Disclaimer: I do NOT own Hakuouki or anything related to it.
"I cannot imagine a more perfect hell than being trapped inside my own mind."
— Beth Revis (The Body Electric)
Kimura Katamitsu wanted to be a samurai.
It was the first thing in his life that he dared to want. A shopkeeper's son who grew up on stories of samurai, those above him, those he could only hope to look up to. He could never become one of them, not even a page. How could a peasant boy raised to clean and sell and one day take over the family shop hope to be anything more?
A boy could dream and wish. But a man had to do. So as he grew and learned the ways of men, he decided to stop wishing and dreaming and start doing.
The stories were merely an introduction to his dream. A foundation to his self-education for the ways of a true swordsman.
Whenever he found a book or scroll, not with tales but actual facts, he hid them in his room, disposing of them once he had memorized every word. He mentally recited the information every night before bed. When he was alone, he whispered the words to himself.
It was hard balancing the expectations of his family with his own ambition. It was even harder knowing that one day he would tell them the truth and they would reject him. He would be alone, struggling to find his way and become a true samurai. But life was never easy for a true samurai. That was why he admired them. Whatever difficulty came, it would be worth it.
He was right. They wanted nothing to do with him, with a young man that refused to perform his true duties. Good could not come to foolish children trapped in men's bodies that wanted to defy fate. He at least had the skills he'd learned as a shopkeeper to keep himself fed, clothed, and sheltered.
Eventually, he heard about the Shinsengumi. Founded by men like himself that weren't born from a warrior's bloodline. They were hated, underestimated, they understood his dreams and struggles. They would welcome anyone that wished to become a warrior and honor the rules of swordsmanship. The code was strict. Harsher than the rules he'd learned about over the years. But they got things done, they fought and rose up together. They were the perfect place for him.
He made friends, brothers, there. And he lost many of them to the code. He understood that a warrior must follow proper conduct, but some of the things that warranted seppuku seemed overly harsh. Did acting like most other men really necessitate death? It wasn't like they were doing anything overboard. Or perhaps the purpose was to prevent things from ever nearing the point of extremeness? Of course. A harsh but necessary means of maintaining order and honor. After all, the real world wasn't like the tales. With each disgrace and subsequent hara-kiri, he repeated those thoughts.
Still, it would have been nice to say goodbye. To let his brothers know that he forgave them for their mistakes and perhaps even be the one to put them out of their misery as they commited the deadly redemption act. But he understood Chief Kondou, Commander Hijikata, and Colonel Sanan's preference to give the men privacy in that crucial moment. At least he was able to say goodbye to them before they were taken to a separate room for the deed to be done. He promised to honor their memory by being the best samurai he could be, to bring as much respect to the Shinsengumi as possible. A burden he shouldered proudly. Like a real samurai. Even when Colonel Sanan, one of their leaders, took his life from despair of losing his ability to wield a sword, Katamitsu would not break his vow.
And then Katamitsu died. Or he thought he would.
A regular mission, a small group, the ronin ambushed them. The Chief was briefly stunned by a blow to the head and the Commander was too occupied to protect him. One of the ronin raised their blade to finish off the Chief, and Katamitsu did not hesitate.
In a matter of seconds, he was between the Chief and the ronin. He knew he would be taking the blow for himself, not blocking it with his sword. Yet he couldn't help the gasp that escaped him as his foe's blade slashed across his chest. He dropped his sword and was falling as the ronin slashed his stomach with a vicious laugh, a mockery of the ritualistic suicide that claimed so many of his brothers.
The cold ground greeted him, warmed by the blood pool forming beneath him. He could hear shouting, of his comrades and enemies, of the Chief as he rose and beheaded the ronin that had brought Katamitsu down. Yukimura was by his side, turning him over and yelling and tending to his wounds. The page's eyes were wide, recognizing the grevious wounds and Katamitsu smiled. He weakly patted the boy's hand, an assurance that he did not blame him for not being able to save him. Yukimura shook his head and Yamazaki appeared, having managed to get past his own obstacles/opponents to help tend to their fallen ally. Yamazaki and Yukimura exchanged a grave look. Both of them knew, but did not want to give up.
It was a blur, being rushed back to headquarters, Yamazaki yelling for Matsumoto to be fetched while a tearful Yukimura whispered empty promises of hope into Katamitsu's ear. No matter how many times they'd seen death, it never got easier.
Katamitsu was glad to have real friends and brothers that would mourn him, but most of all, he was glad to die as a samurai, as the man of honor from his childhood stories. He would die a hero, protecting his leader, serving his people, as he should.
He lay in his futon, futile bandages covering his chest and stomach, his body growing colder, his breathing quickening, his heart aching with physical pain and pride. He wasn't afraid, merely waiting for the end. By the time Matsumoto arrived, it would be too late.
There was arguing outside his door, muffled by his own agony. The door suddenly opened, and another dead man walked in.
"Colonel Sanan," Katamitsu laughed."Come to...guide me...to the world...of the...dead?" He coughed several times and clutched his heart as the strain from speaking worsened his physical condition.
A ghost of a smile crossed Sanan's lips."That is up to you."
"I'm a...dead man," he whispered."Just like you."
"That is up to you," Sanan repeated, and moved his left his hand, the one he had injured and been driven to despair by, out of his pocket. Had the gods taken mercy on him, returning his precious arm in the afterlife?
In his left hand was a vial of red liquid.
"Initiation into the afterlife?" Katamitsu asked.
Sanan inclined his head, neither a confirmation nor a denial."Your choice, Kimura-kun. How do you die?" He stepped closer and knelt beside him, offering him the vial.
A poison, perhaps, to lessen the pain as he passed. Sanan must be a figment of his imagination, of his desire to have one of his revered leaders beside him in his final moments, or an actual ghost. A mix of more than one of those things, maybe.
"I die a warrior," Katamitsu said, shakily reaching for the vial."I hope Chief Kondou knows...I regret nothing."
Sanan placed his palm on Katamitsu's forehead, watching and waiting.
Katamitsu's eyes fluttered shut as he brought the vial to his lips and drank.
Darkness and pain consumed him as the vial fell from his hand and it shattering was the last thing he heard.
His throat burned. A tightness in his lungs. His body trembled. Blurry vision. His arms were chained.
Still alive? Dreaming?
He was breathing, painfully so, but breathing. Too intense to be a hallucination or a nightmare.
So much pain, so many questions.
Had he not died a true samurai? Was he being punished?
Sanan. That blood red liquid. Had a Demon or evil spirit in disguise tricked him into dooming his soul?
The burning in his throat intensified. He coughed and whimpered. Thirsty, so very thirsty.
No matter how hard he tugged at the chains, nothing changed. His arms hurt more with each struggle but that extra bit of pain always faded within moments.
Please, please, he prayed to anyone, to anything, for mercy, for answers.
Make the pain stop. Soothe the thirst. Please.
Head so empty yet also so full. Desperate, tired, suffering.
A choked and raspy groan escaped him. Help. Please help.
He collapsed to his knees, forehead hitting the floor, the trembling increasing. Tears ran down his face.
Doomed, a failure. That was what he was. Surely this was some kind of punishment. Yet he prayed, again and again, because what else could he do besides endure it?
Door opening, rapid footsteps. He tried to lift his head without success. Hair being grabbed and head lifted, something stuffed in his mouth and down his throat. He choked but swallowed and relief filled him. Still so much pain, still so many questions, but it hurt slightly less now.
"I'm sorry," the same dead man that had offered him the vial whispered."It may have been kinder to let you die."
Alive. He was alive. Yes, the painful breathing confirmed that. Yes, it would have been kinder to let him die.
What had they done to him? What had he taken?
Anger, a desire to attack and demand answers and kill stronger than the confusion took over. He lunged forward, a backhand knocking him into the wall as Sanan backed away.
More soft apologies, more rapid footseps, the door opening.
No! Don't go! Don't leave him alone! Need answers, need help. Make it all go away. Kill him, just do something else to aid him.
Door closing, and despair filling him.
He wanted to scream, but all that came out was another raspy and choked groan.
He wasn't alone in the room anymore.
Another man, a comrade whose face he'd first seen not long before his apparent death yet never learned his name, was chained beside him. White hair, red eyes, same desperation, same struggling. He looked like a monster.
Katamitsu must have become a monster too, with the same red eyes and white hair. That red liquid must have done this.
Sanan was here, checking on them occasionally, searching for something. Katamitsu struggled harder whenever Sanan came and brought that medicine to ease the pain. But all he got was a pitying, worrying look from the colonel, his supposed fellow deadman, while he rubbed his own left arm.
The red liquid must have healed Sanan's arm too. But why wasn't he a monster too? His hair and eyes were normal. He wasn't struggling for the thirst to be satisfied. Or was he?
Sanan's room was close. Sometimes Katamitsu heard him grunt and cry out and beat his fists and kick his feet on the walls and floor. Yes, the same thirst consumed him, but not for all time like Katamitsu. He needed to let Sanan know that he knew, that he understood. But he couldn't talk, could only cry out and struggle like always.
Please, he prayed, let him realize that he knew. That he too didn't want to be a monster. That he wasn't alone.
So he waited and listened for the thirst to attack Sanan, so he could do something to get the message to him. He managed to squeeze out seconds, eventually minutes, of clarity, and put extra effort into his communication attempts when the thirst came for Sanan.
Finally, he succeeded. Sanan was suffering more than usual this time, even injuring himself as he punched the floor, if the smell of blood close by was any indication. He waited, paid attention to every sound, counted the seconds, and grew calm just as the agony with Sanan faded. He stayed quiet, praying that the uncharacteristic silence would attract Sanan's attention. And it did.
On the outside he was calm, but on the inside he was crying with joy. After gods knew how much time had passed, he was noticed. Sanan entered the room, and Katamitsu jumped from pleasant surprise.
Yes, yes, finally! Possible mercy, possible help!
He remained as outwardly calm as possible as Sanan cautiously approached and undid his chains. He was on his knees, relieved to be free but unable to show it properly. He watched Sanan and Sanan watched him.
Speak, he thought, unsure if he was willing himself or Sanan to do that. Please, one or both of them, do something.
A minute, two, three, four, five minutes. Nothing. Sanan sighed, moving to chain him back up.
No! Not again! Anything but the loneliness, the lack of attention, the despair. Don't take away the little bit of hope!
Again the anger, again the desire to kill overtaking him. He lunged. A slash across the chest and then a kick, then the chains were back on. He lunged once more, to no avail.
Don't go! Don't leave him alone! He had been so close, had to keep trying!
Minutes, hours, days, weeks. And all he could manage was a lunge for the door whenever someone passed.
The frustration added to the pain. Please, please come back. Help! Have mercy! Anything! Just don't abandon him.
Two more visits, and he wasn't strong enough to prove anything. Abandoned again.
Eventually, another attack of thirst for Sanan. Another desperate, well-timed reaction from Katamitsu. Another loss of patience. But not abandoned again. He was put in a different room, visited more, and the small moments of clarity came out each time.
First night, too worried of being left at first, head kept down, ignore the medicine. It didn't help much anyway. Two more nights like this, then hope renewed.
Fourth night, medicine taken when alone, more to prove than to help with the pain. Head still down except for when he glared at Sanan's back as he turned to leave.
Fifth night, head up, eyes meet, medicine taken when alone.
Sixth night, head up, eyes meet, medicine taken in front of Sanan, a smile from Sanan and quick writing in his book.
Seventh night, Sanan was late, eyes on the door, praying he was not abandoned, Sanan came, Katamitsu blinked for the first time in gods knew how long, vision less blurry now, fast writing, eyes on the pen and following its every move, writing stopped, eyes stayed on the pen and waited, eyes briefly meeting, writing starting and stopping several times, it was annoying, Sanan moved back in concern of another potential attack, Katamitsu's eyes narrowed, patience barely suppressing his strange inhuman anger, Sanan moved the pen and Katamitsu's eyes followed, then the same happened with the notebook, a murmur of understanding from Sanan, pen and notebook put down, more annoyance, then more quick writing that Katamitsu could just barely follow, even more annoyance, then Sanan preparing to leave. The desire to scream, to beg him to stay, finally won, and the raspy words came out.
"T-Took l-long..." Katamitsu barely recognized his own voice after so much disuse. Sanan froze, eyes wide, and slowly turned. Slow, careful steps toward Katamitsu, and then he knelt, truly realizing that he had heard him speak.
"What took me so long?" Sanan asked. Katamitsu nodded.
"You were waiting for me earlier." Not a question, but Katamitsu nodded.
"You can tell time then." Also not a question. Katamitsu tried to speak, to no avail, but he managed to nod yet again.
Silence for gods know how long, then Katamitsu reached for the medicine and without breaking eye contact, stuck it into his mouth.
Sanan tentatively placed his left hand on Katamitsu's head, both of them shaking, and Katamitsu's eyes posed a silent question.
What am I?
Closing his eyes, Sanan whispered,"You are alive, and you are not alone."
Katamitsu bowed his head. He let out a choked laugh mixed with a sob as tears rolled down his face.
No longer alone. At long last, help and mercy.