Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin and all its characters don't belong to me and I will not bear responsibility for any accidental deaths or injuries caused to characters.
New Note from Author: as promised, I've finally found a less cheesy name for the story title! (hopefully?)"Winter Moon" (Kikyousen Fuyutsuki) is thought to be the name of Hiko Seijuro's sword, the rough translation being "Winter Moon of Kikyou's Spirit" (What a mouthful! No wonder he never mentioned it...)
I'm sorry that there has been some confusion regarding whether this story has anything to do with the official timeline at all. The answer is it does but in a… non-conventional way. The point of this fic is to throw the two of the most strongly-principled people in the RK storyline together and take a peek into their respective warped psychologies. Getting them in one place is a challenge, though, because one of them lives on a mountain and is generally apathetic about everything, while the other runs the Kyoto underworld and probably won't be enjoying nature a great deal (unless Hoji strikes an oil reserve there or something).
Regarding the fight with Shishio, Kenshin's master, Hiko Seijuro the 13th, is reported to have said the following:
"It'd be easiest to do it myself, but after all this time I'd rather not deal with the trouble."
Yeah, as if teaching Kenshin the final attack hasn't been a handful… but back to the point, exactly how much easier are things going to get, and on the other hand, how much "trouble" is Shishio going to pose? Will the last master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu prevail for the whole 15 minutes on his own, or…? Will the age finally choose Shishio, or is he destined to continue his Kuni Tori in Hell? It's high time we explore the possibilities…
(Time is set to be before the Kyoto Arc)
Winter Moon in Hell- Introduction
A smooth gust of wind sent pale cherry petals tumbling down like translucent snow all over Kyoto.
In every alley and courtyard, children ran after the drifting flakes with tireless curiosity. On adults, they settled like a blizzard, sending a soft chill to souls with the ephemeral lightness of being…
In the mountain outside Kyoto, a lone white-cloaked man, sword bared, was performing a deadly dance amidst the falling blossoms. Eyes closed and long black hair swishing around as he swung his sword at a speed the human eye cannot follow, the man chuckled softly to himself. Not a soul alive knew that Hiko Seijuro, 13th master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, had a penchant for playing games with these frail petals. But indeed it was his love for them that honed his love for the sword in his younger days. He still remembered dancing in circles under the sakura trees, trying to fend away each flake, while his master, a tall stern silhouette, would scoff at his childish act in the distance…
If only he could see me now… the swordmaster's smirk grew more smug. Decades ago, he had already been able to cut every single falling petal with his sword before they could touch him. In recent years, however, he could accomplish this with the mere wind of his strikes alone--- a testament to his mastery of the art. He laughed at himself silently again. To think that he had raised Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, an art created to maim entire armies, to its highest level--- by decimating petals! The thought was somewhat ludicrous, but it'll do for a ludicrous world, Hiko decided. Unlike armies, sakura blossoms never bored him.
At times like these, however, the swordmaster almost wished there could be one more player in the game. His stupid student would never reach his level of finesse... Great, I'll just shove them all in his direction... Thought Hiko wickedly. That would give him ample opportunities to laugh at the redhead's expense while the latter unearthed himself from the mess...
He dismissed the thought before it could continue any further along its riotous path, though. Such was all wishful thinking now, wasn't it? The idiot had hurled himself into the chaos of the Bakumatsu, with all of his six years' training and youthful ideals. Even if he was still alive--- Hiko's ever-present smirk grew a little rueful--- he doubted his student could muster what little inner peace left in him to enjoy the simple beauty of the spring sakura ever again. But then again, it had been years since Hiko last heard of him. Or rather, heard of the Hitokiri Battousai.
Baka deshi… Hiko gave another halfhearted chuckle, as he thought of his dumb apprentice as the legend that would strike fear into ignorant masses for years to come. A last petal drifted down. Hiko's senses followed its inexorable downward spiral until it landed without a sound. So nothing is left of him now but the memory of a bloody rain...
Even so, as much as the swordmaster resigned himself to the truth, Kenshin as he remembered would always be that little boy whose hands buried both bandits and slavers with equanimity. The swordmaster gave a sigh. Such is the madness of the age--- even the strongest and noblest of hearts are crushed in vain. It has always been, and will always be so.
Such thoughts were too sobering for a bright spring morning with a sea of sakura beckoning. Shealthing his sword and tucking it into his belt, Hiko's left hand reached his sake jug on automatic, and filled a cup in his right hand to the brim with practised precision. As he snapped his eyes open for the first time after the morning exercise, the whole world around him suddenly changed…
(In another place...)
Suzuki Kato never thought he would live to see Kyoto again.
A week ago, he had left the city, along with twenty other undercover policemen, on a mission to infiltrate the fallen Shingetsu Village. Yet what met them was an ambush led by Senkaku, a monstrous man holding sway over the village. Kato fought bravely, taking down several of Senkaku's soldiers, but was knocked out cold and captured. What happened to his comrades he did not know, but as he stirred from his unconsciousness to a drugged stupor, he found himself bound, gagged, and crammed inside the dark enclosed space of what seemed like a container. Only the shuddering of his confinement informed him that he was being transported somewhere.
What made his predicament all the more painful was that he knew he was back in Kyoto--- the smooth stone tiles he sensed going over and the bustle of the market around him were abundant evidence. Yet try as he might, he could not make a sound, let alone struggle out of the ropes that bound him. He could not help suppressing a chill when he thought of the mastermind of the whole affair--- transporting police captives through the main streets of Kyoto, and in broad daylight no less, said as much for the blatant boldness of the man behind all this.
The question of what such a man would want with him made Kato's blood run even colder.
When he awoke again, he found himself sitting against the wall of a room. Unfamiliar dark fabric clung to his face and body. Someone had changed his garb and donned a mask on him while he slept.
"Suzuki-san, is it?" A cheerful voice interrupted his thoughts. Kato noticed for the first time a young man, no more than a teenager, sitting against the opposite wall. He was clad in a blue gi with a white collared shirt underneath, complete with a matching blue hakama. The youth's sunny expression and wide smile looked eerily out of place to Kato. "So you're up finally! I am Seta Soujiro, your escort… now follow me, if you please."
"Where am I?"
"Mou… there's no need to be impatient. You'll find out soon enough." The boy slid open the shoji door, revealing a dark corridor leading to a stairway. Unsure of his surroundings and unable to deduce much from the boy's demeanor, Kato followed.
After mounting an uncountable number of stairs, he was led through two massive doors into a magnificent square, gleaming under a brilliant sun. It took a while for Kato's eyes to adjust well enough and see a lone figure sitting on a chair at the other end of the square, and a bizarre sight it was indeed: the man was clad in a kimono of royal purple, and under that, swathed in countless bandages that seemed to cover every inch of his body. Kato's eyes widened in sudden realization.
"Shishio-sama, I have brought Suzuki-san." Said his escort.
"So the rumors are true." Said Kato. "The shadow hitokiri of the Bakumatsu, Shishio Makoto, is not only alive but running the Kyoto underworld… yet what do you want with me, a humble policeman? I have no information worth your time torturing it out of me."
"So finally, they sent someone less ignorant." Said the bandaged figure approvingly. "Suzuki Kato of the second squad of the Information Agency… I've heard that you are a good fighter…"
Kato was dumbfounded. Did this man, the shadow hitokiri whose prowess was said to be equal to the legendary Hitokiri Battousai himself, want to challenge him to a duel? As much as he summoned up his dignity, his teeth began to clatter. "I… I would rather die before I let you toy with me!"
"Toy with you?" Shishio repeated, amused. "well, maybe if you train for another lifetime… However your skills may be adequate enough to interest me. To find out about that, I have arranged for you some opponents… if you can kill them all, I will spare your life."
"There… there's no reason for me to believe you." The policeman, his breath ragged with the effort of control.
"I give you my samurai's word." Said Shishio. "Well? Whether you take it or not, it's not my problem."
"Shishio-sama is being very generous." Soujiro, the boy, chirped behind him. "It'll be best to take his offer, Suzuki-san."
Kato swallowed hard. He knew he won't stand a chance in Hell of defeating Shishio. But if the worst should come to pass, he refused to die without taking out a few of Shishio's men.
"All right... I accept." He rasped. Shishio tossed a sheathed sword towards him. Kato recognized it as his police sword, and picked it up. Its familiar weight brought him some reassurance. At the least, He thought grimly. I will die by the sword...
Shishio gave a clap. The boy opened the doors behind Kato again, and led two men in. They were dressed and masked in a way similar to Kato, but with swords at their sides. Upon seeing Kato, the two instinctively drew their blades.
"The first round." The ex- hitokiri issued the command with glee. "Begin!"
Wasting no time, Kato charged forward with his blade held high.
The ex-hitokiri watched the ensuing fight with half an eye. As he had expected, Kato was more than enough to dispatch the two specimens he sent at him. Before the policeman could regain his breath, though, Shishio signaled for Soujiro to send more opponents in for Kato. It was until the red mist in front of Kato's eyes cleared when he discovered himself standing amidst a battlefield littered with the slashed bodies of eight opponents. Shishio had stopped sending in more foes, but was watching him with bemused red eyes.
Kato could hardly believe he had triumphed. Whether Shishio intended to keep his word or not did not even matter to him anymore. As far as he was concerned he could die that instant with honor.
"Hmm… not bad." The lazy voice of Shishio drifted into his head. "As promised, I will spare your life."
"What?" Kato spoke for the first time after his ordeal. His voice was soft and slurred, like that of one rudely awakened from a dream.
"From now on, you are fit to serve as a soldier under my command." Shishio announced with a smirk.
It all finally dawned on Kato. "That… that's preposterous!" He cried, surprised by the hoarseness in his voice. "I am a police officer. My loyalty belong to the government alone. There's no way I will ever defect…"
"Loyalty?" Shishio gave an amused sneer. "Anyone who believes in loyalty, is a hypocrite. Loyalty will never get you anywhere as far as your skills, that is the truth everyone understands. If you are indeed loyal," He gave a almost maniacal chortle. "Why did you kill all your fellow policemen?"
Kato suddenly felt invisible bends tightening around his chest with every breath. Ripping off his mask, he stumbled towards one of the fallen bodies, tearing off its mask franatically. "No… that can't be true…" Yet, long before he gazed upon the pale dead face he knew Shishio was telling the truth. The ex-hitokiri and Soujirou's laughter assaulted his ears. Kato's blade almost slipped from his hands, but rising rage made him grip it with determination. "You… you tricked me?"
"Pardon?" Gasped Shishio, who was still trying to recover from his bout of laughter. "I never made the effort to trick you. You were the one who never asked who your opponents were…because at that moment you, too, realized the naked truth: that chaos is the natural order and that survival is for the fittest. It was your skills and not your allegiance to the police that saved you back then, was it not?"
Soujirou clapped enthusiastically, his cheerful demeanor in stark contrast to the gory scene before him. Kato grated his teeth through tears of shame and denial, his knuckles turning pale white over the sword handle. "I'll take you to Hell with me, you demon!" He screamed as he shot forward, boots kicking up a fine spray of blood. Shishio rose from his seat.
"This is getting old, Soujiro." He said, tossing a sword to the teenager. "Finish him for me. After all, I did promise to spare his life."
Soujiro caught the sword easily, but made no inclination to move. To Kato's delight, he was closing in on Shishio, who had turned his back on him, seemingly unaware of the policeman's thunderous approach.
As Kato raised his sword to strike, his vengeful spirit was overcome by amazement, then horror, as his arm sagged and fell, literally, hitting the ground. It was as if an invisible hand had drawn a thin red line around his shoulder and detached his limb so fast that he could not even sense the pain. He whirled around on automatic and was greeted by empty air. Impossible! Kato gasped more from disbelieve than the burning pain at his from the stump that was left of his arm.
He swung around again and scanned the area ahead frantically. Just a few meters away, Shishio was still walking away nonchalantly. As Kato hesitated, a searing pain burned down his left shoulder as his other arm detached, seemingly by magic, and, before he could scream, his legs also flew off from under him.
What devilry is this?… was his last though before his face hit the puddle of blood and limbs under him.
"Count yourself fortunate." Said Shishio. "It'd be a pity to let you die without knowing how weak you truly were."
"Shishio-sama?" Soujiro reappeared, smiling, by the fallen warrior's side. "What a shame… this one didn't even last as long as the earlier ones."
"What a pathetic government indeed," sighed Shishio. "If that's all they have left to throw at me. No, wait. They still haven't unleashed the former Shinsengumi dog, Saitou Hajime. Unless I'm mistaken, he should be showing up pretty soon."
"You think the Meiji government will send him to assassinate you?"
"Perhaps." Said Shishio. "But Okubo Toshimichi, who knows me well, will surely come up with something more fitting than that… Perhaps I will finally meet with my predecessor, Himura the Battousai."
"Heh… " Soujiro's face lit up. "Himura-san is very strong, isn't he?"
"I don't know." Mused Shishio. "I heard rumors that he doesn't kill anymore."
"Why would Himura-san believe in something so childish if he's so strong?" Soujiro asked, puzzled.
"Who knows? It's not a lie he can believe in for very long. Anyway, Okubo will pay him a visit soon. It may, however, not be enough to convince my predecessor to take up the sword again. That is why I want you, Soujiro, to take care of a few matters in Tokyo for me."
"To challenge Himura-san?" exclaimed Soujiro hopefully. "To think that I will meet your predecessor, Shishio-sama! I am excited indeed."
A Hitokiri who does not kill? Thought Shishio with a sadistic smirk. I fear that he will not be much of a match, even for Soujiro…
The true nature of men is violence, and the hitokiri, who is the above them all, lives to embody this decree. To stop killing is to ignore the truth!
Feh, perhaps he still lives with the delusion of Meiji's success… in that case, I will show him the truth by killing Okubo. That should be enough to clear his head of that nonsense and send him this way...
A gust of wind, carrying a sakura petal, gushed past. Suddenly, a strong ki that materialized out of nowhere overwhelmed Shishio's acute swordman's senses. His red eyes narrowed.
"Shishio-sama?" Soujiro repeated, confused by his master's change in demeanor.
"Soujiro. We have an uninvited guest." Shishio replied slowly, as he gazed across the blood-strewn square. A extremely tall man, clad in an enormous white mantle that fell to his knees, was standing at the other end, holding a cup of sake in his right hand. Despite his youthful face, his ki told Shishio that the man was much older than he looked.
For a moment, both parties were so preoccupied with staring at each other in shock that not a snide comment was made on either ugly bandages or the ridiculous-looking red collar.
(To be continued… )