Guyver Fan Fiction ❯ Liberi Fatali ❯ Razors ( Chapter 1 )
Author's Note/Disclaimers: All the usual apply. If the know the character, chances are it's not mine. If you don't know a character, chances are they're mine. If you don't know, e-mail me and hopefully I'll clarify it. This will be based loosely on the manga up until manga 18 (I hope 19 will be out soon), so I'll be winging a lot of this. This story is also set in the future, about 18 or so years. This also has some tie in's to both of the live-action Guyver movies. My last Guyver fanfic was kinda a flop, so hopefully this one will be better.
Also, one of the characters in here is named "Fumio". I know that there are fanfiction out there that uses the same name for the same reasons I am, and please understand, I am not stealing your idea. I had this character in mind long before any previous fanfiction I have read.
Summary: Four children born unlike any others before them or any that will follow. Four children born with the ability to do unbelievable things. Four children born with the awesome burden of saving the world...or destroying it.
Warnings: Right now, nothing I can think of. Violence and bloodshed, most definitely. Could be some foul language (hah, some's a funny word) and possibly crude humor.
Chapter One: Razors
By the time Fukamachi Fumio was finally let out of class, the sun had set low in the horizon, staining the sky a rich, deep poppy red and casting long black shadows along the ground. He was in a good mood that day; he had aced the Calculus test that he was sure he was going to fail at (or, by Fumio's standards, that was getting nothing higher than a B+), and he actually got through the day without a threat of getting beat up. That did not mean that he was not taunted at all, however, but he long ago learned how to put up with it. He had clean-up duty after school, but that was almost pleasurable; he had been teamed up with one of his friends and they had actually be allowed to listen to the teacher's radio. Now he was walking home at a brisk pace, whistling along the way, his laptop computer slung comfortably over his shoulder in its handsome carrying case.
Still, he had the feeling that the day had gone a little too perfect, a little too smoothly. Something was going to happen. And that "something" was sneaking up behind him that very instant.
With a smile, Fumio stopped walking, still keeping his back straight and staring ahead. "I thought you knew me better than to be sneaking about like that, Eijirou." He said against nothing. "Might as well come out so you don't look so pathetic."
"Think you're so fucking smart, don't you, Elf-boy?" Came the jeering voice of Eijirou Tokoi, a cocky and dull-witted junior whose sole purpose in life was to make Fumio's high school carrier as miserable as possible. Unfortunately for him, it did not work too well; he was just incredibly annoying. But this evening, he was not alone; by the time Fumio turned around, he saw that Eijirou was flanked by four other boys.
If intimidation was their means of attack, if had no effect. Fumio only gave a small smile, his posture still held tall and unwavering. "I'm not saying I'm smarter than anyone, but I do have to say that I'm really glad I am what some people I know are not."
He did not expect for Eijirou to catch that remark, and by the blank look on the older boy's face, he had succeeded at it. Fumio was in too good of a mood to be getting into a strife of any kind. Instead of coming up with some sort of comeback, Eijirou only drew himself up again, meeting Fumio in the eye. "That's quite a nice little laptop you got there, Elf. Tell you what, let's make a deal; you hand over your little toy and I might go easy on you today. I don't appreciate looking like a dumb-ass to you when taking a test."
"Hey Eijirou, I have a great idea. How about…no?"
Rage flashed across Eijirou's face. If there was one thing he hated more than anything else in the world, it was when people did not do what he said; and on top of everything else that he was mad at Fumio for, that only made everything come crashing down. "Okay, that's it. You are dead, Elf-boy!" With that, Eijirou charged at Fumio with all he had. Fumio was expecting this, and was by no means alarmed.
Eijirou aimed for a well-placed blow to Fumio's face, but Fumio saw the attack long before it ever was delivered. He lunged, moving in for the strike, but it never came. Fumio had tilted his head back ever so slightly so the older boy's last finger missed his face by a mere inch, causing Eijirou to overbalance and fall right into Fumio's upraised knee. With a loud grunt of pain, all the wind in Eijirou's body was forced out of him in a rush, stars flashed before his eyes and he fell onto the ground, doubled up from the blow he had received to his middle.
"All right." Fumio said, turning to the other members of Eijirou's gang. "Who's next?"
For a few seconds, the remaining boys only stared at Fumio, slack-jawed and eyes bulging. Apparently they has never seen Fumio fight before, even though they had heard the rumors of how quickly he took down anyone who threatened him. But seeing their leader gasping and wheezing on the ground seemed to give them, stupidly enough, courage. "Y-you're gonna get it, you fucking Elf!" One of the ones in front said, and taking it as a sort of cue, charged the much calmer boy.
Fumio sighed. He really did not want to put up with any of this today, but now it did not look as if he had a choice. "Very well…" he said softly, and tossed his laptop into the air before rushing in to meet his attackers.
What occurred next happened so fast that if anyone had been watching, it looked as if the fight had been fast-forwarded. By the time Fumio's laptop fell back down, he gracefully caught it in his hand by the leather handle and slung it back over his shoulder. All of the attacking boys were unconscious and lying in formless heaps on the ground, although there was not so much as a scratch on any of them. "Amateurs." Fumio snorted at the unconscious forms. "When will the lot of you…"
He never got to finish his sentence; something was coming up behind him, and fast. Without turning around, he already knew that Eijirou was back on his feet and coming back for a second round. Fumio glared over his shoulder, and sure enough, the older high school boy was almost on top of him, this time brandishing an old but very solid-looking pipe in his hand. By the look in his eye, Eijirou very well meant to smash Fumio's head in.
Fumio ground his teeth, his violet eyes narrowing dangerously for the first time that day. "I warned you, Eijirou! Don't mess with me!" Fumio spun around on his heel with a graceful, fluid motion that looked impossible for a mere mortal to pull off, arm outstretched and hand flat, ready to take the pipe out of his attacker's hand and knock the living daylights out of Eijirou at the same time.
Neither one happened.
In fact, something different happened entirely.
When Fumio brought his hand around, something bright and blue blazed from his fingertips, like a very bright spark of light, thinner than paper and quicker than anything he had seen before, and flew straight at Eijirou. "Yow!" The boy cried in alarm, ducking his head as the laser of blue light flew at him. It hit the pipe and to Fumio's amazement, cut it cleanly in half. He had seen incisions made by diamond blades before, but this was far more perfect than anything one of those blades could have made. And it did not stop at the pipe, either; it flew on, quick as lightning, and made the same beautiful and flawless cut through the trunk of a tree, through the entire length of a dumpster, and half-way into the wall of the building behind it before it finally disappeared.
Fumio and Eijirou stared at the destruction caused by that light, whatever it was; the top half of the tree was laying in the street, and the top of the dumpster had fallen to the ground as well, spilling its contents all over the place. Papers, glass bottles, aluminum cans, and even larger pieces of debris like old furniture and boxes had been cut as neatly as everything else had. The bricks of the building looked to have one black line painted onto them, but the line was too perfect, the incision too fine to be made by any type of blade.
The two boys looked back at each other. Fear flooded Eijirou's face, replacing the rage, and he dropped the half pipe he was holding. The others boys had awakened now as well, and they all looked as terrified as their leader; they had seen the strange occurrence too. Then they were on their feet, on the heels of Eijirou as they ran away frantically the way they had come. They were not completely afraid though; Fumio still heard the calls from their retreating backs.
All traces of his good mood vanished like smoke. He wasn't disturbed by the boy's reaction to that light, or to their taunts.
What was he going to tell his parents?
A black cloud hung over Fumio's head as he made his way back home, dragging his feet, eyes cast to the ground. True, Fumio had known his entire life that he was different from everyone else, he just never knew why he was so abnormal. There was a good chance that the story of what had happened today would be circulating around the entire student body by lunch tomorrow, with Eijirou's view of Fumio attacking him first and nearly taking his head off with that light.
If he had not moved, it probably would have, considering how easily it cut through medal, wood and solid stone.
Before he knew it, Fumio was standing outside the wrought iron gate of his home, looking up into the windows, their curtains drawn to keep out the afternoon sun. He drew a deep breath, running a hand through his black hair, trying to compose himself. It would not do him any good if he came in looking like a mess, especially if his mother was right there. She always knew when he was harassed at school, and would continue to probe at him until she knew all the details. And no matter how much he tried to make it look as if nothing was wrong, she always found out anyway, usually from a call from the principle's office. With another deep breath, Fumio opened the gate and walked solemnly to the front door.
Lucky for him, his mom was not in the front room when he cautiously poked his head in. Heaving a silent sigh of relief, he slipped into the entrance, slipping off his shoes and closing the door with as much silence as possible.
Fumio almost could not believe his luck when he made it up the stairs - especially that one that squeaked like a wounded mouse when any pressure was put on it - and into his room completely undetected. Once he was in his room and the door safely closed behind him, he released the breath he was not aware he had been holding. Of course, being able to sneak into the house was no victory. He had a habit of always saying "hi" to his mother when he first got home, and a break of that tradition would have her worrying and looking for him in no time. She always seemed to be worried about him when he did not say hello to her when he came home from school… Yet, in the world they lived in, that was understandable. But right now, he needed the short amount of time that he had to collect himself, to make it really look like that there was nothing wrong with him.
With a sigh, Fumio lay his laptop on his desk and crossed his room to lay down on his bed, but ended up stopping in front of the mirror instead.
There were many days when he would look at himself in the mirror without so much as a second thought, but something about today's events made him think everything over.
At first glance, Fumio looked like a normal, sixteen-year-old high school sophomore, tall for is age with longish black hair that nearly touched his shoulders and not too bad looking in the face, but on closer inspection, he was anything but normal. For one, he had pointed ears; that was where Eijirou's favorite insult came from. Then there were the markings on his face, seeming to be tattoos, but what ever ink was used was too even, the lines too perfect, and the color never faded. No, Fumio was born with those marks; to small triangles on the outside corners of each eye, the top points directed towards his temples. Even more striking was the mark on his forehead, which looked like four teardrops connected at their points to form what appeared to be an upside-down cross. He had similar tattoo-like markings on his hands two; two stripes on each that started under his pinky fingers and wrapped around to the underside of his wrists.
But the most startling feature about Fumio was his eyes. They were bright violet.
Not exactly what he'd call "normal".
Sighing again, Fumio completed his journey to his bad and fell down onto the soft covers, face first, and for the time being, just lay there. After what seemed like hours he finally rolled over, staring up at the ceiling, deep in thought. The silence of the room pressed down around him, as heavy as the thoughts the circulated through his head. He needed something to quiet those thought and keep him from spiraling into the depression that he was already leaning dangerously close to.
He turned his head on his pillow, looking at the stereo that was sitting on his desk among the pile of papers and schoolbooks. What happened next would surely scare the hell out of anyone who was… well… anyone. The pair of headphones that had been set on top of one of the speaker were suddenly lifted into their air, as if an invisible hand were picking them up, the cord unraveling itself before plugging itself into the headphone outlet of the system. Silently, the headphones floated over to Fumio's bed where they fit themselves perfectly on his head. At the same time, CD cases scattered on his desk were re-arranging themselves until one finally opened, the disk removing itself and hanging in mid-air as the lid of the CD player opened, ejected the old CD back into its proper case, and accepted the new one. The stereo switched on, the volume and equalizers set themselves appropriately, and the music began to play softly through Fumio's headset. Beethoven's Fifth Movement; he needed time to think, and music to assist in that process.
Once again, another feature about Fumio that was far from normal.
Ever since he was little, he knew he had the ability to move objects with his mind. He also knew that telekinesis was rare, but the condition in which he had it was, if the power were considered "normal", would be way beyond the norm. All the stories he ever heard about the power said that it was rare and in the majority of the cases, extremely weak, the user barely able to move a pencil without coming down with one hell of a migraine afterwards. Fumio never experienced those sort of side effects, and he could certainly do more than move a pencil.
As a child Fumio did not have too many friends; it was a plain fact that he did not need any. Like any little boy, he used to play hours on end with plastic figures of toy soldiers or building blocks that could be used to create towering skyscrapers, but it was how he played with them that was so extraordinary. While he played as his favorite good-guys, the "bad guy" toys would always move on their own, advancing against the rebelling forces, and sometimes up to full scale battles would break out with Fumio on the couch watching the whole thing, the battle mapped out perfectly in his mind. Later he went on to heavier objects, such as when he would do the dishes - it would always scare his mom when would walk out into the kitchen and see all her best dishes hanging in mid-air to drip-dry when Fumio was finishing washing the rest - or moving furniture or lifting objects out of the way when he was doing other chores. When he was seven he even lifted his uncle a good five feet off the ground by accident, and his uncle was not exactly a small man.
But that still was not the end to Fumio's amazing feats. While walking home from school when he was ten, he spotted two men mugging an old lady across the street. It had looked as an invisible giant had come to her rescue, because the two muggers were suddenly lifted clean off their feet and smashed together with a sickening crunch. While they lay unconscious on the ground, Fumio softened the power to poke around in their pockets and remove any stolen articles they might have after he returned to purse to the old lady. The stole objects appeared at the police station by an anonymous stranger who had also hog-tied the muggers with it. And when he was thirteen, he had stopped a speeding car, lifted it up off the street and placed it back down further down the road, at the next stop sign when a toddler ran out into the street to catch her ball.
Of course, his parents were well-aware of Fumio's "gift", but they still discouraged him to use it in public, and that he could understand, but that was no reason to say that he could not have a bit of fun with them. There was always the weekly prank of having Eijirou and his group slipping in a well-placed item of cafeteria food on the floor or having a scoop of chalk dust suddenly falling into his hair. Although he had no proof for it, he always blamed Fumio for the incidents, and he paid for it with usually a blow in the stomach. This eventually lead up to Fumio's sweetest form of revenge when he turned a toilet of the boy's bathroom into a bedey when Eijirou had to use it. The memory of the incident still brought tear of laughter to his eyes - as well to the eyes of everyone else who fell into the boy's hobby of bullying - whenever it was mentioned.
But what happened today…was something that had never happened before. Fumio lifted a hand from under his head and stared at it, studying the stripes that wrapped around his wrist more closely than he ever did before. He closed his fingers, looking them over. Nothing seemed out of place on them; there were not visible marks, and there was no pain, but that blue light that cut through practically anything had seen had come from these same fingers. Frowning, Fumio sat up on his bed, removing his headphones, thinking. Fingers still together, he made a swiping motion with his fingers, his arm making a wide, graceful half-arch.
He did it again. Still nothing.
His frown deepening, Fumio thought back to earlier that day when Eijirou attacked him, wanting to beat the living daylight out oh him just because he was different. His violet eyes flashed as he made the motion for a third time, but this time, in a blinding flash of blue light, an electric blue razor flew from his fingers and struck a pot holding a fern that Fumio had had in his room for a few years. The razor cut through the put as if it was made of paper, made of water, and the fern toppled to the ground, the pot and roots split perfectly in half, black dirt scattered all over Fumio's clean rug.
"Shimatta!" He cursed, perhaps a little louder than he meant to, because he clasped a hand over his mouth and looked over at the door. It was no use, though; the fern did make an awfully loud crash when it fell. Almost panicking, Fumio kicked the sliced put under his bed. He did not care if his parents saw the dirt; it was the pot that would draw their attention.
Sure enough, within moments, he heard the all-too-familiar sound of footsteps coming up the stairs and a knock on his door a few seconds later.
Fumio nearly heaved a sigh in relief; it was his dad. At lease he would not freak out over a little split dirt. "Yeah? Come in."
The doorknob turned and Fumio's father, Fukamatchi Sho, walked into the room. Sho was a handsome man in his late thirties, but one would never guess his age by looking at him; all of Fumio's friends at school had a hard time believing that he was not younger than twenty-five. "You all right, son? We heard a…oh, well I guess that would explain it." His eyebrows rose in an amused fashion when he took in the ruined fern.
"Yeah…little accident. Sorry 'bout that, I'll clean it up." Almost immediately the dirt began to lift from the carpet, condensing into a black ball until every speck of dirt had been collected into it.
"It's alright, don't jump up. We just didn't see you after school. Are you feeling alright? You look beat."
"I…" Fumio's plan of collecting himself before going downstairs had failed miserably; he probably looked worse now than he did after the fight. Finally he sighed and sat back down on his bed; the ball of dirt had deposited itself in his wastebasket. "Yeah Dad, I'm fine. We just had that really big calculus test today, so I'm a little worn out from that." He forced a smile, but he knew that he father suspected other wise. Fumio was never exhausted from such a trifle manner as a test.
"Okay, if you say. Your mom's almost has dinner ready. Will you come down."
"Yeah, I'll be down in a few."
Sho smiled, pat his son on the shoulder before leaving the room. Once he was gone, Fumio let his smile drop. Just when he thought he had things in his control, he always lost it again. With a final sigh, he picked up the fern from his floor and set it on a few sheets of extra scrap paper. He would re-plant it in the yard after dinner.
* * *
Fumio hardly paid attention during dinner. His mind was still upstairs and in the ally way where the fight had taken place. By the time his mother asked him for a third time how he did on his Calculus test, he finally heard enough of the question to answer. "Huh?" He finally tore his gaze away from the masked potatoes, which had been swirled into spiraling patterns on his plate. "Oh…uh, fine. Got a 98 percent on it, so that's not bad, huh?" Still, his parents did not look comfortable with his prolonged silence and blank gaze.
His mother, Mizuki, looked even more worried about him than his father. "Fumio…you're not being yourself tonight. Do you have a fever? You're so…out of it." She even reached across the table to lay a cool hand on his forehead. All three of them knew that it was not because he was sick; all his life, Fumio seemed to have a super-immune system against any sort of illness-causing agent.
"I just have a lot on my mind. Like I said, I had that Calculus test today, and then there was the physical chemistry exam and debate in language class…I have a lot to prepare for this week, and it's been wearing down on me." By the look on their faces, he knew they were itching to ask him if Eijirou had been bothering him, but they knew very well that he was capable of taking care of himself, so they held their tongues.
Instead of pressing further, his mother only smiled gently at him and said, "You have been working very hard this week, so why don't you go upstairs and rest? Your father and I will take care of the leftovers." She looked around the table. "Not that that will be much of a problem." Fumio almost smiled; the day's earlier events certainly had not effected his appetite. Even when he was staring off into space, he had still managed to clear away three helping by himself, and even then that was still considered a light meal.
"Are you sure? I feel well enough to help."
"You mom's right, you need to relax, especially with that debate coming up. We've been practicing for it all week, and I don't want you to loose to exhaustion. However, you can call your cousin; it's her birthday today. But do it soon; he parents are taking her out to dinner."
Fumio nearly slapped himself in the forehead. Naru's birthday. He had not forgotten about it - he had kept reminding himself throughout the course of the day that he was going to call her tonight - but recent events had overruled that thought. "Yeah; I'll do that now." Fumio hastily made his way back up to his room and picked up his cell phone that was sitting on his desk, dialed her house number, and returned to his bed while the phone rang on the other side. For a moment he was afraid that they had already left and smiled when someone on the other line picked up.
Naru was two years younger than he was, and she, his uncle and his aunt were the only other family that Fumio knew he had. But that did not matter; he and Naru had been very close while growing up. Even though they lived across town, she was almost like a little sister to him.
It was his uncle who answered. "Hello, Segawa residence."
Fumio reached up with his free hand and pinched his nose shut to make his voice sound different. "This is a special collect call from your favorite nephew, will you accept the charges?"
Over the line, Tetsuro laughed. Fumio always had a different greeting when he called their home, and no two were ever alike. "Hello, Fumio. How are you?"
Fumio's smile grew as he unplugged his nose. "Hello Uncle Tetsuro. I'm doing alright, I'm just calling to wish Naru-chan a happy birthday. Is she around?"
"Yes, let me go get her. We were actually going to leave for dinner in a few moments."
"All right, I won't take long."
"Let me go find her." There was silence on the line for a few moments, then the shuffling of someone picking the receiver back up.
"Happy Birthday from your favorite cousin."
On the other line, Naru squealed "Fumio-kun! Thank you!" Then she giggled. "You're also my only cousin."
"Well, I certainly can't fool you any more, can I? Guess you're getting too smart for me now that you're a whole year older. How old are you now? Ten? Eleven?"
Again, Naru giggled. "I'm fourteen today, baka."
Fumio mocked amazement. "Wow, fourteen? That's really something. See, when you get to be my old age, you begin to forget stuff like that. Enjoy it while you can." Naru was laughing, and for the time being he forgot all about his problems from earlier that day. "So, where are your parents taking you?"
"We're going to that really good Italian place in the city."
"Wow, that sounds good. Are you doing anything special?"
"I'm having a party on Saturday with some of my good friends."
"That sounds like fun. It's been years since I had a birthday party."
"Do you want to come?" Naru piped up.
"Hmm…" Fumio was silent for a short while, making it seem as if he was really thinking about it. In fact, he was; he had to be careful about when he was invited to big social gatherings, just in case something went wrong. But he did want to see Naru again; he had not seen his aunt, uncle or cousin since Christmas, which was around his own birthday as well. "Well, sure, I guess so. You do realize that this is going to cut into a very important night of watching scary movies, eating pizza and playing video games, don't you? Besides, do you really want an old foggie like me hanging out with a bunch of your friends?"
"You're so funny, Fumio-kun." Naru giggled. "Of course I want you to come. Oh, and bring Aunt Mizuki and Uncle Sho with you, Mom and Daddy want to see them too."
"Consider it done."
"Yeay!" Naru cheered. "I'm so happy you can come! It starts at seven! I have to go, we're going to go to dinner now. Mommy says 'hi'."
"Hi Aunt Natsuki." Fumio said, as if he was speaking to her directly.
"Ja ne, Fumio-kun. I'll see you Saturday!"
"Matta ne, Naru-chan." Fumio said, and hung up the phone.
Once again, his good mood had returned to him. Talking to his cousin always made him feel good, and he was happy that he was invited to her party.
But then his eyes fell on the plant that was still laying on his desk, and everything came rushing back to him. He shook his head. He was not going to let something like that ruin this for him. Apparently it only happened when he was angry, and as long as his temper held, he would be all right. Nothing to worry about.
Here are the translations for some Japanese terms used in this chapter. I know most of you know these, but for those who don't…
Shimatta: Loosely translated, "Shit"
Chan: Friendly term for a girl
Kun: Friendly term for a boy
Baka: Silly, stupid, dummy, etc.
Ja ne/ Matta ne: I'll see you latervar PUpage="76001055"; var PUprop="geocities"; var yviContents='http://us.toto.geo.yahoo.com/toto?s=76001055&l=NE&b=1& amp;t=1034181575';yviR='us';yfiEA(0); geovisit();