Redeemer

The codec was dead. Or rather the line was.

It was the first thing Mello noticed as he replaced the little device in his ear before shoving his helmet back on. His prior tears had dried, there was no room for them now and no time. He mounted the Ducati and came online only to receive radio silence. His brows furrowed and he dug for his phone, watching it impatiently as it booted up and acquired the proper signal necessary to give him the bad news.

Oh god.

Oh god, no.

He swapped out the codec for a wireless adapter, dialing Matt’s number as he revved the bike, shooting off into the street toward the hotel. "Pick up," he grit. "Please, god pick up..." It became a desperate mantra until after the fourth ring, when Mello was snarling, "Godfucking damnit, Matty, pick up!!"

The line clicked live but it did not register not until he heard the redhead's less than amused tone on the other side. Obviously he had heard part of his lover's impatience. "Frustrating, isn't it?"

"Fuck-" Mello breathed, the relief in his tone evident. "Where are you? What happened? Are you all right?"

"One question at a time. Turn your GPS on and I'll shoot you over the location," Matt said grimly.

"Matt, what happened, damnit!" Mello demanded.

"Get yourself here first," was the only response he got before the line cut out.

* * *

The bath tub would turn red.

Funny the idle thoughts that struck in the direst situations, and L had enough time somehow to ponder that one just before they tumbled him into the empty porcelain tub.

He’d already had too much sense knocked out of him in the basement entrance of Kira’s church—at least that was where he assumed he was, they’d blindfolded him, but his inner biological GPS had already mapped the way. Out of the car, onto his knees where men far too many times his size took turns beating their own personal brand of justice into him. And then he was dragged.

At some point, the blindfold came off, and he was on eye-level with a dirty bathtub in a badly lit basement washroom—there was a sink and a toilet and a metal table, and a swinging bare bulb on a string—and L guessed were they ever to do forensic tests on this scene, there’d be much more random DNA splattered about for any one person to account for.

Body disposal, only he was still inhabiting his.

Bella followed her men in, who were now stripping off their designer blazers and rolling up their sleeves, and L was already quite crumbled in his porcelain prison, but still aware enough to fix on the woman.

“So that we’re on the same level here,” Bella muttered, extracting a surgical case from her henchman’s hands, “Kira is Yagami.”

She was frowning even more deeply than she had been on the way over, because in the space between departure and arrival, she’d received a call alerting her to the fact that Caligari and his entire army of captains and subordinates were found dead in his riverside villa. Not long after, another call came in about a slew of other mafia in conjunction with Caligari and Safariano who'd followed a similar fate—pinpointing a cute little territorial path across the bridge to Bella’s turf. Within the hour, L supposed, her own brethren would start dying. If he was lucky—perhaps some of the men about to do terrible things to him would be among them.

“Do you honestly think it would be anyone else?” L managed. “You wronged your own God.”

“He’s not my God,” Bella spat back setting out the surgical instruments one by one across the metal table.

L ignored the comment on purpose—it did more to perpetuate the fear that Light—Kira—was just as divine as he claimed to be. “Not only did you wrong him, you tried to kill him and usurp him and use his title for the very antithesis of what he stands for.”

“I thought you were his enemy,” Bella muttered, “You sound very much like one of his lunatic supporters.”

“I’m fucking him,” L choked, trying to adjust position in the cold hard tub, the surface already paining what ever was swelling and fractured in his freshly beaten body. “It rubs off.”

Bella chuckled, and handed her goon a scalpel. “How do I stop him?” she said.

“From what?” L breathed, eyeing her every movement from his rather lowly vantage point. “Killing you?”

“For starters,” Bella replied.

“You don’t kill me,” L said, and laughed at what both was and wasn’t a joke. “Then you give him back his notebook, throw yourself at his feet and beg for mercy.”

That answer was rewarded with a rather hard fist to the gut, and then two of the men were holding L down, as a third grabbed his ankle, yanking his leg out of the tub. L struggled instinctively, but didn’t have to be the genius he was to see where this was going—since he was already barefoot, and Mr. Degalla was now holding the scalpel with a rather demonic look on his face.

Oh God this was going to hurt—this was going to hurt a whole bloody lot. The understanding was there and gone the instant the cold steel blade sunk deeply into the oversensitive arch of L’s foot and slowly began to carve down. L jerked violently, tried to hold it in—but truly just couldn’t, and the sound of his agony pleased Bella more than words could say…

* * *

Linda was jolted awake by the pounding on the door. She blinked groggily, lifting her head off the pillow where she lay on the couch in time to see Matt answer and Mello barge in. The blonde had his arms around his lover’s shoulders immediately, gloved fingers sliding through choppy red strands at the back of his neck and Linda felt somewhat guilty for watching what seemed to be the most intimate moment between them she had yet to witness since her arrival. The thought startled her because it did not seem right.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing…”

Mello was looking him up and down, stepping inside to close the door, but never once taking his eyes off Matt’s half-dressed figure. The bandages were around his shoulder, the wound cleaned. He was limping slightly, but the fresh wound was hidden beneath tight denim. “It isn’t nothing,” he murmured and pressed his lips to his lover’s, quiet words escaping him seconds later, which Linda could not make out.

Matt had set them up with a simple hotel room, the coffee table was littered with firearms and equipment, which Matt had recovered from the suite before abandoning it to investigation.

The redhead exhaled, resting his forehead against his lover’s. “Come on, we need to get moving…” he said and it was then that he caught the scent of incense and candle wax –stronger than that of the frustratingly familiar cologne—on Mello’s clothes. Matt paused mid sentence, perhaps a bit surprised. He touched a hand to his lover’s scared cheek and beckoned him into the sitting area proper.

Linda was sitting up now, the blanket falling around her waist as she moved to the edge of the couch. Mello looked down at her and frowned. She appeared unharmed but shaken. Tired. “You all right?” he asked her with a sincerity that caused her pause before she nodded, not trusting her voice. He touched a hand to her shoulder but did not sit as indicated.

Of course, there was one person missing from the scene, and Mello was denying the reality as quickly as it was dawning on him. Oh God.

“Bella came for Deneuve and found L,” Matt told his lover simply, lighting up a cigarette. “I warrant she got desperate after last night’s massacre. I can’t begin to guess what he’s playing at, but L practically forced her into a position where she would have no choice but to take him and leave us behind.” He sighed warily and sank down into the couch. “Several more incidents have been reported – major families have been dropping dead all over the city, there’s a neat little strategic line of death mapping its way right into Bella’s own domain. Your lover has a nasty sense of humor.” He sounded grim and exhaled a cloud of smoke into the air above him. “Bella’s hoping for information, but she won’t get any out of L. We both know that,” he met Mello’s gaze as he said it. “My concern is what she’s going to do to him to try.”

It was only then that Mello stopped his pacing, his frown deepening because there was more to this whole thing than either Matt or Linda even began to imagine. “He’ll be all right.”

“Mell, you saw what she did to him last time!”

“I know,” the blonde said quietly, not looking at either of them.

“Then how can you say that?!”

Mello was quiet a while, arms crossed over his chest, half-devoured bar of chocolate held in one hand, but he was not biting into it now. Shit. “Because he cannot be killed so easily.” He could just hear the outrage in both of them and so before either had a chance to attempt to skin him alive, he continued. “Matt, remember the stitches you gave him the other week after the encounter with Bella’s men?”

“…I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

“I took them out three hours later because the wound had already healed itself.”

Silence followed. Ashes tumbled onto the floor. “What are you saying..?” It was Linda who asked it.

“There’s no hidden meaning here, Lin. I mean what I said before – he’ll be all right. It does not mean that I will sit idly away here while that cunt of a woman has her jollies, but I do know that he is not in immediate mortal danger.” With both of them staring at him as if he had just sprouted wings or a second head, Mello occupied himself in reloading his handguns, stashing away several extra clips and arming himself further for the occasion.

Today… it would all end today. Mello was grim as he tightened the leg holster onto himself. This was war and he wasn’t about to be caught by surprise this time around. It was different from the incident with the SPK – the numbers were greater and there were Death Notes in question. It was now or never. But the moment he saw Matt tug a shirt over his head and move to follow suit, Mello’s head jerked up. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The redhead blinked at him. “Going with you.”

“I don’t think so.”

Silence. Linda was looking from one to the other, looking as if she might interrupt but unsure how to go about it. Because, truly, what was the best course of action right now?

“You can’t do this alone.”

“And you’re hurt.”

“Not hurt enough to have to stay here,” Matt countered firmly. “I’m going with you, Mello, argument or not. I’ll be buggerfucked if you try to keep me from killing every last motherfucking cunt bag that’s laying a hand on L now.”

* * *

Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts—he remembered Beyond saying that once, saying that after he’d cut his own finger to test a theory: which was more painful, a sharp knife or a dull one? B passed about the hallways, bleeding digit palmed and dripping a trail of gory breadcrumbs, whispering ‘it hurt it hurts’ as he walked. That was until L alerted Watari to the issue and the elder man took Beyond into the washroom to stitch him up and berate him for behaving… well, for being as nuts as he was—only in more considerate terms.

L wasn’t sure why that particular memory came to mind, if only because Beyond’s mantra was wickedly whipping around his own brain and drowning all else out—because just then, Degalla was on the verge of sawing through L’s Achilles tendon—and there was nothing much the detective could do about it, but toss his mind somewhere else. He came up against a brick wall however—the pain far too blinding to concentrate, and the moment the tendon severed and the muscle snapped up and rolled somewhere in his calve, was the moment the lights just went out.

Not permanently, he’d forced them back on—so the faint was fleeting, and moments later he was grasping his mangled limb, hands detached from mind—doing the medical thing to try to smooth the muscle out—and all the while the mantra kept going: Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts.

Bella sat on a stool and crossed her legs, watching the detective, now very drenched in blood—looking quite like his mad doppelganger, though she would have no idea—hunch over himself and knot instinctually into a fetal position, cradling the limb, and maybe rocking ever so slightly.

Another horde of mobsters had dropped dead in the interim, which seemed to allude to the fact that Kira was getting closer. L doubted that Light was actually on the move anywhere—the ploy was just to make it seem like he was, a wave of death sweeping across the city, like some Biblical Plague, only instead of First Born, he was taking mafia. It was strategic and designed to psyche out his enemies, and L wanted to kiss his lover just then for being brilliant—but his brain was so spinning with torture, he could not for the life of him, even picture Light’s face.

“Stop him,” Bella ordered.

“Can’t,” L panted, hands constricting tightly around his leg, and oh God, it hurt so bloody bad. Even with the insurance that it would heal—that it would heal sooner than it could have—there was no escaping the pain itself. Healing did not mean, painless.

“Tell me his real name,” Bella insisted. And she had her notebook open, pen poised, ready to write.

L was quiet a moment, but not because he didn’t have an answer, rather because he just couldn’t think—the agony blotting away reason, until he almost visibly shoved it aside. “Won’t matter,” he gasped, “You can’t kill him.”

Bella scoffed, and Degalla reached into the tub to grab L’s good leg. Oh fuck no. But the larger man yanked, and even if L tried to fight him off, two others were on him from behind, pinning back his arms—and in the instant he took too long to clarify what Bella wanted to hear, Degalla snapped his first toe. L screamed and struggled, tears involuntarily streaming down his face, because—yes—there were stars dancing before his eyes. “Why the goddamn feet,” he muttered despite himself, almost wittily, but they still held him, and Degalla’s fingers were wrapping with menace around the next toe in line.

“We’re starting at the bottom and working our way up,” Bella said simply. “Your knees are next—then you can use your imagination. But if we’re pressed for time—I’ll skip ahead, and I’m sure you’ll find yourself quite useless in the bedroom to either Kira, or that lovely lady friend you were so intent to protect.”

L’s gaze shot up darkly, exhausted, stricken, blood spattered and drawn. “You can’t kill him,” he repeated. “I lied before—when you wrote his name in the book, it had some effect, but he recovered. He’s immune. Bloody Kira is a thing unto himself, and no cunting copycat is going to compare.”

The lines in Bella’s face deepened. And L was breathing raggedly, his body fighting off the shock that had his pulse tachycardic, and his head spinning with nausea. “Name or no name, madam,” he gasped, “You can’t kill Kira—so you’d better think of a way to make it up to him, and you’d better think of it quick.”

* * *

The sight of Linda sitting on her own on the couch, hands folded in her lap a particular forlorn expression on her face was as pitiful as it was heartbreaking. But reassurances were said, and she was given proper instructions to follow along on the lone monitoring laptop Matt had hooked up for her. Hopefully, once all was said and done, they would be back by the end of the night with the least amount of injuries and L in tow.

Or that was the general plan.

Mello rode, Matt slid behind the wheel of the Maserati. They parted ways halfway to the blasted church, planning to arrive roughly within minutes of one another. Mello did not like this. Not in the slightest. Because while he was too accustomed to this sort of thing, Matt was not – although their stay in Rome had done quite a bit to change that. He put up an argument, of course, but nothing he said could convince the redhead otherwise—and there was of course the slimly veiled sentiment, that if they were all to die today, they were doing it together. Damnit.

The hours were creeping into the afternoon. Not prime time for a heist of this nature, but what choice did they have? Already L had been in Bella’s hands far too long for comfort. Eventually it would become apparent that his injuries were not having a lasting effect and that was something Mello wanted to avoid at all costs.

The Ducati took him quickly through the streets, winding in and out of traffic. But his thoughts kept going back to Light. Back to the grand master plan. He very much doubted it had involved any of this. In fact, he did not believe that Light had wanted them involved at all. So how would this change things? He could get rid of Bella at any moment, so maybe she was already dead? No… they would have received some sort of contact. Or… or was this truly intentional, was L’s fate a part of it? Were they all already programmed to ride to their doom?… No! And Mello shook his head to clear the traitorous thoughts.

No, Light wasn’t a factor in any of this. This was not part of the plan, and it was now up to Matt and Mello to get L out of there in one piece. Every one of those fucking bastards were going to fall within the walls of their own heretic sanctuary.

And Bella was going to meet her maker before this night was through.

* * *

The blood was drooling down the white porcelain sides, and from where Bella sat, she could only see parts of him. A pale bloody and bandaged arm folded over a white bloodied shirt. One leg bent at the knee—denim saturated and heavy with dark gruesome stains. His other leg was still at rest on the side of the tub, where Degalla had broken three toes, and waited to finish the job. L was panting heavily, but he had yet to truly faint, which was impressive, his dark gaze drawn up to a darker ceiling, trying to get a grip.

The call came in then, that a rash of deaths had occurred, spiraling in through the districts, getting closer to the heart of things.

“I’m going to be cliché,” the woman said at last. “And trade you.”

L’s gaze shifted, but Bella had to lean up to see the detective lying in the filthy tub, the blood soaking into his hair, wet and crusted and smeared in the drain.

“Maybe trade is not the right word,” Bella returned. “I’ll cease your torture, if he complies—if he does not, I continue to pick you apart.”

The detective snorted, and what he could possibly find funny at a time like this, was beyond the woman.

“What is it, L?” She asked.

He shook his head, and now he was actually laughing, which had everyone around him grimacing and angry. “Oh nothing,” he at last sing-songed. “You’re just so bloody stupid.”

Whatever response Bella could have mustered at that was interrupted by what sounded suspiciously like an explosion. The church foundation rocked and debris rained from overhead—which really just confirmed the notion. Shouts and cries followed immediately, as did the sound of gunfire…

* * *

That morning’s doubts seemed like a far away dream as Mello charged into the smoke and the haze, like the devil Himself he swept through the crumbling doorway and through the flames that licked at ornate columns with their horrendous deities. Sunglasses were firmly in place, but he had not bothered to hide the artillery he’d strapped to himself; a sub-machine gun at each hip, his double shoulder holster empty as he favored his preferred custom handguns. His usual belt had been covered by a second, rigged with plenty of ammo to keep him going. But it was the near-manic grin that had men faltering in their steps. Because Mello had nothing else to lose. Because it was all or nothing. And men were dying all around him with well aimed bullets to the lungs, and heart, and head. A prayer was upon his lips for each and every soul but Mello did not stop, thundering footsteps taking him through the nave of the church. A second explosion was set off and the foundation shook again, but did not crumble. It would not fall so easily, but it was enough to rattle those within.

Certainly Bella had been prepared. She had taken L, it was only a matter of time before a second rescue attempt.

“Come on you cocksucking bastards!” Mello hollered, quite beyond the point of subtlety. He dodged the volleying fire that was slung his way was as Mello threw himself down upon the marble floor, ducking momentarily beneath a pew that splintered above him before returning fire.

* * *

The blow rattled hard over the basement, raining down dust and debris, knocking loose several beams, and Bella’s face had turned ugly—simply monstrous.

“Your rescuers again?” she snarled.

“Mello,” Degalla clarified. He was aware of the blonde—brutal reputations followed them both around.

Bella shot a hard look at him, recognizing the name, again by reputation. “I suppose that’s not his real name,” she sneered, glancing down at L, who had very much been on the verge of suffering for his prior remark.

“Not sure what you’re referring to,” he panted, and he was lying obviously—deliberately—and doing it to piss her off. Bella’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing to slits.

“Degalla,” she said, after a poignant pause. “Hurt him.”

L sucked in a breath when the hulking man seized his semi-broken foot, and just rather blatantly pushed the scalpel hard up through the sole, twisting it badly, mercilessly, until L had no choice but to scream, deep, raucous cries of agony echoing in the low halls as the others once again held him back.

“So Mello has come for you?” Bella grit. “Then we’ll give him what he wants—a front row seat to your agony.”

She made motion then, and Degalla and his friends hauled L from the tub before he had any chance of recovering from the brutality, and he couldn’t walk, but that didn’t matter, because they had no qualms dragging him—Bella and her army and their artillery filing through the basement to the nave stairs, heading up to greet Mello face-to-face.

This time he was prepared, this time his features did not betray the shock at seeing L in such a horrible state—and having heard his screams of agony. That’s just what Bella wanted, what she had hoped for; but it would not work to her advantage because Mello wouldn’t let it in.

He was waiting for them, crouched on one knee, one arm folded almost casually across the edge of a half-destroyed pew. Bella appeared and he grinned. The serpent showed herself, then. How painfully typical and cliché. Mello actually took the time to pop out an empty clip and press in a new one. “Good of you to join me,” he purred, meeting her gaze and then deliberately setting his eyes upon each and every one of the men that had followed her, taking particular notice of Degalla as he dropped the wounded detective in a messy heap on the floor. L was in bad shape, but still conscious albeit barely.

Mello contained himself, standing after the initial too-dramatic pause. All sounds of gunfire had ceased as the queen bee herself made her way down the aisle, only the cracking flames and fall of debris broke the silence.

“I’m not interested,” Mello said right away, before she even made her offer. This was business, this was the last straw. He had ceased playing some time ago. From his spot well out of sight, Matt noticed the change in his lover’s attitude, noted the anger that peeled off of him in waves. He was serious.

Bella’s momentarily perplexed look was answered, although not without a cold smile. The smears of soot and blood across Mello’s features made him all the more feral. A wound bled openly from his left bicep; deep against scar tissue, but the pain would come later.

“Whatever you’re about to offer me,” he said smoothly, “I’m not interested, because frankly I cannot find it in me to even hear you out.” And the smile disappeared. Mello actually took his eyes off his enemy – or so he made a show of it, which meant that he was not severing his attention in the least – and dusted ash off himself. “We both know what I’ve come here for.” And instead of naming L as his intended goal, he lifted the handgun in perfect poise to face her.

There was a volley back of weaponry at that. Every man there with hardware—and that was every man—lifted it in that moment, and the sounds of metal and safeties and clips could be heard like a domino effect echoing across the nave. It only made Mello grin, which unnerved everyone present who knew who he was.

“Not interested?” Bella purred, her head cocking to the side, her gaze fluttering to where L was a mess on the floor, and Mello couldn’t help but notice the gouts of blood coming from the detective’s feet. L was panting, but aside from that, hardly moving, until Degalla of course reached down and hauled him back up. They had dragged him inside originally, but it was quite plainly obvious now that they had injured his legs enough that he could not stand on his own—which meant Mello and Matt would be carrying him out. Fine.

“Not interested even if we were to offer you your beloved L a piece at a time?”

The witch smiled as she said it, and Degalla was unsheathing a blade, ready to slice off a part of L’s anatomy—be it ear or finger or nose, and that was when Mello aimed, and shot—

And L hit the floor as the bullet winged him out of Degalla’s grip.

Linda yelped and even Matt gaped because, goddamnit, Mello deliberately shooting L was just not in the plans. Either way, it froze everyone that might have otherwise shot Mello and Bella's face was practically comical as she stared down at L's crumbled form on the floor. She looked to Degalla and finally at Mello, who, in turn merely flashed her a toothy grin and went back to aiming squarely at her.

The decision had been made in the span of a quick second of course. A brief exchange of looks and understanding passed between Mello and L, who very much seemed like he needed to pass out for a while in hopes the pain would go away and the damage start mending itself. The shot had been well aimed to only wing him, but it had a dramatic enough effect all the same.

"Where were we?" Mello droned casually, a bloody wonder considering the ridiculous amount of firearms pointed in his general direction. It was a dangerous stunt, even taking into account the Kevlar vest he'd tugged on beneath his shirt. It was downright as reckless as Matt had known it would be because there was no way in hell Mello would survive this. Not should Bella's little army decide to fire—all it took was one jumpy bloke to pull the trigger before everyone else followed suit. Mello was standing on thin ice.

"Originally I came here to retrieve him," he told the woman, nodding in L's direction. "But once I set eyes on you, I decided I'd much rather kill you instead. However, seeing as your death has already been arranged, Miss Sfroza, I need not worry myself over it." All eyes followed closely as he reached for the bar of chocolate in his shirt pocket and snapped off an edge. "So if you would be so kind as to let me take him, Paola, dear, it would truly be best for everyone."

“Take him?” She was recovering, after all, cutting L up while he was unconscious did not have quite the same effect—it was the sounds of pain Bella enjoyed, fed off, delighted to see in the reactions of others. Of course Degalla could still crouch down and start carving and all would be for naught, but just then eyes were on Mello. “He’s all but convinced me that he’s the sole key to dealing with Kira, why would I let him go now?”

“Kira,” Mello purred. It was clear L had pinned his entire strategy on the fact that Bella needed to believe she still had chance to survive this. It was more than clear to Mello, based on what he’d already seen of Light’s plan—that there was no hope for her. L knew it too, but Bella needed that last thread, because without it, they—L and Mello—were quite expendable to her. If she was already passed all hope, there would be nothing stopping her from having them splayed wide open for all to see. Nonetheless, the woman had deluded herself into thinking she could bargain with Light. And L had helped that delusion along by making her think he was her only hope…one might almost think L and Kira were working together on this one… Mello snapped the chocolate as the thought surfaced and leveled and was shoved away.

He wouldn’t put it passed either of them, however.

Regardless, no one there knew what Light had plotted, how he would be carrying it out. He was systematically eliminating his adversaries—but this, here and now, this was happening in real time—a thought that suddenly faltered as the church bells began to toll the hour—a loud and leaden ring peeling through the ravaged structure, echoed by similar cathedrals across the city.

It gave the moment pause, until the first car was heard outside, pulling up, followed by another—the clear image of car after car pulling into the church grounds, and goon after goon getting out, suited, armed—Bella’s cavalry.

Mello didn’t let himself be distracted but he was about to become truly and utterly outnumbered—there were dozens of men now, starting to file into the church—and more arriving. Matt was crouched low behind pews, muttering and cursing and trying to do impossible math—yeah, this one would take a bloody divine miracle.

The only thing that was possibly off about it, was Bella’s reaction—she looked perplexed, as though she had not called her own back-up. It was a fleeting look—vanishing with the certain truth that she had her army, and Mello was fucked.

L ironically stirred about then, his unconsciousness wearing off, and his head raised up slightly off the floor, eyes glancing the innumerable pairs of legs coming through the church entrance, almost uniformly—a swamp of men blocking every exit; and somewhere Matt was really sweating this one and jonesing desperately for a cigarette, and Linda was on the brink of tears, and Mello—cool as ever, decided that yes, he’d been prepared to die on numerous occasions—as had L—and if they were going down here, they were taking as many of these fuckers as they could with them.

“Do you want to reconsider your terms?” Bella purred demurely, her confidence level inflated to the extreme in the face of her manpower—men Mello and L recognized at a glance, very powerful men, and their subordinates—all of them…

L’s eyes shot to Mello, and the thought was there clear as day just seconds before one last person appeared in the church doorway…

The rest of them had lined the isles, but his slender figure stood alone, center-stage, sharply dressed, clean-cut and flawless as ever, backlit by the smoke and embers of Mello’s prior explosion, and it took a moment for Bella’s gaze to catch on him—for it to register, for her mouth to drop—and upon seeing that, for Kira’s lips to curl up and smile.

This was it.

They’d come to it at last.

Mello did not have to look behind him to know who stood there. The look upon Bella's face gave it away, as did the hesitation that swept across her initial backup, some of whom did not know whether to keep their weapons up or down or if it was simply best to make a run for it. He let his eyes fall shut for the briefest of moments because despite his outer cool, the desperate thundering of his heart was about to drive him mad. The adrenaline was waiting to burst, yet he knew that it was not his move. Not now. Not yet.

"Mell..." Matt hissed under the cover of footsteps and his tone was hesitant as if he too did not know what to make of any of this. It could go either way but for once—just this once—he wanted to believe that his lover had not been wrong all along—that Kira was at least this much, on their side. If only because it would mean that they may yet stand a chance of walking out of here with their lives.

Mello naturally did not respond. It seemed as if they all had a decision to make - how to act, what to believe. The moment passed and his gun was lifted from where it had been trained on Bella, cold metal brushing his temple as he side stepped in place so that he had Bella and Kira on either side. It was them whom he needed to watch. Them whose actions he needed to judge.

Against his better sense, Mello risked a glance in Kira's direction, but they were both too submerged into their respective roles to effectively communicate. At least for now. And so as his gaze rose to the elaborately vaulted ceiling he released his second handgun from its holster. Both weapons were lifted, crucifixes swinging a graceful arch as each was trained on the two warring parties on either ends of the church. Nothing personal, of course, but a matter of necessity.

All the pawns were set.

Bella chose first to act, signaling to her men so that all hardware suddenly whipped around in Kira’s direction; but Light didn’t flinch, and not because he was just keeping up appearances. No no, not this time. He’d learned the warehouse lessons well, and the moment Bella’s man aimed, the entire horde of recently arrived mafia did the same—only they weren’t aiming at Kira… they were aiming at Bella.

Her eyes went wide, the anxious flush of panic rippling through her last loyal henchman, and Kira’s already devious smile split wider.

“See what a situation you’re in, my love?” Light purred, his voice carrying in the lofty air. And his first step inside the blasphemous hall reverberated straight to Mello—only because the blonde felt it, he felt the gravity—his mind had already begun to piece this one together because he remembered that morning, he remembered those death cries in the throes of his own passion.

Light’s pace down the isle was natural and unthreatened and beneath his arm, he carried the Death Note. If his eyes glanced L bloody on the floor, he made no show of it—his gaze instead linked with Bella’s inextricably. And he had that look—that powerful look, head high, eyes narrow, smirk ever-present. His movements carried the weight of impending doom, and there was a palpable pause of breath across the board.

Bella was at a loss, because her mind did not think on his scale. Not for anything in the world, and her face only grew more pale the closer Kira got, until he was before her—the two of them wreathed in a throng of dangerous artillery, pointedly trained on them both.

L had palmed the floor and pushed himself away, closer to Mello, who sheathed one gun, and slowly stooped to grab the detective by the arm and pull him closer—both of them with the sense that this was going to get ugly fast.

That was when Bella seized Degalla’s gun, shoving it directly into Light’s face, cocked, ready—but Light…

Did not flinch.

"Get ready to move," Mello breathed into the codec, giving his lover the heads up because the math was formulating in his head. Already he and L had fallen into the background. Unimportant to the main events. But they were hardly out of the frying pan, wedged between both sides—not a good place to be.

"How are you holding up?" Mello whispered into L's ear, crouching down beside him, body tense, ready to react at the slightest bit of action.

“My feet hurt,” L mumbled rather flatly, quietly, eyes wide and fixed on center stage. Mello glanced down, but the damage was barely discernable beneath the heavy saturated too-long hem of L’s jeans. “Right tendon is severed,” L continued, “I’m bleeding out the soles and have three broken toes, but other than that I’m peachy… aside from the re-fractured ribs.” And he’d rattled the list off rather nonchalant, because that wasn’t the important thing here was it? No.

The important thing was in the way Bella held the gun, the way her face scrunched hard to fire, trying to will her finger to pull the trigger, but her body did not obey. She couldn’t shoot Kira and after a disgruntled moment of pure aggravation, Bella let the gun drop with a forlorn cry.

Light’s smile turned smooth, because he knew she couldn’t do it—just as Mello suspected—he knew she couldn’t shoot because he’d already written it out to be so. And in that moment that Bella was heaving, understanding the same, Light casually lifted his wrist to glance at his watch. The sounds of the hands were almost audible, or Mello imagined they were—one…two…

…Kira’s dangerous eyes lifted and fixed on Bella’s face. “I win,” he said.

And in that instant, death swept over the church—like before, the agonized cries of the men who’d come in with Light, tossing up their weapons and clutching their chests and falling to their knees—and that’s when all hell broke loose.

Chaos was immediate. Men crumbled around them, guns went off and Mello flattened L against the marble floor, slamming down to cover him as bullets flew overhead. Those still remaining were split between running for their lives or taking it upon themselves to fight back until the last minute. Which was where Mello came in.

"Stay put," he told L as he pushed himself up, scrambling to his feet as he fired a volley of bullets toward the men of Bella's company that had not yet fallen. Several dropped, and Mello assumed that Misa was doing her job somewhere out of sight. But there were too many and the girl could only write so fast. He picked out the two goons that had decided it was best to try to take out the source of the problem and aimed at Light. They fell within seconds of one another, thrashing from where bullets hit vital organs, gargling blood and begging for redemption.

"Matt!" Mello hollered, but the redhead was already darting across the aisles to follow suit.

The first empty clip hit the floor and Mello ducked behind a pew to reload. The men were fighting back, but had no choice. Misa was offing those Mello and Matt did not get to. And even through it all, there appeared to be an unbreachable bubble surrounding Bella and Light. Be it because Mello was making it a point to leave them alone while taking out anyone who stepped within a five yard radius, or whether no one thought it was a good idea to intervene anymore.

The clip fell into position and Mello looked up just in time to see Matt bolting right past him. He'd caught sight while Mello hadn't, of the one last desperate attempt on L's life—burly goon bearing down and the redhead shot desperately. The big man fell but did not die right away, still reaching for his gun, still seeking to destroy the detective who’d helped bring them all down. A heavy heel stomped on the mobster's hand, breaking several fingers before Matt fired the killing blow that spent all the fight from him.

He was breathing hard and wincing despite the adrenaline that kept him going, but that didn’t stop Matt from crouching down, to help the detective sit up against the pew. "Are you all right?"

L nodded, but it was clear he was in a lot of pain, and for whatever reason Mello was convinced he had expediated healing abilities, it was obviously doing him little good in this situation.

But the chaos was far from over, men falling dead left and right, the deafening sound of gunfire echoing high up into the falsely sacrosanct halls, and Kira was comfortable in its heart because he knew it all. In fact, even where it seemed he did not have control over the situation—men who were not scheduled to die in the same instant as everyone else, he had Misa to back him—and obviously Mello…. Which made Matt wonder if that too was design. And if Light could bend everyone’s actions to his will with the Death Note, he could most certainly do the same for them—could have written down L’s name so that he would be captured, provide the necessary catalyst to put Bella in her place. Could have written down Mello’s name so that the blonde would be here, backing him up with firepower…hell, Matt decided even he could be scrawled across those damnable pages, having argued his way into being here as well. And what if it wasn’t his will, even though he was convinced at the time it was? Bella was convinced she still had a choice—when it was more than obvious she hadn’t.

What if it was all by Kira’s hand? Then they had all lost, hadn’t they?

The red head scowled. Kira was more dangerous than ever at that moment. And quite possibly, had swept the board completely…

Bella’s face was in agreement, white as a ghost, and she could barely see what was going on around her—only that death and mayhem reigned and Kira was before her, reveling, waiting, his languid eyebrow arching, his expression all too satisfied. The glory was his. The victory, and Bella at last stumbled back, tripping over bodies, trying desperately to find a place to run.

Light just watched, cool and catlike as she staggered toward the stairs, to the bell tower. He gave her a moment, checking his watch before glancing around at the carnage, gaze snagging on Matt, then Mello, then L… before he turned, and crossed the path to the stairs to follow Bella up…

The commotion was coming to a slow end, gradually but surely the numbers thinned and eventually the echoing mayhem subsided, leaving only the three of them - and Misa, wherever she was - behind. Mello was breathing hard by the time the last shot rang out and the last opponent fell. It felt as if hours had passed between Light's arrival and now. He'd seen him follow Bella up to the bell tower, and allowed it because for the moment, there wasn't a damned thing to do but protect their own arses. He made his way over to where Matt was crouched beside L. His shirt was torn in places where bullets hit home, burying deep into the protective vest, and he doubtlessly had the bruises to prove it. It was by some miracle that they had avoided major injury.

The blonde came to stand beside them, leaning over to catch his breath, hands on the scuffed leather at the knees. "We need to get you out of here," he was saying firmly. As far as he was concerned, L was in no state to argue, even though they all knew quite well that he would if he deemed it necessary. And that they would listen, however begrudgingly.

But there was still Kira to deal with, wasn't there? If indeed he was to be dealt with, if indeed that was the plan. The rational portion of his mind told Mello to get the hell out of there, but he needed to know. Needed to see for himself just how the plot unfolded because it was this very moment that they'd been working for; this very moment that he’d been dreading.

“I’m not going anywhere right now and you know it,” L said somewhat breathlessly, because he knew too. He knew this was where it would all play out and he’d see what his faith in Light had bought him…

* * *

Bella scrambled and fell into the bell tower, panting, hearing the dim fade of gunshots below as they petered out into silence, and all around the wide expanse of sky yawned. She could hear his footsteps as well, knew he was coming for her, had leveled her empire and destroyed everything she’d worked for—and perhaps it had dawned on her that she was a fool to ever think she could battle Kira and win, and perhaps she was too stubborn to give in to the notion.

She backed up to the balustrade, the wind from the open archway slamming up against her from behind, sweeping over Kira as he appeared there at last, notebook tucked under his arm.

“Mercy,” Bella breathed, and from the look on his face, that was exactly what Light wanted to hear.

He arched an eyebrow. “I want you to see something, Bella,” he purred, opening the book, his finger already marking a page—and there scrawled across the lines in far too elegant penmanship…her name…her real name.

“You were the first,” he said, tipping his head haughtily, bangs shifting, blowing in the wind. “From there it was just a matter of precision and planning and long hours—but you were the first. You’ve been dead for weeks, and didn’t even know. You were dead when you thought you could hunt me down, you were dead when you tortured L, you are dead right now… the only thing that remains, is the actual act itself,” and Kira spoke as he approached her, Bella backing away from him, that flight instinct still prevalent even though what he said was essentially proclaiming her doom—a doom already sealed.

On to the roof, she thought, climb down…

Light’s lips quirked as he watched her scramble, leg over railing, unsteady feet touching the tiles of an archaic steepled roof. “And there you go,” he purred, “Onto the roof, desperately trying to escape,” he followed suit—and heights had never bothered Light had they?—that vantage, that godly vantage with the world spread wide around him, and he—Kira—the very center. This was it, this was what he had fought for—it was all his now, all of it.

Bella stumbled, and Light walked with ease, even the wind blasting against his figure did not stray him as he herded her to the edge, and she was reaching up a hand pitifully to keep him at bay, crying now, crying mercy—she who had none.

“Please God,” the woman sobbed, crumpled, broken, and Kira grinned. “That’s right,” he said, reaching down to grab her arm and haul her to her feet—a breath from where the structure dropped off to the cobble ground below. There was fire in the distance, like the mouth to hell, and Bella’s eyes locked with Light’s; he held her for a moment, made sure she saw, felt it, understood his power, and then he released her, composing himself.

“All that’s left now,” he said, “Is for you to fall.”

* * *

There was no argument. The only thing that changed was that Mello sank down to the floor, gun dropping to his side; the smooth edge of the pew against his back. Their job was done. Now all that was left was the inevitable. So he sat; knees raised, elbows resting against leather, soot and blood smeared face hidden away in his hands. He did not move, not as a pillar crumbled near the entrance, not as Matt rested down beside him and dug into his pockets for that much desired cigarette—it was broken.

Both of them stiffened as the loud scream dropped from the bell tower – only, it was getting closer. And then, suddenly ceased. It was not hard to picture the sight; the flailing limbs, the panicked expression, the fear and desperation in Bella’s eyes, frozen forever as she hit the pavement in a splatter of blood and sickening crunch of bone. The redhead stared at the stained floor in front of them, injured leg outstretched, the hand that held the broken cigarette resting over a lifted knee. Neither spoke and L had little to offer in the way of conversation for he too was riding on inner instinct, on the faith he’d invested in Light for so long.

Bella was dead. Her army was annihilated. Half of Rome’s most prodigious mafia families neutralized and wiped completely off the map.

Kira, however, lived. And it was for him they waited, driving Matt half-mad, but he managed to remain silent, to keep his thoughts to himself; dreading as much as he hoped to be proven wrong.

He was chalking the cigarette up for lost when at last the first sound of footsteps echoed back toward them. Beside him, he felt Mello stiffen but the blonde remained still, reluctant to move, reluctant to look up to that beautiful, cold face and risk the unwanted result to all of this mess.

L however refused to face Kira sitting, arms hooking back, using the pew to pull himself up rather painfully—but he wasn’t going to be there bloody on the floor no matter how much it hurt to move, no matter how he favored the worse leg and bore his full body weight instead on the lacerated foot with three broken toes.

Matt scrambled to his own feet to help the detective, but L declined the gesture, and just then, Light came through the doorway.

He was slightly windblown, but he carried with him the very air of superiority, stopping to survey the scene, drinking in the piles of bodies heaped and splattered across each other—drinking it in, devouring it, delighting in it—and his cold lovely lips curled into an even colder smile.

The laugh started small, and grew louder because this plan had gone off without a hitch. Nothing stopped him, nothing spoiled him—he’d performed a brutally amazing feat with immaculate precision and had only the warehouse gone down this way, there would be no mar on his persona at all.

“Perfect,” he purred. “Absolutely perfect.”

Mello didn’t see the way L’s hope just drained away in that moment, and the detective closed his eyes to pull himself together, because he saw it—he saw what was so prominently there in his lover’s arrogant gaze—he saw the thrill of victory and the desire to win this game in its entirety.

There was laughter in the ceiling then, shinigami laughter, and Ryuk sunk down from above, Cheshire grin split wide, cackling face and round bug eyes, and if Light’s scrap of behavior thus far hadn’t already put a kink in their hope that he would relinquish his crown so soon after he’d gained it, then the minute he pulled the shiny red apple out of his pocket and tossed it confidently at the death god was the moment L let go of the pew, and ventured those first few steps into the isle.

“Light,” he said, his voice calm, steady—the last effort perhaps? Matt was already quietly cocking his gun.

Kira’s gaze turned on L, wild, gleeful. “L,” he said, as if they were a pair of friends about to gush over an exciting accomplishment. “Tell me it wasn’t flawless! Perfect!” He was beaming, glorified, the moment was his and the looming tragedy of it escaped him—but it was in L’s face, the detective’s expression sealed and grim.

“Light,” he said again, and his voice sounded ghostly over the deadly silence. “Let it go.”

That seemed like the most alien thing to reach Kira’s ears in that moment, and his victorious smile froze, and suddenly began to fade—but not with disappointment… with cruelty, melting into a grim and serious expression, eyes narrowing beneath a line of mussed bangs.

“Absolutely not,” he said.