Author's Note: While watching the Shaman King series unfold I couldn't help but feel bad for Hao (Zeke in the American version). In episode 28 where the gang had just met Lyserg and were trying to get to the second round of the Shaman Tournament (Patch Village), Yoh said to Amidamaru that "I can't forgive what he's done, but he Zeke has to have his reasons, right," explaining how he felt about Hao's actions. And so that's where I found my inspiration for this story. It's probably not very consistent but I thought it made some kind of sense when I thought of it. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Shaman King…Hiroyuki Takei does...but I wish I did. That would be kick azz.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Many view me as an endless source of evil; an insane, restless soul that finds pleasure in the grief of others. Many dedicated their lives in keeping me dead. But they don't know my purpose. There was a reason that I began my destruction of the world; a reason why I despise humans beyond compare. Something happened to me to make me the way I am. No one knows the secret that I hold in my past; no one cares to know. They would rather see me as the cold, heartless person that stood before them with the blood of thousands on my hands. But they must know the truth. All must know the source of my madness, the reason for my hate…the cause of my pain.
-#-#-#-
It began about a thousand years ago in a small village not far from where I've spent most of my days in this lifetime. I find it amusing that even after a century of struggle and two lifetimes of failure, I still remember this place. The village is gone, now, replaced by concrete buildings and streets of the human city. But the memories that reside with it still remain. At least I can find some comfort in that. And then there are the memories that haunt me; the ones that will always haunt me. It is with them that my journey began.
I was a young boy, just reaching the age of manhood. My mother was teaching me the ways of the Shamans, people who could see spirits, while my father trained me to be a samurai warrior. While my father seemed pleased with my progress and proud of my achievements at such a young age my mother never seemed surprised of my strength and skill.
That was the primary difference between my parents. My father held a traditional view of life, one where Shamans ignored their gifts to pursue realistic ambitions. My mother on the other hand only wished for me to be happy whatever path I chose for myself. She always believed that I was destined for greatness no matter what I decided; always saying that I was special. She never knew how right she was…or how dangerous that knowledge would be.
Fore I had been born with a special gift of empathic powers. To put it simply, I could sense a person's emotions, thoughts, and most importantly, their intentions. The only one who knew about it was my mother and through her help, I had learned to control it so that I wouldn't go insane from the intruding thoughts of others. She never told my father, fearing that it would put an even bigger gap in our relationship.
My Shaman training as well as keeping up with my father's training took up much of my time. Mastering my "gift" only took up more of my day and left me little time to find companionship with the village children, which was fine with me. As far as they were concern, I found them uninteresting and feeble. They seemed small-minded in my opinion and knew nothing of what resided outside their little lives.
But at the same time, I was never interested in becoming the next Shaman King or becoming a samurai. I only trained hard to make my father proud of me, though a lot of good that was, and to please my mother. All those long solitary hours of practice and training did little to motivate me or give me a purpose. It wasn't until she came to the village that I finally saw my true potential…and found a true friend. How amusing it was that our meeting was only by pure luck…or perhaps it was fate?