(This story takes place in before Gourry met Lina, in his mercenary days. It was written for the Livejournal Slayers Drabble community.)
Battle Eyes
A kaleidoscope of sensations surrounded him. A flash of red would dance across his vision only, followed by a thundering cry of pain, a dying scream. The constant beat of his heart, of the hearts of all of the dancers in this warped ballet, throbbed to the same rhythm as the heavy boot stomps, dodging and lunging.
He was too young for this, he thought, as he sliced his blade through the flesh of yet another man. The steel should have been cold, but instead was warm and sticky with the blood of his prior opponents. He hated seeing his sword so defiled, but the middle of a battlefield was not the time or place to be meticulous about sword care.
The man he had slain was also young. Around his neck was a plain silver medal. For a moment, Gourry caught his reflection in the dying man's medal. He did not like what he saw.
War was war and money was money, but Gourry liked his eyes the way they were. The men he ate, camped, and worked with, some of the older ones, they had eyes that he didn't want. Their eyes only seemed to reflect past battles, nothing more. He did not want to live like that.
A sudden movement from behind snapped him out of his trance. He turned and with a single flick of his sword impaled the warrior who was attempting to slay him from behind. Only this was no warrior, no real mercenary. This was a mere boy, little out of childhood.
The blonde swordsman took a moment to ponder why the boy was on the battlefield. Was he a runaway from his family, or from poverty? Or simply was he a troublemaker looking for adventure?
But in the end, it didn't matter to Gourry why the kid was on the field. As he watched the boy's widened eyes die, he knew whatever reasons no longer held any meaning. He pulled back his sword and the boy gurgled and died. Gourry wanted to feel remorse, but there was no time for remorse in battle, not even over an enemy little more then a child.
But as he went on to his next opponent, the boy's eyes still haunted him. He found himself unable to fight back memories of children that he had humored, played with, made toys for, reflected in the boy's eyes.