... ano toki ...
RoseMillenia
Disclaimer: I don't own Rurouni Kenshin in any way, shape or form. Although I do not own the original idea of the great animated samurai classic, I do own the contents of this story (as in plot) thus republication/stealing/plagiarism will not be tolerated. You have been warned. (creepy grin)
xxXXxx
... ano toki ...
commemoration
xxXXxx
He leaned against the vast mass of stone and brick that had collapsed in the deadly fire all those years ago, in the fire of entity and of forever whispers that called him. He hadn't been there since the day that his glorious betrothed leader had been reduced to cinders. Although he had left of his own accord, it made him feel somewhat guilty. He knew that his leader wouldn't have felt anything mutual, considering his dignified little gem had only been his 'nourishment' and that really never struck the boy when he was under the massive control. But now that the boy had time to think, hell, he had all the time in the world to think, he really missed and hated that very man.
The man was powerful; there was no denying that fact. That made the man very invulnerable. In all honesty, very few people were able to dig into that evil man's heart. And the boy had stayed with him since he had been eight years old. Now...edging closer and closer to his thirty-third birthday...he supposed that maybe he had spent all the time he had requited wandering the country. The desperate catacombs of humanity sometimes called, but the boy felt that this was right. Leaving now. But, ano toki ... protecting, mamoru, had been all he had done. It's what he had felt was particularly just for all his sins. Fighting ... fighting was what he had done from the years eight to twenty-two. And killing. The gruesome battles he had sparked with his immature and somewhat innocent actions made him cringe to that very day. He was a child locked in love and hate with his battles and he never gave a sign of any remorse for the victim. Now that he looked back at this, he realized how sick it made him feel when he thought of how many he had slain, and how many misfortunate souls he smirked at within himself and as felt his incorruption seep through him like kaze whipping though the early morning town.
But it was much more than that. He knew he was a murderer. And then, he stopped. He stopped his senseless insanity, with his inculpable greed for human blood blocked away for good. He continued down the path of humantis, searching for the reasons. He didn't even need most of the questions given to him, he only needed the solutions that his fragile and docile mind needed to survive, and found his unquenchable need for the putrid serum that poured from other's lifeless corpses no longer controlling his mind. But.. that didn't mean the boy didn't think to throw in the towel during his travels. That wasn't what Himura had done. Himura never gave up. Himura never gave up on him. ... Himura ...
The boy wondered how that strong and utterly catalectic man was faring. He was rather poetic in the sense that he was such a kind and innocent with a future. And that in itself almost made a poem about the Hitokiri. It sung a song, it chirped a tune, it was all that breathed and strived for life. And the boy realized this. He breathed, he knew. He was refreshed.
The wanderings were over now. He had reached the place he wanted to go. He had found this old mansion. If he were to dig under the deep and callous abode that lay undisturbed with age and a strange twinge of fantasia of what happened for those who knew not, he would probably find the very ashes that lay for his dearly beloved Yumi-san and Shishio-san. Creating graves for them in the sweet land of Hokkaido had been what he wanted to do. All those years ago, the boy had realized that he needed to leave, and he knew they would perish at the hands of Himura, even if Himura never broke his vow to kill in the first place. It would still be inevitable, the ending would mean that Shishio would have to die. So he mourned and grieved for them, and protected. Yes. Always protecting the weak. Always.
The boy's hair had grown long and well since he had last remembered and lay loosely about his shoulders, which was strange for a samurai. Long and flowing like springs of ink. His boyish figure had never changed. He still held the same respectable amount of muscle, but held his litheness to the end, as he knew he would never look stronger. But his eyes ... they held wisdom and age, caressing care of forever and still held their youthful and pearly sky-dyed color. He knew he looked still too young for his age and was constantly interrogated about his weapons, two large scythes and a wakizashi, which he had received recently. The scythes were to respect his late and old comrade Kamatari-kun, who had passed away recently, dying of a fatal lung disease that even German medicine could not heal. He carried the scythes in honor of his innocent death and forever shed tears for the kind-hearted man, for the boy knew how much that man longed for his voivode.
Kamatari never won him in the end, so the boy only prayed that their spirits be guided in the afterlife. His wakizashi went without question, it was to respect his evil leader, but with a back-blade. It shone through with a fraction of the new Hitokiri Battousai and the hints of the old Makoto Shishio. So it was one of the most unlikely swords to come across, as it was an expensive and valuable sword which was quite lethal, but with a reversed blade that usually confused many. To respect the two most different people of the old era was what the boy was trying to accomplish as they both held special places in his heart. They would forever.
His attire had also changed. But he wore a new hakama from when he was a crazed assassin, now it shone in a vibrant but 'washed' etiolated mauve. He wore his arms in his hakama lately, as it had become a habit.
He smiled as always to passersby, and never commented on anyone, even in his head. He lay in the woods at times, sleeping and fending for himself, which was easily passable. Sometimes he liked the company of others so he lay his head on pillows for nights at a time, making friends here and there at local inns. He took care of thieves and pesky law-breakers to protect the civilians of Japan. He always won. He thought that he would have to defend himself like Himura had to ... copying him was something he had tried to avoid. But although he was in many ways alike to Himura, the boy was different that he left the scythes un-turned and they were used sparingly. He killed but only when absolutely necessary. It was what made the boy an unknown samurai instead of a rurouni like Himura. He would never be a rurouni but he would be something close to it and strive for this Meiji era.
The sky looked as though it were strewn with diamonds. Shining menacingly, the boy smiled and jumped with grace and agility across the rubble and cement and finally made his way back to the forest he was trudging though before. Wanderings were complete. A new slate. Everything was going to change now. Soujirou felt a need for this new presence that had dug his way into the back of his mind. It was time to go towards that place. It was time to find Himura.
(tbc)
xxXXxx
RoseMillenia
Disclaimer: I don't own Rurouni Kenshin in any way, shape or form. Although I do not own the original idea of the great animated samurai classic, I do own the contents of this story (as in plot) thus republication/stealing/plagiarism will not be tolerated. You have been warned. (creepy grin)
xxXXxx
... ano toki ...
commemoration
xxXXxx
He leaned against the vast mass of stone and brick that had collapsed in the deadly fire all those years ago, in the fire of entity and of forever whispers that called him. He hadn't been there since the day that his glorious betrothed leader had been reduced to cinders. Although he had left of his own accord, it made him feel somewhat guilty. He knew that his leader wouldn't have felt anything mutual, considering his dignified little gem had only been his 'nourishment' and that really never struck the boy when he was under the massive control. But now that the boy had time to think, hell, he had all the time in the world to think, he really missed and hated that very man.
The man was powerful; there was no denying that fact. That made the man very invulnerable. In all honesty, very few people were able to dig into that evil man's heart. And the boy had stayed with him since he had been eight years old. Now...edging closer and closer to his thirty-third birthday...he supposed that maybe he had spent all the time he had requited wandering the country. The desperate catacombs of humanity sometimes called, but the boy felt that this was right. Leaving now. But, ano toki ... protecting, mamoru, had been all he had done. It's what he had felt was particularly just for all his sins. Fighting ... fighting was what he had done from the years eight to twenty-two. And killing. The gruesome battles he had sparked with his immature and somewhat innocent actions made him cringe to that very day. He was a child locked in love and hate with his battles and he never gave a sign of any remorse for the victim. Now that he looked back at this, he realized how sick it made him feel when he thought of how many he had slain, and how many misfortunate souls he smirked at within himself and as felt his incorruption seep through him like kaze whipping though the early morning town.
But it was much more than that. He knew he was a murderer. And then, he stopped. He stopped his senseless insanity, with his inculpable greed for human blood blocked away for good. He continued down the path of humantis, searching for the reasons. He didn't even need most of the questions given to him, he only needed the solutions that his fragile and docile mind needed to survive, and found his unquenchable need for the putrid serum that poured from other's lifeless corpses no longer controlling his mind. But.. that didn't mean the boy didn't think to throw in the towel during his travels. That wasn't what Himura had done. Himura never gave up. Himura never gave up on him. ... Himura ...
The boy wondered how that strong and utterly catalectic man was faring. He was rather poetic in the sense that he was such a kind and innocent with a future. And that in itself almost made a poem about the Hitokiri. It sung a song, it chirped a tune, it was all that breathed and strived for life. And the boy realized this. He breathed, he knew. He was refreshed.
The wanderings were over now. He had reached the place he wanted to go. He had found this old mansion. If he were to dig under the deep and callous abode that lay undisturbed with age and a strange twinge of fantasia of what happened for those who knew not, he would probably find the very ashes that lay for his dearly beloved Yumi-san and Shishio-san. Creating graves for them in the sweet land of Hokkaido had been what he wanted to do. All those years ago, the boy had realized that he needed to leave, and he knew they would perish at the hands of Himura, even if Himura never broke his vow to kill in the first place. It would still be inevitable, the ending would mean that Shishio would have to die. So he mourned and grieved for them, and protected. Yes. Always protecting the weak. Always.
The boy's hair had grown long and well since he had last remembered and lay loosely about his shoulders, which was strange for a samurai. Long and flowing like springs of ink. His boyish figure had never changed. He still held the same respectable amount of muscle, but held his litheness to the end, as he knew he would never look stronger. But his eyes ... they held wisdom and age, caressing care of forever and still held their youthful and pearly sky-dyed color. He knew he looked still too young for his age and was constantly interrogated about his weapons, two large scythes and a wakizashi, which he had received recently. The scythes were to respect his late and old comrade Kamatari-kun, who had passed away recently, dying of a fatal lung disease that even German medicine could not heal. He carried the scythes in honor of his innocent death and forever shed tears for the kind-hearted man, for the boy knew how much that man longed for his voivode.
Kamatari never won him in the end, so the boy only prayed that their spirits be guided in the afterlife. His wakizashi went without question, it was to respect his evil leader, but with a back-blade. It shone through with a fraction of the new Hitokiri Battousai and the hints of the old Makoto Shishio. So it was one of the most unlikely swords to come across, as it was an expensive and valuable sword which was quite lethal, but with a reversed blade that usually confused many. To respect the two most different people of the old era was what the boy was trying to accomplish as they both held special places in his heart. They would forever.
His attire had also changed. But he wore a new hakama from when he was a crazed assassin, now it shone in a vibrant but 'washed' etiolated mauve. He wore his arms in his hakama lately, as it had become a habit.
He smiled as always to passersby, and never commented on anyone, even in his head. He lay in the woods at times, sleeping and fending for himself, which was easily passable. Sometimes he liked the company of others so he lay his head on pillows for nights at a time, making friends here and there at local inns. He took care of thieves and pesky law-breakers to protect the civilians of Japan. He always won. He thought that he would have to defend himself like Himura had to ... copying him was something he had tried to avoid. But although he was in many ways alike to Himura, the boy was different that he left the scythes un-turned and they were used sparingly. He killed but only when absolutely necessary. It was what made the boy an unknown samurai instead of a rurouni like Himura. He would never be a rurouni but he would be something close to it and strive for this Meiji era.
The sky looked as though it were strewn with diamonds. Shining menacingly, the boy smiled and jumped with grace and agility across the rubble and cement and finally made his way back to the forest he was trudging though before. Wanderings were complete. A new slate. Everything was going to change now. Soujirou felt a need for this new presence that had dug his way into the back of his mind. It was time to go towards that place. It was time to find Himura.
(tbc)
xxXXxx