I got bored and decided to write this. Hope you enjoy. It's just a drabble.
I don't own.
"Ghost Story"
A boy leaned against a wall, listening to the conversation on the street. They treated him like a ghost story. It was both amusing, and just the smallest bit saddening. A ghost. That was all he was, he supposed. What he heard went a bit like this:
"Like a demon, he moves. Terrifying to watch. Faster than God himself, an evil that took the form of a boy. His movements are perfect—he never pauses, never makes mistakes. There were only two falters in his life and it left him marked. Right here, right down his cheek, an X-shaped scar!
"But that's not the only thing that makes him so frightening, so recognizable, they say. His hair is red, the color of the Demon he is. And when he raises his sword to kill, his eyes glitter yellow. The boy, as they say, is nothing more than an empty shell, sent to the Patriots to help them in their nobles cause. But this demon—he does more than assassinate; he slaughters. If those eyes come towards you, there's no use running because he'll catch up to you before you can make it around the corner.
"They say he smiles when he kills, in sick satisfaction. Thin as a starved dog, he is, and his arms are skinny, skinny enough that's it amazing he can even lift a sword. Even so, he'll cut down anyone in his path. You only live when if he lets you, so don't think you've gotten lucky. Any man, no matter size or skill, he will strike down like fly. To him, we are nothing but dirt beneath his feet, seagulls the flap over the seas because no matter who we are, he'll murder all the same.
"They say that he once died, but he was too evil even in death, so they spit him back out and he's continuing these kills again. He enjoys it, thrives from it, lives because of it. His sole love in life is the butchering of innocent men. Some whisper that he's even killed a child."
Here the speaker paused and several of the audience gasped. The boy clenched his fists in anger.
"You can't be serious!"
"There's no way someone that cruel can exist!"
"No human can be that evil!"
The speaker laughed. "Did you not listen? He's no human, but a monster—a wolf in sheep's clothing, as some would say. No human can go through that and stay sane, but, as said, he performs these kills with a smile and those glittering, murderous eyes that show his true self. All his kills happen at night, and he is the shadow assassin and shadows are his one and only friend because they won't throw him out. But that doesn't mean the moon doesn't try, because it does.
"They say it's because he paints the moon red during those nights. And the moon was so pure and untainted that she now cries in anguish and the red of death sweeps into her. In anger, she's tried to make it rain to cleanse him, but it didn't work. He just turned the rain to blood, leaving the Earth to cry as it bled. The Demon of Kyoto, is his name. No one knows his true one. But—oh, yes, my friends, listen!—what our city is dealing with is a more than a normal killer, but a man-slayer."
The speaker lowered her voice. The boy had to give it to this man: He sure knew how to spin a story.
"And yet others say that there is a child looked in there, the child that sold his soul. And as that Demon makes his face smile, the child makes those eyes cry. That's the sad truth of it; that is what the damn Patriots are willing to do to over throw our government. And may we all remember this demon's name, and may we praise ourselves when he dies."
The speaker slammed his sword to the ground and spoke the last words of his tale:
"Now, the one we call Battousai, I beg you to live until I can face you myself and slaughter you the way you've slaughter all my brothers."
His audience let out a cheer. The boy pushed off against the wall, letting himself give a humorless smile for a moment. Then he stepped out of the shadows.
The room drowned in red.