Gensomaden Saiyuki Fan Fiction ❯ Moths ❯ One-Shot

Disclaimer: I hate the Sanzo-ikkou. So much that I even but elegantly attempted to commence an anti-Sanzo-ikkou alliance. GS you say? Yeah…don't own it.

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Moths

His wounds could well have flushed if only he'd stare at them, further in the next hours. Cranberry silken draperies tastefully danced into waves and exquisite folds as the chill, yet indulgent breeze lay unbound to prickle them then the red bangs and red tails. His usually severe eyes were a bit light in idle examination. Would these wounds leave scars, he uncaringly thought. He wouldn't demur nonetheless.

Wounds only bare gaffes; it becomes infamy and guilt once they evolve into unsightly scars. It becomes tears every time you'll see them, then. But then again, only if upon your consideration.

He closed his eyes as he let the wind exhale on and past his face. The chestnut tails of his hair seemed to weakly chase it. He was hoping the coolness would someway allay rather the pain behind those bandages. Even after Yaone's treatment, they remained burning like fire. Nevertheless, skipping this pain, these wounds, could have then given him infamy, he thought. Coz wounds are lemons to be squished and wringed, the impending juice becomes your proud episodes and resolve and reason and savvy. And as they evolve into scars, they WILL become treasures. The irony of treasuring unsightliness.

He laid his scuffed arm finally and rested his palm on the brim of his enormous bed where he was sitting. He was convinced that, sooner or later he'd smile at these latent scars, attesting he was, and is, alive. Yes… He sighed. Everything and everything just has to have to be settled in a fight. He almost stated that, but this royalty was always clever not to squander such sound on such, inert…space.

He heard soft raps, sensitive youkai ears twitched, slightly. He looked about in his silvery youkai eyes. The muted light above impatiently lifted his chin, then. It was, being hassled. He blinked at the small fluttering russet goon that really looked as if to only hurt itself, guilelessly bashing then ricocheting and again. Pathetic, he thought, how such pests are significantly infatuated with light. Of all the various entities, it just has to be light. As his focus shunted back to vision from opinion finally, he realized that the creature wasn't alone, now.

The cat's-paw had long stopped. It was so effete then that it had doubtless collapsed finally. Warewolves failed to emerge as the ether was still in pursuance for the moon, and the stars, that it was still lost and was of course, darker than prosaic. But even then, it would still be darker than the prosaic darkerness, tonight. Odd, he thought.

The subtle tings were starting to don his head as they enhanced, coined a fairly tempo. He looked up, and won enough empathy on the singly light as its goons, more likely buffs then insistently burgeoned. He stood, instinctively considering then closing the groundlessly receiving window. But then again, he considered preserving this pathetic amusement. After all, infrequently, rarely rather, does he observe such spiraling little insects struggling to get into the light, in this castle, in his room.

Phototaxis. He remembered now, Yaone once had told.

Had the pioneer called out his cohorts? Surely it isn't that acquisitive. But no, he thought. They came through their own bidding. Not actually though as they were mesmerized, pulled, like a lasso to a bull. Yet, it is merely approaching to one's essential. Merely. One could be outraged, speaking a propos one's flow influence, one's energy source, one's life source.

The light almost sputtered as the yet deeply breeding insects seemed to sustain and even expand the shuffling cloud around it. Like a cheese vied by a hundred very starving rats.

It was certainly unprejudiced. And bloodshed is decidedly inexorable. Either one makes it and the other not. They'd slap your hand away even before it touches their shoulder. Oneself lies the most justifiable for one's reliance. Either one was smart enough to find another all to himself and the other spills his blood. Either one considers this merely a test of one's verve and stamina and ingenuity and competence and the other a war. Yes, nature could be heartless and your life isn't yours. You live through a lifelessness and you can't do anything about it. Either life could be a drug, or a fork. But then again, only if upon your consideration.

It most certainly is merely, like nails attracted to a magnet. No restraint, no option. And everything that could happen is merely accident. There is no victory and no rout. Coz there is no battle.

He breathed. The light does look a bit brighter than prosaic. And the shuffling cloud had bled unfortunately more than a few. Surely the maid would sweep it up, tomorrow, he thought. His arm was scarcely encumbered as a bug crashed in a yet corkscrew path onto his abraded skin then dropped. He glimpsed at it and just suddenly felt as if a flame was thrown onto his gash. He sighed. For a while there he thought he'd forgotten this pain. If so, could pain be just a state of mind then?

His regal bed philandered with him and he yawned. Youkai eyes and youkai organs implored for restful doze. He walked, instinctively considering then closing the subdued light, but also considered the product of it, then thought. He pressed the switch, yet light never departed the room because

His hand burned like fire.

If death would be theirs, then let me be the one to impart it.

Amorphous shadows waggled against his face and chest. His eyes glossier than sugar as they replicate fire and, burning translucent wings. He missed this, the sadistic joy of slaying innocents. Valueless ones nonetheless, of no ambition, and merely ordained to die. After all, cycles never die; they'd live over again, and again. He smiled at this longed readiness, as death materialized when he hadn't wished for it. Now, each gutting of this helpless naivety, helpless fragility, magnified his superciliousness of pathetic ascendancy and viable malevolence. It felt lovely to be holding something indeed valued but nothing to you, to be able to decoy and ridicule them as idiotic. Youkai ears just about heard animal cries, but he disabled them for the moment for such sound. The light glares in his eyes carried on rattling as he grinned.

Yes, just as long as there is light. Coz everybody and everybody just has to have to get into the light.

Blood spilt on his hand. Blood spilt because of it.

I AM the light.

Pathetic amusement.

Lirin had just suddenly barged into his door, startling her brother, and loudly gasped, and exclaimed, irately, "Onii-chan!!! You're hurting them!!!"

His eyes amplified, complementing his lips as they parted as they uttered an "Oh!" sound. The fire, his fire, the light, went out. And everything went black.