I don't own Samurai Jack. T-T
I don't know where the HELL this story came up from, but I suppose it's not so bad. Kinda OOC, but hey! At least its interesting...in a strange, morbid way. o_o;
Warning, this story has:
Aku and Jack's blasphemous language(mostly directed at each other)
Yaoi(m x m relationships)
Violence(mild descriptions of violence and smelling blood, nothing graphic though)
Gore(very tame, smell of blood, no gruesome scenes,)
Throughout a demon's lifespan, even one as long and colourful as his own, there was very little that could cause one of his breed to hesitate in slaying another. To demons at least, killing was a pleasure. Another manifestation of their power over another, and if there was one thing they strived for above all else, it was power. Aku had assumed that he, like all of his kind, was true to this one observation in that the attainment of authority was simply an instinctual drive throughout his existence. There were many examples in his long lifetime where this could be seen as true.
His problem, as most of them often did, stemmed from that nuisance of a samurai meandering aimlessly throughout his empire. He had been a subtle pest at first, defying him a few times, helping a few people here and there, but as of late, he had been the leader of a rebellion against his domination. Perhaps not physically, but symbolically he had become a serious threat to Aku's power and it caused him no end of annoyance. How dare he! Impertinent samurai! He shouldn't be surprised, however, for the human was spawned from blood that had defied his authority more than once before. Like father like son, was that not how humans put it?
Jack. Samurai Jack.
That was his name, wasn't it? It was a strange designation, foreign to any other samurai Aku had ever heard of, though that wasn't surprising. Jack, in everything he did, was unorthodox; that was what made him so damned hard to kill! Unorthodox and annoying, but so very cunning. Yes, he had dedicated a lot of time, thought, and effort to 'Samurai Jack,' yet had been unable to fathom a permanent solution to the problem. It had become an obsession, he supposed, for all his kind were prone to such sinister idiosyncrasies, for he had longed to witness the warrior's death more than once. Now, however, the possibility seemed distant and unattainable, Jack was quickly becoming his demise instead of the other way around.
He had once the opportunity to rid himself of the samurai and the troubles that accompanied him. He could recall the scene with perfect clarity, the desolate battleground they had fought upon. The alien sensation of pain from that damnable enchanted katana that made Aku writhe just in remembrance of its deadly contours. He had memorized every parry, every dodge, every attack they had preformed in the desert. A dance of death, if one chose to be poetic, between demon and samurai. The wizard remembered the moment of his victory with special significance. The way he had towered over his foe who had lain sprawled haphazardly across the burning desert floor like a broken rag doll, the infamous magical sword a few feet from his hand, though it might as well have been a world away. Aku could remember the smell of the samurai's blood as the heat of the day amplified the acrid, coppery smell. It was a tangy, exciting scent and he had revelled in it. It was at that moment in which he had been able to deliver sweet death to the legendary Samurai Jack.
But...he didn't. He had spared him!
There was no warning as to what would happen. He himself hadn't been under a hex of one of his more ambitious underlings or one of those impetuous rebels. He hadn't been the victim of some elaborate trap. Everything had been perfect for the kill. He could have ended it all with one swift blow had he chosen to do so, but the moment before victory he had thought about a world without watching his nemesis trudge grimly across the world. Knowing that after the fateful blow, he would never be able to obtain amusement at his nemesis' misfortune or at his blazing temper when everything in the world that could go wrong, did go wrong. Never smile with satisfaction when Samurai Jack realized he had been manipulated or trapped in Aku's designs.
It had been perplexingly...unacceptable.
Even as he lay here now, their positions reversed, and it was his fate that hung in the balance, he could not bring himself to regret the decision. The samurai--Jack--brought his blade about to deliver the final, killing blow, his face etched into a battle-hardened mask of determination. The demon could smell his blood once more, and it was heady. They had spoke little during this encounter, unlike their last, and instead of exchanging barbs had engaged in an especially brutal mêlée. The warrior simply froze his muscles as he raised his sword over his head, steeling himself for the kill--the victory.
He did not move.
For a moment, Jack narrowed his eyes into baleful slits that burned with an emotion Aku could not identify. Then, with little more than a grunt, the samurai lowered his sword and sheathed it angrily, all pale muscles taut with an internal struggle. Victory or honour? Should he kill his nemesis or spare a life for a life? Honour won out and the warrior returned his enchanted kitana to its rightful place at his waist before he turned away, though not before he finally broke the silence.
"Damn you," he breathed softly as he finally began walking away from the scene of their battle, ignoring the rain which began to patter down in thin grey sheets even as it stung his many wounds. He appeared a white and crimson beacon in a sea of silver--if one chose to be poetic.
Aku quirked a brow as he watched the samurai's despairing form gradually fade beneath an ever increasing haze of rain. The encounter had given him an insight, for he now knew of a word to designate the weakness that had manifested itself inside him. Beforehand, he had been unable to identify the ailment which had taken root in him, but after watching Jack and all his mortal eccentricities, he finally managed to attach a label to the disease.
Humans had many names for it. Affection, adoration, fondness, tenderness, devotion, passion, ardour...love. The list could go on. But in his native demon tongue there was only one word that, despite its existence, had rarely been utilized since the dawning of his species. In spite of its antiquity, however, it was the closest thing that could ever describe his actions.
The disease was aptly named awaremi.
Hmm, sort of grows on me the more I read it. This is weird though, don't you think?
I think I need professional help. _;;