One Day

Fall upon your knees, sing:

"This is my body and soul here"

Crawl and beg and plead, sing:

"You've got the power and control"

—Blame, Bastille

Titania was, probably, a roundabout way for the Abbey to make a statement.

It was a prison, yes, but it was almost exclusively for deamons, it was as saying that, those that had been caught for the deamonblight but that had stayed human enough, shouldn't be killed. It had something to do with a set of values about mercy, and humanity and, most importantly, reason. Because if you could avoid having to kill them, if there was no justification to it, then it was best to imprison them, as the advanced civilization we are.

Or something like that. Rokurou certainly couldn't tell, and certainly didn't care.

But it was curious, at least, that a human criminal such as himself had been sent here. It could mean a number of things; probably, no other prison had the security to hold a member of the Rangetsu Clan, or maybe his crimes were considered to grave or perhaps the Abbey had another reason for keeping this place up and the Count wanted to get rid of him so badly that this was the only place he could send him to and be sure that he wasn't going to get out.

After all, they all said this place was an impenetrable fortress, and once you got in you would never see the light of day again.

Rokurou certainly couldn't tell, and certainly didn't care.

He cared not for the Abbey's reasons, or the Count's motives or the tales of failed escapes attempts that ran from cell to cell.

There was little he cared about anymore.

But what little he held important in his heart, what little still mattered to him, oh, how it filled his existence with inexorable passion, how it burned him on the inside, how desperately it claimed his attention.

How much it hurt him, with its quite but constants reminders of failure and dishonor and humiliation.

Train harder! He would hear, sometimes, in the middle of his humid, dark cell, in the silence of the prison's eternal night. Train harder! The disembodied voice of his downfall would say, in a way too cheerful and carefree tone, with something as tease but never a piece of malice.

It made his blood boil, the utter discredit. It drove him insane, the lack of recognition.

It kept him grounded, fixated on a single goal. It allowed him to endure the harsh, inhuman conditions of the prison island, it gave him a reason to live through this, it made him ignore the rumors of the monster in the deepest cell.

It feed his pathetic existence with something like purpose.

Because this wasn't about killing his brother and becoming the leader of the clan anymore, this wasn't about following the traditions that had shaped every aspect of his life, this wasn't about taking Shigure down of his prideful throne.

This wasn't about that. Not anymore.

This was about how blind he had been, about how arrogant he had been, about how little he actually knew of his brother's abilities, about his total and absolute lack of vision, about his poor, pitiful swordsmanship.

The clan leadership, Stormhowl, the title of Shigure were things that, once upon a time, he wished for himself, because it had felt like they were supposed to be his. Shigure told him, nonchalantly and conceited, if he wasn't around all of it would've been for Rokurou. It always felt unfair, that everything he wanted, that everything he fight for, that everything he strived to be, was for Shigure. And that he didn't have to lift a finger to get it.

This was about how immature he had been, crying like a small child because another kid had the toys he wanted.

This was about Shigure being that one that showed him how stupidly overconfident he had been, and not the other way around, how it was supposed to be.

This was about Rokurou moving things back to its place.

This was about Rokurou regaining his honor and his pride and everything that was meant to be rightfully his.

It was his only reason for living, the only reason worth living for.

And then, eventually, deamonblight took him. But he didn't lose himself in the middle of the transformation, he didn't give in into savagery as most of his cellmates; if anything it cleared his thoughts.

It pushed everything that wasn't his fight with Shigure to the back of his mind, the memories of his childhood, the petty wishes he once held, the life he used to yearned for, all of it became irrelevant, an echo of someone he wasn't anymore.

It put together the shattered pieces of his heart and shape them anew; it breathed new, fresh meaning into his broken soul.

The deamonblight made him see, told him, assured him who he was, why he was.

He was Rokurou Rangentsu, a yaksha, and he was going to kill his brother.

There was nothing else to it.

There was nothing else to him.

I love Rokurou so fucking much you have no idea, and i was kinda desperate to write something about him and this thing came to life. . In the game he's normally cheerful and carefree so I waned to explore a little darker view of the character ( "little" being the keyword here). Also i'm a sucker for siblings' stories so yeah

The lyrics at the beginning may not hold an obvious relation with the story, but they helped me decided what I wanted to write.

Anyway, I hope you liked it! Thanks for reading! Every comment will be appreciate!