Iori: the waiting

Iori: The Waiting

Why can’t I forget her?
I haven’t even seen her face in that darkness.
Only smell her blood.
Freely flowing.
A river of red.
Her body still straining towards me.
Impaling herself.
Dying.
Still thinking I should have been impaled myself.
But no.
She had plans of her own.

She died in my arms. My path.
And in the stillness of the night, her inner light shattered the darkness. Death has come to pass.
She lives. Resurrection.
How religion would be blasphemed.
And from that moment I see her in my sleep. Invading my dreams.


The rain poured even harder. Mocking my inner turmoil as I fight for calm. Even if only in the surface. Calm.

My mask of tranquility I now wear for the world.
I look at the mirror on the wall, in front of me. Yes. Calm.
How damning I would seem to these children of the west, of fame and riches.

A Japanese man with white hair, almost silver, pale, iridescent. Many believe I dyed it for fashion. Western fashion to an almost western educated mind.
Ahhh, the masters know my path.
War.


I listen as Kentatsu talk animatedly with a young red-haired woman. One of the many actresses around here most probably.
Chatty. Coquettish. A practiced smile. Women! Actresses! More to the point. Me and my few prejudices. A silent tidal wave in this over-rated celebration.


Out of the rain and the darkness of the night, a figure wrapped in darkness materializes. Drawing nearer into the open balcony of the building.
As the hooded figure looms nearer, people begin to notice, openly staring. A distraction most of the actresses took advantage to clutch dramatically in fright at the nearest and most probably wealthy men near them. What a ploy! I bow before thy cunning! A worthy adversary if they know how to dance with a katana.

The crowd parts as well, as the figure walks toward Kentatsu.

Standing before him, the long robe wrapped around his lithe body and billowing to the wind, he begins to speak softly to Kentatsu that none could hear.
The redhead swivels away. Afraid. Sensing a darkness blacker than her greed and ambition.

Achingly slow, the person lifts away the hood covering his face.
Long and dark hair fell over straight, slightly shaking shoulders.

And here I was, condemning women for their artificialness…would this one provide dramatics? Bravo to the fair sex.

My musings halts as I glimpse her kneel before Ken, speaking softly…hypnotic little demon, I can’t believe I’m listening in like the rest of these vagabonds.

I strain to hear what she is saying…
Blessed Hell!
An ancient language. An old art that belonged to a long forgotten era of legends…of demons…of Gods.


“…I need sanctuary. I’m changing again…I am growing…”

I draw nearer. Lured by the mystery of this…child.

Sensing my nearness or my movement, in the now still crowed gathering around the two. The stranger stops in her dialogue and lifts her bowed head to look directly at me.


Mercy! It can’t be!
Am I dreaming again, that she now invades my waking moments?
The dream and reality are now the same. The feeling of kinship…of blood; one.


Hold still. Deny. Nothingness.
I stare back indifferently or is it a contemptuous mask that I now wear to hide my confusion, anger, fear…bliss?

Suddenly her pupils dilate, her face slackens, grew paler still in her already pallid face.
And she looks at me now with…accusation?

Is this guilt? Why in the seven hells do I feel this?
Why do I seem to owe this child this?
Killing has never granted me the perversity of guilt…a look?

A movement.
She rises from her kneeling form, Ken rising with her.
The crowd splits a path as they silently walk towards the darkness ahead. Away from the glittering lights of the festivity.

I falter.
Will I follow them?
But my body recognizes an ancient need my mind cannot comprehend.
I follow behind them.
A black figure with a halo of light following the shadow?
KentKentatsu turns and sees me.
Surprised, he turns to the girl, understanding shifts the outline of his face as he looks at her.
They stop.
Waiting.
I walk towards them, Kentatsu looking at me. A plea?

For what? Understanding? Why?

Then he walks away. Back to the crowd, the gaiety…the world?

Alone, she turns towards me, staring, still…waiting.

She turns again and begins to walk towards the darkness.
I ponder what sanctuary she seeks in the distance? The cataracts I can now hear as we slowly near?

By the water I stop. She continues, treading the flowing water. Approaching the strong shower while stripping her robes.
In the moonlight almost covered by the dense trees, I barely see her nakedness.

A stirring inside of me shocks me…different, alien…turbulent.

I watch her tread the currents…as sprays made her skin more satin like…alive.

I wait. Afraid. In the stillness I hear her moan in agony.

Sensuous thought abruptly halts.

In haste I run towards her, unheeding of the water, of her bareness, I hold her close as she continues to fight back the pain she is suffering.

Suddenly I notice a scent so familiar. The killing dance in my head.
Blood oozes from her back.
I hold back a scream…scream?


In silence she endures whatever demon possesses her. I feel her tremble and hold back her screams of pain.

I hold her closer still, what little comfort I can only offer. I have never felt so inept in my lifetime of precision.

In the darkness I feel her back taking shape. I stray my hands away.
Afraid. Of disappointment or confirmation?

Her blood still flowing, the water cleansing…infusing us.

Still holding unto me tightly, silent as she beckons me back to the shore, grabbing back her robes on the way.

I assist her as we walk towards a kiosk, a bit far off from the banks.

In the darkness I instinctively summoned fire to dance floating, barely touching my fingertips.

Realization hitting me, I look at her to see how she is taking this display.

Still. No surprise, not even awe at my gift…or curse.

Does this response or lack of it confirms what she is? This lack of fear?

I direct the flame to hover above us…freely floating, making shadows dance upon her upturned face. Trusting. Foolish to put her life in the hands of a hunter like me.

Entering the ancient-styled structured, I slowly lower her to the divan positioned at the center. I muse a little on the over-rated romantic setting.
Brutal upon my deprived senses. A hunter in a setting like this! My bravado is slightly shaken when I feel her hands touch my face…directing my gaze on her.

Pale irises. Almost the same color as my hair…pale.

I shake with the sudden stirring. My body responding to the scent of her blood.
I watch with fascination as her eyes dilate with need.

Mine.

I close my eyes in hope of grasping a small quantity of sanity.

I falter in my almost ridiculous meditation for sanity, when I felt cool fingers stray on my cheek. I open my eyes again to see that her face was merely inches from mine…seeking…need.
Blessed Hell, I am not this strong.

I just barely notice that I’m still holding her after seating her on the divan.
I slowly trace my fingers over her shoulders, moving to the collar of her robes. I trace warm skin, smooth…alive.

I look into her eyes as I slowly ease her body off the dark robes enclosing her.

Her lithe form, paler still in the moonlight peeking through to illuminate us both.

I see her beauty…but my want is sated by more than the grace of her flesh or the scent of her as my eyes linger on her glory.

Yes.
Confirmation at last.
I loss strength as I slowly kneel before her, crying…unheeding.
Quietly she stares at me, proud, understanding my tears.
She moves her arms to wrap around my now shaking form. Silent still.

I hold myself still. Afraid it’s another dream.

Momentslenclence.

Hesitating slightly, I move my arms to hold her back, thanking her for the comfort, the strength she’s sharing.

And as my hands meet at her back, touching, I achingly stroke what took shape in the darkness earlier. Still wet but no longer with blood, the sprays has cleaned her thought the scent of her essence linger still.

Her wings; large, still weak in their birth, but would be a strength to reckon with, soon.

I open my eyes to behold her silent loveliness.
Yes.
A Fallen just like me. A God cast down.
For a purpose. For a reason.

I weep harder; knowing I am free. My path is forged, a path of darkness, of light, of war, of peace and of blood…but no longer alone. Free. At last.
The waiting has been long.
Painful.
Worth everything for this moment.
Complete.

The war will begin soon.
To battle darkness, I have walked through it in eons of pain.
My waiting is over.

She comes to return me back to the light.

Let the battle begin.

I am complete.
I gently pull away from her. Taking my coat and shirt off.
I summoned my own wings for her to behold and honor our kinship.

She smiles. Quiet. Beholding me. Unafraid.

Which Demon will we slay first, I wonder.
And judgment will come to pass.
Soon. Not yet. We have an eternity.
For now I hold her again. Sharing strength.

Her scent fills me. Moist.

I ache with need.

I thrust deeper.
She whimpers. Or is it I?
No I am the one screaming.

What rush. Dear Lord.
Mercy upon me. This is beyond my strength.
This completion. This union. This truth.

Complete.
What bliss.
Free.
Complete.


+seerborn+