Disclaimer: I don't own Claymore.
Chapter 1: Seven year's
A/N: So I saw this thing on here about a story with Raki and Ophelia after lurking hardcore. I'm taking a hiatus on my other story, mainly cause I want to do something other than a lovee-dovee tale about an estranged relationship tainted by the involvement of other parties, but also cause this is cool. I'm going to experiment with various elements, but shy away from love and relationships. More closer to horror or pain and the likes. I'm debating on whether or not I should make it Raki centric or Ophelia centric. So yeah, suggestions would be nice, cause I came into this wanting to do something different but not knowing what I wanted. Either way, hope you enjoy my junk!
"Dammit Raki! Cut the bitch's head off, we went over this!" Ophelia screamed through the gurgling of her own blood.
The man, now a well built fortress of muscle and an offsetting void of feelings, stood battered and conflicted. His sword was readied to land the decisive blow on his former friend, Clare. She was barely alive however she could still see him brooding over her broken body. He was the only one who could even use his legs on the entire batlefield. Which as was strange, considering he was still human.
Dead corpses littered the land as far as the eye could see. The one who surpasses the abyssals, known formally as Priscilla, was motionless, filled to the brim with the blades belonging to dozens of Claymores; her head was probably somewhere under a pile of the organization's finest. The other abyssal's entrails were either digested, or spread across the war zone. It was the outcome of an epic finale, spearheaded by the Organization, the abyssals, and the rogue warriors.
For some reason, his blade hadn't came down on her yet, which angered the single braided combatant.
"If I could move I'd snatch that sword and do it myself." She said to Raki before switching attention to Clare, although she was struggling to even speak at this point, "It's not... *gurgle*... You... Darling, it's not you, it's me really. You got away and that doesn't sit well with me."
Raki was silent. Clare's mouth said nothing, but the look in her eyes spoke meaningful words to him. They really didn't convey anything, as they were blank, empty, and emotionless. But the fact that he hadn't seen those eyes in seven years was what froze him. The fact that they looked straight dead into his eyes.
Her eyes brought back memories of the day that marked the beginning of his journey with the organization's number 4. The day his body, mind, and heart made a complete turn around. The beginning of his decent into insanity and obsession. Into a world dominated by the feeling of survival and vengeance. A world where he preferred not to think or feel.
...Seven years ago, in the woods after his departure from Clare...
"How does it feel, boy?" Said the warrior, standing smugly with her sword drenched in the blood of three different victims.
Today was Ophelia's lucky day. Two awakened beings and a human. She imagined splitting that girl apart like a chef would split a fish, but first, there could be no witnesses. Not even an innocent, if insanely brave, little boy.
On the other hand, there was Raki. Sword in hand and eyes sharp with focus, he stood in front of her attempting to hold his own. He didn't respond to her question. Instead, he gritted his teeth and prepared to face death. So soon. So fast.
Ophelia creeped slowly towards the young swordsman. Inching closer ever so eerily. "Just give up. She's not coming back for you."
Raki let out a thunderous battle cry and charged forward throwing a single downward chop. She easily deflected such an attack. He followed with a flurry of wild slashes attempting to land at least one, but no matter how he tried, she dodged each with little effort.
The malevolent smile she sported was given meaning by his immense failure, much to his chagrin. Soon he felt the sharp pain of multiple lacerations across his body. Blood splattered the golden dandelions and the blades of grass, as well as her malicious visage.
"What are you fighting for? I can feel her not far away from here, she must think I'm following her still." The calm tone of her voice coupled with her senseless laughter sent waves of disgust down his spine. "This is simply wonderful. Resisting the urge to chop you into halves is good for my discipline. You two are just so, marvellous."
"What's this? Giving up already?"
That's it. He fell to his knees after dropping his sword. It wasn't that his will to fight had died, but his body was fading in and out of consciousness. It's over. Hopefully he and Clare will once again meet each other on the other side. Tears from his eyes pummeled the earth like rain from a storm cloud.
"Jeez, it's really no fun if you don't squirm helplessly."
A swift kick to the face sent him looking up at the sky. Blood and sweat flew upon impact, painting everything in sight. As if he didn't already have trouble breathing, what with the gasping and choking on various bodily fluids, a foot stomped on his chest and twisted from left to right.
The last thing he saw was the red stained teeth in her wicked grin, and those evil
eyes.
Then everything went black.