Ashes

The death of his father had been as much a surprise to himself, as it wasn't to the rest of the clan. If he had had the time to think about it, he would probably question the knowing stares that passed between guards as he walked the corridors. If he had ever actually attended any of the latest meetings, he would have probably been angered by the high amount of plans that no longer needed his father's consent. At the time, his life seemed set in stone.

Now, as the echoing sounds of his running feet bounced between alleyways and the neon signs on the walls slowly flickered off, there was no time to question how he let it happen. Now, he could only fear the unrelenting shadows that kept catching up to him. Most of them faceless, and yet a single one that he knew too well.

He would be lying to himself if he said he didn't know how it came about. All the signs had been there for the longest of time. Even before he knew how or why he had to obey, the stares and whispers of the family had followed him. They called him weak of mind and lacking of duty. To him, they were mere ants manipulated by his father. While he could go out and reap the benefits of the clan's money and status, it was them who had to dirty their hands for it. He never had to. To be honest, he relished in the idea of them beneath him, struggling to reach that which had been given to him since birth. Below his father's care he was untouchable, invincible, and most importantly, unpreoccupied.

Now they stood watching him through spies and hidden bystanders, mocking him. While he fled and climbed the walls of the city he once walked through freely, while his own brother shot behind him without mercy, they mocked. He knew it. Despised them for everything they had taken from him in such a small amount of time. His home. His family. His future. They had taken it all and now reached for his life.

The sword on his back bounced heavily against him as he ran. In his eyes, the weapon given to him for protection was at the moment no more than dead weight. Of what use could it be when escaping through narrow streets, or hiding amongst piles of garbage? Nothing. Just as much as the time spent within his home's walls, or the conversations held with soft smiles between brothers. It all amounted to nothing.

He knew he couldn't run forever; his breathing came in short gasps and his legs struggled to keep him upright. He didn't intend to. He never had. Some part of him still hoped a second option would appear before him, let him be someone else. His mind began to reel and tangle, looking for a solution. Remembering fighting techniques. Regretting.

Eventually, his own confused steps led him back to the only safe place he could remember. His home. By the time he realized where he was, he already knew it was too late. The foreboding steps that echoed through the eerie emptiness of the mansion only served to make his breath hitch.

"How very fitting to come here, brother." He spoke as he always had. With disdain. Genji turned. For a split second he tried to remember a time his brother's brow was not furrowed. It didn't come.

"There is no place left to go now. No dark alleys to creep in or pretty girls to fight over." Slowly, he reached behind him to pull an arrow from his quiver, carefully docking it into the bow. Genji's eyes darted from place to place, measuring.

"You know you cannot run now, brother." Their eyes met. Genji tried to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat and what came out was a low, animalistic grunt. "It is about time you learned to face your destiny head-on."

The first arrow came fast and hit hard. The shock of the hit, however, was a lot harsher. A part of Genji still hoped this was nothing more than a brotherly quarrel to set him straight, as many had been before. That a couple of punches could be enough to get his message across. Now, realization slapped him across the face.

He had limited options. With his left harm compromised, he would be forced to wield his sword with a single hand. Climbing was out of the question. Another arrow was readied a split second later, and fired as he rolled out of the way. He unsheathed, and dashed forward with his sword pointed straight at his brother's heart. Hanzo just pirouetted to the side and hit him with the bow across the back, sending him rolling onto the ground.

"It is a shame, brother, that such a magnificent sword was given to someone who would rather spend his nights drinking, than training his body." His mockery fueled Genji's anger and resentment, forcing him to stand up and try a wild slash to the chest. Hanzo back stepped. Another slash. A pirouette. Another one, and in a smooth movement Hanzo sent Genji's sword rattling to the ground with a dull sound.

Tears formed in Genji's eyes, running freely through the creases of his snarl. It had always been this way. In all the training they had done together, Hanzo always came out on top. No matter how much he tried, how much he copied him or asked for extra lessons, he would end up beaten and mocked. Frozen by those cold, disappointed eyes. Eventually, he had stopped trying.

"Why, brother?!" Genji's voice crackled, fighting to be heard. "Why choose them over me, your own blood?!" His eyes lowered to the ground, defeated. "I don't understand..." It came out almost as a whisper, and yet it seemed to vibrate and bounce in the emptiness of the house.

Hanzo's gaze came from above, scornful. "Of course you don't Genji. You do not understand anything about duty and even less about family honor." A kick, and he crashed down. "You do not understand what it is to have an empire to uphold or a name to keep clean."

He loomed over his little brother now, losing all composure. "You will never understand anything about how we fight or why!" By now, Genji's body had grown limp, responding only with twitches and grunts of pain. "By choosing to ignore who you are, you chose this!" Blood trickled down between them, indistinct. "You chose to abandon your family for your petty, egotistical pleasures!"

Hanzo stood, panting. He scoffed at the lowly view beneath him, blowing loose strands of hair from his face. He grabbed Genji's hair, pulling him into a kneeling position where he could barely keep upright.

Slowly, Hanzo unsheathed the sword strapped onto his back, looking it over with a scowl. "You ask me how I can choose them over my own brother. You are wrong. I have no brother." He raised the sword high above his head, looking at his brother for the last time. For a brief moment, his posture trembled and his eyes watered. Then they steeled. With a sharp movement his sword slashed across his little brother, cutting into the scroll behind him.

Genji laid on the floor, barely conscious. He couldn't feel his body at all. His sight was blurry, but it didn't matter. He perfectly remembered his home. He remembered the beige flooring that now was tainted red with his blood. He remembered the beautiful gardens beyond the entrance, and the dragon painting above him. To him, it was all there. He could walk among the corridors of the house. He could see his father's silhouette inside his studio, barely illuminated by fickle candlelight. He could walk up to his brother, and meditate with him even if he never did it before.

He was calm. Even if everything around him turned red and then black. Even if screams and gunshots faintly made their way to him, and an uncomfortable coldness creeped around him. In that moment, he could walk among the ashes left behind by his body, and let himself be taken away by a single, warm voice.