Fighting For It

She had fought in wars one after another.

In search of that one thing that sates the thirst in her soul. When morning dawn upon the world she pushed her limbs and muscles to move in desperation as her core cries out. She didn't want to fight anymore as the blood and gore petrifies her but she cannot falter, not until she finds it.

The confusion of her quest or even the difficulty of it perhaps lies in the fact that she has no clue what she was searching for. Even when she had slaughtered and drown herself in sadness or devastation her mind had remain blank as her heart became jaded and hurt.

Than came the greatest war that she had ever fought. 

It was a war below her, it can be said to be unworthy even more so than the blunt sword in her treasure box.

As this war is one where she and the few of her men had to fight with children. Little innocent beings that did not age above fifteen. Innocence was carved into their feature and the fear in their heart shone so bright it hurts her much more than the stab of a sword.

Yet she continues to fight.

Her sword pierced through the right eye of an innocent child as the blood bubbled from his mouth and spilled on the torn white shirt. It was a gruesome sight but she did not scream, she merely took the weapon from child's hand and disarm it. Leaving his corpse and pile of sands along with rest of the fallen children as her comrades retreat to their camp.

Their gaze was like her's- worn.

Along the way she forgot the reason as to why she was fighting in the first place. What was the thing that she was searching for? Why was she even searching for it in the first place? She didn't need it as she could still breathe, eat and smile without it.

It was a process but as time pass and more blood is spilled her hunt of what would sate her soul had become nothing. The war she fight for is merely a pattern of life that she has to go through as it fills her belly and bring her victory that would allow her a moment of joy.

Even if the joy was not real and will not last.

Today as she tore through the door in her war form.

Her heart continues to beat but her soul has gone cold as it is frozen in a cage that she has build over the times of every life she took and the lies she told herself.

I am alright.

This is how it should be.

The lies repeated in her brain like a broken tape recorder and she believed it, as the thirst of her heart was something that could not be quench. The wars were too long and the quest to search for it had left her in pain while the scars throbs at night. She had enough of the pain which is why her sword grew sharper and the armor grew thicker even when her heart remain empty.

However, she was proven wrong.

When he stood in front of her.

His frame lanky and thin while limbs were bend in a manner that was unfamiliar to any human being she felt the tears fall. Tears she did not know that could still fall from her blue orbs- she rubbed her eyes clearing away the flood to take a better look at him.

His smile was loop side as the bruise prevented him from smiling with two sides. He was shifting left and right in a nervous manner - like the little boy he was when they first meet all those years ago. He was beautiful, even with broken bones, twisted limbs, million scars or bruises as his soul shine bright.

She thought that she had lost him.

Now after all this time she has found what she was looking for and in truth she was not looking for him. Even if she loves him to the point of no return, he was not the light she was hunting for. This never ending search that she had endured could be found not only in him but through his eyes she found it.

It was hope.

Perhaps, it is a vague expression of the object of her desperation pursuit but it was the nearest word that can be used to describe. It was hope in humanity, in life, in luck, in learning- it was something very simple but can be lost along the growth and fall of the war we fight in.

Each evil deed we do chips away that feeling in us.

"Sorry, I am late." He whispered as his warm arm engulfed her.

She chocked on to her tears.

He wasn't late as it will never be too late to find ourselves and pick up the pieces that has been scattered across the fights we have been through. If there is still breathe left in us this is not the end as deep down of us hope always exist.

The key is to fight for it. 

The Fence

Defiance can sometimes bring with it such liberating sensations. To do exactly what you've been warned, again and over again, not to - that was what I had done almost twelve months ago. Most of my time spent over the fence was a good one. I had hoped it would last forever. I only wish what happened as a result of that was as easy to forget as most insignificant things in my life.

But until this day I can still remember the warmth of his breath against my lips as we laid under the beam of the morning sun, skin touching from head to toe, the light spray of freckles over the field of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, the feeling of him still snug inside of me. Most of all, the despair set in his deep blue eyes knowing what will come for us next.

For nine months after our little escapade, I returned from the other side and devoted all my time, energy, and willpower to creating a perfect warrior out of myself. It was all I could do to keep myself distracted and focused on my priorities towards myself, my organization, and my nation. With time, my eyes, ears, and instinct sharpened. My resolve, core and muscles hardened. I was ready for the oncoming clash - ready to carry out the commands required of me. Nothing could stand in my way.

Or so I thought, until the day itself arrived. Standing dressed in my suit and armor in the freezing cold and the blistering wind biting into the exposed skin on my face while carrying with me my spear in my right hand, I find my sharpened senses a waste when my surroundings all but unravelled themselves to the lone man standing naught but a few steps away, as petrified as I am.

I feel the muscles in my thighs and arms shaking, rearing to go, yet my nerves get the better of me. I hear war cries all around me, yelps of pain, screams of defeat. I feel Cooper's calloused hand hard on my shoulder as he tries to yank me back to reality, hear him yelling into my ear, telling me to fight.

I tell myself to fight. To take up my spear, to take a step forward. The more I tell myself to put my body into action, the less clear my vision becomes. Soon, I feel a wetness on my cheek I don't remember having since I was as young as a babe.

The quickest movement launches itself across my vision in a display of grey and wood brown. Another spear - the enemy's. Cooper coughs, then retches, and it is the ugliest most shattering sound I've heard. The assassin watches as the life seeps out of Cooper's eyes before tugging his spear out. Blood lines the edge of his blade as his amber eyes sweep across Cooper's shell of a body on the snow beneath our feet and finally land on me.

I am no longer caught in a daze, but I am shaking. It is a shiver so great my teeth rattle, my grip on my weapon unsteady. Still, I stare into the assassin's eyes, challenging.

Time isn't wasted on his end. I see his blade coming right at me from atop. A headshot. I lift my spear in a vain attempt to protect myself. Before any contact can be made, he pauses midair, eyes rolling back up into its sockets, and his blood spraying across my face. Then he collapses to the red snow above Cooper, lifeless.

Jack stands before me. My skin tingles with an awkward enlightenment. It feels like ages since the gap between us was this close. His eyes are still the same unmistakable blue.

He turns towards me hesitantly. Our gazes lock, and my heart races for him.

"Gillian!" Someone shouts at me. Deziree. "What in God's name are you doing just standing there?"

I don't think. I move.

Jack reacts, his blade coming down hard against mine - the screeching sound of it deafens my ears. I leap back and swing my spear from the opposite direction, but he manages to defend himself again. We go at it for a while with none of us breaking a sweat. It is evident that neither of us are trying very hard.

At some point in time, I realize that only one of us will come out of this alive. We can't be playing pretend forever. Not this time.

I falter an inch. It is that inch that costs me.

I feel the blade of his sword pierce through my skin and lodge itself painfully between my ribs, coming out through my back. A long, deep and steady stab - I never thought Jack had it in him. I feel the sting rival that of the excruciating pain in my heart. It is a relief at best - that there was some form of physical pain after all that could hurt as much as my heart has been for the last year.

I fall to the ground, but it never hits me. Jack has me in his arms, the hardness in his eyes giving way to tears that flooded his cheeks. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, getting the last sniff of the scent in my hair, and then puts his lips on mine, a soft, warm comfort.

I return the kiss as much as I could with my strength fading and consciousness blinking in and out of existence.

"I'm so sorry, Gill." He whispers, his words ragged with regret. He grabs ahold of the hilt and pulls his sword out with one quick yank. I feel the pain wash over me like a tidal wave anew, sweeping me more into the darkness. My head spins and I see dark spots invading my vision.

"Gill." He pats my cheek, but I barely feel it. My senses are numbing. I laugh, a short quip perhaps, before I die. "Gill," he beckons again. "Stay with me."

I manage to open my eyes a few seconds more to see his charming face just once more. "I never should've crossed that bloody fence." I laugh weakly. I cannot see him anymore, even his voice is a far off echo.

"I love you." He says in a rush before it's too late.

I can speak no more. With all of my remaining strength, I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and suddenly the pain ceases, along with everything else. For the first time in forever, I find myself a peaceful rest.

Rock Bottom Symphonies [Macabre Dance]

I'm running out of time.

Silver streams of light flow past me while the continuous attempts to move forward even a little bit render my efforts obsolete. It's an odd feeling, being stuck in spot while trying to force your body to move. I need to move! Before...

I do not finish that despairing thought, wanting, hoping that my attempt is not in vain.

I can feel the connection to my wife, the love of my life, cut off suddenly, leaving a gaping hole in my consciousness. It's so empty wheredidyougoemptyohgods-

The wound in my soul drags crimson bits of my soul out, excruciating, unfathomable.

How did things end up this way?

I stare at the pallid smile of my beautiful Angel, the forbidden creation of my love. Blood blossom lips stretched into a ghastly smile, staining the innocence of youth. "Hello, Papa." The wolf in lamb's skin uttered demurely, as if it really were my frail, precious child.

"Look," the creature in my darling child's skin giggles sweetly, "I made Mama look pretty! Red looks good on her too, right?"

Dumbly, I blink at the sight before me. I feel so numb. The quiet in my mind is shattered when it finally registers; doll-like, broken, my wife, dangling limply in our child's no not our child- monster arms.

In the next moment, while I am still stunned by the incredulous, incomprehensible reality, the fiend had appeared before me in a fiery mirage of shadows. "You're not real." My denial poured out stubbornly, relaying the futile hopes of my wounded mind, my shattered heart.

A mocking light glints in mercurial pools of silver, matching the twisted smile of innocence on lips stained by murder. "Oh, dear! Are you feeling alright, Papa? Maybe you should take a rest. You don't look so well." The creature purrs tauntingly.

An involuntary step back, and I realize my mistake. Predators can taste the fear in the air. Desolation is their ecstasy.

My only thoughts were full of confusion; wondering and lost.

In my last moments, before a pale, finely-boned hand delicately plucked my palpitating heart out with deceptive ease, I managed a glance of regret at the other half of my soul as she lay haphazardly on the scarlet soaked ground of our living room floor.

We survived so much, trials and tribulations. All was for naught, for what we sought to protect, it became our downfall. How ironic.

"Thank you for your blessings, Papa dearest." A last sincere whisper of hellfire in my ears, as the life in my body is stolen, ripped out of my empty shell. A tear falls from my closed eyes as Thanatos beckons me to slip into eternal sleep.

Starting With You

Every end must have a beginning, and in itself represents a new one. Sometimes, for the sake of drama and emotion, we consider the man lying comatose in a hospital bed for most, if not all of his life as the man worthy of sympathy; the armed soldier putting his life up for sacrifice for the nation's sake as a man worthy of being crowned a hero; the secret spy of an international organization as the master of shadows and subterfuge.

And perhaps, where these cases are concerned, credit is due where it is deserved.

But what most people fail to see is the single red rose that a broken, penniless man gifts to his lover, or the deep cut from a chainsaw a father suffers from a single mistake he made at the factory that costed him his arm forever, only to feed his children who had no mother to call their own.

A hero may fight and bleed, win and lose, but so do we.

Taking this into account today, I stand here amidst the crowd of bodies shuffling about in all directions around me almost in a blur of a myriad of colors. I smell a sharp lavender, a clean soap scent, the stench of sweat and dirty socks, and the unmistakable flavor of baked goods.

I see a woman seated eight steps away, face in her hands and weeping her heart out, a couple that embraces one another, glad to be finally reunited, I see the haunted look on a man's face as he walks past an unsuspecting lady dressed in branded goods, see him expertly undo the zip on her handbag and pocket her tiny purse without her noticing.

I feel the coolness of the air conditioning, the bearable warmth each person exudes as they stride close enough to me, the dirt scrunch beneath my boot as I squirm on the spot, and the pressure of the piercing stare someone is directing at me.

I turn to my right, just slightly, to see who exactly it is that seems intent enough to look at me this intensely. I see a man, tall, dark, and handsome. He has his hands in his pockets of his jeans, just as I had mine in the pockets of my vest.

Our gazes connect, and in his eyes I see a new pathway alight.

A Space Where You and I Exist

Life is indeed a huge irony, made for a good laugh, or an entertaining parade at the point of our last breaths. Where one has naught but dirt, it becomes the very foundation in which bonds and relationships are formed. Where one has enough gold to last ten lifetimes, one many often find himself alone, shrouded with suspicion, and overridden with paranoia to the extent of asphyxiation.

Alas the question that befalls us is the matter of which path we choose to take, despite being trapped in undeniable circumstances.

What we make most out of what we have is what ultimately decides our fate. This leads me in turn to wonder what tonight may bring.

Under the cool spring breeze in the dark of the night, when the blossoming florals have decided on captivating slumber, the people stir in their beds expecting anything but such fallacy. The dread weighs heavily down on every person present, each second representing but another tick of time, counting down to the end of time immemorial.

Today is the day.

I rise with bullets of sweat rolling down my temple, heart thudding the lion's roar, and arms trembling beneath the thick sheets my wife had once made for me. The wolf's howl from a far distance confirms it, one of them have arrived, and they are not here for simple pleasantries.

A screeching voice propels me forward. "Asane!" I barely make it out of my futon without tripping over the sheets and my own feet. The invasion has occurred much sooner than expected.

I snatch my blades and armor, expertly fastening them onto their rightful places before I dash to my family's safety - my darling wife, and my beloved child.

Daisuke and Rihito fall in behind me as I rush to the kitchenette. "The northern gate has been breached." Rihito reports, his breaths coming in even and steady, but anyone who knew him as well as I did would recognise the slight hitch in his breath before he even began. "It is where they started. Our troops are dangerously outnumbered."

Daisuke starts, but a body flies into our view from the right, slamming into the wall and sliding down, eerily unmoving where he settled on the floor. I look up from the bloodied face of one of my dearest friends into stone cold, obsidian eyes that mirrored mine.

"Naga." I stare, silent, not a stutter, and at a loss for words. I never imagined this day would come - rather, I never wished to imagine it.

"Hisashi." My half-brother greets me. Now, more than ever, I wished for his old ignorance, his indifference, and his silent hostility. "I have come to take my rightful place." He announces, a wicked smile etched on his sharp features. For the first time, I notice the drops of blood splattered across the sleeve of his shirt and the right cheek of his face.

At this, Rihito starts forward, temper churning, teeth grinding. "You're speaking to the Emperor! Pay your respects!"

"Or else what?" Naga chuckles, scorning. "You'll kill me? Why don't you go ahead and try?"

Rihito attempts to make his first lunge but Daisuke leaps out after him, getting a hold of his shoulder and firmly keeping him in check. "Calm down." Daisuke chides softly, but his eyes are hard on his Emperor's traitorous sibling.

"Leave now and never return." I say, for I cannot stand another moment of this. The rusty stench of death - kills made to our kin by our own blood; this was uncalled for, and Father himself would never have stood for it.

"You have no right to tell me to leave my own home. I'm the real first-born son." He takes a few steps towards me and both Rihito and Daisuke unsheathe their blades, ready to defend their Lord. "You're just the first-born bastard, who happened to win in the game of favorites. So don't you tell me what to do."

He stops in his pacing when the tip of Daisuke's blade scratches the surface of his metal thick leather armor. Naga looks at Daisuke as if he's a disrupting fly that is of no other good but to squash, yet Daisuke does not waver.  "Not another step, young master." Rihito warns. "If you know what's good for you."

Naga disregards them. Instead, he reaches out with an empty hand towards me, palm facing upwards and fingers sprawled out. "Hand it over." He demands of me needlessly, for we both know I would give him anything in the world except for the very thing he wanted in this moment.

I say nothing and stare as my hand slowly slides to the side of my waist, where I had my katana hidden beneath my night cloak. "Leave us." I countered, just as needlessly.

"Your Lordship." Rihito does not move an inch, not until he is to be given a command.

"My wife. My child." I look to Daisuke, whose fire suddenly seemed to flicker. "How do they fare?"

He does not respond, and I already know. It is too late.

I feel my heart sink in my chest, heavy as it is, falling hard and deep down until it breaks into a million shards. Even with all the riches one can possibly imagine, and with a title befitting of it, I cannot protect the ones I love. I feel the instant despair and rage hit me like a tidal wave, and it wipes out any hesitation I have left.

"Did you do it?" I ask Naga, voice trembling with barely contained fury.

When Naga did not speak, Rihito prodded him with his blade. "Did you?"

Naga's eyes shift from Rihito's to mine, and in them I see no mercy, no regret, no loss for the lives he has taken. Such a man wanted to rule our nation. His reign would be the apocalypse if I let it.

"I did." Naga admits, lifting a brow, challenging. "Why, do you-"

Before he can finish, I have brought my blade up against him, but he evades, just in time. The edge of my blade takes a part of his hair from his head. He snickers and doubles back with his own twin blades. He is strong and quick, but I am just as formidable.

For a long time, all I can hear is the clashing sound of my blade against his, the few thumps and grunts of another man or woman falling to his or her death not too far away, and the sound of Naga's wretched laughter. It does not end. He has been driven mad.

And so have I, it seems, when a sharp pain wedges its way between my ribs and twists and turns until the pain becomes so overwhelming that I cease midair and fall to the floor writhing in it. I lose my grip on the katana and instead clutch the end of the blade protruding from my torso, fervently wishing this moment undone.

I muster the last of my strength and reach behind me to tear the blade out of my body. I feel my warm blood gushing out onto my garments, over my skin, and sealing its image in my mind. Everywhere I look, I see the colour red.

Finally, I make a last ditch effort to face the perpetrator of my untimely death. The simple twist of the neck was so excruciatingly painful I almost instantly regret having done so. I was rewarded with a face, one I had never so much as suspected since the beginning.

Rihito.

He does not miss a single beat, and with a swift swing, slices Daisuke's head clean off his shoulders. A merciful act of killing - with one blow. I feel myself sputtering blood from my mouth, my vision grows hazy at the edges and the cold suddenly feels much more chilling. Numbness overwhelms my sense of touch, I can barely feel a thing besides great disappointment, and even further appalled by the result of tonight's game of throne.

In Rihito's eyes, I see a flicker of remorse, and then I just know. He only did what he had to do to survive.

The sole of Naga's shoe dives into the side of my face and I choke, but little does Naga know I could barely feel any longer. "You should've surrendered when I gave you the chance." He remarks, appreciating his blood red victory tonight, painted by his own kin's blood.

"Goodbye, Hisashi. May you find your rightful place in the afterlife." The compression strengthens, and for the last second I envision my wife and child waiting for me. Only the veil between life and death separated us now. Perhaps this was a satisfactory end after all.

There would be war no more between the brothers. No more senseless fighting. Only peace, serenity, and love.