August, 1863
What was his name? He couldn't even be certain anymore. The child he had once been had been named Shinta. The weakling Shinta had died during the massacre and Kenshin had been born in his place with the hope that he would gain strength to protect people from the suffering Shinta hadn't been able to. Now Kenshin and the ideals he had once stood for were dying fast. In their place was a new reality, killing over and over again with no other purpose than the shedding of blood. The being doing the killing was not the idealistic Kenshin, but a demon the men had named Battousai, the master of unsheathing the sword.
"You will be used by corrupt men who write their own justice in blood! You will be nothing more than their tool of murder!"
Kenshin groaned inwardly as his master's words of warning echoed in his head. They had indeed proven prophetic. When he had left for the war, Kenshin had told his master that he would use Hiten Mitsurugi to protect people. Now it seemed that night after night, all he did was use it to kill. Supposedly, all this killing was somehow protecting other people, though he couldn't see himself how it did. However, he had entrusted his sword to Katsura-san. Kenshin believed Katsura-san would never ask him to kill just for the sake of killing. Kenshin had been the shining ideal. Battousai was the bitter reality.
New Year's Day, 1864
"For the sake of the new era, I cast divine justice on you."
The quiet voice was the last thing the skinny, mustachioed man would hear. Just before his body was cloven in two, he beheld a redhaired, hard eyed demon running straight at him, moonlight glinting on its katana.
SLASH!
SPEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWW!
Blood soaked the cold, white snow, turning it a horrid pink color. Hitokiri Battousai flicked the blood from his katana, resheathed it, turned his back and walked calmly away without once looking back at the carnage behind him.
March, 1864
After a particularly trying and bloody night, Hitokiri Battousai made his way back to the Kohagiya over the rooftops of Kyoto. Covered in blood, all he wanted was to take a bath and spend the day sleeping in the window, as was his habit. The sun rising in the east caused Battousai to pause just for a second to watch it. Something in him needed to see the sun rise, to give himself hope that he was indeed fighting for something and not just killing mindlessly.
As the sun rose, the birds came out of hiding and started their morning forage. Several small robins landed on the roof and began pecking for food. Battousai stopped to watch them, enjoying their morning song. He approached them cautiously, but when he got too near, they flew away. There was a brief flash of sadness in the hitokiri's eyes, but it quickly died, sealed beneath the icy exterior. In a blue and red blur, he disappeared into the new dawn.
~Owari~