Mercenary

Author's Note: This story contains spoilers for Rockman Exe. Beast. So if you don't want to know ahead of time what's going to happen in the anime, don't read. Otherwise, enjoy the story and R&R.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of the Rockman Exe. Series.

Summary:

Before he joined the human resistance effort against the warring Greiga and Falzer armies, Dark Kirisaki would perform any deed as long as he was paid generously for his service.

…

Spring, 20XX

"There are very few things in this world that impress me. They say that one who has killed as many as I have loses the ability to sympathize with the afflictions of others. Everyday I see it…Mortal decay. That's why I don't concern myself with human sentiments. It is a privilege, not an obligation to do what I do; I feel that it is my place to answer death's call. It is my trade, after all."

The calm before the storm. He could hear the sounds of crickets rustling in the grass, and the crows noisy in their attempts to pilfer food from windowsills. Delicate flower petals wafted on the wind, but he saw past their beauty.

"This is a planet filled with sinners…Liars, rapists, arsonists, and prostitutes. For every one good soul, there are thousands more that treasure wealth and its luxuries above all else. We are corrupted. We must bear the burden of our faults. I am prepared to do so. I, more than anyone else, deserve punishment for the vices that I've helped create…Yet I do not weep."

He caught a stray petal in his hands, and promptly reduced it to dust.

"We cherish this…this falseness. The flowers bloom and wither, then re-bloom and re-wither. The moon shines and dims, then wakes and sleeps again. This is what nature dictates, yet our tampering never ceases. We are bound…chained to the idea that we'll have everything we desire when we die, that happiness will follow us to our graves. When we are left with nothing…What then? Nothing, I imagine, but torment awaits us beyond netherworld's door."

The last rays of the sun disappeared underneath the horizon.

"Centuries of war and hatred…We have made for ourselves what we believe to be nature. We try to duplicate the splendours of life, but fail miserably and birth abominations upon this land instead. That is why life is so meaningless…It holds no value. We cannot even begin to understand. All we can do is cause harm. It is this hurt that we inflict upon others that is exchangeable for what is needed, no, what is wanted. Life is no more than a form of currency. Money is lost, and another becomes richer. Lives are lost, and another benefits. The similarities are not as vile as many may perceive. I see it as a business, and for any business to be successful, those who induce problems must be eliminated. There is no other alternative to profit…"

Coins were scattered on the path.

"Then there are those who take what does not belong…those who do not wish to work diligently for achievement. They are the worst. Does the accountant lead the bank's manager? Does the client pay the dispenser? The transaction should be relative, and the payment made upfront. If he waits around lazily to hound the meek, the barterer, the situation would prove unfavourable and dangerous. Target practice, I like it…"

A raggedy man was emptying the contents of his pockets at the feet of a hooded figure. This was a common sight for him as well. Crossing such thoroughfares alone at night was a careless exercise that could leave one penniless. Bandits roamed these parts, and were never friendly to trespassers.

"Some hitters (a term we mercenaries adopted for identification purposes early on) consider themselves rather choosy. It's difficult to deal with random targets, innocents and bystanders, as they're more than likely to beg for mercy. I'm not that kind of person though…I'm not afraid of getting my hands dirty. Why should I be? Just as infants learn how to walk, I had to educate myself in the art of death-making. Each helpless face that was immortalized by my hand was a step in perfecting my technique…"

"Please," the man pleaded, clinging weakly to the taller one's garb. "I have a wife and kids! You can't do this!"

"Anything can be done…It's the matter of price that counts. How much will he acquire? Is what he has to give up worth it…Does it constitute the risks? And if there are no risks involved, can he still be victorious? Or is it that the thrill of the hunt that comes with opulence that determines the afterglow? The highest bidder will win my answer…"

The criminal kicked him in the stomach, causing him to double over in pain. He picked up the loose change that had been presented to him, stashing it in a small leather pouch at his waist. "You should've known better than to wander. We don't take kindly to folks like you." A grin was visible behind his shadowed visage.

"N-No!" He gripped the ruffian's clothes tighter against his chest. "I need it! I need it! What will my wife say?"

The bandit kicked him again, annoyed by the poor geezer's constant whining. He could hear footsteps, but disregarded them in favour of beating the civilian further. "She'll say you're a worthless piece of shit and have you thrown out!"

"Y-You can't! I need it! I need it! Give it back!"

"The folly of humanity is actually quite laughable. We strive for progress, yet remain oblivious to the primal instincts that drive us. Look at how survival motivates us…We destroy the hopes of others only to fulfill our own. We are savages…animals that feast off of one another, gnawing on the crushed bones of friends and strangers alike…parasites that leech until there remains nothing to be gained. Greed lurks in the hearts of every individual. Avidity is a force that we cannot deny…"

"Shut up! Or I'll slit your-!"

"Get out of the way…"

"Huh?" The crook turned around, locking his good eye with the intruder. His other, which did not function as well as it used to, was hidden beneath a felt patch. "Don't interrupt me kid!"

The youth's hair and gaze were sapphire, and he was dressed regally in satin attire. He wore a dark vest, violet-coloured pants, and a matching scarf atop a white collar. "And you'll do what?" he asked quietly and wobbled forward, his tone somewhat foreboding and mysterious.

"I'll skin you alive! How's that sound?" he threatened, brandishing a knife.

The newcomer shrugged, his lips forming an impish smile atop his pale skin. He seemed amused by the hoodlum's choice of weapon. "Amateur."

Thwack!

It took the man several moments to register what had just transpired. He screamed in realization, "Oh my god! W-What have you done?"

His attacker's head had been severed by a concealed scythe, emanating so rapidly from the teenager's cloak that mere seconds passed between its unveiling and its cache. The gruesome body part rolled around in a bloody mess beside its fallen torso. The gaping hole in the assailant's neck became a miniature fountain from which crimson ichor spilled forth.

Unmoved by the frightened one's plight, the boy looked skyward before advancing, but stopped once more at the lawbreaker's corpse to step on his head. It crumpled under the weight of his shoe, blood and pus erupting from the fractured skull. "Knives are so passé…You're lucky this time. If you ever appear to me in hell, I'll make sure to slice you into bite-sized pieces for my own enjoyment…" He removed the thief's eyeballs from the concrete and placed them in a paper bag, which he quickly replaced in his vest, trophies for his growing collection.

"W-Who are you?" the cowering man demanded, hesitant in his inquiry.

The malevolent child continued his trek up the highway, licking his fingers and savouring the taste of torn flesh. The act did not disgust him, for it was one he partook in often. It brought him much pleasure and satisfaction, and he knew that by the time his mission ended, he would have another wad of cash to boot.

"They call me the God of Death…Dark Kirisaki."

…

-Owari-