tear with his hand, bringing his hand back to his face to look at it. There was no damage to his skin, but the outfit was ruined. Alastor looked towards Yemyais, his expression enigmatic.

“For the fang of one of you primitives to reach me… even without me using my flames. Nicely done.” Alastor looked towards the Rizzo who’d stopped Yemyais’s attack. “Donovan, if you would.”

Donovan released Yemyais’s blade, stepping back towards Alastor.

“If someone like you wants the privilege of fighting me for my Sky ring,” Alastor began, returning his gaze to the Varia leader. “You’ll have to beat my guardians first.” Donovan placed his hand on Alastor’s shoulder, and the two disappeared. The other Rizzo retreated backwards as well, making a flashy show of vacating the immediate area.

Yemyais’s expression was half perplexed, half enraged. Defeat your guardians first? He sighed, sheathing his sword. “How can I do that if you all just ran away…?” He turned, facing the other Varia, all of whom had come to their feet. He realized that the exchange he had with the enemy boss had lasted maybe thirty seconds, tops, yet it felt like an entire hour had passed. Something about that guy… to dodge some of his fastest attacks outright. It was pretty… weird.

Yemyais’s hand was shaking slightly, but after a deep breath, he managed to calm himself. “You guys okay?”

As the haze of dust and debris began to clear, coughing could be heard. It had to be Kapachio. “Kapachio, sir,” Yemyais shouted, looking into the haze, “are you okay?”

There was a moment of silence before Kapachio responded.


Yemyais scrunched up his face, noticeably thrown. “Huh?!”

From within the haze came a piercing neon red arc of light, appearing without warning, like a demon after having been summoned. Kapachio, along with DiCaccio and several CEDEF agents, came running out of what remained of the haze, moving most expeditiously. Yemyais and his fellow Varia watched them go, turning back to look at the light in the haze. Yemyais gripped the handle of his blade with his left hand, a feeling of dread overwhelming his senses. Something was waiting for them within that haze. Something bad. He could tell his fellow Varia shared his sentiments, for they too prepared for battle.

And then, as the haze cleared, there materialized a… a… thing. It rested upon the wreckage of the former stage, hunched forward, one knee upon the ground, as if genuflecting to some unknown god. It was an all-black, bulky thing, like a medieval suit of armor come to life. Slowly, the armor began to stand. Darkish-gray flames emanated from it in waves. Like some sort of magnetic repulsion, they pushed against the senses of the Varia members. Those closer to the creature could feel a sort of dampening effect in respect their flames, as if they were slowly being negated out of existence.

Where its eyes should have been, there was only a horizontal neon red arc. With a creek, it came to its full height—a bit more than seven feet. It angled its head, looking upwards towards the sky in a silent howl of triumph, the flames surrounding it becoming thicker and more overwhelming, and their influence reaching further.

And then its gaze fell upon the nearest of the Varia.

As he stared down this impossible goliath, Alastor’s words came back to Yemyais with a vengeance. You’ll have to beat my guardians first. Could this possibly be what he was talking about? Was this the thing that caused that quake? Was this one of the Rizzo guardians?



Characters Present

Character Portrait: Donovan Shmautz Character Portrait: Fredrick Dill Koenig Character Portrait: Alastor Lorenzo Koenig Rizzo Character Portrait: Joel Lambe

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#, as written by Damioa
"Wow these guys aren't the smart bunch, are the," Donovan laughed from the roof of a random building. "We beat their leader and they're still fighting like they have a chance. Hahaha. Well, if we lump them up a bit they should calm down. I'ma go have some fun.

The boy flashed back down to the battlefield in an incredibly fast fashion. He looked over to his pals who were being bad ass at the moment and kicking the butt of whoever was dumb enough to step up to them. He looked over towards Elizabeth who was moving with her own way of agility and gracefully dancing around her opponents, no doubt giving them a few life long scars. He watched them all as they got stuff done and was beginning to expect no one was going to come to bother him, frowning at the boredom of just watching. Though it wasn't long before a few men came to his aid and helped him cease his boredom and replace the feeling with something a bit more fun. "Ayoooo," he said. "You guys want to play a fun game. It's kinda like dodge ball, but on a way harder difficulty. I call it dodge the death balls."

With a wide childish smile, Don grabbed his palla's and sent them flying in all directions, only to become filled with life and dart in varius areas. The boy laughed as his enemy's were dancing around and waving their arms as if they were being attacked by deadly flies. Actually, from the look of pain on their faces, bees would be a better example.

Joel walked around the house at night, making sure everyone was doing alright. Actually he was quite curious about how everyone was reacting. Some didn't seem to have a slight down in their behavior. Others did though. It was hard to understand, not being in their shoes, but how could someone actually feel sad or distraught about being on a two week training course? Sure some people lost their rings, but that shouldn't have made someone overly depressed.

Reaching the attic first, Joel looked around to see what Cain and Fred did the place, but it seemed neither really got to unpacking. Cain was in the shower, but he still saw Fredrick, being overly quiet. "Hey," he said aloud to get the boys attention. "You gonna be ready for tomorrow?" The man had his arms crossed and stared at the boy, leaning on the wall as he did so. "Don't disappoint me, Fred. If you're not ready for tomorrow, then you should tell me now. Though it won't stop you from having to participate, it'll at least allow me to put my hopes down now. Though, I don't want to be disappointed, if you know what I mean. So what is it? Are you ready or not?"


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Miku "Elizabeth" Risso Character Portrait: Donovan Shmautz Character Portrait: Flandre Valiere Character Portrait: Trevor Twenty-Seventh Rizzo Character Portrait: Alastor Lorenzo Koenig Rizzo Character Portrait: Hildegarde Faust

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"Varia, scatter!" Yemyais ordered, taking several leaps backwards in the hopes of putting some sunlight between himself and this behemoth. His final leap ended with him skidding across the asphalt, the rubber soles of his shoes struggling to grip the ground beneath his feet. It'd given him all the time he needed to formulate a plan.

The Varia Sky guardian looked to his right. "Eric, to me." A clean-shaven black male a few inches taller than Yemyais answered the call without hesitation, his opaque Vogue aviators glinting in the sunlight. Eric's movements were marked with a type of feral eccentricity, as if he were composed of a barely-contained energy simply bursting at the seams. He wore sandals, and was garbed in tight leather pants and a sleeveless loose-fitting T-shirt that read "don't do it" across the front in big bold letters. It didn't take him long to reach Yemyais, and when they stood side-by-side, the age difference was obvious, with Yemyais being at least a year the junior.

"What's the plan, boss?" Eric asked, running a hand across his curly ceasar-esque designer hairdo. There was a slight grin adorning his face. A moment after he spoke, he used his middle finger to press his stylish shades back up his nose, towards his face.

Instead of answering, Yemyais turned to his left. "Koenig, give us some cover!" The Varia that was closest to the hostile armor nodded in response. Unlike the others, he was clothed from head to toe in a large black leather overcoat that hid the entirety of his body, save for some mud-brown combat boots. The coat's collar was flipped up, hiding most of his face. Judging by looks, he seemed to be around the same age as Eric—eighteen, maybe nineteen—with messy dark hair the fell around his eyes and ears in an uncontrollable clump. What you could see of his face was sharp and angular, his eyes cold and hard. It was the look of a man that was all serious all the time.

A chain fastened tightly to Koenig's wrist glowed a fiery blue, the wisps of which emanated from his sleeve. In the next moment, a lengthy double-ended trident appeared in his hands, as blue as the seven seas and sharp as the rocks that adorn their coasts. Without wasting a moment, Koenig spun the weapon in his hands, rotating it twice, before stabbing the weapon into the ground, parting the asphalt like a hot knife to butter. From the wound in the earth came a torrent of steam, like a geyser, that quickly mystified the area, shrouding it in an opaque grayness that blotted out even the sun. The hostile armor didn't move a single inch as the mist embraced it with its myriad tentacles, quickly reducing all visibility within proximity to zero.

Yemyais drew his blade, placing the sheath through a loop in his belt and pulling at the retractable chain to give himself some maneuvering room. "Eric," he began, gripping his blade with both hands and taking a stance like a baseball player who'd just stepped up to home plate. "Solar Eclipse."

"Wha?!" Eric reacted as if Yemyais had said a naughty word. "You serious, Yem? S-class move right out of the box?" Even though he was busy asking questions, Eric moved to stand behind his leader. "I thought you were saving it for that brat Cain?"

"My instincts tell me this isn't an enemy we can play with," Yemyais said, still in stance, the blade of his weapon pointing at the ground, forming a forty-five degree angle with the rest of his body. Eric moved forward, wrapping his arms around Yemyais and overlaying the boy's grip with his own. To an outsider, it looked as if Eric were in the middle of teaching Yemyais how to properly swing a putter in some hipster version of mini-golf. After a moment, the sword burst into brilliant hard orange-red Sky flames. "Plus the move needs some work. So let's try this."

In response, Eric's hands exploded with neon yellow Sun flames that burned with an equal intensity. The white-hot intensity of the two incandescent flames was such that they were visible even from without the cloud of mist.

Eric snickered, obviously having just barely contained a bark of laughter. "I bet you like it when I'm behind you, huh Yem?"

"Shut up, douche," Yemyais hissed in response, his face turning red ever-so-slightly around the cheeks. It was a relatively new technique, and so they hadn't had a chance to work out all the kinks, this position being one of them. It was the best way he could think of to deliver both Sun and Sky flame to his sword in a concurrent controlled fashion, without one of them having to hold on to the razor-sharp blade edge.

Not being around the blade edge was a very important part of remaining alive while executing this move.

After counting to three, Yemyais poured as much energy as he could into the box weapon, causing the Sky flames to burn with such intensity along the weapon's blade that it began to emit a soft high-pitched screech. At the same time, Eric directed his own Sun flames inward through Yemyais's hands, further augmenting the box weapon. The result was awesome in every sense of the word. The Sky flame that surrounded the blade not only grew in size, but grew darker, taking on a golden-yellowish sheen; however, it didn't lose a single lumen of its radiance at all. In fact, it grew even more luminous and magnificent. So bright was this new harmonized flame that Yemyais and Eric both had to turn their heads in an attempt to shield their eyes, lest they blind themselves. The sword was visibly humming now, its soft screech exploding into a full-on scream.

"More!" Yemyais commanded, and Eric was quick to oblige. He transitioned his hands from gripping Yemyais's to grasping his boss's shoulders, allowing him to take a step back away from the weapon and its overwhelming resplendence, though he was not able to directly infuse Sun flames through the sword's handle anymore. He compensated by infusing Yemyais with the flames directly, allowing the boy to boost his own output even further. The flame that surrounded the blade became even darker, resembling a dark golden-yellow in its center enclosed by a black and red sheen—like the radiant halo of a solar eclipse. After a few seconds, Yemyais spoke again. "Enough!" He commanded through gritted teeth, eyes clenched shut. "Stand back!"

The blade handle itself had become hot to the touch, so much so that it began to scald Yemyais's palms, but he ignored the pain. Streams of flame jetted out from the critical mass that enveloped his sword like jets of molten rock from a volcano. Wherever the little black-gold streams of liquid landed, the asphalt melted away instantly, leaving nothing but a gaping pothole.

Eric had long since retreated backwards a dozen or so meters, well out of his boss's way. Yet, even from where he was, Eric could still feel the raw heat coming from the weapon's blade. It was as if he were on a beach at noon in the middle of summer, with no clouds or shade to protect himself from the sun's glorious splendor.

To see his boss shine so brightly... just to gaze at his figure alone, one had to risk blindness.

Eric loved the sight like nothing else in this world.

"I hope you're honored, Rizzo," Yemyais grunted in his effort to keep the massive amalgamation of flames under his control, leaning forward in his stance. He swung the weapon backwards, locking his arms, preparing to strike. When he did this, the ground in his wake was crushed in, as if someone had dropped an invisible freighter from high above. It was the very force of the flames themselves that so affected his surroundings, like an artificial gravity. From the way he held himself, it was obvious that the Varia boss was about to make a wide upwards swing.

"I'm showing you my Eclipse flame."