And his name...
A/N: First to give where credit is due, this story was inspired by another
poem of the a similar name by Trowa Barton. You can find it here: http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=263760
Though this final product wasn't exactly what I had in mind when my muses "attacked me" it still was the last line of that poem that is the last line of this story so he deserves some credit. Thanks! ^_~
Second let me know whatever you think about this piece. I love feedback ^_^ e-mail: neekabe@canoemail.com
Third: I do not own Gundam wing... it has to be said ^_^
And his name...
It is a moonless night, but that just makes the stars seem all the brighter. There is little to see out there in the void, nothing but the stars and the trees. Their branches reach towards the sky, always lifting. Looking like imploring arms, yearning for deliverance from the cruel world.
There beneath the trees one waits. He has killed many, more than can be imagined, more than should have been possible for his mortal form. And now.... now he waits to kill again.
There is a small fire burning at his campsite. The glowing embers illuminating his face eerily; creating dark pits where his eyes should have been, and blood red streaks ran across his cheeks.
The wind rises, whipping through the coals. His head lifted as if the wind has brought a scent to him, and only then can his eyes be seen. The flames roared higher, fed by the violence of the coming storm, their ascent matching the rising madness in his eyes. His previous stillness is shattered with that action. He rises and begins his preparations.
They would be here soon. Too soon, yet not soon enough. He released a cord, watched as the many layers of camouflage fell away, revealing his companion in battle, the one and only being he trusted at his back in a fight. They newly risen flames glinted off the dulled metal. As it came to life, metallic eyes glowed green.
He would be the one to destroy them all. There was no chance for mercy. His opponents had chosen their fate.
The earth shook as they advanced. They marched coming closer and closer to assured death. Their distant lights flashed through the trees looking like stars themselves. A cloud of birds burst from the forest, their homes disturbed by this coming war.
He moved quickly, efficiently. Preparing his machine and waiting. Just waiting for the others to come within range. He would not go to them, not specifically hunt them. But if they came to him, then he would kill them. Wiping sweaty palms on his pants, he clenched and relaxed his hands, stretching nervously.
But before he could get overly nervous, the others showed up. Blood sang in his veins with the need for battle. He laughed, opened the communication channels to let his opponents hear, to let everyone hear his joy, his confidence. This was what he was born for, only here was he complete.
All to soon the battle was over, 20 men dead. 20 families who would receive that note: We regret to inform you.... As quickly as it had risen, the battle lust faded, leaving behind only the taste of ash and blood. Reaching out a trembling hand, he closed the communications channel , so no one would hear him weep.
Climbing out of the machine, he dropped to the ground in exhaustion. Slowly, hesitantly he walked back to his camp. The fire had all but burned itself out. Still he fed it leaves and twigs until could sustain itself once again. He sat huddled beside the fire then, craving its warmth far more than the painful, uncertain oblivion of sleep. He waited a long time there, unmoving, just staring deep into the heart of the fire. But he could not put off sleep for long, and eventually his exhausted body could no longer be ignored. Wrapping himself in the thin blanket he curled up by the fire and slept.
Dark eyes, Dark soul, Dark Angel. He is strong and deadly. Youth tainted with the blood and the destruction of humanity, yet he lives on. He lives for the battle though he hates it. He loathes the one thing that gives his life meaning, craves the thing that is killing him.
A Dark Angel he saves through destruction, gives life through death. He is the hero of a massacre. He is a hidden death, lying in wait for the moment when he can hide no longer. He is confusion, a living contradiction....
And his name is Duo Maxwell.
***end***
Though this final product wasn't exactly what I had in mind when my muses "attacked me" it still was the last line of that poem that is the last line of this story so he deserves some credit. Thanks! ^_~
Second let me know whatever you think about this piece. I love feedback ^_^ e-mail: neekabe@canoemail.com
Third: I do not own Gundam wing... it has to be said ^_^
And his name...
It is a moonless night, but that just makes the stars seem all the brighter. There is little to see out there in the void, nothing but the stars and the trees. Their branches reach towards the sky, always lifting. Looking like imploring arms, yearning for deliverance from the cruel world.
There beneath the trees one waits. He has killed many, more than can be imagined, more than should have been possible for his mortal form. And now.... now he waits to kill again.
There is a small fire burning at his campsite. The glowing embers illuminating his face eerily; creating dark pits where his eyes should have been, and blood red streaks ran across his cheeks.
The wind rises, whipping through the coals. His head lifted as if the wind has brought a scent to him, and only then can his eyes be seen. The flames roared higher, fed by the violence of the coming storm, their ascent matching the rising madness in his eyes. His previous stillness is shattered with that action. He rises and begins his preparations.
They would be here soon. Too soon, yet not soon enough. He released a cord, watched as the many layers of camouflage fell away, revealing his companion in battle, the one and only being he trusted at his back in a fight. They newly risen flames glinted off the dulled metal. As it came to life, metallic eyes glowed green.
He would be the one to destroy them all. There was no chance for mercy. His opponents had chosen their fate.
The earth shook as they advanced. They marched coming closer and closer to assured death. Their distant lights flashed through the trees looking like stars themselves. A cloud of birds burst from the forest, their homes disturbed by this coming war.
He moved quickly, efficiently. Preparing his machine and waiting. Just waiting for the others to come within range. He would not go to them, not specifically hunt them. But if they came to him, then he would kill them. Wiping sweaty palms on his pants, he clenched and relaxed his hands, stretching nervously.
But before he could get overly nervous, the others showed up. Blood sang in his veins with the need for battle. He laughed, opened the communication channels to let his opponents hear, to let everyone hear his joy, his confidence. This was what he was born for, only here was he complete.
All to soon the battle was over, 20 men dead. 20 families who would receive that note: We regret to inform you.... As quickly as it had risen, the battle lust faded, leaving behind only the taste of ash and blood. Reaching out a trembling hand, he closed the communications channel , so no one would hear him weep.
Climbing out of the machine, he dropped to the ground in exhaustion. Slowly, hesitantly he walked back to his camp. The fire had all but burned itself out. Still he fed it leaves and twigs until could sustain itself once again. He sat huddled beside the fire then, craving its warmth far more than the painful, uncertain oblivion of sleep. He waited a long time there, unmoving, just staring deep into the heart of the fire. But he could not put off sleep for long, and eventually his exhausted body could no longer be ignored. Wrapping himself in the thin blanket he curled up by the fire and slept.
Dark eyes, Dark soul, Dark Angel. He is strong and deadly. Youth tainted with the blood and the destruction of humanity, yet he lives on. He lives for the battle though he hates it. He loathes the one thing that gives his life meaning, craves the thing that is killing him.
A Dark Angel he saves through destruction, gives life through death. He is the hero of a massacre. He is a hidden death, lying in wait for the moment when he can hide no longer. He is confusion, a living contradiction....
And his name is Duo Maxwell.
***end***