Excerpt:
"Half an hour before the massacre, Taro was munching on popcorn alongside Revolver, watching a horror movie in their living room, between the crunching of kernels and the terrified screams of a character whose ribs and lungs were being ripped from their body by a sophisticated machine that made them look like an angel.
Neither of them flinched at the grotesque scene, thinking that Revolver’s taxidermy was far scarier than a few special effects in something fictional and intangible.
—What a boring movie —murmured Revolver, shoveling a handful of popcorn into her mouth—. You can tell it’s fake; I don’t get why anyone thinks this is better than the sixth one.
—But the acting’s actually good —Taro replied—. Besides, the sixth is way overrated; the deaths are too quick. The first one’s the best.
—The first one’s bad too; the only good part is the bear trap, and even then you can tell they swapped the head for a watermelon with makeup at the end.
—That’s not the case with the sixth. Everyone dies in such stupid ways, and the protagonists’ worst enemy is actually being able to use their brains for anything useful.
—Yeah, but the traps were really well done, and it’s so realistic in showing what we all are inside; that’s why the tension holds up.
—But the only good thing about that movie is the morbid thrill of watching all those bastards die.
A vibration interrupted their conversation. Taro dug into his pocket and pulled out a compact cellphone. Opening it, he found only a message from a familiar number: EMERGENCY MEETING, AT THE USUAL PLACE.
Taro stared at his phone, his gaze shifting from the screen to Revolver, and he clicked his tongue; annoyance was written all over him.
—What’s wrong? —Revolver tilted her head.
—I’ve just been ordered to run an errand, but honestly, I’ll probably just be a Christmas ornament —Taro explained as he headed for the door—. Though I have a feeling something’s going to happen.
—But tonight was our movie night.
Taro froze just short of the doorknob, turning his head toward Revolver, whose expression he compared to a scolded Dalmatian looking up with forgiving eyes.
—I promise that tomorrow we’ll spend the whole day on a marathon, from the first to the tenth Mouth movie, eating popcorn —Taro said as he opened the door, not fully turning back—. It’s a promise for you, my little Rev.
—But I don’t want you to leave and leave me here alone —said Revolver, looking away.
—Just try to pass the time without me.
Taro left the house while Revolver lay back on the sofa, returning her attention to the movie, but losing the one thing that made movie night—and life itself—enjoyable.
As Taro walked through the empty streets, he could only feel the autumnal winter chill, the absent wind, and the intermittent hum of streetlights illuminating just enough to make him feel suffocated in the sea of silence that had long surrounded him.
Before reaching the next intersection, he saw a woman his age emerge from the corner, wearing a parka that hid her wild, possessive hair and striking, obsessive eyes. As she locked eyes with Taro, a smile crossed her face, making her seem light, though her sins kept her grounded.
—Hello, Taro —she greeted, grinning from ear to ear, her teeth black as coal—. You look very alone.
—Nyx, don’t bother me; I’m not in the mood to deal with you right now.
—As if talking to me were some kind of punishment.
—It’s not that I dislike you; it’s just that knowing Revolver’s probably alone because of this meeting annoys me. But fine, tell me what you want.
—Well —Nyx’s smile softened, her gaze drifting to the sky—. Do you know if my Gael will be at the meeting?
—I have no idea what we’re going to discuss, so how do you expect me to know if your… target will show up or not?
—We’ll probably be talking about the one who died or something with him. Honestly, I think mostly they’ll argue over who could have killed him, since he was ranked tenth among the strongest students. He also belonged to Radorana and Minro.
And so, Taro and Nyx wandered, speculating about what would be discussed at the meeting, walking until they reached a large ruined building in the woods, roofless, walls cracked, held together only by nature and a massive metal gate. Taro grabbed the gate and lifted it with too much force, creating a loud clang that would draw the attention of everyone inside.
—Alright, who called this meeting at such an hour? —Taro demanded, his face set, determined not to leave without giving whoever ordered it a beating, crushing the piece of the gate he still held.
—We don’t know yet, really.
From the shadows emerged Charlotte, a condescending smile on her face, holding a teacup and saucer.
—Areus and his brothers haven’t shown. Moro and Gashiga are also missing, so we don’t know exactly who ordered this meeting —she said—. By the way, Taro, did Revolver tell you about our little chat?
Charlotte instantly tilted her head to the side, barely dodging a wooden stick that sliced a few strands of her hair—the result of Taro, whose veins bulged on his face and temples.
—What did you tell her? —Charlotte could only interpret Taro’s words as if a black hole were pulling her in, yet she could only smile at such chaotic veins, an impulsive, imperfect reaction. It was clear why such misery irritated him in her eyes.
—I just said that horses eat grass, but each one grazes in its own part of the field —Charlotte replied.
At that very moment, everyone in the room felt a presence. Looking up, they saw a figure, feminine yet not, blocking the moonlight. It seemed like a moth—not by attire or flight, but by the amber eyes fixed on them like the weave of a cloak.
As it descended, a calm smile appeared on its face, and as it landed, no one could ignore the sound of crunching branches and footsteps drawing closer to the ruins.
—Buongiorno —said the figure, a rough, deep voice scanning each of them—. I brought you here.
—Minro —Taro muttered.
No one there liked Minro; the Italian caused trouble merely by speaking, yet none dared stop him, curious why he had gathered them here...
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