Cut
Characters/Pairing: Masamune and Yukimura
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Words: 550
Summary: Masamune wins.
He can still feel the fire, flickering against his skin. Masamune pants hard, lungs heaving even as he lowers his sword. He falls down to his knees, head bowing as he tries to calm the inferno that has taken over his lungs. But his lips stretch out, pulling back to reveal sharp canines that glint in the light of the setting sun. Like a dragon that has sighted and captured its prey.
"It's my win, Sanada Yukimura."
No answer. But Masamune doesn't expect one; not when his sworn rival is lying on the ground in a growing pool of his own blood from a hole through his chest. Masamune remembers the sensation of piercing through Yukimura's skin, through his body and coming out of the other side—remembers the scrape of metal against bone, the resistance before he shoves the entire sword through Yukimura's body; he remembers the way the blood trails down the sword, soaks into his own gloves.
He remembers Yukimura's tiny little gasp, as if he hasn't expected the dragon's claws to be so sharp, before he falls to the ground and stops moving.
There's a slight movement. Masamune's grin widens as he sees Yukimura move slightly, the knuckles of the hand clenched against the spear whitening. Like death, slowly encroaching.
It's pitiful. The way he's trying to move. Yukimura's voice is long gone, and he can't even say 'I lost'. Masamune can't help but feel a heavy stab of loss, originating somewhere deep at the base of his stomach, as if Yukimura's spears that pieced through him. Masamune looks down, pressing a hand to that spot, and he's mildly surprised that it doesn't come away bloody.
He wins. It's undeniable, and yet...
He will miss this challenge. This excitement, as if lightning is his blood itself—no one except Yukimura had been able to incite in within him, not even Kojuurou at his fiercest, because his Right Eye is part of himself and can't be his rival. No—only Yukimura is capable.
And now Yukimura is dying, just lying there, unable to move. Waiting to die. It's slow. It's pathetic.
Masamune walks over to him, ignoring the bleeding gash at his side, the cut on his shoulder, the blood that's running into his one eye from where his head has been cut against the rock that Yukimura had thrown him into. It is a good fight. The best of all of his life.
(And he wonders: is there anything else he wants from this man than this? Yukimura's death?
Is that all their rivalry comes down to, in the end?
Is it worth it, all the frustration at being interrupted, all of the emotions Masamune feels when facing this man—is it worth this moment?
Masamune is victorious, yet the satisfaction is missing.)
The warrior who has given him it should have a better death than slowly bleeding like this. Masamune drops to his knees in front of Yukimura, leaning forward, fearlessly meeting those opened, glazed over eyes with his own sharp gaze.
"You are an amazing warrior, Sanada Yukimura. This One-Eyed Dragon will never forget your name," Masamune murmurs those words softly, quietly, as if in prayer.
Yukimura smiles. Just the tiniest upwards curve of the lips.
And Masamune brings the sword down once more.
End