Notes: Short tribute piece to Asuka of Bakuryu Sentai Abaranger; it wouldn't get out of my head. It takes place following episode 33, "Abare Senshi wo Wasurenai", and assumes that Asuka really did die.

The harmonica glinted dully in the light of the dying sun. It was scorched and singed, the once-beautiful casing now damaged beyond repair. The key still opened, but it too was battered, and would never again call forth the Power that it had once unlocked. Hands encircled it, raising it to a mouth which caressed it tenderly in lieu of the body it had once graced. No sound came forth, though, and the hands dropped, leaving the harmonica to dangle at the end of a too-bright chain. Hakua Ryouga bowed his head.

"Asuka… Why did you leave us?"

The day before:

Abarekiller let the object dangle almost carelessly from his hands, taunting the warriors facing him. A smirk played over his lips, unseen. Yes, the game had certainly taken on a new dimension after this not-quite-unexpected event. He'd known of Abareblack's deep-rooted and pervasive instability; it had only been a matter of time before it had come to a head. And what a confrontation it had been. Evorian against Bakuryu courage, lover against lover. Abareblack had never really let go of who Jannu had been, and the knowledge had eaten him from the inside out. The knowledge that it had been he and not Jannu who had destroyed his people had served as the catalyst for his final battle.

Boring, really.

What was interesting was the reaction of the warriors in front of him. Abared understood first, but he seemed unable to act on his newfound knowledge. Abareblue brought out the first words – Why do you have that? – and his voice seemed to galvanize Abared into at least vocal action – Give that back!

"Why, is it important?" Abarekiller let a note of mocking innocence thread his voice. He laughed quietly. It was so easy to get under their skins. So predictable. If it weren't for the addictive excitement of combat – the thrill of knowing that any second could be the last – he wouldn't have left them alive this long. They were shouting now, something about Abareblack and what he had been to them. Perhaps he should simply kill them anyway, since they didn't even have the power to effect the Bakuryu Change.

To Abarekiller's quite real surprise, the warriors proved him quite wrong by not only Changing, but bypassing the normal mode completely and moving directly into Abare Mode. The monster at his side gasped, every bit as stunned, stammering, How can they do that? I've stolen your Bakuryu Courage!

Our emotions are the power of our emotions! Abared shot back, and Abareyellow quickly added, You haven't stolen those!

"At least you're hot," Abarekiller said softly, more to himself than anyone else. "This should be fun." And yet, he was surprised again. No matter how he fought, the warriors were a step ahead of him at every turn. A blast from Abared – using one of Abareblack's signature attacks, no less – left him dazed, and he barely managed to dodge the followup attack from the warriors' combined weapons.

Cursing under his breath, Abarekiller used the reincarnation of the Toranoid to slip away from the battlefield and call his own Bakuryu. If he couldn't beat them on the ground, he'd do it using the Bakuryu. The brats had surprised him, temporarily gotten the better of him. It was not an insult he would let slide easily. The harmonica was still in his clenched fist. He looked at it, for a moment. Why do you arouse such strong emotion in them? He didn't expect it to answer, but its silence still seemed to mock him.

The battle in the Bakuryu went no better than the last, due to yet another unexpected event. One of the warriors' Bakuryu reformed into an even stronger incarnation, and in the scuffle following the total destruction of the Toranoid, the harmonica slipped through his fingers. Abarekiller could only watch, fuming, as Abareyellow caught the trinket in her outstretched hands. She clutched it as if it held the answer to life itself.

Abarekiller sighed. The fight was getting boring now, but the imbalance provided by the loss of a teammate should make the warriors more interesting opponents in the future. He let them have the battle, and the battlefield, and made his exit. On his own terms.

Confusion dogged his steps, however, as he returned to his stronghold. Why had his possession of such a simple item provoked such a reaction? Why was it that the warriors were so desperate to hold onto a meaningless keepsake? Abareblack had been fundamentally flawed, and that flaw had made him weak. He had been utterly unsuited for battle, and his fragile mind had been unable to handle the stresses of war. So why had he made such an impression?

Abarekiller – Nakadai Mikoto, now, with the appearance of a normal human and removed from the double-edged knife that was the Abarekiller suit – sighed raggedly and made his way back to the site of the battle. The wreckage of the ship had cooled, black ashes reeking of smoke and fire. The moonlight shone like silver, contrasting white light with dark shadow. He was about to reenter the destruction, savoring the pain and fear that had soaked it earlier, when a sign of motion caught his eyes. Curious despite himself, Abarekiller hid behind a suitable piece of the destruction and watched.

It was Abared, digging with his bare hands near where Abarekiller had found the harmonica. His bright jacket seemed gray in the moonlight, and something glinted off his chest. Abarekiller squinted, just able to make it out. It was a brightly polished chain, and at its end dangled the harmonica. He rolled his eyes. Not only boring and predictable, but Abared had ruined the chance to relive the pleasant memories.

He turned away, not in the mood to deal with a sulking child, only to be arrested by the sound of a strangled cry. Again compelled to watch, he hovered at the edge of the shadows, sliding closer to the distraught young man.

As he got close enough to see what had engendered the cry, Abarekiller's eyes widened. Abared was crying openly now, cradling… the body of Abareblack. His tears splashed down on a face that was oddly peaceful despite the blood. Broken words reached Abarekiller, fragments of sentences, devoid of meaning.

"Why… Asuka… not your fault… how could you … us, to me… know you loved Mahoro… couldn't you love me? …was wrong with us, with me?" He buried his face in Abareblack's unmoving chest, one hand weakly beating the still form and the other clutching it tightly. He sat up, finally, dirt and tears streaking his face, and spoke softly into the communicator at his wrist.

Abarekiller watched, uncomfortable, knowing the scene he witnessed was unutterably private yet unable or unwilling to look away. Only when the other two warriors arrived did the spell break, and he stumbled back to his stronghold feeling vaguely disquieted and somehow emptier than he ever had before.

Ridiculous. He snarled into the darkness. It was a game, nothing more, and the only motivation he retained was the desire to stave off the all-encompassing boredom. Nothing else really mattered, not even Abared's stricken face haunting his dreams. It didn't matter. Nothing did. Only the game.

Author's notes: I had intended to work on BStL, but this wouldn't leave me alone. I had also intended for it to be from Ryouga's point of view, but that didn't quite feel right. It won't make sense unless you've seen Abaranger up until the episode mentioned previously, but if you actually read it and are curious, please ask.