What is the point of winning when there is nothing left to fight for?
— Excerpt from Shuichi Minamino's journal
The cold edge of the knife pressed against Shuichi's unprotected neck as he struggled to keep his breaths even.
Black slippers stepped over the lifeless, crumpled form sprawled on the thick carpet before Shuichi. A dark, wet stain spread out in an ever-expanding pool around the form's torso. But Shuichi didn't see it. He couldn't take his eyes off the man approaching him.
The man was very familiar to Shuichi. They had sat shoulder-to-shoulder at many meetings. They'd discussed strategy and politics over chess and wine for nights beyond counting.
For nights beyond counting, Shuichi's fingers had tangled in long dark hair. The stars had borne witness to bodies twisting beneath satin bed sheets, cries of pleasure muffled by hungry mouths.
The stars were present now, peeking in between the billowing white curtains of the open window. But this scene was nothing like those previous nights.
The man before Shuichi was dressed in a plain white yukata, belted at his waist. His long black hair was loose and flowing down his back. His face was handsome and noble. The face of a king. The face of a god.
"I loved you, Shuichi."
The voice sent a pang of hurt through Shuichi. It was so familiar. That velvet tongue had caressed his ear, whispering tender affections, promises of wealth and happiness.
Those words had been honest and sincere. As honest as the dawn.
But how could Shuichi ever be happy again?
"I would have given you anything," the voice continued, dark eyes boring into Shuichi's soul. "You had but to ask. Why?"
Shuichi's feet felt rooted to the floor. The steel blade of the knife was a constant, terrible reminder of his absolute, utter failure. He'd miscalculated badly. He was going to pay for that now. In blood. In screams.
He sucked in a deep breath. There was no point in hiding anything now. The truth was the only weapon he had left. He silently hoped that it would cut just as deeply as his own knife had minutes earlier.
"You can't give me her back," Shuichi whispered.
"Who?"
The man took a step closer, his eyebrows drawn together. A tear slid silently down Shuichi's cheek. Why? Why had they started down this road? Why did it have to end like this?
"My mother," Shuichi breathed out. "You can't give me back my mother."
"Your mother?"
The man's voice held incredulity. He clasped his hands behind his back as he regarded Shuichi. His posture was open and unafraid. What did he have to be afraid of? He was immortal. He couldn't be killed.
That was a terrible truth that Shuichi had just learned.
"I don't see what your mother's death has to do with this, Shuichi. Have you lost your mind?"
The question was posed seriously. Shuichi couldn't answer it. Had he lost his mind? Perhaps he had.
But the man was wrong. Shuichi's mother's death had everything to do with this.
"She died," Shuichi said quietly, his voice breaking like a rotted tree branch beneath heavy snow. "She died during the Hedonia insurgency."
The man's face settled like a still pool of water as Shuichi's words sank in.
"Hedonia," he murmured. "I see."
Shuichi knew that he did. Hedonia was a black stain on their campaign. A bitter dogfight against enemy insurgents that had managed to creep close to the very heart of their power base. This man before Shuichi had ordered the troops to march on the city and execute any insurgent found inside its walls.
Shuichi had argued vehemently against it, knowing that many innocent people would be killed in the ensuing chaos but his solid, reasonable complaints had fallen on deaf ears. Blinded by terror, the rest of the council had sided with their ruler. Shuichi's words had been swallowed up in the panic.
He'd sent a message to his mother, telling her to leave immediately. He'd thought he'd acted swiftly enough. He'd thought that she'd had time to escape.
But he'd been wrong. Another miscalculation.
It was almost funny. He was considered brilliant by this man and his subjects. He was considered a genius. A hero. The man who was instrumental in bringing the war to an end. The man responsible for securing their victory.
But when it really counted, he'd failed.
The man's eyes had taken on a murky, sad hue. He took a step closer to Shuichi. One hand reached up to cup Shuichi's cheek. The jewelled rings that had always been present on those slender fingers were gone. Still on the hands of the form on the floor. The form whose life Shuichi had ended in an act that would now cost him his own.
Futile. It had all been futile.
"I trusted you, Shuichi. I loved you. Did you ever feel the same?"
Shuichi swallowed, feeling the icy edge of the knife press deeper into his skin.
"I did. Once," he whispered.
Before he'd lost the only other person he'd ever loved.
The man stared deep into his eyes. Shuichi couldn't guess at what he was searching for. Love? Truth? Regret?
Then, the man stepped back, one boot landing on the fine sleeve of the form on the floor. He didn't even notice, his gaze remaining locked on Shuichi. His face was as hard as the purest katium gems.
"Take him away," he said, his voice like a cutting wind. The words were tossed at the two guards holding Shuichi between them.
The guards obeyed, moving in concert as they turned and pulled an unresisting Shuichi out into the hall. His arms were locked in their iron grips, his feet barely touching the floor.
He hung his head as they passed down the corridor and down staircase after staircase. Toward the eternally dark and dirty dungeon cell that would likely be the last place Shuichi ever saw.
He thought of his mother, her sweet, smiling face, still pretty though she was nearing middle-age. She'd been so pleased for him when he'd reached the rank of general. He'd stood proudly before her in his new blue uniform, his long red hair tamed into a ponytail. She'd fussed over the jacket, straightening it on his slim shoulders, though it hadn't needed any such tending. She'd told him how she wished his father were still alive to see him. How happy he would have been.
Now she was gone. He was alone, adrift in desolate space, no stars to light his world, no beacon to draw him to a safe shore.
As the heavy metal door shut with a bang that reverberated through Shuichi's bones, he huddled on the cold stone floor of the cell. Death's breath whispered in his ear, the promise of a reunion with his mother on it's lips.
Soon, it whispered. Soon.
Shuichi closed his eyes, his cheeks still wet as the silence wrapped around him.
Yomi fastened the belt of the robe he had just donned. He studied his reflection in the full-length mirror before him. There was not a single flaw in his appearance. No one would ever think that he'd just been almost assassinated.
By the person he trusted most in the world.
Shuichi had been more than an advisor. More than a friend. More than a lover. Why had he thrown all that away on the eve of such a monumentous occasion? They had finally achieved everything they'd worked for.
Shuichi could have been at his side, basking in their victory. But instead, he'd chosen this course.
He'd almost succeeded in his task, as well. But Shuichi had been unaware of one very important detail. That Yomi had personally benefited from the fledgling alliance between his empire and Mukuro's.
The person Shuichi had killed tonight, the person that he'd thought was Yomi, was, in fact, a clone.
Yomi studied the still form of the clone on the carpet. He'd have to get one of his personal servants to dispose of it. How fortunate that he himself hadn't been here when Shuichi entered.
Few knew of the existence of the clone. Yomi had kept it a closely-guarded secret. The clone had proven itself very useful. A virtually identical copy of himself that was subservient to him and would act as he would. The clone had been able to take care of the less important aspects of rule while Yomi dedicated his time to more important matters.
Like the alliance between himself and Mukuro. The alliance that had been suggested by Shuichi. The alliance that had won them the war.
Yomi left instructions with a servant regarding the corpse before going to the transit room.
This room was small and appeared empty but for a panel on the wall. The door slid shut with a soft whoosh of displaced air behind Yomi. He pressed his fingertip to the blank surface of the panel. After a second, it hummed to life. Lights flashed on it, a sequence of symbols that were familiar to Yomi.
Yomi tapped out a code. There was a low chime. The floor seemed to vibrate beneath Yomi's feet as the light dimmed around him. Then, there was another chime. The door slid open in front of him.
The hall Yomi stepped into was not like the one he'd left, though the transit room looked identical. It, in fact, wasn't the same room he'd entered less than a minute earlier.
The transit system was a recent development by a foreign power. At the moment, it was limited, but Yomi was certain that it would become integral to the planet's infrastructure before long.
The white hall stretched out before Yomi. There was a sharp, clean smell in the air that stung his nose. Workers in white uniforms passed by him, unbothered by his presence. His fine robe and the gems glittering on his fingers clearly broadcast the fact that he was highly-ranked.
Yomi ignored the first few doors he passed. He turned a corner and entered a new hall. He stopped by the third door along. It was closed to him. He pressed his hand against the panel next to the door and waited.
He waited for about five seconds before the door slid open to admit him. The room he entered was as stark-white as the rest of the complex. In the centre of the room was a mass of complicated-looking silver machinery that whirred, hummed and beeped steadily.
Within the machinery, almost obscured by it, was a bed. On that bed lay a red-headed woman. She was naked, but a multitude of tubes and wires ensured that modesty was preserved. Yomi took a step closer to the bed, moving so that the woman could get a clear look at him.
Her fingertips rested on a clear glass panel beside her. A multi-function panel. Yomi was certain of that. It probably controlled the room ambience, along with serving as a communications device.
The thought that this woman was a spider in the middle of a large, far-reaching web amused Yomi.
One dark sapphire eye fixed on Yomi. The other was covered by a white bandage.
"Shouldn't you be celebrating? Dancing on the corpses of your fallen enemies?"
Mukuro's voice was distorted and raspy. It was the voice of an old woman, though she was actually as young as Yomi.
"I could say the same of you," Yomi said.
Mukuro laughed, the sound as rough as a shuttle-ride through a tornado. She spread her hands, undoubtably indicating the machinery surrounding her.
"I am somewhat indisposed right now," she said dryly. "No dancing for me."
"Soon, perhaps," Yomi said.
The smile she offered was a twisted thing. "Soon," she agreed.
The ruler's body was undergoing a strange conversion. She suffered from a genetic condition that would have killed her years before had her scientists not pulled out all the stops to save her. About 40% of her body was now cybernetic, with another 15% still to be converted, according to what she'd told Yomi.
Yomi wondered if she would actually stop there. If her body were entirely cybernetic, then she would be truly immortal. She would never age, never become ill, never fall prey to the ravages of the human condition.
The idea was an attractive one, and something that Yomi had considered for himself. But one night of losing himself in Shuichi's warm, pliant body had cured him of the notion. He would miss earthly pleasures like sex, good food and the feel of fine fabric against his skin too much.
"You haven't answered my question yet," Mukuro informed Yomi, her one eye holding a shrewd look. "For a man who just became the master of the largest empire in the galaxy, you don't look happy with your lot."
He wasn't quite the master. This woman knew that well. Yomi had been forced to make many concessions in order to secure her support. But, as far as the citizens were concerned, he was their ruler. Mukuro was content to play her cards behind the scenes.
He wasn't sure if she was also correct that their empire was the largest, either. Just how far the 'Rei' empire extended had never been disclosed. Their new possible allies were incredibly secretive. Shuichi had counselled caution in dealing with them, but the technological advances that the Rei had offered them were priceless.
"Someone tried to kill me tonight," Yomi said. "They would have succeeded, were it not for the fact that they mistook the clone for me."
"What a fool." Mukuro's voice was unsympathetic.
"Not a fool," Yomi stated quietly. "If he were, he would never even have gotten that close."
Mukuro's dry lips twisted down into a frown. "Who was it?" she asked, the roughness of her voice not masking her interest.
"Shuichi."
Yomi waited for the information to sink in. Mukuro knew Shuichi. Had conversed with him, though she had no particular fondness for him. She knew that Yomi did, however.
Finally, a smile broke onto her face. She laughed once again.
"Finally showed his teeth, did he? Let all that hero talk get to his head? I knew that he'd never be content with second place."
Irritation flashed behind Yomi's eyes. He felt the urge to defend Shuichi's character but, of course, that was crazy. Shuichi had tried to kill him. He owed the traitor nothing.
Nothing but hate.
Shuichi deserved a long, lingering death. A painful death. A death that would serve as an example to all the other fools who might try something as audacious as to murder their ruler.
But he couldn't do it.
"You still love him," Mukuro said, her one eye holding Yomi's gaze.
Yomi remained silent, unwilling to deny of confirm the fact. Mukuro was unnervingly perceptive. It seemed almost as though she could read minds.
"You've got to get rid of him, of course," Mukuro continued. "You can't pardon him. Not for such a serious crime."
"I know," Yomi muttered. He began to pace along the white tiles of the floor, his boots clicking over the smooth surface. The machinery connected to Mukuro continued to beep, irritating in its consistency. "But he's a hero. The people revere him."
"So don't kill him," Mukuro suggested. "Use him instead."
"Use him?"
Yomi turned to face her, curious. "Use him, how?" he asked.
"He's young and healthy. A perfect test subject," Mukuro said. "He could still serve you."
She was right. It was perfect. Shuichi would be in a position where he could no longer do any harm. Yomi could come up with a thousand excuses to explain the situation. He could say that Shuichi was unwell. Was undergoing treatment. He could even say that Shuichi had a mental breakdown.
Not out of the question, considering how hard he'd been working of late. No one would find it surprising that the beleaguered young man would buckle under the pressure.
"Bring him here," Mukuro suggested. "My people will find a suitable use for him."
"I want him kept alive," Yomi said.
"Of course," Mukuro readily agreed. "We're currently working on refining our cloning technique. Shuichi will be a perfect base template."
Yes, that was an excellent idea, Yomi decided. If a problem arose with Shuichi's disappearance, then they could easily produce a clone to show that he was, in fact, alive and unharmed. A clone that would be of no threat to Yomi's safety. Shuichi was polite and soft-spoken. No one would think it strange if Shuichi behaved in a reserved manner.
"I'll arrange the transfer," Yomi told Mukuro.
The spider's lips turned up into a pleased smile. Her one eye gleamed with satisfaction, sapphire facets bright and cold.
"See what a mutually beneficial partnership this is?" she asked, amusement lurking beneath her words.
A partnership that was essential if Yomi hoped to maintain his hold on the galactic empire. Remnants of the ruined Tourin empire still swarmed the edges of space. They weren't quite home free yet.
Smoke choked Hiei's lungs, causing him to cough repeatedly. His bare feet slapped the cracked concrete of the sidewalk. From somewhere in the distance, sirens blared, growing ever closer.
Behind him, orange flames licked at the wreckage of the nondescript white truck that had crashed into oncoming traffic.
It had been so easy. All he'd had to do was interface with the city's infrastructure management program and alter the traffic lights of one intersection. He was finally free.
But now what? Where could he go? There was no point in seeking out any of the other subjects that had escaped with him. They would be as lost as he was.
He needed to get off this godforsaken planet. If he could make it into the deep of space, then he could go anywhere. No one would ever find him out there, especially if he kept moving.
But where could he find a spaceship? Would someone hire a scruffy, bare-foot boy with no identification papers and no references? He didn't have any marketable skills.
But he had to try. Maybe he could stow away on a vessel, jump off at the next port, and lose himself among the people displaced by the war.
The air grew clearer as Hiei put distance between himself and the accident site. People stared at him as he passed but no one tried to stop him.
They didn't know. The fact that citizens were being experimented on was a closely-guarded secret. Those people probably just thought that he was a very strange boy. A strange boy dressed in white linen pants and a white shirt with a bandage covering his forehead. A boy with dark bruises on his arms.
Hiei paused as he caught sight of a delivery van idling by the curb as the driver unloaded boxes from the back.
Hiei moved around to the drivers' side door. To his relief, it was unlocked. He climbed inside. His feet barely touched the petals, but that wasn't an issue.
The vehicle wouldn't start without the driver's handprint, which was probably why he'd felt safe enough to leave it unlocked. But that was a big mistake.
Hiei yanked off the bandage. He felt the skin on his forehead pull tight as the implanted third eye slowly opened. Hiei's vision blurred with pain but he fought past it.
He focused his mind on the small unit that controlled the vehicle. It didn't recognise his particular method of interfacing with it as an intrusion so Hiei was able to bypass the security authorisation easily.
The spaceport would be the best place for him to go. The port was sure to be crowded. He'd try to sneak onto one of the vessels waiting to depart.
Hiei selected the port as his destination and let the car's autodrive function do the rest. In the rearview mirror of the van, Hiei watched in amusement as the driver of the van startled, his eyes going wide as the van edged into traffic. It quickly picked up speed, leaving the shocked man behind.
Hiei watched with interest as the streets passed by. Tall shiny buildings blocked off the sun, leaving the streets in shadow. Other vehicles whizzed past him, some of them bearing the emblem of the ruling government.
Hiei snorted. These people thought they'd won. That they were safe. Their greatest enemy wasn't the rival Tourin empire. It was their own government, who thought it was perfectly acceptable to mutilate innocent children.
The spaceport was a large, sprawling complex on the outskirts of the city. The tower that monitored and controlled the influx of spaceships loomed above, pointing like a needle high into the sky.
The van parked in a spare space, once again without any need for input from Hiei. Before leaving the van, Hiei rewrapped the bandage to hide his jagan. His head still ached but he was sure that the pain would fade if he didn't use the jagan again.
Hiei entered the port, walking straight past the reception desks as if he actually knew where he was going. He had no clue but he didn't want to draw more attention to himself than he was already getting.
"You lost, kid?"
A bearded man blocked Hiei's path. Hiei scowled up at him.
"Where are your parents?" the man continued.
He was dressed in leathers that looked like they'd seen better days. He stank, too. Hiei edged back from him.
"Mind your own business," he snapped viciously.
His voice was weak and throaty. It was difficult to get the last word out. But the man understood him.
"Wow, okay, kid," he said. After giving Hiei a wary look, he continued on his way.
Hiei let out a relieved breath and hurried on. He had to get out of sight soon. Brazenness wouldn't protect him forever. He was sure to encounter someone who wouldn't be brushed off so easily.
He joined a gaggle of people waiting before an elevator. When the silver metal doors slid open, Hiei pushed his way in. He stood, crammed against the wall as he counted the floors.
At the fourth floor, more than half of the group left the elevator. Hiei was shoved along with them and he was happy to follow. As long as no one questioned him, the group would serve as camouflage.
Hiei's heart lifted as he realised that they were passing what appeared to be access corridors that led to docked ships. He began to scan the names of the ships that were displayed on glowing panels as he passed them.
Gladiator. Marina. Skydance. Ano. The names meant nothing to Hiei. There were some names that he couldn't even read. They were written in a script that he didn't understand.
Realising that they were no longer passing by people, Hiei split off from the group and began to explore on his own. He kept his ears peeled for any sign that someone was approaching as he ducked down a side corridor.
Dark Wolf. Venus. Escapade.
Hiei stared with interest at the last one. Curious, he poked at the panel. It brought up a sparse schematic of the ship, giving a general idea of the ship's size and form.
It was small. Suitable only for a handful of crew. Probably some kind of courier ship. Fast. Manoeuvrable.
Not a good option. Hiei knew that he should choose a larger vessel. A larger ship would have more dark corners for him to hide in.
But he had to admit that he was drawn to the ship. He liked its name. He liked its lines.
Maybe it wouldn't hurt to just check it out. He could slip in, take a quick look around, maybe grab something to eat and some clothes, then leave.
If the ship had a small crew, as the schematic indicated, then he probably wouldn't run into anybody. He was sure that if he'd spent weeks or months cooped up in a floating tin can, he would take every opportunity to get planetside. This crew would likely have left one person aboard and gone out to conduct whatever business they had here.
Hiei didn't need to use the jagan to gain access to the ship. It seemed that no one had bothered to set a security code.
That really should have served as a warning, but Hiei was too intent on his desire to explore the ship that he paid it no mind.
The interior of the ship was dim. Only one light was functioning in the corridor Hiei entered. It flickered, threatening to go out at any moment.
Hiei moved cautiously, taking care to keep his steps silent. The ship was clean, but clearly old. Hiei found that the doors he checked led to bays for holding cargo. He found that one of those bays had been converted to a small hydroponics lab. He spotted discoloured apples drooping on spindly branches. Wrinkling his nose, he moved on from that room. Clearly no one here had a green thumb.
Hiei was elated when he stumbled on the kitchen. To his relief, it was unoccupied.
And well-stocked.
Hiei fixed himself a sandwich, not stinting on the fresh meat available. He shoved it into his mouth as he leaned against the counter. It was the best thing he'd ever tasted. So much better than the crap nutrient-rich broth that his doctors had been shoving down his throat recently.
Hiei was so intent on devouring his sandwich that he didn't notice when he was joined by another person.
"Hello."
Hiei almost choked on his mouthful as his heart slammed into his throat. He clutched the sandwich as he turned to face the newcomer.
Cherry red eyes looked him over curiously. It was a girl, Hiei thought with relief. A girl who appeared to be his age, with pale, delicate features and a kind smile on her face.
She held no weapons that Hiei could see. If it came down to a fight between them, Hiei was confident that he could escape.
But the space they were in was tight and she was blocking the only entrance to the room.
Hiei backed up warily. He didn't trust that smile. The nurses had that same smile, before they jabbed him with painful needles.
"Would you like some tea with that?" the girl asked, still smiling at him.
Hiei didn't know what to say. Why was this girl being nice to him? Why wasn't she screaming and trying to hit him? Why wasn't she trying to shove him off the ship?
Why wasn't she afraid? He was a stranger who had snuck aboard the ship. Unannounced and unwanted.
The girl's smile wavered slightly in the wake of Hiei's silence.
"It's okay," she said, lowering her voice. "No one's going to hurt you."
Her eyes shifted. Hiei realised that she was staring at his arms. At the dark bruises smeared on his exposed skin. Marks of harsh restraints. Marks of thick needles piercing tender skin.
Her hair was an unusual colour. Aqua-marine and straight, it was tied back with a blue ribbon. Her eyes reminded him of his own.
She looked trustworthy. She looked kind. But Hiei still wasn't sure it was safe to trust her.
The girl edged around the counter, clearing the way to the door.
"You can go, if you want to," she said. "You can take the sandwich, too. But you could stay, if you want to."
Hiei knew that he could be out the door before she could catch him. She'd have to get around the counter before she could reach him. He could escape.
That was what convinced him. Not her sweet smile or warm eyes. It was the fact that she gave him the option to leave.
"What sort of tea do you have?" he asked warily.
The girl's smile spread wide across her face.
"Keiko just picked up a batch…" she began.
The tension eased out of Hiei's shoulders. At the very least, his stomach would be full soon.
What the future held for him beyond that remained to be seen.