Fight of Fancy
Venting his anger was more enjoyable than Gaara remembered. Of course he'd never really been angry before, angry enough to do something; he'd been masochistic perhaps, and possessed by a desire that burned like blood until he had been rendered numb. He had not hated any of the people he'd killed. They were creatures baring no identity, no purpose but victim if he so decided. There had never been one to demand his hatred, only his contempt. A demon had claimed it, fed and nurtured his hatred, as effectively as his hatred was whole.
But this demon, this Shukaku who taught just as much as he stole, had underestimated himself; he had mistaken his host for himself, a human puppet with no real depth of its own. It had taken so long to discover someone worth respect, not just odium, and the years had given Gaara all he needed to be a double-edged sword on his own whim. Shukaku had fooled himself, seeing only the edge that cut down others, bleeding out life after life. He was a demon, orchestrating a wholly demonic play from his corner of the world, the mind of a nameless horror described with no fitting words.
The half-realm that was Gaara's mind, a labyrinth where he was the center and the passageways were a demon's cage, always shifting to contain him...it was an ideal and dangerous place for battle. He had been fighting all of his life; he was the plaything of a demon child, a little toy that like any demon could slaughter the one who played with him, and find it only a game. He fought with intention, always with a mirthless determination, a grim amusement gone terribly right.
And the more he danced for blood, so the demon gained.
Author: jagter se maan
Status: Complete