(Slave to your Love) Scars of Love [Part V: Revised]

[Leia Avenrose]

Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, the girls or the series Gundam Wing?. I do, on the other hand, own the storyline and some of the made-up characters.
Dedication: To the Black Rose and all the other participants in the contest.
Warning: Extreme graphical content following the last scene....(And no I'm not normally this sick and twisted, demented and taking pleasure from this--I figured I'd do something different, something that might blow away your minds, make your stomachs churn...)



Scars of Love
By: Lynzi Knight
Rating: NC-17/XXXX
Part V: One More Time



The wheels on the cart made a loud clicking sound, as the metal bed was rolled back into the wall. A door slammed shut, followed by a heavy set of footsteps that echoed within the vicinity. The man with the midnight shift, the one who had put the body back into the hold in the wall, walked out of the morgue underneath the Calico hospital, and pulled the little green mask from his mouth and nose. He breathed a heavy sigh and strode down the hall with weary steps. His eyes felt heavy, as did the rest of his bulky body. His plan for this night: go home to the wife, get in a few hours of great sex in before bed and then have to get up again for what he did for a living?housing the morgue. He could feel the slight throb of a headache coming on as it knocked on the inside of his head near his right temple. He brought a hand to his head and fondled the aching area.

A man dressed in a blue hospital robe unexpectedly fell in step beside the man holding his head. He flashed him a grin that looked out of place on his angular face and nodded his compassion. ?How?d it go?? the newcomer asked, wiping the back of his hand along his shiny forehead. His ID card read ?Fonael?.

The man with the plan for getting laid this night shrugged, giving him a dour look, a look that said he didn?t want to be bothered. ?What do you mean? It?s the same as always, dealing with the dead.? This man?s ID card read ?Hiigarae?.

?What I meant was, do you think it?ll work??

A guarded look took over his honey eyes. Hiigarae narrowed them into little golden slits. ?I don?t know what you?re talking about.? He eyed the man beside him, wondering what he really wanted here and why he was here.

The Prussian eyes flashed dangerously. ?You know what I?m talking about, don?t try to hide it. Almost everyone here knows about it,? Fonael retorted bitterly, suddenly angry for no apparent reason.

?That?s not an area to freely discuss,? he growled back, nearly biting off the man?s head. He sped up, hoping to lose this new man. He kept up with ease.

?Come on, I?m sure you know what I?m talking about. Don?t let your superiors misuse you. Help me out here?? He stopped, watching the man with bullion eyes as he halted in his tracks and turned around to face him.

?What is it that you want??

He shrugged, hiding a shrewd smirk as he ducked his head. ?Nothing at all, why do you ask?? He moved his feet into a stance and crouched down to tie his shoelace. He moved his hands around, tying the dirty string.

Hiigarae was about to abscond his ?friend? with a short farewell, when he was abruptly grabbed roughly by the chin. His knee twisted in the joint as his entire body jerked painfully to the side in one swift motion. A sickening crack bounced off the walls, followed by his muffled cry of sheer pain. His back went numb. He couldn?t feel the ground beneath him, nothing, not even the air around him. He tried to bring his hands up to claw at what was around him, holding him, but he found he had no control of anything on his body. Fonael sneered, then let out a menacing chuckle that made Hiigarae?s blood run cold. Fonael then wrenched his arms into a sharp twist, followed by him weaving his whole body around the man who had the great plans for getting laid.

Blood frothed from his mouth, as his honey eyes went wide. The fingers on his face flexed for a brief moment before loosening. Suddenly his head was twisted around so hard it was dislocated from the neck, falling forward. The base of the spine jutted out through the skin, as his body slumped to the ground with a hard thud.

The Prussian eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure.

* * * * * * * * * *

He walked into the hallway with a slight limp. Although he didn?t try to show it, he couldn?t push the pain away, nor the memories that haunted him from that day. His dark brown hair was as stubborn as ever, his deep blue eyes glowing with secluded fury. The repairman, the one who had been called from his neighbor next door, had explained that the shower doors wouldn?t be able to be replaced till later on that week. Heero had nearly landed the guy a few sharp knuckles to the nose. He could feel the pain chant a familiar tune throughout the right side of his body. The glasses perched on his nose were in a black frame now, accenting his eyes and the clothes he had worn. What had he seen? What did he want to think he had seen? Was what he had seen what you would call a ghost, a phantom with unfinished business in the living world and not the afterlife?

He didn?t want to have to think about that right now, he didn?t want to assume anything that had to do with her or ghosts. At the sight of him, the three men sitting within the living room watched him with curious, concerned, watchful eyes.

?What happened to you, Heero?? Quatre Raberba Winner asked, anxiety flooding his aqua eyes. His compassion for his friends showed, came straight from the heart. ?Are you all right??

Heero grunted his worries away, and then shot him, as well as the other men, a deadly glare. It would?ve made Relena turn in her grave, but then again nothing could ever surprise that woman. ?Hn. Don?t worry about it.?

Everyone was quiet, all knowing when it was enough to push the man. Trowa Barton, the man whose silence matched his own, the one from the L3 Cluster, eyed him with vacant eyes. ?Well, what happened?? His eyes always held their vacant appearance, but underneath the cloak there was the sense of curiosity that was as secretive at the man.

?Yeah, what?s with the new walk?? Chang Wufei lifted a dubious brow that was pure black, straight, perfect, while his sarcasm remained rich.

Heero growled, glared at the Chinese man across the room. A small ball of orange fluff walked into the room then, sauntering around like it owned the place. ?Don?t ask me anything about it. I don?t want to talk about.? He looked at the top of the table that sat between the two chesterfields. A thought dawned on him, knocking him square in the head. His eyes flew over to the kitten that now sat on tabletop, peering up at him with blue eyes. He shook his head, pushing the absurd notions away.

Those eyes seemed oddly familiar?.

They all were still, watching their impassive companion with puzzled, troubled, blank expressions. He was always like this. So why would there be anything different about the way he were acting today, the silent acrobat from the L3 colony mused, keeping his face emotionless. He looked around the room; making silent calculations about the men he trusted and considered real friends. As his eyes drifted from face to face, they came to a rest on Heero?s. He sat, staring down at the kitten, his deep azure eyes daring the animal to do something. The cat shifted its head, tilting it to the side, then, surprising to everyone in the room to witness, walked up to him, placed its tiny paw to Heero?s knee, and meowed, letting it die down to a gentle purr.

It was showing him that it, too, missed her, missed having her around to play with, watch, wonder about?.

Heero merely blinked at the creature, then looked over to the fireplace. His eyes trailed up to the mirror between two gilded vases that stuck in the wall. His brow twitched, his mouth opening a bit as he was just about to say something.

?It?s a different one,? a deep voice answered his unspoken question. Everyone glanced at the doorway where Miliardo stood, arms crossed over his chest.

?What do you mean?? Trowa asked, looking from him to the mirror, and then back again. Heero slowly let his head turn away from mirror, his eyes searching the mysterious eyes of the kitten in front of him. ?How can it be a different one??

?Relena had?? he stopped, his eyes drifting over to where Heero sat. He found him staring intently at him, almost as if knowing what had really happened.

?That?s why her hand was bandaged up,? Heero stated bluntly. Miliardo nodded. Nothing got past that man?.

?She punched the mirror?? Quatre asked, skeptically. His brow furrowed in bewilderment, as if he didn?t understand. Again, Miliardo nodded.

?Yeah. A few weeks back, something had occurred. She hadn?t come home, as Pagan tells, till late into the morning, after midnight and she was crying, shaking. The maid says that she looked bruised, her face swollen.?

?Miss Relena?? Quatre squinted, and then shook his head. ?But who would?ve done something like that to her? Why would someone hurt her like that??

Miliardo could only shrug. He had no real answers for what his sister was hiding. It was like he, himself, never knew her anymore, let alone her five closest friends. Heero narrowed his eyes. ?Supposedly she was seeing someone at the time.?

?Do you believe that it was he who had done it to her??

Wufei scoffed, a scowl of disgust twisting his lips, ?That?s injustice!?

?And what do you expect us to do if she?s dead and we don?t know who she was seeing?? Heero barked gruffly, his eyes flashing with unknown emotions.

?She isn?t exactly?dead, Yuy,? Miliardo murmured, silently fuming.

* * * * * * * * * *

He stood over her body, his penis erect, the tip gleaming in the dim light. The knife he held tightly in one hand shone in the moonlight. The blade was silver, jagged and dripping with fresh blood. He reached down, and dragged the foreskin up and down, and over his head. Her breasts were sprinkled with large droplets of crimson, the maroon nipples hard, striving for some, if any, attention. She would get no more fun from him tonight. Or any night from now. He sneered down at the corpse, throwing his head back to groan in pleasure at his masturbation. A long gash cut the slender neck open, almost severing her head from her neck. The long, soft red hair lay limp on the floor, tangled, but still manageable if she were to ever get up again in the next life.

The flesh around the wound had turned an angry purple, the edges shriveled inwards. Her leg was bent up, while the other remained on the ground. They were spread in a wide V. One of her arms lay above her head, her fingers resting in her hair, curled in softly, whereas the other missed a hand, laying outstretched at her side as though reaching for something. She had been quick, not as much fun as her buddy down in the mausoleum. The man chuckled bitterly, shook his head and took his hand from his masculinity. He stepped over her spread-out body and looked around at the mess she had created. He had thought, in the beginning, when he had called her up to have a little fun for the night, that she would be easy, but she had been a strong fighter.

Not as strong as the last girl, though?.

He looked at where the bed had been, in the far corner of the large room, by the balcony doors, before turning to look at where it was now, standing upright against the window. The mattress had been slashed apart, the insides hanging out in the open. Metallic springs lay underneath the white stuffing in coils, or hanging from it. The sheets and pillows were covered in blood, tattered, thrown about all over the place. One pillowcase lay hanging off a crooked lampshade, while a dark comforter was tangled within the arms of the ceiling fan, smeared in blood and ripped here and there. Blood covered just about everything within the room. He had spared nothing?. And just think of what treat he was going to leave the police once he was finished here with her! He didn?t have the chance with the mausoleum girl, only because he had other plans to take care of, people to see, talk to, slay.

He had pushed the rest of the furniture up against the wall in order to give himself and the girl some more room to have a good romp. He caught the memory of her screaming out against her gag, green eyes wide, while running, stumbling away from him, her hands tied behind her naked, blood smeared body. She had run right into the hard, sharp corner of the glass table propped against the wall, the razor-sharp section stabbing into the left side of her stomach. He remembered how she lay convulsing on the ground on top of the shards of glass that were scattered about the floor, tears flooding her eyes and dripping to the carpet over her nose and cheeks. He had also memorized her expression of fear, pain, and sorrow for the fact that she had walked into a deathtrap.

He shivered at the memories, feeling it reach to the tip of his penis.

Oh, was he going to have fun now?.

Twirling the blade in his hand, he crouched down between her legs, and stared at the auburn bush of hair that covered her. He remembered the scent of roses and her personal smell. Running the tip of the knife along her inner thighs, he watched the thin lines of bloods appear, then drip quickly to the ground, gliding down her dead flesh. A malice grin stole his lips, twisting his features. He licked his lower lip, feeling his testes tighten at the pleasure that made his dick pulsate. He then reached forward and spread her lips, which were still wet from earlier. Sticking an inch or two of the knife into her vagina, he pressed his lips together tightly and quickly cut upwards. His knife sliced through her clitoris, cutting it in two. The tip of the knife scraped along her pubic bone, creating a soft grinding noise. He ignored it, too busy with the blood that flow forth.

Satisfied with the good-sized hole he had created, he began to hum. He bent forward and put his ear to her pelvic region. Reaching forward, his free hand grasped the one side of her opening; and he shoved the large steak knife into her vagina, pushing it up high until he heard a pop. Blood poured out, coating his hand. He pulled his head from her body and his eyes widened in sickening bliss at the blood. With the blade still inside her body, he twisted it around and around, slashing and mangling her uterus and ovaries. While he continued to turn the knife, he gave a mighty tug. All her reproductive organs came out easily, strung around the blood coated blade. He put them aside, shaking them off his knife. He shook them off, as he spread them out on the floor, seeing that one fallopian tube had detached from the uterus.

That didn?t matter?.

Jumping to his feet, he walked over her body, and then straddled her hips. He planted his ass on top of where her insides had once lay. He felt it give-way under his slight weight. That didn?t matter either?. He wiped the bloodied blade off on her stomach, not that it would mean anything without the blood, before lifting it and plunging it deep and hard into her abdomen. He sliced downwards, and then back up, then around, not going near her breasts, cutting out a hole. Lifting off the flap of skin, and pushing it to the ground, he reached into her carcass and ripped out one kidney, followed by the other one. He sighed, almost as if in heaven, and then rubbed them both against his chest.

?Feels so good, yes it does. So good,? he moaned loudly. He let them fall to the floor.

Continuing, he dove for the liver and diaphragm, yanking them out, as well. He dropped them to the ground, letting them rest beside the kidneys. Afterwards, when he had pulled all her organs out, all but the intestines, he huffed heavily, feeling his penis twitch, and his shaft tremble. He nodded to himself, and then grabbed the intestines. Pulling on it, he managed to get them out and have them laying all over the floor around him. He grinned broadly from ear to ear, and then wrapped his penis with the long string of intestine, until it was completely covered. Grasping his length, covered in the organs, he began to masturbate, loving the feeling of the appendage rubbing along his shaft and teasing the corona. He suddenly stopped, an idea entering his head. The intestines fell to hang half inside her body and half on the ground, before he crouched down and stared at the blood pooling underneath the seven out of ten organs.

?Better idea, much better. Good thinking.?

The depraved male took the organs, one by one, and cleared away from chairs from the door to the bathroom. He began to write a message, scrubbing the organs along the walls to form his chicken-scratch. When his message was complete, he gathered the used organs and then began to hide them around the room, positioning them in strategically thought-of places. Once he was done with that, he moved back to the body and grabbed his knife. Crouching, again, over her gaping stomach, he pinched one of her fading nipples, and then pulled the breast up hard. He pierced the extended flesh with precision and began to cut the breast off, while the whole time whistling a pleasant tune his twin brother had taught him when they were younger. The breast fall apart from the body with a loud bone grinding ripping sound, followed by a pop! as the flesh fall back down.

He reached for the other breast, then, and repeated what he had just done.

Picking up the breasts, he grabbed the uterus, ovaries, and fallopian tubes, and headed for the locked door. He bent down and placed them in position. Boy, were the cops and the Preventers? going to shit a cow when they saw this?.

Once he was finished, he headed back to the corpse and bent down, getting ready to gut it some more, to pull the bones from the corpse.


Continued?