THE DOGS OF WAR
By Nokoru
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, but are the property of Watasuki Nobuhiro, Jump Comics, and any other respective owners I have not mentioned here. I give all credit to them and their inspirations. I am only writing this fan fiction for the amusement of myself and others. I do not wish to cause any harm to the owners’ original intent. Also, if any reader should feel that my interpretation of historical accounts shows any disrespect, please realize that this is a fiction piece. I do not mean any harm to any history, but I in fact adore it.
Author’s Note: Still first person from Okita’s point of view. ^^v Questions, comments, compliments are welcomed greatly. Flames and complaints are sent to another department with long lines and noisy people. Please enjoy, because I wrote it hoping that you would. ^__^
Chapter 2
Burning. Burning fire inside my lungs. I knew that I couldn’t breathe, but somehow a shaky breath managed to get past my mouth and throat. It wasn’t enough though, as I felt the burning’s intensity grow. I couldn’t give up though; I refused to. I had a goal to accomplish here, and I would not let it slip my grasp.
Thrust. Block. The feel of hard, impenetrable steel against the blade of my sword. Push the thin wall of steel away. Step back because the force affected myself as well. It was as if the motions weren’t my own; that some ethereal force guided my hands and blinded my eyes to even my own actions. As if war was a being itself. Stab. Soft, collapsing feel. Thick, like the river of blood. It was the river of blood. Across my face, upon my hands, running down my sword. These couldn’t be my actions. They couldn’t. I was too aware of them. So aware that it seemed as if I wasn’t fully aware of them at all.
But these were my hands, and that was their blood, and this was my doing. No part of me could truly escape that. No matter how much I wanted to label myself as a dog of war, I knew that it was my choice to do so. And I suddenly felt the pull, the magnetic pull, of two opposing forces upon my soul, tearing my world apart. I was lost, in a sea of blood with no tangible being to hold onto. My world fading away, I felt my eyes drift into darkness; and I smiled. I could finally be free. Free from having to mend my soul together after every battle; free from the disease I felt devouring my soul as well as my body; free from the life I had chosen to live - even if I loved it this dearly. It would be wonderful, beautiful, if someday I could be free.
Soft noises. The sound of two feet robbed me of that freedom. The darkness returned to its thick, tangible, and monstrous state. I regained the weight of my arms and legs, only to give them back to this demon of war. Feeling so violated, so very violated. I could have broken down into sobs at that spot for having been deprived my freedom - my death. I didn’t, though. As simply as that. I would live on in the life that had endeared itself to my heart for so long. As simply as that.
Opening my eyes, slowly, ever so slowly, I saw the sky. Oh, how beautiful the stars gleamed - just as fireflies glowed with their dreams. And sometimes, if you looked into a person’s eyes long enough, you could see the shimmer of dreams within them as well. For this moment, the moment when I saw the stars, I could no longer regret that my freedom was stolen. In these shadows, I was comfortable, perhaps even home - perhaps.
Slowly, as if not of my own will, my arm lifted up to the source of those noises, sword in hand. Commanded by some being, I felt war tug at my soul as if it were bound by puppet strings. I felt my response, my choice to obey. Forward - searching, waiting, touching. Blade met blade and I heard something break apart, falling somewhere in the distant sea of night. Perhaps it was my imagination, because both swords stood proudly in the moonlight, but I had felt something shatter. Maybe it was the universe we lived in, shattering day by day with the lives we stole from each other. …I must have a hyperactive imagination.
I pushed against the sword, and the man fell back a few steps in answer. I wasn’t fair to him; I didn’t see his face. Something blinded my eyes, but I couldn’t focus on his face - his features. And I would never. Time slowed as my sword contacted with flesh. Pain - it was an expression I would never see upon the face of the warrior in front of me. Death - it was an expression I knew all too well. I needed no visual aide to imagine that look plastered on his features. This time, when I heard something fall, it was the dull collide of body against ground. Somewhere underneath that sound, I imagined the tiny tinkling of shattered glass. The world might be collapsing, bit by bit, but someday, it would be repaired. The people, however, would never have such a fate. They either changed or died, but never be repaired. I gazed up at the stars again.
Among the stars, I saw a pair of golden eyes burn through my own eyes. Through one of them ran a piece of raven hair, shattering the gold as if it were a mirror. Such a flame inside those eyes. Were they his dreams? Focusing in the dark, my eyes caught the smallest shimmer of light land upon a pair of lips. Moving lips. Was he saying something, speaking his dreams? I reached out a hand to those lips, to those dreams. They were thicker than even the shower of blood I had made. So thick - I could almost touch them. But my arm was so heavy, so extremely heavy. It took the strongest effort I had to reach the mouth, but when I touched it, I could feel them. The ideas, thoughts, dreams spread over my fingers and down my arm, mixing with the blood. And then, only then, could I hear his voice.
“Okita-kun.” It was Saitou-san’s voice - that deep rumble that could shake the inner core of my soul. And I could only smile in return. “Are you alright?”
This was the soul that was Saitou-san. Short, direct, but someone who cared eternally deep for his country, his companions. He had seen me falter, even though it was only for a second - a second that stretched out over hours of time, but a second nonetheless. One of the softest, and possibly one of the saddest smiles, spread slowly across my face. He often had the most keen eyes for those sorts of falters, yet I hadn’t breathed a single word about my illness to him. I was unfair to him - to ask so much from a companion and give so little in return. However, some part of me felt that he knew - that he always knew - as if some indescribable link had been established between our two souls.
Tilting my head to the side slightly, I brightened my smile for him. Slowly, I responded, “I’m alright, Saitou-san.” Allowing several moments to pass, I kept my smile in place with little effort and pulled out a cloth. I proceeded to wipe the blood from my sword, venturing so far as to ask a question. “Did the hitokiri make an appearance tonight?”
From the corner of my eye, I watched Saitou-san glower at the ground, letting his irritation seep out of his soul. “Che, he did.” The frustration in his voice spread through the thick darkness, and I looked at him with raised eyebrows. The odd look I received in return was most likely because I kept my smile posted on my face. I always liked that about Saitou-san; his expressions mirrored his emotions and thoughts but kept a certain unattainable ambiguity about them. Light and shadows all in one man.
“It turned out like it always does. No one could really claim the victory,” he responded with a growl resembling a wolf. Laughing softly, I raised my hands in a pathetic attempt for defense against the glare I received. I couldn’t understand what that look meant - whether it was out of disgust or something else entirely. The truth is that I never really understand the unspoken words that swim somewhere in the sea of his heart. I only knew that those thoughts existed; and, perhaps if the right person came along, they could pluck those emotions from his hidden heart. I could never be that person though; I was far too content to allow Saitou-san be himself - idiosyncrasies and all. After all, he allowed me the same respect.
Sheathing my sword in its saya, I averted my eyes toward the ground and breathed a sigh as the laughter flowed out of my throat and ceased. “Sometimes, I really wonder if you long for a victor or not.”
Raising one eyebrow, Saitou-san spoke in soft, threatening tones. “Would you like to return to the inn in one piece?”
Letting the sun spill out from my smile into the night, I held up my left hand, displaying two fingers. “Two pieces, please.” As Saitou-san shook his head, we made our way through the dusty streets of Kyoto to our predetermined meeting place.
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With the tenderness of a stream, moonlight seeped across the floorboards of my room. I felt its fingers touch my back as I faced my bed, sitting on my knees. Slowly, I raised my hands up to the top of my head, finding the tie that held my hair. As if it were a ceremony, I undid the tie, letting my fingers work with care and precision. Then, with one swift and graceful motion, I pulled the trimming away from my hair and shook my head so that I felt my hair swish on the back of my neck and back. Running hands through my ebony hair, I breathed in the moonlight deeply…
And my breath caught somewhere between my throat and my chest. Responding to my sudden onslaught of coughing, my frail hands flew away from my hair and covered my mouth. Ragged gasps only caused desperate attempts to grab some form or breath to catch in my throat more. This triggered longer and more unforgiving coughs to attack my lungs. I could feel blood rushing to my face, filling my lips, as a familiar ache spread across my ribs. My left hand fell to the floor, searching for support as my right hand grasped at my mouth in a failed attempt to suppress the coughing. Hair spilled from my shoulder and my arms began to tremble as I realized that I was no longer inhaling.
With a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I forced the thin stream of exhaling air to cease passing the gate of my lips. I held my throat closed for a while, gathering up whatever scattered courage remained. When I reopened the passage to my lungs, I slowly commanded air to enter, preventing any other coughing attacks. After my lungs had filled, I gradually resumed breathing and blood eventually resumed flowing. The ache, however, never left my ribs. Sitting up, a smile spread across my face delicately. It seemed that tonight would be another sleepless night.
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