A whistle sounded in the background.
It shattered the night, shattered the silence into a thousand voices. One screamed louder than all the rest.
"AHHHHHHHHHHH – "
The blood-curtailing scream was cut off midbreath by a clean slice though the man's jugular. The sword effectively separated the man's head from his shoulders, blood spurting from the severed carotid artery.
Before the bloody rain could cease, the swordsman sped to his next victim only a few feet away.
This man had a sword and made an attempt to block the assassin's first attack. The clang of steel meeting steel pierced the shadows. The brief bit of light revealed deadpan amber eyes. Immediately, the victim knew who his predator was.
"Kami have mercy…" the man whispered in terrified reverence. "The Hitokiri Battousai."
The manslayer's face remained stoic as the two blades separated.
At last he spoke.
"Kimrazu Hatori, I have come to end your life."
Cold.
Cruel.
Calculating.
"You're surrounded, Battousai," retorted a man from the shadows.
The hitokiri turned his head slightly to peer into the dark. He was right. He was surrounded in the dark alleyway.
"There are at least thirty men here and they have blocked your way out of this alley," added the current opponent. He smiled as he stepped away from the legendary murderer. "You think you can get all of us with one lousy sword?"
The redheaded assassin gave a feral smirk. "Yes."
"Don't be fool –" started a nearby man, cut off by the lightning fast strike that vertically split his body into two pieces. Before he could fall to the ground the hitokiri's sword had turned four additional men into mere puddles of flesh and gore.
Amber eyes bored into the final assailant's gaze.
Surprisingly, the man seemed unafraid. He dared to speak to the legendary man killer standing there, the only who had so fearlessly executed all of his men in a single swipe.
"We meet again, Battousai."
The hitokiri slid again into his battle stance. "You should know by now that I am not a man of sentimentality."
"I was not asking if you cared manslayer." A faint smile slid over the features of a man who understood the plight of the murderer before him. "Such an irony would be disgraceful to these fallen soldiers."
"Spare me of your honor."
The single man slid into his own fighting stance, sword outstretched with his fingertips lightly resting on the sharpened steel. His hat fell away to reveal a scar across his forehead and a mess of semi-cropped white hair.
The manslayer's eyes narrowed.
In seconds, their swords clashed. The clang of steel echoed through the narrow alleyway. The two fighters allowed their swords to pull away for a few seconds before clashing again. Feral amber eyes glared into the icy blue ones of his opponent – a true threat for once. The hitokiri smiled at the thought of a true fight, of having the opportunity to feel a true victory.
Cleaning up the streets of a city could only sate a bloodthirsty man for so long, you see.
Even if this American city, New York, is full of brutal bastards not unlike himself.
It was not long before Battousai had drawn blood. This time, he had slit open the man's chest just enough to coax blood from his opponent's body rather than kill him. Quickly, quickly, he buried his sword into his opponent's shoulder and the cold steel ripped though muscle and tendon enough to nearly remove an arm.
As his target tried to strike, the hitokiri pulled away and the man fell to the cold earth.
"You son of a bitch," the man spat. Blood dribbled from his wounds and the corner of his mouth.
"What a pathetic man," came the simple response. "Get up." He walked toward the near corpse of a man, smiling that terrible feral smile again.
The wounded man stood after those words, struggling to maintain his position. It took a moment, but he managed to find some way to slip into his battle stance.
Battousai struck again, this time the man unable to defend himself. His arm was gone.
Another strike and crimson sprayed from a torn artery in the man's chest. Wounded and defenseless, the once true opposition was dead.
The hitokiri was bathed in blood again, but reached into his hatori to extract a cloth to clean his katana.
He wiped his blade with practiced skill and threw the cloth to the ground in disgust.
Once his katana was clean, the murderer walked away from the scene, melting into the shadows of the night, silent once more.
"prelude to the lost…"
by: shinigami cloudiko
written 14 january 2005
The school hallways were quiet, although far from calm.
"Did you see that Kamiya girl?" whispered one girl standing at her locker in the hall.
"The one with all the piercings?" hissed another.
"I heard she's paying her tuition fees in…well, let's just say a less than proper manner," added a nearby boy.
"You mean – " started a neighboring girl, but was cut off by an elbow to the ribs. She nodded, realizing that the aforementioned girl was headed straight toward them.
The giggling began almost a soon as Kamiya Kaoru rounded the turn into the main hallway of the school. She expected it. She welcomed it.
All of their gossiping made her still feel human.
Kaoru unconsciously put a gentle hand to touch the tiny stud in her nose. Mother…what would you say to get them to leave you alone?
Vulnerable, yes. But still human.
"A flapper?" hissed another male student.
The girls around him giggled. "And she's going to be expelled…"
One girl in the crowd straightened the shirt of her simple uniform so as to make it more modest. Her hands smoothed out the wrinkles in her navy skirt and she decided to rescue her best friend prior to Karou making a statement she would regret.
The girl set her teeth and marched to her friend. "Come on Kaoru. You're going to be late," she attempted, taking the slightly taller girl's arm.
"Misao…" hissed her friend in question, "you are not my mother!"
One of the guys couldn't hold in a slanderous comment any longer. "Maybe she should be, Kaoru."
"Yeah," piped up another," then she could stop you from dressing like a first-class w-"
"Go to hell, Aiko," interrupted Misao. The taller girl gently tugged Kaoru away from the hall and into a bathroom, not wanting to see another one-sided fight. "He ain't worth it, darling."
"I'd love to give him a piece of my mind," retorted Kaoru, "no matter what you say, and it'd still be gratifying."
Misao swatted her friend on the arm. "Would that be what your parents would want?"
Cerulean blue eyes met Misao's green ones.
For a moment vulnerability lurked in Kaoru's gaze. At once Misao regretted mentioning her friend's late parents.
Misao decided to change the subject.
"Why don't you just wear the uniform once, Kaoru?"
"Isn't that just giving in to what they want?"
"The school superintendent wants to suspend you," came the reply. "The board doesn't seem to approve of the distraction your clothes cause."
"Distraction?" Kaoru squeaked. "This isn't even the half of it."
Misao looked at what her friend wore, trying to remain neutral to the topic. She wore a simple, wide collared blouse with sleeves that was tucked into a slightly tiered knee length skirt of the same color. A wide satin sash was tied below her hips, making her torso appear longer. The bow lie on her right side rather than in the small of her back. Her long black hair hung straight and Kaoru wore a cloche perched on it. She had heels on – much too tall to be proper – and far too much makeup and jewelry.
Perhaps the most scandalous factor about Kaoru's attire was that she looked outstanding.
"It isn't bad at all," came Misao's reassurance. "You just draw a lotta attention to yourself by dressing like this at school. Do you have your uniform?"
Kaoru nodded. If I want an education, then I'll have to agree to wear the stupid uniform.
With an inward sigh, Kaoru traded her comfortable clothing for the boring university uniform that covered way too much skin and was made with little taste.
Misao pointed to her friend's head. "Your hat, remember?"
The raven-haired girl removed her cloche and pinned her hair into a bun. Almost as though an afterthought, she grabbed a towel and wiped her bright red lipstick off. How boring…she thought as she looked into the mirror. At least no one's tried to make me remove my earrings.
"Ready?" Misao broke Kaoru's thoughts.
"Yes."
And so Kamiya Kaoru began her day in the same pattern as she had for the last two years.
fin
Notes:
Well, here's another new one. It's kind of a lazy person's attempt to write two stories at once. You see, I wanted to write a more romantic piece with "building bridges", but couldn't sit down to write all of it. That kind of romance just didn't seem to suit my rather bloodthirsty personality. (Too much romanticism overload for cloudiko. Not that I don't love a good waff like everyone else.) Then, came the idea to write a piece on gangs and street violence, but that seemed a little too much like one of my favorite stories here on ffiction. So, I've decided to blend these two ideas together into something of a hybrid story. There's violence but it's balanced out with romantic elements. You'll see what I mean.
The hardest thing about writing right now is every writer's greatest enemy: writer's block. I'm far enough ahead in the storyline to not impact updates yet, but I'd really like to not have it end up a rushed mess. Well, and it'd be nice to get some reviews for once … Oh, and I really wanted to have this story out before I finished my last year of school.
Prelude to the Lost is a story set in the 1920's, at the height of the mobster era in the United States. In fact, this will be taking place in the United States because I don't know enough about Japanese history to do the era historical justice. There will be gang wars, Battousai violence, and even romance. Oh, and 20's fashion. Lots of that. Kenshin gets to wear a three-piece suit and Karou gets to be a flapper. Misao gets to talk in a cool way, Aoshi gets to be a detective and try to bust everyone! And Sano…he's still an immature pain the butt. Should be fun!
That's about it, mes amis. Enjoy!