Darkening
MysticShadowWanderer
Disclaimer: Everyone who thinks I own Rurouni Kenshin, please raise your hand. :glances around the room::only her own hand is raised: Damn.
Prologue: Shisou
I still didn't know if this is what I meant when I told shishou that I wanted to make a difference, to help people. Somehow killing them didn't seem very helpful. But Katsura-sama told me that I was helping, and he wouldn't lie to me. Would he? I didn't think so.
'This is for the best,' I told myself again as I slunk through the darkness, ignoring the cold rain that made my gi cling uncomfortably to my back. There was no pain, no fear, no regret. There was simply a blade and a man that needed to be struck down. And there was me.
When the war started, I couldn't just sit around and not lend a hand; I had to have a purpose, a cause. I had to do something, even if it was to become an assassin. If this was where I was needed, then this is where I would be. When I killed, I didn't feel anything. The blood spilling under and off my blade, staining my clothes and spattering against my skin, didn't bother me. It never did. This was my destiny, my life, my curse. It was no coincidence that I could move with godlike speed. Katsura-sama knew that from the beginning, and I'd finally realized the same after half a year of assassinations.
Sometimes it still amazed me how well I could move in the darkness, how the shadows seemed to mold to my frame, as if to help me to hide. Did they want to see this man dead? I wondered briefly as I tucked myself into a corner and watched him walk past, swaying. He was drunk; I didn't like killing drunk men, it seemed dishonorable. But I had no choice in the matter. If I was assigned to kill him, then he would be dead by the end of the night; I didn't neglect my job in any way at all.
Nearly silently, I leapt out into the center of the room and, almost before my victim realized that he was being attacked, raised my katana and brought it down in one blazing arc, leaving a long, deep gash in the man's right shoulder that sprayed blood across my hakama.. I wiped my blade clean with a white cloth while I watched him slump to the floor, crimson pooling around his corpse. At times like these, I thought that there was possibly nothing more beautiful than watching the blood drain out of a body, than watching someone die. But I shook my head and refused to entertain such thoughts. I was a hitokiri, not a murderer. There was a difference. Or at least I always told myself that.
I turned to leave as Iizuka showed up, stalking silently back into the shadows. My presence was no longer required. Ignoring his quiet calls for me to "wait up," I continued on until the darkness swallowed me.
A/N: Hope you caught the symbolism and meaning in the last paragraph there... I don't blame you if you didn't, though, since I am the only one who knows the plot, besides Bando-chan if she remembers and is actually reading this. But that's beside the point. To warn the younger, less mature, and/or innocent readers, this fic is going to be extremely gory. Gratuitous violence not your thing? Then you may want to abstain from reading any more. By the way, don't worry, the actual chapters will be much longer than the prologue.
Fun fact of the day! "Prologue" is actually British. "Prolog" is American, and "prólogo" is Spanish (guess who stole her brother's Spanish dictionary? :grin:). Weird how most Americans would likely use "prologue" rather than "prolog," isn't it?
Translation: "shisou" - "look of death; shadow of death" Kick me if I've gotten that wrong...