Grotesque Yaoi One Shots (Seme Male Reader x Various)

Forgotten

Reader x Mugen (Samurai Champloo)

i used to be a wandering swordsman.

i started off as a humble monk practicing swordsmanship high up in the himalayas at a dojo. i quickly grew to become the number one pupil, going so far as being the only student the master considered his equal. nonetheless, i was satisfied with my position. on the rare occasions when someone would make the trek to the dojo to fight the master, i was made the one they would fight before they could even see the master.

of course....they would never make it past me.

how did i begin to wander? well, one particular samurai had visited the dojo one warm summer night. he intended on challenging the master but it was rather late. we insisted he stay the night and fight the next day, when he wasnt so worn out from the trip here. he agreed.

we put him up for the night in one of the few rooms, going as far as to offer him dinner and a bath. we treated him very well, id say. when everything had calmed down that night and everyone retired to their bedrooms, all of a sudden there was a loud crash. i was the first one up and out of my room, wearing nothing but my robe and the mass of bandages that covered my groin. i brought my sword, my master having taught me that i should never be unarmed, even while sleeping.

i was the first to arrive to the room where my master slept. i flung the door open, scanning the room when my eyes landed on on the floor across the room, where my master laid unmoving. i ran over, calling his name but i received no response. i lifted his body off the ground, discovering the pool of blood that his limp body had laid in.

i called his name again, checking his body for some means of stopping the bleeding. there was a knife lodged in his gut. i gripped the handle, intending on pulling it out when master gripped my hand. with the last of his strength, he whispered his final words:

"...you....you were always better than i was. you....you knew the art better than anyone. i...i thought of you as my son for these many years. my wish...my son, is that you pass it on..."

with that, his grip went limp, the life leaving him before my eyes. i cried for my master. he was like a father to me. he took me in when i was just an infant. i knew no one better, not even when i had found my biological parents. he was my father and that was it. now....he was gone.

i wasnt able to wallow in my grief for long, however. as i clutched his dead body, the knife in my hand from when i tried to pull it out, the rest of the students arrived to the room. all they saw was me clutching the knife that killed our master and, even though i was struck with tears just as i was, they believed that i was the one who did it.

what transpired after that turned out to be a greater tragedy than the passing of my master. they wouldnt listen to reason and it was that evening that i found out how much resent and hatred they harboured towards me. it was clear that i was master's favorite and i was always treated as such, even though i never knew i was treated differently. when i told them of master's final words, they took it as blasphemy, a simple ploy to take his place and have everyone fall under me.

needless to say, i had to defend myself and the students knew no better means than with our swords. one by one they charged me, irrespective of the master who laid at my feet. i grabbed my sword, keeping it in its sheath and blocking the best i could. i simply couldnt cut down those whom i believed my own brothers since the beginning. they simply wouldnt let up, attacking me as if i were some random stranger. they attacked mercilessly with drawn blades until i had no choice.

i drew my blade, striking one down with the blunt side. i thought that would be enough to stop the onslaught but it didnt. the fighting continued, my receiving cuts and scratches. when i was on the brink of death from bleeding out, i lashed out, as if i were a rat trapped in a corner. my blade cut through the air like thin ribbons flowing in the breeze, a technique that when done by a master of our art, would easily slay any number of foes.