Disclaimer: Kuroko no Basket belongs to Tadatoshi Fujimaki.
Title: We, the Fallen
Summary: In an alternate universe, where time has stood still, where war lords are tearing the nation apart, Aomine Daiki and Kise Ryouta learn that life isn't always beautiful, the hard way.
Warning: If BL or male x male relationships offend you, please do not read. Also, characters' death, rating might change in the near future.
A/N: This is the first time I've ever posted something I've written. This story will be a sort of trilogy + prologue, epilogue. I am just so excited and hope you will enjoy reading it. If there are any grammar errors or anything, please feel free to point it out.
{Prologue}
A long whistling tore the air.
The game has just started. It was yet to be decided.
As the two teams stepped onto the court, crowds cheered, teammates shouted, and light shone onto them, them alone. It is a good feeling, to be the center of attentions, to have a thousand sights upon you…
They became kings. It took them a matter of second, one step, one small step beyond that white boundary, to feel like they have become kings of the world. Or rather, the court. It was a small world, indeed. A small world, a small kingdom, with circles and lines drawn on the floor… But for them, it meant everything at that moment. The world stopped beyond those lines. Beyond those lines, was a void; where their existence disappeared; where they ceased to be.
Two kingdoms, two clans faced each other on the court.
The two men wearing number 4 became the feudal lords, preparing the war on their respective side. They were the leader who led their people to victory, to honor and fame, promised them a better life after each battle, and cried out to the angels to have mercy for their men. They were the pillars of that held that world together.
The point guards were the wise sages. Watching the enemy's every movement, they were the ones who determined the game's pace. Faster, slower, the world had to succumb to their desire; which is why they are – most of the time – the one to bear the number 4 on their back. The team inherited their will. They were the light that showed the path to victory.
The shooting guards were the archers from the towers. Fingertips guiding a precise attack, they drew each bow with care. Accuracy beyond beliefs qualified them. Serene, still, breathtaking, their arrows shot through all sort of defense, and threatened the king in his tall fortress. They were the silence that reassured the men at night.
The small forwards and the power forwards were the brave knights who wielded their sword in the name of their king. They did not know fear. They did not have any reason to. Their existence was merely to serve their lord, to kill for him, to cry his name on the battlefield, to raise his banner once they have won, to die for him. Without such things as cowardice, they barged in the enemy's territory, ran, dodged, jumped, and dunked their ultimate attack. They were the faithful soldier who protected the king along with his people.
The centers were the tower's guarding men. As tall and as strong as the oldest tree, they would sacrifice anything to avoid a fatal attack. And, if luck decided to be on their side, counter that attack. They were the stone wall that protected the realm.
And the tower, their tower, the hoop stood at each world's edge, rigid, untouched, still flawless. They were the goal, their reward, the reason they were fighting. Two points, three if shot outside of the foe's territory. Each hoop, each dunk, each shot made were like a direct charge on their king. And, as the points gap grew larger, the other party weakened, until they can no longer stand on their feet, scattered, wrecked, broken. Such sweet victory!
On that rectangle, youth was consumed. It flashed and disappeared the moment after, like a lightning, ephemeral. Passion burned and extinguished. Tension ate the ten soldiers, tasting them first, giving them the sweetness of triumph to lure them in, and as the preys get tangled in their web, bit them bit by bit, until they were no more.
It was war.
But, as the game ceased, it ended. Both empires would be brought to an end when the whistle is blown. And, as the veterans walked out, they would, once again, become nothing but high school students.
But what if? What if it was no longer merely a game? What if it has never been a game, but a real war, where blood was given to the earth below and soul was given to the sky above? In an alternative universe, where time froze, where lords are still fighting for territories, where knights and bishops loyally give their life for their master, where peace is always walking on a thin thread.
Where our characters are no longer as we know them.
There! Prologue is done! Hope you enjoyed it and hope to see you soon.
- Aurakann