For those who are waiting for the next chapter of "Thread Bound", I'm working on it and the main reason why I'm putting this out is because it's just the beginning, ya' know a short prologue. It takes me a while to type up the chapters for "TB" but hopefully I'll have the next chapter up in a few days. (Yup, this time I can blame it all on being busy 'cause we just added a new apartment complex to our list of places to clean, means more joy working in the sweatshop that is called Orlando, Florida woohoo yippee :do note the sarcasm:: )
Okay, this is my first Samurai Deeper Kyo fan fiction but I just had to give it a shot. Not only do I love this manga series but I am saddened by the lack of appreciation for it and disappointed by the pitiful number of fics put out for it. By the way, "Midori no Me" means Eyes of Green which should be a dead giveaway about who co-stars in this fic.
With that in mind I bring you a vegitadias production starring the wonderful, splendiforous, hot, gorgeous, and all around cool OnimenoKyo and his lovely companion Yuya Shiina.
If you have a problem with this pairing please don't torture me about it.
2)If you hate this pairing because you'd rather see her with Benitora (who I LOOOOOOVE, just not for Yuya-chan) please don't read if you know you'll get pissed.
This is AU and it assumes that Kyo and Kyoshiro are separate entities. So, short haired, sweet, and not as cute Kyoshiro and sexy, long-haired (somewhat unstable) Kyo, 'kay?
With that said, on to the fic (which is probably going to be long in the running if you guys don't mind).
Disclaimer: I will never own Kyo, if I did Yuya wouldn't have given been confused between Kyo and Kyoshiro (the choice should be obvious ::coughcoughKyocoughcough::)
Midori No Me
His world revolved around it. He craved it, pursued it, and inflicted it, exulting in the sweetest of releases. That was how his dark soul confirmed that he was alive , that he was real, that he was free-a slave only to the desire to swing his sword and and take as many enemies as possible with him. A demon of a man who led all who opposed him down the dark and well trodden path of death, of which he was lord and master.
Yet, there he was, trudging through the underbrush of the forest, his legs and arms cramping, blood clouding his vision due to the deep cut on his temple. His red hakama, haori, and armour were stained an even deeper shade because of his injuries, tattered and torn in too many places to count and every movement made his tense muscles scream in agony.
Despite all, narrow, well defined lips pulled back into a grin.
Twisted satisfaction was evident in blazing red eyes that were very much alive although his face was a macabre mask of cold amusement intertwined with blood and suffering.
His enemy was dead.
No man could have survived the killing stroke he gave him-the man who arrogantly insisted on calling himself "The Master"-and now he was hunting for the last remnants of his followers. There were four left now, out of the group that once proudly took up the name of "The Twelve," one-by-one he'd slain them...and enjoyed every bit of it.
He stopped, body tensing automatically as he finally felt the full brunt of the pain that hovered beneath the surface, avenging itself on his body for holding it at bay with his constant movement. Grunting softly, he looked around at his surroundings, every fiber of his being alert, wary of the danger that had been trailing him for sometime. It was a testimony to exactly how much he'd been drained in his earlier battle, which could be described as no less than epic. And now his limbs wanted to collapse from strain. He stilled the abused muscles and stood proud, a tall silhouette with irises that bled red.
After all, demons never showed their weaknesses.
Keen eyes that missed nothing-even on this dark, moonless night-scanned the forest, seeking out his hidden pursuer and finding nothing.
A twig snapped off to his right...
...and with an exquisite song, his sword sword was draw out, a gentle "shing" sounding, the tiny prelude to his song...his dance. Up, the long blade arced, blocking a blow that would have left him one head shorter before stepping back to survey his opponent. The other man was masked, his eyes shadowed by a hood. The demon's arm tingled and he smirked, showing his fangs, perhaps this would be interesting.
So he began his song. His song of battle.
Their swords met again and again and he was well pleased by the sound of metal on metal as he began his dance. The same one that had him staring at death herself.
His blood began to pound in his ears as they moved, each a fluid performer and he listened to the pace, the tempo of his beating heart and moved accordingly. He was alive as he danced with death, his oh so fickle yet desirable lover. How many men had he sent to her embrace instead of himself? But he knew, how well he knew that she waited to receive him and him alone, for though he was reputed to be a demon, a heartless a man without limit...he was still mortal.
He heard it, as shift in the song and his breath came out faster, harder, more uneven. His mortality was reminding him that he had just fought another man to the brink of death and his body needed the rest that he had refused to give it, knowing that if he slept she would come for him, come to take him away in her cold embrace.
His heart was beating fast trying to supply blood to a body that was in sore need of repair and he realized for the first time that they had made it as far as a dark, raging river. Exhaustion burned into his system and his song...for one second it stopped, throwing him off and slowing him down.
That was all it took.
White hot pain lanced through him as the masked man's katana cut through skin and muscle, halting at his ribs only because he twisted his body in enough time to keep himself from being sliced in half.
The world spun upside down and he swore that he could hear her laughing as she prepared to welcome him at long last. Time froze and "the great demon", "the killer of a thousand men" toppled backwards into the river.
It was in the moment between living and the darkness of sweet, painless oblivion...the moment when his ragged body was pulled down by icy fingers of water beneath which his often spurned lover waited...it was then that clever fingers moved up to remove the mask. His face was pale and his eyes were a deep blue...And he was so very familiar though his red hazed mind couldn't place him.
Thin lips curled into a smile and that was the last thing he saw before black clouded his vision and he slipped into the realm of the unconscious.
How's that for a beginning? Who's going to find the body and what happens after that? Please read and review and tell me if I freaked ya' out.