Hello everyone! Welcome to my obsession with something that is actually still somewhat relevant, haha! Most of my fanfiction involve stories/books/movies that are either older or not as popular to write about, yet you seem to enjoy them, so I decided to write about something more recent. For those of you who haven't read/seen Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji) I strongly urge you to go find the manga and watch the anime. It's got everything, and there are parts that I couldn't stop laughing at. In any event, I was approached by my dear friend Zoey to write a story with Agni/Prince Soma in it. She said (I quote) "There are simply NOT enough of this pairing! I mean, I looked all over FFnet and other sites, and there isn't enough! And doujinshi? There's NOTHING!-insert pervy gleam here-" Yes, she was very dissapointed to learn of the "lack of love" for this pairing. I admit, it was a daunting task, as I do not usually write yaoi, but as a writer, I pride myself in being able to write anything. Thus, this little piece was conceived. Because we don't get much backstory in the anime (there's more in the manga) of these two, I took the liberty to write it myself within the anime (not so much the manga) world of Black Butler. It mostly takes place in India, before Agni and Prince Soma travel to Britain (though they will be there in the final chapter). It is a look at letting go of the past and moving into the future, a feat that Ciel seems to fail at a lot. Also, this fic has some "theme music" I wrote the chapters to. This first one was written to "Rescue Me" by Kerrie Roberts. Anyways, I hope you like it, and I look forward to your comments.
By the way, I DO NOT own ANYTHING related to Black Butler. I just play with Yana Taboso's characters and then give them back slightly damaged.
Reflections of the Past
So long since he had left it all behind; that life of idle ease and privilege afforded to the Brahmans. So long since he had been condemned to die for his hatred, his crimes, his sins. So long…since his god had rescued and redeemed his wretched heart.
Agni glanced over to where his beloved sat, meditating, as he always did before bed. Such things soothed the mind, body and soul, it was helpful for anyone to lose one's sense of self for a while and simply be.
The Hindi sat for a moment, his grey eyes roaming the still face of his friend, his lover, his everything.
If for the space of an aeon,
One were to harbor an unwholesome mind
And scowling, scold the Buddha,
he would incur measureless offenses.
Arshad's mind had been elsewhere. Despite all the wisdom to be found within the words of the Buddha, the white-haired man could not care less.
His eyes followed the figure of a servant, the body wrapped in cheap cloth that did nothing to hide the willowy frame that had captured the young Brahman's gaze. His eyes had trailed slowly, lustfully down the figure, lost inside his imaginings of heat and bliss and want, unable to decide if the creature was a man or woman. It did not matter.
"..ad. Arshad! Where has your mind wandered off to? Please pay attention when the Sutra is being read," a patient voice cut through the haze of his mind, and he snapped back to attention, trying to focus on breathing, calming himself, and the words being said.
It was a lost battle. His eyes slid back to the servant again, until the Bodhisattva finally gave up for the day and sent him off. That night was lost to the passion, the false fire as he claimed the (he found out) man-servant on the floor of his room that night. The man had pleaded and begged to be left alone, but Arshad ignored the cries of "Stop!" in favor of My choice, My pleasure, My right.
It was not the first of such incidents.
Years before, Arshad had witnessed a being of a higher caste take advantage of one of lower status. Never had he seen such injustice, and his heart was horrified by the despicable act. He began to see it everywhere. Not just in the form of sexual acts, but in violence, hatred, greed, abuse. All of these things sickened him, and he vowed to never be such an animal.
As time went on, he began to resent his self-imposed virtue. Why should I not use my position of power? Why should I be the only one who does not have pleasures in this world? The others…they care nothing for those less fortunate, though they preach and they pray and they spout their lies like vomit. Those hypocrites, they teach me the ways of Virtue only to sully themselves with the dirt of those beneath them. Why should I not so the same? He thoughtbitterly.
That night was his first experience with the pleasure of sexual relations.
Night after night, months he continued in this fashion, never heeding another's wants or needs. And one night, after he threw the female servant out of his room, he angrily smashed his furniture to bits in order to leave the self-loathing behind. When it would not go away, he stormed from his house. A friend of Arshad's approached him to ask of his latest conquest; it was a grave mistake on his part. Arshad practically tore the man apart in his fury. As it was, no one could identify the body, and thus, he was blameless.
That night was his first experience with murder.
The bloodlust was infrequent at first, but finally it consumed him. Every night a new defilement of a body, every other night, a killing in cold blood. Eventually, he was found out by his family, who had always been distant, and he ran like the coward he was. Embittered with hate for the ones who had abandoned him, he set his home on fire. The inhabitants screamed and fled, some lay burning to death in the smoldering building.
That night was his first experience with massacre.
It continued on for nearly two years, until suddenly…it was over.
The Indian government, controlled by the British, decided to take action against Arshad's rampages though the area. When they caught up to him, the violent beast was rather unwilling to cooperate. He killed a great number of the soldiers, until their sheer numbers overwhelmed him.
He was dragged to the local stocks, where he was stripped and flogged mercilessly. Every lash of the whip was met with an inhuman scream. Every lick of fire on his skin incurred a snarl of pain. The words, the words…they taunted him, they mocked him. Every day, villagers would come to observe his humiliation and agony and call him the scum of the earth.
And he knew they were right.
Those weeks were his first experience with torture.
Eventually, his body grew too weak to handle any more pain, and he simply closed himself off. He no longer felt, he no longer heard. He simply was. Nothing mattered, especially not himself. And when the people eventually tired of his pain, they cried out for his death.
On the eve of his twenty second birthday, he was led to the gallows like a pig to slaughter. Pigs are fortunate. Arshad thought idly. They do not know that their end is near. He was practically kicked up the stairs, his body far too weak to support itself, until he stood upon the platform.
I am going to die here. And my soul, black as it is, will be dragged down into Hell. I suppose if this is the end, then I should feel something.
He stood there, as the executioner put the rope around his neck, its rough surface prickling and itching in the heat of the setting sun. Shadows danced as the sun guttered weakly, trying to hold on to the horizon. Damn you all. Damn your miserable, cursed, hypocritical souls. He thought without emotion while looking out to the crowd.
His eyes betrayed nothing, for there was nothing inside. He would not forgive them. He would not forgive himself.
A tear of blood fell from his eye.
The executioner stepped to the handle that would send him to his end, and he kept his eyes open, ready to greet his fate.
"You there! I hear you have the strength of a beast! I'm intrigued!" a voice called out in the crowd. For some reason he could not explain, Arshad felt at those words. It was anger at the interruption, but it was feeling.
A figure leapt from the crowd with skill and walked toward him. Arshad barely acknowledged the man. The person drew a knife, and Arshad briefly thought that he would die by the sword rather than the noose. A slash, and the cord was sliced from his neck, along with the long white hair that marked him as a Brahman. His eyes widened in shock, another emotion, as he stared into the crowd for a moment. Every face was matched to his utter disbelief.
The man spoke again, "As of now, the man you were is dead." He stood with his back to Arshad, his posture almost…defensive against the crowd. "It's time to be reborn into a new name and a new life!" Countless times he had heard similar words of the Bodhisattvas and despised them.
But somehow...falling from the lips of this man, there was no sweeter sound.
He didn't believe in the gods, didn't believe in anything. Until that moment. The man turned around, and Arshad realized that he stood in the presence of a god. His god…
"Do you understand, Agni?" the prince beamed at him.
He understood perfectly.
Read and Review my fine ladies and gentlemen. Reviews to me are like Sebastian is to Grell...well, maybe that's going a little far... ;)