Marvel: Familia System

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Looking at the text message, Yagami Light couldn't help but burst into laughter. It wasn't every day that L, his eternal rival, would reach out with such an unusual request—one that aligned perfectly with Light's own ambitions. The irony of it all wasn't lost on him. Here they were, two men who had spent years trying to outsmart each other, now momentarily united by a common enemy.

The message was simple, yet filled with an implicit challenge:

"Cause some trouble for the Hand. Distract them, keep them on edge. I'll take care of the rest."

Light's laughter subsided, replaced by a wide grin that reflected his amusement and anticipation. He relished the thought of turning L's request into something far more chaotic than his rival could have imagined. It wasn't just about following orders; it was about making a statement—his statement.

He tapped out a quick reply, his fingers moving with practiced ease:

"Consider it done. But don't expect it to be subtle."

With that, he slipped his phone into his pocket, his mind already working through the possibilities. The Hand, a group that prided itself on secrecy and control, was about to experience chaos on a scale they hadn't anticipated.

Light made his way to the edge of the rooftop where he stood, gazing down at the city below. The day was young, and the shadows provided ample cover for what he had planned. He could feel the familiar thrill of impending conflict, the rush of knowing that he was about to disrupt the careful balance of power that so many had worked to maintain.

But first, he needed to set the stage. He pulled out his phone again, this time dialing a number from memory. It rang twice before a voice on the other end answered—a low, calm voice that Light had come to associate with efficiency and quiet brutality.

"Magneto," Light greeted, his tone friendly yet laced with the underlying tension of two powerful forces constantly at odds.

"Ruraito," came the reply, Magneto's voice measured, as always. "To what do I owe this unexpected call?"

"I'm about to make things... interesting for the Hand," Light said casually, as if discussing the weather. "I could use a bit of spectacle. Something that draws attention away from the finer details."

There was a pause on the other end, and Light could almost hear the gears turning in Magneto's mind. "And why should I assist you in this?"

Light's grin widened, the thrill of the game surging through him. "Because it serves both our interests," he replied, his tone smooth, almost teasing. "The Hand is experimenting on Homo Superiors, Magneto. Twisting their bodies, warping their minds. I'm about to give them a fiery retribution, but..." He let the thought hang in the air, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I don't have the time or the patience to save those people. Perhaps I should just free them from their pain and this world, hmm?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Light could almost see the cold calculation in Magneto's eyes, the silent weighing of options. The idea of mutants suffering at the hands of the Hand was abhorrent to Magneto, but he was no fool. He knew Light wasn't offering help out of the goodness of his heart.

"And you expect me to clean up after you, Ruraito?" Magneto's voice was a low rumble, carrying the weight of a man who had seen too much, endured too much.

"Consider it an opportunity," Light countered, his voice light, almost playful. "The Hand is a problem for both of us. I'll handle the destruction, but those mutants? They need someone with a... gentler touch. Or you can leave them to die. Your choice."

There was a long silence, one that stretched on just a beat too long. Light knew he was pushing the boundaries, but he also knew Magneto's pride wouldn't allow him to leave those mutants to suffer. Magneto might be ruthless, but he was also a man of principles, twisted as they might be.

Finally, Magneto spoke, his voice clipped but resigned. "Where?"

"Pier 37," Light said, the grin never leaving his face. "In an hour."

Magneto's voice was cold, cutting through the tension like a knife. "I am not available, but my associates will be there. You better carve my words into your being, Ruraito—if you hurt my people or those mutants, the next time we meet, I won't be nice."

Light's grin widened as he listened to the thinly veiled threat, feeling a surge of satisfaction. Magneto was predictable, driven by a code that made him easy to manipulate. Light didn't bother responding directly to the threat; he knew it was just Magneto's way of maintaining control in a situation that was already slipping through his fingers.

"Understood," Light replied smoothly, his tone devoid of any concern. He knew he had pushed Magneto far enough for now, and any further prodding would be counterproductive. "I'll make sure your people are unharmed."

He ended the call before Magneto could respond, tucking his phone back into his pocket with a sense of finality. The pieces were in place, and now it was just a matter of executing the plan. He felt the familiar rush of excitement that came with orchestrating chaos, the thrill of knowing that he was about to upset the balance in a way that only he could.

Light felt excitement building within him, a sensation like gasoline igniting, fueling the fire that roared just beneath his skin. In his past life, the Death Note had demanded subtlety, a shadowy hand that manipulated fate from behind the scenes. But here, in this world, his power was something far more visceral, something that thrived in the open, leaving destruction in its wake. He was no longer the unseen god of justice—he was the King of Hell's Kitchen, and the flames he wielded were as visible as the terror they inspired.

As if something amusing just crossed his mind, Light turned his gaze toward a specific location in the city, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "Fisky, Fisk, my dear Kingpin," he mused aloud, his voice carrying a mocking tone. "You and the Hand, playing nice together in the sandbox. I suppose it's only fair I hit you with the same move." He chuckled darkly, the sound echoing softly in the air. "I really should thank L for this opportunity. Maybe it's time I stopped using his name and made my own... Sike! I love this name too much."

He relished the thought of what was to come—how the chaos he was about to unleash would ripple through Fisk's carefully constructed empire. It was perfect, really. L had handed him the means to strike a blow not just at the Hand, but at one of the most powerful men in the city. Light's grin widened as he considered the possibilities.

His phone buzzed, pulling him back to the present. A text from L: "Keep your moves unpredictable. The Hand won't see this coming."

Light smirked, typing back swiftly. "Unpredictable is my middle name."

With a quick, fluid motion, he ignited the flames that had become his signature. The fire danced along his fingers, casting an eerie glow around him. It was time to set the city ablaze, both literally and figuratively.

He leaped from the rooftop, landing gracefully in the alley below. The streets were quiet, almost too quiet, but Light could sense the undercurrent of tension that permeated the air. 

The warehouse district near Pier 37 was a maze of abandoned buildings and rusted shipping containers. It was the perfect place for the Hand to conduct their dirty work out of sight, and for Light, it was the perfect stage for the spectacle he had planned. As he approached the area, he could see the telltale signs of the Hand's presence—shadows flitting across windows, the faint hum of activity that marked an operation in full swing.

Light didn't bother with subtlety. He strode confidently toward the largest warehouse, his flames flickering more intensely as he neared the entrance. The guards stationed outside barely had time to register his presence before he unleashed a torrent of fire, engulfing them in an instant. Their screams were brief, cut off by the roar of the flames that consumed them.

He stepped over the charred remains without a second thought, pushing open the door to the warehouse with a casual ease that belied the carnage he was about to unleash. Inside, the scene was just as he expected—a group of Hand operatives busily overseeing a batch of their experimental drug. They didn't notice him at first, too absorbed in their work, but the sudden surge of heat drew their attention.

Light didn't waste time. He raised his hand, and with a flick of his wrist, sent a wave of fire cascading across the room. The flames spread rapidly, igniting everything in their path. Equipment exploded, sending shards of glass and metal flying through the air. The operatives scrambled to escape, but there was no outrunning the inferno that Light had unleashed.

He laughed as lives were snuffed out like candle flames in a storm, the fire roaring around him in a symphony of destruction. "The thrill of mass murder," Light murmured to himself, his grin widening as he clenched his fist, flames swirling around it. "How I missed this feeling!"

The warehouse was a blazing inferno now, the operatives' cries drowned out by the crackling of the fire that devoured everything. Light moved through the chaos, his eyes gleaming with a cold satisfaction as he watched the Hand's operation fall apart around him. They were scrambling, trying to escape the firestorm, but there was no escape. Not from him.

As he stepped over the bodies, he noticed a figure moving through the smoke—a lone survivor, desperately trying to reach the exit. Light tilted his head, watching with mild curiosity as the man stumbled and fell, crawling through the debris. There was a moment where Light considered letting him go, but the thought was fleeting. This was about sending a message, and no one was to be spared.

He raised his hand, and with a flick of his wrist, sent a stream of fire straight at the man. The flames engulfed him in an instant, his scream cut short as his body was consumed by the blaze. Light watched impassively, his expression never wavering. It was just another life extinguished in the grand scheme of things—one more piece of kindling for the fire he was stoking.

"Poor fools," Light muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "You never stood a chance."

With the warehouse thoroughly destroyed, Light turned his attention to the other buildings in the area. He knew the Hand wouldn't be foolish enough to keep all their operations in one place, but it didn't matter. His goal wasn't to wipe them out in one fell swoop—it was to create chaos, to keep them off balance and make them fear him. And that meant leaving no stone unturned, no corner of the district untouched by his flames.

He moved through the district like a shadow, setting fire to every building that bore even a hint of the Hand's presence. The flames danced at his command, consuming everything in their path with an almost hypnotic grace. Light reveled in the power he wielded, the sheer destruction he was capable of unleashing. This was what he was meant for—what he had always been meant for. Not as some puppet of the Shinigami, but as a true god of chaos.

The fire spread rapidly, the district quickly becoming a fiery wasteland. Light could see the glow of the flames reflected in the windows of the buildings, the sky above tinged with an ominous red. He paused for a moment, taking in the scene with a deep sense of satisfaction. This was his handiwork, his masterpiece. And it was only the beginning.

It took only half an hour for Light to destroy the pier and kill every agent of the Hand. Bodies lay charred and broken, the once bustling district reduced to nothing more than smoldering ruins. The satisfaction Light felt was palpable, but the excitement was already beginning to wane. This was too easy, too straightforward. There was no challenge in simply wiping out these pawns.

Perched atop a crane, Light stared out over the destruction he had wrought, his expression one of mild boredom. He let out a sigh, the flames in his hand flickering lazily as he pondered his next move. "I shouldn't give them an hour to arrive," he muttered to himself. Time was a luxury he rarely afforded others, and this situation was no exception.

But then, an idea sparked in his mind, igniting a mischievous glint in his eyes. A slow grin spread across his face as he gathered the flames in his hand, concentrating the energy until it burned a brilliant white. "Let's see how quickly they can respond to a direct challenge."

He raised his fist to the sky, and with a flick of his wrist, sent a stream of fire upward. The flames twisted and curled in the air, forming letters that blazed against the sky, visible from miles away. Slowly, the letters came together to spell out a single sentence: "The Hand, your King demands your audience!"

Light chuckled to himself as he watched the fiery message burn brightly against the afternoon sky. It was a bold move, one that would surely draw the Hand's attention—and likely a few others as well. But that was the point, wasn't it? To force their hand, to make them respond on his terms.

"This should do it," Light murmured, his grin widening as he imagined the chaos that would follow. The Hand would have no choice but to react, and when they did, they would find themselves facing an enemy who was already ten steps ahead.

Lucky for Light, it took less than he had given for Magneto's people to arrive. As the group approached, Light's sharp eyes caught sight of the figure leading them—a man in Magneto's signature helmet and cape. But something was off. The way he moved, the subtle differences in his stance—it wasn't Magneto. Light's frown quickly faded, replaced by a sly grin as he recognized who it truly was.

'Mystique,' Light mused, watching the shape-shifter in disguise with amusement. The anger etched on her face was almost convincing. Almost.

"Magneto" stormed toward him, eyes blazing with fury. "What have you done? You shouldn't have hurt mutants!" The voice was Magneto's, but the inflection was all wrong, too accusatory, too rushed. Mystique's hand shot out, aiming to grab Light by the collar.

Light sidestepped the move with ease, his grin widening. "There were no mutants here," he replied calmly, watching the impostor with keen interest. "I called you here because I thought it would take an hour to clear this place. Turns out, it only took half that time." He let the words hang in the air, annoyingly casual, knowing it would only stoke Mystique's frustration.

Mystique's disguise faltered for a brief moment, the anger in her eyes giving way to irritation. She didn't like being misled, and Light knew that. But she wasn't about to drop the act so easily. Her voice, however, betrayed a hint of her true self. "Then why the theatrics? You could've just waited."

Light's grin widened. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, I wanted to see how quickly you'd respond. Consider it a test."

Mystique's eyes narrowed, but she didn't argue further. Instead, she gestured to the group behind her, all ready for action. "We're here now. What's the next move?"

Light turned his back on them, his gaze sweeping over the burning ruins of the warehouse district. "The Hand isn't far. They'll be on high alert after this, but they won't be expecting us to strike again so soon. We move now, before they have a chance to regroup."

Mystique, still in her Magneto guise, frowned. "And what's your role in this? You've already set half the city on fire. What's left for you to do?"

Light chuckled, the sound low and dark. "I'm not done yet. There's still plenty of chaos to unleash, and I intend to be at the center of it. You and your people just need to focus on getting those mutants out before the Hand decides to use them as shields."

Mystique's gaze bore into him, trying to read his intentions. But Light didn't give her anything more than a smug smile. She knew better than to trust him, but their goals aligned, at least for now.

"Fine," Mystique said, her voice steady. "But if this goes south, I'll make sure Magneto knows exactly who's to blame."

Light barely acknowledged the transformation, a smirk playing on his lips as he turned away, taking the lead. He wasn't impressed by her little display; she was trying too hard. He had no interest for Mystique's theatrics, and her attempts to rattle him fell flat. The truth was, he found the whole act tiresome.

Raven watched him with narrowed eyes, clearly irritated that her transformation didn't even merit a reaction. She shifted to one of her more alluring forms, as if hoping to catch his attention. But when Light didn't even glance back, she silently scoffed, deciding in her mind, 'Definitely gay.' It was the only explanation that soothed her bruised ego.

Light led the group through the dimly lit streets, his steps confident and unhurried. He moved calmly, the fiery destruction he had left behind only fueling his resolve. As they approached the next location, a more urban area filled with bustling shops and storefronts, Light's eyes narrowed. Beneath the mundane facade of this neighborhood, the Hand had hidden something far more sinister.

"This is it," Light announced, his voice cutting through the tense silence that had settled over the group. He stopped in front of a row of seemingly ordinary shops—a bakery, a bookstore, a small electronics repair store. To any passerby, it would look like just another quiet city block. But Light knew better.

Mystique, still in her beautiful guise, stepped forward, eyeing the surroundings with suspicion. "A bakery?" she asked, her tone skeptical. "This is where they're hiding?"

Light didn't bother to turn around, his gaze fixed on the storefronts. "The Hand is smart. They know how to blend in, how to keep their operations hidden in plain sight. These shops are just a front. The real facility is underground, connected by tunnels that run beneath the entire block."

"Clever bastards," one of Magneto's henchmen muttered, earning a sharp look from Mystique.

Light smirked, enjoying the quiet tension among the group. "Indeed. But cleverness can only get you so far. The moment they realize we're here, they'll either go on the defensive or try to escape. We can't let that happen."

"So what's the plan?" Mystique asked, her voice laced with impatience. She was clearly eager to get this over with, but Light wasn't about to rush things. This was a delicate operation, one that required precision and timing.

Light finally turned to face the group, his expression cool and calculated. "We split up," he said, his tone authoritative. "You and your team will take the stores on the left. Make it quick, but thorough. Look for anything out of place—a hidden door, a trapdoor, anything that could lead us underground."

"And what about you?" Mystique asked, her eyes narrowing. She didn't trust him, that much was clear. But Light didn't care. Trust wasn't necessary for this operation to succeed.

"I'll take the right side," Light replied, already moving toward the first shop. "We meet back here in ten minutes. If you find something, don't engage until we regroup. We're going in together."

Mystique hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing her options, but eventually nodded. "Fine. But if you're planning to double-cross us—"

"I don't have time for betrayals," Light interrupted, his tone sharp. "I'm here to cause chaos and make a statement, nothing more. Now move."

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