‘ i realize now that i am the one out of place ’ // from genji!
Pick up the pieces.
Shards of glass that are invisible strike you. It would be easier if the blood ran deep. Easier to bleed out that to be numb to how the world tuns. How a weight was placed on shoulders that were not ever made for it. The story of their lives: a vicious cycle that seems to never reach a tipping point. There is always a reason for madness and chaos if you dig deep enough. And at the forefront of a battleground, wounds run so deep.
The shrine has always been a place of comfort for the pair of them. They often have come here and knelt. Spoken to avoid in times where everything had seem hopeless or lost, but after the wake of their fathers death, Hanzo had been here less. The Shimada is a striking image, a mirror of who his father was. Reserved, stoic, cold. Standing in the wake of a damaged relationship that was never going to be fixed.
The strings of fate that connected him and Genji ran deeper. There was a bond between the pair of brothers that was so entangled and twisted that it was a feat that neither of them were strangled by the threads of fate. But yet here Hanzo stood with the intent that had been not as hidden as one might think.
‘I realize now that I am the one out of place.’
Words that come at a cost when said too late. The world does not wait for you to strike, you attack when no one expects it. Hanzo is almost dead to the world, all things considered. The weight that he’a carried for too damn long, the chains that have been on part of his soul: even his dragons. They sense the unease that is still in his own heart no matter how hard he tries to shut it out.
There are so many things that could have prevented this. Had his brother listened, had he just changed. it would not have come to crossed swords, and strings pulled back on bows. It would have never came to this bridge were everything was going to end. There’s often a story told how people can be the balance of ying and yang, the good and bad parts of your soul.
‘You hold the answers deep within your own mind, consciously you've forgotten it that's the way the human mind works, whenever something is to unpleasant, to shameful for us to entertain we reject we erase it from our memory but the imprint is always there, nothing is ever really forgotten’.
The way that steel slides from it’s safety. The way that the blades are exposed and crossed. The heartbeat that does not raise: somewhere a dragon roars beneath the skin. It burns hot, the coals of what is left of him, the wicked dance that he has created. A mere weeks ago he was giving what was left of his heart to his wife before these events pertained. What was left of him, any human remains of a boy that became a man, and that man was slaughtered by his own kin.
Hanzo is aware of the blood. The scent that lingers in the air. How his dragons under his skin have almost this sickened feeling, how it makes his skin rattle. How it is almost too much, how it suffocates him. How it presses down like a weight that isn’t even there. Out of the two of them, the one suffering more: it’s always been Hanzo he just learned how not to scream. He became a weapon, he was never a child, just a means to an end for the clan. For their reasons for what they want.
Something snaps in him. Not at the first swipe of blood. No. The dragons do not uncurl in his skin at the first swipe of blood. No. Whatever he has become runs deep, it does not pertain to the first catch of blood. It does not eat him alive quiet yet. Hanzo has not spoken since Genji’s words uttered. He has not said a single word, even as their blades cross, even when he sees the look in Genji’s eyes. That this fight is not one to practice, it is one for the sake of one of theirs survival.
Dragon blood runs deep in them both, but who has more control: who has become what they have needed to become to survive. The clang of the blades is a familiar thing, and Hanzo’s grip does not lessen, it does not falter, his bow is a last resort, but it is still within the room, hidden and tucked away. There’s a moment where his fingers slip on his blade, a cut is formed, once twice a third time.
Blood runs thicker than water. The dragons stir inside, worried: a scared nature but they do not consume him. Why do they not consume him? They do not end- green sparks echo in response. Genji is scared: he is afraid of his brother. That he will kill him, that he can kill him.
“This could have all come to pass.”
Hanzo’s words are ice. There’s nothing left of him. He hasn’t been himself in so long. That despite the amount of blood: the injuries he’s causes, he does not process them. The fight that echoes between the two brothers is not the only fight that partakes in this life of crime. There are echoes of other things, and there’s a wicked war torn between them.
“Have you lost who you are Hanzo?”
It a question that rings between the clink of metal, how the blades cross. How Genji despite every injury gained, will not back down, that his will alone is keeping his movements. He should not be able to and yet something inside Genji keeps pushing him past the point, his body keeps pushing. The green sparks that more evident: a dragon that does not want to see it’s master die. Hanzo can feel the weight of the dragons ringing in his ears. The steady struggle that is within, and yet here he raises because Genji has never shown such power.
He has never been someone that fights like this. He has never been so outspoken about something like these matters. The fact of the matter is: Genji does not want to die. No one wants to die. And there’s that fact, that Hanzo has changed everything that he is to live, to breathe. He has become someone else entirely to entertain the ideals of a clan that has ruined his very soul, and perhaps his connection to what power the Shimada’s hold. The dragons are vicious beings when provoked and Genji’s are no different, despite how little he’s used them.
The green spirits are a force to be reckoned with and a vicious angry thing, the pair of them. They have Hanzo running, the clatter of his blade on the shrine floors because the spirits are angry. Even if they share the same blood, the intent is lethal, the power to kill is there. Hanzo has never known the given fact that Genji even contained two dragons, neither of them has ever mentioned it. It’s a kept secret of the clan, only passed to the sons.
And on a mere impulse of survival, Hanzo fires a lethal shot from his bow that had been stored to the side, sparks of blue admitted. His dragons only coming to fight when their master’s life is threatened in a way not imagined. And here Hanzo stands standing looking at his brother, blood riddling his bones, and cuts in places where Genji had gotten him.
It’s a thought that does not linger, it does not stay. A raised number of shots from his bow, movements faster than ever intended from Hanzo. A near death sentence considering the fact very few can block the arrows. Genji manages barely in the state he’s in, with the injuries he’s sustained. With every moment, Genji slows, the blood loss is there, one of the dragons, it begins to break down, vanish into nothing: yet one remains.
Hanzo sees the way that he falls, and something above Hanzo’s knees causes agony in his legs. A wound that Genji had managed that is now making itself known. He falls near were Genji’s body is barely moving. The swords more so in Genji’s reach than his own. Exhaustion begins to settle in, but what’s more is the sudden realization that: Genji is dying.
His younger brother is dying, and he caused it.
Something snaps within Hanzo and the pain rocks within his frame. The pain that stretches into his legs that: you need to get that checked is a thought that crosses his mind but there’s a shell-shocked look of horror on his features when he sees how much blood is coming from Genji. How much blood: how much he’s lost, how many injuries.
Kami. It’s breathed out in a quiet voice, barely even sounding like the level head of the Shimada clan. His trembling is there, faint but it’s there. It’s there: it’s there:
Oh god. Genji, what have I?-
The chances of his brother living were slim to none with the injuries. He knew that the moment he placed them on him. Hanzo is – he doesn’t know what he is anymore. All he knows is that something shattered the moment he saw how much blood was on his brother. The way that shock curved fingers curl around a brother that is inches from death. That Hanzo doesn’t know that he’ll survive. That this is all Genji has in the end, he’s got his brother that’s shaken to the core and thrown into the harsh reality of what he’s done.
That he chose this path for them both. That this is the road he took.
He closes his eyes, and come dawn, his legs are gone, and all that remains is the haunting memory of perfect pink blossoms drenched in blood lingering in his vision. And a sparrow feather that that falls from one of his pieces of clothing that seems to burn into the deepest corners of his soul.
