Shaman King Fan Fiction ❯ Black ❯ Chapter 1
[ P - Pre-Teen ]
By: Karre 
When all seems lost, there's always the fierce joy of the fight. Faust POV, set just before his battle with Yoh.
Anime/Manga: Shaman King Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 10.26.2003 | Pages: 1 | Words: 904 | Visits: 864 | Status: Completed
When all seems lost, there's always the fierce joy of the fight. Faust POV, set just before his battle with Yoh.
Anime/Manga: Shaman King Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 10.26.2003 | Pages: 1 | Words: 904 | Visits: 864 | Status: Completed
Title: Black
Author: Karre (modnar369@aol.com)
Warnings: Depressing/upsetting themes, sad/slightly insane Faust-kun
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, never will, never have. ::sigh:: Now I’m more depressed than Faust.
Feedback: Pretty please? I love to know what people think!
Notes: Be afraid! I was driving around the other day when Paint It Black came on the radio. It struck me as a Faust-in-a-Funk song. Thankies to my beta and best friend, Jinu-chan, whom I called at 10 o’clock this morning for a last bit of editing.This is my first time writing 1st person, so please tell me what you think. I think that Faust-kun’s personality was a bit fractal at this point in the series so I let him...well, you'll see. Whee! Ahem...
And now…Let’s get depressing! (and a little bit scary…)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I arrive at the battleground early, in the hopes of catching a glimpse of my opponent. ‘Or perhaps victim,’ the voice in the back of my mind corrects. I glance about a bit guiltily then get a grip on myself. It wasn’t as if I killed the man in cold blood. Besides, if I hadn’t killed him something else would have. ‘Then why fight? If he had not killed her, something else would have.’
I clench my fists and swallow my rage, looking over the numerous tombstones, noting the freshest graves, whose occupants have not deteriorated enough for my purposes. There is a cheap bouquet of roses on the newest headstone. I smile grimly. The souls of the departed are far beyond the smell of flowers and freshly turned earth. 'She is far beyond your reach.'
I glance up from my morbid study of the lonely grave. There is chatter to my far left. I stalk toward it, listening with mild interest.
“This rain is ridiculous, Yoh-kun! You’re expected to fight in this?” pipes a voice. As I come nearer the fog resolves to let me see three figures. The smallest appears to have spoken.
“He is and he will,” replies a female voice in a snappish tone. “I will be the wife of the shaman king!” The third figure-the girl’s prospective husband? -hunches his shoulders slightly then sneezes.
“Yoh-kun, you’re going to get sick!” says the shortest, addressing the husband to be.
The boy, apparently Yoh, considers this. “Good point, Manta! I can’t run twenty kilometers if I’m sick,” he says cheerfully.
“That‘s right, you‘ll run twenty five,” answers the girl. Manta laughs, but carefully, as if trying not to draw attention. “What is so funny, Oyamada Manta?” There was a pathetic whimpering noise, whether from Manta or Yoh, I could not tell. She turns on her heel, but stops half way, staring in my direction. Has she seen me? I cannot see her expression through the fog.
“Anna?” Yoh calls, concerned.
She looks back at him long enough to throw a newspaper at him and say, “I’m going to get an umbrella,” and then she walks off. The other two settle down on the step.
She is his fiancée? They are merely children. ‘Not as young as you were,’ the treacherous voice says. ‘They are young with years ahead of them. Their whole lives. Together.’ I stiffen and feel the familiar ache slip between my ribs, cold and smooth as the bones pressing against my side. ‘The bones of your beautiful porcelain doll, your lovely puppet.’ Silence! ‘Forever, forevermore.’ I almost laugh. Not forever, nothing is forever. ‘Death is.’
Ah, death. ‘You will not join her.’ No, I won’t. But I don’t have to. Death is the end. You feel nothing, but there is no sensation. You have nothing, but there is nothing you desire. There is no breath, no emotion, no will, no memories. Just nothing. Just black.
‘But surely it is not better than feeling her hair against your cheek. Not better than having your hands on her waist. No smelling her perfume, no desiring her body, no creating a future, no remembering your past.’
I will get her back. Get it all back! ‘Or die trying.’ If I must. ‘Then you get nothing.’ Exactly.
I glance at the oracle bell. Perhaps I should introduce myself to my opponent. ‘He’s only a child. Will you kill him?’ I will do what is necessary. ‘You are going to hell.’ I once said that I would go there for her. See? I keep my promises.
I heft my bag and adjust my coat and hat, then begin to descend the stairs. My boots thump on each step. The smallest looks up at me and I can see the instant fear in his eyes. ‘Such ignorant, innocent fear. All for you.’ I repress my surge of anger. ‘You could teach him true fear.’ He’s only a child, not even a shaman.
I step off and look at the other. “Are you Asakura Yoh?” He answers me with no fear, merely curiosity. I think he will be a worthy rival. I throw off my hat and smile. Let the fight begin.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~Karre
Author: Karre (modnar369@aol.com)
Warnings: Depressing/upsetting themes, sad/slightly insane Faust-kun
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, never will, never have. ::sigh:: Now I’m more depressed than Faust.
Feedback: Pretty please? I love to know what people think!
Notes: Be afraid! I was driving around the other day when Paint It Black came on the radio. It struck me as a Faust-in-a-Funk song. Thankies to my beta and best friend, Jinu-chan, whom I called at 10 o’clock this morning for a last bit of editing.This is my first time writing 1st person, so please tell me what you think. I think that Faust-kun’s personality was a bit fractal at this point in the series so I let him...well, you'll see. Whee! Ahem...
And now…Let’s get depressing! (and a little bit scary…)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I arrive at the battleground early, in the hopes of catching a glimpse of my opponent. ‘Or perhaps victim,’ the voice in the back of my mind corrects. I glance about a bit guiltily then get a grip on myself. It wasn’t as if I killed the man in cold blood. Besides, if I hadn’t killed him something else would have. ‘Then why fight? If he had not killed her, something else would have.’
I clench my fists and swallow my rage, looking over the numerous tombstones, noting the freshest graves, whose occupants have not deteriorated enough for my purposes. There is a cheap bouquet of roses on the newest headstone. I smile grimly. The souls of the departed are far beyond the smell of flowers and freshly turned earth. 'She is far beyond your reach.'
I glance up from my morbid study of the lonely grave. There is chatter to my far left. I stalk toward it, listening with mild interest.
“This rain is ridiculous, Yoh-kun! You’re expected to fight in this?” pipes a voice. As I come nearer the fog resolves to let me see three figures. The smallest appears to have spoken.
“He is and he will,” replies a female voice in a snappish tone. “I will be the wife of the shaman king!” The third figure-the girl’s prospective husband? -hunches his shoulders slightly then sneezes.
“Yoh-kun, you’re going to get sick!” says the shortest, addressing the husband to be.
The boy, apparently Yoh, considers this. “Good point, Manta! I can’t run twenty kilometers if I’m sick,” he says cheerfully.
“That‘s right, you‘ll run twenty five,” answers the girl. Manta laughs, but carefully, as if trying not to draw attention. “What is so funny, Oyamada Manta?” There was a pathetic whimpering noise, whether from Manta or Yoh, I could not tell. She turns on her heel, but stops half way, staring in my direction. Has she seen me? I cannot see her expression through the fog.
“Anna?” Yoh calls, concerned.
She looks back at him long enough to throw a newspaper at him and say, “I’m going to get an umbrella,” and then she walks off. The other two settle down on the step.
She is his fiancée? They are merely children. ‘Not as young as you were,’ the treacherous voice says. ‘They are young with years ahead of them. Their whole lives. Together.’ I stiffen and feel the familiar ache slip between my ribs, cold and smooth as the bones pressing against my side. ‘The bones of your beautiful porcelain doll, your lovely puppet.’ Silence! ‘Forever, forevermore.’ I almost laugh. Not forever, nothing is forever. ‘Death is.’
Ah, death. ‘You will not join her.’ No, I won’t. But I don’t have to. Death is the end. You feel nothing, but there is no sensation. You have nothing, but there is nothing you desire. There is no breath, no emotion, no will, no memories. Just nothing. Just black.
‘But surely it is not better than feeling her hair against your cheek. Not better than having your hands on her waist. No smelling her perfume, no desiring her body, no creating a future, no remembering your past.’
I will get her back. Get it all back! ‘Or die trying.’ If I must. ‘Then you get nothing.’ Exactly.
I glance at the oracle bell. Perhaps I should introduce myself to my opponent. ‘He’s only a child. Will you kill him?’ I will do what is necessary. ‘You are going to hell.’ I once said that I would go there for her. See? I keep my promises.
I heft my bag and adjust my coat and hat, then begin to descend the stairs. My boots thump on each step. The smallest looks up at me and I can see the instant fear in his eyes. ‘Such ignorant, innocent fear. All for you.’ I repress my surge of anger. ‘You could teach him true fear.’ He’s only a child, not even a shaman.
I step off and look at the other. “Are you Asakura Yoh?” He answers me with no fear, merely curiosity. I think he will be a worthy rival. I throw off my hat and smile. Let the fight begin.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~Karre