DISCLAIMER: All elements of Suikoden series belong to Konami. Fanfiction belongs to littlemaiko. Stealing is prohibited.
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The Snow Covered with Peonies :: 1
by littlemaiko
Kohaku hated it when the battles occured during the wrong seasons. Now, for instance, the squirmish by the Highland-Jowston border was taking place under the hot summer sun. He watched blood redden the dry earth, not at all impressed by the combination of brownish dirt and crimson liquid. He only liked the red with white, preferably the cold and moist white of the snow.
"At least, there are enough people dying. All the lucky bunch..." The dark-haired boy murmured to himself, taking a seat beneath a large tree on a hill overlooking the battlefield. His bored eyes scanned over the dust-sheeted horizon, taking in spots of bloody splashes where lives were being taken.
Humid wind carried the scent of blood, neither pleasing nor displeasing Kohaku's nostrils. He was used to such smell; it clung to his hands by now. Placing both arms over his tucked knees, he rested his pointed chin over the crossed forearms. If all the dying men didn't scream out so loudly, he would have drifted asleep in the comfort of the shade.
"One, two, three... there goes four, five, six..."
Kohaku counted the number of men he could see who went braced in Death's blissful grip. Envy crept into his mind at the sight of motionless bodies trampled beneath the war horses. He had long given up on the glorious death inside of a battlefield. The chances of meeting someone strong enough to overcome him in a combat was next to none. As long as he denied himself suicide, he had no hopes of meeting the end.
// I wouldn't go against Gremio and father's wishes. Though I sometimes wish to just hang myself. //
Touching his slender, boyish neck with a right hand, Kohaku tried squeezing there. He could just snap his own bone with the same hand, but he dared not. If he killed himself, he would forever be haunted in Hell with Gremio and Teo McDohl on his tail. The last thing he wanted was to have them disappointed.
"But what else can I do? I don't want to be alone, Gremio. Father, why do you insist that I go on?" Kohaku closed his lightless brown eyes, reflecting upon the wishes of the two people most dear to him. Both of them, upon their deaths, had wished the boy to live and be honorable. His love for them tied him down to his currest miserable immortality. With his power of the True Rune, he could truthfully boast the strength of a thousand men. How then was he to find a way to die a death of a true warrior?
For all the appreciation he had for the sight of a battle, Kohaku disliked the act of killing. Whenever he killed an enemy, he asked himself why he should grant eternal and much-sought-after rest to his opponents. To him, death was the ultimate prize to be won. He understood that others felt differently, but that did not matter to him. All he knew was what // he // wanted, anyway.
"Why should I fight for others? Save them, kill them, whatever. I have no more obligation to do anything for anyone."
Kohaku shook the bitterness out of his mind, for it never did any good. He didn't like remembering the Liberation War at Toran. For all the heroism the ignorant mass attributed to him, he had been but a puppet in a battle started by someone unrelated to him. Odessa Silverberg and her band of consciencious, misfortune-bringing do-gooders had disrupted with the young McDohl's life.
// It doesn't matter now. //
Nothing mattered to Kohaku now. He had long diagnosed himself to be a chronic depressive, taking no joy in life. Emotions slipped away from his mind along with every meaningless second passing by, leaving him less human. Only three years had passed since the despicable war, yet he had already lost the ability to laugh and cry.
Another man went down in Kohaku's sight, hacked down by a man in a white armor. Although the boy didn't recognize the triumphant swordsman, he could tell that the man reveled in killjoy. The beautifully-wrought white and gold armor labeled him as a high-ranking officer, perhaps a general. Strong hands wielded a long sword to kill with the most efficiency, and Kohaku gave out an unconscious sigh of appreciation at how the red blood spotted over the man's garb.
// Ah, snow and peonies. Beautiful... very beautiful. //
Kohaku narrowed his eyes as though the very view of the blood-drenched swordsman would blind him with marvel. As he watched the further massacring of the weaker soldiers, he heard himself whisper in delirium, "He is the one."
TO BE CONTINUED
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The Snow Covered with Peonies :: 1
by littlemaiko
Kohaku hated it when the battles occured during the wrong seasons. Now, for instance, the squirmish by the Highland-Jowston border was taking place under the hot summer sun. He watched blood redden the dry earth, not at all impressed by the combination of brownish dirt and crimson liquid. He only liked the red with white, preferably the cold and moist white of the snow.
"At least, there are enough people dying. All the lucky bunch..." The dark-haired boy murmured to himself, taking a seat beneath a large tree on a hill overlooking the battlefield. His bored eyes scanned over the dust-sheeted horizon, taking in spots of bloody splashes where lives were being taken.
Humid wind carried the scent of blood, neither pleasing nor displeasing Kohaku's nostrils. He was used to such smell; it clung to his hands by now. Placing both arms over his tucked knees, he rested his pointed chin over the crossed forearms. If all the dying men didn't scream out so loudly, he would have drifted asleep in the comfort of the shade.
"One, two, three... there goes four, five, six..."
Kohaku counted the number of men he could see who went braced in Death's blissful grip. Envy crept into his mind at the sight of motionless bodies trampled beneath the war horses. He had long given up on the glorious death inside of a battlefield. The chances of meeting someone strong enough to overcome him in a combat was next to none. As long as he denied himself suicide, he had no hopes of meeting the end.
// I wouldn't go against Gremio and father's wishes. Though I sometimes wish to just hang myself. //
Touching his slender, boyish neck with a right hand, Kohaku tried squeezing there. He could just snap his own bone with the same hand, but he dared not. If he killed himself, he would forever be haunted in Hell with Gremio and Teo McDohl on his tail. The last thing he wanted was to have them disappointed.
"But what else can I do? I don't want to be alone, Gremio. Father, why do you insist that I go on?" Kohaku closed his lightless brown eyes, reflecting upon the wishes of the two people most dear to him. Both of them, upon their deaths, had wished the boy to live and be honorable. His love for them tied him down to his currest miserable immortality. With his power of the True Rune, he could truthfully boast the strength of a thousand men. How then was he to find a way to die a death of a true warrior?
For all the appreciation he had for the sight of a battle, Kohaku disliked the act of killing. Whenever he killed an enemy, he asked himself why he should grant eternal and much-sought-after rest to his opponents. To him, death was the ultimate prize to be won. He understood that others felt differently, but that did not matter to him. All he knew was what // he // wanted, anyway.
"Why should I fight for others? Save them, kill them, whatever. I have no more obligation to do anything for anyone."
Kohaku shook the bitterness out of his mind, for it never did any good. He didn't like remembering the Liberation War at Toran. For all the heroism the ignorant mass attributed to him, he had been but a puppet in a battle started by someone unrelated to him. Odessa Silverberg and her band of consciencious, misfortune-bringing do-gooders had disrupted with the young McDohl's life.
// It doesn't matter now. //
Nothing mattered to Kohaku now. He had long diagnosed himself to be a chronic depressive, taking no joy in life. Emotions slipped away from his mind along with every meaningless second passing by, leaving him less human. Only three years had passed since the despicable war, yet he had already lost the ability to laugh and cry.
Another man went down in Kohaku's sight, hacked down by a man in a white armor. Although the boy didn't recognize the triumphant swordsman, he could tell that the man reveled in killjoy. The beautifully-wrought white and gold armor labeled him as a high-ranking officer, perhaps a general. Strong hands wielded a long sword to kill with the most efficiency, and Kohaku gave out an unconscious sigh of appreciation at how the red blood spotted over the man's garb.
// Ah, snow and peonies. Beautiful... very beautiful. //
Kohaku narrowed his eyes as though the very view of the blood-drenched swordsman would blind him with marvel. As he watched the further massacring of the weaker soldiers, he heard himself whisper in delirium, "He is the one."
TO BE CONTINUED
