The sun shone brightly, unaccompanied by its cloudy companions on this fresh, grassy afternoon. Birds chirruped their melodic song of communication, twitters in one direction and twitters in the next. Trees were far from each other, tall stalks that watched over the greened cemetery meticulously, secretively. The cut, healthy grass was sly, each giving their random small hints of tickle to the larger lumps of gravestone. All remained still, as if time had stopped to recite its tearful memories once more, and let nothing escape its grievous hands but a breeze or two, and the broad sunlight in hopes for a less stern era. The shadows even lit up at the command of the grand clock, once dark with agony and moonlit night, but now bright and cooling to the perspiring soul.
The security of the few surrounding trees and the black rusty gates made the tombstones silent, grave yet refreshed in their own nature. Their pure stone bodies lumped upon the ground heavily, settling as if it were to be there for the rest of eternity. The whole crowd of them would act as an audience of the world, watching with unblinking eyes, and making no sounds with their respectful, knowing gray lips. They would be unmoved, watching the ceremonies of the bright sun and listening to the dark rituals of night. They would stay and watch the first autumn leaf of orange whistle past and remain calm and struck in awe when the first aimless snowfall began. They'd stay, even when the hottest, sizzling sun blazed upon them and set them afire, and even when the cheery blossoms of new life and flower began to spring upon their sides.
Kakori stared over the two gravestones in front of him, the two side by side, almost staring back at him, listening to his silent words. They seemed dark and silent with their shadow, attentive at all times for he was part of the new performance nature had fallen upon him. They were part of the crowd, just like any other pair of graves, but they were different. To him, right now, they stood out to him the most. Innocent words were perfectly carved into their smooth stone, and flowers of a recent gift remained, tickled by the wind at their feet. He had not known the two, yet he cared of the world for them. He had not known a single thing about them, but he knew all of what he needed to know. He knew all of what purpose they served in this whole prophecy that White Cloak had just suddenly seemed to spill upon him and the rest of the Council.
The two had once been human, husband and wife, and both ceased on the same day, same time. Now, they stood still, long dead, knowing now that they couldn't catch eternity; they chose together to immobile themselves in resentment for their mistakes. Kakori sighed with recognition, wishing he had known the two at least a while. They, in a way, were important to him, just as the Minors and the rest of the Council were important to him as well. They played their own role, dead or alive. He looked at the tombstones longer, as if they would tell him something, tell him the meaning of life. Instead, they somewhat spoke of the meaning of death. They had before been breathing, thriving, as large bodies, speaking and smiling and blinking. They had once been walking, laughing, shouting, screaming, lusting; just like any human would. And now – now they were stuffed into their tiny little grave of suffocation. Now they were trapped, trapped inside these small, miniature tombstones, diminished into nothing but a monument people fail to realize as they walk by towards the things they really care about. They dwindled in their seats, failing their purposes of death. Or, was it, in fact, that this was death unraveled?
Was this what it meant to be dead? Did it mean to just stay still for once, to be able to take your last breath and say good-bye, and leave the world with no one thinking of you a year later? Would it mean that you would be wiped from the slates of people's lives and memory just because they had to "move on" for their selfish reasons? Was this what it meant to be dead? Or did it serve a bigger purpose? Did it serve something more to the world than just a tombstone in a soundless grave? Kakori waited. The tombs remained silent. The birds, unknowingly, continued to twitter, and chirp away at their lives, only to realize when they were dead, that no one had cared about them from the start if they didn't care enough to keep them on their slates of life.
"So tell me," Kakori spoke in his ancient voice that sounded perfect like a second decade's syllable. He stood still, as if unable to move, unable to stop staring at the two lessened beings before him that were reduced to nothing more but a stone memory deposited from all their loved one's river of life. They were now unwanted sediment, and unneeded one, for they could do nothing now; they could no longer breathe a second last breath. "What's the big idea?" Kakori asked as he felt the presence near him, the ancient, curved body with crooked arms and legs inch toward him like a tiny, small insect. You could tell that he, too, was beginning to decline into his own tombstone, his own monument that no one would pay respects for more than a day a year, at most. His steps crushed unevenly in the grass, weakly, for he had grown a new respect of nature over his elderly years working in the silent cemetery like this.
The old man neared him; face wrinkled and hidden by a southern straw hat and thick suspenders with the thinnest, most scrawny body ever to remain on the face of the planet. He walked with the wooden cane that was much too smooth from his saggy fingers. Old, pale hands worked their way towards next to the council, who was indeed much older than he, yet still remaining to give the appearance of a twenty year old man, who was knew to the world just as anyone else. In fact, it'd be easy to say that this elderly man, too, was new to the world, for he did not know enough to say he was quite used to it. The junior, compared to Kakori, stood beneath him, and stared at the two tombstones with him before answering his question. He kept his body right with a cane against the ground, his hands folded over the handle delicately, gracefully; his back slouched from a past mistake of a childhood.
"Parents died by some purposeful homicide of a Scholar; their kid became an orphan until he just disappeared one day," the old man rasped, voice hoarse from the years of mistakes he commit to smoke. He sighed with a pity, his exhale even husky from the many cigarettes he had failed to realize were dangerous.
"I see," Kakori answered rather quickly, unlikely to stall like as the elder appearance did. He seemed to hesitate before asking his next question. His thick brown bamboo hat blocked most of his head in enigma, but shrouding him in innocence. His graceful, tall stance let people know he was on the side of the ivory, and not the ebony. "Does he ever -"
Kakori was cut short, as if the elderly man knew his question right before he was to say it. "Yes," he spoke in a wheeze. "Twice a month lately in fact," he added gently. "I suppose something's fallen upon him that conceived more time. He's an adult now, you know." Kakori could sense that this man would begin one of those old-time stories that always put you to sleep at the wrong time. He got himself ready, but even so, listened with respect, careful respect. "I always see him come in here with a wash of guilt over his face, as if he had been pained by someone, and look down on these two graves just like you had been doing with no idea whatsoever of how his parents died. He always got this sympathetic look with his eyes, you know, always gleaming innocently like they once did as a kid." Kakori tried not to sigh. "Ah, I distinctly remember his eyes as he was young. Never changed a bit, that boy. I'm sure he's gone through much harder times, now. He must feel guilty for never visiting in the past. If only he knew the great people they were. Never had a chance, that boy. They'd be proud of him. So handsome, that young man, so kind-looking, too. You'd expect him to be a great man of joy and pride."
"You'd be surprised," Kakori answered solemnly, sensing that the old man had finished his long explanation. "So, when should I be expecting him?" Kakori asked, deciding that he had wasted enough time all ready.
"In a day or two," the old man rasped out in retort. Delicate hands brushed against the fine, polished wood of the old cane. However, it was not as old as he, or Kakori, for that matter.
"Perfect," the council answered. He lifted his head to stare past the cemetery graves that seemed special with significance. He stared off into the deep forest ahead past the blackened, rusted gates and withered, cornered grass. The old man seemed to stare with him, following suit. Kakori's face had been shaded over, darkened with a planned mystery that allowed him to make sure people would pretend he were not there. The trees silently leaned over, exercising their long, tall bodies. His face showed his old features, unemotional, hidden in a high secrecy. His dark-green hair was even darker now, and his innocent eyes of white showed no expression but business. It was as if he were wearing a mask, and he could not smile, or frown in it at all. He could not even stress his skin in a certain way. It was all a planned flow before heading out.
Among the cloudless sky, two birds took off and set on their planned journey, just like the Council had. Their brown, brazen wings fluttered in the sky and sewed upon their own clouds as their chirped away, the sun hot on their backs, comforting them in its warmth. The birds danced past swiftly, and in a second's notice, their shadows fell meaningfully across the well graveyard, and quickly up and down over the two graves that had been paid so much attention to recently. For a second's worth, the chirping shadows with long, extensive wings silhouetted themselves upon overlapping gloves that had been empty for the longest era, no longer worn by their rightful owner. The gloves sat sadly, emptily on the cold, reminiscing stone. The hands lingered over the top depressively, and bowed in respect. They no longer moved; they no longer acted. They were no longer of purpose, and all that was left for them was to wait. Wait until they, too, died with the rest of the world.
PoVS
The humming of electricity sounded like a choir of a million birds in Rick's ear. Among the waters, he waited, waited in the dark moonlight to strike. He had no stealth; he had no target – other than rocks. All of the area was his and his alone. Then, he jumped for it, charged. He struck his arm into the nearby rock, listening to the rushing waters that swayed him so and then –
An explosion. Bits and chunks of rocks of all sizes separated from their parent rock and fell to the bottom of the lake; a large hole remained like someone had gluttony of sediment on the mind. The humming of electricity stopped; the choir of birds remained shut now, and the bright light was put to an end. Why can't I… he thought, not wanting to complete the rest of the sentence in his mind. He stood on the invalid rock now, waiting, watching his hand with its crooked fingers that had been molded over the years to a curve. He gazed upon it, examined it, as if searching deep inside it for something better, something more to him than just what people expected. He sighed in disappointment. His eyes fixated themselves in a sewn, buttoned worry.
From far away, an examiner's point of view, Marissa waited, watched deeply into him, and saw more to him than he did of himself. She sighed her own exasperated sigh, not knowing what to think, or what to do. Marissa, for once, did not sit in the depths of a cragged, uneasy rock, but instead, sat on the flat, dirt surface, not worrying for the dirtying of her clothes. The cold night seemed to wrap around one of her arms, the one that remained unclothed. There was no wind of the night, no breezes to kiss her face affectionately and groom her hair. She, too, was worried. Worried for Rick. Worried about her – and her position on the team. Eric's words of confidence had only lasted temporarily; it was bound to be evanescent, she should've known that from the start. "Why does he train so hard?" she muttered to herself, not sure of what to say to him. She sat with her legs bent and arms wrapped around her for warmth. "Wouldn't a break be so much better?"
Another loud explosion interrupted her thoughts. Another blast of electricity sent flying through the air; another broken rock. The sparks at Rick's arm died away, slowly, definitely. I can't stop, the boy told himself, breath almost out, but not quite to be noticed. There was a slight rising and falling at his chest, an uneasy breathing of some sort. I can't get weaker; not after what I realized. I won't stop trying! He demanded of himself. Another jump; another blast, another crash. It had gone the wrong way once again. He could feel the Half Spirit energy as well as his own stamina dwindle away with every step, with every movement and jump. It was sinking away from him, like a valuable fossil in quicksand out of his reach.
Rick was left there, arm sizzling with sparked blue, his chest heavily beating and his breath heavily panting. Sweat moistened his blonde, spiky protruding hair and vermillion eyes. His mouth decided to leave itself open, too many breaths needed to catch up on. It began to get hot underneath his dark-yellow and black clothes. Even in the cool night. Then, suddenly, he remembered. He remembered what Raikettei told him, reviewed it in his mind so he could remember what to do right, and notice what he had done wrong.
"So I heard you learned a new technique during the Swamp of Mystery's visit," Raikettei said, walking out towards the veldt-like area and stepping out to the hot grass ablaze with the sun's pouring heat. Raikettei's bald head reflected light in sparks; his serious features did not leave him. With hands stuffed into his pockets so nervously and intensely, he had his back turned to the blonde boy behind him, eyes turned away from him as if in shame and disappointment of having such a Minor counterpart. Rick had begun to wonder if there was something wrong. The two froze, the younger side scared, fearing the fact that if he moved, there would be a disturbance; one that wouldn't go into Raikettei's favor.
"Yeah," Rick choked out in a sudden, forced voice that he had quickly drawn out to hide the fact he had been zoning away. He remembered the technique. It was perfect, or, at least, in Rick's opinion. However, it took a lot out of him. But he knew that with more practice, he would become legible to do it more times, and be more helpful to the group. That fact excited him; that availability of such an option put motivation through his spine and set it straight for the new road in life.
"Mind showing it to me?" Raikettei asked, surprising Rick with the question. The Council turned around and showed his face, finally making eye contact with the boy. The teen seemed jumpy in his clothes that seemed brightly lit by the sun, especially his face. Raikettei decided that a tan would do the boy some good. He had a pretty good on all ready, but it could get better. Raikettei was extremely pale, though; he shouldn't have been thinking what he thought. "I suppose it involves your…" Raikettei let his voice trail off. Rick caught the drift.
"Yeah," he quickly answered, drawn out immediately and much too fast once again. Rick cleared his throat in anxiety. Why was he so coy with this man all the time? Maybe because his appearance was so intimidating; but that wasn't the way to judge a person, Rick knew that. The bright sun above their cloudless heads continued to pounce on them like pumas of a jungle that were sparse of food, all at the same time finding the exact nourishment they had been craving for days.
"Tell me about it," Raikettei suggested. And Rick swallowed, and forcefully, he accepted.
Moments later, birds began to chirp and tweet their faked flute choir. The bright sun was soon setting; the cloudless area was full of an orange horizon ready to take the sun in its knowing routine of hands. The birds were orange, too, orange with their faces painted happily, ready to sleep and bid amends. Trees rustled slightly, wishing farewell to the sun until next time, as their green began to fade away along with the grassy blades of the ground, and sink themselves into an orange yellow.
"I see," Raikettei muttered in realization. He finally acknowledged the problems he had found in Rick's technique. He had seen the flaws of them cleanly and perfectly as if they had come up to him themselves and sunk into him through his even cleaner years. Rick stood before this council, no longer intimidated by him, but now, having found a newfound respect for him, breathed heavily in front of him, over him. His arms, particularly his hands hissed greatly with the sound of a thousand snakes. They smoked white-breath cigarettes that were perfect with camouflage. His arms lay limp at their sides, unable to move, to attack any longer as his vermillion eyes stared up, and watched Raikettei debate the problem secretively in his mind. "You use too much energy in it," Raikettei began.
Rick seemed confused; he wanted a further explanation. "You'll wear your body out," the council told him, warning him for future use. Raikettei could tell from the look of Rick's face that he wanted a thorough explanation. Quickly, he acquired the message. "Okay, listen, here's what you do," he got straight to it, deciding that he shouldn't torture the boy any longer. Raikettei began to shift into a whole different mode now, a better mode that Rick seemed to favor at the moment. "Limit the injections to three," he instructed first. "Too many will take away your upper hand as well as make you weaker. You don't want to actually give the enemy a better chance of winning after trying to use your attack that should be one of your best." Rick nodded, carefully following along. "For the second part of it, doing it too much can exhaust you as well. Don't go more than fifty times," he suggested.
"What if I do go over fifty times?" Rick asked, curious of the answer. He wanted to know the consequences just so he could make sure he wouldn't disobey the three-mark and fifty-mark Raikettei had just randomly set up for him, skillfully at that, and carefully, too.
There was a long pause. It was as if Raikettei didn't want to answer, didn't want to tell Rick the consequences for they were much too grave for a teenager's still innocent ears. But he decided he had to – he owed it to the boy. "Well, then…" he let his voice trail off for a moment. Raikettei tried to decide on whether he should tell him in a light way and make it more comfortable, or tell the boy in a strict, shocking way that would give him the sense that it was important. Then he thought, to heck with it. Both ways would traumatize him, at least somewhat. "You'll die," he finally let out with a serious look. Rick, surprised, just as Raikettei had expected, seemed petrified.
There was another silence, another longer, deeper, tenser silence. Raikettei didn't like awkward moments. In fact, he despised them. So he was the first to break the silence. "Also, try to tone down the amount of watts you need to charge them. You shouldn't be in a rush while you're using this move," Raikettei instructed. Rick nodded, now over the consequence heard earlier. "It is an absolute last resort. The finale, I mean." Rick understood, and nodded his head once more in an ensuring manner for acknowledgment. Raikettei nodded back.
"Yes sir!" Rick had added. He put a stern look over his face and saluted, as if he were in the army, smiling right after boyishly, adorably despite his age.
However, Rick now thought in the cooling waters of the lake, the protruding arc of rocks. I can't manage to go down as many watts as I want. There's no power that way… or am I just being too paranoid? He continued to counsel the problem in his mind, making no progress at all despite the time and effort he put into the decision. Rick wanted to make sure that nothing would go wrong, but had he gone too far to the point where he couldn't even allow himself to use the technique? No, there had to be another way. He'd figure it out. That's what he promised himself. He'll find a way. He didn't work all that pain and his body for nothing.
Marissa continued to watch from a distance, as if waiting for him to get over it and come to her, as if knowing that he would fail, but not thinking that in the slightest way at all. Rick was confusing to her. He either did too much or too little; it was like he was so stressed to do one thing, he'd go overboard and, thinking that he did a perfect job, would realize later on that he made the wrong decision. She sighed, thinking of how charming it was the way he did it, the way he wanted to make everything requested of him more than that of what was asked. She smiled, chuckled to herself lightly, slyly.
Then, watching the two of them from another distance, another presence stepped into the area, and crunched old-memory boots upon the grass. They were black with muscle, leathered with riches, stolen riches. A smirk made its way to the tanned, handsome chin. He thought of the fun. And the luck he had for getting the Minor he had fought before. Now, he knew he was going to win. He knew he was going to make two kills tonight.