Blood Lust [Larry Stylinson AU]

Prologue [TURMOIL]

Harry’s grip around the gun tightened as the bandits drew in even closer to him, their ravenous eyes narrowing as they locked their sights on him. He surveyed the mass of opponents coming at him -- a good fifteen or so, but he only had enough ammunition to take out around seven, if he was lucky. “Shit,” he murmured, moving his green eyes from side to side. Slowly and carefully, he raised his arm to his face and tapped the metal cuff that fit snugly around his wrist. A holographic image was projected a good six inches or so above his arm, displaying a list of options. Quietly, he whispered “Contact”.

He scrolled down the list of contacts until he found who he was looking for -- Louis. He tapped the name and watched as the screen started flowing with numbers upon numbers of data coding.  The silent ‘click’ indicated that Lou had picked up, but for whatever reason, wasn’t speaking.

“Louis,” Harry spoke, his fear faintly quivering through his voice, “I need your help. Fast.”

No response.

Harry bit down on his lip as his grasp on the gun began to quiver simultaneously in fear with that of his voice. The bandits were drawing nearer -- they were a good twenty feet away now. Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry pulled the trigger -- seven times, one after the other, each time moving the gun a little bit to the right. When he opened his eyes, five bandits lay down in the snow as the rest charged him. He had either missed or merely wounded with the other two bullets he had in his possession.

“Shit!’ he hissed through clenched teeth as he turned and started to run. As he ran, his feet crunching against the freshly-fallen snow, he shoved his way past branches and bushes, desperately trying to put at least one hundred feet between him and the enemy forces. Suddenly, he felt a strong pressure against the back of his leg. It all happened in an instant then; his legs buckled underneath him and he fell, face-first into the snow.

Not finding the will nor strength to stand up, Harry rolled over, just enough to pull his face out of the chilling snow. He let out a sigh of defeat as he saw big, bulky, black boots nearing his defenseless body. Make it quick, he thought.

He felt a strong hand grab hold of his curls and his head was yanked up enough so that the back of his head was touching his shoulders, giving the man a clear view of his face. “Looks like a fresh one,” the man chuckled.  

“Second class?’ a voice queried from the crowd of bandits.

“Third,” the bandit holding Harry’s head retorted.

“Second,” Harry corrected through gritted teeth in annoyance.

Nothing annoyed Harry more than people who thought he was a third-class assassin, even now, at the hands of his sure demise. He hadn’t been third-class since he was twelve. Sure, he was a little behind everyone else, but he had still worked hard enough to get to be second-class. His mentor, Zayn, a first-class, had pushed him as hard as he could to get him to where he was today -- and that was, well, surrounded by bandits and most likely about to furnish a feast for them.

“You sure don’t put up a fight like a second class assassin,” the man said with a teasing smirk as he pulled his knife out of his sheath and held it to Harry’s throat. “Where are the others?”

“I don’t know!” Harry cried out, feeling the chill of the blade against his throat as he spoke.

“Liar,” the man growled as he applied more pressure to the blade.

“I’m right here,” a familiar voice Harry knew all too well announced from behind him. In the blink of an eye, the man dropped like a fly, releasing the blade from Harry’s throat and falling into a lifeless heap in the snow. Harry cautiously moved his gaze to the man -- or rather, what was left of him. He had been decapitated and lay in a growing puddle of his own blood. Suddenly, one after another, the bandits fell to the ground,

“Louis, that’s gross,” Harry said in disgust as he looked to his best friend, who was leaning against a tree, but all thoughts of disgust vanished as soon as he saw him; the orangey glow from the initiating sunset hitting him in all of the right ways, his lean yet muscular body defined through his skin-tight body suit, the way his slender hands skillfully wrapped around the gun… Harry shook his head and looked to his leg. “Lou, I’m hurt.”

Louis lifted the barrel of the gun to his lips and blew out the smoke with a small puff of air, then slid it into its casing that hung on his belt loop. He made his way over to Harry, his feet crunching in the snow as he walked. “Where?”

“My leg.”

“How bad?”

“I can’t feel it yet, but I know it was enough to knock me down. My entire leg is numb.” Harry moved his hand to his leg and shook it gently. “Numb.”

"Where's Lizzie?" Harry asked, worried about the whereabouts of his fellow (and only) female team mate.

"Probably feasting on the hearts of men," Louis answered nonchalantly, then paused. “Hold on, Harry,” Louis said as he lifted a finger. He walked over to the pile of dead bandits and grabbed a single arm and yanked a seemingly lifeless body out of the pile and into the snow. He pulled his gun out of its casing and held it to the person’s head. “How aren’t you dead?”

To Harry’s surprise, the body moved in reaction to Louis’s question. He tilted his head up just enough so that Harry could see his features -- dirty blonde hair with flecks of darker hair, clear blue eyes, a fresh, round face. He was young, no older than Louis was.

“I-I don’t know!” he cried out in a rather thick Irish accent. “Please, don’t kill me, let me go.. my father made me come here.” His blue eyes started to form tears, and that’s when Louis sighed and shoved his gun back into its case.

“Come on.”

Louis walked over to Harry, gently picked him up, and raised his arm to his mouth and said in a stern voice, “Portal, Headquarters”. From his metal cuff, a large circular holograph was projected into mid-air in front of him, where he turned back to the young bandit. “Follow.” He stepped through the portal and was suddenly surrounded by a virtually endless tunnel of data coding, and then, into a brightly-lit room -- the main corridor of the Elite League Headquarters. With the young bandit following closely behind, Louis carried Harry to the Infirmary, where the medics were quick to take him from Louis’s care. The last thing Harry saw before he was put under was his mentor Zayn entering the room, completely expressionless.