WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!

This story has some really DARK themes in it! Murder, body mutilation, underage rape, torture. I highly recommend that you read this at your own risk and would ask that if you are not comfortable with such themes to PLEASE DON'T read this!

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Enrico never died. Tsuna never left Namimori. And yet, he was still dragged into the bloody, shitty Hell that was the Mafia. Only this time, he went willingly with a darkened heart and Flames as black as the night sky.

I.

One day.

One hour.

One minute.

One second is all it could take to change a persons' life forever.

In Tsuna's case, it took eighteen minutes and three seconds.

One second for the last remaining shred of hope and love and perseverance he carried in the depths of his heart to – finally – shrivel up and die.

Two minutes to pilfer the large butcher knife that his mother kept stored away in the drawer closest to the oven.

Four minutes to track down the most infuriating and perverse of his bullies.

Fifteen minutes for said bully to cease his painful - and futile - struggles. Permanently.

One second of dawning realization and horror at what he had done.

And one more, never-ending second to crush that miniscule part of his conscience for good; to feel something inside him crack and shatter into a million tiny pieces that were too small and too numerous to piece back together. To feel all his suppressed bitterness and anger and fear and jealously and powerlessness and hate surge up within him and begin to color the very air around him an dark, inky-black and one blink later-

-Tsuna was suddenly standing in the empty kitchen of his empty house.

… What…? How was he back here all of a sudden? He was just standing over the mutilated body of Mochida just moment ago... Was... was all that happened just some part of a twisted daydream? Did he not really plunge this knife over and over and over into the (screaming, cursing, pleading, praying, DeAD) body of Mochida...?

But… there is the metallic scent and taste of blood in the air and blood is sticking to his arms and face and clothes and blood is dripping down the tip of the knife with a loud, rhythmic drip, drip, drip, drip and the blood is steadily pooling around his shoes and getting trapped in the grout of the tiles on the floor and-

There is the undeniable proof that what he did just now wasn't all some kind of delusional fantasy that his (broken) mind conjured up.

"... Heh... hehe... hahaha... a-AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Tsuna falls to his knees - splashes his hands in the thick pool of blood with a child-like glee. Rubs his red-stained hands over his chest, his thighs, his shoulders, eyes, nose, mouth, throat. Until he has been baptized in life and blood and iron and death.

One more second for him to fall down, down, down, down into an inescapable darkness that he'll gladly embrace like a lover.

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II.

There is still talk circulating wildly around Namimori seven weeks after the gruesome discovery of Mochida Kensuke's near-unidentifiable body.

"It's the work of a disgruntled lover, I say."

"It's an unfortunate accident. He was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Someone was clearly jealous of such a successful young man."

"It's retribution for all his sins."

Tsuna almost breaks out into maniacal laughter at that last rumor and stifles his mirth by burying his head into his arms. It wouldn't do well to draw attention to himself while at school – even though there was no way in hell that people would think that Dame-Tsuna, of all people, would be able to commit such a violent act.

Retribution for his sins, indeed!

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III.

Tsuna stumbles upon an interesting sight somewhere between his tenth and eleventh killing: a severely beaten and tortured, horribly emancipated, near-death foreigner with ash-silver hair and murderous jade-colored eyes that hate and want to make the world burn and suffer. Eyes that scream about the unfairness of everything, that are one step away from plunging into darkness forever, eyes that remind Tsuna so much of his own.

He adds six more men to his fledging body count before freeing the injured teen and extending a question and offer - but not a hand, he can see the hardened pride the other teen carries like a badge of honor and Tsuna won't take that away.

"Do you want to make everyone pay for how they've treated you?"

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IV.

News spreads like wildfire seemingly overnight.

"Did you hear? That Takeyama group was destroyed the other day!"

"Hmph...! Good riddance, I say! Those yakuza punks were an eyesore for this town! Not to mention an utter menace!"

"Some of the bodies had multiple stab wounds while others looked like they had been blown apart..."

"Y-You... do you think whoever did that is the same guy that's been hunting Namimori students...?"

"I don't know... I just hope that this isn't an ill omen of things to come..."

Gokudera Hayato snorts around his cigarette. While he has put on enough weight to be considered healthy, his body is still made up of sharp ridges and angles like the lines of his cheek bones, collar bones, hips and fingers.

The idiots populating this town had no fucking idea… This was just the beginning of things. The beginning of the storm.

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V.

Yamamoto Takeshi was the second to fall.

"Don't you want them to eat their words, Yamamoto-kun? To make them all pay?"

It's four o'clock in the afternoon and Takeshi would normally be at practice right now - except he can't do anything, much less practice, with a broken arm.

A broken arm that was just inflicted on him by his so-called 'teammates'.

Takeshi's anger and frustration is frigid and cold - an accumulation of the years of expectations upon expectations upon snide words and shallow friendships and mocking smiles and two-faced teammates, all melting together into something cold and sharp and deadly.

He meets the burning orange gaze of Tsuna and the silver-haired teen standing off to the side and gives his answer immediately.

"Yes."

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VI.

It's easy to make Takeshi's father fall into his web, thereafter.

(If Hayato had any say in the matter, he would have never even considered making Takeshi's father a part of their group. In his experience, blood didn't mean shit when it really came down to it – just look at how and what his so-called Father and Sister did for him all those years ago.)

A few pointed words here coupled with the tearful - I-I... oh god... I, Kobayashi Yuki, to-took p... part in bullying- AH! Pl-Please...! Hah... hah... I-I... was the o-one who o-oversaw the bullying of... Ya-Ya... Yamamoto Takeshi... pl... please... I... I instructed the others t-to... b-beat and r-ridicule and sa... sabotage Yamamoto Takeshi be-because... I-I... I'm a l-little jealous bitch that needs... needs to destroy other peoples' li-lives in order... in o-order to make myself fe-feel better... hah... th... there! I-I s... said it! Y-You'll let me g-go... right...? ... Oh god... please! No! NO-! -confession of the late-captain of the baseball team and other such confessions - some candid, others... perhaps not - coupled with photo evidence of their sins had Tsuyoshi falling to his knees in horror and disbelief.

"... None of this is your fault, Yamamoto-san," Tsuna lies with hooded eyes and a sugar-sweet smile and honeyed-words. "You couldn't have possible known just how horribly Takeshi was being treated by his former teammates and classmates! No... There was no conceivable thing you could have done - no blatant hints or clues you could have seen - to have prevented such terrible treatment! No... There was nothing you could have done..." Tsuna's voice is a velvety purr as he rests his forehead against the elder Yamamotos' and forces Tsuyoshi to stare into his molten orange gaze.

"You did nothing for all these years, Yamamoto-san... and we should really make you pay for your laziness and dismissive attitude shouldn't we…? However... you can start to atone for your innumerable sins."

"H... How...?"

Tsuna's smile is kind and gentle, peaceful.

"By making the parents of those students pay for allowing their children to act however they damn well please. After all…," Tsuna's grin becomes mocking and harsh, "children are a reflection of their parents, aren't they…?"

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VII.

"I don't think we should live in Namimori anymore..."

"I totally agree!"

"The sudden spike in murders and disappearances - especially among the children - has me worried about my grandson..."

"Just a few days ago, half the baseball team went missing right?"

"It's a tragedy for sure... their poor parents. I wonder what they must be going through…"

"… What? Haven't you heard? All the parents of the missing baseball players are dead or in critical condition!"

"Wh-What?!"

"Yeah... rumor has it that some of them were found sliced into little pieces while the others were apparently poisoned..."

"Oh my god!"

Yamamoto Tsuyoshi solemnly focuses on making sure his blades - both the ones he uses in his restaurant and outside the restaurant - are free from any and all blood that may or may not have gotten on them from his past… visits and excursions.

This is the only thing he can do to protect his son and his new found friends.

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VIII.

Sasagawa Kyoko approaches them one early weekend morning.

Hayato is hunched over a bench in the corner of Yamamoto father's unused dojo, an array of chemicals and powders and beakers spread before him. His hair is messily pulled back and out of his face and a pair of glasses is perched precariously on the edge of his nose. Hayato has taken to religiously experimenting with the gunpowder used in his bombs when not perfecting his G-code or practicing his skills.

Takeshi is dressed in a traditional top and hakama pants. He has withdrawn from the Namimori baseball team and has traded in his baseball bat for the sword. Gone is his usual - fake – smile. In fact, it had been a few weeks since anyone had seen the former baseball star laugh or smile. He only seems to smile now whenever his father is passing down another sword technique or skill to him. Sweat beads on his hairline and drips down his face and neck as he swings a wooden sword in wide, familiar, repeating arcs.

Tsuyoshi is in the front of the building, manning his sushi shop as usual, and keeping his eyes and ears open for anything noteworthy.

Tsuna is lounging in a sunny spot on the edge of the veranda, eyes skimming through a book given to him by Hayato about human anatomy, one hand fingering the next page, the other hand idly twirling and flipping a new knife given to him by Takeshi with apparent ease and skill. Just a few months ago, he wouldn't have thought of himself as being able to wield such a dangerous weapon like this. It's funny how much one can change in such a short amount of time.

Hayato and Takeshi spare a single glance towards Kyoko as she walks through the dojo doors before returning to their respective activities.

Tsuna, on the other hand, flips his knife once, twice, thrice before deftly grabbing the blade with his thumb and forefinger and swinging his arm out. The knife sails through the air like a silent missile and embeds itself into the wall just centimeters from Kyoko's face.

"How interesting," Tsuna says, all without looking up from his book, "that the Idol of Namimori would deign to pay people like us a visit."

There is no anger or malice in his voice - there never seems to be any anger or malice in him anymore - just a deep rooted apathy and twisted glee that only comes out at the same time as his victims' blood.

To her credit, Kyoko doesn't even flinch when the knife flies within spaces of her face.

"I come with information, Sawada-kun."

"If it's... anything important... my old man will learn of it soon," Takeshi grunts in between swings of his sword.

"This is something from outside of Namimori," Kyoko responds. "Not from civilians or the yakuza, but from the mafia."

Hayato very calmly finishes up his measurements before turning to face Tsuna.

"It would be wise to listen to what the Woman has to say, Tsuna-sama. Depending on which Family she has information on... we could be facing a tough situation."

Tsuna hums lightly before shutting his book and sitting up to give Kyoko his undivided attention.

"Well...? What's this information you're giving us?"

"Before I tell you what I know, I want you to do something for me."

Tsuna throws his head back with a laugh. "Ahahaha! H-How... how audacious of you to come to us and make demands like that...! Hahaha!" He leans forward, a maniacal gleam now twinkling in his eyes. "... I like it. What do you want us to do, Kyoko-chan?"

Kyoko's eyes burn with hate and despair and Tsuna feels something stir within him at the sight.

"I want you to kill the man that has my brother captive."

Tsuna leans forward even further - his grin growing larger as he does so. "Oh? And what makes you despise and hate this man so much?"

"He's a Mafia Boss that sees my brother and me as nothing more than his playthings and property, to do with as he pleases until he tires of us! I hate him and I want him dead! Will you help me?"

Perhaps it's his puppy-dog crush from middle school influencing him, but Tsuna can't help but fall in love with this rage-stricken, frustrated, hateful version of Kyoko.

"Of course."

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IX.

Sasagawa Ryohei is face-down in a puddle of blood, sweat, tears, and semen with a man cruelly taking him from behind when several things occur at once.

The steel door to his 'bedroom' slams open, the man fucking him jerks sideways – a demand forming on his tongue, there is a familiar feminine scream of unadulterated rage and grief, the man shifts on the bed, there is a gunshot, the man falls to the side, there are several more gunshots accompanied with cursing and swearing, there is the sound of a key entering a lock and the sensation of metal falling away from bleeding wrists, and there is a soothing voice murmuring in his ear.

"Shall we make them all pay, Sasagawa-sempai? For everything they dared to do to you and Kyoko-chan?"

And there is a sudden – different – burning in Ryohei's stomach, in his chest, hands, throat, eyes, face, mouth.

He opens his eyes and sees an angel; a fallen angel with tempting words offering him salvation and damnation and revenge in one fell sweep.

He takes it. Gladly.

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X.

Milo Vega is discovered in his summer vacation home chained to his king-sized bed without his head. His body had been severely beaten and riddled with over one-hundred bullets. His genitals had been removed and that – along with his decapitated head – were nothing more than a bloody smear in the center of the expansive room.

As his Family froze in horror and disgust upon entering the room, bombs suddenly exploded, engulfing the massive, opulent, sinful mansion in a wave of fire.

A group of five blood-covered teenagers watch the blaze with wide eyes and satisfied smirks until a black van drives up behind them to take them home in a whirl of black, wispy flames.

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XI.

Two months after Kyoko and Ryohei have joined his merry, little group, Tsuna finds a young boy with gritty sandy-blond hair and sunken, empty brown eyes standing outside the gate to his house – not home, this place hasn't been a home to him for several long, long years. The child hugs an incredibly giant book to him – looking as if the book could shield and protect him from the world – and takes a hesitant step forward.

"Are… Are you… S-Sawada Tsunayoshi…?" The boy's voice is slow, weak and raspy, like he hasn't spoken is a long time.

Tsuna examines the child from his spot by the front door before crossing the yard in four strides and opening the gate. Up close, Tsuna can see clear signs of abuse and starvation adorning the child like fine jewelry.. He can also see an endless well of despair and hopelessness in the child's eyes and that familiar – burning – sensation that Tsuna has grown addicted to rears its' ugly – powerful – head at the sight of something so heinous and recognizable.

Tsuna smiles – a kind, genuine smile that softens his features into something pleasant and normal – and kneels down. "… You remind me of myself when I was your age…"

The child trembles and hugs the book in his arms even tighter. "… I… I know… that… you can help… me…"

Tsuna's smile widens and he raises a hand to coax the child forward. "I can… now, who is it that you despise the most? Who do you want to make pay, Little One?"

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XII.

Fuuta de la Stella becomes a permanent fixture in the Yamamoto dojo as well as a shadow to Tsuna, never leaving the brunets' side save for when it was time for school or time for an 'outing'.

It's fine though.

Tsuna is happy to indulge in young Fuuta's wishes and if he seems to treat the child like a younger brother, no one says anything. They trust the brunette much more than the parasitic townsfolk of Namimori.

Besides, Fuuta has an unusual, but helpful, ability that makes deciding their next target that much easier and safer.

None of them can afford to get caught now, not when there are still so much more that have to pay.