DISCLAIMER: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn, it belongs to our Lord and Savior, Akira Amano. I own nothing, only the plot?

A/N: Enjoy :)

The night was still young when Marcello, a minor mafioso of the Costa Famiglia, strolled down the empty hallways. Checking all the rooms for any suspicious activity or intruders before sighing heavily in disappointment. Yet again, there was nothing. It's been a monotonous day for the young man, having just recently been appointed guard duties to the artifact and jewelry wing with a few other unfortunate men. Knowing full well he should stop expecting anything of excitement when you're stuck in one of the most tedious positions in the famiglia. After all, nothing ever occurs in this part of the building.

To prove his point, Marcello coughed loudly into his fist when he spotted his companion snoring away, causing the man to jolt awake with slow-blinking eyes. Marcello shook his head, patting the man's shoulder before moving onwards to the next room. He expected nothing as he stuck his head in the jewelry room to exchange nods between him and the guard inside, already ducking away with a bored yawn. Only to reel back when he realized the guard was unconscious and the other, more suspiciously clad man, had nodded at him instead with a beaming smile.

He slammed the door open, eyes wide with disbelief when he saw the thief- the Cheshire Cat in the flesh, stand in the middle of the room filled with gems. Still sporting the same smile he greeted Marcello with as the thief clicked his dress shoes together and bowed dramatically at him. Straightening his back, the thief shot him a mischievous grin.

Marcello continued to gape.

The thief was clad in a Victorian gentleman suit that was a mix of black and royal purples. Black tailcoat clinging to his well-built frame, a similar colored black and purple tapestry vest showing the confident puff of his chest as the thief walked forwards. Dark pants hugged the long and lithe legs of Cheshire who stopped just a meter away from Marcello. The man tilted his head, masked eyes in the same color scheme of black and tapestry woven purple, framed by dark black hair curling handsomely around his face. Cheshire huffed a teasing laugh.

"It's a beautiful night, my good sir." The Cheshire Cat spoke humorously, tilting his head towards the frozen mafioso. With a grin, black-gloved hands lifted up to show the big fat green oval shaped gem in his hand, shimmering brightly under the moonlight.

"Give your boss a message for me." Cheshire continued with a smooth drawl. "That I'll be taking this from him."

And like a switch, Marcello moved at his words.

"Intruder!" Marcello yelled down the hallway, lunging at the renowned thief with the intent of taking the heirloom back.

Only to stumble forwards when the thief moved to the side quickly with a thrilled laugh, using Marcello's back as a stepping stool to launch himself to the windowsill with a graceful flourish. The thief turned around, and Marcello rose to a stand, fellow guards finally bursting into the room in support, guns loaded in their hands. The thief only grinned like a- well, a Cheshire Cat as he giggled at the awestruck folk at the sight of him.

"Don't hold it against me," He said while catching the emerald gem mid-air. "If it were anyone else, I'm sure you would have stopped them successfully and taken back this lovely gem over here. Unfortunately, you're saddled with me, so don't expect me to return this."

Cheshire fell backward from the windowsill, saluting happily and says, "Arrivederci!"

Marcello ran towards the window along with his comrades, nearly toppling over each other in their haste to watch Cheshire flip onto the even grounds beneath them. Disregarding the fact that they were located two stories high and was staring incredulously at Cheshire who proceeded to jog towards the entrance with ease. The thief threw himself over an unfamiliar motorcycle, sending a cheeky grin towards the flabbergasted men and set off. Zipping down the driveway, twisting sharply to his side, nearly skimming the gravel, and drove off with the speed of a demon chasing at his back.

Marcello blanked, then panicked. He jabbed one of his dazed and wonderstruck fellow guards in the ribs and screamed, "What are you doing!? After him!"

Thus, sounded the alarm throughout the mansion, gathering their search teams for the manhunt. Marcello ignored the whispered awe in his companions voices at seeing THE Cheshire Cat in action. To be able to see the renowned thief in person, the World's Greatest Thief. He refrained from commenting too in fear of incurring his already furious boss' wrath.

Cheshire zipped through the highway in breakneck speed, grinning when he knew the famiglia was already preparing themselves to give chase. It was futile. Cheshire knew this, hell, he's probably sure the Costa Famiglia's don knew this too but continued the chase if only to retain some semblance of pride.

He drove faster, the forestry disappearing behind his back as the city lights entered his sights instead. Zooming into the town, Cheshire made a few sharp turns, knowing full well he's breaking several traffic regulations but didn't find himself to care as he drove freely and faster. He slowed down after a few seconds, pulling up towards a parking lot that was mostly empty save for a few gawkers, and moved his motorcycle up two levels. Parking swiftly with a screech of tires, Cheshire hopped off, glancing once at the watch on his wrist and checked around him. There was no need to check for security cameras as he's memorized the layout beforehand and disabled the more problematic ones as he opened the sliding door a van next to him. He rolled in and closed it behind him.

Out from the other side, came another young man. Zipping up his purple jumpsuit, ruffling his purple curls with biker gloves, trying to unflatten the strands as he threw a black wig back into the bag inside the vehicle. A triumphant smile on his lips as he fastened the metal chain to his lips again after applying the purple gloss and lighter shades of purple over his eyes. He slapped the white plaster on each side of his cheeks and skillfully wiped the left side of his cheek with a cloth to reveal a purple teardrop. He threw a peace sign towards the window reflection of Skull de Mort, the Greatest Stuntman.

If anyone else would have pinned the identity of the Cheshire Cat, the World's Greatest Thief, no one would have guessed Skull. Skull the civilian, a stuntman that had no connections with the underworld. Brash and loud compared to Cheshire's cheeky and confident charm. A punk compared to a gent. Which was what made it so perfect as Skull smirked to himself, already calculating the worth of the emerald beauty in his hand, not the least remorseful of tonight's steal. The Costa Famiglia was rich enough, who needs an extra hundred thousand?

With a hum, Skull heaved the bag containing all his stuff over his shoulder and hid away the gem with a quick flick of his wrist. He glanced over his head, observing the area before leaving the parking lot through the stairs, and disappeared through the crowd. Whistling happily to himself, even when a suspiciously tinted black car drove slowly through the streets, obviously searching for Cheshire Cat's whereabouts.

Skull grinned when they drove past him.

Tonight was a good night.

He was six when he ran away from the orphanage. An angered and hurt child running through the rain, the clothes on his back soaking against his skin. Escaping the hurtful words of the other kids in the orphanage, or the stones hurled at him for being a freak. Isolated, scorned and sneered at for the sole reason that he looked different from the others. That his abnormal hair and eyes were a sign that he was a child of hell. A demon.

He had run for two days straight, growing weaker and weaker with each passing hour as he ran. Hungry, tired, and miserable before he collapsed in a heap of spent limbs in a deserted alley.

He was six when a woman from the circus found him like a hollow vessel of himself behind a dumpster. Dirty and beaten and tired and just so very hungry. Wearing bright, lively colors in this grey and cloud covered day. Instead of leaving him be, she had only stared at his pitiful form, and his purple hair and purple eyes before nodding to herself.

He was six when he died, and the name Skull lived on.

Having found a family in the people performing in the circus. In the clowns that would perch him on their shoulders and laugh warmly instead of the mocking ones. In the ringmaster that had only looked at him once before saying he's welcomed here with a grin so wide it could only be described as Cheshire-like. In the dancers that cooed over his looks and battered his face with mascara and make-up like a group of dotting sisters.

In the same woman who had picked him up without hesitation, telling him how his eyes had looked like a pair of beautiful, shining amethysts.

Her name had been Agate, and she was a dancer who had been fascinated with gems. Having a collection of her own in an antique box, explaining all the gems she's collected throughout her years traveling alongside the circus. How her name meant grounding, Emeralds meant to love, and Ambers meant warmth. Explaining each of their meanings, history, and where she found them. 'It's my box of treasures,' she had explained to him while closing the lid with a wink, 'and you're just as much a part of my irreplaceable jewels, my dear '.

He had adored her for it and everything that made Agate, listening greedily whenever she spoke about her precious gems. Watching the joy in her face whenever she pulled a small gemstone to the light. She was the reason he had come to be fascinated with gemstones and the way they sparkled under the sun and moon.

It was also the circus that taught him how to become, what he was now, a world-renowned thief.

As it was the acrobats that taught him how to fly throughout the air in a series of flashy twists. The dancers that taught him how to be flexible as they bent him in half for their new choreography. The jugglers that corrected his coordination with plastic knives instead of real flaming swords. And all together? They had taught him how to perform. To play a part in a show. To throw on a facade and give the crowd the performance of their lives.

Meanwhile picking up multiple languages in his time in the circus, as everyone had been from somewhere, whether it was from China, Italy, Poland, or Spain. They gave him the ability to converse, to twist his words to their desires, and to create a story woven with deceit.

His life as a thief came gradually after that, having caught the interest of a magician that specialized in the arts of misdirection. A form of deception to move the audiences gazes away from what the manipulator wanted them to see, and to take away what they didn't. Skull struggled at first, but after countless lessons and a patient teacher, he had thrived in the arts. Finding a different thrill in snatching something from someone than the adrenaline-fueled flights across the sky alongside the trapeze artists. Admiring the beautiful way he stuck a hand into someone's pockets, sauntering away, and hid to see the way his target patted down their pockets with pleasurable delight. It made him feel...relieved. Happy. Alive.

They used to jokingly call him a kleptomaniac with the way he snatched things without thought. Perhaps he was, but he didn't exactly feel guilty after his thefts, nor did he have a problem with refraining himself either. It was simply a passion.

By the time he discovered his love for the motorcycle, and set on his path to one day be known as the Greatest Stuntman, one hated by death itself; having said goodbye to Agate, the circus, and all the people whose raised and taken care of him to pursue his own career, Skull had already started taking his first steps of becoming the World's Greatest Thief.

It was after becoming the World's Greatest Thief and the Greatest Stuntman- that he eventually assumed the role of the Strongest Cloud too.

It was already breaking into dawn by the time he reached his hotel room, whistling absently to himself as he stopped in front of his door. Latching onto the handle after he unlocked the door with his room card, throwing it open as he waltzed in, only to raise his head to see his room in a blanket of darkness. He froze, the grin sliding off his face as he distantly heard the door close behind him, eyes flickering back and forth in calm wariness.

Tilting his head to the side, Skull can only hum when he realized there was someone else in this room apart from him.

As if answering his thoughts, the lamp beside the couch flickered on with a somber click. Revealing a man wearing a crimson trench coat and an iron hat over his long blond locks, a mask over his eyes the way Cheshire Cat dons his. It was too cliche, Skull wanted to say, like an opening scene straight out of a James Bond movie. Instead, the Greatest Stuntman and the World's Greatest Thief- screeched like a little girl.

"Who the hell are you!" Skull screams, pointing at the man frantically. "D-Don't move! I'm calling security! You're invading the Great Skull-sama's privacy! Get out! Get-"

The man with the iron hat only chuckled, "Please, cut the act, Skull de Mort. I'm here for business, not for one of your grand performances. Though, I must comment how well executed it was. I can see why so many fall for your acts."

Skull paused, the hands he had been flailing around with dropping slowly to an inscrutable stance, face blank as he observed the stranger closely. What a dangerous man, Skull can only think, hiding a wide grin behind gloved hands as he dropped his bag on the floor, opting to cross his arms as he leaned against the wall.

"Aren't you a smart one," Skull said casually, keeping check that his knives were still secured underneath his sleeves.

The man chuckled, "When you have the luxury of time in your hands, nothing fazes me anymore, Mr. de Mort."

The stranger's words were spoken with such weight that Skull can only conclude that there was a deep history behind them. Something inside Skull perked up at that, like a cat tilting their heads at something of particular interest. However, that glimpse of history wasn't one of his current priorities at the moment. The man's reason for being here was.

"So? I don't believe that you came here for a casual conversation." Skull began, pulling at one of his purple curls before glancing up with lidded eyes. "May I know the name of the man that's asking for my service?"

The man stood, a pleasant smile on his lips that spoke volumes of scheming tales to Skull who could tell a well-crafted mask when he sees one. After all, Skull was quite well-versed with the arts of a mask himself.

"I am Checkerface." The man in the iron-hat, Checkerface, introduced. "And I am here to invite you to I Prescelti Sette."

Skull masked his grimace with a blank face, alarm bells ringing in his head as he translated the phrase. The Strongest Seven. Capitalized letters. The way his title as Cheshire Cat and career as a stuntman was. He could already smell the tell-tale signs of a trap being laid before him. Not to mention the man's name. Skull thought his alias was dramatic enough, the man's name was Checkerface for god's sake.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" Skull intoned, playing deeper into his farce as a civilian despite having shown his colors as the gentleman thief more than once during their short meeting.

Something he'll never allow again.

"It means exactly as the name implies," Checkerface explained, smile ever present. "It is the gathering of the strongest men and women in the world."

Skull closed his eyes behind his purple bangs. Then he flushed sheepishly while rubbing the back of his head, waving a flustered hand at Checkerface in obvious embarrassment, "One of the strongest? In the world? I'm just a stuntman, Mr. Checkerface. I don't believe I am deserving of such a big title."

Checkerface smiled indulgently, "Ah, but I'm not exactly asking the Greatest Stuntman, now am I?"

Amethysts flashed upwards, an abashed smile swiftly transforming into a wide Cheshire-like grin. It still awes Skull himself at how fast one little behavior can change someone's entire disposition. A straighter back, mischievous smile, and a predatory gleam- his change from Skull the Greatest Stuntman to the Cheshire Cat has always been astounding to his eyes alone. Now two pairs with the addition of Checkerface added to the list.

"Oh?" Skull grinned wider, tilting his head slyly. "Should I be worried about how easily my identity was figured out, Mr. Checkerface?"

Checkerface notched his iron-hat higher, eyeing Skull's no doubt impressive change in character, "No need, Cheshire Cat. I'm certain I'm the only one who has figured out your identity amongst the members of the Underworld."

Grabbing a chair from the side, Skull straddled it, using the back to rest his arms and head on the edge leisurely. "Now then, why don't we get to the real business of things," The purple haired began with a lazy gaze, "What exactly is in it for me if I go to this so-called 'gathering' of yours?"

"Being recognized as one of the strongest people in the Underworld? Connections? There are many benefits of becoming apart of I Prescelti Sette, Mr. de Mort." Checkerface appeased, fingering the edge of his trench coat in a manner of apathy.

"Ah, but you must remember, Mr. Checkerface, I'm already recognized as the Greatest Thief to walk the world and I've got quite the impressive set of connections too. I hardly see the benefits you're speaking of." Skull glanced up, wondering how this ancient man would entice this picky cat.

The man in the mask pondered for a moment, making a show of placing a finger to his chin, humming all the while.

"What if I said that you really don't have a choice in the matter?" Skull narrowed his eyes with a tight grin at his words.

"Blackmail, Mr. Checkerface?" The thief at night deduced with a displeased glower.

"Blackmail, Mr. de Mort," Checkerface confirmed with a bright smile on his face.

The blackmail being that Checkerface knew his identity.

Skull refrained from impaling his trusty knife through the man's face. Instead, the thief and stuntman pouted.

"You are the most well-dressed gentleman I've met with a side of insolent manners. As in rude, Mr. Checkerface." He said glumly with a miffed stare. "I expected more from you than underhanded tactics like blackmail."

Even Skull can tell that the man in the iron-hat couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at this, "Says the thief."

Skull waved flippantly with a roll of his eyes, "Semantics."

Checkerface shook his head before taking a slip of paper out of his side pocket, walking up to the still annoyed individual, "The gathering takes place in the summit at this address. The date is there too."

Blandly, Skull took the handed card with a passing check before snapping his gloved hands, a gleeful grin on his face as he showed his empty hands towards Checkerface. The ever showman he was, Skull cooed. It was only with his ability to read the mood of others that he recognizes the other was impressed with his skill. He grinned broadly at this.

The man straightened, smiling politely at the leather-clad man, "Now that you've accepted-"

Skull scoffed.

"-my humble invitation, I'll look forward to seeing your contributions to the team, Mr. de Mort."

The man in the iron-hat made his way to the door, tipping his hat in farewell as he grasped the handle with a pleasant smile that Skull didn't trust at all. As the door clicked shut behind Checkerface, Skull slumped further in his seat. A hand cupped under his chin as he pondered with a faint smile.

"Seven individuals?" Skull asked thoughtfully to himself.

Amethyst eyes shone with comprehension after a moment.

It was a gathering of flame-types, he deduced.

Sky.

Sun.

Rain.

Storm.

Lightning.

Mist.

And-

Skull laughed.

And the seventh, Cloud flames.

The screech of his tires was always delightful to listen to as he ramped up the hill. Dust picking up behind him as he drove faster and faster, nearly driving off the edge with each turn as he came closer and closer to the destination Checkerface handed him. The summit.

Skull grinned as he gripped the handle of his motorcycle harder, advancing with a new vigor. It was a trap, he laughed. Anyone with a brain cell could tell that this was a trap.

On the other hand, Skull thought as he finally caught sight of the cottage, he can't help but wonder what would happen on the long run.

Swerving to a stop, the stuntman parked it and hopped off, hands reaching up to take off his helmet as he ruffled his purple curls. Purple eyes gazing appraisingly at the building that looked more like a miniature mansion than the cottage he was informed off. Walking up to the doors with his helmet tucked under his arm, feeling Cheshire bleeding into his steps as he glided forwards, touching the handle of the entrance.

Remembering once, when he was younger teetering the edge of the stage nervously for his first show, knowing that there was no going back once he crosses this threshold. Agate had said only one thing at his hesitancy, eyes shining with overwhelming pride and happiness for him.

"Give them the performance of their lives, my dear."

A wide Cheshire smile erupted across his face when he remembered.

Skull threw the doors open with a cocky grin. Pleased at the stares that immediately snapped towards him as he stood before the individuals, and even more satisfied that he was the last to make it to the meeting. It was always more effective when one was fashionably late, Cheshire purred.

Skull laughed in enlightenment.

"The Great Skull-sama has arrived!"

A/N: I first got this idea during a class at TOK, and then I came upon this man called Apollo Robbins, an awesome thief. Which THEN made me remember Kaito Kid, the phantom thief. Which then made me think: What if I just mash all these ideas together and make an awesome story for Skull?