This story was originally entitled, "Dead Past". Now, I'm reposting it, with an added prologue as requested. I'm rather slow at posting but this will take only up to 8 to 10 chapters, not including the prologue. Please read and review! And if there are any typos, please inform me.

Disclaimer: I wouldn't be writing in any fanfiction if SC were mine.

Summary: Fuu died four years ago, or so they thought. Without memories of their previous travels, Fuu--now named Fuuka--seeks to claim vengeance on our two heroes. Who is the culprit behind the deception? What truly happened four years ago?

Pairings: FuuxMugen, slight FuuxJin


Prologue

Like a maelstrom of bullets, water fell from the dark and gloomy sky. In the outskirts of Nagasaki, puddles rose into baby floods. Soon, there would be a pond; children would race to reach and play in those waters once the weather calms.

In those remote areas, where the prominence of trees swayed in rhythm with each howl of the wind, a piercing cry of anger and despair erupted and was swallowed by the compressed air. It was the voice of a lost soul, claimed some few passersby. For those who knew the real story, that claim hit only half of the truth.

The canopy of rain was suddenly parted by two sword-wielding bodies in a loud clang, which was easily swallowed by wind again. Each sound of clashing weapons, splashing feet and angry grunts came and went as the two fighters, a man and a woman, weaved in and out in a frenzied dance.

Neither of them spoke. There was nothing to talk about and neither would listen; at least she wouldn't. Only their blades could settle the talking now. And, from their increasingly sluggish movements, it seemed as though it was finally coming to a close.

The woman let out a cry as the man disarmed her, naginata flying in two dangerous circles before embedding its sharp blade onto dirt. She screamed in rage and pulled out her tanto from the pink sheath but speed and experience was his advantage—her wrist was immediately trapped by his large, calloused fist. She beat his chest furiously with her free hand to no avail.

When he spoke, his voice was as harsh as his eyes were unreadable, "You want to hurt me that badly—you're even willing to stain that precious tanto with my blood!"

She growled up at him, helpless despite her fierce surging anger. She wanted to hurt him so much. Her dark eyes flashed at him contemptuously, daring him to hurt her—after all, hasn't he hurt her enough? But, this near, she could see his expression more clearly—that of sadness and pity. Without wanting to, her mouth parted into uncontrollable gasps; the small weapon in her hand fell limply into the mud. Mugen—for Mugen was the man—released her wrists and watched as her claws dug into the wet earth, her tears mixing with the fallen rain.

"They told me you were dead," murmured Mugen, tightening his grip onto the handle of his sword until blood seeped and mixed with the murky waters. "They told me--"

"Kill me!" she screamed, not hearing his words, beating her fists onto the mud much like a forlorn child. And she was once—five years ago, in fact. She was looking for her father back then--the sunflower samurai. And she has changed so much since that time. So much that it hurt Mugen to look at her.

She was no longer their Fuu. Looking up at him, with steely eyes full of hate, and speaking in a harsh voice, was Fuuka, the assassin. "Kill me, you bastard! Haven't you killed me once already?"

His eyes hardened at the words. After a very long time, he raised his sword...

The skies only cried harder in response.


Thanks to MaximusWang who suggested making a prologue. When I read his review, it hit me that it needed one to lessen the confusion. I personally felt that making one would also contribute to the mystery part...that is, if I feel up to it.

Again, tell me what you think of this. Please review! That button is one click away!