Subject: [KFFDISC] ^-^ The Dominant Primordial Beast [Hiko character sketch] Date: Fri, 31 Mar 2000 04:19:30 -0800 (PST) From: Chibi-Chiriko Reply-To: kffdisc@NABIKI.COM To: kffdisc@NABIKI.COM DISCLAIMERS: Rurouni Kenshin (c) Nobuhiro Watsuki, Jump Comics, Shueisha, Fuji TV and Sony Entertainment. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction written only for online entertainment purposes. No copyright infringement intended. *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_* THE DOMINANT PRIMORDIAL BEAST by: Chibi-Chiriko *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_* The hands that so skilfully shape grainy lumps of clay into beautifully designed pots and flower vases now grasp the hilt of a blade poised to kill. Gleaming in the mirroring silver of the naked stretch of metal are a menacing pair of hazel eyes, the brazen color of dull gold, burning with primal wrath. The air is heavy with tension, nerves taut to the point of cracking, moments quickly departing as the combatants eye each other warily. A shout slices into the stillness of the night; instincts leap to life. Feet take off the ground, sparks fly into the air as the din of clashing swords and crashing bones destroys the night. Blood speckles the ground then soaks it as it settles, and a body drops without so much as a single cry of terror, everything spoken in the face's dull, lifeless expression. The stench of death diffuses into the air. The minted light of the moon casts a silent, melancholy glow on the lone figure that slowly walks down the hill, the very image of a great red dragon passively returning home. The hazel eyes that once flamed with deadliness now sparkle like gold nuggets under the sun. Two discs of happiness and contentment laugh in amusement as the stuttering lad pays him for the pot he so carefully crafted for a family reunion that was to take place that evening. The man grins almost devilishly as he waves the lad off, who is only to eager to get out of the "haunted" mountain. Chuckling to himself at an inside joke, he turns and retreats to his shack, mouth watering at the thought of a sumptuous lunch of broiled fish and mushrooms. The dragon -- a beast to be feared by all save the ignorant that eventually fall to its clutches. A great winged creature with eyes that can penetrate into the soul of even the most resilient men, whose nostrils breathe the destructive fire that bakes the evil in merciless flames, whose fangs sink deep into the flesh and draw the vibrant vermilion juice of life drop by drop, delighting in the cries of agony and writhings of the unfortunate victim. The man -- the highest form of existence under God, that which possesses a mind that thinks, a heart that feels and a soul that lives, fed not just by instinct but by decision, clothed not with fur but with garments made of his own hands. Given feet that transport him, hands that fend for him, teeth that chew for him, eyes that see for him, ears that hear for him, nerves that sense for him, he has been granted the greatest privilege which is to live, and not just exist. When he dies he does not exist anymore, but lives on; whereas the dragon who exists but does not live is forgotten in unknown shores or discarded in unexplored heights. And *he* is both man and dragon -- structured with the body of a man and the feral instincts of the ferocious beast that lives only by the law of club and fang. Both dragon and man in him coexist peacefully, yet their natures constantly conflict each other, especially on the foreground in which nothing but survival matters. It cannot be this way forever; one will eventually have to give in to that which predominates. With slow, hulking steps, he returns to the scenario of the kill. Nothing much has changed, he cynically observes, save for the flies that swarm over the carcass his sword has left behind. The blood on the ground has mercifully dried, yet the crimson of it still clings to the tiny blades of grass. The soil is scarlet with death. The shovel bites into the soil, and he flips the mound of grains over his shoulder. He digs until there is ample space for the corpse to buried in, then holds his breath as he lifts the body and carefully tucks it in the hole of the ground. He then covers the area with shovel-fuls of soil until there is not a single trace of the body. Then, he takes a large heavy stone, muscles in his forearms bulging as he bears its weight, then sets it over the grave. He steps back to observe his handiwork. Yet another grave among a sea of countless graves scattered all over a world that has all too willingly embraced death as a part of reality. A world in which man and dragon constantly battle it out in every living, breathing human being -- a world in which the dragon that lives only by instinct and not by will has predominated. He smiles slightly, feeling the winds of freedom on his handsome face, the honey-scented air sweet in his nostrils. For him, the dominant primordial beast is still the man. OWARI 3/31/00 This fic was inspired by, believe it or not, "The Call of the Wild" (Jack London), one of my favorite novels. It's great, I love the way Jack-sama uses words, and the way he so vividly describes the rapid pace of life from the viewpoint of the furry, romantic hero Buck ^.^ The title "The Dominant Primordial Beast" came from one of the chapters of the book, and the line "The law of club and fang" also came from one of the book's chapters. I've always liked Hiko Seijurou, and this is the first time I've ever written something 'bout the guy. I noticed there weren't that many Hiko fics around, so I decided to try my luck. Hopefully, it was worth it. Take care and God bless, minna!