Shaman 8 ficsnip
Aug. 21st, 2003 01:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sakon76Assume the end of the first arc of WK happened simultaneously with the final battle in X. In which Sakon&Co were happily uninvolved and got off safely. Massive massive turmoil all over Japan, of course.
Sakon's arm and chest felt like they were enclosed in ice. He choked, trying to find air to breathe. His ears rang and his eyes blurred. From somewhere very far away and just to his right he heard a gutteral voice grate out the word "Fujimiya." He turned his head. It was Ukon--no, not Ukon. It was someone else in Ukon's body, someone who gave the impression of glasses and gray sideburns, a stout body, a dark life, ruthless power-- Something /squeezed/ inside Sakon's chest, hurting in a way that channeling spirits had never hurt before. He nearly doubled over.
"Takatori," the redhead whispered, staring at the possessed doll. Then his eyes narrowed in pale violet anger. "Takatori," he spat in rage, raising his sword.
Subaru caught his left arm easily, staying the strike. "He's already dead," the onmyouji reminded the assassin. "You can't kill him twice." Fujimiya fought for a moment against that hold before accepting the truth of the Sumeragi's words and relaxing again. "However," Subaru said thoughtfully, "he certainly also can't remain -here-. He needs to be sent on."
Sakon could just see the cruel, feral smile that twisted Fujimiya's face. "To hell," the man agreed, "where he belongs."
The name and the half-formed images snapped together in Sakon's mind with newspaper and television reports. His eyes widened and he straightened back almost into proper seiza style. "You killed the Prime Minister," he accused, horrified.
"He deserved it," Fujimiya retorted, hand tightening on the grip of his katana. He and Sakon glared at one another, wisteria meeting violet, immovable object meeting irresistable force.
Sakon's arm and chest felt like they were enclosed in ice. He choked, trying to find air to breathe. His ears rang and his eyes blurred. From somewhere very far away and just to his right he heard a gutteral voice grate out the word "Fujimiya." He turned his head. It was Ukon--no, not Ukon. It was someone else in Ukon's body, someone who gave the impression of glasses and gray sideburns, a stout body, a dark life, ruthless power-- Something /squeezed/ inside Sakon's chest, hurting in a way that channeling spirits had never hurt before. He nearly doubled over.
"Takatori," the redhead whispered, staring at the possessed doll. Then his eyes narrowed in pale violet anger. "Takatori," he spat in rage, raising his sword.
Subaru caught his left arm easily, staying the strike. "He's already dead," the onmyouji reminded the assassin. "You can't kill him twice." Fujimiya fought for a moment against that hold before accepting the truth of the Sumeragi's words and relaxing again. "However," Subaru said thoughtfully, "he certainly also can't remain -here-. He needs to be sent on."
Sakon could just see the cruel, feral smile that twisted Fujimiya's face. "To hell," the man agreed, "where he belongs."
The name and the half-formed images snapped together in Sakon's mind with newspaper and television reports. His eyes widened and he straightened back almost into proper seiza style. "You killed the Prime Minister," he accused, horrified.
"He deserved it," Fujimiya retorted, hand tightening on the grip of his katana. He and Sakon glared at one another, wisteria meeting violet, immovable object meeting irresistable force.
