Jinei had seen Kenshin's anger and rejoiced, watched his speed and power increase second by second as he fought for Kaoru's life. Finally, Jinei said, a worthy opponent.
He'd called it Battousai.
Kaoru had seen the darkness too. She had been terrified, horror-struck at the change in the sweet gentle wanderer she knew, the monster in those amber eyes.
She'd called it Battousai.
They all did, Sanosuke and Yahiko and Megumi.
They were all wrong.
It was not Battousai they had seen. They had never known Battousai.
Battousai had never hated.
And that night as he faced Saito across the dojo floor, blood dripping from his side and a naked blade in his hands, he hated.
Hated that Saito threatened to destroy everything he had tried to build, hated the memories the man brought back, of blood and emptiness and snow. Hated being manipulated, hated being tricked, hated being beaten and stabbed and hurt and hating the man who was responsible. It was the same he had felt with Jinei: the desire to kill, to destroy, to tear and break and bring crumbling down. The desire to see blood running down his blade.
There were no ideals here, no thought of glory. No dreams of a better world, no orders to mindlessly follow. No delusions. No mercy.
Even Battousai cowered before this monster.
During the Revolution, he'd been empty. A child clinging to sanity, a swordsman lost in his dance, a killer with the precision of a machine. They'd called him demon, hitokiri, murderer.
If only they knew. They'd been spared the real darkness.
That night in the clearing, in the dojo, something was awakened. He forgot Kaoru, forgot Tomoe, forgot Battousai, forgot everything but the blade in his hand and the hatred in his heart.
There was only the deeper darkness now, waiting to pull him down.