Warning: SPOILERS for the rest of the series.

No disclaimers needed. Obviously, I own Samurai 7 as much as any other writer on FFN owns the series they're writing about.

Also, I wrote this pretty quickly, maybe an hour and a half. So....it's not my best work, but....maybe it's good because it's impulse?

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All there had been was a maddening cacophony of noise. Screeching metal, roars of distant fire, clattering of artificial hail, and the whistling of wind. The symphony of chaos rose to such an unbelievable volume and confusion that it dulled the senses, to the extent that it could have nearly convinced him he had passed out.

Distantly, he was aware he was falling, only feeling the creeping numbness of his lower half, from the enormous thing of metal pinning him to what was previously the wall of an outer desk of the Capital. Allowing himself to be swallowed by the enveloping cloud of frightening insanity, he freely let out cries fo pain, surprise, groans of ache and exhaustion, not ashamed of the unrestrained ululations. No one was around to hear them.

Swirling downward through air, he had no way to prepare himself for the impact; he couldn't see it coming, since he had no way of moving to look how fast the ground was racing towards the wreckage.

Suddenly it seemed that it was all over. A split second of pre-catastrophe euphoria at the height of the chaos, that fraction of time of silence. Then the world exploded again, into one brief, seemingly eternal, collision with the ground. Pieces of the ship were thrown everywhere, as gadgets exploded, spewing nuts, bolts, bits of metal. A deafening clamor echoed in his head, the tremors sending violent vibrations through his body and his helpless broken body was tossed mercilessly against the thick metal wall against which he was stuck.

Mechanical whirlwinds of various material sent multiple stings through his clothes and into his bruising flesh. One prolonged announcement of grinding metal and the unnatural storm came to end. The world faded to black.

--

Maybe he had been unconscious for several seconds, maybe minutes, hours even; how could he tell?

Heihachi's breaths came in rasps, slowly struggling to open his eyes. Mentally scouring the damage to his only mortal body, he attempted to collect his senses. Labored heaves of his padded chest told him he was indeed still among the living. Yet when he brought his hand to his face, the entire palm side of his glove was soaked in dark blood, ominous enough to be poison. Lifting his head as far as he could, he turned to the side, trying to focus his aching eyes in his pounding head.

From what he could see, he was leaving quite a big pool of blood. Dimly he felt it soaking his clothes from what had to be various wounds. In the waves of overall pain, he couldn't distinguish where the actual oozing wounds were, and where it was only soaked cloth.

Eyelids fluttering, he tried to collect what senses he had left. He could still make it, maybe.

Heihachi coughed. Blood splattered over his lips and chin. Maybe not.

He groaned as he felt the blood he just coughed drip over his neck. Gross. Mistake.

Weakly, he pulled his left glove off. Still, it was there. His wedding ring.

To the very end, he had been loyal. What had it been....five years? Six?

They had married so shortly before he was called into battle for the Great War. Unfortunately, the end of the battles brought a whole different meaning to the term samurai. Without work and without money, he had smiled and shrugged day after an unsuccessful day.

Many times he had strolled through the flimsy door to a humble but familiar home, each week to less and less food. And each week, her encouraging, patient smiles dimmed. Secretly, he cursed himself for being the cause of her worry. And as weeks passed, they joined together in worrying more and more about the abdominal swelling beneath her kimono.

It was one fateful summer day, that he took the final walk through the door and found nothing. Absolutely nothing.

One of the concerned neighbors told him, concerned, that earlier in the day the carriage of a nobleman had taken her off. Thinking his wife abducted, he had begun to question the locals of their community, where everyone knew everyone; one of those types of towns. It wasn't very long until a reluctant but honest acquaintance told him it wasn't the first time the man had come to see her.

And so, he left from there. With the little change in his pocket, his sword on his back, he took a long, long walk out of the small city. He couldn't bring himself to even take himself back to his home for any valuables. To him, it was all tainted as he walked away from it as she had.

Traitor.

All this time he had carried a grudge. It was only until recently that he had found the strength to forgive her. He couldn't blame her now, to be honest. It would be a lie to say it was completely unselfish, but she had two to take care of, always; it was simply that the growing being inside her took priority over her husband. As it should be, he felt. She was a mother. Though he would have liked to meet his forever mysterious son or daughter.

From where he got this strength, he didn't know, and when exactly he got it, ah, he didn't know that either. Letting his hand flop down perpendicular to his shoulder, straight out, he moaned when his now bare knuckle crashed into the metal. Bad move. He was used to wearing thick gloves so often he forgot what his own skin could feel.

His struggling breath dramatically inflated and collapsed his chest in an increasingly erratic rhythm. It was said that time heals all wounds. Seemingly, it had been well on its way, for he couldn't conjure her face very clearly anymore. The sharp prick of pain in his chest now only throbbed softly, more a reminder than a wound now; a scar.

With a half hearted chuckle, he figured that this pain now was much worse. But now he didn't have the emotional one so much to compare it to now, so how could he really tell?

So this was it.

Although it was extremely distant, he could still hear the rumbling of the battlefield that was now the Capital, like weakening thunder that chose to throw torrents of rain elsewhere. Still, he sort of wished he could be somehow miraculously saved, but as he told Katsushiro, he did know what he was getting himself into from the beginning.

Glancing around him, he figured his odds weren't good. Heaps of wrecked ship parts were haphazardly scattered around him. Plates of metal, fragments of glass, twisted fingers of rods that had once been railings, and small fires here and there burning down to the ground. He couldn't see his sword, but he supposed it didn't matter much now.

Sighing heavily and then wincing from the jolt of pain it scattered throughout his chest, he wondered how the others were doing right now. Or was it too quick for there to be a final result yet? Had Katsushiro found the others?

Musing, Heihachi ran down the list of his comrades. Who would he miss the most, he wondered? Although he thought about it for a few moments, his tired brain gave up.

Dying was painful. For him at least, it was. This was pretty violent; worse than the quick death at the end of a samurai blade. Damn, he was waiting to die. Painfully. Without any rice, either. Helpless, by himself. There was no chance that in this condition he could lift the massive Nobusari weapon off him.

Well, to hell with it.

With some little remaining strength, his brought his hands together. Trembling fingers frustrated him a bit, but he was able to slip the wedding ring off, and he tossed it somewhere he couldn't see. At least, he tried to. He barely had the energy, and it did little more than drop from his fingers. If he had gotten over the whole thing, he didn't need to hang on to the blasted memento in his hour of death.

No one wanted a traitor. Then again, perhaps this is what he deserved....

This was too tragic to think about right now, too dramatic, and he slipped back into lighthearted thoughts of his recent friends. Although he admitted to himself it was a little overly sentimental, too corny, he was glad to have accepted this mission. It gave him a purpose, a worthwhile cause to lose his life over, for the survival of friends he'd never betray.

Although it suddenly seemed to come upon him very quick, after another hacking cough, he began to feel consciousness slip. His body was slowly shutting down, as rivers and trickles of blood webbed out between cracks from a great puddle of it, and dripped down the sheets of metal, down into the earth and between blades of grass. Even through his last seconds, dimming thoughts flashed through his mind, and with each passing minute his racked chest drew in and released desperate gasps of air. Maybe he was wheezing, he could barely hear as the world turned down the volume around him.

Barely, he began to realize his fingers were beginning to go numb, go cold; he wasn't even sure if he could feel the pain from his torso down anymore.

Earnest Katsushiro, entertaining Gorobei, overeager Kikuchiyo, wise Kambei, amicable Shiroroji, enigmatic Kyuzo; resolute Rikichi, little Komachi, determined Kirara.

Well. Bye-bye, then.

....Hm?

Was someone there?

What he felt was the last drop of strength went into opening his eyes. A hazy red blur focused, then fuzzed in his eyes again. He had to blink several times for the vision to come into clarity.

"K...Kyu...zo....dono?" He didn't know he could still speak.

Hadn't Katsushiro morbidly announced Kyuzo's death?

Although he tried to focus his mind to recall what happened moments before his fatal moment, he couldn't. The ever silent figure stood there, without judgement, cold red eyes squarely on his face. Without one word, Kyuzo's undamaged figure was mere feet from him.

All of a sudden it clicked in Heihachi's mind, and he uttered a weak chuckle. Of course, of course. It made sense.

"You too, huh?" Heihachi smiled very softly. "You too...."

Kyuzo nodded once.

Taking a shuddering inhale through his nose, Heihachi let it out through his dry lips. "Well, we tried, right?"

Kyuzo shrugged one shoulder. Although his face was normally in a stoic mask, he seemed to be quite sour.

"Disappointed?"

He nodded. Heihachi's smile didn't wane. "Of course, you wanted to fight Kambei that badly."

There wasn't a response to that A quiet moment passed. Teasing Heihachi's ragged attempts of breath, a wind whistled gently through the scene. It ruffled some strands of Heihachi's brightly colored hair, bare without his hat and goggles; but didn't touch Kyuzo, running invisibly over his thicket of blonde hair and leaving the ends of his coat dangling motionless around his ankles.

No doubt about it. Kyuzo was dead. He was staring at his comrade's specter.

"Why aren't you saying anything, huh?" As if Kyuzo was ever so vocal to begin with. But he surprised himself; seems he did have some life left, though it didn't seem logical to try and save it now. "Is it because I'm only close to death, I can see you, but not hear you?"

Another nod.

"Are you waiting for me?"

A blink. And then another nod. Heihachi smiled. It took him a second to actually admit it, that's all.

"Much obliged."

A twitch of Kyuzo's lip on his thin mouth. Poor guy was so unsatisfied, dying without fighting Kambei to his death, Heihachi figured.

"We'll go back to Kanna when I'm with you." Heihachi whispered raspily. "You need your fight with Kambei, and I need that rice."

To this, Kyuzo did nothing. Risking a quick glance at the sky, Heihachi noted that the sun was still quite high in the sky. Seems like he'd been there forever, but actually it couldn't have been more than an hour. So much time for last thoughts. Maybe he was lucky after all.

Patiently, Kyuzo watched his younger comrade's face. With experienced eyes, he observed as traces of life faded slowly but steadily from the still youthful face. Such accepting eyes. The second youngest of their troupe would die with a smile on his face.

Breaking the silence one last time, Heihachi's voice had faded to such quiet Kyuzo could barely hear it, even among the deathly silence that would be Heihachi's death site. "Kirara called us gods of rice, Kyuzo-dono. Not that I think that's true, but I guess it means the two of us won't go hungry when we get there. I told Katsushiro I'd be in the rice....I guess so...."

Kyuzo saw it; the instant the glint of life slipped away, and the weakened muscles let the eyelids mercifully drop over the dull eyes.

Yes, there was a smile.

And Kyuzo couldn't help but smile himself.

Now they were gods.

----

And there we have it. Some last notes:

1. I'm aware Kyuzo actually died after Heihachi went down, but as far as he knew, Kyuzo had died just before him.

2. "Much obliged", I'm not sure why, but I really love that line from Heihachi, and of course it was right before his epic faceplant.

3. Kyuzo came in for two reasons: because he and Heihachi are probably my two favorite characters, and because it was too mean to let Heihachi die alone. Thus, some company. It isn't intended to be a Kyuzo/Heihachi thing, but if you want it, I guess it's there anyway.

4. There is most likely going to be a companion story for this. Maybe posted to this as a second chapter, or a second one-shot. We'll see.

Thank you for reading :) Please be nice and review.