The Return of the King
Kuroneko
Part One; Familiars and Strange Faces
Chapter One:
Sarah and Heather, were sitting up late celebrating Sarah's parent's trip to Arizona. They had
only been out of town for two days, and had taken Toby with them. Sarah hadn't wanted to go
with them. Six days in a car with her stepmother was more than she thought she could stomach So
they let her stay home, under the strictest or orders not to let anyone in the house while they were
gone. A tub of half-eaten popcorn lie spilt at the end of the couch, and the yellow flicker of the
television illuminated their faces. It was three in the morning and they were on their third movie,
a historical fiction full of action and adventure. It was Heather's favorite film and they had
watched it together countless times, and as always, it made Heather cry. Little did the pair know
that action and adventure were making their way down the street as they sat glued to the
television set.
Heather had her head buried in her hands, hiding tears, as the first knock sounded on the door.
Sarah jumped like she was shot, and Heather's head jerked from her palms and faced the door, her
tears dried instantly.
"Who could that be?" Sarah asked without expecting an answer. Together the combo raised
themselves off the faded blue couch and made their way to the door.
"Who's there?" Heather calmly said through the closed door. No answer, but another knock. "I
said who's there?" Still no answer. Sarah cracked the door open, and her eyes grew wide. She
slammed the door shut, lifted the latch, and reopened the door. There stood a young man. He was
dressed in black armor, with a limp body draped against his shoulder.
"He said you would help, just before he passed out." Sarah ushered the stranger in. Together
they laid the weak man on the couch. He had a strange accent, it seemed almost lost now, as if he
hadn't spoken his native tongue in eons. It appeared faintly Italian.
"What's going on?" Heather's strong voice spoke. The armored man looked at her, their eyes
caught for a long moment. His were steel gray, hers pale green. He was a rather tall man, though
he looked no more than nineteen, his eyes said he was much older. He wore black armor, covered
with blood, filth, and mud, but other than a cut to his slightly unshaven cheek he seemed no worse
for wear. His rounded sectional covered his torso in black leather that might once have been
polished to a high gloss. Chained to the armor was a black cape, tattered and torn on the ends, a
long slash cut through the middle. Tight leather pants lead out from under along black wool tunic,
and lead down to the ebony shin guards that were strapped around his calves touching his boots.
A short gladius hung from a belt around his waist. His hair was short, in a Roman style, and black
as night. It might have been shiny if it wasn't covered in blood and dirt, as it was it looked as if
his hand had been repetitively pushed through the short locks, so it stood on end in some places
and in others lie matted down.
Heather's eyes tore themselves off the man and to the body lying in a heap on the couch. He
was much worse. His face looked like it had been crushed, the left side broken and bloodied. His
spiky blond hair was caked with his blood. His clothes were torn to shambles of what must have
once been the fine velvet clothing of royalty, yet the style didn't seem to match the period of the
warrior, who seemed out of Rome. The wounded man's seemed almost medieval. A long slash
was cut into his right forearm, and he was bleeding on the sofa. His chiseled face seemed
frighteningly pale. His lips blue. Sarah was in hysterics, which was most unbecoming of her. She
didn't usually freak out about things, but Heather had the feeling that the things that were going
on were way over her head, so she did what came natural to her in times of baffled crisis. She
took control.
"Sarah, run and get the medical bag from the trunk of my step-dad's car. You there, go run
some hot water, and find me some towels." She did it without even thinking, but silently blessing
the year she had spent in sports med. in high school, an equally blessing the fact that her step-
father was a doctor, and had left one of his medical bags in his car.
When Sarah had returned from the car and the strange man from the kitchen, Heather got
down to work She motioned Sarah to put the bag on the carpet next to her and then turned to take
the basin of scalding water form the man's hand. It was then she noticed the man's bleeding hand
dripping down the side of the pan and into the clear water. Not a word of agony left his lips
concerning the pain he must have been in. His cold eyes were fixed with worry on what clearly
was his master. He spoke not a word.
Heather dipped the end of one of the clean dishtowels the man had brought into the water, and
began to clean the wound on the pale man's arm. Sarah remained speechless as well. Heather
reached into the bag and pulled out some antiseptic spray.
"Hold him down please." She instructed the warrior, who did as he was told. Gingerly placing
his wounded hand and his other hand on the pale man's shoulder and chest, bracing himself to use
the necessary force, that might be required. A small moan escaped the pale man's lips as she
applied the spray directly on the wound. Then after pulling more items from the satchel, Heather
crudely stitched him up, and wrapped the gash with gauze. A light cold compress was applied to
the side of his face and bandaged in place. Then she stood up.
"I don't know what else to do, we need to get him to the hospital."
"NO!" Sarah and the man shouted in unison.
"No." The warrior said more calmly. "You have done enough, he will live."
Heather eyed the man suspiciously, but the weariness in his eyes said not to push the issue.
"Let me see your hand." Heather asked and gently picked up his hand. The man looked at her
hesitantly, but soon relaxed his arm. "This is deep. What the hell happened to you?" She asked
not expecting an answer. The man stared at her for a moment, then surprised her by answering.
"I grabbed the blade that would have killed him." He said it without emotion, or pride. Heather
looked at him for a long moment, her eyes registering everything about him. She simply nodded
her head at things she didn't understand, and tended to his wound. Stitching it and wrapping it in
snow white gauze.
"You will heal." she said at length, then looked at Sarah. "Will someone please tell me what is
going on?"
Up until that moment Sarah had been suffering a bit of a shock. -Her enemy, who she secretly
cared for, had just shown up broken and bloodied on her porch step with an unknown man who
seemed to be his protector, at three in the morning asking for help. I ask you what kind of a
condition would you be in? -
"I think I need to tell you something." Sarah said tugging on Heather's sleeve. Heather herself
was again studying the warrior.
Kuroneko
Part One; Familiars and Strange Faces
Chapter One:
Sarah and Heather, were sitting up late celebrating Sarah's parent's trip to Arizona. They had
only been out of town for two days, and had taken Toby with them. Sarah hadn't wanted to go
with them. Six days in a car with her stepmother was more than she thought she could stomach So
they let her stay home, under the strictest or orders not to let anyone in the house while they were
gone. A tub of half-eaten popcorn lie spilt at the end of the couch, and the yellow flicker of the
television illuminated their faces. It was three in the morning and they were on their third movie,
a historical fiction full of action and adventure. It was Heather's favorite film and they had
watched it together countless times, and as always, it made Heather cry. Little did the pair know
that action and adventure were making their way down the street as they sat glued to the
television set.
Heather had her head buried in her hands, hiding tears, as the first knock sounded on the door.
Sarah jumped like she was shot, and Heather's head jerked from her palms and faced the door, her
tears dried instantly.
"Who could that be?" Sarah asked without expecting an answer. Together the combo raised
themselves off the faded blue couch and made their way to the door.
"Who's there?" Heather calmly said through the closed door. No answer, but another knock. "I
said who's there?" Still no answer. Sarah cracked the door open, and her eyes grew wide. She
slammed the door shut, lifted the latch, and reopened the door. There stood a young man. He was
dressed in black armor, with a limp body draped against his shoulder.
"He said you would help, just before he passed out." Sarah ushered the stranger in. Together
they laid the weak man on the couch. He had a strange accent, it seemed almost lost now, as if he
hadn't spoken his native tongue in eons. It appeared faintly Italian.
"What's going on?" Heather's strong voice spoke. The armored man looked at her, their eyes
caught for a long moment. His were steel gray, hers pale green. He was a rather tall man, though
he looked no more than nineteen, his eyes said he was much older. He wore black armor, covered
with blood, filth, and mud, but other than a cut to his slightly unshaven cheek he seemed no worse
for wear. His rounded sectional covered his torso in black leather that might once have been
polished to a high gloss. Chained to the armor was a black cape, tattered and torn on the ends, a
long slash cut through the middle. Tight leather pants lead out from under along black wool tunic,
and lead down to the ebony shin guards that were strapped around his calves touching his boots.
A short gladius hung from a belt around his waist. His hair was short, in a Roman style, and black
as night. It might have been shiny if it wasn't covered in blood and dirt, as it was it looked as if
his hand had been repetitively pushed through the short locks, so it stood on end in some places
and in others lie matted down.
Heather's eyes tore themselves off the man and to the body lying in a heap on the couch. He
was much worse. His face looked like it had been crushed, the left side broken and bloodied. His
spiky blond hair was caked with his blood. His clothes were torn to shambles of what must have
once been the fine velvet clothing of royalty, yet the style didn't seem to match the period of the
warrior, who seemed out of Rome. The wounded man's seemed almost medieval. A long slash
was cut into his right forearm, and he was bleeding on the sofa. His chiseled face seemed
frighteningly pale. His lips blue. Sarah was in hysterics, which was most unbecoming of her. She
didn't usually freak out about things, but Heather had the feeling that the things that were going
on were way over her head, so she did what came natural to her in times of baffled crisis. She
took control.
"Sarah, run and get the medical bag from the trunk of my step-dad's car. You there, go run
some hot water, and find me some towels." She did it without even thinking, but silently blessing
the year she had spent in sports med. in high school, an equally blessing the fact that her step-
father was a doctor, and had left one of his medical bags in his car.
When Sarah had returned from the car and the strange man from the kitchen, Heather got
down to work She motioned Sarah to put the bag on the carpet next to her and then turned to take
the basin of scalding water form the man's hand. It was then she noticed the man's bleeding hand
dripping down the side of the pan and into the clear water. Not a word of agony left his lips
concerning the pain he must have been in. His cold eyes were fixed with worry on what clearly
was his master. He spoke not a word.
Heather dipped the end of one of the clean dishtowels the man had brought into the water, and
began to clean the wound on the pale man's arm. Sarah remained speechless as well. Heather
reached into the bag and pulled out some antiseptic spray.
"Hold him down please." She instructed the warrior, who did as he was told. Gingerly placing
his wounded hand and his other hand on the pale man's shoulder and chest, bracing himself to use
the necessary force, that might be required. A small moan escaped the pale man's lips as she
applied the spray directly on the wound. Then after pulling more items from the satchel, Heather
crudely stitched him up, and wrapped the gash with gauze. A light cold compress was applied to
the side of his face and bandaged in place. Then she stood up.
"I don't know what else to do, we need to get him to the hospital."
"NO!" Sarah and the man shouted in unison.
"No." The warrior said more calmly. "You have done enough, he will live."
Heather eyed the man suspiciously, but the weariness in his eyes said not to push the issue.
"Let me see your hand." Heather asked and gently picked up his hand. The man looked at her
hesitantly, but soon relaxed his arm. "This is deep. What the hell happened to you?" She asked
not expecting an answer. The man stared at her for a moment, then surprised her by answering.
"I grabbed the blade that would have killed him." He said it without emotion, or pride. Heather
looked at him for a long moment, her eyes registering everything about him. She simply nodded
her head at things she didn't understand, and tended to his wound. Stitching it and wrapping it in
snow white gauze.
"You will heal." she said at length, then looked at Sarah. "Will someone please tell me what is
going on?"
Up until that moment Sarah had been suffering a bit of a shock. -Her enemy, who she secretly
cared for, had just shown up broken and bloodied on her porch step with an unknown man who
seemed to be his protector, at three in the morning asking for help. I ask you what kind of a
condition would you be in? -
"I think I need to tell you something." Sarah said tugging on Heather's sleeve. Heather herself
was again studying the warrior.