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21 June 2009 @ 09:29 pm
The Abyss of Despair // ToraxManabu  
Title: The Abyss of Despair
Chapters: 1/1
Author: burn1ngcha0s
Genre: general
Warnings: none
Rating: PG-13
Band(s): ScReW, Alice Nine
Pairings/Characters: ToraxManabu
Synopsis: "All these years... Centuries of solitude... It all has become meaningless as I was one of the last of my kind. New blood must come and shake these boundries of this mortal realm."
Word count: 3,358
Disclaimer: I only claim rights to the story
Comments: Tora-centric



~I am never satisfied
Your false laughter echoes
Live cleverly at the utmost
In other words, you should die~


The Moon is bright up in the dark sky, illuminating the concrete where I walk on, showing me the way. It's a beautiful night. Everything is so fresh after the day's rain, making every scent more enjoyable, more pure. Gentle breeze of wind playing with my hair brings the world on smells closer to me, enough to drive a man insane. I know better, though. It's been years since I was a young, restless thing, following my instincts instead of my head. I know better now. With years comes knowledge.

I was born into poverty-filled village. My mother was a brothel-whore, working every day of the week. I never knew who my father was. I doubt mother dearest knew either, considering she spread her legs for anyone willing to throw her a dime. When her pregnancy became known, she had agreed to let the owner of the brothel to fuck her whenever the old fart wanted it, where ever and however, so she would be allowed to stay there and still work before her stomach growing would show. Her only friends, the othe whores working alongside her, pampered her in every way possible, talking to me as I was growing inside her.

When I first saw the world, it was a rainy night. During the early hours of September 17th, 1537AC, my first cries were heard as I reached my hands for a fairly beautiful woman, her expression all worn out from giving birth. Funny as it sounds, I fell in love with those dark amber eyes of her the moment she looked at me. They were so full of life, passion, tenderness. For years to come, I would always take comfort when looking at her write behind the desk, one of the few pieces of furniture we had in that little room we were given to live in.

The other girls were always around, spoiling me rotten with sweets and toys even when I was still a baby. My mother would always smile, but at night she never even once held me close. My flesh and blood mother chose to sit at the sill of out small window, silently crying to herself. I was just a baby, I couldn't have done a thing for her even when I knew what was wrong with her.

At the age of four, I was an active child, running around the village all day long. The other kids didn't want to play with me, though. I never knew why some of them threw stones at me, kicked me, but I stood strong and didn't cry. Later, when I was older, I learned it was because I was the son of a slut, a worthless whore, like they enjoyed shouting it to my face. I hurt them, kicked them until they became afraid of me, but nothing changed. Finally I just gave up and didn't bother to listen to their taunts about my non-existing heritage.

If there was any justice in the world, my mother shouldn't have slapped me when I told her to get a better job. The bright red handmark on my cheek burned and I could only stare at her when she had become a fury. From that day on, she avoided me, even looking at me seemed hard for her. But what could I do? Beg for the love of someone who was unwilling to give it? The other girls told me she was losing her mind because of my father. It seemed she was still in love with that man and everything about me reminded her of him. Yet she hated the man as much as she loved him for leaving her in the brothel whoring to stay alive. And the way the brothel keeper kept raping her was having a horrible effect on her sane mind.

Seeing and hearing things opened up my mind on so many levels and by the age of twelve, still living in the brothel, I had grown into a rather handsome young man. The girls never hid it from me. I started looking into the mirror more often, and borrowing my mother's eyeshadow and other makeup items, I wore black eyeshadow mixing with the eyeliner, thus giving my eyes a rather powerful look. Blank lip gloss, and after styling my hair and asking one of the girls to pierce my ears, I was done. I swore there wasn't a single person that didn't take a second glance at me when I walked the streets.

However, when I returned to my room, and my mother saw me, she didn't seem to like it. Pulling my hair, she yelled at me, calling me strange names. With all the ruckus, almost everyone ran in, and it took much effort from them to pull me loose from her grasp. That's when I really saw her. What she had become.

Bony hands reaching for me, she kicked and tried to break loose. Torn clothes and makeup overdone to hide her true age, her eyes were no longer of a sane person. Her hair flying everywhere, she looked like a harpy, long claws ready to attack me with, to scratch my face until there was nothing left to break.

I ran. Grabbing only a few items, I ran out of the door to leave that place once and for all. I was sick and tired of always having to hurt others to save me from getting beaten because I was only the son of a whore. That phrase was always ringing in my ears. But no more.

Living on the streets seemed like a much better choice, even if it was dirty and sometimes dangerous. I could fight off anyone who bothered me, though.

It was years of always being on the road before something happened.

Even though I hated it, I had to steal in order to eat and stay alive. Those jobs I had once in a while never paid enough to live. Whether it was bread or fruits, I had developed speed when escaping the guards and whoever began chasing me. It was almost funny to watch them running around like idiots from a tree way above their heads, munching on an apple. Of course, I didn't want to steal, but I had no real interest in going to jail either.

By the age of seventeen, I was a skilled escape artist. Passing through hundreds of cities by now, I had learned all I needed to know to stay alive, and that with style. I was confident in myself, and no-one could catch me alive. Submitting to even more skilled thefts, I had also began to rob empty houses when the habitants were away. Easy money, right? Wrong.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

I froze at the coldness of the voice coming from behind me. Swallowing to calm myself, I thought over all the possible escape ways I had spotted on my way to the master bedroom to empty the jewelry and sell it away later. I could easily jump out from the window - I was only on the second floor and by the time whoever is behind me reaches downstairs, I'll be far away from here. It was dark anyway, so I would have had no problems getting away.

Just I was turning for the window, I was harshly grabbed and I'm not too sure how exactly it happened, but I landed on the floor on the opposite side of the room. The last things I saw was a figure moving towards me, and then I blacked out.

I came around hours later. It seemed I had been unconscious for a while now, since I could hear birds singing behind the window. WAIT! Window? Curiously, I got on my elbows, careful not to make any overly sudden movements to increase the throbbing in my head.

"You're finally awake."

At that moment when I knew that voice belonged to the same guy that had easily thrown me across the room earlier, I leaped out from the bed, ignoring the awful pain my body was in, and burst through the window. Luckily, I landed on my feet, so in a a hurry to get as far as possible, I ran. No footsteps behind me were heard, and it seemed I was safe.


It was by chance, actually, when my past caught up with me. By that time, I had turned twenty one, legally a grown-up, and in charge of my life. Ironical, since I had been taking care of myself for years already. I was sick and hurt, stumbling through the woods to find a place nice enough to spend the night in. Even an abandoned bearcave would have been a blessing in my state. My bruised ankle was killing me and I was sure without finding the herbs to make a compress to it, I wouldn't be able to walk on the following day. Assuming I would find a spot and wouldn't die from the fever. Although I wasn't a licensed doctor, I was very aware of my current state. And it wasn't good.

To my luck, I had spotted some sort of a building-like complex behind all these endless trees, so dragging my exhausted body by force, I set my steps that way.

Indeed, it was once a building, a mansion even. Time had had enough years to run it down, though, so now there were no glass on the windows and the whole thing looked like a ghost palace now. But I had slept even in the gutter so in a way, it could have been classified as a blessing to spend the night even with ghosts instead of on the cold forest floor.

So, stumbling in through the worn down front door, I was pleasantly surprised. Even though the house looked awful from the outside, the inside looked much better. Some old furniture covered with sheets, spiderwebs hanging here and there, yet that's all I could have wished for. I slumped into one of those armchairs, and hissing in pain, removed my footwear to have a look at my ankle. Swollen and in pain. Using the few items I always carried with me for emergency, I wrapped it in bandages to prevent unnecessary movement, and soon after as the tiredness took over, dozed off.

My dreams were rapid and didn't make sense. It was like someone was there, watching me from behind the haze I was unable to pass. Out of nowhere, music started playing. A lonely tune played on piano. It all seemed so real... It was real. I was awake now, and could clearly hear the piano on the other side of the room.

"We meet again."

My mind working on overflow, I felt a cold shiver going down my spine. That voice... I had heard it before. Somewhere...

"You're still a thief while you could be much more. You have skill, kid - why don't you use it for more than just slumping down on the ladder?"

And then it hit me. The coldness of the voice, the icy yet fierce look in that person's eyes as I turned my head to see him. I now knew who had spoken to me.

"Who are you?" My voice was trembling as I opened my mouth to speak. I hated it, how the fear which I tried so hard to hide showed through. I could see his lips smirking seconds before he removed the hood covering his face. His hair just as dark as mine, his locks dropped onto his shoulders as his eyes were still locked on me.

"Who am I...? Your mentor if you choose to accept my offer. Your end if you choose not to. I knew you would be something from the moment I met you, when you intruded my domain for the first time those few years ago. You are made for much more than petty thefts, Amano Shinji. Choose fast, yet wisely."

And with that, I sealed my faith. I didn't want to die but the offer intrigued me as well.

From that day on, I went under strict supervision of my newfound mentor. He taught me the way of royalty, how to fight, how to judge. I always thought my skills were good enough, but I was proven wrong - whatever I could do, he surpassed me with ease. I hated it, the cocky thing I was, so forcing myself, I worked harder and harder until I could barely stand on my feet from exhaustion. Yet I wasn't ever done and pushed myself to be more.

There was one thing I never understood about my mentor. We would always have dinner every night, and I ate tons to regain my strenght for the next day. He, however, only nibbled on it. I never saw him eating anything; he only observed me while sometimes drinking wine on the other side of the table. But who was I to judge, so it became a natural thing for me to eat and for him to watch.

As I was training late at night, I once heard a peculiar noise. Standing still, I listened and I was sure it came from the other side of the building, where my mentor lived. Tiptoeing, I went to investigate. Just as I reached to the stairs, I saw it. My mentor, leaning down, someone in his arms, and low growls breaking the silence. As moonlight shone on the pair, I swear I wasn't seeing things as my mentor raised his head and blood was dripping from his mouth. Looking down I saw the woman's neck also covered in blood. In my defense, I think I always knew my mentor wasn't like other people. I was proven right. Turning around, I calmly went back to my training area.

On the following day, I wasn't even surprised when my mentor showed up behind me without a sound.

"It is time."

Turning around, I saw his fangs.

"You are ready now. Step forward and your life will change."

And I did. Lowering my head, I took a step forward. I knew it was coming sooner or later, so when a pair of sharp fangs pierced my skin, I only took a sharp breath when my blood freely flowed through the wounds his fangs had created and hungrily, he drank it. Everything happened in complete silence, except for his pleased humming as I felt life leaving me. Just as my knees were weakening beneath me, I was caught and gently placed on the training mats. He sat on his knees next to me. I was so cold...

"Your mortal body is dieing. Don't fight it. You will wake up soon to live for ever."

And I did. After my death, some half an hour later, my eyes snapped open, and insatiable hunger rummaged through my veins. Pure bloodlust. The need to kill, the desire to murder for the sake of it. Even though my body was still weak, my senses were sharper than ever. I needed to drench this guilty pleasure, I needed to fill this desire. I needed to silence this beast within me.

"I thought you were ready. It seems I was mistaking," my mentor's voice sounded from behind me. He was watching my futile attempts to get up from my position, to follow the sinister urge surfacing. In his hand, a goblet was. Silently, he lowered himself to my level. My eyes went wide as the intoxicating scent of blood invaded my senses as he broke his skin with one of his fangs, and hot blood dripped into the goblet. It was one of the most enchanting scenes I had ever seen, almost erotic due to its' raw nature. When there was a decent amount of steaming blood in the goblet, it was handed to me. The scent was alluring, and without hesitation, I drank all the contents, but it wasn't enough. "More!" I demanded, growling like a beast to its' prey. I was only ignored.

"You still have a lot to learn," my mentor got up. The wound was already gone from his wrist. "Never ever overdrink for it can kill you."


Only later I learned not to drain my prey. There has to be some life inside them as I stop filling my need for blood. If I took the last drop of their blood, I would bring the death on myself as well. All needs to be measured. My mentor was very strict about that.

Hiding the bodies was also a thing I learned. Leaving them to the scene of the crime would have raised many questions, so in order to not become the hunted ourselves, we left the bodies to wild animals and changed living grounds rather often. My mentor knew when it was time for us to leave. I stayed with him for years to come, but one day he was gone. I woke to an empty house. I guess it meant I was ready...

And here I am now, four hundred and seventy two years of age, tracking the scent of my own discovery. He's still a young one, and at times I wonder if I turned him too early. His bloodlust is still insatiable even after those brief forty seven years since I turned him. Yet he doesn't look a day older than seventeen that he was before entering this dark world full of blood and death.

"What did I tell you about taking too much at once? Never ever take the last drop of blood." My voice interrupts his "dinner", and with bloodshot eyes, he turns to me. The instant he recognizes me, they turn back into beautiful almond-colored irises. Dropping his victim to the ground, he lowers his head.

"Forgive me, Tora-sama. I got carried away."

He always uses that excuse, and it always works. Partially because I was just as reckless as he is now, partially because I have grown rather fond of him, and his endless ways to lure and play with his prey. I admit, he is handsome. Petite form, and wearing clothes barely covering his magnificent porcelain skin, he is quite a sight. No matter if it's a man or a woman, they fall for his slutty looks if he wants them to. I am sure even some girls would envy him. But beneath that beauty lies a beast. With only one hand, he is capable of slicing the throats of many, creating a mist of blood to rain down on him, which he hungrily licks off of himself while watching the last horrified looks the soon-to-be-dead people are giving him. He is dangerous. Ah, I have taught him well.

"I can see that," I smirk, taking a step closer to see what he had chosen this night. She is quite pretty. Or was, to be precise, since she is now torn. Her eyes dead, staring into nothingness, she looks ugly. Feeling disgusted, I turn to leave, my student following me.

"Is my mentor hungry for some more?" he inquires, tugging my sleeve as we step onto the street and enter the crowd of people. I smile at the action; it seems he is quite fond of me also. There is a strong bond between a teacher and the student, and we share that more than we should. My mentor left me, but I do not wish to leave my Manabu just yet, if ever.

"Slow down, we have all the time in the world," I reply, petting his head to which he replies with almost a purring sound and inches closer to me, clinging onto me. If I said I minded, I would be lying. His violet/black hair tickles me and involuntarily I sneeze. Like this, side by side, we walk these streets. Our world collides with the mortals, yet they do not know of our existence, our crimes against their kind to stay alive.

This is my path. To walk alone only with my own kind. Humans are born and die, but we are for ever. I have a feeling me and my Manabu will be walking this world for a long, long time to come.

The smell of approaching rain lingering in my nostrils, I watch as the first drops make their way down and the streets empty, leaving us the only ones staying still while the sky breaks loose and gallons of water is dumped on us. The rain flattening our hair, we look forward. Me, a Master and him, the Student. A match that even Father Time cannot break.

~The sky cries
"Can you compensate for my cry?"~
 
 
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angelicomaangelicoma on October 5th, 2009 06:13 pm (UTC)
Oh, I would love to read more of this, especially on Manabu's point of view.
The time skips were nice and you got this whole vampiric feeling, flowing.
It was a nice read :)