A/N: Longer chapter this time, shorter note. Disclaimer remains the same. Please enjoy!

The Battosai Is Born

Tenchuu!

An arc of silver, slicing easily through flesh, tendon, and muscle.

Tenchuu!

A flying head, separated from its body by a sword wielded faster than the eye could follow.

Tenchuu!

A spray of crimson against the milky white moon, marring the velvety, starry sky.

Tenchuu!

A bloodstained sword in the hands of a red-haired assassin with a slow healing scar on his left cheek.

He dipped his bloody hands into the small bucket of water, watching the a bit of blood swirl off his skin and mingle with the clear liquid. Then he set to scrubbing the rest off. He rubbed harshly against the joints of his knuckles, trying to get the lines of dark red to wash away. After a moment, not satisfied but determined to come back to it later, he took to scraping the blood out from under his somehow smooth nails. He worked at it carefully, digging the nails of his other hand into the skin around the chosen nail to clean the dried blood from the crevice there. When he'd gotten as much as he could cleaned off, and his nails looked almost normal again, he continued to work the blood out of the joints of his fingers. He lifted them from the murky red water and shook them a little, examining them in the dim light and finding them to be presentable. But still his face was creased in a slight frown.

The smell of blood…it won't come off. He hovered his hands over the water for a moment, listening to the sound of footsteps hurrying down the hallway toward the entry way he was standing in, and quickly identifying the chi as a familiar one.

"Oh, Battosai, there you are," came the cheerful voice of skinny man with dark hair pulled back into a short ponytail. He had two little tufts of a mustache on his upper lip, one on either side of his nose. He cupped one hand around the side of his mouth, his eyes bright with excitement. "Come quick. Katsura-sensei is waiting." The Battosai blinked slowly, then dried his hands on a towel and picked up the bucket. He stepped outside and poured the bloody water onto the grass, then stepped back inside, placed the bucket in its proper place, and followed after the man.

He stayed barely a half a step behind the man, scanning with all his senses in every direction, simply out of habit. But no matter how he tried to clear it, the metallic scent of blood lingered in his nose, covering all other scents that were around him. It came as no surprise to him; it had been that way for a good while, and he was slowly getting used to it. If the smell got too much stronger, though, he reasoned, it would truly make him sick. On more than one occasion he had been unable to eat the food that was presented to him, simply because the stench that lingered in his nostrils made his stomach churn so violently that he feared simply opening his mouth would cause him to be sick. And that kind of weakness wasn't acceptable.

"It's been a while since we've been able to meet," murmured the handsome man that stood in the garden, smiling slightly as the Battosai arrived. His black hair was shiny and pulled back into a pony tail, though it was shorter than the Battosai's own. A short lock of hair hung down across his forehead. He was wearing a long, dark gi and striped hamaka, and in one hand he held a cup of tea. "Are you doing well?"

"Katsura Kogoro.

The young leader of the Choshuu Ishin Shishi,

active as the leader of a substantial providence.

He later joined with Saigo Takamori and Satchou Doumei

to bring about the fall of the shogunate.

He was one of the Ishin Triumvirate."

The Battosai watched Katsura without blinking, his eyes flat and his mouth a straight line.

"Yes…I'm killing them just fine."

"Hey, hey…" chastised the man next to him in a murmur, looking a little exasperated. If he hadn't known better, he might have thought that the Battosai was joking around. But no, the Battosai wasn't the type to jest. Or even smile much, for that matter. A sad smile crossed Katsura's lips, but he didn't speak. As the silence stretched on, the man standing next to the Battosai grew steadily more and more nervous.

"What is my assignment tonight?" The Battosai's voice was rather deadpan, not at all curious or inquiring.

"Well, it's not so important that I'd call it an 'assignment'…" Katsura trailed off, as if waiting to see how the Battosai would respond. There was another moment of silence, then the Battosai sighed softly.

"If it's not important, please refrain from calling me."

"Hey!" protested the man beside him indignantly, but the Battosai ignored him.

"I've assassinated almost a hundred people these past six months." The words rolled off his tongue easily, but left a sharp, bitter taste in their wake. The Battosai swallowed and ignored it, shoving the discomfort deep inside himself 'till a time came to better address it. "No matter how we hide ourselves, the shogunate is beginning to sense we're here. It isn't a good plan for me to be near the Choshuu Hantei." He paused, looking Katsura in the eyes. "The Bakufu forces are growing stronger day by day." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Especially the Wolves of Mibu…"

"The Shinsengumi…" murmured Katsura, his eyebrows moving closer together as he frowned.

"We have yet to cross swords," the Battosai continued, "But they could be the strongest of the Bakufu's weapons…" The man standing behind Katsura snorted.

"What could that ragtag crowd possibly—" Katsura silenced him with a wave.

"I understand. We'll look out for them."

"Well, about the assignment…" urged the man standing next to the Battosai, looking nervous, as if he didn't want to be the one to call out the young assassin for something that wasn't important. Katsura nodded.

"Actually, during the Gion Festival, there's to be a secret council held at a certain Inn. Toshiwara and Miyabe-san are expected to attend." The Battosai's expression didn't change.

"You need a bodyguard?" The question was simple, and one that Katsura had been expecting the assassin to ask. But he shook his head, a smile on his lips.

"Well, no. I was wondering if you would join us."

"That's great!" the man next to the Battosai exclaimed excitedly, grinning widely down at the short young man. "Hey, your name could go down in history—"

"I must decline." The man gaped down at the young assassin, the smile frozen on his face. The Battosai ignored him. "It's best if a Hitokiri keeps to the shadows as much as possible." He turned away from the other men and started to walk away. "And I'm not interested in history or honor." He paused in his steps, his head tipping back slightly as if to look at the sky. "If we achieve a new age in which all can live in peace, that's enough." And, without another word, he turned and walked quickly away, his steps completely silent.

"It's no good," sighed the skinny man. "Maybe he's killed too many, but he's been acting strange lately. I thought maybe he'd show some interest…if we dangled the bait right in front of his eyes."

"Bait?" protested Katsura's companion indignantly. "Katsura-sensei has come all this way—"

"Call it what you want," the skinny man said with a shrug.

"Iizuka's right," Katsura said with a sigh, nodding slightly to the man that had accompanied the Battosai. "But I saw one thing here. He may act strangely, but his heart hasn't changed since I met him a year ago…"

There was a fairly large group of men, all gathered around one point, which happened to be two thick, wooden polls, wrapped in coils of rope, that were embedded in the ground. Two men stepped forward, both with staffs, and demonstrated their strength and speed by striking the part wrapped in rope with loud shouts. The crowd roared, either cheering them on or complaining that they hadn't gotten their turn yet.

High on the hill over looking the gathering were two men, standing by a gnarled tree. One, slightly taller than his companion, had one eyebrow raised, while the other had a grin on his face.

"I came all the way from Kyoto because you said you had something to show me," intoned the taller man, watching the big, burly men striking the wooden practice polls. "What is this, Shinsaku?" Shinsaku snickered and grinned even wider.

"This is the strength of the new era, Katsura," he replied easily. His high arching eyebrows went up nearly to his hairline as his eyes went wide, his grin still in place. "The Kiheitai!"

"Takasugi Shinsaku.

Essentially the second-in-command in Choshuu.

A battle-loving man from the most active of the Chushuu factions,

he succeeded in unifying the providence in forming

the Kiheitai to topple the Bakufu."

Shinsaku chewed on the toothpick between teeth and ran a hand through his short, loose black hair, then waved one hand proudly over the group of men.

"Birth or status means nothing! Anyone can join my Kiheitai if they have the ambition and the strength."

"Certainly, after three hundred years of peace, they could be better than the soft samurai," mused Katsura. "But will this really work?" The skepticism was obvious in his voice. Then he raised his eyebrows as a new 'challenger' stepped forward to the practice poles. "Look. Even a child." The boy had a sword, still sheathed, in one hand, and his red hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. His purple eyes were clear and confident, and innocently pure. Many of the men laughed.

"Look, the kid brought his own sword," chortled a round-jawed man as he tapped his own sword against his shoulder. "Give it a try, kid."

"I'll give you a ryo if you cut it in half," snickered a wiry, balding man. The boy gave him an odd, curious look, then settled himself into a stance that Katsura didn't recognize as he faced the thick pole. A hushed silence fell over the crowd of people as they turned to watch the boy. He stood, motionless, for a long moment, then his eyes narrowed and his pulled the sword from its sheath almost faster than Katsura could follow. What looked almost like wavering, silver afterimage shimmered where the sword had been swung, then the top half of the pole went flying through the air, its severed ropes flapping behind it. Then, in a brutal motion, the boy completed the rotation he'd started and slammed the sheath itself into severed top half of the pole, sending it crashing into the ground, large splinters of wood flying everywhere. There were open gasps and exclamations of surprise from the surrounding men, their eyes wide. Katsura saw Shinsaku's eyes widen as well, and knew his face must hold a similar expression.

"Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu…Sou Ryu Sen." Only those closest to the boy could hear his whispered words.

"Shinsaku…" Katsura murmured as he watched the boy turn and ask, politely, for his ryo. "I'm taking this boy…to Kyoto."

"So that was the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu…" sighed Katsura, setting down his small sake cup and looking across from him at the boy. "I've heard of it, but I didn't know it truly existed…" The boy sipped his tea quietly, just watching Katsura with those clear, pure eyes, not saying anything. "But let me ask you something." Katsura took a deep breath. "Have you ever killed a man with this Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu?" The boy paused, the cup halfway to his lips.

"No." Katsura swallowed, taking another deep breath.

"But…do you think you could?" The boy's violet eyes widened and he stared down into his tea for a moment. Then the confidence blossomed again in his eyes and he gently set his cup down. He kept his gaze trained on it, though, for another half a moment, before he looked up at Katsura.

"If with my own dirty sword and the lives I take, I could pave the way for a new era in which all can live in peace…" He bowed his head respectfully, and rose to his feet.

"I see," Katsura replied softly. "We're leaving for Kyoto first thing in the morning. Take a room upstairs and rest." The boy nodded, bowed at the waist, then turned and left the room, his feet barely making a whisper against the tatami mats. Shinsaku, who had been eyeing the two of them while playing his stringed instrument softly, raise an eyebrow, almost defiantly. Katsura met his gaze.

"Shinsaku…you can't keep the boy here."

"If you need a Hitokiri that badly," Shinsaku snorted, "you should do it yourself. When you were in Edo, you were good enough to work your way up to the top of the Shinto Munen Ryu's training hall. Except for Sakamoto Ryouma of the Hokushin Ittou Ryu, you never lost."

"If I could, I would," sighed Katsura, standing up and opening the sliding door. "But I am the head of the Choushuu Ishin Shishi now."

"Yeah," agreed Shinsaku, his voice almost hard. "That's right." Katsura wondered briefly if he had heard traces of something close to disdain laced through the other man's voice, but he quickly dismissed it. "You're the Choushuu head at the Bakumatsu festival." He arranged his fingers across the neck of his instrument. "No one will carry a leader that's covered in blood." He slowly, carefully began strumming at the strings, and a haunting melody carried itself cautiously around the room. "So you're going to ruin that boy's life…just so you can stay clean." He looked back up at Katsura, his gaze cold. "If it means being driven into the jaws of death, or leaving a name that will shame generations to come…you can never draw your sword again."

"Don't think I haven't thought of that." Katsura's voice was grim. "Today marks the death of swordsman Katsura Kogoro."

"That was just about a year ago," Katsura said softly, sipping his tea and looking around the garden that the Battosai had left him in. "Maybe it's because he seemed so much younger then…that he's changed now. But his heart hasn't changed at all."

"That's good to hear," replied his companion. Iizuka didn't respond at all, just looked distantly down the stone path the Battosai had departed along. Katsura narrowed his eyes a little, guilt worming its way into his chest.

It's because he hasn't changed that he's beginning to feel…the terrible deterioration of being a Hitokiri…

Night had fallen, and the Battosai sat alone at a table in a neighborhood bar, doing his best to drink the sake he had ordered. Trying not to let the disgust show on his face, he set the cup down and listened to the dull buzz forming in the back of his head.

It tastes bad…He sighed, trying to swallow the unusual, coppery taste off his tongue, but it refused to leave. These days, no matter what I drink, all I taste is blood. I really started drinking about half a year ago…About the time I got the scar on my cheek… He stared down at his empty cup. I never liked the taste…but lately all I can taste is blood… An image of his sensei, drinking sake straight from the jug, flashed in his mind's eye. Shishou taught me the sword, but I learned to drink on my own. He let his mind wander, keeping one ear and one eye open to the bar around him, just in case.

The drinking had started shortly after he'd slain the young man, Kiyosato, and his dying words plagued his mind. To try and drown out the unusually high feeling of guilt, he'd taken to retreating to the bar for sake.

But then, for some reason, it had started tasting like blood. And, as time went on, so did the other drinks.

He remembered attempting to drink the tea that he had been served just the other week, but as soon as the normally bitter liquid slid across his tongue, he had gagged and nearly spit it back up, stopping himself only by clamping one hand firmly over his mouth. Instead of tasting as tea was supposed to, it tasted as though he had just tried to swallow watery blood. It was coppery and disgusting, and it had lingered in his mouth long after he had set the tea aside. To try and remove the taste that wouldn't leave on its own, he had trying swallowing some cool water, but it only made the sensation that much worse. Irritated, and a little disturbed by the reoccurring taste, he had holed himself up, once again, in his room, and refused to see anyone until his new mission had arrived.

A sudden decrease in drunken chatter brought him out of his memories and he focused his attention completely on those around him. Judging from the lustful whispers and muffled whistles, a woman had walked in. He felt for her chi, and found it almost faint; it was soft and hard to detect. He stiffened slightly, almost reaching for his katana when he heard her sit down in the booth just behind him.

"Welcome. What can I get for you?" asked the owner politely, approaching the table. The Battosai turned slightly to eye the young woman. She had unusually pale skin, and long, silky black hair that hung about as far down her back as the Battosai's did his. When she turned to face the owner, he saw that her hair framed her face in a delicate, yet beautiful way, and her gentle black eyes betrayed almost no emotion.

"I'd like a cup of chilled sake. Please."

End

A/N: Well, I'm sorry it took me so long to get this up. It's been a little while since school got out, and frankly, I've been lazing around, not doing much of anything. (sigh) So I got myself to write this out, and I plan on continuing it as much as I can. I've also got a couple of other tasks I have to accomplish this summer, so I dunno how fast I'll get this written.

I would like to extend my thanks, first to Shiori12 for being the first to favorite this story, and then to Stiehl for being the first to review it. Thank you, you two, for your support. (smile)

Anyway! Please tell me what you think! (bow) Thank you!