A Fine Line

A Story for the Smoke Signals Thread

By Nekochan

Author's Note

This story would not have been written if I wasn't such a sucker for filling plot holes. This story will not be a happy one. It's rated the way it is purely for Gonou's mentality alone - it's not pleasant, but I figure this story can only be told from Gonou's POV. Gonou's inspiration songs: "Wings of a Butterfly" by H.I.M. / His Infernal Majesty, "Breaking the Habit" by Linkin Park (Meteora), and "Wreath of Barbs" by Wumpscut. That's the most depressing playlist ever, in my opinion.

Arigatou Minasan! (Thanks everyone!)

Nekochan

(-)(-)(-)

Hyakugan-Maoh's Castle

The sound of rain is drumming in my ears.
 The drumming is so loud.
I think I might go crazy . . .
 Someone kill me . . .
 KANAN!
Kill me.

Something was happening to me. I no longer cared about the nameless son-of-a-youkai-bastard that I'd killed only moments ago - there was something writhing, squirming in my left arm. I felt like my face was stretching backwards and my heart rate beat faster, but nothing compared to the painful feeling of something winding its way through every vein leading from my hand to my shoulder.

I held the offending limb at my side, trying to send the pain away by sheer force of will. The ache in my abdomen suddenly flared and I collapsed to my knees - panting, gasping, desperately trying to make sense of what that accursed youkai had said as I stared in disbelief to the bloody floor.

'Yes, yes, it's only a legend, but they say, a human that has bathed in the blood of a thousand youkai becomes a youkai himself. Is that not wonderful?'

That's impossible . . . I can't have killed a thousand youkai . . . Not that many - not nearly that many . . . could I have? I tried to focus on Kanan - on what she'd done, what I'd done - anything to keep my mental reflexes working properly; locked in cold reality was better than losing my sanity.

'Have you really become a youkai?'

And even if I had killed that many, there's no reason to believe I'm really becoming-

I spread my right hand over my face as the stretching sensation continued. I balled my fist against my forehead. Maybe I was dying? No, the pain would probably be dimming, like my vision . . .

No . . . after all, losing myself - dying - anything would be better than living with this pain.

I pulled my fist away, trying to look around, but my vision was covered for a moment and it felt like the left side of my face had been slit - four vertical lines - on the skin's surface. I realized I'd ripped my own headband off - there were long nails - claws - where my fingertips should have been and that those same nails had raked my own face.

It was laughable, actually . . . This was nothing. This I could bear, this reminder of the cruel fate surrounding me, if it would bring her back. I'd kill a thousand more youkai to bring her back.

My veins felt like they were being ripped from my arm and it was all I could do to look at it, desperately fighting with my eyes to stop the double-vision. I gasped as what looked like some razor-backed worm snaked its way from a tight curl on the back of my splayed hand around my wrist, under my forearm, and further upward. As it reached my shoulder, I could no longer distinguish anything in my blurred world. Only the pain told me where my body stopped and the castle floor began.

There was no way this could be real; the strain was entirely too much - there are limits to the burden a human body can bear, after all-

Surely a godforsaken youkai body can bear more.

A strangled cry erupted and echoed, washing over every inch of my skin. My head reeled as every single hair on my scalp tugged, desperately trying to escape my own agony. As if trying to block out the wailing, my ears were collapsing in their canals and stretching to follow my hair. The line of serrated blades had found release, I knew then, because it had worked its way up my chest and across the bridge of my nose.

The pressure . . . my temples were going to burst; every nerve was on fire . . . My senses could not contain the pain any longer.

My eyes went wide as everything coalesced around my heart, blacking out my vision.

You know . . . maybe insanity wouldn't be so bad, after all . . .

(-)

Power.

This was power.

There had been weakness, but now there was none.

Only power- This body had power. Everywhere there was power, in every corner of this being, on every inch of this body. There was control . . . now to see it tested.

But there was nothing to test it on. There were bodies no matter where the vision searched, but nothing alive. The smell of blood was intoxicating, invigorating. Desperation came; this power needed, wanted release on anything.

Fuck it; a wall would do.

It was so easy to pick up speed, to run anywhere this body desired. With that kind of force, every wall this body found was no match for its fist. Guttural shouts, banshee wails, mad cackling, it all made the intensity mount to a supreme pleasure this body had never known.

These vines- Ah ha, whip-like, very nice. This body could pick up, let's see . . . one, two, thr- no, two bodies with one whip from each hand.

A faint aura in the far corner became a distraction. Flesh? Blood? The legs raced over . . . a fucking mouse. Enraged at the trick this power had played on these eyes, the thing was ground into a pulp. That wasn't satisfying at all; this craving wasn't sated, not yet. Hell, no, nowhere even close.

Corpses were too easy to shred. The vision went searching again . . . perhaps furniture would prove more of a challenge. There was knowledge of where there was furniture to thrash. If this power was lucky, maybe there was a whore or two left alive in that same room.

A bedroom - curtains, paintings, carpeting . . . Hypocritical bastards, all of them - such opulence, such human opulence.

There wasn't even a child left to dismember. These teeth grated impatiently, this energy threatening to take this body over like a delicious high.

A flash of light.

These eyes perceived another being was there, but . . . Wait, a reflection . . . My reflection . . . Me . . .

Startled, I stumbled back, clutching my face in horror. Bloodstained, lean-faced, long-haired . . . No, this couldn't be me . . . I was human, I was supposed to look like a human . . .

Stay focused; I had to stay focused. There was something on the very far edge of my memory and I just couldn't quite bring it to the forefront. There was a way to fix this, to change me back . . . Youki (1) was kept in check by- something. What was it?

Of course death would be the easiest solution, but there was no one left in this graveyard of a castle to do the job for me. I actually tried . . . but I couldn't do it - the power I'd gained wouldn't let me. I had no idea how to destroy something so powerful . . . but there had to be a way to supress it. There was a way, I just had to find it . . .

In this room, somewhere, there was an aura that could do what I could not.

The jewelry box. Yes, the something was in there, I was so sure of it. Necklaces, bracelets, rings, they all caught on my claws, urging me to find whatever I was searching for and fast, before I lost myself entirely again.

What, had that been pain? A tiny, minuscule pinprick of sensation on my fingers. An earring . . . yes, something like this. This could do it, but not this kind.

There it was! That was the aura I'd been feeling!

A tiny hoop of silver. It could change me back - I knew it had the power to do it! I clasped it to my left ear, clamping it as tight as it would go.

I felt a little . . . heavier, clumsier. My senses felt a little dimmer, not as perceptive. The tips of my ears were withering, shrinking and my hair was growing shorter, re-rooting itself in my scalp. I managed to choke out some of the pain, but my breaths were coming more like deep, labored gasps.

Still a bit dazed, I knew I had to find another. Somehow, the power was still present - the youki was still coursing through me. My mind was clearing, but my stamina was fading. I had to find another one of these things.

I dug deeper into the box, tossing anything that didn't emanate this all-important counter-aura.

Another one! Feeling the tiniest hint of joy - of hope - I planted the second cuff below the first.

The draining sensation was actually comforting, now; my form was changing and that was all I could ask for at this point. I examined my arms - coiled snakes still lingered on my wrists and the backs of my hands. I reached for my ears, feeling a slight point still present there. I touched the nape of my neck, noting that my hair was still on the shaggy side.

Yet, why was there such a dull ache on my stomach? The skin there was stretching, as if trying to contain something malformed within. Stumbling about the armoire, I tried to keep my eyes open, seeking just one more of the blessed things. One wasn't powerful enough and two hadn't proven much better, but three . . . surely three would do the trick.

I tripped over a body and only managed to regain my balance after gripping one of the bedposts.

There was another body on the bed, the head lolled to one side. I gasped at the sight of a chest cleaved open and then at the lingering aura I felt coming from the corpse's ear - a third band was attached to the exposed lobe.

I couldn't bear the sight of it, but with a bit of blind groping, I managed to pluck it off the ear. Quickly reopening the cuff, I shut it tightly again around my ear below both of the other two.

A rippling effect sent shivers all over my skin as I felt it stretch even thinner, recoiling back into itself somehow. I nearly threw up as the combined feeling of weakened constitution combined with the protests of my stomach against some abuse I couldn't recall at the moment.

I knew I didn't belong here; I had to get out. It took a long time, a lot of fumbling for support from the stone walls, but I reached the exit. It was all I could to keep staring ahead, desperately avoiding any eye contact with the floor, where all of the corpses stared up at me with frightened, dull eyes.

Somehow, I felt assured that if I could just get beyond the rank confines of this castle's decaying former occupants, I could bring myself to face whatever horrors had been committed there. Maybe.

(-)

I slipped, I fell, I stumbled, I crawled, all in an attempt to get down a hill in the rain. At the base of it, my exhaustion became too much and I keeled over, face first on the ground. I strained to push myself up on my elbows, but it was no use, leaving my legs uncomfortably angled because I'd fallen on my left hip.

I was simply too tired. I needed sleep, I needed refuge, but the pain swelling in the pit of my stomach kept me from finding the blissful, thoughtless darkness of unconsciousness.

However, as I lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness, everything began a slow replay in my head.

Those fucking cowards had sacrificed one of their own - precious Kanan - to Hyakugan-Maoh and his demonic hunger.

I had slaughtered a thousand youkai.

Kanan was dead.

I had been transformed into a youkai because of my own stupid ego, and, now . . .

Now, the only things keeping me even remotely sane were three little pieces of silver on my left ear. They hadn't made me human at all - they had given me the illusion of being human, which was almost worse than simply appearing as what my actions had made me.

Worst of all, the rain kept pouring down, never letting up.

Meaning, I didn't hear anyone approach.

"Oi . . . you dead?"

The unwelcome, forceful push to my chest made me shiver in the cold. I scarcely believed there was actually anyone there at all. It was hopefully just the delusion of a dying man.

"Oh, hey, you're alive!"

No delusion of mine would have been surprised to find me like this. It would have admonished me, shamed me, coaxed me into the fate I deserved - a death alone in a forest for the scavengers to feed upon.

How, then, was this voice real?

Suddenly, my head was lifted up by the hair on top. The jerking motion wasn't too painful, so I merely looked up at this being - apparently he was not a delusion after all - curious as to what kind of person could possibly be interested in whether or not I was dead or alive, because I seriously doubted I would ever be granted either classification now.

The man's gasp told me he knew how close I was to death, the only thing left in this world I desired.

Our gazes met and I would have taken to commenting on how out of sorts I must have been at the time, because all I saw was red.

I would have, but no voice could come from my throat. It, like the rest of my body, was sore from so much strenuous use within the past who-knew how many hours.

It was the first time in my life I had been rendered speechless.

Hence, I could only stare up at this strange fellow in all his crimson hues and, in my own my head, laugh at the morbid irony of it all.

A man with gallons of blood on his hands, in his dying moments, last seen by a man with the same blood-red in his hair and eyes.

(-)(-)(-)

-owari-

3/14/2007

(1) Youki - contraction of 'Youkai Ki (energy)', meaning essentially 'the internal power of a Youkai'

This was hashed out in one night because I couldn't stand being in Gonou's head any longer than that. I knew I had to listen to upbeat music while I was writing this or else I'd go completely suicidal, because that's just Gonou. I blame myself and my intense need to fill plot-holes for this 'dump-truck of emo', as my friend ASeptemberRose calls stories such as this. I don't know how many times I replayed the stuff from Chin Yisou's two episodes and the other Sannenmae (3 years ago) flashbacks, episodes, etc. trying to cover all the bases as far as what I could ascertain of Gonou's character - even his orphanage days.

Of course, the day after I wrote this, as I'm going to edit it, it's raining. And I'm listening to the aforementioned playlist. And I'm trying to put myself in Gonou's head. We're lucky I'm still here.

So, yeah, I don't like writing dark stuff; it gives me the creeps. Gonou gives me the creeps.

Nekochan