Never Look Back Chapter 1: The Dragon and the Phoenix, a suikoden fanfic

"Never Look Back" – A Genso Suikoden fan fiction by Nekoburd

But first… The Happy-Little-Disclaimer-Thing:

I write this with no intention of claiming that it has any factual basis in relation to the characters discussed. Much of it is my own personal speculation and theories. However, I wanted to make this story true to Konami's official information, and to the most accepted (as well as some lesser known) fan based theories. I wanted to try and make it somewhat accurate and possible, so I've done countless hours of research on the characters, the official (if limited) information about them, and the theories and ideas of a great many other people.

I'd like to say thanks in advance to the wonderful people at Suikosource.com, Blue Moon's Forums, and Suikoworld.com for contributing volumes of information and speculation. And a special thanks goes to Psi Yamaneko for her insight into Yuber and all that he is (or could be) through her works at various forums and message boards, and for flashes of inspiration scattered here and there.

Chapter 1 – The Dragon and the Phoenix

Yuber had always guessed he'd had a father somewhere. But in all seven years of his life, he'd never met the man. Sure, Mother would talk about him, often like she was in a dream. She'd talk about the good he was doing in the army, talk about how brave he was. How he'd be coming home soon. But he never did come home, and eventually both Yuber and his older brother, Pesmerga, gave the thought over to wishful thinking.

So he wasn't sure what, exactly, was going on when he was roused from an early morning slumber by the sounds of joyous weeping, a strange man's voice, and his brother's repeated cries of "Father!"

He slid off the bed, rubbing the sleep from his blue eyes with a little yawn. He stumbled awkwardly out into the hall, stopping at the doorway and peering into the room. Everyone went silent, looking right at him.

The stranger was a tall, dark haired man, dressed in the uniform of a soldier. He looked to Yuber's mother, eyes inquiring some question the boy couldn't begin to understand. She nodded, and a slow, overjoyed grin washed over the man's face as he stepped forward to take the confused child in his arms. Yuber blinked at the words the man spoke, in quiet amazement.

"I never knew... that I had another son."

Yuber stared up at the blue sky, arms crossed behind his head as he followed Pesmerga home from town. The late spring breeze felt good in the afternoon, and he would have smiled if something hadn't been on his mind. The way people had sort of gone quiet when he and his brother had walked through the market, turning their backs and speaking in hushed voices amongst themselves the way they always did.

"Pesmerga, why do people whisper whenever we're around?"

The raven-haired boy shook his head, not looking back. "I don't know."

Yuber could tell his brother was lying. Somehow, he could always tell. "Yes you do, you just don't want to tell me." He caught up to him, looking for an answer.

Pesmerga reached out, snatching the younger boy by the arm in an angry grip. "I told you I don't know, all right? I don't know!"

Yuber winced, nodding. "Okay! You don't have to yell..." He pulled his arm free, rubbing it and falling behind again, silent for the rest of the walk home. Pesmerga was hiding something, and it irked him to no end that he wouldn't say what. But he didn't want to get his brother mad, since it usually ended in a bruise or two on Yuber's part. He would have to wait and ask again later.

Pesmerga bit down on a scowl, barely keeping his fists from clenching into tight balls. He did know that answer, even though no one had ever really told him. He was old enough now to put the pieces together and figure it out. He had heard the words of the other children, the whispers of the town gossips, whenever he walked by, with or without his younger sibling. Sometimes it was talk about Mother, but most times it was about Yuber.

And it's all true. He frowned, glancing back at his sullen follower, who was intent on watching his feet, still holding his arm though it was sure forgotten by now.

Yuber stood out like the proverbial sore thumb from the rest of the family. True, the resemblance to his mother, as was Pesmerga's, was strikingly clear. In fact, the brothers could almost have been identical twins as far as physical features. But there the similarities ended. Pesmerga was almost three years older than his sibling, had black hair and dark, brown eyes. Yuber's hair was the color of summer straw, and his eyes were a depthless blue. He had been born several months after their father had left for the war, so at first everyone assumed nothing. But no one in the family had blue eyes, much less blonde hair. Not one.

So people started to talk. They talked of Pesmerga's mother, how lonely she must have been with her husband away to war. Poor thing, some often said with a shake of their heads. For shame, they whispered. She must have needed money or something. How was she to run a respectable inn if she did such things?

Pesmerga shut his eyes tight against the burn of tears, feeling his fingernails digging into his palms and not caring. How could they say those things about Mother? She works so hard, and makes an honest living! He was proud of his mother's inn. It was the best one in town. It was probably the best in the world. They'd never had to worry about hard times, even with Father gone away. She wouldn't ever…

Yet Yuber was living proof that she must have, somewhere along the way. Pesmerga looked back at him from the corner of his eye, and the more he looked, the more he hated the younger boy. It's all your fault, Yuber. You ruined everything. Everything was just fine before you came. Mother won't talk about it, and Father doesn't want to admit it. They just keep pretending you're really his son. But I know the truth. I know you're a bastard. And you're making everyone else's life Hell while they're trying to hide your secret.

But he couldn't break his parents' hearts, couldn't shatter their precious denial. He didn't know what it would do to them, especially if Pesmerga was the one to tell them the truth. So he kept his mouth shut, held on to his hatred, and just kept moving.

Yuber walked into the barn, his makeshift fishing pole over his shoulder like a highwayman's stick and satchel. Granted, it was only a stick itself, with a bit of string and a rusty hook. But it was his. There wasn't much he could say that about. In his other hand was a small bucket with some dry corn at the bottom—his bait. Now all he needed to do was find his brother.

He poked his head into a stall to find Pesmerga just where he thought he'd be. The dark haired boy was leaning against their father's trusted warhorse, a handsome stallion of the deepest blood bay. There was a far away look in his brown eyes as he absently rubbed the horse's nose. Pesmerga often spent his free time with the animal, running his hands over its fine coat, talking to it about anything and everything. What things passed between them, Yuber would never know. And he'd probably never care.

"Hey!" He set his bucket down with a hollow metal thud, bringing the older boy out of his daydreams. "Mother says you have to take me fishing."

Pesmerga mumbled something into the horse's mane before turning to Yuber. "Why do I have to? Get Father, he'll do it." Even though Pesmerga was barely fourteen, his voice had already started to deepen. Yuber thought he sounded funny, but still wished his own voice would hurry and catch up. He hated feeling like a little kid around his brother, and this wasn't helping any.

"Father's busy, and Mother says I'm 'too little to go by myself.' It's not my idea." He shrugged.

Pesmerga sighed, shutting the door to the stall behind him. "Fine. Let's just go."

Yuber smiled, picking up his bucket and starting ahead. Pesmerga grabbed him by the shirt collar, stopping him. "Hey!"

"Hold on a minute…" He pulled Yuber's haphazard ponytail out and redid it neatly, nodding in satisfaction at his work. "There. That was bugging me."

The younger boy frowned at his brother. "That took me forever to get. I did it all by myself, and you ruined it."

"You didn't do it very well, then." Pesmerga grinned.

Yuber simply stuck his tongue out at him. "Yeah, like you'd know. You don't even have one."

"Wouldn't want one. They look ridiculous." The older remarked casually as they stepped outside, heading down the worn trail towards the lake.

"Oh yeah?" Yuber challenged.

"Yeah. And what are you going to do about it, Runt?"

Yuber hated it when his brother called him that. But he was not without a plan. "…Race you!" He took off as he said it, giving him a small lead. But Pesmerga wasn't far behind, and his longer legs quickly overtook the boy. He waved a little farewell as he passed Yuber, laughing.

The blonde grit his teeth, trying to make his legs reach just a little farther, move just a little faster. I have to beat him this time! He always wins… Yuber felt like his heart was going to explode if he ran any faster, but he kept on going. Pesmerga was just ahead, and Yuber was gaining. I have to beat him!

The ground had other ideas. The path seemed to rear up beneath him, catching his toe and throwing his balance. His feet got caught up in themselves, and he went flying forward. He tried to catch himself and keep going, but all his arm flapping was for nothing. He crashed ingloriously into the dirt after a few clumsy somersaults, face first in the dust.

Pesmerga was at his side a moment later, as he coughed and tried to pick himself up. His left arm hurt terribly, halfway between his elbow and his wrist, like someone had twisted it too hard.

"Yuber, are you all right? Here, let me help," Pesmerga said, kneeling beside his brother.

Yuber shoved him roughly, spitting clods of the path back to where they belonged. "Go away." He winced as he put pressure on his arm. Pesmerga noticed and persisted in offering his hand.

"I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need your help." Yuber was on one knee, inspecting the hole in his trousers and bloodied skin on the other.

"Look, you're hurt. Let me—"

"Get away from me!"

Pesmerga stepped back, staring at Yuber as if he had suddenly become a viper. And well he may have, the way he'd snapped at Pesmerga so suddenly. His blue eyes stormed as he stood up, glaring at the older boy. "I said I don't need you."

Yuber dusted off his pants, and picked up his fishing pole again. He scooped the spilled corn back into its bucket. He took care not to use his left arm, but was also careful not let on it was hurt. And it hurt. But he wasn't about to let Pesmerga have that satisfaction.

With his gear in hand, he turned to his brother. He was calm again, and smiled a little, as if nothing had even happened. "Alright, let's go fishing."

Pesmerga didn't really know what to say to his brother as they sat on the end of the dock. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to say anything. So he opted for nothing, attempting to come up with some line or another that would break the awkward silence. He couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound condescending, but that didn't stop him from trying.

The sun was settling low on the horizon, bathing the lake in warm golden light. Yuber had let him have the pole after a little while, muttering something about not feeling like fishing since the fish weren't biting. He sat with his back to Pesmerga now, curled up with his arms around his legs, staring down into the water.

Pesmerga felt bad for his earlier words, even if they were only to himself. They were brothers, after all. Half brothers were still a blood relation. And he does look an awful lot like me.

He tossed the line in again, stealing a glance at the younger boy. Yuber's left arm had started to bruise. Pesmerga guessed it was broken, but if Yuber was willing to suffer to keep up his guise of self-sufficiency, what could Pesmerga do but let him?

He's so damn stubborn. Just like everyone else in this family. The irony of that was almost ridiculous. He shook his head. He still couldn't shake the truth away, it seemed. It just kept coming back, and he felt the anger coming with it.

He noticed a light tension on the fishing line, distracting him.

"Hey, did you get one?" Yuber peered over his shoulder, suddenly interested again.

"Don't know." He gave the pole a good tug, but sighed when his 'catch' didn't fight back. "Damn, just a weed." The water around the dock was full of weeds—it was almost all they ever caught when they couldn't go out into the boat with Father.

Pesmerga jerked the pole a few times, trying to loose the hook. "It's stuck good… watch your head, I'm going to rip it out." Yuber ducked under the older boy's arm, not wanting a hook in his face. Pesmerga set the pole beside him, and yanked the line as hard as he could, falling on his rear as the string came free. He held the line up—and blinked when he saw the hook hadn't come along for the ride.

"It must have snapped," he said, showing the frayed string to his sibling.

"Oh no! That was my only hook!" he frowned in dismay, leaning precariously over the edge of the dock. His search was short and fruitless, and he turned his head back to Pesmerga. "What the heck did you do that for?" he demanded.

Pesmerga thought Yuber was making an awful big deal out of nothing, despite the genuinely wounded look on his sibling's face. "Hey, it's not like I did it on purpose!" He stood up, taking the stick-turned-pole in hand. "The bait shed's just up the hill. You could always get another one."

Yuber shook his head, peering back down into the water. "That was my hook. The ones in the shed aren't mine."

Pesmerga put his hand over his eyes, groaning. "Why do you have to be so bull headed all the time?" He sighed. "Fine, I'll go get us another hook. There's still enough daylight left to catch something." He turned on his heel and started up the hill, shaking his head in disbelief.

Yuber looked hard, but he couldn't see a thing in the dark water. He was about to give up, when he managed to catch sight of the tail end of the broken string floating in the gentle, lapping waves.

Yes! If I can grab that, I can pull the hook free. That'll show Pesmerga…

He lay flat on his belly and squirmed until his right arm dangled down towards the lake. He stretched his fingers out, but still couldn't quite reach the elusive string. He wriggled a little farther out, trying to keep his balance and avoid using his left arm at the same time. It was a real pain, but it seemed to be working. Just a little farther…

"Feck!"

Yep. Splash.

Well, now that he was down there, he might as well get what he came for. He followed the line down into the weeds, and worked the hook free. Funny how easily it came out at the source. He looked up to the surface, a dancing, shining light above him. He started kicking his way back, thinking about how upset his mother would be that he would come home soaking wet.

And panicked when he discovered he wasn't going up.

Yuber could feel the weeds grasping at his ankles, tangling themselves around his legs as he struggled to reach that shimmering light. His arms broke the surface several times—his left was screaming at him in protest—but he couldn't get his head above water. The more he kicked, the more entrapped he became, and he gasped in blind, desperate fear. He coughed as the air in his lungs was replaced by water, and was only rewarded with more water. The life saving light was starting to dim…

Pesmerga threw the fishing pole to the side, the hook only half threaded, and tore down the hill. He made for the dock as fast as he could go. Damn helpless fool. Can't leave him alone for five minutes! As he ran, he gathered himself to leap in…

…And found himself slowing to a halt at the end of the dock. He looked down and watched, still poised to jump, as Yuber's flailing arms sank beneath the water.

Why not let him go? Things would be so much easier without him… No more whispering, no more tag-a-long shadow… but he is my brother.

Half brother, he reminded himself. Only half. You know it. The whole town knows it, too, though they'd never say it to Mother or Father's faces. Only to mine. He frowned. I should just let the bastard drown. It'd be his own fault, and no one would care if he's gone.

He waited. The younger boy still didn't surface, and Pesmerga couldn't see him. The water by the dock was fairly deep, and the shadow thrown by sunset fell across the place he'd fallen in.

Father would care, though. Father likes the little runt. They'd blame me if he died, no matter that he did it to himself. Damn.

Pesmerga took a breath and stepped off the dock, knowing he was going to regret this decision sooner or later.

The voices of his parents floated through Yuber's door, to find his only half awake ears. But half awake was enough to hear what they were saying.

"Poor Pesmerga. I was just in to check on him, and he looks like he's doing at least a little better." Ah, yes. This conversation again. He'd heard it yesterday, too.

And just what happened to Pesmerga, Mother?

"Yes, he'll pull out of that cold soon." His father, sounding relieved.

A cold. I almost die, and he gets a cold. But his father had more to say. He listened, his thoughts coming less fuzzily as sleep wore away.

"It's a good thing he was there, though. If it wasn't for Pesmerga, Yuber would have certainly drowned. He owes his brother his life." Yuber could hear his father's pride beaming in his voice, and it made him sick. Or maybe it was all the lake water he'd swallowed. He wasn't sure which.

Yes, and if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have had to go after the hook in the first place. Oh, yeah… thanks a lot, Pesmerga. He buried his face in his pillow, feeling miserable. His broken arm had been splinted, and when he'd first come around, the doctor had given him a stern dressing down about letting it go untreated for half the day. On top of it, his mother had then proceeded to give him a lengthy list of reasons why what he did was foolish, and instructed him on exactly how grateful he should be to Pesmerga for saving him.

Remind me again, I keep forgetting. He flopped over on his back, staring at the ceiling through half lidded eyes. He should have just let me die. Would have saved us both the trouble. He sighed, closing his eyes and waiting for the days to go by. Waiting for his chance to find some way to prove to them that he was every bit as good as Pesmerga, if not better. Waiting…

Yuber hovered in the back of the room, glowering at Pesmerga as the weaponry instructor called him to demonstrate the latest set of techniques. And his mood only got darker when Pesmerga performed without flaw, much to the delighted cheering of his classmates.

Come on, it's not like he ever makes a mistake, anyway. Isn't anyone but me tired of seeing him leap like a trained dog whenever the instructor whistles? It can't be all that extraordinary.

He was being petty and he knew it, but he really didn't care. Pesmerga strode back to his place, looking smug and quite satisfied with himself. Yuber couldn't help thinking that he looked like some raven-haired peacock, strutting around like that. He smirked a little at the idea. I might just have to tell him that later.

The instructor dismissed the class until tomorrow. Yuber set to putting his gear away, setting everything on its respective rack or shelf. He stayed far away from the flock of students around his brother, who soaked up the attention like a sponge. It was like this every day. Nothing special.

He was about to head for home, when a friendly wave caught his attention.

"Hey, Yuber." Sylvia's smiling face met him at the door, blocking his exit playfully. He grinned back, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded.

"What can I do for you, Sylvia? You're only this nice to me when you want something," he teased, shaking a few stray locks of golden hair from his eyes.

She giggled. "I am not. I'm nice to you all the time. But it just so happens that I do want something."

"Ahah! You can't fool me, little girl."

"Alas, I can't." She gave in with a little shrug. "I wanted to know if you want to spar with me later today. I could use the practice, and I know you need it." She poked him in the ribs for emphasis.

His smiled faded, and he looked off to the side. "Why don't you ask Pesmerga? He's the guy who knows what he's doing with a sword."

"Oh, nonsense. You just need a little more time. He is older than you. He wasn't as good as he is now three years ago."

Yes he was. You're just trying to make me feel better.

"Well, I suppose you have a point, there." He played along, despite the fact that he knew he was lying. "When do you wish to duel, then, Fair Lady? Challenger sets the time and place." He bowed in imitation of a courtly gentleman.

"Preferably before seven," Pesmerga said from behind them, arching a brow. "Remember?"

Sylvia squealed and ran to throw her arms around Pesmerga's neck. "Oh, yeah! I forgot about that!" She looked to Yuber as though she'd suddenly remembered he was still standing there, pitiful and embarrassed. "Um… maybe we can take a rain check on that duel?"

It was all Yuber could do to put a smile on and nod cheerfully, as he glanced up at the sky. Gloomy clouds were moving in from the west, bringing the promise of a thunderstorm. "Yeah, looks like rain is about the right word." He turned to walk away, waving a little goodbye. "Have fun."

When he was sure he was out of sight, he let loose with a feral growl of frustration, slamming the side of his fist against the nearest wall.

Damn! Nineteen years, and I'm still playing second to that arrogant, overbearing asshole! First with Mother and Father—if he is my father—and now with Sylvia! He thinks he's so wonderful. He acts like he's above everyone. Like we're nothing to him. Well, even eagles can be shot down, and when it happens to him, I'll be sure to be there to laugh at him. He's done it to me enough times. I owe him one.

Yuber slipped unnoticed out the front door, as he'd done on so many nights before. Pesmerga wasn't home yet, and his parents rarely took notice if Yuber came and went as he pleased. So long as Pesmerga wasn't there, they could have cared less if he existed or not. But if his older brother was around and he tried to leave, he'd end up catching the same boring lecture that'd he'd heard enough times to memorize.

"Why can't you be more like your brother? He's here insert-whatever-'nice thing'-he's doing, and you're off fooling around. Can't you just be more helpful once in a while?"

The blonde bit his lip, not caring as the raindrops threw themselves at him. Sure, I could be more like Pesmerga. But then I'd have a stick so far up my ass that the world would wonder why it didn't come out my head.

It was no comfort that when people said Pesmerga was good at everything he did, they were generally right. He was an expert marksman, a skilled rider, and was something amazing to watch when he swung a sword. Yuber, on the other hand, didn't seem to be able to grasp the concept of aiming an arrow, he hated horses, and his swordsmanship was something less than perfect. And that's putting it lightly.

However, there was at least one thing that Yuber could do that Pesmerga would never be able to match him in. He could play the guitar, and he played it well. He held on to that with precious, almost desperate care. His father had often scolded him for it, called it a 'childish fancy' or 'something not fit for a man.' The more his father disdained it, the more Yuber played. It became his escape, the center in the storm. And if his father hated it, that made it all the more satisfactory.

But music won't save your hide if someone decides to take a sword to you. And I'm sick and tired of Pesmerga humiliating me day in, day out. I will prove to him—to them all—that I can do something worthwhile.

He ignored the thunder rumbling ominously in the night sky, and made for town.

Yuber was alone in the small practice room, with only his sword, the rain, and the brief illumination of brilliant lightning for company. And there was always his anger, a constant companion these days, never leaving the shadows of his mind. With each swing of the blade, flashing in the darkness, that smoldering rage flared to life, consuming him until it was all he had left.

He snarled, bringing the blade down, across, up. How dare he do this to me now. He knows how I feel about Sylvia. He knows! Pesmerga has taken everything from me, and I'll be damned if I let him get away with it this time. He felt his grip tighten on the hilt. Thunder above the roof echoed the growl rising in his throat.

The sliding of the dojo's door was terribly loud in the lonely building. Someone had come in. Yuber froze. If he was found here after hours… His sword fell to the floor, and his legs felt like leaden weights. His heart leapt to his throat. He waited, catching his breath as quietly as he could, trying to see who was coming.

Silence. Minutes passed, and still there was only the rain. He slowly eased his guard, relaxing. He knelt to pick up his sword, to start the routine again—

--And found himself sprawled across the floor, wind knocked from his breast by a well-placed backhand. He coughed, and tried to get up. He was greeted by a sharp pain under his chin. He followed the long blade up to its owner, cursing himself for wheezing with lack of breath.

The man was cloaked in shadows, but when another scream of lightning lit the room, it revealed the nature of the stranger. And he seemed more a beast than a man, with a wicked grin spread from ear to ear.

"So you're the one it wants, eh? Huh. Sort of a scrawny thing. Well, what the Hell, as long as I can finally die, what do I care who it picks next?" The man reached for him, and yanked Yuber to his feet by the front of his shirt. That cruel, cold sword never left its train on his throat.

"Listen good, since I'm only going to give you this choice because I'm in a good mood. This," he said setting the youth down, and putting his right hand up to Yuber's face, "Wants to take you on as its new owner. Or rather, it wants to own you."

Yuber paled at the blood on the man's hand, presumably his own from the wound Yuber could make out at the man's side. He didn't know what the stranger was talking about, but he felt it was best to just agree with him, and nodded slowly. The man continued. "The choice is simple. Either you take it from me, or I kill you. Pretty simple. So, your choice?"

Yuber frowned at him, despite his potentially precarious situation. "Some choice. Since I don't feel much like dying, I guess I'll have to take it, won't I? Whatever it is." Yuber had the distinct feeling he was being blackmailed into something he'd regret for the rest of his life, but couldn't do anything about it.

"Heh, you're a cocky little bastard. Maybe it knows what it's doing…" He snatched Yuber's right hand in his own, and a flash of light too bright for lightning blinded him for a fleeting moment. The sword fell away from its target as the man collapsed to the floor with a tired sigh, as if a great burden had suddenly vanished. Yuber wiped the stranger's blood against his shirt, and looked at his hand, trying to make out the small mark on his palm.

A Rune…

The man shuddered, a dying breath. "May whatever God pities a fool have mercy on your soul…"

And then he was alone again, with only the rain.

When Yuber had kneeled to pick up his nearly forgotten weapon, still confused and unsettled by the dead man's words, he'd been completely unprepared for the sudden wave of memories that had flooded his mind. He'd just held his hand out, barely touching the hilt, and then it was as if a furious whirlwind was screaming in his mind.

Now, he staggered out of the dojo's double doors, trying to come to grips with the settling fragments of the life of another. No, several others. And none of the pieces were very comforting…

He held the sword from the dojo in his branded right hand, clutching it in a white knuckled fist as he wandered the empty streets. He lifted his face up, felt the sting of the rain against his cheeks. It was cold. He knew it was cold. But somehow, he couldn't quite feel how cold it was. It was only a vague certainty, a fact. Strange.

He shook his head, tossing straggling locks of wet blonde hair over his shoulder. He had the suspicion that he must look drunk, somewhere in the back of his mind, amidst the floating thoughts. Still, no one else was fool enough to be out in this ungodly weather, thus no one was likely to see him. So he kept walking, all the while trying to find his feet beneath the numbness, thinking back to the moment when everything had fallen in on him.

Something had hit him when he touched the sword. He could faintly recall a feeling like something scurrying up his arm, and then the memories had overrun him. He couldn't search through them for a clue. He'd tried, but it was like touching white-hot steel. The wisps of the others' pasts he carried were so full of gripping, choking pain that he couldn't access them without feeling immediately strangled by them.

Of the few things he had managed to garner from his brief searches, the most important was the name of his newly acquired Rune. It was a shame he'd never heard of the Eightfold Rune before, though. It may have been some help. Instead it was just one more question mark in a list already too long.

Laughter ahead of him made him pause, and he looked up through the driving rain to see who it belonged to. He became aware that he was drenched to the bone, and he probably would get Hell for it when he got home. But it didn't seem to matter quite so much any more.

The scene was sickeningly perfect. Sylvia clung to Pesmerga's arm, giggling and having the time of her life as they exited one of the taverns lining the street. If Yuber only looked drunk, then she was three sheets to the wind. Pesmerga grinned at her, supporting her as he held the umbrella over her head like a perfect gentleman. Neither of them noticed him, and they headed off in the direction of her house.

Yuber felt a tingling in his hand as the old hatred surfaced again, rising in him like a tide. But instead of the usual snarl, he felt an odd little half smile slide across his lips. The Rune was whispering to him. And he liked what it was saying.

Pesmerga was gone. Finally! I thought he'd never leave. I swear, if they kissed one more time, I think I would have screamed. And that would have ruined everything, he thought, watching his dark haired brother make his way down the street. It's about time I got a little of my own back.

He knew Sylvia stayed alone in her small house. She had since she was seventeen, and had proclaimed her independence. That just made things all the easier. Sylvia waved until Pesmerga was out of sight, and stepped inside.

Yuber slipped out from behind the corner he'd been waiting behind, and calmly walked up to her house. Up the steps, his hand on the door... his heart was racing with a fierce anticipation he'd never known. The door was predictably unlocked, and he opened it as carelessly as if it were his own home. The sword seemed to thrum, and his right hand ached. He guessed it was from holding the blade so tightly, but it couldn't be helped. He glanced into the first room he came to—

--And there she was. She blinked at him, dumbfounded. "Yuber?"

He had to smile at the innocent, simple question, and nodded. "Hello, Sylvia."

She glanced nervously from him, to the quivering blade, to the bloodstain on his drenched shirt, and back again. "You're... why were you out in the rain? You're soaking wet! You'll catch a cold..." she trailed off as he took a step in her direction, into the living room.

"You shouldn't pretend to care so much, Sylvia." He raised the blade slowly, feeling the ache in his hand intensify. But he was too far to stop now... "I think you'll find out it was a bad idea to get drunk tonight. I'm sure your fighting skills have been compromised."

Sylvia's eyes widened for a moment, realizing what was going on, then narrowed. She flicked her wrist, and a fighting knife was suddenly nestled in her palm. "You're mistaken if you think you can kill me. You can't even fight in an open training room. What makes you think you can fight me in a small space like this?" Her tone was wary, but with gentle concern in its cautioning words. It held none of the condescending venom he would have expected. And that only served to fuel the fire.

"I just may have a few surprises for you, then."

He swung broadly, without warning, slashing at her with a speed he'd had no idea he possessed. Apparently, she didn't think he could move that fast, either. She barely had time to block, holding up her puny looking dagger in a desperate defense. She was better than him, though. A counter attack proved that swiftly enough. He cursed as the knife found it's way in and out of his thigh.

"You little bitch!" He brought the flat of the blade around with a wild new strength, fed by the pain of his injury. It connected with Sylvia's arm with a wet crack, and she cried in pain, staggering back as her dagger fell to the carpet.

The sounds sent a thrilling shock down his spine, and he began to understand what the ache in his rune-hand was. It was a craving, a longing desire. For blood. For death. The Rune wove its murderous urge around his soul, and became part of it forever. It became him. And he embraced every moment of it.

He stood over Sylvia with a lunatic's smile pasted to his face, and raised his sword.

Pesmerga almost jumped, startled by the sudden appearance of the ghastly figure in the doorway. He and his parents had been discussing his evening, when the front door had been thrown open. Yuber stood calmly just inside, looking at his older brother with an unreadable expression. He held one of the nondescript blades from the training dojo in his hand. Patches of dark scarlet stained his clothes, which clung to his lithe body with the weight of the water they carried. Yuber's blue eyes met with Pesmerga's from behind streaks of rain-soaked hair.

Blood... He's covered in blood...

"You need to go see Sylvia." Yuber's voice was flat and heavy. He was grimly serious. "Now."

Pesmerga scrambled from his chair and bolted for the door, pushing Yuber out of the way. He flew down the path, feeling the chill grip of worried dread on his heart. Hold on, Sylvia. Please hold on.

Never in his life had the road into town been so long—or so muddy. He must have slipped and skidded half a dozen times as he pelted through the sludge. It was a wonder he didn't fall and break his neck. One particularly nasty twist set his ankle afire. But he forced himself to run, faster than he'd ever run before.

First trees, then buildings rushed past him in a hazy blur through the rain. He counted the streets as he made his way through the dimly lit town. On the fourth, he turned sharply to his left, and left again. Perhaps too sharply, and his ankle cried for mercy. But Sylvia's house was there, right there!

He half ran, half hopped up the stairs, throwing himself against the door. He found it already open, and crashed into the hallway, sliding on the loose rug.

"Sylvia!"

He saw her in the first room, curled in on herself and shaking. Pesmerga flew to her side, reaching for her tentatively. She looked up to him, her eyes already losing their light. There was a deep red tinge to the carpet, all around her body.

He gingerly held her, stunned. She lay bleeding in his arms from a deep gash across her torso, her breath ragged and weak. He blinked, forcing the only thing he could think of from his choked throat. "What... what happened? Who...?"

Nothing could have prepared him for the answer she gave, though the more he thought about it later, the more he realized he should have seen it coming.

"Yuber."

Pesmerga stayed with her, even after she was long gone. It must have been hours after she'd breathed her last, shivering breath, before he could bring himself to get to his feet. He was past disbelief, and well into deep set shock. He leaned heavily against the wall in the hallway, still not wanting to leave. He did his very best to pull all the pieces together and straighten out them out. It was all becoming clearer.

Yuber did this. He killed her. That was her blood all over him. All over. He did this.

Clarity snapped into place at his next thought, like the crack of a bullwhip in his mind.

This is the last time he's going to get in my way.

And he knew what he had to do. He had to go home.

Pesmerga blanched, shutting the door faster than he had opened it. No... He felt bile rising in the back of his throat, blinking repeatedly as beads of cold sweat, colder than the rain, slid down his face. He did his best to steel himself, taking in several deep breaths before he turned to face the door. He reached out, gripped the handle, and pulled—

--To step into what could have been a battlefield. Or Hell. The room was painted with bright crimson strokes, broad and careless. The air was thick with the smell of new death. Blood still crept down the walls, still soaked into the carpet and furniture. It was everywhere, pervading every one of his senses. He shut his eyes, not wanting to see, not wanting to believe...

God, there's so much blood. So much blood... Pesmerga's mind chased itself in little circles, around and around. He fell to his knees, praying someone would wake him from this nightmare.

Yuber paused, peering into the darkness of the old horse's stall as he passed. Ah, and what else can I take from him? He called softly to the animal, rousing it from its peaceful sleep. It whickered nervously, backing into a corner, its ears flat against its skull. Yuber was the last person it wanted to associate with. Though it wasn't unusual for the horse to dislike him, this time he couldn't exactly blame it. He flipped the latch, sword at the ready.

He got a good look at the beast, however, and laughed softly. "You're nothing but a skeleton already, aren't you? You don't need me to finish the job... you'll be dead on your own in a few months. It might be better if I let you live. And when you go, Pesmerga will watch your life slip through his fingers, and he won't be able to do anything about it." He smiled at the delicious irony. "Wouldn't that be sweet justice..."

"Justice?"

Yuber looked up, and his casual smile became a delighted grin as he saw his half brother in the barn's doorway. He was every bit as wet as Yuber, though only half as bloody.

"Hello there. It's about time you pulled yourself together." He looked up into the rafters, watching Pesmerga from the corner of his eye. "Did you like how I redecorated the place?"

"You bastard!" Pesmerga howled, but didn't move otherwise. "Everything they ever did for you..."

"What did they do for me? My whole life has been a lie! Everything I am, everything I had been... Every second, they tried to make me into another you. Because neither of them could say it to each other's faces that I wasn't his son. Because they couldn't bear to look at me, and see me for who I was. A bastard I may be, but I still have a life of my own! I am not you!"

"And this is what you do with that life? You'd throw it away so quickly?" Pesmerga countered.

"I am living it! More than I ever have!" Yuber laughed, spreading his arms out as he threw his head back. "I've taken my life back from all the people that kept it from me, holding it by a short leash. I have the power to live now. Without any of you." He locked his eyes with Pesmerga's. "I don't need you."

For a second, Pesmerga thought his mind was playing tricks on him in the cheating light. Was something different about Yuber's eyes...? "So... do you plan to kill me, too?"

Yuber's strange gaze turned thoughtful. He took a few steps toward Pesmerga, regarding his half brother with an unsettling smirk. "I could. I would like nothing more for you to experience some of the pain you've put me through." He stopped a few yards off. "But I think you'd have a much better idea of it if I let you live. If you had to find some way to exist without anything. With everything you ever loved and cherished stripped from you, and with the one thing you hate more than anything else to blame for it all." He tilted his head, his half-dry blonde hair falling over one eye. "Beginning to think you'd rather die?"

Pesmerga shook his head, making his disgust very clear. "What's happened to you? This isn't like you, Yuber."

The blonde almost giggled. "You really don't know me very well, do you? I guess I was better than I thought at hiding who I really am from you all. I must have played along a little too well. Pity." He took another step.

Pesmerga put a hand up defensively, much to Yuber's amusement. He raised one golden eyebrow, curious to his half brother's reaction. He set his blade down, and kicked it towards Pesmerga's feet. He was rewarded with a puzzled glance from the other, and explained.

"Kill me if you want." Yuber shrugged. "Just be sure you get it right the first time. It's the only chance you'll have where I don't intend to fight back. But don't take too long, now." The blonde became smug, folding his arms across his chest.

Pesmerga just stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "What?"

"Come on! Kill me! Take your vengeance." Yuber closed the distance between them, coming within easy reach. Pesmerga could only blink in confused incomprehension, intimidated. He turned, sidestepping away and moving further into the barn. Yuber sighed, holding his hands up an innocent gesture. "You always do things the hard way. Well, don't say I didn't warn you..."

Before Pesmerga had time to react, Yuber had grabbed him by the front of his shirt. He pulled his half brother forward, and then flung him into an empty stall. It took all his strength, but it felt so good. He stood over him, and watched with glee as Pesmerga got to his feet. And again, Yuber knocked him down, throwing his weight into a swift backhand. Still Pesmerga refused to stay where he was, pulling himself up, glaring at Yuber with fire enough to scorch Hell.

As much fun as it would be to do this all night... He put his rune-hand out, carefully wrapping it around Pesmerga's neck. He felt the pulse beneath his skin. It was warm, alive. How easy it would be to snuff it out. Or what if...?

He brought his free hand up to Pesmerga's face, tracing his own mirrored features hiding there. He thrilled when he felt the pulse skip and quicken, while Pesmerga squirmed in obvious discomfort. A light went on inside his head, and the Rune started singing a different tune to him this time. Just how far could he take this?

Pesmerga made a few feeble efforts to free himself, but Yuber's grip on his throat held him fast. He paled when Yuber pinned a predatory stare on him, and he finally recognized the change he had detected earlier. There is something wrong with his eyes. Once they had been eyes of the deepest blue, but now they were something more... frightening. His left had become a pale, dead shadow of its former self. And his right was a cat-slit crimson. Neither one looked quite sane.

He shivered, and not from the bone chilling cold of his wet clothes. Yuber ran a finger along his jaw line, deceptively gentle in his touch. Pesmerga felt an iron knot growing in his gut. He had no idea what was going to happen next and he was sure he didn't want to know.

He froze, feeling much like a game bird in the jaws of a hunting hound. Yuber's hand fell away from his neck, and he seemed to be calculating something as he stood there, as if waiting for a reaction. As much as Pesmerga would have loved to give that twisted smile a good bashing in, he just couldn't find the strength to move. He thought he recalled twitching a finger, taking a breath... but that was all.

Suddenly the blonde was uncomfortably close, one hand to either side of his dark haired counterpart. He was trapped, caught in the mysterious, mismatched eyes. He blinked, and they were gone.

Where—

--!

Pesmerga felt a shock run through his body as Yuber placed his lips against his throat. What the hell is he doing! Reason gave way to blind terror, logic was replaced by panic. He squeaked, clawing helplessly at the blonde, trying to push him away. Yuber only chuckled mirthfully, spurred on by the useless struggle.

"You had your chance," he said conversationally, between his slow, deliberate kisses. "Now it's my turn."

Oh God. Kill me. Kill me now. Now. Kill me kill me kill me...

Pesmerga thought his heart was going to collapse. His brain was functioning, but just barely. Just enough to register absolute terror as Yuber began to undo the buttons on his shirt, slipping it down around his shoulders.

I'm never wearing buttons again. The absurd thought was wrought in hysteria. What is he… he's my… why?

He felt his back sliding against the rough, unsanded wood of the stall. Sliding down, sinking in the straw, on the floor. At least it was clean straw. It was a wonderful smell, most days. Clean straw… He tried to force himself to think only of that, trying to use his childhood fondness of the barn to cheat his way out of this increasingly horrifying game. But using his love of this place against him seemed to be the intention, and it only made matters worse.

He reached up, grasping at nothing, trying to find something to either defend himself with or pull himself away with. He found only empty air, and a strangled cry escaped him.

He shuddered, violently enough that it may have been a convulsion, when Yuber's hands danced across his body. He was drowning in the strange eyes. Golden hair fell carelessly across his bare chest. Pesmerga closed himself, his eyes, his ears, trying to make it all go away and failing miserably. He could feel Yuber's tongue…

Kill me kill me kill me!

His mind screamed a final desperate cry, and shut itself off with a defeated whimper. He felt like he was watching someone else, like he was only looking on with a detached, stupefied numbness. Kill me… please…

Despite telling himself that he should stop, Yuber was having an increasingly difficult time keeping himself from just letting go and giving in to his impulses. I don't want to break him. If I did that, he'd be as good as dead. He'd lose any sense of coherence and everything I've done to him will be a waste. But how far is too far? How far…

He felt Pesmerga's fluttering, uncertain heartbeat beneath his fingertips. It bounced and pounded wildly, and his breath was short and clipped. It reminded Yuber of when he'd caught a lizard once, and held it so it couldn't escape. It had struggled too much, and it had crushed itself in his grip. Carefully. Don't let him fight. Make him remember this.

For some reason, it didn't feel strange to be kissing Pesmerga. It sent rills of dark, welcoming electricity through his body. He fought to keep it bridled, to tame it and control it, but he was sharply aware that it was becoming a losing battle.

I want to make him hurt. I want him.

Was that the Rune talking again? He didn't think so. He let the leash slip, just a little, exploring this curious desire. He was fascinated. With every well-placed touch, Pesmerga seemed to be less and less inclined to fight back. Every time Yuber's lips pressed against Pesmerga's chest, his collarbone, his throat, Yuber could feel him weakening. Pesmerga made no more protest than a muffled whimper when Yuber nonchalantly tugged on his chin, pulling his half brother's mouth open and letting the blonde's tongue in. And he tasted so good. Yuber's senses purred in ecstasy. It was like drinking victory. Like revenge.

But discretion is the better part of…

Valor? Ha!

He was tired of fighting with himself, and he beat his weakness down like a groveling dog. Discretion be damned! He's daring me to take him. I want to take him…

He felt the last of his inhibitions vanish, evaporating into a memory. His tight hold on control slipped its bonds in the space of a passionate, forceful kiss. He considered the thought of putting an end to this, just one more time, as his fingers flew across the buckle of Pesmerga's belt. After that, nothing could have stopped him.

It was a long time before Pesmerga moved. It may have been hours, it may have been days. He couldn't count. His mind was preoccupied with too many other things, all of them playing themselves out at once.

He could only lie curled up in the straw, clutching at his drifting threads of coherent thought and trying desperately to pull them together, forcing himself to relive everything just to find out what had happened. His naked skin crawled at the memories.

My own flesh and blood. Yuber...

He hurt all over. Every inch of him was stiff and sore, every muscle exhausted. His back was worst off, and the ankle he'd injured earlier wasn't much better. He pushed himself up on shaking arms, and examined the swollen, bruised joint. He didn't make any decision on it one way or the other. He looked at it as hard as he could, but didn't see much of anything. He was still stuck in the replay.

Yuber...

He felt cold, filthy, and violated. He felt used, and useless, helpless in the empty barn. Yuber had gone, laughing at Pesmerga's pitiful, quivering weakness. That mocking laughter still rang painfully clear even now. And if there was one thing Pesmerga hated more than anything else, it was feeling weak and helpless.

He knew that. That's why he did it.

He grasped onto that hatred, focused it. It seemed to help, sending the ghosts in his mind running for cover in the face of its intensity.

He reached for his blood stained clothing, and found it to be dry. How long had he been out of it? He crawled from the darkness of shock and fear, his thoughts finally coming back clear.

He grimaced as he pulled the clothes on. They reeked of mud, rain, and blood. But he couldn't bring himself to walk from here to the house in nothing but a horse blanket—the only other scrap of fabric in the place—and he couldn't bring himself to take the other alternative, either. So he grit his teeth and dealt with it. He'd be able to change soon enough.

He stumbled outside, across the field, and up the patio, half expecting to find Yuber around every corner, in every shadow. Of course he wasn't, but Pesmerga could still feel the weight of those hypnotic, mismatched eyes. They'd branded him somehow, and he couldn't escape them. With every thought, they were there, dancing above him in vicious pleasure. He wrapped his anger around them, like putting a dark shroud over the offending body of a corpse. And it helped. A little.

He didn't look into the scarlet-spattered room on the left, paid no heed to the dull red along the walls. But he knew they were there nonetheless.

They tried. They always tried. They lied to protect him. They didn't deserve this.

But they still lied, he heard himself admit. He couldn't accept that.

They did not deserve to die this way!

He fell at the top of the stairs, clutching at the carpet with his head hung in frustration. How could he possibly be at odds with himself over this? No one should die like that! Even if Mother did—Yuber had no right—How could he? Was it me? Was this my fault?

The finger of accusation that he'd pointed at himself sent a crushing blow though him, like he'd conveniently stood beneath a falling load of bricks. This... all of this... was his fault. He was the cause of everyone's pain, even his own. And Yuber was at the center of it.

No.

...Yes.

I have to be the one to set this right, then. I will be the one to fix this. He clung to his familiar hatred, one of only two things Yuber had left with him. The other was the bitter memory of that night. Of his one moment when the single person he thought he'd always be able to best had somehow turned the tables on him, and had left him painfully vulnerable. Everything else was gone. Dead and gone.

I'll chase him to the ends of the earth, if that's what it takes. I will kill him. Even if it ends up being the death of me, I don't care. Just as long as I can feel his blood run between my hands, from my blade. He shivered. He won't take me like that twice, and he'll pay for the first time.

He'll pay for everything.