Author's Notes: Written for Sailor Moon Monthly on Livejournal (smmonthly). This month's theme is "Shitennou." Each set of drabbles will be uploaded exactly like my Ami/Zoi set: Three per day (if available). Enjoy!

Theme: #1 Image
Genre: Drama
Version: Manga – Silver Millennium
Rating: PG-13


Spirits Fly Upwards

Thunder crackled in the distance and one, fat rain drop landed with a dull splat against Zoicite's forehead. It mixed with sweat and long, ghastly streaks of blood, before dribbling down Zoicite's nose and wetting the fading pink of his chapped lips. He could taste the rusty twang as it seeped into his mouth, and his tongue worked it around like it had the French wine from the night before. There was nothing that could compare to the taste of battle, as far as he knew.

His eyes weren't on the carnage, though, that littered around his feet like dozens of tiny, weeping presents. Instead, they were skyward, where a curious hawk circled carefully over the bloody field. Its feathers ruffled in the strong wind, and one, shrill cry seemed to warn of the coming storm. It was getting impatient, and didn't want to be caught in the rain just to see if something could be salvaged for its supper.

"My Lord?" For the first time in the past half hour, Zoicite brought his eyes back to the ground. The addressing captain tried not to fidget too obviously under his gaze. "We've cleared the north side, and have taken some of the rebels as prisoners. We are awaiting your orders on what to do with them." The last sentence suggested the troops would prefer it sooner rather than later. That was fine. Zoicite had planned the attack down to the last detail.

Casting his eyes skyward again, Zoicite sucked the last, bitter drop of blood of his lips, and felt the uncomfortable chill of finality and consequences seep into his bones. The hawk above shrilled again, and wheeled violently to the left as the storm clouds moved closer. The part of Zoicite that wanted to break down and run home focused on the bird, existing just outside of his own grim reality.

"My Lord, we--" the captain began.

"Kill the survivors," instructed Zoicite. The other man paused, uncertain. "And leave the dead." Zoicite appeared thoughtful, keeping a steady watch on the hawk. "The birds will pick everything clean."

The hawk above screamed its assurance.