Disclaimer: I do not own Kenshin
This was it. Tokyo. The moon reflected off of the entangling of buildings and roads. Glancing down, she read the scrawled handwriting once more. After years of searching, she was so close. She had just this one last lead and barely a jingle in her pocket. Lifting her hood, she took one more look. This time, she will find him.
Her Aoshi.
Yet it wouldn't be tonight. The city was in a gentle slumber, Aoshi would be busy, on guard…with what ever he was doing.
After ambling through the twist and turns of the streets in search of an inn, Misao hadn't a clue of where she was. With the increasing number of trees and the lessening amount of houses, she wasn't even sure this was still in Tokyo. But the high wall looming ahead placed her at easy. It looked like one of those dojos that were often at the out skirts. The blue gate was strong, the oriental design spoke of proud in the school.
A flicker of movement. Three figures raced out of the gate, not even noticing her in their haste. Their paced was even, expect for the young boy in the brown samurai pants who lagged behind by a breath. The breeze lifted a faint scent of fire and oil. Such a fire must have occur several days ago. Hyottoko? An image of a man, who was familiar rounded size of a bolder, with fire on his breathe as a lit several candles in amazing accuracy flashed before her eyes.
Was he here?
As they dash pasted her, Misao couldn't let this clue leave her site, trailing after then, while sticking to shadows as Hannaya had taught her. Once she had even surprised Aoshi with her hiding skills, it was one of her favorite games as a child. What an interesting combination of people- a young man with spiky hair and the kanji of evil on his back, running with a samurai whose hair was spun of the shades of fire, and a kid.
"This way." The samurai in a red hamayia darted forward once more, after his pause.
Misao wasn't as hard press as she might have been if she hadn't been roaming for so long. But the lateness of the night wore down on her, and she had spent the day traveling to here. Shaking off the weariness, she focused her sight on the three that made their way to an iron wrought fence. She was Misao Makamachi, being a little tired wouldn't stop her.
After keeping an even pace behind them for a while, Misao didn't notice one of their sudden turns and plunged straight on after where she thought their shadows had gone.
Two shadows loomed behind her. Greedy hands grabbing towards her cloak, Misao turned to face them, disgusted. She had relieved such vermin in the past of their purses. Swing a kick to one of their heads and jumping to the next, she land with a grace and only a smudge on her favorite cloak.
Now where did that samurai go?
An emergency whistle shrieked against the moaning of the poor fools who fell before her. Yells and shouts of fighting were as quickly silenced as they were given. It didn't matter. Misao had a direction, and hope.
Climbing over the iron wrought gates, Misao dashed to the nearest foliage. It would be faulty to have been seen, even if most of the man laid groaning or unconscious. They may report her to their superior, and she didn't know what Aoshi was doing. If he was aiding that samurai who had so swiftly taken out the guards, or the one using the guards as a measure of the strength of the samurai. Aoshi doesn't waste his time against the weak.
Shaking her head, Misao darted along branches of trees, none creaking beneath her weight. There were several large windows, and a tower that would be easy to scale. Taking in her surroundings, she noticed the shadow figure of a lone woman in the highest window of the tower. Before she even manage a level, the chattering boom of gunfire, shook her nerves, almost making her lose focus. Curiosity overrode common practice. Within moments, she was dangling at the edge of a broken window on the middle level, glancing in.
It couldn't be.
Misao crawled forward onto the ledge, her arms shaking so that she almost fell over the edge as she peered down into the room. Aoshi-sama. Her breath escaped from her, her balance wavered once again. This was impossible. Crimson seeped from dual wounds on his legs. If only she had come earlier.
Now he was barely managing to stay crouched up right. Her invincible Aoshi-sama.
"Aoshi's first, he can't move." A strange laugh, high pitch and crazed, resonated in the room only to seemingly morph into a rattle as a great machine was fired directly at her leader. She lurched forward, but did not tumble. Unable to move, or utter a sound. Not Aoshi-sama.
"No." Shikijou continued his mad dash to his leader, kneeling before the coming onslaught.
"Shikijou…" Aoshi's voice was strained. But before the gun fired, the adjoining doors bang opened.
"Your opponent is now me, Hyottoko."
"What?" The man angled the gun towards the rather robust Hyottoko. His brief shock covered from the mad grin that spread across his lips, as he aimed for Hyottoko's head. Misao froze, unable to mutter a word n. Her nerves racing around her, but she was paralysis as her robust friend ran nearer.
The gun roared to life. Bullets crushed Hyottoko's skull as blood sprayed from his head. Her stomach turned in protest, but she held back, her hand over her mouth, watching as the man who once breathed fire for her fell. Something rose within, despite her shacky movements Misao crawled closer.
She couldn't let this continue.
No one had seen her yet, she was a shadow above the machine. The gatling gun swung to Aoshi. Her heart thundered in her ears. At the corner of her eye, she saw Hannaya whispering fervently with the samurai, his stance shifted, ready to leap.
Her breath seemed to slow. The room became crisp and clear, the delicate polish on the rails, the glitter of the crystal chandeliers, the glistening scarlet pooling around the limp forms of the fallen, and the sick shine of the steel. It was the determinations that shown in the samurai's eyes as he focused on his sword, lying useless on the ground.
The man, with light reflecting the insane glimmer of insanity off of his glasses. His finger on the trigger, but he continued to rant on his plans unaware of the silent plan. So caught up in the ideal splendor and his own bought confidence. He was beneath her perch. So close…
They launched off in unison. The samurai for his blade and Hannaya to his leader. Ready to die. What if he didn't make it? Thought fled Misao's mind. Not Hannaya, not Aoshi. They would not die.
Misao leaped.
Time inched to long drawn out heart beats. In that moment, she caught Aoshi's eye. Those piercing ice-blue eyes widened, and she saw herself reflected. Her long raven braid loose, her pink ribbon rippling as a long stream behind her, and her tattered ninja outfit lifting the slightest bit up.
The moment was gone.
Time gained speed. Landing her kick, she knocked the manic into the gun as he pulled the trigger. The gun spun on him, pulverizing his arm as he fell. The mass of bullets and metal swung around as one last shot sounded off, then silence.
Misao was thrown back; hot metal punctured her shoulder. Pain rippled through her. Each slow heart beat, brought the agony closer, intensifying it. Her body crashed against the cold ground, dozen of kunai bit into her flesh, blood seeping from her shallow wounds. Misao heard the echo of her head rapping against the floor. At least Aoshi was safe.
The world went black.
AN: Revising chapters to be longer, and fix spelling errors. Please review if you see something that needs to be fixed.