Okita has only had one purpose in his life since he was nine years old. His mission was to fight. His mission was to kill. His mission was to do whatever it took to make sure Kondou was on top. It didn't matter how many lives he slayed or how much blood stained his hands. If Kondou was happy, then he would be, too.
The only one he cared for was Kondou. Or rather, it used to only be Kondou. That girl just had to show up. She somehow got herself involved with the whole mess that the Shinsengumi were in charge of and wormed her way into everyone's hearts despite the fact that she wasn't even supposed to be there. She was annoying and a bit of a pest when he first met her, but even he had to admit that she had carved a place for herself in his heart. She could never be more important than Kondou, but that didn't mean she wasn't someone he cared for.
Maybe that was why he was doing this. Maybe that's why he was standing there, behind a tree to the side of the road.
Okita had lost his savior, the man he looked up to like a father. He could never forgive the vice-commander for living in Kondou's stead, but he couldn't let those disgraces murder him either. After all, only Okita should be allowed to kill Hijikata. But it's not like it mattered anymore.
The world was cruel and people's only purpose was to hurt others. Okita had known that from the start. He had only stuck around for so long because he had to protect Kondou, even if he got himself killed in the process. Now that he thought about it, though, there was one other person he would give his life for.
That girl. She was so ignorantly innocent that it was almost frustrating, yet he had developed the desire to protect that innocence. He didn't want her to suffer like he had. He didn't want her to be forced to pick up a sword. It wasn't in her nature to be violent.
But it was, however, in his. That was why he was fighting. To protect whatever was left of the people he cared for. It didn't matter if he was destined to die, as long as they would live on. He had always wanted them to live on.
Okita tightened the bandage around his sword and stepped out from behind the tree. The army in front of him immediately tensed as his hair took on its silvery shade, his eyes changing to a deadly scarlet. There was fear in their eyes, and he loved it. They shot him once, but the pain barely registered. They had just doomed themselves to a painful death, for he took that shot as permission to charge.
He was a shinigami. He was a sword. He was a fury. He was Okita Souji, and he would fight, even if he faded to nothing but ashes in the end.