Glory and Gore

The Boy In The Photos

Lucy watched as he bent down, carelessly grabbing the dead body by the back of the collar. He stepped forward, easily hauling the deadweight behind him; he pulled it down the cobblestone driveway to the unmarked van. He grabbed a limp foot, his hands wrapping around the bloodstained shoe, picking up the corpse; he threw it into the back of the van without issue.

Salamander turned, making his way towards the next body, about to repeat the same steps.

Lucy's eyes trailed from the boy to the driveway, her back against the front door of the mansion. All around her was death; dozens of bodies of brotherhood members, their blood spilled onto the concrete path. Dozens of dead bodies littered the driveway, bullet wounds in their heads and their chests, their weapons lifeless on the ground.

Three men had done this. Three members of the shadows had walked in and annihilated an entire rank of men in the brotherhood.

The war had begun. The shadows were coming in full force, now. The brotherhood should be afraid.

But Salamander didn't seem afraid. There wasn't fear in his eyes. Lifting these dead bodies—the bodies of his comrades—didn't make him afraid, didn't make him sad. His expression was caught in a stern frown, one that signalled he was deep in thought. He hauled more bodies to the van, not bothered by the fact that his so-called brothers' blood was dripping down his arm, splattering onto his bare feet.

Lucy felt tired. This entire day had been exhausting, and it had just begun. She had never been so afraid in her life. Seeing those men easily enter a heavily protected mansion, seeing them kill and murder brotherhood members like they were nothing—it horrified her.

But Salamander had dealt with it easily. He'd gotten a single hit on him—that was it. He'd killed three men, three dangerous men, with absolute ease. Gajeel hadn't even bothered to help out, that's how confident he was in Salamander's abilities. After all, Gajeel had said Salamander was the best the brotherhood had.

But if that were true, then why was he a gladiator—which, according to Gajeel, was the lowest rank in the guild?

Salamander lifted the last body into the van, shutting the doors behind it; he slapped the back, signalling it was ready to head off. The driver gave a nod, and the van took off, hauling the dead members away from the mansion.

Salamander gave Lucy a glance before he walked towards her. He seemed to be taking it cautiously, carefully checking her emotional state before advancing toward her.

Lucy looked at him, looked at the way the blood was smeared across his bare chest and sweatpants. Some of it brotherhood blood, some of it shadows blood. She turned her gaze to his eyes.

"You doing okay?" He asked, and his voice was quiet. He seemed hesitant to ask.

Lucy thought over a million ways to respond to such a question. Was she doing okay? Probably not. Held captive by a gang, witnessed the deaths of far more than she'd like, now caught in a gang war...it wasn't her best day. And she thought about responding like that, with snark and sass and attitude, but she didn't. She held it together, her hands unknowingly balling up into fists. "Yeah. Fine."

"You're shaking," Salamander noted. His eyes had dropped to her hands, observing the way they trembled. Her entire body was quivering with fear, the horror of what she'd seen clear in her eyes. Ten minutes after the fact and she was still afraid. His jaw went tight, his eyes went cold, realizing that fear was because of him.

Lucy peered down at her hands. To her surprise, they were trembling. She'd been too caught up watching Salamander haul bodies to notice. "Oh," She murmured softly, clasping her hands together in an attempt to stop them from quivering. They just shook faster, harder, now that they were connected as one. "Yeah."