Author's notes: This is a post-X fic I've had kicking around in my head for a while, based on a DoH victory that turns out to be rather hollow. It was intended to be fairly short, but I keep getting more and more inspiration for it, so it's going to be a long multi-part fic.

The title is the name of the theme song for the fic- 'Anarchy' by KMFDM. As a warning- this fic will contain NCS, various pairings, course language, graphic violence, substance abuse, mature themes and so much more. If the song's too hard for you, chances are the fic will be too. Chapter one's not too bad though.




Anarchy

By Ari


Chapter One- God's Forgotten Son


The streets of Tokyo were only alive at night, these days. During the day, citizens hid in their offices or apartments, away from the harsh and unforgiving sunlight. Even the homeless crawled into alleys or boxes or rusted cars to avoid the glare from the broken sky. It was only night that brought relief from the burning heat of summer, and winter's blinding light that pierced the city’s thick haze.

Today it was the latter they celebrated the end of- dancing, drinking, carousing under the colored lights of nighttime Tokyo, basking in frigid air. A tiny, slim shadow of a figure slipped amongst them. Pale lips tightened at relieved mentions of snow to come- to bathe the ugly city in white. They hardly paid him any notice, lost in the delights this district had to offer, assuming him to be just another youth snuck out of whatever home he had to enjoy the night air.

He could remember a time when the city of Tokyo slept. When the streets were nearly empty after midnight, when this sort of thing was confined to Shinjuku- and even then only the seedier parts of it. He could remember a time when these partygoers would be university students and young businessmen, and they would be doing nothing more than drinking in the bars or singing karaoke. Many of these people now, he knew, had nowhere else to go; many more worked these streets as a livelihood- men waiting in shadowed corners and too-thin girls shivering in clothing clearly not meant for the season. Still others traveled in groups, preying on the naïve or overly intoxicated, bearing weapons in blatant violation of the law. It hardly mattered- police officers were far too expensive to waste on the poorest dregs of the city.

He tried his best to avoid them all. Amidst all the laughter and the occasional ominous cry stifled by the darkness, he could only think of the warm bed and yielding body that awaited him at home. His lover’s once-soft embrace had long since turned to hard angles - but then, so had his - and lines of grief and pain etched their way onto his once-beautiful features. Even so he clung to the comfort of him like any man with no one else who cared.

The coming winter had shards of worry digging into his heart. The cold did not simply drag up ancient, bitter memories of battles fought and lost, it had been enough to sicken his lover these last few years, frail as he was, and he feared that this year the illness would take him.
He did not know how he was going to bear the sight of his most precious person suffering again- wracked with bloody coughs, shivering, and begging through a fevered haze to end his pain.

He would be sleeping now, the man hoped. He hadn’t heard of any contracts for his lover lately, and so he was probably getting some much-needed rest. He pondered whether or not to wake him upon his return, for his job for tonight wasn’t finished, and he was never certain how long it would take him. As usual, he barely even knew how to begin... and as usual, to little avail he'd tried to think of a plan as he wandered aimlessly through trash-covered streets.

He supposed he would just have to let trouble come to him. It usually worked.

His steady pace brought him through familiar parts of the city - he avoided the bay, the flooded sections, and the old campus - into what had been the thick of the battle that had saved an undeserving humanity so many years ago. Head bowed, hands shoved into pockets and wrapped in his grey coat tightly to block out the chill, he soon found himself walking towards a gaping hole in Tokyo's skyline.

Where once had stood the symbol of the city’s wealth, power, and rebirth from the ashes of war, there was merely a single monument. They’d rebuilt the bridge and the high rises but, as the sun set on the old times, there was no money for trivial things like Tokyo Tower anymore.

The government had done its best to clear the rubble the tower’s destruction had left in its wake. In its place, they had built a square as a memorial to the victims of the 1999 earthquakes. Once, years ago, thousands would gather in this square every year and remember the dead. It would be littered with flowers and gifts and pictures of loved ones lost... he had even come here, when he could bear it, and said his own goodbyes. His lover had never joined him, though. He had his own traditions, down where the city met the water’s edge, and he was not invited to those.

Now, it seemed, the living had finally forgotten; too wrapped up in their own worries. He could not say he blamed them. The square was empty and dark; the only decorations graffiti and paper, scrap metal and broken needles.

He stopped in the center of the bleak memorial, eyes closed, head tilted into the wind as if listening for something. He would never forget this place at least. Buried here were the last of his happiness and the broken pieces of his heart. Here was where he’d triumphed over Fate and lost only his soul in the process- the tatters of his innocence strewn throughout the lonely place like so much garbage.

Golden eyes glittering coldly with his final judgment, his twin star advanced, sword held casually but pointedly and full of menace. Behind him stood the hollow shell of the Sakurazukamori, utterly dispassionate toward the fate of the boy he’d saved so long ago. His best friend and soul mate raised the holy sword high, ready to drive it though his small body and bring an end to everything-

He could still hear the accompanying sound on the night breeze.

Not the clash of steel or the sweet release of nothingness, but the wet tearing of flesh as the boy tried so desperately to defend himself. He looked up just in time to see that the eyes were brown, not gold, and a sweet smile was resting across his features as-

“So there’s our man, finally. Out for a bit of a walk, were you?”

He wasn’t certain if he was upset or grateful to have his thoughts interrupted. His eyes opened to violet slits, and he turned slowly to face the new arrivals.

Ten in all- they must have brought everyone, which was good- and none older than twenty. These were the children of the streets, the lowest level of the city’s underworld, foot soldiers sent to do the dirty work of the gangs and dealers they represented. Colored hair and colored lenses - mostly black and red to name their own - torn leather and heeled boots served as identification enough. Most were not visibly armed, but that meant less and less these days.

“Tch. That’s a man? What is he, ten?” The one next to the first speaker gave him a disdainful look and stroked- her? - too-sharp nails. It was impossible to tell gender based on words anymore. He could remember a time when women were expected to be more polite; some of the things he heard thrown around on the streets by girls now would have made their mothers slap them when he was growing up.

“Nn. Don’t you think Miyazaki’s female pets could afford better tits than that?” They chuckled, but more than a few eyed his smaller form regardless.

They were taunting him, he knew. That hardly surprised him. He stepped forward and bowed politely. “Miyazaki-san respectfully requests that you do not trespass on his territory. He does not wish any conflict and he asks that you leave it at once and not intrude on his business.”

“Does he now?” The leader - he supposed - advanced to meet him, hand reaching conspicuously inside his jacket. “Well, you tell the old man- respectfully- to fuck himself, ne?”

He shook his head, a sigh nearly escaping his lips. It looked like he would need that comfort later, after all. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible. Miyazaki-san regrets that we could not come to an understanding.”

Before any of them had the time to react, he raised his hand and a wave of power blasted the leader across the square, concrete shattering in a circle around him.

“What the hell was that?!” He heard one of them cry, and weapons were drawn, but he was already in the air before the hail of bullets reached him. More pieces of the square exploded.

“Shit! What the fuck has he got in him?!” Some were already running, but a few had the poor sense to try to hide behind the monument and fire at him from there. He simply landed on top of it, leaning over the edge. Unable to see him against the night sky, they panicked - “Where is he?!”- and he stepped down lightly behind them.

They whirled around as the pavement began to shudder, as he began to gather his power into two tight balls at his fists. The one with the claws- now fully extended to several inches of razor sharp metal- lashed out at him, but he merely touched her arm and she doubled over, screaming.

The rest were utterly terrified... it felt oddly satisfying to him. “Who- who are you?” One stammered, edging away.

“I am Kamui.” He said quietly, not turning to face them. “And this is the power of God.”

They ran as fast as their legs would carry them, leaving their fallen comrades to the mercy of the streets.

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