Chapter Text
( 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 : 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐎𝐃 )
no mankind shall ever seek the supreme being.
“THUS SPOKE THE DEVIL to me once on a time: Even God has his hell: it is his love for man”, she recited, words that spat out like venom.
Because God, was in fact, dead. There is no God. Friedrich Nietzsche once said so himself—Death of God, as he liked to call it in the most rational sense. That life condemns existence: all values, truths, purpose and principles were simply meaningless. Some might call her an extremist, a skeptic, a blasphemist, for declaring such philosophy that seemed to make no sense to the Christians. But to the woman who was born and raised away from the social norm, she simply did not care. She was a true nihilist. And that was all.
It was, perhaps, due to his theology that caused this apathetic flame to be ignited within her soul. It ravaged and growled quite hungrily, a burning flame that begged to be released because knowledge was the only meal that this women could ever consume. She had always been like that even as young as 5 years old. A child prodigy, they called her—a childhood that was often spent reading scholarly books and academic research reports that surpassed her peers by miles. Though, recalling the past was never exactly memorable when there wasn’t much excitement to remember. It was rather dull, and frankly, so was her adulthood.
“And lately did I hear him say these words: God is dead: of his pity for man has God died”, a (familiar) voice spoke out as he finished her sentence off with his sharp tongue.
“Near”, she greeted the teenage boy.
The odd petite boy, no less than 13 years old, sat still against the hard wooden floor. His scrawny fingers made its way towards the jig saw puzzles; hands that seemed to have a mind of its own when he quickly filled the empty spaces with a puzzle piece. The woman closed her book before she momentarily eyed the young boy whose legs and arms were sprawled across the board after completing his game. How amusing. It had been a couple of years since she last saw Near, and it seemed as though this child genius had never changed. Not one slightest bit.
“Thus Spoke Zarathustra, a philosophical book written by German Friedrich Nietzsche in 1883. The last time I’ve seen you reading that book was years ago.”
“For old time’s sakes, I suppose.”
“But I assume you’re not visiting the Wammy’s House for old time’s sake”, he stated boldly, not even a question.
Near’s hands fumbled upon the dominoes as he lined them up in a straight line. Fidgeting with his toys was a rather common gesture that he did whenever he spoke to people (because distracting himself with toys seemed to have eased his mind). The older woman had always noticed this peculiar habit of his. Growing up along side with Near, she had always observed him from the distance (and much like his brilliant mind, so did he). The woman watched his fingers tipping the dominoes over, and slowly but steadily, did the wooden pieces tumbled over.
“You’re half correct”, she answered.
“And what was I half incorrect about?”
“The fact that you assumed that I wasn’t here to see you and the others for old time’s sake”, she smiled.
Near tilted his head slightly to the side, “I find that hard to believe.”
An abrupt knock came from the door, and to her least surprise, stood a tall old man cladded in a high tailored suit that often reminded her of the Queen’s butler. Quillsh Wammy, or perhaps a more well known name that he recently goes by, Watari, appeared before her eyes. The young teenager glanced towards the woman, then back towards the elderly man, then suddenly his mind clicked into gear. She wasn’t just here for visitations, she was here for something else. Something else. Something like what the world genius detective L would do.
“I guess I’ll take my leave now”, she spoke.
“Ah, and Near? Don’t tell Mello and Matt that I was here. Those two rascals might just cling onto me and beg for me to stay. Watching them from afar today was enough.”
“You have my word.”
“Good. Until then, Near.”
The woman exited the playroom then followed Watari from behind when the elderly man lead her to a much more secluded room far from where the orphans played: his office. It took her a rundown of memories that flickered through her mind when her eyes caught the sight of his old victorian styled room. From the creaky floorboards that seemed to have always screeched whenever her right foot stepped onto the floor, and to the black and white photographs of the gifted children that she would first see from the moment her wide marble eyes peeked inside the room. One of which was a framed photo of her 12 year old self at the time, sitting beneath the old oak tree with a famous genius named L. It certainly a sore sight to see.
“Well then, care to tell me why you have requested for my presence when you should be with L in Tokyo?”
Watari handed her an envelope, “This is from L.”
“And he couldn’t have sent me a simple email?”
“He’d rather that I personally sent you the letter myself, in person, that is.”
She furrowed her brows, “So he means business.”
“Correct.”
As expected of L. It should come off as no surprise, seeing how he was a man who was often characterised as strange in some ways. His mind worked much differently than others. Faster and creatively. Two concepts that don’t seem to work well together, and yet they do when it comes to L—because somehow—he just makes things work whether he liked it or not. And that part of him was something that the woman had always loved and feared about him. She glazed over the envelope for a while, and once the old grandfather clock from behind began to sound loud enough for her ears, she opened the envelop. The woman read it thoroughly, over and over, (uncharacteristically of her, but the words sounded more like a jumble mess when something unexpected occurred), and when it was over, she stopped. Just like that.
“Do you know what Nietzsche once said in the book, Thus Spoke Zarathustra?”, she suddenly asked the elderly man.
Watari shook his head, “No.”
“He says, and I quote: God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. Yet his shadow still looms.”
Watari poured the freshly brewed tea into her cup as the silence began to engulf his office, and in that moment, she could only think of one thing—L. She hadn’t seen him since the night he left the Wammy’s House, and upon hearing the abrupt news that he would take the Kira Case upon his hands, she hadn’t gotten a word from him since then either. But to think that she would be meeting L soon, made her chest feel strange. The woman took a sip of her tea; a taste that was all too nostalgic when her tongue was greeted by a honey ginger tingle. She looked at Watari dead in the eye, then spoke without an utter of hesitation.
“Tell L that I’ll be arriving to Japan soon. I’m taking his offer to become the Task Force’s newly appointed psychiatrist.”