Glory and Gore

Monster

Gajeel and Natsu looked at the girl, then to each other. Their eyes met for a split second, and then they gave each other a nod. They seemed to know each other well—well enough that they could communicate silently, quickly. A good skill to have in their line of work, Lucy supposed.

Gajeel ducked back into the kitchen, humming to himself as he followed whatever silent plan they'd concocted.

The pink haired boy turned to Lucy, something strange in his eyes. It was a mixture of fury and sedation, aggression and peace, anger and amusement. Lucy couldn't understand, couldn't read his expression. "This way," He said, tone dark, as he grabbed Lucy's wrists and pinned them to her back.

He was good at this; his motions were swift and efficient, easily incapacitating Lucy and pushing her forwards all at once. She wouldn't have even had the opportunity to slap his grip away—he was far too quick, far too agile. She hadn't even seen him coming.

She struggled against him, squeezing her arms tightly against her torso in order to keep the towel from falling. Why'd she have to eavesdrop in a towel?

Lucy swallowed, her heart pounding heavily in her chest. "Where are we going?"

"To talk."

Her breath was shaky. She'd seen far too many television shows about gangs—she knew they weren't much for talking. Was this it, then? Was this the end of the line? Would he take her to a small room and put a gun to her head?

Lucy's palms began to sweat as the boy shoved her forwards roughly, pushing her along through winding corridors and grand doorways. She was surprised by the size of the building they were in—it must be some kind of super mansion.

But he forced her to take a turn, and they entered an elevator; he pressed the B4 button and they went down several flights of stairs. Lucy felt her heartbeat thrum faster in the confines of the small space—here, there was nowhere to run from him. Still, despite this, he tightened his grip on her wrists, making Lucy grit her teeth.

The elevator doors opened, and it was as if they were in a completely different building. Gone were the cream walls with the decadent flooring; now, they were pushing past old, dim brick walls. The lighting was darker, the hallways were smaller, and the place smelled of dust and cigarette smoke.

The boy pushed her onwards, passing several closed doorways. As they passed, Lucy could hear the hum of noise beyond the doorways. One doorway masked the sound of metal upon metal, the sound of smashing and crashing weapons; another doorway muffled the sounds of cries and screaming. One doorway was absolutely silent, but the smell of toxic rot, of burning flesh, crept beneath it.

Lucy chest was tight. Her hands balled up tightly, her nails digging into her palms. Until this point, she hadn't really faced the reality of her situation—she'd just been sitting in some beautiful house. But now, it was real. Fear crept into her bones, settled in the pit of her stomach.

Suddenly, she was very aware of who she was dealing with.

Gajeel had been too nice, too full of conversation. He didn't seem like a mobster, aside from his terrifying appearance. But down here—this was dirt and grime and blood, everything she'd expected from Fiore's most dangerous gang. A basement of questionable actions, of murder and torture and chaos.

The pink haired boy turned her, opening a door to their right and pushing Lucy through it; she stumbled in, glancing up once she realized he'd let go of her wrists and closed the door behind them.

A blank, empty room. The walls were white, the floors were a blank grey tile. In the middle of the room sat two chairs on either side of a metal table. On the left, a large mirror taking up the entire wall.