Ah, Mai Hime. First attempt at a fanfic for this, but I loved the anime (it actually got me interested in anime in the first place). But anyway, not much to say here except, enjoy.
I am alone.
They keep me in a facility. The men in suits… Bad men.
I am not free. They watch me; they run experiments on me.
They are afraid of me; they whisper about me from behind closed doors.
I have no friends and no family… I want to be free.
Help me. I am not an ordinary girl.
I am a Hime.
My name is Mikoto.
[***]
It went straight for her.
She dived at the last moment; rolling across the floor as the beast's huge claw smashed into the concrete behind her. She heard it crack and crumble, sending up a white cloud of dust which would later settle onto the floor like snow. Had that hit her, she would've been turned to a smudge of blood, like swatting a fly on a windowsill.
Mikoto sprang to her feet; observing for a moment as the beast looked stupidly at the place where she had just been, seemingly unable to conceive why it had not crushed something. She used the creature's momentary confusion to her advantage and charged straight for its midsection; dragging the weight of Miroku behind her, the tip of the huge sword trailing sparks as it scraped along the floor. Just as she began her swing which would slice the creature in half, she saw another one of its limbs burst into sight before her, another lethally sharp claw shooting toward her.
Changing tack at the speed of light; Mikoto changed her offensive swing into a defensive one, Miroku light in her hands in spite of its unwieldy appearance. She could still feel the vast momentum it carried as it clashed with the creature's claw, smashing it with enough force as to deflect it; the claw hissing through the air as it sailed past Mikoto's face.
Mikoto felt a sharp pain shoot across her back and she knew that she had been cut; the creature had managed to free its first claw from the wall and had brought it back round to strike. Mikoto felt the strength in her arms lessen, and the sudden pain almost caused her grip to fail, but she held herself against it. The orphan sensed her weakness and tried to take advantage of, but she was too close in for it to bring all of its many arms to bear and she was still much to fast for it.
Swinging Miroku left and right, Mikoto fended off each of the Orphan's arms in turn and desperately tried to get in closer, but the arms were bulky and numerous leaving no way through, and worse still Mikoto could feel her strength leaving her; the wound on her back, though shallow, was still bleeding and her arms were beginning to grow heavy and tired. She knew that it would have to end quickly or she could be defeated here and now, so she went for the only opening she could find.
Mikoto dove for the floor; straight forwards, right under the orphan. The creature's last desperate attacks missed as its target disappeared from sight; and, before it could respond, Mikoto thrust Miroku into the orphan's gut and pulled it towards her. Miroku sliced through with ease - the orphan put up little resistance to the sword's impossibly keen cutting edge – and drew a straight line down the orphan's guts and between its front legs.
The orphan sounded a bestial scream as it realised what had just happened, its body taking on a green glow. Mikoto watched; looking through the hole she had made, where one would normally expect to see the beast's innards, there was nothing but that bright green glow as the creature disintegrated before her eyes. There was nothing left to resist the cut of Miroku and Mikoto let it clatter to the floor beside her, transfixed by the sight of the bright green lights as they floated upwards; the remains of the orphan fading away into the ceiling.
For the first time Mikoto could see the whole room that she was in, the orphan having taken up much of the available space, and she could see that it was little better than a concrete box. Well, it had been, but now the concrete walls were pockmarked with small impact craters made by both herself and the orphan; crumbled pieces of concrete littered the floor covered in a snowing of dust, and in the craters themselves the reinforcing steel bars were visible in a tight grid pattern. The only real feature that the room had was a long set of windows about two-thirds up one of the walls that poured light into the room. Mikoto knew that beyond those windows was another room - the one from which they watched her. The men in suits… the bad men.
[*]
Mikoto lay there for some time, breathing heavily and feeling the pain in her back slowly diminish to nothing more than a dull ache. She was unsure what to do next- unsure what would happen next.
"That's all for today." A voice boomed over an intercom system, echoing badly from the walls of the room to the extent that the words were almost indistinguishable. "Go back to your room, Hime."
It was the voice of one of those men, the bad men, and for a moment Mikoto felt like refusing, felt like taking her sword up against that window; but she couldn't, she knew it wouldn't benefit her in the long run. She dragged herself to her feet, taking up Miroku in one hand, and walked toward the large steel door that was set into the concrete.
[*]
She collapsed onto her bed. The soft mattress was welcome after the cold, hard concrete which was the room in which the bad men forced her to fight orphans. There was the scrape of metal on metal as a heavy bolt was dragged into place on the door, followed by the click of the lock. Mikoto sighed, she knew as well as they did that their door was useless against her power; that Miroku would simply cleave through it like it had that orphan, and yet they insisted on keeping her locked in. She couldn't remember how long she had been here, in this room which she had come to think of as home. She knew it must've been months, maybe even a year since she had been brought here. It certainly felt like years.
The room itself was nothing special; it was enough for a single person. There was a single bed, which was never tidy and the sheets, in a plain blue, were often scattered across the floor; a wardrobe sat at the foot of the bed, it contained the few clothes and possessions she was allowed and her huge black sword leant against it, within easy reach should she need it. Next to the head of the bed, directly opposite the door was a simple wooden desk and chair, the desk top was scattered with pieces of paper and a pot of coloured pencils stood ready in the corner. The only other features in the room were a small side room which contained a toilet and a sink and a window which spilled early afternoon light over the desk and bed.
Mikoto's attention switched to the window in enough time for her to see a bee wander past, gently weaving and looping around the same path before idly passing on out of sight. The view from the window was nothing special and it was marred by the stout bars which defended it, from what, Mikoto didn't know. Outside was a plain looking courtyard with a stone flagged floor, there were a few trees and benches but that was all. Beyond it there was yet another grey concrete building, one of many in this complex.
She knew it was a large complex, because that is what she had been told, even though she had only seen a few of the buildings. She was sometimes let outside so she could play in the fresh air, and she enjoyed those times greatly; but only if she behaved herself. The bad men were strict; she had to do everything that she was told, or she would be punished. She hated them. They made her fight against orphans and other things that she didn't understand repeatedly until she was completely exhausted, or she won. Sometimes she was injured, but they never seemed to care; so long as she kept fighting they would just sit back and watch.
Her attention was distracted by a stinging from her back, she would have to deal with that soon or they'd send her to the doctors. She didn't like the doctors either, even though she was made to see them quite often. They prodded and poked and always made her feel uncomfortable as they put needles into her to take her blood; which they would give to the bad men, who wouldn't tell her what they wanted to do with it.
She got up from the bed and tried to stretch, but further pain shot down her back as she raised her arms. This was bad; if this injury would prevent her from fighting then she had to deal with it now. Mikoto quickly pulled off her shirt, ignoring the fresh little stabs of pain that resulted from the process – each successive stab seemed to hurt less anyway. Her shirt was ruined, she could plainly see that. The orphan's claw had torn a jagged hole in the back and it was stained a deep red with her own blood.
She spotted something. As she was placing her shirt over the back of the chair, something on the desk caught Mikoto's eye.
It was one of the pieces of paper; though it was not the paper which caught her attention, rather what was on the paper. A simple drawing; she knew she had done it herself at some point, but when? The drawing was simple and childish, but it showed and old man, a young girl and an adolescent boy, all with large smiles on their faces. To Mikoto, the images were obvious, but she had labelled each one regardless; the first "grandfather", the second "me" and the third "brother".
[*]
Footsteps reverberated down the empty, bland corridor; light and quick, their owner walking with some urgency. They moved past many rooms, unnoticed by their occupants, and there were none in the corridor to bear witness.
They stopped outside one room; their goal. The door to this room was unlike any other, made of thick metal and with a heavy bolt locked into place; yet it would prove no obstacle. The young girl was inside. The Hime.