Ok, I would like to warn the general public that although this first
chapter is pretty mild in regards to violence, swearing etc. there'll be
lots in later chapters.. ?
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Trowa Barton stood, watching the graceful arc of Catherine's arm as two razor sharp knives, implements of death, left her hand. Lancing through the air, the twin blades pierced the wood behind him simultaneously with a hollow thud, missing Trowa's still face by millimeters. The crowd cheered with amazement at Trowa's unafraid exterior, partially masked and hidden, like his heart.
Another knife sliced through the air with a low hum, nicking his clear face. Unfazed by the blood trickling from his face like unshed tears, Trowa bowed curtly to the audience and left the ring, the enclosement that was his life.
Throwing the mask to the floor of is dressing room, Trowa stared unemotionally at the night sky, as if trying to count its uncountable masses of diamond like lights. How and why could his life be so meaningless in one way, as an entertainer, and in another way hold the future of the Earth sphere and the colonies in his nimble hands? A circus boy, a Gundam pilot. Each exterior was only a mask, a wall for him to hide behind. Had anyone seen his true face? Only Quatre, the heir of the Winner family and a fellow Gundam pilot, had been able to shatter his false exterior to delve for the many diamonds of his soul.
"Trowa, I asked if you are alright?", the voice belonging to Catherine pierced through his deep thoughts like one of her knives.
"Yes. Thank you." Trowa turned to walk away when a dark figure appeared in front of him.
"Prepare to breathe your last in this life, Trowa!" two shifting green brown eyes stared pointedly at him from beneath a mass of wavy golden hair. "Cause you going down!! For the meanwhile." the last part of the figures speech was almost to herself as two midnight black throwing stars glided effortlessly through the air, quietly closing in on their target, striking home.
Trowa gasped as they sliced through his bowels, through muscle and bone.
As foretold by the figure and the book of the ancients, Trowa breathed his last in this life, as scarlet blood, his lifeblood drained from his body.
~~~~~~~****~~~~~~~*****~~~~~~~~~
Trowa Barton stood, watching the graceful arc of Catherine's arm as two razor sharp knives, implements of death, left her hand. Lancing through the air, the twin blades pierced the wood behind him simultaneously with a hollow thud, missing Trowa's still face by millimeters. The crowd cheered with amazement at Trowa's unafraid exterior, partially masked and hidden, like his heart.
Another knife sliced through the air with a low hum, nicking his clear face. Unfazed by the blood trickling from his face like unshed tears, Trowa bowed curtly to the audience and left the ring, the enclosement that was his life.
Throwing the mask to the floor of is dressing room, Trowa stared unemotionally at the night sky, as if trying to count its uncountable masses of diamond like lights. How and why could his life be so meaningless in one way, as an entertainer, and in another way hold the future of the Earth sphere and the colonies in his nimble hands? A circus boy, a Gundam pilot. Each exterior was only a mask, a wall for him to hide behind. Had anyone seen his true face? Only Quatre, the heir of the Winner family and a fellow Gundam pilot, had been able to shatter his false exterior to delve for the many diamonds of his soul.
"Trowa, I asked if you are alright?", the voice belonging to Catherine pierced through his deep thoughts like one of her knives.
"Yes. Thank you." Trowa turned to walk away when a dark figure appeared in front of him.
"Prepare to breathe your last in this life, Trowa!" two shifting green brown eyes stared pointedly at him from beneath a mass of wavy golden hair. "Cause you going down!! For the meanwhile." the last part of the figures speech was almost to herself as two midnight black throwing stars glided effortlessly through the air, quietly closing in on their target, striking home.
Trowa gasped as they sliced through his bowels, through muscle and bone.
As foretold by the figure and the book of the ancients, Trowa breathed his last in this life, as scarlet blood, his lifeblood drained from his body.