DISCLAIMERS: Rurouni Kenshin (c) Nobuhiro Watsuki, Jump
Comics, Shueisha, Fuji TV and Sony Entertainment. All
copyrighted characters are used without permission from
the owners; this is a nonprofit work of fanfiction written
only for online entertainment purposes. No copyright
infringement intended.
This is for Selene-chan, who challenged me into
writing this. I hope this little handicraft of mine
meets the requirements you stated. ^^;
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
I.N.C.I.N.E.R.A.T.O.R.
by Chibi Chiriko-chan
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
I die before the dawn breaks over my native land. Welcome
it, you who will see... and remember those who have fallen
in the night.
-Elias
from "Noli Me Tangere" (Touch Me Not/The Social Cancer)
by Dr Jose Rizal
Aloof. Alone. And unknowingly abandoned.
He stands, a formidable tower against the dead of night,
his posture erect in the image of confidence, his chin
jutted out in fearsome defiance. The naked fang of a
blade in his right hand has long dulled, rusty with the
irremovable stains of dead blood and human flesh that
has clung to the steely edge which as, with one powerful,
unforgiving stroke, wiped out existence after existence
without single thought.
His hair flaps in the mourning breeze of the night,
swinging to and fro with agonizing slowness, a pendulum
that tantalizingly rocks from side to side, counting
the moments before another fresh, delicious kill. His
eyes, two discs burning with pitch black fire, shrewd
buttons of bloodlust whose darkness surpasses that of
the blackest night. A sneer of contempt hinges on his
lips, twitched in the expression of a cynical man
reduced from a swordsman for a cause to a murderer who
lives to draw life's blood from its unfortunate victims.
He reeks of the foul stench of death and decay, the
odor of blood that once supported life soaking his aura.
So lost in he in his thoughts of what he presumes to be
a victory for self that he does not hear the approaching
footsteps... and the last thing he recalls is the sound
of wood against skull, followed by the thud of a body
collapsing to the grass. A body that is not of a victim,
a body which is his own.
{Sensei, why do you keep me from the lamp?}
{You needn't ask such questions. I do it because it is for
your own good.}
{It is the fire, is it not, Sensei? I don't understand how
something so beautiful can be so dangerous.}
{Better that you remain ignorant than having to experience
it firsthand.}
Curious black eyes catch the glint of the tiny golden flame
that burns within the glass lamp. It flickers shakily,
dancing like a tiny scarlet leaf, its direction guided by
the hand of the gentle wind. The child is entranced, drawn
and enchanted by that which causes light even in the grasp
of the most abounding dark.
A hand reaches out...
... and pushes the lamp. The sound of shattering glass and
a rapidly spreading fire pierces the stillness of the evening.
The next thing he is aware of is the light. He blinks, a
strange, searing ache throbbing throughout his entire body.
Has he awakened to daylight... but the light he sees is not
that of the gently smiling sun. Instead, it is the mocking
glare of treacherous flames, dancing gleefully all over his
body, tasting him at first, then delving deeper. He lets
out an astonished cry as the pain registers, begs the night
for mercy as he thrashes about, the throes of anguish
plaguing his suffering body. Agony sings through the blood
that streams out of every wound, making him scream in
tortured despair. As the fire slowly, cruelly, mercilessly
begins to consume him, in those seconds he is no longer
the feared Shadow Hitokiri... just another suffering man.
Then the sound of familiar voices pricks up his ears, and
bitter fury builds up inside him, hotter than the hellish
fire that fights to burn him into ashes of forgotten
existence. Smoldering with hatred, simmering with a
sudden, delicious desire for vengeance and unequaled
strength, he rises to his feet and shakes his fists at
the waning moon. So he stands, fueled by his desperation
and desire, the visage of an incarcerated soul trapped
in a shell of blue and scarlet fire, crying out for
the divine imperative that is revenge.
Disheartened by a will that surpasses even the most intense,
torrid onslaughts, the flames slowly begin to die.
The child watches, horrified, as the incarnadine flames
scatter throughout the tent, frightening him with their
ferocious snarls and prickly hot fingers. He can only
stare helplessly as they tear at the fabric of the tent
walls, his eyes watering as trains of smoke fill his
lungs. His knees wobble, threatening to give way, as
he chokes desperately, his chest tightening as he slowly
becomes light-headed. The colors of the world around him
merge into undecipherable shapes and figures, swirling
into a mass of fading dots...
He faints as two strong arms scoop him up and rush him
out of the smoking inferno.
Once again, he seethes as he feels the flames leap
back to life, encircling him and the beautiful dead
angel in his arms in a ring of murderous fire. His
body temperature has careened out of control,
bursting with heat and incredible intensity that soon
catches fire. Clouds of smoke engulf him and his dead
lover, and this time, he knows that the will to survive
will not triumph against the odds, that no strong arms
will pull him out of the flames' wrath and dip his
scorching body into a lake of ice cold water. He
lets out a bloodcurdling scream of outrage and defeat,
which suspends in the air in a terrifying echo as the
place starts crumbling down.
He presses his lover to his breast, knowing he will join
her soon. He shuts his eyes as the deadly flames begin
their cruel teasing, suppresses an agonized cry as it
inflicts pain greater than his previous tangle with death.
The smoke suffocates him in its smothering embrace, the
great golden blaze devours him ravenously, biting into
his flesh and chewing contemptuously, then sipping the
blood like wine as it pours out of his torn skin. He
moans softly, waiting for death, waiting for the shadow
of darkness to claim him forever... *anything* would be
better than the curse of an eternal agony in hellfire
that seems to have hung over him all his life.
He can no longer hold back a screech of bare and naked
anguish as the flames nip at his exposed heart, and he
throws back his head in submission, unable to bear the
torment of living. The last that is seen of him is his
mouth, frozen in absolute horror and powerlessness.
And once again, in those dying moments, he is no longer
the madman who attempted to take over Japan, but a
suffering man slowly being put to rest. The blanket of
fire thins, until all it leaves is darkness... and a
bundle of lonely ashes that eventually dissipate into
the wind.
OWARI
04/01/00
Happy April Fool's Day, minna! ^-^ So, didja like it?
Didja understand it?
1. First of all, arigatou to Selene Chou, who challenged me
into writing this fic. I had quite a few more ideas, mind
you, but this one was what grabbed me the most, and when
the title "Incinerator" struck, I guess this turned up.
Happy now, Selene-chan? ^.~ I gotta admit, there weren't
too many serious Shishio fics around (though I enjoyed
reading the funny ones a LOT) and this guy's such an
interesting, intriguing character, so I accepted right
away when Selene-chan issued the challenge.
2. The parts concerning the oh-so-mysterious 'child', well,
these were references to Shishio's past (or a possible
theory of what could have been), that I thought I could
link to the present. I don't remember having read any fics
that really dealt with this guy's past, so I decided to
incorporate some elements of it into this little story
of mine. I didn't like to think of him as a 'monster',
exactly, since all he really wanted was vengeance and
change (well, who *doesn't?*), so I decided to shed some
light on his 'human' side -- thus, the 'helpless, innocent,
ignorant' child scenes. Let's just say Shishio's one guy
with a *reaaaaallly* long history with fire.
3. ~~So he stands, fueled by his desperation
and desire, the visage of an incarcerated soul trapped
in a shell of blue and scarlet fire, crying out for
the divine imperative that is revenge.~~
I got the idea for 'the divine imperative that is revenge'
from a movie I stumbled upon through countless hours of
channel surfing. The guy (a really gorgeous hunk, BTW)
said, "Revenge -- it's a moral imperative", and I fell in
love with that line so I decided to modify it for this fic.
Now since Shishio doesn't seem to care about morals and
stuff like that, and since it seems he's more concerned
with his own twisted concept of himself as a Deity or
something, I decided to use 'divine imperative' instead.
I didn't catch the title of the movie, though. _
Take care, minna, and God bless!
Comics, Shueisha, Fuji TV and Sony Entertainment. All
copyrighted characters are used without permission from
the owners; this is a nonprofit work of fanfiction written
only for online entertainment purposes. No copyright
infringement intended.
This is for Selene-chan, who challenged me into
writing this. I hope this little handicraft of mine
meets the requirements you stated. ^^;
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
I.N.C.I.N.E.R.A.T.O.R.
by Chibi Chiriko-chan
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
I die before the dawn breaks over my native land. Welcome
it, you who will see... and remember those who have fallen
in the night.
-Elias
from "Noli Me Tangere" (Touch Me Not/The Social Cancer)
by Dr Jose Rizal
Aloof. Alone. And unknowingly abandoned.
He stands, a formidable tower against the dead of night,
his posture erect in the image of confidence, his chin
jutted out in fearsome defiance. The naked fang of a
blade in his right hand has long dulled, rusty with the
irremovable stains of dead blood and human flesh that
has clung to the steely edge which as, with one powerful,
unforgiving stroke, wiped out existence after existence
without single thought.
His hair flaps in the mourning breeze of the night,
swinging to and fro with agonizing slowness, a pendulum
that tantalizingly rocks from side to side, counting
the moments before another fresh, delicious kill. His
eyes, two discs burning with pitch black fire, shrewd
buttons of bloodlust whose darkness surpasses that of
the blackest night. A sneer of contempt hinges on his
lips, twitched in the expression of a cynical man
reduced from a swordsman for a cause to a murderer who
lives to draw life's blood from its unfortunate victims.
He reeks of the foul stench of death and decay, the
odor of blood that once supported life soaking his aura.
So lost in he in his thoughts of what he presumes to be
a victory for self that he does not hear the approaching
footsteps... and the last thing he recalls is the sound
of wood against skull, followed by the thud of a body
collapsing to the grass. A body that is not of a victim,
a body which is his own.
{Sensei, why do you keep me from the lamp?}
{You needn't ask such questions. I do it because it is for
your own good.}
{It is the fire, is it not, Sensei? I don't understand how
something so beautiful can be so dangerous.}
{Better that you remain ignorant than having to experience
it firsthand.}
Curious black eyes catch the glint of the tiny golden flame
that burns within the glass lamp. It flickers shakily,
dancing like a tiny scarlet leaf, its direction guided by
the hand of the gentle wind. The child is entranced, drawn
and enchanted by that which causes light even in the grasp
of the most abounding dark.
A hand reaches out...
... and pushes the lamp. The sound of shattering glass and
a rapidly spreading fire pierces the stillness of the evening.
The next thing he is aware of is the light. He blinks, a
strange, searing ache throbbing throughout his entire body.
Has he awakened to daylight... but the light he sees is not
that of the gently smiling sun. Instead, it is the mocking
glare of treacherous flames, dancing gleefully all over his
body, tasting him at first, then delving deeper. He lets
out an astonished cry as the pain registers, begs the night
for mercy as he thrashes about, the throes of anguish
plaguing his suffering body. Agony sings through the blood
that streams out of every wound, making him scream in
tortured despair. As the fire slowly, cruelly, mercilessly
begins to consume him, in those seconds he is no longer
the feared Shadow Hitokiri... just another suffering man.
Then the sound of familiar voices pricks up his ears, and
bitter fury builds up inside him, hotter than the hellish
fire that fights to burn him into ashes of forgotten
existence. Smoldering with hatred, simmering with a
sudden, delicious desire for vengeance and unequaled
strength, he rises to his feet and shakes his fists at
the waning moon. So he stands, fueled by his desperation
and desire, the visage of an incarcerated soul trapped
in a shell of blue and scarlet fire, crying out for
the divine imperative that is revenge.
Disheartened by a will that surpasses even the most intense,
torrid onslaughts, the flames slowly begin to die.
The child watches, horrified, as the incarnadine flames
scatter throughout the tent, frightening him with their
ferocious snarls and prickly hot fingers. He can only
stare helplessly as they tear at the fabric of the tent
walls, his eyes watering as trains of smoke fill his
lungs. His knees wobble, threatening to give way, as
he chokes desperately, his chest tightening as he slowly
becomes light-headed. The colors of the world around him
merge into undecipherable shapes and figures, swirling
into a mass of fading dots...
He faints as two strong arms scoop him up and rush him
out of the smoking inferno.
Once again, he seethes as he feels the flames leap
back to life, encircling him and the beautiful dead
angel in his arms in a ring of murderous fire. His
body temperature has careened out of control,
bursting with heat and incredible intensity that soon
catches fire. Clouds of smoke engulf him and his dead
lover, and this time, he knows that the will to survive
will not triumph against the odds, that no strong arms
will pull him out of the flames' wrath and dip his
scorching body into a lake of ice cold water. He
lets out a bloodcurdling scream of outrage and defeat,
which suspends in the air in a terrifying echo as the
place starts crumbling down.
He presses his lover to his breast, knowing he will join
her soon. He shuts his eyes as the deadly flames begin
their cruel teasing, suppresses an agonized cry as it
inflicts pain greater than his previous tangle with death.
The smoke suffocates him in its smothering embrace, the
great golden blaze devours him ravenously, biting into
his flesh and chewing contemptuously, then sipping the
blood like wine as it pours out of his torn skin. He
moans softly, waiting for death, waiting for the shadow
of darkness to claim him forever... *anything* would be
better than the curse of an eternal agony in hellfire
that seems to have hung over him all his life.
He can no longer hold back a screech of bare and naked
anguish as the flames nip at his exposed heart, and he
throws back his head in submission, unable to bear the
torment of living. The last that is seen of him is his
mouth, frozen in absolute horror and powerlessness.
And once again, in those dying moments, he is no longer
the madman who attempted to take over Japan, but a
suffering man slowly being put to rest. The blanket of
fire thins, until all it leaves is darkness... and a
bundle of lonely ashes that eventually dissipate into
the wind.
OWARI
04/01/00
Happy April Fool's Day, minna! ^-^ So, didja like it?
Didja understand it?
1. First of all, arigatou to Selene Chou, who challenged me
into writing this fic. I had quite a few more ideas, mind
you, but this one was what grabbed me the most, and when
the title "Incinerator" struck, I guess this turned up.
Happy now, Selene-chan? ^.~ I gotta admit, there weren't
too many serious Shishio fics around (though I enjoyed
reading the funny ones a LOT) and this guy's such an
interesting, intriguing character, so I accepted right
away when Selene-chan issued the challenge.
2. The parts concerning the oh-so-mysterious 'child', well,
these were references to Shishio's past (or a possible
theory of what could have been), that I thought I could
link to the present. I don't remember having read any fics
that really dealt with this guy's past, so I decided to
incorporate some elements of it into this little story
of mine. I didn't like to think of him as a 'monster',
exactly, since all he really wanted was vengeance and
change (well, who *doesn't?*), so I decided to shed some
light on his 'human' side -- thus, the 'helpless, innocent,
ignorant' child scenes. Let's just say Shishio's one guy
with a *reaaaaallly* long history with fire.
3. ~~So he stands, fueled by his desperation
and desire, the visage of an incarcerated soul trapped
in a shell of blue and scarlet fire, crying out for
the divine imperative that is revenge.~~
I got the idea for 'the divine imperative that is revenge'
from a movie I stumbled upon through countless hours of
channel surfing. The guy (a really gorgeous hunk, BTW)
said, "Revenge -- it's a moral imperative", and I fell in
love with that line so I decided to modify it for this fic.
Now since Shishio doesn't seem to care about morals and
stuff like that, and since it seems he's more concerned
with his own twisted concept of himself as a Deity or
something, I decided to use 'divine imperative' instead.
I didn't catch the title of the movie, though. _
Take care, minna, and God bless!