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The Shadowman	By : ColdSilence Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2327 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Title: The Shadowman

Author: Cold Silence

E-Mail: writer.coldsilence@gmail.com

Category: Alternate Universe. Medieval Times.

Pairings: Various. New pairings will be found here before every chapter.

Warnings: NC-17. Yaoi. OOC. (I'm trying to keep them IC, but I don't think I've succeeded.) Death. Squick. Incest. Angst. Rape.

Website: http://coldsilence.tumblr.com/post/433113072/index

The Shadowman

-Prologue-

It began a thousand years ago, one miserable night. Miserable not because of the rain or the howling wind that bent trees near double with its force. Rather, it had more to do with the presence of blood, with its pungent aroma so thick that the taste of copper wedged itself in the back of the throat. The putrid fragrance came from a lonely scene of mangled bodies mired in the sticky mud of a once bustling village.

These remains did not belong to soldiers; in fact, they weren't even guards. They were poor, ordinary, every day villagers reduced to helpless corpses frozen in pictures of horror. Some were shredded beyond recognition, others were missing appendages, and many had the misfortune of being burned alive. The late peasantry were freshly fashioned in charred flesh and stark gazes of fear etched into wide, lifeless eyes. Their state of surprise and lack of weaponry were a testament to their carefree lifestyle. No doubt their biggest worry in the morning had been whether if the rain would cause the stream to overflow again.

What happened?

Many words could describe what transpired: Fear, Hate, Superstition, Insecurity. But only one described it best: War.

Why?

It's a sad tale really, which deals a lot with religion. To the north of this decimated village lived a fierce clan of Warriors who worshipped the Sun and the Light. To the South dwelled a group of Mystics, a people rumored to possess great power due to their faith in the Moon and the Dark. The poor town caught in between these two forces tolerated the Warriors more than the Mystics; after all, wasn't it natural to be afraid of the dark?

No one was quite sure how it started. Certainly, there was a definite prejudice against the Mystics, and perhaps it was only a matter of time before someone threw a match into the dry atmosphere of suspicion and caused a fire. What began as a small feud turned into a major war, and within one night of falling rain, black fire and silver steel, an entire village was destroyed.

However, there was one survivor. He was lucky; he had been out in the fields for a breath of fresh air when the chaos began. It was quite a shock to him when he returned and found his village in rubble and his family dead. The man was so grief-stricken that he fell to his knees in the mud and wept for his dead wife and children. The crumpled forms before him made him wail until his voice echoed above the sound of the pounding rain. His loud mourning ended only when he saw the body of his youngest daughter.

One had to wonder at the cold look in the peasant's eyes as he gently wrapped his little girl in a blanket and scooped her up to his chest. Whatever decision he had come to, he was obviously firmly resolved judging by the set of his stride as he left the village.

Where did he go? Someplace forbidden.

There was a tall mountain near the three villages where hideous monsters dwelled in the darkness. Anyone with the misfortune to venture into these hills almost never came back, and those who did were gripped in the claws of insanity for the rest of their lives. Most people were smart enough to stay away, however, adventurers and the foolhardy continued to trickle into this place because of a legend.

It is said that the mountain was home to three seers; powerful men who could grant any wish that the heart desired. No doubt it was these three men that the peasant seeked with such a dark look in his eyes. Perhaps it was fate, or possibly the evil purpose festering in his soul that kept the dangerous monsters of those hills at bay, but somehow he was allowed to pass through the treacherous terrain without incident until he arrived at the summit.

The man clutched at his precious bundle as he staggered through the last of the brush, then froze at the sight before him. The trees had given way to a clearing, where moonlight made a perfect circle in the darkness. It illuminated a cauldron that fizzled and bubbled over with odorous liquid. Three men.. Three very old, ugly men, made a semicircle facing their visitor on the other side of the oversized pot.

"I am J," spoke the first in the middle. Dirty gray and white hair fell past his shoulders, and his toothy grin was gapped and yellow. He had no pupils or irises; instead his eyeballs were completely white and disturbing. One arm was tucked behind his back as the other stirred the contents of the cauldron. When the peasant eyed the brown sleeve of J's robe, he saw that a moist tentacle took the place of the seer's hands. It coiled securely around a wooden spoon that J rotated inside the giant pot. Slime dripped regularly from the appendage into the bubbling substance.

"I am G," came a scratchy voice to the left. The second seer's face was completely hidden beneath a fold of gray hair that circled his head like a giant umbrella. The only clue as to his features was a long, pointy nose that stuck out of the mushroom-like gray cloud. An unattractive wart decorated the very end of it.

"I am O," said the final seer to J's right. Surprisingly, he was the most normal looking out of them all. He had pointy mustaches on his long, drawn face that looked as if they had been waxed profusely. Indeed, it was revealed that he often reached into J's ear and used whatever substance that he encountered inside of it to sculpt his prickly facial hair.

Startled, and not to mention disgusted at the sight of the seers, the peasant took several moments just to fight the bile that was rising in his throat. Once he managed to compose himself, he forgoed introductions and spoke in a firm voice. "I want the life of my little girl back."

The three seers stared at the peasant. J's slithery tentacle continued to maneuver the contents of the cauldron with the long spoon, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Unnerved by their silence, the man cringed and stuttered the next words out. "T...th..then, at least, end all war!"

This time, a single brow rose on J's face, causing a few of his wrinkles to shift into interesting positions. One by one, the seers began to snicker. They chuckled in unison from left to right, and their voices rose until they absolutely cackled with delight.

"B...bring back the dead!!" choked a mirth filled G.

"Peace for the whole world!" crowed O. His mustaches twitched up and down as he planted a dirty palm over his gut, as if holding it would stop it from jiggling so violently.

"The man thinks we are GODS!!" said J. He wiped a tear from his empty eyes before finally getting his laughter under control.

At first, their amusement put the man on guard, but upon listening to their words his face darkened, He growled his next sentence out. "If you cannot grant my wishes, then what good are you?"

J lifted up his spoon to wave at the peasant in a chastising guesture. He didn't seem to notice that the part of the wood that was submerged inside the bubbling fluid had completely melted away. "Calm yourself, human. What you truly desire is not life or peace."

The other two seers bobbed their heads in unison, and they took turns speaking to the bewildered man.

"What you want is.."

"...revenge, sure and true."

In the face of his own shame, the peasant was unable to look at the seers any longer. He ducked his head away from their knowing gazes. As he did so, his eyes fell upon the wrapped bundle of his smallest daughter. His body began to shake violently.

"Yesss...." hissed the peasant in a soft whisper of rage. "I want revenge on both the idiot Warriors and the vile Mystics!"

"How far are you willing to go.." began O.

"...there is always a price..." continued G.

"Will you pay?" J finished all of their sentences with a crusty grin. He resumed the stirring the cauldron with his nonexistent spoon.

"I will give you anything. Money. My land. My soul!" declared the peasant. His head snapped up, and a feverish light danced in his eyes.

The three seers nodded in unison. O reached into the pocket of his brown robe and produced a powder which was promptly thrown into the stew. Its contents exploded in a swirl of black smoke as soon as it made contact with the bubbling liquid. "Will you accept the dark?" he asked.

"Yes!" answered the peasant.

G reached into a pouch at his waist and produced a wriggling worm, which was also tossed into the mix. The black smoke instantly shifted to blood red, and it covered the clearing in an inky mist. "Will you curse yourself to keep your blood lines pure, and pass this curse to your generations to come?" asked G.

"...Yes." This time there was a bit of hesitation from the peasant. He wasn't sure if he had any kin left to have progeny with. However, he did remember a cousin who lived a few villages over.

"Then I shall give you a weapon!" declared J. His voice rose a few octaves as he reached into his sleeve and produced glass vial filled with purple butterfly wings. He and thew it into the mixture, and a sound like thunder filled the clearing. The blood red mist became a heavy haze of violet. "A weapon to conquer your enemies! Break your promises human, and this weapon will turn on you."

"W..wait a minute," said the peasant. As he mentally reviewed his promises, he found something amiss that filled him with doubt. "My next of kin have to follow these rules as well?"

"Of course, or death and strife will follow your new family for generations to come," answered J.

"That's not fair! I will not curse my future children. I take it back, I don't want revenge," said the peasant.

The three men gave the peasant a dark look, and once more they took turns speaking.

"The summoning has already begun..."

"..you cannot take back what has already been set in motion.."

"But I'll tell you what." J's tentacle lifted to rub at the side of his nose thoughtfully. "Since you made me laugh today, I will add a bit of fortune telling for free. Sometime in the future, the lands you conquer will be in great peril. All that you have started today will become undone; your family will be killed and your kingdoms devasted unless.."

Here, the seer paused dramatically as the tentacle slithered back and forth, as if he couldn't decide whether to continue or not. "...Unless, the Dark and the Light become one. Then, and only then, will your family be free of the curse."

Decidedly lecherous grins spread on all three faces. At least, the man assumed G was also grinning, it was hard to tell through all the hair. Something about their smiles made him decidedly uneasy; it was almost as if he were the butt end of some cosmic joke that only they knew about.

"Come forth, child of the Shadow," commanded J.

There was a low whistle of wind as the violet mist parted; revealing a small child. He took a single, soundless step into the silver moonlight, his movements so graceful that it was as if he melted into existence from the purple haze that surrounded them. His skin was as pale as milk, and he wore only a simple loincloth to cover his nakedness. Barely reaching the man's waist, the child was shockingly beautiful with delicate features and a slenderness that would probably never leave him even in adulthood. Black hair ended just at the nape of his neck, with a few wisps sweeping forwards over the front of his ears. His smooth, pouty lips curled into a sinister smirk, as if he knew the cosmic joke that the seers had played on the peasant.

The child's most startling feature was his eyes. They were violet, like the final moments of light just before the sun set over the horizon. Upon observing this, the peasant gasped with realization. "This child is a Mystic!" he said in disbelief.

"Treat him well, and you will get your revenge," promised J. He flashed a toothy grin; his blank eyes making the man's skin crawl.

The child walked fowards until he was beside the bewildered peasant. He lifted his tiny hands and curled his fingertips over the man's wrist, forcing him to shift his bundle awkwardly over one shoulder. "Shall we go home?" suggested the child. His voice was high and innocent, and yet, his eyes...

Reluctantly, the man nodded and turned around to begin the descent from the mountain. He had only gone a few paces when the three seers began to hoot with laughter once more. The peasant turned around and saw that there was empty space where the disgusting old men had stood. Although they were gone, he could still hear the distant echoes of their mirth reverbing throughout the clearing.

The fact that they made it safely down the mountain was no accident or act of fate. No one would dare cross the Shadowchild, and soon the man would know the extent of his power. By the time they reached the valley, the sun was just peeking over the East, causing the child to squint his eyes even though the light was still very dim. They stopped at a field of grass so the corpse could be properly buried. Once his daughter was laid to rest, the man stood over the mound of turned earth, unable to pray to the Light to keep her soul safe due to his promise of accepting the Dark.

"Do not worry, the Shadow will keep her safe," said his young companion.

The man gave the Shadowchild a bewildered look, to which the boy responded with a blank gaze.

"Shall we go home now?" insisted the shadowchild.

Suddenly feeling exhausted, the peasant nodded; but before he left, he went down on his knees and placed his palms on the boy's shoulders so that they could see eye to eye. "From now on, you will be a part of my family," he said earnestly.

The boy looked at the man strangely, before simply acquiescing with a rise and fall of his shoulders. "It will be as you wish."

Satisfied, the man rose and took the boy's hand in his own. They walked to another village where they would start a new life together. Perhaps in some odd way, the child was a replacement for his lost daughter; therefore the old men had fulfilled his first wish of bringing her back to life in their own, odd way. However, that didn't settle his uneasiness over their laughter. What would they find so funny?

And so it began a thousand years ago. The peasant became a leader of his own village, and his influence spread to other villages. In time, those territories became towns, and then cities, which naturally evolved into countries. Eventually, the countries became a sprawling empire that conquered the land. With each passing generation, the peasant's family grew ever more powerful and rich. They used their resources to hunt down the Warriors and execute any Mystics that they found. All land ceded through battle was inherited by the peasant's children, and their children's children, and so on.

Mystics or Warriors of the Light that escaped this hunting were scattered throughout the realms, and thanks to interbreeding, their blood became thinned to the point that no one could tell the races through physical features alone. The powers that were part of their birthright often became dormant. Most no longer knew of their heritage, which had become lost in the flow of time.

And the Shadowchild? He aged and died like the rest of us, however his powers were always passed unto the next generation. No matter how many times the blood lines crossed, the magic was always strong, the child was always born male, and there was only one Shadowman alive at a time. Each king had one at his side, and they bore many faces, but the eyes were always the color of twilight.

Today, the story of the Shadowman is as alive as it was centuries ago, for every noble, peasant, scholar or merchant cowers in fear of this entity. Many countries acknowledge the House of Winner as formidable and deserving of respect, despite its humble beginnings as peasantry.

All seemed right with the dark promise that was made, however the Winners didn't know that the cosmic joke was about to begin. Some say that even now, the sound of strange laughter could be heard from the forbidden mountains when the moon is full...

End Prologue
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The Shadowman