A/N: This is a sort of experiment for me. I wrote this fic WAY before I knew how cliché the idea was and quickly abandoned it after reading too many good ones. But, now that I finally have an idea I like, my beta reader fell through! Therefore, I am offering you, my audience, the chance to thoroughly criticize my writing. Hopeful, this will help me to improve my future stories. Please give me your input, negative or positive, to help me become a more accomplished writer. That said, I hope you enjoy my first, pathetic attempt at fanfiction!

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin. I'm just tortur... uh, borrowing the characters for a little harmless fun.

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Chapter 1: Blood, Sake and Tears

By Kenkaya

The setting sun rose-tinted cotton clouds and veiled the city of Kyoto in shadow; prelude to the darkness of night. With night came blackness, oblivion and death. Silent killers stalked narrow alleys, bathing the streets in blood, all peace swept away by metallic streams of red.

But for now, the sun framed his flame-red hair, giving off a warm orange glow. His hair was long, pulled high into a samurai top-knot and hanging past delicate shoulders. Fiery bangs fell across his face, hiding soft violet eyes, the thin scar running vertically down his right cheek barely visible through them. Wind teased the silken strands as he leaned casually against a wooden bridge rail, staring absently into the iridescent river depths below.

The tranquil scene reflected across clear sapphire eyes: tears lacing the lower lids as she watched him from the street. When evening fell he would leave, off into the night to fulfill his duty. She sighed. He was little more than a boy, barely a man. His heart was pure but lost. Lost alongside his innocence, on the day he first wielded a blade with intent to kill.

Shadows lengthened ominously. He knew she was there, but made no attempt to acknowledge her presence. They stood in silence for several moments, eddies of road-dust swirling between them like a cruel metaphor.

"It's late," the young man finally said. His voice was gentle, almost feminine.

She smiled back, "I know."

He did not face her, merely straightened and walked away. The woman watched him melt into darkness like a shade. A single tear slid down the contours of her cheek before hastily being wiped away. Fearful for her own safety, she turned to head back inside with forced resolve. Another night had begun.

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The night was young. He was void, detached, as he observed the next victim; no hint of expression flashing across vacant boyish features. They walked in a typical cluster formation, using the lack of light to confuse his sight and obscure their numbers. An easy trick to see through. He focused immediately on the sound of their footfalls: one uneven (too clumsy to be much of a fighter,) three deliberate and precise. So, four men would die by his sword tonight. He stepped forward.

"Who's there?"

One of the guards whipped around, sword diligently unsheathed. He spotted a short, lean man with scarlet hair and feral eyes. A killer's eyes.

"Hitokiri," the man growled under his breath.

"I come to deliver Heaven's Justice," the hitokiri answered in monotone; his voice lowering to a husky, baritone drawl. He distinctly heard the target gasp. All Bafuku supporters knew and feared the implications of hearing that phase.

"Well?! What am I paying you idiots for?! Get him!"

Two bodyguards jumped forward without further introduction. The hitokiri's face remained blank as he crouched in battoujutsu stance. He was ready when the first man came. Releasing his weapon with God-like speed, the hitokiri blocked the incoming blade, shoving it aside and twisting his katana deftly to slice through the exposed jugular. He raised a bloodied sword immediately afterward to catch the second man's swing without breaking form. The first fell out of range, propelled forward by his own momentum, and lay still on the ground as life pumped out of him in crimson torrents.

The second wasted no time, throwing his full weight into an aggressive frontal attack. Metal grated against metal. The hitokiri slid back a pace before flicking his katana almost dismissively to dislodge it. The man jumped back on reflex. He noted (only for a brief second) the third guard who remained behind to cover his target, obviously waiting for a perfect moment to ambush. Attention was brought to the second man once again as he initiated the next attack, blade poised with deadly precision to slash the hitokiri's throat. Without emotion the hitokiri leap effortlessly into the air, sailing over a messily tied topknot, whirling around in ready position as sandaled feet softly touch-landed. The man skidded to a halt and whipped back to face behind him. With a cocky smirk, he pulled his blade back for another forceful assault- and was promptly stabbed through his unprotected stomach. The hitokiri twisted his katana to a pain-filled scream, swung upwards, and wrenched the blade out before his opponent could react.

As the second bodyguard thudded against soiled dirt, the third sprung into action. Imminent death flashing before his eyes, the target fled. Hitokiri senses flashed an alert and he dashed forward. The guard had barely raised his sword when the assassin was upon him. He spun around the man's weapon artfully, decapitating him from behind. Flicking blood habitually from his katana, the hitokiri re-sheathed the blade.

His quarry's footsteps were heavy; he pursued with relative ease. A strangled cry rang out as he grabbed the man's expensive, indigo haori from behind and thrust him aside. The target hit the wall with a muffled curse.

"Damn rebels!"

The hitokiri did not respond to his abrasive outburst. He was going to die, let the man have his last words.

"Damn Ishin Shishi," he repeated. "You won't accomplish anything. You're just a bunch of idealists!"

The hitokiri poised his drawn sword.

"Justice," he whispered to himself as his weapon arched. The target pulled out his own blade, grip slightly awkward. The hitokiri pushed the wayward blade aside easily. The man barely had time to scream before the katana crushed down on his bald skull. The hitokiri didn't wince as warm scarlet showered over him. Crunching bone echoed brutally through his ears.

"Good, good."

The hitokiri turned. Two men, dressed in shabby dark clothing, walked out into the open.

"Inspectors," the hitokiri stated. He acknowledged them curtly before fading into the night.

"He's good," one of the men said. "No one's touched him since Shigekura's guard slashed his cheek."

"Still, his sword has dulled," the other observed coldly. "He kills them without blinking: a true hitokiri, but he's not the same as he was when he started. Has it already been a year?"

"Yeah, most hitokiri either die or go mad by now. He really is something."

"What do you say we go for a drink, eh?"

"Sounds good to me."

The men placed scrolls baring written characters for 'Tenchuu' over every body: Heaven's Justice. They left chilling corpses behind them, chatting casually as they strolled down a now peaceful alley. Blood soaked the sodden earth.

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The water ran off clear. Blue eyes watched from a distance as the young man entered the inn grounds late, blood running through his crimson hair. The water had long since failed to yield a pink taint, but he still washed. He washed methodically, trying in vain to erase memories and a stench only he perceived.

"Kenshin," she called softly from the open porch door.

He turned to her. Long bangs plastered along the border of his pale face accented eyes a molted mixture of violet and wild amber. As he laid those eyes upon the young girl before him, lush raven hair hanging loose down her back, the amber faded. Deep blue pools crinkled in a weary smile.

"Would you like me to prepare a warm bath for you," she asked the soaked man standing outside beside the well. He returned her stare for a few silent seconds before finally responding with a brusque, commanding tone.

"No," he walked inside past her, dripping.

"Goodnight, Kenshin," a female voice sounded as he ascended the stairs.

"Goodnight, Kaoru-san," the man tossed gently over dampened shoulders before continuing to his allotted room.

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The sun shone brightly over a Japanese horizon, reveling in all its early morning glory. Outside, birdsong filtered through the air as human life began to stir. Kyoto awoke slowly from its nightmarish existence; smoking kitchen chimneys, familial shouts, and merchant greetings eagerly replacing bloodshed and battle cries. A new day had dawned.

Kaoru diced vegetables surrounded by newborn light. Metal knife clicking across the wooden cutting board in a steady rhythm, she performed the only kitchen duty their landlady trusted her with diligently. A brief smile graced small lips as the girl thought how easily she could poison the unsuspecting Ishin Shishi and decide this stupid war. Her cooking was notorious. Not that she'd ever openly admit it.

On the subject of Ishin Shishi, her mind soon wandered to a young red-haired soldier, quickly wiping the mischievous smile off her face. Tears threatened to well in her eyes. She held them back. She couldn't be sad for him now, the men needed their breakfast.

"Kaoru-chan," a fellow worker called insistently. She snapped out of her brooding daze and turned to face curious brown eyes. The woman was probably only a few years older than herself, her dark hair pulled up tightly in a traditional bun. Petite feet shuffled nervously before Kaoru realized (somewhat sheepishly) that she was waiting for a response.

"Yes, Michiko-san."

"I'll finish cutting. Can you carry the rice out?" Kaoru smiled brightly, all traces of tears gone. They'd do anything to get her out of the kitchen, away from food.

"Of course," she placed the knife down carefully with feigned ignorance.

"Um…"

"Michiko-san?"

"I… we were just wondering… are you alright? You've been really quiet lately."

"Why?!" the blue-eyed girl burst out, exasperated. "Can't I have a moment to myself without somebody thinking there's something wrong with me! I was just thinking! Or is there something wrong with that too?!"

"I'm sorry, Kaoru-chan," Michiko bowed hastily in apology. "It's just that… you use to be so talkative."

Kaoru sighed. The woman was right, perhaps living amidst war and constant fear had finally taken an irreparably toll on her soul. When it came to the everyday joys of life, her heart just didn't feel the same energy anymore. She picked up the stacked trays and left with a mumbled 'sorry.'

Sliding the shoji open with her socked foot, she entered a communal dining hall, lined wall to wall with sword-clad men. They grabbed greedily for their rice bowls. She served them quickly, hurrying to leave as one of the more lecherous fiends began to loudly relay his nightly escapades.

As Kaoru slipped through the doorway's promised sanctuary, she glanced back at Kenshin. He sat calmly surrounded by rowdy men, the invisible wall between them painfully obvious.

With a melancholy breath, she remembered the shy, young boy he was the first time she saw him. She recalled how his eyes always shone a brilliant shade of purple, how the other girls swooned over him. No small wonder, he was soft-spoken and courteous, often helping where he could around the inn. No scar marred his face.

Then he received the first black envelope. She saw him return late that night, stained with blood.

"Kenshin?" she had called out warily.

He turned to face her. His eyes were a hard, steely blue. She watched passively as cold blue eventually transformed to feral amber. The eyes of a killer.

He was the hitokiri; he accepted his fate and ate in silent solitude. Kaoru felt tears again. She couldn't be sad for him now.

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Kenshin walked aimlessly through the streets of Kyoto. He found walking through the bustle of the city a refreshing change of pace, especially with the late hours he usually kept now. He dodged easily as a pair of children dashed across his path, laughing. They were closely followed by an angry woman, flushed and winded from their chase. He allowed a faint smile to break through his mask. In his eyes, nothing was more cherished than a child's smile. He killed for that smile. He fought a war and hardened his heart to ensure a new era: an era where children like them could laugh freely.

Where they could live the childhood he never had.

The children's smile quickly found itself in second place when he saw her. Kaoru was in the market, laden with groceries. He was tempted to make himself known, offer to carry those groceries, but consented to watch her. He briefly wondered about his actions and reasoned with himself that her safety was part of his duty.

He slipped gracefully through the crowd, analyzing her every movement. He lowered his head slightly, fiery bangs hiding his line of sight. And the scar.

She was beautiful. Her raven hair pulled back in a high ponytail, oddly mirroring his own. She wore her favorite yellow kimono, embroidered with cherry blossoms along the sleeves. A pink ribbon, matching her obi, completed the ensemble.

The inn came into view while he was busy admiring her. Satisfied with her safe entrance, he turned to enter a nearby bar: the transition so smooth it appeared to have been his destination all along.

Inside, the building was full to brimming with drunks. Kenshin sat at a corner table, ordered, and drank quietly in the shadows. His lips curled as he took the first sip. Bitter. The sake held a faint metallic aftertaste strangely reminiscent of blood. His master's words haunted him.

"In spring, cherry blossoms by night. In summer, the stars. In autumn, the full moon. In winter, the snow. These are always enough to make sake delicious. If it tastes bitter, that's proof there's something sick inside your soul."

He grimaced inwardly. Did he even have a soul anymore? Everything tasted like blood now.

Shaking his head slightly to clear those wayward thoughts, he racked his brain for any musings that did not possess crimson-colored violence or his former master. Immediately, he found an anchor in the memory of Kaoru.

The day he met her.

He remembered walking, bored, into the inn kitchens. The girls had been nice enough, literally taking over every task the landlady had offered his idle hands and flirting mercilessly while doing so. He didn't really mind. Having spent all of his adolescent years secluded in the mountains, he had no desire (or experience) to play their gender games. The boy simply ignored their advances and responded mannerly. At some point, he noticed a girl standing off to the side, cutting vegetables while chatting amicably to an older girl who had given up on him earlier. She was quite comely.

"Himura-san?"

He turned toward one of the girls, realizing he hadn't been paying attention. Kenshin apologized hurriedly but she had already followed his former line of sight.

"Oh, that's Kaoru," she said loudly with a hint of jealousy. Said girl's head snapped up at the mention of her name. "She's new, but she's only allowed to cut vegetables because she can't cook to save her life."

"Reiko!" Kaoru protested, her cheeks tinged pink.

"It's true! Okami-san won't trust her with any other duty but cleaning in the kitchen."

"Reiko! Stop it! I do my share," the embarrassed girl fumed.

"That doesn't change the fact you can't cook. What type of man do you ever hope to snag, anyway? Nobody wants a wife who can't cook."

"Who said anything about men?!"

"Now, now," he stepped between the quarreling pair, feeling somewhat at fault for their fight.

"Fine… it's Kenshin, right?" Kaoru sighed in defeat. He nodded mutely, somewhat taken aback by the sudden familiar address.

"How could you be so disrespectful to Himura-san?" Reiko shouted, placing extra emphasize on the -san. "You're so unlady-like. No one will ever marry you. You probably call your own father by his name! Not that he doesn't deserve it for forgetting to teach you some…"

Kaoru snapped. "How DARE YOU!" she shrieked, shaking the knife over her head threateningly. "How dare you bring my father into this! My father is a great man! I'd never show him anything but my highest regard!"

She stabbed her knife into the cutting board after her tirade, splitting the wood, and stomped out of the kitchen. Not a single soul moved to stop her.

"Oh don't worry about her," Reiko sniffed, shattering the lingering quiet. "The little brat's just having one of her temper tantrums. She is only fourteen after all."

"I'm fourteen," he said before he could stop himself.

"Oh, well… you're different. You're so mature," she giggled and continued to prattle on nervously.

Kenshin glanced in the direction she'd gone with a sympathetic gaze before turning back to his chore. He remained, offering brief polite responses when the girls addressed him, but his heart was no longer set on work. He feigned fatigue soon afterwards, brushing off Reiko's obvious invitation as he left. Not in the mood to return to the isolation of his room, the young swordsman decided to take a walk in the gardens.

He allowed his feet and mind to wander down the winding gravel paths. It was hard to believe, standing in the middle of cultivated sanctuary, that this was indeed a city ravaged by war. Kenshin remembered seeing the subtle signs when he first arrived: the quick glances and hurried steps of people on the street, several women walking past dazedly with shorn hair, ominously dark wet spots soaking into the dusty road, a slight stink beginning to emit as noonday sun baked the earth. A cold shiver had run down his spine back then, suddenly apprehensive at the thought he would soon be joining that nightly dance. Soon, he wouldn't have time to stroll through peaceful gardens.

Badly suppressed sniffles interrupted his depressing train. Curious, he followed the soft sound until he found Kaoru, crouched behind a large tree and crying miserably. The clueless boy (unsure how to handle the situation but unwilling to just leave) knelt down besides her, fidgeting. He hesitantly lifted a comforting hand when she spoke.

"Reiko's right, but I don't care! I don't need anybody! I'm fine."

"Kaoru-san," he paused. What should he say to her? He had very little experience when it came to dealing with emotions. His overbearing master certainly gave no examples!

"I'm fine," she lifted her chin and curved her lips in an attempt to smile. The gesture might have worked too, if her face wasn't already horribly blotchy from her tears.

"Kaoru-san, Reiko-san shouldn't have said those things to you. It wasn't very nice," he mentally slapped himself afterwards. It wasn't very nice?! God, he sounded like a child! Or an idiot. She probably thinks I'm both right about now, Kenshin thought bleakly. But, really… what else could he say when she was looking up at him with those hurt, red-rimmed eyes.

"I'm fine, Kenshin. It's nothing to me."

His gaze never left her as she jumped up and ran off like a frightened rabbit. Watching her retreating back he realized, somewhat surprisingly, that she wasn't afraid; she was hiding.

Like me, he mulled back at the bar, draining the last of his sake in a haze. Still bitter.

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TBC…