[Fanfic] Death Crave

[~UnknownBandit~]

I felt like getting back into the fanfic motion, so I'm making this story. Actually, I just thought the plot up right on the spot, but I'm kind of happy with the overall idea. It seems like an attention getter, except with a sort of creepy title. Enjoy! ^ ^

This is probably... PG-13 or something. For gore. Maybe language later on. A hint of sentuality.
~Summary~ (Do I wan't to read this story...?)

A young boy experiences an extremely traumatic event, and is forced into therapy. Unfortunately, even after his amnesia, he can't think of anything but what had happened on that cold, whispy night, leaving him with severe mental scars for the remainder of his life. Lucky for him, though, it's almost over. As the curtain closes when he jumps from the top floor of the therapy clinic, the foul-stenching earth rises up and reveals Death -- The Grim Reaper -- which takes interest in the boys trauma, and adopts him. Now, givin the name of Ziel, he re-enters the earth as an inside-man of the Reaper, and carries out whatever bidding may be brought upon him, wheather it be assassination, murder, or theft.

Can Ziel still rebuild his life and recover from the scars burned into his mind, and escape from Death at the same time?

"5 stars! Excellent!" -The New York Times
"I was drenched in this book for weeks." -WallStreet Journal
"This would make a really good Comic." -~UnknownBandit~
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Prologue -- Tramatic New Beginning (below)
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Prologue -- Tramatic New Beginning
(The *'s before paragraphs/sentences represent something. Read at the end of the chapters to find out what, exactly, it was about.)

*During the middle of a theatrical play, a small family gets up and leaves the auditorium. Walking through the exit, and into the back alley which was black as night and rotten as old fruit, they came face to face with the most obscure of man in town. He was rumored to be a psychonaught, who killed and violated most everything about others. The mother gasped in horror. The father quickly picked out his wallet and threw it to the mans feet, begging for mercy. The boy stood quietly in awe. He was still young, but mature enough to understand what was happening.

The psycho grinned, pulling out a pure-silver blade, letting the moonlight bounce off of it and into his face, revealing numerous scars and discolorations. His eyes were both as deep as the pitts of hell and as dark as the heaviest sin. He stepped closer to the family, cornering them in that dead-end alley, his dirty boots edging closer as the father clutched his golden watch and pushed it into the mans chest. The psycho stared down, moonlight hitting his face again. The mother clinched her teeth in fear, closing her eyes and stepping back further against the old brown, mistreated bricks. This caught the psychos attention.

"Am I ugly to you? My hideous face doesn't scare you, does it?" he mumbled in a deep, screechy voice. It sounded like a thousand knifes in a gut, almost as if inside his vocals rest the murderous screams of every one of his victims.

"N-N-Not at all! You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen!" The mother quickly replied.

The man laughed grimly, and then stared straightforward, raising his knife higher and flipping around in his fingers before...
...STAB! The killer lurched forward, piercing the chest of the father. The mother screamed. The boy winced, gripping his fist, knowing full well what just happened.

Sliding the cold silver blade back out, he snickered maniacally, and whiped the blood on his filthy, dark lime jacket. What appeared to be dirt was actually layers of dried blood.

The father fell to his knees, tears in his eyes. He whimpered, "I'm.. sorry, ... my fami-" Smack. He was kicked against the wall by the psycho. The father lie on the ground, breathing quickly as his heart slowed. A pool of his blood began to gather around him. Again, there was a deep, grim laugh.

The killer stretched out quickly, grabbing the mother by her shoulder and pulling her inward, holding the knife to her throat. She began to cry, looking directly into the face of her helpless, young son, who in return looked back at his helpless dying mother. Not a word escaped either mouth.

"Watch closely, little guy!" The psycho said jokingly. He pressured the knife a little more against her neck.

"I'm sorry, B--" Slice. Her throat was slit, disrupting her final words. Nothing short of a sprinkler of blood showered the alley. Almost falling in slow motion, it hit the walls and the floor. And the boy, who was alone now.

"Enjoying the show, boy? How about an encore?" the man said. Using the blunt edge of the knife, he pullled away at the mothers shirt, and it began to fall. Then he cut the edge of her skirt, which also began to fall. The boy couldn't move, but he clenched his fist with rage and hate at the man. But he could not move no matter what the effort. His heart was too confused, overflowing with fear and sadness. His mind drew a blank.

The boy looked around the dark alley. His eyes were now used to the blackness. A pile of trash, just to the left of the psycho, had something sticking out. Something sharp and jagged, like a spear, almost. He looked back at the killer. His atmosphere and froze. Not the man moved, and the blood discontinued its dripping. The cars out in the street were now silenced, instead of noisy. All he could hear was the voice of the moon, wheeping. He looked at his father. Then back to his mother and the killer. He decided to take his revenge.

The area now began to move again, and the cars were driving. The man was about to cut the straps for the undergarments, grinning and laughing slowly. The boy, in a single movement, reached out at the sharp object and pulled it out of the pile. He stretched back his arm, and lunged the item forward, impaling the mans skull. The laughing had paused, or rather switched sides. The boy now laughed instead. His mind had vacated, and his heart was overflowing with several emotions. With that, he lost conciousness.

Prologue -- A Traumatic Beginning Part II

The boy awoke in a hospital bed, dazed. As his vision unblurred, a bright light blinded him. He glanced at the door in the corner of the white room. A doctor in a white lab coat and pitch-black glasses came in. "Are you all right, boy? You've been sleeping for damn near a week. I couldn't believe what you done there in that alley at such a young age." The doctor whistled in a wheezy voice. His accent sounded western.

The boy blinked a couple of times, staring at the black glasses. Then it hit him like a freight train. Those deep, dark, crushing eyes that were embeded in that scarred, ugly face. Then he saw the images of his father and mothers terrifying deaths. And then he saw his own blood-stained hands impale the man's face.

The boy twitched, and began screaming, rolling around the bed insanely. He fell onto the floor in a seizure, shouting different things.

"DEAD! THEY'RE DEAD! AND I KILLED THAT MAN! I DID!" He shouted.

The doctor glared, and then jumped up and punched a red button on the wall. Two thick, muscled-men burst through the door and subdued the boy back into a slumber, and then carried him out to the hallway and up an elevator to the third floor of eight. Walking down the hall, and through a grey door at the end of the white hallway, they dumped the boy.

Moments later, he awoke on the floor, looking around again. A red picture flashed in his mind. He began to jump up when suddenly a voice bellowed in the room.

"BOY! Glad you're awake. Now, GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF." The voice echoed.

The boy turned around and stood up, starting at the figure.

"Listen to me. Can you remember the killing in the alley?" The man asked.
The boy nodded, cringing a little.
"What about before them?"
The boy nodded sideways, "No.." he replied.
"And what about afterwards...?"
"Afterwards?" The boy wondered, "No... I cannot."

The man frowned. "You've been asleep for a straight week. However, the murders in the alley were almost a year ago. Ever since then, you were a psycho. That night..." He paused, "Do you want to know?" The man asked.

The boy nodded.

"Very well," The man began again. "The same night of the killings, you took a silver hunting knife and re-entered the theatre. You killed about 22 people that night alone, since the confusion created crowds at the one-door exit. And for a year afterwards, you killed by night, whoever you could find on the streets. Until a week ago, when we found you asleep in front of city hall. The judge ruled you be taken into psychiatric care until you awoke."

The boy fell backwards. Hundreds of pictures of mangled bodies flashed in his head. He cried, lightly at first, but then it turned into a heavy sob.

"Don't worry..." The boy said, "I'll repent for them all!" He looked up at the man, attempted a smile, but failed and continued to cry.

The man frowned. "I hate your cases the worst. They always turn out tragic. Anyways, let's not waste time. I know you're sad, but this is a big place and you might get lost without a proper tour. Let me explain. This building has eight floors. It is one of the largest therapy clinics in the country. Each floor represents..."

The boy looked up, tuning out the description. Eight floors, he thought silently. Immediately, he turned back around and broke out the door and down the hall. There were no stairs, just one elevator. It was still open. He ran inside, looking back quickly to find two large men chasing him. He pressed the eighth floor button, and slowly the door began to close. The men were close now, though. Their footsteps alone were shaking the elevator. Through the small crack remaining, though, *he could see the green scrubs they wore, as they began banging on the door. Relieved, he ascended to the top floor.

As quickly as the door could open, he ran out looking for stairs, or something of the like. To his luck, he found some at the far end of the hall. As he began to run, though, he noticed another set of footprints, those of which he assumed belonged to another group of big men in scrubs. He turned his run into a sprint, and charged the stairwell door, ascending the final fleight of steps.

The large men were directly behind him now, grabbing for the collar of his shirt, but failing due to the boys small size. Feet from the edge of the building, he leaped, descending all eight stories to the ground below. He closed his eyes and braced himself.

Goodbye.

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Prologue End. I like it, if I do say so myself. What a cliffhanger I left you guys with.

The *'s for this chapter:

1st- [Paragraph 1 of Part I] I basically stole this scene from BatMan, except maybe with my own little twists. But yeah, the idea came from Batman.

2nd- [Paragraph 16 of Part II] Scrubs are the outfits that must doctors wear [not the white coats, the differen't outfits that surgeons and other people wear that aren't as important as actual MDs]

[Maglopo]

Nice story, the Grim Reaper adopts the boy. When chapter 1 comes out, i'll surely read it. ^^

[~UnknownBandit~]

working on chapter one now. Comment before this series fumbles to an early hault @_@

[~UnknownBandit~]

The prologue is done. It's a pretty big one, so I seperated it into two parts, but it looks gorgeous. I'm going to spell check it now and edit it. But enjoy it, none the less.

[Zim]

Keep it coming, it's a pretty good start.