"If he simply writes her name down in the Death Note, she’ll have a heart attack… and that’s too kind a death for someone like her."
Light leaned back in his chair, scrolling through recent headlines. A notification flashed across his screen: Linkin Park Names Emily Armstrong as New Lead Singer. He didn’t think much of it at first – pop culture wasn’t his usual concern – but a dark curiosity drew him in.
Emily Armstrong… he repeated to himself, opening an article and skimming its details. Her face, in the attached photo, caused him to pause. She looked familiar, like he had seen her face before, amongst people who were, for lack of a better word, trash.
It ticked his memory; hadn’t he heard her name associated with… unsavory… acts before? Light narrowed his eyes as he thought.
Light’s fingers hovered over his keyboard as he dug deeper, clicking through headlines and articles with mounting disbelief. He knew something was off with this woman, but these things he was reading… they just proved it. Emily wasn’t just a singer, but a powerfully connected member of a twisted organization.
She was known to be a higher-up within the Church of Scientology, protected by layers of wealth and secrecy – as were her parents. His lips curled in disgust as he read on.
“A cultist with influence like hers could encourage countless others to adopt her beliefs… beliefs that undermine my authority over this New World.”
Her associations and cover-ups read like the docket of a small-time dictator. Reports of harassment, threats, even retaliation against those who dared speak against her allies. Petty. Cruel. She’d protected rapists, silenced victims, and destroyed lives, all while parading in the spotlight with her polished, deceptive charm. But what disturbed him most was the influence she held, swaying people with her every word and deed.
“This is exactly the kind of threat I sought to eliminate,” he thought, feeling a familiar surge of righteous anger. Emily Armstrong wasn’t merely corrupt; she was an agent of corruption, leading followers down a path that could only serve to pull his new world order back into darkness. Her influence wasn’t just annoyance – it was a challenge to his authority, a festering thorn that needed to be removed.
He opened the Death Note, pen in hand, but hesitated. “I could simply kill her now…” he mused, “but perhaps I should consider the message her death could send.”
Just as he was lost in thought, his phone beeped. It was a message from his father.
"Light, I’ll be home early. I'd like to talk."
A simple request, yet one that could not be ignored. He sighed and closed the Death Note, tucking it safely away in his drawer. Emily Armstrong would have to wait.
It wasn’t too much later when Light heard his father arrive home. Leaving his room, he came down to find Soichiro sitting in the living room.
"Light," Soichiro started carefully, "I've received a letter from your school counselor."
Light feigned surprise. "My school counselor?"
"Yes." His father held up a small envelope, the school emblem embossed in the top left corner. "She is concerned about your sudden change in behavior."
Light smiled, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. "Change in behavior? I'm not sure what she could be referring to."
Soichiro folded his arms, a crease forming between his brows. "This is serious, Light. She reported that you've become increasingly isolated and...distant."
"I'm just busy with my studies, Dad," Light lied smoothly, a practiced mask of innocence sliding into place.
"Busy with studies or not," his father's voice took on a stern tone, "You can't ignore your well-being. You've always been ambitious, but remember, you're only human."
Light gave a small nod, keeping his face passive. "I understand, Dad. I'll try to balance things better."
Soichiro sighed, relaxing slightly as he settled back again into the couch. "That's all I ask."
As the evening progressed, Light found himself unable to focus on anything but the conversation he'd had with his father. It was a reminder that there were still those who cared about him. But this reminder only made things more complicated. His love for his father was a thread tying him to his old life, making the necessary sacrifices harder to bear.
He knew his father, an upstanding police officer, would never understand or accept the path he'd chosen. The path of Kira. He sighed softly, staring at the ceiling, thoughts consumed by the web he had woven.
His mind spun back to Emily Armstrong. The singer’s face flashed across his mind, with her blonde hair and polished charm. He envisioned her on stage, captivating thousands with her music and her charisma, spreading her influence like a contagion.
The thought gnawed at him. It was unacceptable, intolerable. This woman—this harbinger of corruption—would not stand in his way. He would not allow it. His god-complex flared, an inferno of self-righteous wrath that burned brightly within his chest.
"Emily Armstrong…" he murmured her name like a curse, his mind already planning, calculating. He needed to be careful, methodical – the Death Note was a powerful tool, but it was also a weapon that needed precision.
Yet beyond the immediate task of dealing with Emily, Light knew he faced an even greater challenge: maintaining his façade as the dutiful son while continuing his mission as Kira. It was a precarious balancing act that demanded total control and meticulous calculation. He was playing two roles at once - one of a normal, high-achieving student who was the pride of his father, and the other of a god choosing who lived and died in his new world.
And in this charade, every move had to be perfect, every word and expression carefully orchestrated. The stakes were high, and one false move could lead to his unmasking.
He turned to his study desk and opened the drawer, his gaze hardened, lingering on the Death Note tucked inside. His fingers grazed over the black leather-bound notebook, feeling the smooth texture beneath his fingertips. He was Kira, the judge and executioner of a new world order. Emily would soon realize this.
As Light sat there, he began to think of the ways he could use the Death Note on Emily. If he simply writes her name down in the Death Note, she’ll have a heart attack… and that’s too kind a death for someone like her.
A wicked smile formed on his face as a thought propelled itself to the forefront of his mind. She deserved to feel the full weight of her misdeeds, to experience a death that would shatter her undeserved pedestal.
He began to formulate an elaborate plan. The eyes of the world were always on her, scrutinizing every move she made. If he was smart about this, he could use this attention to his advantage. He wanted something that would leave an impression on her followers, that would break through the comfortable shield of fame and power she hid behind. He smiled, his mind conjuring the details of her final moments.
Emily Armstrong would be on stage, the music pounding around her as she sang to thousands of fans. She would be caught in a sudden, violent wind, strange in an indoor venue. Lights would flicker. Sharp, metallic objects—seemingly razor blades—would appear in the air, swirling chaotically. They would slice through the stage, catching on her clothes, cutting into her skin as she staggered and gasped, unable to escape. And then, finally, silence would fall, leaving her lifeless and unrecognizable amid the chaos.
Yes… that’s perfect. Light smiled. Now he just had to wait until the band performed…
——
A week after Light decided on his plan, he sat in his room, pretending to study, but he was watching the concert, getting ready to put his plan in motion.
He turned his gaze to the screen, watching as Emily Armstrong took the stage. Her blonde hair shone like a halo under the spotlight, and the crowd erupted in cheers, completely oblivious to the fate that awaited their idol.
His heart pounded in his chest, not out of nervousness, but anticipation. He could already imagine the fear in her eyes, the way her voice would falter as she realized what was happening.
He opened the Death Note and took out his pen, its sharp tip hovering over the page.
"Emily Armstrong," he wrote, the letters appearing crisp and bold on the page. Then, detailing the grotesque scene he had envisioned, he continued to write. The pen danced across the paper, laying out an unparalleled spectacle of horror that would soon come to pass.
He finished writing just as Emily finished her first song. Setting down the pen, he leaned back in his chair and watched intently as the concert unfolded on his screen. He felt a rush of satisfaction; the next few minutes would mark the end of Emily Armstrong and send a strong message to anyone who dared stand against him.
As Emily screeched out the next song, an unexpected gust of wind blew across the stage, startling her. She stumbled, clutching at the microphone stand for support. The cheers of the crowd turned into gasps as lights started flickering erratically. Then came the metallic whirlwind, razor-sharp shards that appeared from thin air, slicing through everything they touched.
Emily screamed as the blades slashed her clothes and skin, her body jerking in shock. Blood began to flow from her, staining the stage, as she staggered, her vision blurring. She reached out, trying to grasp onto something, anything to keep herself up. But it was too late. The blades swept through her once more and then she fell, slumping lifelessly onto the stage amidst the horrified gasps of her fans.
Around the world, screens displaying the live concert broadcast went black as producers cut the feed. Alarm spread like wildfire through both the audience and viewers at home. The once vibrant and energetic Emily Armstrong was now a lifeless husk on a stage that had suddenly transformed into a horrific tableau. People in the audience recoiled, their screams echoing in the venue. The scene on stage was a horrifying spectacle, just as Light had envisioned it.
Then, all of a sudden, silence fell. The wind stopped. The razors disappeared.
The concert venue, once a cathedral of sound and energy, became a tomb of dread and horror. In the heavy silence that followed, all eyes were glued to the stage, mouths agape at the gruesome spectacle.
In his room, Light watched as chaos unfolded, his attention now turned to a feed on his computer screen. The footage was shaky, taken by someone in the crowd frantically trying to capture what had happened. Emily lay broken on the stage, her blonde halo now matted with blood.
The room around him was still and quiet. His heart pounded in his chest with a sense of satisfaction he hadn't felt in a long time. Emily Armstrong had been silenced, and no shield of fame or power could have saved her from the justice he had doled out.
He closed the Death Note, placing his pen atop its black cover and folding his hands in his lap. His gaze lingered on the screen, taking in the widespread panic at the concert venue. He reclined further in his chair, a sigh of satisfaction leaving his lips.
Emily Armstrong was no more. She had paid for her sins in full view of her adoring fans. He had made an example of her, a warning to any others who dared to manipulate and deceive under their cloaks of power. The chess pieces were shifting, and Light Yagami was once again in control of the game.
-----
L wouldn’t have approved. But he’s not here anymore, is he?