Ryoma came to a stop, his labored breathing echoing through the room. 

He had done it. They were dead. 

They had kept on coming and coming, but he was ready to meet them, with Death in hand. 

Just like last time. 

He picked up the bloodied ball and dropped it back into his backpack, along with his racket. He would clean everything up when he returned home with Kirumi. 

Speaking of her.. 

He thought he had found the room where they were keeping her. Most of them were surrounding it, preventing him from entering. Or, so he assumed. He hoped she would understand why he did what he did.

He took a deep breath and opened the door. It swung open to reveal.. pitch black. 

He raised a brow in confusion. Ok...? 

He had a subconscious thought to keep the door open if he went inside, as he might need to run for it.  

The man then did so, embracing the darkness. If there were any members left in here, it would conceal him from them, unless he chose to speak up. But, it would also hinder him, as the possible mafioso could be hidden as well. That was if there was any in here, to begin with.. 

Then, a voice rang throughout the darkness. 

"Ah, Mr. Hoshi. I've been expecting you, or may I say, we've  been expecting you? Turn the light on." 

He jolted, but not at the sudden sound of the guy's voice. 

We've. 

WE'VE. 

So.. she MUST be in there. If he'd done the math correctly, the only people left should be in here.  But, could it be a trap? These guys were pretty crafty, much like how fables and tales portray the fox. 

He decided to take that chance.

 In this situation, he should not miss a SINGLE opportunity, especially when one could either lead to Kirumi's death, or her chance to live another day. 

A heartbeat later, he sighed and turned the light on, preparing for what he would see. 

Now, Mr. Hoshi (as the mafioso called him) was expecting to see something at least a little bit disturbing. They were brutal in their ways, so one would only anticipate just that. But, what he didn't  expect was the purposeful cruelty he was going to see next. 

They were certainly barbaric, but this was far past anything he'd expect of them. 

The switch made a small click as he flicked it. The room exploded in a flash of light, rendering Ryoma blind for a couple seconds as he adjusted to it. It was surely a big change from the hallways of the large building; they were dim, having not been exposed to much light, in what looked like years. 

The first thing he saw was the speaker. He was.. very tall, even for the tennis pro. His eyes drifted upwards as he took in all of his features. Muscular build, tattoos of wild beasts clawing up his arms, the same fedora as all of them seemed to have... 

The man smiled, cigar shifting between his lips. The smoke curled, floating up into the air and coating everything with a scent that would make anyone recoil in disgust. 

"Well?" He finally spoke, this time taking the cigar in between two of his fingers. He gestured with his other hand, giving Hoshi a pointed stare. 

He let out a grumble at the look on the man's face, but shifted his gaze to the area he wanted him to look at so badly. 

"Kiru...mi?" 

...The first thing he spotted was the blood. 

As his eyes drifted lower and lower, he could see brains, skull shards, and then.. her. 

Her face was eternally frozen in a mix of shock and fear, looking like she had never expected such a thing. Her hair was matted with her own drying blood, crusting against the strands. There was no movement from her stomach, like he had so often noticed in her pregnancy. 

His face changed from one of confusion to one of despondency.  

Why...? 

WHY..? 

He ran over to her body, hands caressing her face. 

Her soft cheek was as cold as the snow that fell in the winter. That definitely meant she was dead.. if it wasn't for the still-bleeding, deep hole between her eyes, he might've still tried to revive her. 

His shoulders slumped as the truth slowly sunk in: Both her and the daughter they'd grown to love were gone, and there was nothing that could be done for them. They had crossed over the rainbow bridge, never to return. 

He slowly turned 'round, his face morphing into one of pure, PURE rage. 

HOW FUCKING DARE THEY. 

HOW. DARE. THEY. 

They had whisked away his lover and his family so long ago, and now his pregnant wife. He knew he never, never would recover from this grievous blow to the heart. Never. 

He forcefully shoved the backpack off his back.

 He would have to be real quick with this, as he could see the clear outline of a gun pressing against his thin shirt. He steadily reached into his own, drawing out the gun in a methodical manner. 

He locked eyes with the mafioso.

Like a harmonized, simultaneous snake dance, they pulled out their guns, pointing them at each other. Neither moved once the weapons were aimed, pointing each at the other man's heads. They stayed stock - still. The only thing moving in that room was the shaking of Ryoma's body, and the sweat rolling down their heads. 

The man stepped forward. 

The Ultimate stepped forward.

Their breaths reverberated against the walls. 

Ryoma then dropped the gun, the firearm making a booming noise. 

The tension could be cut with a knife. 

The taller guy raised his eyebrows, obviously very bewildered at his seemingly meaningless retreat. Well, the man would wish that it was a retreat later. 

He ran forward in an act of brazen boldness, thrusting his leg out and sweeping it under  the other man's feet. Just as he had planned, the mafioso tripped, letting out a yell as he fell to the floor. Hoshi almost cringed at the sound of his head hitting the ground; it sounded almost mushy, like the noise of the metal ball hitting skull and brain. 

The member then moaned in pain, blood pooling around the wound. The tennis player walked towards the guy's head, murder flashing in his eyes. He looked down upon him, his dark voids of eyes boring into the man's own. 

He let out a 'hmph' at his half-lidded face. 

He ain't movin' any time soon. 

With this affirmation, he headed back to his backpack. Luckily, it was still sitting there, as blood-covered as ever. He reached inside and grabbed the metal tennis ball, then headed to the dropped gun and collected it. 

His wife and his child's murderer was about to be in a world of pain. 

He stood at about the man's hips, staring into his neck. 

"Look at me," he rumbled. 

The downed mafioso could not lift his head for the life of him, but he could see his eyes shifting slightly to him. Once he knew the attention was on him, he raised the hand that held the ball, and brought it down upon his left leg. 

The leg shattered and flesh twisted and tore, blood spattering on the ground. The howl that ripped from the man's throat was comparable to a rat's scream, when it was entangled in a snake's coils. 

Ryoma found some sadistic pleasure in this action. Honestly, this was only a fraction of the pain that the short man would feel for the rest of his life. This mafioso deserved to feel it. 

The other leg did the same, eliciting the same reaction, but the scream was strangled. Now, the man couldn't get up. He was so, so overwhelmingly tempted to crush his arms as well, just to steal the last power from his grip; he even thought he could feel the Devil's tail flicking across his cheek. 

However, he just wanted this all to be over. He just wanted to feel.. free. 

With a slow, dragging pace, he meandered up to the mafioso's chest. He aimed for the collarbone, smashing it down into his own body. This scream was nothing like he'd ever heard before. The man's arms twitched and he could feel his torso convulsing. Ryoma knew his victim was on his last legs. 

He placed the ball on the ground, in a place where he knew it wouldn't roll away. 

The gun felt almost heavy in his hand as he pointed it towards the guy's forehead. This man he was about to kill was very sick indeed, and it felt amazing. 

He leaned to the dying mafioso's ear and whispered, "Nighty night, you sick, SICK man. I hope your comrades can be there to escort you to hell," he spat, words full of venom. With that being said, he pulled the trigger. 

The brains made a large SPLAT! as they got on everything in the surrounding area. He groaned in disgust when he realized some had gotten on his shirt, and other little bits were sliding down his skin. 

But, that was not his primary concern. 

He altered his eye's gaze to look upon his wife.

 She looked so beautiful, even in death. 

He tramped over, the sting of the unshed tears causing him pain. Ryoma then reached his hand down to stroke her hair. Memories bum-rushed his head. 

Sitting at the beach, the waves foaming on the sand, her soft laughter as they joked on their towels... 

 His tearful laughter as she showed him the ultrasound, warm hugs, loving kisses.. 

Oh, oh lord. 

He didn't realize he was crying until the tears hit his hand. 

He let out a wail, burying his face in her neck. 

His life, gone in one day. 

In one day. 

How was he supposed to go on now? 

Me feeding y'all?? I never... This was ultimately rushed, but very enjoyable to write. I GRINDED for this mofo. Teeheehee... VERY excited to get commentary. Enjoy, beastie darlings~~ Mia 🔱