Disclaimer: No

Rating: T

Pairings: None intended

By a Thread

Prologue

It was a battlefield. It was always a battlefield. A battlefield where they were the losing side. They had been the losing side for too long now. Those monsters invaded their peace, took their country, and killed their friends. The monsters' will was weaker, but their weapons were stronger and more effective, their numbers larger. A strong resolve can keep you going until the end, but once you've reached your end and there is no one behind your back to take up your place, even the strongest will lose to the weak.

He watched as the monsters killed until the ground under their feet was painted red. There was Tanaka, a fourteen-year-old boy who had joined up a month ago after his brother never came back home. He was being slaughtered by a bear-like monster. He didn't even last a minute against it. And there was Hachiro. They had shared a drink by the campfire just last night. Now he was staring at the ugly grey sky with glassy unseeing eyes, terror plastered on his just as grey face.

He had to do something. He had to protect them somehow. His sword was right in front of him but every time he tried to pick it up he failed. Every time he reached out, he felt as if he was being torn apart. Every time he tried to stand, the lack of air in his lungs and the pain in his chest left him lying powerlessly on the cold damp ground. He was failing his comrades, his sensei, and most of all himself. He couldn't protect anyone.

Then there was someone standing over him. He gathered the last strength in his aching muscles and looked up, prepared to see one of those monsters. But it wasn't. He couldn't quite understand who it was. At the same time it was Hachiro and Tanaka, Hisashi, who had died in a siege a month ago, Takashi, who had died from a stray bullet a year ago, Satou, Yamada... everyone. It was all those whom he hadn't protected; all those who had fallen victim to this forever damned war. And they picked up his own katana and lifted it to deal the blow that was going to end his useless life.

Maybe it was for the best. Maybe he should just die. It would be so simple. No more sorrow, no more regret. He was about to die by his own sword. It was morbidly ironical, he thought. There wasn't anything to live for, but there was nothing appealing in death, either.

But that weak will to live didn't stop the deadly weapon coming his way; didn't stop the sword cutting into him; didn't stop the vital crimson fluid from pooling around him. The terrible pain was replaced with horrifying numbness and he fell into the darkness.

He had finally lost.

Author's notes: Hope you guys like it so far. The first chapter will be out tomorrow, and an explanation for this fic along with it.