He fell to the ground, hand clutching his right arm, as a fountain of crimson sprayed out in a graceful arc, like a rain of blood, from between the fingers.
A metal cone buried itself into a tree behind him, but not before leaving a train of red droplets in its wake.
The girl was hidden by the shadow of the brush, beside the tree still vibrating with the fierce force of the bullet's blow. She had seen the dart, glinting with cold moonlight, aimed straight for her. She had seen the wide, crazed grin of the man who launched the bullet, teeth bared in the light of the full moon, and she had run, knowing in her heart that she would not be able to flee from its promise of death.
All sound had been drowned out save the growing, harsh whistle of the speeding metal cone and the dull pounding of her fluttering heart; but through the hallucinatory haze, she dreamt that she heard the impenetrably cold, famously impassive okashira's voice pierce the fog around her with suddenly passionate and furiously angry words towards the sender of the dart, his voice shaking with unmistakable fervor and ferocity at his subordinate's actions—but she had not been able to tell, past caring, past understanding, staring death in its eye…
She had seen the one called Hannya step in front of the bullet for no reason whatsoever, take the hit, and deflect the bullet aimed for her heart to the heart of the tree next to her.
From her place in the darkness, she could see the young okashira catch the older man in his arms before the man hit the ground, his long, cream coat whipping in an arc in the biting wind. He fell heavily to the ground as Hannya collided his strong arms, dropping to his knees on the cold dirt and supporting the older man up against his chest. Even from the distance, she could see his tormented eyes widen, a hint of blue spreading through the typical green; not the icy sharp blue that usually pervaded his biting green stare, but a smoky blue, a shade nearly matching the ocean in its troubled depths. He held the older man close in his arms as he would have a dying father on a battlefield. His mouth hung slightly open in a stunned silence.
The sudden shocked silence around them burst into flames of hysteria.
"Hannya! That broad…I'll kill her, kill her!" screeched the man who had flicked the bullet—Beshimi, from what she had gathered—his psychopathic grin replaced with wild flickering of the eyes and bared canines, "It was not meant for you, why did you get in the way…why…why …Hannya…"
The man with hair falling down his back and scars crossing his body fell to his knees with a heavy thud next to his ball-and-chain weapon, and with one heartrending groan, pounded his steely fists to the ground in sorrowful anger. As the ground shook, the large firebreather gave a low, ghostly wail that echoed mournfully through the forest. The okashira sat with the man in his arms, stiff as a statue of ice, frozen in a horrible moment of time that wouldn't move on...
It was the perfect time to run. The henchmen were crowded around their stunned okashira and fallen comrade, too distraught and agitated to notice her—and God knew she had learned to escape silently and quickly after being captive so long! But, yet...
Her feet would not move. As much as she willed them to go, to leave before she was enslaved again, or even killed, she was rooted the her spot, unable to turn her eyes away from the tableau unfolding before her eyes:
The man, the only one who had bothered to address her courteously and talk to her at times, the only man who had silently guarded her door at night to prevent any of Kanryuu's wretched band of ruffian-guards from touching her, who now lay on the ground, breathing heavily, eyes dilated and body going stiff with the poison of the metal dart meant for her.
The menacing Oniwaban group that now looked vulnerable, scarred by the unexpected fall of their oldest member.
And the glacial, distant okashira, whose proud, strong figure was now folded over Hannya in a bent line, with head bowed, whose slight tremble of the powerful clenched fists conveyed the smoldering blue ocean of emotion that burned intriguingly in his eyes, through which every broken, silent, weakened fiber of his being screamed out for help that he had never had to ask for before, much less beg…
She could not go.
She could not leave. Hannya had saved her life; purposely, he had sped from safety to block the bullet from its target, and leaving would disgrace her more than she already was. For that reason, as a descendant of a long line of doctors, she had to try to save his life.
And, for some reason unknown, she could not resist that broken, piercing blue…
"Step back. Let me see the wound."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my story. This was written for the Shrine of Fire and Ice's fanfiction contest, and it's not halfway done, but I decided to share it anyway. I really need some encouragement because I'm at a block. And an ochem test coming up.
Could someone please tell me how to adjust the random first-line tabbing of each paragraph? All first lines are indented in Word, but they're all over the place when it gets uploaded in FF.net. And how can I make it double-spaced when it's uploaded? Ugh…
Anyway, read and review please!
~Trupana