"Too slow!"
Kenshin stepped backwards as fast as he could, feeling the tip of his attacker's sword barely graze across his stomach. Everything was getting hazy and his head was spinning. He was weak from having been on the run for nearly two days now; he hadn't had any food or water since the morning of the last battle he fought in. The Battle of Toba-Fushimi.
After that he left without notice and had been running ever since.
Only a fool would believe they could walk out of there and not be chased. Kenshin had known that within a day of people noticing his absence, some wouldn't take too kindly to his abandonment. So far they hadn't disappointed him, an assassin already trying to take his life.
Before he could react, his assailant shoved him with a forearm, slamming him back and pinning him to a tree. The force knocked the wind out of Kenshin's lungs and made him heave.
Katsura Kogoro, Kenshin's previous master, had known that Kenshin would withdraw his sword from the war once it had come to an end. The Shogunate were defeated, and although the Shogun was trying to regain power back from the Imperialists, it was a feeble attempt. Kenshin knew that in this last battle, they would be quickly destroyed without his help. Their numbers were dwindling and Kenshin wasn't going to be around for the end.
Still, even though Katsura was aware and accepted the fact that Kenshin would leave, Kenshin knew that there would be people out for his blood. A lot of the Imperialists were very prideful, and some even may try and kill him for treason.
Such as this man here.
"So, thought you could run away, Battousai? Has the war finally got to your head?!"
Kenshin felt the back of the man's free hand connect with his face, forcing his head to whip to the side.
This man was an assassin, undoubtedly sent by someone high in status. They wouldn't have dared to send anyone if they hadn't known Kenshin was on his last legs. He'd allowed himself to be seen too much in the last town he'd passed by, and that may have been the mistake that sealed his fate. People talk, and once word reached certain Imperialists about how drained and weak the famous Hitokiri Battousai was looking, they would be sending people.
But hunger had still drawn him to risk going into the town. Unsurprisingly, everyone refused him, turning down his money and forcing him to leave, dehydrated and starving.
Just how fast the word had spread surprised Kenshin.
Almost giving in to the dark spots that were appearing in his vision, giving in to blacking out, just to escape the pain, Kenshin's instincts screamed at him, forcing his body to move. Even despite the pain and the growing darkness over his sight, he moved.
Kicking out forcefully, Kenshin managed to make the man back up a bit and relinquish some of his hold on him. Throwing out his right fist, the Battousai struck the man in the throat, feeling the esophagus collapse under his knuckles. Spit flecked onto Kenshin's sleeve, the man's eyes rolled up and he fell over, landing on his back. He made strange choking noises, tears streaming down his face as he tried sucking in air like a fish out of water, mouth gaping wide.
Slowly, Kenshin went over to his sword, the sakabatou still lying in the snow where he had dropped it before, when the man had deflected one of Kenshin's earlier attacks and forced him to let go of it.
Everyone always made the same mistake fighting him. They always took their time, relishing in the feeling of power that they got from striking Kenshin down. If they only cared about killing him, not the pride, not the feeling of dominance, Kenshin might have met his end sooner. But they were far too greedy in their conquest for power. Killing the legendary Battousai, would bring someone much glory. The seemingly unbeatable demon from hell, the devil himself, would bring any swordsmen great praise and a high position in power. Shogunate or Imperialist.
Picking up the sword, he glanced back over his shoulder at the man, still clutching his throat.
Should I...kill him?
If he didn't the man would undoubtedly continue his pursuit as soon as he recovered from the throat shot. Kenshin was weakening rapidly, any prestigious swordsman could sense the weakness in the way he held himself.
But he couldn't kill him.
I will uphold my promise...
Sliding the sakabatou back into its iron sheath hanging from his obi, he walked off, continuing in the opposite direction of the battle field he left. The sun was setting and night would blanket the forest, and Kenshin would be even more vulnerable.
A slight crunch of snow behind him made him crouch to the ground. Spinning around onto his knee he threw up his sword and blocked the man's downward katana strike. By having a right hand holding his sword's handle and the other grabbing the blade near the tip he could hold off the opposing sword. Since he wasn't used to the sakabatou, Kenshin forgot to flip the blade so it was facing away from him. Now it cut into his palm as he held off his opponent.
Kenshin's shoulders jerked backwards and he attempted to push the man back, but he didn't have any more strength. It was almost completely gone.
Before Kenshin could react, the man pulled his sword back and went for a horizontal slice, Kenshin watched the movement of the sword's path, but couldn't make his body block the attack in time. He was becoming disoriented. The sword bit into his arm and he clenched his teeth as the sword's force threw him off balance and knocked him to the ground, the snow absorbing most of the impact.
Rolling onto his back he brought up the sakabatou again before the assassin's katana could cut into him again. The man had the advantage, standing above him, using all of his body's strength. While Kenshin could only use what little energy his arms had left.
This struggle was coming to its end rapidly and who was going to lose was evident. Kenshin merely had a reverse blade sword, practically useless in a fight for your life. He might have been able to wound the man enough to escape or make him lose his will to fight him anymore, but he was much too weak from so long without any rest or anything to eat.
In his head he was thinking every possible way out of this, something, the will to fight to survive was too strong to ignore.
"To think you've been reduced to this. Killed like a dog in the backwoods of a village," The man sneered, obviously enjoying Kenshin's struggle, as he leaned in closer he pushed Kenshin's sakabatou blade to his throat, hot breath shocking Kenshin's chilled face as the man laughed. The blade was starting to cut into the skin of Kenshin's neck and his mind faltered for a moment.
He was going to die.
Something snapped inside of him and he looked at the man's right hip, where a small dagger was attached to his belt. It was going to be a big risk and he might die either way, but he had to do this. Battousai wasn't going to let Kenshin die without a fight.
Lashing out, Kenshin released his hold on the blade of his sword and grabbed for the dagger. The tip of his sakabatou was driven into the ground, no longer being held up. It's tip sunk into the snow and earth next to Kenshin's head and the blade cut further into his throat as the man was still forcing his katana down onto Kenshin's blade.
That second of hesitation was all he needed. The man didn't expect for Kenshin to release his own sword and further injuring himself. And that was his mistake.
Ripping the dagger out of its sheath with his left hand, Kenshin quickly jabbed it into the man's eye, driving it in until it was buried up to the hilt. The eye gave away easily under his attack and it made a strange noise as the man screamed. The moment Kenshin released the handle of the dagger, the man became silent and limp, crumpling onto Kenshin. The assassin's head landed on his chest and blood dripped onto him and a sickness started creeping into his stomach.
Throwing his sword somewhere to his right, Kenshin shoved the man off of him with what seemed like a gargantuan effort. The body flopped beside him, completely limp with lack of life. Blood was quickly staining the snow and spreading around the man's head.
The sickness grew.
Rolling onto his stomach, Kenshin started crawling away, not knowing he had left the sakabatou behind.
There was a strange rasping noise and Kenshin thought for a moment it was the man behind him and realized it was coming from his own mouth. His lungs ached as he was near hyperventilation, trying to catch his breath. He didn't know where he was crawling but his vision was going. Ab curious loud ringing noise buzzed in his ears and the black spots were so big at this point he couldn't see.
Soon his head collided with something and he reached up, feeling the rough bark of a tree. He gripped it, trying to pull himself up, but his legs wouldn't obey. They quaked under his weight and he slipped forward, his face hitting the bark as it scratched up his cheek. He collapsed to the ground, into a pile of snow. He kept hold of the tree with his right hand, his head was spinning and he couldn't tell which way was up. This tree was the only thing that was keeping him anchored and he couldn't let go, he wouldn't let go.
Closing his eyes for a moment he willed his body to stop. Stop his head from spinning and his stomach from heaving with pain and hunger.
When he opened his eyes again he realized his hand had dropped from the tree and was resting on its roots, a dull light was trickling through the trees. Snow had fallen and coated his hair and back.
Putting his hands under him he forced himself up to sit back.
He had slept for hours.
Kenshin looked over at the man he had slain, it felt like moments ago, but somehow he had slept for the remainder of the night.
Feeling cold and sore, he cringed as he searched for his sakabatou. After a moment of feeling around with his feet he hit it with his right foot and it appeared, as though from the snow itself. Bending down he picked it up from the ground and he sheathed it, not bothering with his blood that had dried on its blade.
He could feel that his legs were still shaking, but not as badly as before. He had to keep moving. Somehow he had survived the night. He had been lucky enough to be wearing thick clothing and the winter had been mellow this year.
If an assassin had found him while he was asleep, collapsed on the ground like that, they wouldn't have spared his life. No matter what was honorable, they'd have killed him on the spot.
There's no such thing as honor when fighting a demon. Kill it while it lays unconscious and no one would question you.
Trying to swallow and ease his dry throat, he continued to walk, thinking of what he should do. Somehow he had to lie low for a while. Find a rural village that wasn't so harsh when it came to judging newcomers.
In what seemed like forever, Kenshin came upon a creek. His throat seemed to burn as he dropped to his hands and knees and drove his face in the water, drinking straight from the flowing source. The icy cold water stung his lips and face but he kept drinking and drinking, until he was sure his stomach would burst.
But he couldn't stop, he just couldn't. He didn't care about the consequences, he didn't care if he got sick, the water felt so good soothing the burning in his throat and ridding the dryness in his mouth. Even when it hit his stomach he felt the hot, sick feeling slowly dissipate, being drowned in the fresh, sweet, ice water.
Forcing himself to pull away from the water, he sat back gasping for breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The skin throat smarted and he winced, touching his fingers to it. There was the rough, sticky feeling of dried blood and a wet spot where it had reopened and was bleeding slightly.
His head was throbbing and despite having a stomach full of water, hunger still clawed at him. Kenshin had pulled the water trick on himself too many times for his stomach to fall for it again. It knew there was no food, and it was going to keep demanding until he got it.
Looking down at his clothing, he saw the blood from the assassin, still stuck to his chest and the front of his clothing. His own blood had dripped down and mixed with that man's.
Grabbing his sheathed sword, he pulled it from his obi and laid it among the moss growing near the creek. The snow had seemed to melt quite a bit around this creek and left areas of dried grass and earthy moss. Trees and bamboo grew closely to the river and it was well sheltered, sun barely filtering through the leaves and casting its glaring rays onto the creek.
Removing his haori, kimono, and kosode Kenshin pulled his wallet from the kimono sleeve and set it on the ground next to him. He then dipped his kimono into the water, and started rubbing the blood out. He watched the blood swirl from the blue kimono, disappearing down the stream.
Doing this with each article of clothing, he looked a little sadly at each hole in each of their left shoulders, from where that man cut him. He lost his small bag earlier when that man attacked him, which had what little belongings he had left. He didn't dare go back though, it was too close to a town and out in the open.
By now it would be buried by the snow anyways, so he was just going to have to make do until he figured out what he was going to do.
He shivered slightly but the air wasn't too cold, the sun was quickly warming the forest as it rose up.
Pulling his kosode out of the water he wrung it out and glanced around for a suitable rock to lay them all on to dry. There weren't any boulders, so he settled on laying them on the rocky shore of the creek, hoping they dried soon. They were beyond ruined, but he had no choice. He just hoped they didn't freeze before the sun could dry them.
After washing his body of the blood and gently cleaning his throat and shoulder wounds with creek water, he tried thinking of what to do for bandages. He glanced down at his kosode and sighed in resignation. He would have to cut thick strips from it if he was going to protect his wounds from infections.
It didn't take him very long, but he soon had his throat and shoulder wrapped with makeshift bandages from his kosode, crudely cut by the blade of his sakabatou.
His body ached for sleep, but he couldn't. He didn't dare sleep. Anyone could sneak up on him in this weakened state and easily finish him off. How was he meant to help people when he couldn't even help himself?
Reaching up, he pulled his hair tie loose, hissing at the pain prickling across his scalp as he realized he also had a cut on the back of his head. It must have been from being slammed against that tree. His deep red hair was caked with blood at the back of his head and down his neck. It hurt to even move his hair now that he was aware of the wound.
Looking at the bloody blue tie in his hand he felt a twinge of guilt. It had only been a few days and he already broke his vow.
Looking at the creek uncertainly and then around at his surroundings, he wondered if he could risk washing it out. Would anyone really bother with this small creek? He had to have put quite some distance between him and the body of that assassin. Yet Kenshin knew he most likely left a path leading here, the snow unforgivingly leaving his tracks, blood splattered on the snow too. He'd be tracked down like wounded prey.
Listening for a moment as he stared at the creek, he could only hear the soft wind blow through the tops of the trees and birds singing over the gurgling of the water.
Tucking his tie into the waist of his obi he grabbed his hair in a fist he leaned forward, letting the top of his head dip into the chilly water. Letting go of his hair he slowly started picking up water with a cupped hand and pouring it on the head cut, lightly rubbing the hair sticking to the wound. Each little pull of hair made his stomach lurch as a pain shot across his skull. Head wounds were particularly sensitive and always bled the most, so he wasn't too concerned with the amount of blood staining the water a copper color before it was whisked away further downstream.
Leaning back, he pulled the tie back from his obi and quickly rinsed it of the blood. He attempted tying his hair back up into its usual style, but his scalp was stinging with the movement of his hair, so he tied it lower, at the nape of his neck. Something he didn't do often.
Perhaps he should get it cut off, his hair. Then people would be less inclined to recognize him.
Lifting his hand he touched his fingertips to the scar on his left cheek. It had healed over the past couple years, but it refused to close, leaving two gaping scars that crossed into an X shape... This is what the people knew him by the most. It's what stuck out in the battle field while he slayed dozens of men. There wasn't any good way of hiding it. Maybe a bandage would work, he was bound to come upon at village or town that would be willing to accept his money, Battousai or not. The last village was hardly accommodating, and Kenshin wasn't the type to threaten.
He bore this scar as a tribute to those he had killed, to her, to the lives he'd torn apart. With his actions he didn't realize how many people he hurt, with the exception of the ones who fell at his sword. He hurt those families, the children, the wives, the friends. Taking life for granted, he didn't realize how much pain he put people through, not until he felt the pain for himself. First hand. The feeling of losing a loved one. Someone he loved so dearly that it ached now that she was gone.
Some nights he couldn't sleep with the vivid memory of bright red contrasting against the pure white. He would have nightmares, but the only thing he could remember were those two colors.
Red and white.
Red staining pure white, standing out like a glaring light.
Feeling his stomach heave, Kenshin moved away from the water and was sick on the rocks piled near the creek's small shore. Unable to bring anything up but water and stomach juices, Kenshin's eyes watered as the acid stung the inside of his throat.
Once he knew he was finished, he picked up his sakabatou and moved to the other side of the spot where his clothes were drying. There was moss growing on the bank and he sat down in front of a tree, looking over at his clothing. The sun was doing a good job drying them, at least in that he had some luck.
Situating himself so he was sitting cross legged, Kenshin rested his sakabatou on his left shoulder, letting the tip of its sheath support itself on the ground in the space between his legs. Leaning back, he rested against the tree, trying to get some energy back while his clothing dried.
His stomach wouldn't stop growling and aching, but he found some sort of peace sitting against a tree near the flowing creek. His zori were starting to rip and his clothing was stained with blood and dirt. His white hakama were never going to be the same again, but he had some ways of removing blood stains yet didn't have anything that was required. If he was going to go into the next town or village, he had to not be covered in blood.
Gently, he rested his head against the tree, ignoring the slight twinge from his cut. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the smell of the forest and the creek envelop him.
Kenshin wasn't quite sure of himself right now. Five years being a hitokiri, he was pretty much taken care of by his Master. He never had to do anything but kill. Food was paid for, rooms at inns were paid for, he never had many clothes but he stopped growing when he was sixteen, he had no need for new ones, yet he was still given money for them.
The women that worked at the inns they stayed at took quite good care of the men of the Ishin Shishi. From laundry, to food, and other things that Kenshin didn't want any part of. He felt bad for those women with no where else to go. Battousai had everyone convinced he was a detached, emotionless killer that didn't care about anything at all. That's what had those other men so frightened of him. He didn't care about anything. Including death.
But it was always quite the opposite. Kenshin was always left to his own ponderings. Always thinking of the past and the future and how much impact the new government would have on the country. He just wanted peace. No more fighting. Kenshin was losing his way and didn't know quite what was worth fighting for anymore. It all seemed senseless. Insanity. All of it. There would be no true peace in this world because man was always susceptible to becoming mad with power and greed and they continued the fight. Never ending.
She was the one who saved him. He found his way again he owed everything to her. While he was lost in the despair of the maddening world, she taught him the value of life and reminded him of what brought him to becoming a fighter in the first place.
Now, for her, he would help the defenseless people. In any way that he could. He would hone his skills with the sakabatou and heal, to be ready for any more assassins or challengers. He couldn't kill again. His instincts forced him to take that man's life, but he wouldn't make that mistake again. There had to be another way.
Jolting, Kenshin realized he was beginning to doze. He stood up quickly, glancing around the area for any signs of danger as he slid his sheathed sword back into the hold of his obi.
Going over to his clothes he picked them up and shook them out, pleased with how quickly they dried...He hadn't been dozing for too long, had he?
Slipping the kosode back on he realized it was now shorter due to him using it as bandages and it made it harder to tuck back into his hakama and obi. After he slipped his thick kimono back on and tucked that too, he picked up his wallet and placed it back into his inner sleeve for safe keeping.
Setting off, Kenshin went back to the path he was following before that assassin attacked him. There had to be a village not too far off that he could get food and hopefully some shelter.