The night was ink-black, and everything around was quiet and still.
A solitary moon hung high overhead, with a few wispy clouds drifting around it.
The dead trees stood leafless, their branches bent like those of a gravely ill old man, his body twisted as he silently wailed in his final moments.
A few crows perched nearby.
Their eerie green eyes surveyed the surroundings.
As if searching for prey.
The path was gloomy, lit only by a few flickering streetlamps that barely gave off any light.
Strange and desolate.
"Help! Help!!"
A man in a rumpled suit fled in blind panic, his face filled with terror and despair.
One of his shoes, which should have been polished to a shine, had somehow come off.
His white socks were already filthy from scraping along the ground.
He had no idea what lay ahead, or whether a savior awaited him.
But all he could do was run.
And silently pray that a god would be waiting up ahead,
one who could bring a glimmer of hope to the despairing.
Unfortunately, this time, no god answered the man's desperate plea.
All that appeared before him was a faint voice.
"What are you afraid of?"
"Why resist?"
"Isn't it a great honor to become a work of art?"
The questions sounded bewildered and confused.
Yet the delight in the voice made it clear that its owner was not right in the head.
To the man, however, that voice sounded like a death sentence.
Terrifying, bloody, cruel.
He shook his head frantically, begging to stir his pursuer's mercy.
"Please, oh God, forgive me. Spare me."
He fell to his knees and kept bowing his head.
A thin trickle of blood seeped from the middle of his forehead.
Like a spiderweb.
Against the man's face, it looked rather ridiculous.
At last, before he died, the man saw the face of the one who had murdered his entire family.
White hair, red eyes, neither quite male nor female.
Incredibly alluring.
A white suit, adorned with fine golden patterns, with metal chains decorating its edges and corners.
A picture of refinement.
Black leather gloves covered their hands.
The figure's lips curved into a faint smile as they politely declined the man's plea.
Their voice murmured softly, like an aria.
"Sorry, poor sir. God is weeping."
With that, they flashed past, straight through the man's body.
The man felt a pain in his neck, and a thin line of blood appeared across it.
But he could no longer spare it a thought.
His eyes still held a fascination and intoxication that had yet to fade.
How could anyone be so beautiful?
Like a fallen angel who toyed with people's hearts.
Those ruby-red eyes gleamed,
like the stars high above the snowcapped peaks of Great Britain.
Noble and elegant, beyond reach.
Blood rushed upward.
Warmth spread through him, giving the fugitive a hint of comfort in the cold night.
His lips lifted despite himself, leaving a trace of bliss on his face.
Thump.
The body hit the ground.
The man's expression still held a longing for the world, but no fear of death.
As though he had gone to heaven.
Standing there, the boy dusted off his gloves, though not a speck of blood was on them.
His bearing was graceful and courteous.
He turned and walked over to the body.
Carefully, he brushed away the dirt and dead leaves clinging to the man.
Then he straightened the suit.
Every detail was immaculate, as though he were completing a painting.
Once he was done, he turned the man faceup and placed his legs naturally.
He adjusted the man's fingers and crossed his hands, arranging him like a pilgrim at prayer.
Rising to his feet, the boy studied his final touch and seemed quite pleased.
He took out an old-fashioned camera and chose a suitable angle in the woods.
With the moon hanging high overhead, he perfectly captured the masterpiece.
Click.
Moonlight shone down, and the shadow of the distant castle fell just right across the body.
Combined with the unusual angle, the photo showed a shadow shaped like a cross.
And the blissful corpse would be the perfect "jewel" on that "cross."
He curled his lips, thoroughly satisfied.
Delight surfaced, and the white-haired boy couldn't help humming a tune.
He ambled into the distance, a black photo album in hand.
He flipped through it until he found the right page.
On the back of the newly developed photo, he casually wrote, "Creel Home."
Then he wrote "Prayer" in the lower-right corner.
His fingers brushed over it tenderly before he carefully placed it in the second slot of the album.
In the first slot was another strange and eerie photo.
A kitchen, a fireplace.
A dining table, a banquet.
And "puppets" in all kinds of poses, connected by various threads.
Look closely, and they were clearly corpses, long gone cold!
The boy examined the photo for a moment, as if pondering something.
Then he suddenly snapped out of it and hurriedly took the photo out.
The back of this one also bore the words "Creel Home."
The boy stared at it for a long while, biting the end of his pen.
Then he wrote "Banquet" in the lower-right corner.
"Ah, so this is what they mean when they say you regret not reading more when you need the knowledge?"
His mind was a blank. He couldn't think of a single word to describe it.
The boy sighed dejectedly and shook his head, then put the photo away.
He resolved to read more when he got home!!
Tch. He couldn't even come up with a title.
By now, he had left the woods and was enjoying the moonlight as he stretched.
"Coleman, you shouldn't do unnecessary things."
A young boy's voice suddenly spoke beside him, startling him.
After recognizing the voice, the boy let down his guard and complained, "Brother, why did you scare me?"
Coleman, as the boy was called, felt rather aggrieved. His brother was so mean.
Didn't he know that scaring people could scare them to death?
The boy Coleman called his brother had black hair and black eyes, which were dull and opaque.
Their faces were remarkably alike. If not for their different hair and eye colors, they could easily have been mistaken for each other.
They were the same height, and their voices were nearly identical.
Both had delicate, feminine features.
Neither had the sharp angles typical of men.
They looked like a pair of porcelain dolls.
But compared to his brother's lifeless eyes, the younger boy's were more vivid.
"Coleman, have you forgotten the rules for Zoldyck Family assassins?"
His brother ignored his attempt to change the subject and asked the question sternly.
"But Illumi, wouldn't it be terribly boring to just kill people?"
His younger brother shrugged, unconcerned by the intimidating look in his brother's eyes. He took his twin's hand affectionately and swung it back and forth.
"Big brother is the best. You won't tell Father, right?"
Illumi furrowed his delicate brows but didn't resist his brother's closeness. He even let himself sway along with him.
After a moment's hesitation, he slowly replied, "But Father probably already knows."
"And isn't killing people just for money?"
Illumi sounded puzzled.
We're a family of assassins. If that's the case, isn't this just an ordinary job for us?
How could working be fun?
Only making money was fun!
Illumi had a firm understanding of money from a young age. He believed that killing people was only a way to make money.
Why look for enjoyment in work?
Wasn't lying around at home much better than working?
He stared blankly, like a little robot that couldn't understand.
Coleman couldn't help laughing.
His brother was so cute.
Like a porcelain doll!
He wanted to keep him at home!
To be my doll alone.
Driven by a strange possessiveness, Coleman's grip on Illumi tightened.
The sting made Little Illumi frown.
"Coleman, you're hurting me."
"Oh, sorry, sorry."
He apologized offhandedly, but still rubbed the spot carefully.
Coleman smiled and blinked. "Let's go back."
"...You'll get scolded by Father when you do."
"No, he'll electrocute me."
"...He might even torture you."
Thinking of how coldhearted his father was, Illumi couldn't help feeling a little schadenfreude.
I told him, it's just killing someone. Just kill them.
Why does it matter how you do it or what you use?
Well, whatever. Coleman can do as he likes.
I'm not the one who'll suffer.
"Then you can't eat all the little cookies Mother made."
Thinking about what awaited him, Coleman pouted and looked up at his brother.
"Save some for me."
Illumi turned around and blinked, his face expressionless.
He spoke slowly. "No way!"
Before you continue