Prologue
Disclaimer: I do not own Peacemaker Kurogane. Damn… I wish I did.
--
A faint gurgle and then, all was silent. A body slumped to the floor as one of his comrades was brutally disemboweled, his insides flying out to splatter the walls in blood. Expressionless eyes devoid of emotions or life, regarded the grisly scene apathetically, completely unfazed by the heaps of dead bodies around it. Without so much a backward glance, it blended into the stillness of the night.
--
Okita was used to the sight of blood, made it rain crimson himself. He was known as the Demon's Child, had slaughtered countless people by his blade, but even so, he felt sick as he looked at the scene in front of him. And for once, it had nothing to do with his illness or the sweltering heat of the Kyoto summer.
A mass of grotesque bodies lay in front of him, all murdered brutally. The street they were piled and the nearby walls had been dyed red. As Okita bent to inspect the sword wounds to figure out what sword style the person had used, he couldn't help but grimace a bit at the smell of blood mixed with decaying corpses and the stench of the hot summer air. Most likely, they've been here since last night, he mused to himself as he took note of the still relatively red color of the blood.
As his keen eyes looked over the fatal slashes, Okita had to admit to being impressed. Whoever had done this had been extremely skilled. Every cut had been executed with perfect precision and every hit had obviously meant instant death. Judging from the almost peaceful expressions on every corpse's face, the assailant had most likely executed them all so quickly that they hadn't even had a chance to scream.
Impressive, Okita conceded, feeling a tingle of excitement run down his spine. I wonder… how would I fare against this swordsman?
But now wasn't the time to be thinking about matters like that. Glancing up at his unit, he shouted, "Scour the area! The attacker might still be here!"
"Yes sir!"
Casting one last backward glance at the corpses, Okita Souji, the first unit captain of the Shinsengumi, quickly hurried back to lead his men at the forefront. Not knowing that he had been watched.
Expressionless eyes coolly regarded the scene before disappearing.
--
"Okita-san! You're back!"
Laughing softly, Okita waved back to an energetic seventeen-year old, Ichimura Tetsunosuke. "Konichiwa, Tetsu-kun! Running from Hijitaka again?" he asked after he noticed Tetsu's disheveled shirt and out of breath tone. As if to answer his question, the glowing eyes of the Demon Vice-Commander suddenly appeared.
"Ichimura! How dare you feed my haiku book to the pigs!"
Okita couldn't help but laugh as Tetsu suddenly started like lightning had just hit him and started running away at a speed that would have impressed even Sakamoto Ryoma, Hijitaka in fast pursuit.
Once the two were out of sight, Okita cheerfully walked back to the Shinsengumi. This was home and he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
--
"I have come for your lives," a soft voice whispered.
A pool of blood around a fragile-looking form. A bloodied katana hanging loosely from loose fingertips. The water blended and played with the crimson liquid, staining everything. Chains. A soul, cut up and offered on a plate.
Mesmerizing blue eyes. So full of pain, so full of sorrow, yet so empty. Emotionless. Weighed down by knowledge, by wisdom. An eye for an eye. A soul for a soul. An innocence torn away.
"Souji…"
Okita suddenly woke up, breathing heavily. He idly noticed that for once, it was not because of that horrible lung disease. Cold sweat lingered on his face and his sleeping yukata clung to his slim form in the places where the sweat had dried. His dark purple hair was plastered over his face and his breathing was erratic.
What…what was that about? Who did the voice belong to? Okita thought as he looked up at the white ceilings of his room. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember what exactly the…. thing had looked like. When nothing was coming up, he let out a sigh of frustration, which quickly turned into a violent coughing fit. After he was done, Okita looked at his hand and saw blood.
Hunched over with pain, he stayed like that for a bit, waiting for the burning sensation to die down and to catch his breath again. When the constricting feeling in his chest was finally gone, Okita allowed himself a sigh of relief as he inhaled the sweet night air. His shogi door was thrown open to allow the cool moonlight spill in and dance upon the tatami floor. From his room, Okita could see the calm rippling waters of the pond in the courtyard his room opened to.
Smiling serenely, Okita watched the magical sight. There was always something about the moon dancing on water that fascinated him. Perhaps it was the ever-changing ripples or how the moon's rays seemed to flit around like children, teasing and playful.
Somebody… anybody… I'm drowning…There's so much blood… I'm drowning…Okita's eyes had closed, lulled to sleep by the gentle breeze and the soft whisperings of the water, but they suddenly snapped open.
That voice…again. Am I going crazy? he mused as another stab of pain went through him. Except this time, it was not in his lungs. This time, it coursed throughout his entire body, frigidly scathing and raw. His mind was suddenly altogether overwhelmed with crying-Kami, it was so sorrowful. The requiem of a shattered being. Death. Sorrow. Hate. Regret. And so much red… so much red.
What's going on, was the thought running through Okita's head as the pain, rather then abating, intensified. By now, it felt like he was being simultaneously burned and frozen. The once-gentle breeze felt harsh, horribly harsh, biting and tearing across his skin. His thin sleeping yukata was not helping whatsoever. The wind was singing a sorrowful, so sorrowful and hated dirge, singing and howling, howling oh-so loudly. Pressing his hands over his ears, his breaths coming out desperately, so desperately as he struggled for surface, the never closer surface.
Slumping on the ground as the sheer agony consumed his entire being, he struggled for relief, relief from this torture. The still night was broken by sounds of pain, of desperation. It was a miracle that the rest of the Shinsengumi did not wake up.
Suddenly, just as silently as it had crept up, the pain slunk away.
Struggling for breath, taking in deep lungfuls of the sweet, sweet air, of the once-more gentle breeze, the First Unit Captain attempted to control his breathing, forehead and entire body soaked in sweat from the latest "attack."
Why, he thought mournfully, why is this happening? What force is at work here? What kami have I offended?
Closing his eyes, he attempted to organize his thoughts, to try to logically deduce what was going on and why.
The attacks, Okita recalled, had started about three monthsago. The first time, it had came while he was in the middle of patrolling. Luckily, the attack hadn't been that intense, and he had been able to conceal it from his subordinates. Lately though… they had been increasingly intense and the pain was getting to be too much to handle.
There was no logical catalyst for these attacks that Okita could think of. They seemed to attack both his mental and physical well-being and there was no disease that he could think of that did that. Not even that hated lung disease caused quite the same amount of pain and agony.
Groaning, the young captain plopped onto the floor dejectedly, his face turned upward toward the star-studded sky. No matter how long or hard he thought about it, he still couldn't find a reasonable answer. Obviously, higher powers were involved in this. Okita was not particularly superstitious, but whatever explanation could there be?
Why though? Why would they be concerned with me, he mused, eyes staring listlessly into the heavenly skies. Is this my punishment for all the lives I have taken? My atonement? Is the lung disease not enough?
As if on cue, he suddenly felt yet another violent cough rising in his throat. His chest suddenly felt uncomfortably constricted and he couldn't breath as he hacked violently into his palm. After a good ten or so minutes, the coughs finally died down.
His hands were crimson.
--
A figure leaned against the rough bark of the tree it was perched on, noting the scene with disinterest and filing away any information it might have gleaned from this observation. The last time had been close, too close. If it wasn't careful, it might just be found out.
A black butterfly perched itself on the being's black kimono-clad shoulder. Sparing the butterfly a scant glance, it gave an almost invisible nod. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the butterfly was gone.
Eyes hardened ever so slightly. It would rain crimsom.
--
Red. The sky was bleeding, crying, lamenting, its tears, sweat, and blood all mingling together in some sick twisted version of water. Cold eyes watched emotionlessly as another decapitated head fell soundlessly to the ground.
"Stop! In the name of the Shinsengumi, you are under arrest!"
Whirling around, it noticed a figure, the same one it had been observing earlier, crouched in front of her in an attack stance, a killing intent in his eyes.
It didn't make a sound, just stood there. The figure frowned, then his eyes narrowed. Without warning, he attacked, his body blurring as he positioned his katana for a vicious slash that would have cut it in half had it not pivoted.
Face expressionless, it dispassionately moved at the last second and before its attacker could even react, had brought its blade down.
--
When Okita had first come across the scene of mass carnage during a patrol, he had felt a thrill of exhilaration when he saw the culprit was still there. And a little creeped out.
The carnage he had seen had eerily been almost the exact same as the last day's, with only differences in setting and the fact the killer was still there. He hadn't been able to make out the culprit's identity. All he saw was a pair of piercing blue eyes that shown even in the darkness of night. An oni's eyes. The exact same ones as his.
As his blade was about to slash the murderer in two, the next thing he knew, the world turned black.
--
Water. Cold. Ruthless. Deadly. It wears a mask of benevolence, of harmlessness that betrays its true terrifying and merciless power.
Feline silver eyes watched the prone figure on the bed with unnerving intensity. Leaning against the wall, its owner checked that any possible escape routes were closed off and sealed, keen eyes missing nothing. Satisfied, it refocused its attention on said figure.
Dark… so dark… like when you're drowning, was his first thought as he drowsily came to consciousness. As he opened his sleep-hooded eyes, the first thought that came to his mind was "Where am I?"
That question brought Okita fully to the land of the living. Shooting up like a lightning bolt had stuck him, he abruptly found the blade of a very much sharp and deadly katana at his neck, and a pair of deadly silver eyes boring into his own.