Wednesday, September 15, 2004

   Vermilion

Posted with permission Vermilion By: Asurahime ---------- I did not even know your name but I knew that at that moment, I hated you. Standing next to the soldiers of my Black Brigade, I noticed a brown wagon approaching from the direction of the Bequerel Mines. I felt the smirk already forming at my lips as much as I felt my men cowering in fear. "My men"? Since when have I thought of them in that honorable level? They are actually no more than my minions. All of them truly hope that the war would end so that they would be free of my wrath. They all want to return to the comforts of their home rather than mine. Mine is the battlefield. I do not have an agenda and I don't necessarily need to have loyalty to anyone. Not even myself. Trusting myself would be the swiftest way to destruction. No, I only trust my blades and the comfort that apathy brings. In between the cries of war in this godless land, I play the sole role of God. The chosen ones are spared further agony. At each slice of my blade and each sweep of my claws, crimson flowers bloom against the ground. But they are always crimson, never a different color. Why are they always the same color of red? They are always the same shade, never darker nor lighter than the shade of the last drop of blood from a wicked heart. I laugh. What am I thinking? I am the most wicked of them all! But of course I have seen my own blood! However, I had drawn it myself. I have sworn never to let another draw even a single drop from me. I see it every day. I avoid mirrors lest I see the same crimson manifested in myself. Eyes as crimson as rubies. As red as blood. As vermilion as the flowers upon the battlefield. Do not those who worship Aquios also make wishes upon flowers? A garland of a thousand flowers. Those wishing charms. I have already made thousands of shades of crimson flowers bloom. But my wish has never been granted. Why is that? With the false smile still on my face, I drew my Iron Claws back and struck the ground before me, relishing the sudden turmoil as the horses and the two insignificant women flailed ungracefully to the ground. My minions approached each of them and I frowned involuntarily. I did not tell them to move and puppets should not disobey their manipulator. Swiftly moving ahead of them, I struck the two women unconscious with blow to the back of their heads. I did not bother being gentle. They were the enemy after all and I am called "Wicked" for a reason. But wait. I then noticed that the two females were the same two who were captured before. Pathetic of them to be captured again. But it was also before that I saw something which bothers my sleep. It is an utter madness, consuming me night and day with the extent of my unparalleled hatred. You were rumored to be an engineer from the neutral land of Greeton but from the first time I saw you, I knew that you could not be. You were too unique, too complicated and much too untainted. It was like the clothes you wore, passable for the garments people normally wear but you cannot deceive my eye. No engineer wears white because of their work. You did not seem to have an inkling of the repercussions of this war when every other common engineer, whether involved or not is affected by the war. Perhaps it was your uncommon blue hair which caught my eye first as you and your companions stared up at me after you utterly destroyed my second-in-command at the Kirlsa Training Facility. But I knew it could not be that. Not when for once, I can see a mirror which does not show me an unforgiving vermilion. For once, I could see endless green rather than crimson roses. It was a field of growth rather than a field of death. It was unsettling. You were unsettling. And so I hated you. And so I stand here, not below torturing my prisoners a little as I kicked them around. The wicked smirk on my face remained as I remembered what I said before. "Easy wins were never my style." How true. Others think it is because I follow some sort of complicated Chivalric Code. Foolish creatures. It would simply be too boring without a proper challenge. I judge a fight by how much enjoyment I gain from it. Wounded enemies would only be an annoyance. Weak enemies such as these two would only be a hindrance. The mad look must have manifested itself upon my face again, for the minions moved back away from me. Perhaps it would be better if you showed up again. Maybe I would be able to properly test your amusement factor. I could care less about this war. I have gained nothing from it so far but boredom and responsibilities. Speaking of the devil, you then appeared, followed by that blonde ape in tight clothes and the crimson-haired wench with runology tattoos. I narrowed my eyes in slight anger, you were clearly tired and not at your best shape. You also appeared to be overly-emotional at the moment. Thus, I chose to further inflame your rage by attacking one of the insects lying at my feet. To my delight, it worked. To my astonishment, I dropped my sword first. Someone other than me had made a flower bloom upon the ground. It was the same color of my eyes. Although I wanted to continue, desperate to fully experience the adrenaline of the fight again, I caught your pitying look upon me. "As he said before, Cliff. Easy wins were never our style." I was stunned speechless, unable to move. I remained frozen to my spot as you all left me with the unconscious figures of my brigade littered about. What was that I saw in your eyes? Why did you not have the same look as the one I see in the mirror everyday? I do not recognize what your opinions are towards me. Do you think that I am weak? How dare you. Nevertheless, you have captured my attention. I do not care about the other two, I hold no interest towards them. They can live or die and I would not be moved. On the other hand, there is something unnatural about you. Something not quite mortal. Something probably comparable to the loneliness I truly feel. I have felt your potential for power and have become fascinated by it. Fascinated by you. Fayt. Isn't that your name? How ironic. Fate. I never believed in these kinds of things before but maybe I should start. Perhaps I was fated to meet you. Perhaps the flowers would make my wishes come true after all. But don't misunderstand me. I still hate you above all else. I've just found something more interesting than this war. But as I stood up, leaning on my sword, I realized that there was something I would like to ask. Don't you hate me too? ---------- I dunno. The story kind of explains a lot about me in a few ways. And I like the way it's set up.

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