A/N: Written for 10 whores LiveJournal community challenge using the prompt #7 – grace.
Warnings: None. Worksafe.
Disclaimer: Kazuya Minekura owns all.
Bound By Nothing
Genjo Sanzo did not often think about his predecessor Koumyou Sanzo. Ghosts of the past had no place in the world of the living, but they had a chance to return and haunt him when it was raining outside. It was the only time when Genjo Sanzo had no control of his mind and his memories.
All those long years he had lived according to his master's teachings, he still did. He knew not where he would end up, he did not care. But his road might have been predetermined on that day when Koumyou shielded him from death. From that day on, Genjo Sanzo had wandered around the world as if on a quest to avenge the person who had brought him up, the person who had made him into who he was now. Whether he was seeking for his own end or slaying demons in retribution – no one but himself could answer that.
He was bound by nothing, so he told himself. He kept on striding through life and repeating those words until those words bound him.
"Carry nothing," Koumyou had said. And Sanzo carried nothing but his vengeance and his tools to aid him in it.
"If you meet the Buddha, kill the Buddha." And he killed. Left and right, demons and anyone who got in his way; none survived his wrath.
"If you meet your father, kill your father." But could he, really? Could he kill Koumyou (who was the closest to a father he had ever had) if he suddenly stood in front of him alive again? Sanzo was still holding on to the memories of the orange paper plane against the clear blue sky. Would he be willing to banish the source of it? Could he raise his hand and erase it just as easily as he did with demons?
Was Sanzo really carrying nothing? And could he let go of all the things he had taken with himself into his life?
Or would he rather break those words, discard that belief and live life his own way, as he claimed to already do? If there was an answer to that, Sanzo never spoke of it. If he ever thought of all the things Koumyou had given him, remained nothing but questions and whispers of monks whose temple he had left to not return to again.
If the ghost of Koumyou followed him and weighed him down, there were no outward signs for it. Only Sanzo himself could answer that, but he had never been into talking and preferred silence over spoken words.
Sanzo kept on living, kept on being bound by nothing (outwards and maybe inwards, too), and allowed the ghost of his old Master come only when it was raining.