Chapter Text
The Spawn Cult.
It shouldn’t have been that big of a problem for him. Heck, for the almighty and powerful mafia boss Don Sonnellino, it shouldn’t even be a problem at all. But alas, it is, and it’s a growing problem that’s getting worse and worse every passing day.
To him, the cult’s main problem is how much control they’ve managed to take from Mafioso. He used to rule the alleyways and the underground, practically having control over everything around Robloxia where the admins don’t touch, and only he ruled alone. Yet, somehow, somehow, the cult/crime ring/mafia/whatever the hell the cult actually is besides a fucking cult, managed to take root under his radar, unknown to him as they expanded their community day by day, until they decided to just plop themselves down in a section of the rural neighbourhood, establish a camp, a church…all that fancy stuff a cult would usually have. So by the time he lost nearly a fourth of his land, it was far too late.
Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t as easy for him to just stride in and blow the place to smithereens. Beyond all the rumoured brainwashing and the underground black market, there were also talk of there being strangely devoted…cultists who have apparently “transcended mortality”, sacrificing humanity for strength and all that. Now, not even Mafioso is sure what exactly they’re talking about, but he knows damn well its not a good sign at all. Something about “archangels” and whatnot, and to be fair it was only because of Contractee did he even happen to know about these superhuman people.
The other problem, to put it simply, was Chance. That bastard gambler had not only owed Mafioso debt and still hadn't paid it to full yet, he had most recently pulled off one of his stunts at a Casino he owned and…lets just say he isn’t exactly happy about losing another few million to that idiot. Though…Chance is less big of a problem than the Spawn Cult is, so he had decided that he doesn’t have to deal with him now.
What he has to deal with instead is him being waist-deep in one of the Spawn Cult’s several mega-bases, surrounded by dead bodies and crackling fires that he had had his goons set off. It was just one of the cult’s smaller sectors that had overstepped a line, though out of spite he decided the best course of action was to raze the base down to the ground, so it’d be impossible for the rest of the vermin to try and pick up the pieces and rebuild it all over again.
“Yo boss, should we do another sweep of the place or nah?” Soldier asked from somewhere behind, a shotgun in hand. Consigliere followed close behind, though they were shuffling around, like they were uncomfortable with…all the bodies lying around, Mafioso guessed. “We already looked ‘round once, don’t think there’s anyone else here.”
“No, it’s alright. I’ll do it.” He said. His other two goons, Caporegime and Contractee shared an uneasy glance, but nodded in reply. Soldier only shrugged and Consigliere mumbled, “okay, boss. I’ll get the van ready.”
“Thanks, boys.” Mafioso smiled, tipping his hat in their direction. He turned, and began slowly combing through the mostly ransacked rooms of the building, shooting anyone who was still somewhat alive.
He was getting to a section of the building—one of the lower floors, at the end of a really long corridor that leads to another building, he remembered—the only area he still hasn’t checked yet. The flames in this area still flickered, but they weren’t uncontrolled so he could still easily make his way into the construct.
He shoots another man attempting to crawl back up, and when the last of their pitiful cries finally died out he swore he heard…sobbing? Crying from somewhere else, in one of the rooms further down the corridor he’s in, indicating…
Someone was still alive.
He grunted. He thought Soldier and Consigliere had already cleared the area! Instinctively, he began moving closer to that area, both curious and annoyed.
He began attempting to track the origins of the sound, following the rather loud sniffles to a room that had its door slightly charred, but was otherwise closed. On the other side, inside the room, Mafioso could hear…whoever was still alive crying and babbling about something incomprehensible.
Seems like those two didn’t finish their job after all.
He shot the door handle once, and kicked the door down, the wood creaking before it fell over, crashing into the room. Something, someone, immediately yelped and scurried somewhere out of sight.
“Come on out, whoever you are,” Mafioso grumbled, and he took a step into the room.
Ducked to avoid two…knives? Daggers? Thrown in his direction with deadly accuracy, were it not for him ducking in time. They embedded themselves with a thunk, thunk into the wall next to him. He turned his head to the direction of where the weapons were thrown from, and saw…
A scrawny figure was backed into the far corner of the room, another pair of daggers already in hand, their blade gleaming silver and flecked with…russet. They were a small raven-haired boy, skinny and very clearly underweight, wearing nothing but a simple black shirt and some shorts. Mafioso could only guess they were one of those cultists, from the kid’s flickering, glowing halo that nestled upon his head, resembling that jagged symbol of the cult, and…wings? A tail?
“S-stay back!” They cried, tear-streaked face not making them any more fierce.
Mafioso sighed. Great. This kid looked no more than sixteen just from their fit. He didn’t want to just kill a kid in cold blood…even if they are part of this stupid cult.
They gripped their daggers tighter. “Wh-where is he?”
“Who’re you talkin’ about?” Mafioso grunted. “Everyone here’s dead.”
They proceeded to break into more tears, shrinking deeper into the corner.
He heaved another deep sigh, and tried to approach them, crouching to their level to the best of his ability. He’s aware he is slightly taller than the average person, not exactly comforting he knows, but one’s gotta try all one can. “Hey, kid? Where’re your parents?”
They could barely form a coherent reply from how hard they were crying.
Fuck, I’m not good with children, Mafioso swore under his breath. Should’ve gotten Consigilere for this. “C’mon, dude. I can help you get—er, out of here. What’s your name?”
They looked up, eyes still puffy. “D—do you know where he is?” They asked.
He tilted his head. He? “Was someone else with you?”
They nodded shakily. “Wh—where is he?”
“Look, I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Mafioso tried, using the calmest voice he could manage to talk to the child. “But I can get you out of here, ‘kay? You’re not with those…cultists, right?”
Their eyes trailed from glancing up at Mafioso’s stupidly large frame to something behind him, and he turned to see what they were looking at. A dead body stared back, wounds in their chest still bleeding crimson and two gashes near their throat indicating that the person was definitely not killed by the firearms of his goons. They wore robes (now scarlet from all the blood), a porcelain mask lying somewhere else in shattered pieces and…ornaments. Ornaments related to the Spawn, of course.
The kid rubbed their eyes, still sniffling. “They…they hurt.” They whined. “They…they must be dealt with, ‘fore the same misfortune befall upon anyone else.”
“You…killed that guy?”
They promptly broke into more tears.
Great. A probably-a-murderer cultist kid and they speak weird. He slapped himself internally to get back on topic. There was no way he’s just going to tell this little…kid he just slaughtered everyone they might’ve used to live with. But…if what they say is true…
Something tells him they don’t deserve the same fate as the others before them. Like they were urging him to…spare them.
“Hey, where are your parents?” He decided to ask again.
Instead of a reply, they launched themselves at him, face shoved deep into the fur of Mafioso’s coat, bony arms warping around him even when they’re clearly not big or long enough. Their muffled cries could still be heard, and…
There goes his coat, he thinks to himself. How unfortunate.
“Umm, kid?” He mumbled, but try as he might he made no move to try and pry them off. They just kept wailing into his thick, black coat, and Mafioso for once had no idea what to do. After a good solid minute (with them still crying, god damn) he decided to just…take them back to their base.
It’s a stupid decision, he knows, but he doesn’t exactly want to kill the kid anymore, so he opted to try and grab the child in his arms and leave. They were surprisingly light, their tail and wings seemingly the only “heavy” thing they sported on their frail little body, so he picked them up with ease. They let out a soft gasp upon being lifted off the ground, glancing down and momentarily taking their face out of the fluff of Mafioso’s coat.
He started carrying them outside, back-tracking the way out of the still-burning buildings. Outside, Soldier and Caporegime were talking, Contractee was already ready at the wheel of the van and Consigliere was digging through the back of the van, searching for something. As soon as they saw their boss, Caporegime looked up, and froze.
“Uhh…boss?” He asked, like he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Whose…?”
The child, still clinging onto Mafioso’s coat, far too small compared to the mafia boss, tightened their grip on the older.
“Found a kid inside. Guess ya’ll didn’t clear them all out.” He grunted in reply.
The child looked up, at the mention of their existence.
Consigliere and Soldier shared an uneasy glance. “I guess.” Soldier said. “We…got the van ready, though.”
Mafioso smiled. “Thanks.” He said, approaching the van and attempted to put the child down. However, they refused to let go of the man’s coat, clinging to him like a feisty cat.
Contractee snickered. Mafioso shot him a glare, and he cleared his throat, looking away.
The boss finally decided to tug on the child’s clothes, peeling them off his coat and setting them on one of the seats of the van, getting on after them. They seemed to be extremely confused and curious about the chair of the van, poking at the cushion of the seat as Consigiliere and Soldier crawled onto the vehicle.
The van started moving, and the child let out a startled yelp, hugging the seat for dear life like they’ve never taken a vehicle before. Contractee couldn’t hold it in anymore and started laughing out loud, and Soldier punched them in the shoulder, though he too was giggling at the child’s strange behaviour.
Their face flushed red. Mafioso couldn’t tell if they were embarrassed or anything, but when he tried to comfort them, they shrunk away, flinching. So he left them alone, and watched them eye him and his goons with high suspicion.
Their van drove along the road, down to their base. And as they went, Mafioso could feel the child slowly easing down, calming down a lot more compared to when they first got on the van, curiously staring out the window in wonder and awe, tail wagging excitedly.
“What’s your name?” Mafioso asked.
The child stared back, all the tears in their eyes gone and their eyes no longer as red and puffy as they were earlier. They’ve been playing with Consigilere, playfully batting at this white hat. “I…am unsure.” They wriggled in their seat like a hyperactive bunny. “I have not exactly been provided a…name, only a placeholder. Will that suffice?”
“‘Placeholder?’”
Consigilere stretched a hand over and began tickling the child. They squirmed and kicked at the man, giggling.
Mafioso asked his question again, and they turned their attention back to him. Their eyes were…strangely soul-piercing, like they could stare straight into your soul. “He…would refer to me as Two Time.” They said, “Although…I do believe something came before it.”
“I see.”