magneticwritings

[magneticwritings]

Hannibal Lecter x fem!OC [Lyn]

Synopsis: A mysterious vengeful killer forces Dr. Lecter to confront his past and the demons that still haunt him.

Warnings: Death ‧ Revenge.

Word count: 1.0k

Request: Yes.

Hannibal lifted his gaze to the overcast sky, the electric charge making his hair stand on end just before a thunderclap shook the earth. The lightning tore through the darkness, and moments later, he checked the time on the luxurious watch adorning his wrist. He blinked and, with precision, adjusted his latex gloves as, from the shadows of the courtyard, the unmistakable sound of a set of keys broke the silence.

The lights inside the house he was watching flickered on, and long minutes passed until the rear window opened, allowing its owner to step out with a cigarette in hand. Seeing him before him reignited the memory of the day that man had stolen his future wife, and without hesitation, he slid into action.

He took advantage of the surprise and applied the countless years of physical training; the struggle lasted little when he held the man by the head, and with one swift movement, he was incapacitated on the ground.

"W-What...? W-Who...?"

"Free for 'good behavior,'" he commented while slowly walking around. "I gave you three days of indulgence. Did you make use of them?"

The man moved his eyes desperately, trying to see the intruder, but the voice was enough to recognize him. Years ago, that man had massacred him, bringing him to the brink of death, leaving him to agonize while waiting for the arrival of the police and the sentence of a judge who would send him to prison.

"You!"

"Why the tone of surprise? Did you think I wouldn't come for you?" he asked, not allowing time for a response. "After invading my house, stealing, and killing Lyn… did you really think I wouldn't come back to collect what you owe me?"

Hannibal stopped, motionless, and watched him without expression, while the dimness inside accentuated the shadows that revealed his true, dark nature.

"Hel…!"

Panic faded instantly, smothered by a firm hand over his mouth. The metallic taste of blood slid across his tongue, the result of the violent impact of his lips against his teeth.

"That day I spared your life thanks to the memory of an old friend, who still keeps one of the men who killed my sister captive. Lyn was the first person I loved since Mischa, and I thought I would follow Chiyoh's example, trusting that time and confinement would deal with you. But now, before this second and surprising opportunity..." He tilted his head, his eyes slowly scanning the flesh before him. "It's time to ask for mercy."

The phone rang at 8:13 in the morning. Hannibal set down the coffee he was holding and approached the device, the name on the screen causing him no surprise.

"Good morning, Jack, how can I help you?"

"Dr. Lecter, are you available? I'll pick you up in twenty minutes; it's important."

Hannibal paused briefly, pretending to be puzzled.

"Of course, I don't have any appointments scheduled until early afternoon. Are you seeking my advice on a case?"

"Considering your questions, I imagine you haven’t seen the news. The serial killer who appeared four years ago has resumed his killings."

"Are you referring to the 'Avenger'?"

"Exactly, the one who executes killers who were released before serving their full sentences."

"What has he done this time?"

Hannibal watched the smoke rise from his cup, smiling at the uncertainty and nerves of the man on the other end of the line.

"He killed the man who murdered Lyn and... placed the body in front of the mausoleum where she rests."

The words he had been waiting for were finally spoken, and with them, he began setting in motion the plan he had been imagining for over a decade. Twenty-five years of imprisonment had been imposed on the man who had taken the most valuable thing in his life, so unless some misfortune occurred behind bars, he knew with certainty that one day he would execute him with his own hands. Despite this, upon hearing the possibility of parole being granted, he quickly devised a series of murders to divert suspicion and justify the events of the previous night. It wasn't an isolated case in which the culprits could be him or any of Lyn's relatives; it was simply another episode in the long list of crimes committed by a killer who remained a mystery.

He dressed in the suit he wore the day he proposed, feeling a knot in his chest as he gazed at himself in the mirror. He remained silent until the doorbell rang, and with the most exemplary behavior, allowed Jack to take him to the cemetery. Upon arrival, he saw the team of investigators he already knew, working under the watchful eye of the police, and from a distance, he could make out the lines of his work.

They moved forward, and Hannibal dismissed the curious glances of those who knew him, focused on the mausoleum that seemed to receive the final offering of his revenge. Jack walked beside him until they reached the scene, frowning as he observed the body. There was no disorder or clumsiness in the position; every cut, every angle, revealed a meticulousness that left no room for doubt. It was the work of someone who not only understood anatomy but viewed it as an artist looks at their canvas, seeking perfection in every stroke.

"The press won't take long to explode over this," murmured the agent, crossing his arms.

Hannibal tilted his head slightly, as if evaluating someone else's work.

"The theatricality of the act suggests a clear message," he said calmly. "It's not just a murder, it's a warning."

"A warning we've spent four years trying to decipher," Jack exhaled heavily. "This time, the killer has been much more direct."

Hannibal kept his gaze on the scene for a few moments longer, letting a faint glimmer of satisfaction slip before pulling away, as if sinking into a calculated melancholy.

"Mourning can take many forms," he commented, with a precise sadness in his voice.

However, as the investigators continued with their work, Hannibal allowed his mind to drift to the past, to the moment when that throat surrendered under his hand, and the last breath faded, extinguishing the panic. In the darkness, death had shown more compassion than the system ever would, and with eyes barely reddened, he felt that, at last, a cycle had come to an end.

[magneticwritings]

This blog will feature my works translated from Spanish. If you'd like to read them in the original language, you can find them at @diamantar ♡

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