Subject: [KFFDISC] I.n.c.i.n.e.r.a.t.o.r. [read to find out] Date: Sat, 1 Apr 2000 00:51:40 -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. All copyrighted characters are used without permission from the owners; this is a nonprofit work of fanfiction written only for online entertainment purposes. No copyright infringement intended. This is for Selene-chan, who challenged me into writing this. I hope this little handicraft of mine meets the requirements you stated. ^^; *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_* I.N.C.I.N.E.R.A.T.O.R. by Chibi Chiriko-chan *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_* I die before the dawn breaks over my native land. Welcome it, you who will see... and remember those who have fallen in the night. -Elias from "Noli Me Tangere" (Touch Me Not/The Social Cancer) by Dr Jose Rizal Aloof. Alone. And unknowingly abandoned. He stands, a formidable tower against the dead of night, his posture erect in the image of confidence, his chin jutted out in fearsome defiance. The naked fang of a blade in his right hand has long dulled, rusty with the irremovable stains of dead blood and human flesh that has clung to the steely edge which as, with one powerful, unforgiving stroke, wiped out existence after existence without single thought. His hair flaps in the mourning breeze of the night, swinging to and fro with agonizing slowness, a pendulum that tantalizingly rocks from side to side, counting the moments before another fresh, delicious kill. His eyes, two discs burning with pitch black fire, shrewd buttons of bloodlust whose darkness surpasses that of the blackest night. A sneer of contempt hinges on his lips, twitched in the expression of a cynical man reduced from a swordsman for a cause to a murderer who lives to draw life's blood from its unfortunate victims. He reeks of the foul stench of death and decay, the odor of blood that once supported life soaking his aura. So lost in he in his thoughts of what he presumes to be a victory for self that he does not hear the approaching footsteps... and the last thing he recalls is the sound of wood against skull, followed by the thud of a body collapsing to the grass. A body that is not of a victim, a body which is his own. {Sensei, why do you keep me from the lamp?} {You needn't ask such questions. I do it because it is for your own good.} {It is the fire, is it not, Sensei? I don't understand how something so beautiful can be so dangerous.} {Better that you remain ignorant than having to experience it firsthand.} Curious black eyes catch the glint of the tiny golden flame that burns within the glass lamp. It flickers shakily, dancing like a tiny scarlet leaf, its direction guided by the hand of the gentle wind. The child is entranced, drawn and enchanted by that which causes light even in the grasp of the most abounding dark. A hand reaches out... ... and pushes the lamp. The sound of shattering glass and a rapidly spreading fire pierces the stillness of the evening. The next thing he is aware of is the light. He blinks, a strange, searing ache throbbing throughout his entire body. Has he awakened to daylight... but the light he sees is not that of the gently smiling sun. Instead, it is the mocking glare of treacherous flames, dancing gleefully all over his body, tasting him at first, then delving deeper. He lets out an astonished cry as the pain registers, begs the night for mercy as he thrashes about, the throes of anguish plaguing his suffering body. Agony sings through the blood that streams out of every wound, making him scream in tortured despair. As the fire slowly, cruelly, mercilessly begins to consume him, in those seconds he is no longer the feared Shadow Hitokiri... just another suffering man. Then the sound of familiar voices pricks up his ears, and bitter fury builds up inside him, hotter than the hellish fire that fights to burn him into ashes of forgotten existence. Smoldering with hatred, simmering with a sudden, delicious desire for vengeance and unequaled strength, he rises to his feet and shakes his fists at the waning moon. So he stands, fueled by his desperation and desire, the visage of an incarcerated soul trapped in a shell of blue and scarlet fire, crying out for the divine imperative that is revenge. Disheartened by a will that surpasses even the most intense, torrid onslaughts, the flames slowly begin to die. The child watches, horrified, as the incarnadine flames scatter throughout the tent, frightening him with their ferocious snarls and prickly hot fingers. He can only stare helplessly as they tear at the fabric of the tent walls, his eyes watering as trains of smoke fill his lungs. His knees wobble, threatening to give way, as he chokes desperately, his chest tightening as he slowly becomes light-headed. The colors of the world around him merge into undecipherable shapes and figures, swirling into a mass of fading dots... He faints as two strong arms scoop him up and rush him out of the smoking inferno. Once again, he seethes as he feels the flames leap back to life, encircling him and the beautiful dead angel in his arms in a ring of murderous fire. His body temperature has careened out of control, bursting with heat and incredible intensity that soon catches fire. Clouds of smoke engulf him and his dead lover, and this time, he knows that the will to survive will not triumph against the odds, that no strong arms will pull him out of the flames' wrath and dip his scorching body into a lake of ice cold water. He lets out a bloodcurdling scream of outrage and defeat, which suspends in the air in a terrifying echo as the place starts crumbling down. He presses his lover to his breast, knowing he will join her soon. He shuts his eyes as the deadly flames begin their cruel teasing, suppresses an agonized cry as it inflicts pain greater than his previous tangle with death. The smoke suffocates him in its smothering embrace, the great golden blaze devours him ravenously, biting into his flesh and chewing contemptuously, then sipping the blood like wine as it pours out of his torn skin. He moans softly, waiting for death, waiting for the shadow of darkness to claim him forever... *anything* would be better than the curse of an eternal agony in hellfire that seems to have hung over him all his life. He can no longer hold back a screech of bare and naked anguish as the flames nip at his exposed heart, and he throws back his head in submission, unable to bear the torment of living. The last that is seen of him is his mouth, frozen in absolute horror and powerlessness. And once again, in those dying moments, he is no longer the madman who attempted to take over Japan, but a suffering man slowly being put to rest. The blanket of fire thins, until all it leaves is darkness... and a bundle of lonely ashes that eventually dissipate into the wind. OWARI 04/01/00 Happy April Fool's Day, minna! ^-^ So, didja like it? Didja understand it? 1. First of all, arigatou to Selene Chou, who challenged me into writing this fic. I had quite a few more ideas, mind you, but this one was what grabbed me the most, and when the title "Incinerator" struck, I guess this turned up. Happy now, Selene-chan? ^.~ I gotta admit, there weren't too many serious Shishio fics around (though I enjoyed reading the funny ones a LOT) and this guy's such an interesting, intriguing character, so I accepted right away when Selene-chan issued the challenge. 2. The parts concerning the oh-so-mysterious 'child', well, these were references to Shishio's past (or a possible theory of what could have been), that I thought I could link to the present. I don't remember having read any fics that really dealt with this guy's past, so I decided to incorporate some elements of it into this little story of mine. I didn't like to think of him as a 'monster', exactly, since all he really wanted was vengeance and change (well, who *doesn't?*), so I decided to shed some light on his 'human' side -- thus, the 'helpless, innocent, ignorant' child scenes. Let's just say Shishio's one guy with a *reaaaaallly* long history with fire. 3. ~~So he stands, fueled by his desperation and desire, the visage of an incarcerated soul trapped in a shell of blue and scarlet fire, crying out for the divine imperative that is revenge.~~ I got the idea for 'the divine imperative that is revenge' from a movie I stumbled upon through countless hours of channel surfing. The guy (a really gorgeous hunk, BTW) said, "Revenge -- it's a moral imperative", and I fell in love with that line so I decided to modify it for this fic. Now since Shishio doesn't seem to care about morals and stuff like that, and since it seems he's more concerned with his own twisted concept of himself as a Deity or something, I decided to use 'divine imperative' instead. I didn't catch the title of the movie, though. >_< Take care, minna, and God bless!