Ties of Loyalty
By The Unseen Watcher
Previous, previous-not mine-see previous
Chapter 8
-------------------
Himura watched the former head man's retreat. Aside from the occasional sporadic cries from those unfortunate to come upon the last of his traps, the sounds of the forest were gradually giving way to a more natural chorus. The adrenalin rush was fading, taking with it the strength in his joints and muscles. His shoulders sagged, and his head felt full of cotton. He resisted the urge to find a hollow nearby to curl up in and sleep.
The majority of the enemy was thoroughly routed, but a few details needed to be seen to before he could allow himself any rest. Sheathing his sword, he turned, his hair flashing in the sunlight filtering through the canopy.
***
There! The sudden glint of color was all he needed.
***
Kenshin didn't consciously register the sound of the gunshot. One moment he was moving forward, and the next he was spun backwards in a vicious spiral as an invisible hand slammed into his shoulder with the force of a cavalry charge. He came to moments later, his vision full of spinning sky and trees, laying in an uncomfortable sprawl on the forest floor. He blinked, not having a clue what just happened - until he shifted his left shoulder.
A lance of sheer agony raced down his arm and back up to his head, causing him to stifle a startled whimper. Shifting his head around to try and look, his right hand found the answer to his current troubles. A clumsy probe of his fingers revealed a laceration at least an inch deep into the muscle of his shoulder. It also brought an increased bout of pain that surged up as the wound took its vengeance for being treated so by threatening to blacken his vision.
He breathed slowly for a moment, gathering the remains of his reserves and using his training to block out the worst of it. Gingerly, he managed to sit up, pausing briefly for his equilibrium to catch up. Looking around, he realized that he was on the opposite side of the tree where he had confronted the collaborator. Somehow his body had responded where his brain could not, instinctively putting something solid between itself and the direction of where the shot originated. *The shot. * Comprehension dawned as he thought of the wound, and he sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose. Yes, there was a definite carbide tang to it, along with the even more unpleasant smell of slightly burned flesh, no doubt originating from his shoulder. He had been injured many times, but this was his first gunshot wound. He didn't much like the experience.
The sniper was still out there, more dangerous than he had first estimated, if he could be far enough away not to even register on his ki awareness and still managed to hit him. He had shelter for the time being, but doubtless the man was moving to a different position even as he sat there in order to ascertain if he was truly finished or to get another shot off.
Kenshin tucked his left arm against his body in an effort to minimize any movement of his shoulder. The pain was now bearable, the drug from the earlier dart ironically helping to stave it off, for now.
Mentally pushing back both pain and lingering drowsiness, he tried to search the immediate area with his senses for the threat. He silently cursed himself for a careless fool. He had taken out two of the foreigners, and had little doubt that his master had seen to the third. However, in all the confusion and battle heat and drugging, he had failed to take into account that there was still a fourth out there. The man's long absence had pushed his importance further back on the list of priorities, a mistake that he was now regretting rather painfully at the moment. He shook his head slightly, which didn't improve the pain level. Shishou would never let him hear the end of this.
A thought flitted through his mind that this must be much like what his master had gone through for days. The idea proved to be beneficial as the comparison brought with it a surge of anger that did much to dispel the greater part of his disorientation. He couldn't give up now; he was still needed.
***
Schmidt crept through the forest, circling the area of his last shot. Stopping occasionally, he would peer through his rifle's sites, but could not relocate his target.
He supposed that the others had been disposed of in some way. He had not heard them blundering about for some time now. He felt no remorse over their supposed demise. To him, they had only been in the way.
He enjoyed the moment of the kill; it being the single moment he allowed strong emotions free play. He had been trained initially for special assignments requiring discretion and the effective removal of people his superiors had deemed inconvenient. His last official mission had involved more fighting than anticipated, ending up with him on the 'presumed dead' list of all those who'd had any sort of hold on him. This was fortuitous for his long-term plans, for he had grown tired of the endless dithering and decided to strike out on his own. The need to seek out worthy targets was still there, having been ingrained into him over the years, but now it was he who chose whom he killed.
He sought out challenges to his skill, in the process meeting and forming a tenuous alliance with the other three men. Together, they had formed a disparate group out seeking their own pleasures. One of them had always handled the details of where and whom.
He had yet to object to their selections. He could leave whenever he chose, and none dared to interfere with his movements.
They had gone to many exotic locations, including Africa and Asia. It had been stimulating, but ultimately disappointing. The game was over all too soon and far too easy.
But in this strange land, they had been setback for days. One man had been their target. It seemed another simple exercise. However, the so-called 'easy kill' had disappeared like smoke, being replaced out of the blue by another. Schmidt had known long before the others that they were no longer tracking the same man. There had been a difference in style, in strategy from the first that was too subtle for his less experienced comrades to grasp. True, there was a slight similarity between this new man's methods to that of the first, but there was also a vast difference.
Where the first had chosen a gradual approach, seemingly content to lead them around in circles, the other had tried to warn them off, quite a few times in fact. However, when that avenue was seemingly exhausted, he had wasted no time in implementing a plan that quickly wore away at their numbers and morale. The end result had been the now complete dispersal of the entire group. Doubtless, the survivors would quickly spread the word, significantly diminishing the possibility of any coming close enough to be of assistance.
Schmidt allowed himself a frown of annoyance. They had left the place in a shambles with their leave-taking. There were tracks everywhere, making it impossible to distinguish ally from objective. His mood didn't improve as he thought of the scene by the cliff.
He felt no guilt over Spencer's demise. The Englishman had actually been slightly less of a bother than the others, but it was his own fault for getting in the way. No, what irked him now was the fact that he wasn't quite sure that he had gotten their initial target either. He had been pleased when he'd caught sight of him after days without so much as a clue to where he had gone, and had taken full advantage of the distraction his erstwhile comrade was providing.
Sadly, now he couldn't make up his mind whether or not he had been successful. His record thus far had been perfect, and the possibility that he had not completed his goal nagged at him.
The large man's drop had been too fast to be normal, he convinced himself. He had to have been killed, the bullet passing through him to take out Spencer as well. He firmly shook his head, pushing aside doubts. He was dead. NO ONE was that quick.
Now he searched for the other. The one who had been a constant thorn in their sides; the source of much irritation and setbacks. He dared to interfere in the hunt. HIS hunt. Fingers tightened on the trigger of his rifle as he allowed his temper fractionally off its normally tight leash.
***
Two heads snapped around, each toward the direction of the other. They were separated by distance and acres of forest, but their eyes narrowed in unison as their stances shifted.
Both sped forward, heading toward a mid-point meeting, and the dark flash of ki in the middle. Their forms blurred.
***
Schmidt's only warning was a flicker of movement from above. Looking quickly upward, he wasn't able to move his gun up into position in time as Kenshin's Ryu Tsui Sen impacted with the weapon, splitting it cleanly in two as he smoothly flipped the blade to its edged side at the last second.
Off balance, Schmidt tumbled from his perch on a stout tree branch, twisting and alighting more or less unscathed on his hands and knees. Kenshin followed not far behind, touching down softly on his feet. The dramatic effect of his smooth landing was then ruined slightly as his current physical state caught up to his balance. Feeling lightheaded, he stumbled slightly, swaying and panting as he clutched his shoulder. Sweat dripped off his bangs as his head bobbed slightly with his heavy breathing, but his darkened eyes never wavered from the form of the sniper.
*
Schmidt was on his feet quickly. His primary weapon was a lost cause, but had a large hunting knife in his sleeve for emergencies and he unhesitantly drew it from its concealment. He disliked close quarters, preferring the detachment of shooting from a distance. However, if pressed he was willing to use such crude forms of combat.
He'd caught sight of his opponent almost immediately after landing. Now, he eyed the frail-looking, flame-haired boy before him. He noted the tiredness that the other could not quite conceal, and especially the wound he was sure he himself had inflicted. Silently, he berated himself for the poor shot. He must be getting sloppy, an intolerable weakness. Finally, when the small man made no move, his eyes traveled up to meet the other's gaze.
Schmidt was a cold man, with all the mercy and personality of a town gibbet. His was the type that would take out his own mother if the price was right. Neither pleas nor threats had ever moved him.
But now, looking into the eyes that met his behind the fringe of fiery bangs, he found himself pausing for some reason. Puzzled by his hesitation to finish it, he tried to sort out what seemed wrong with the situation.
The problem seemed to be that he was getting two conflicting messages from the injured boy before him. His body told that he was ready to drop from sheer exhaustion and his injury. He was easy prey. But the cold, gold-laced purple eyes that met his own were stating quite clearly that HE wasn't the prey here.
All of the German's training and experience told him to react a different way to each state. It was confusing, and he was momentarily unable to deal with it.
Schmidt paused, at an impasse for a few precious seconds. Then the strange eyes flickered, breaking the spell of silence. Mouth opening, he spoke in slow, careful English.
#Your punishment is not mine to provide. Another has that right before me. # the redhead said, those unsettling eyes glancing behind him.
Schmidt knew it would be foolish to fall for that trick, but something told him that this one was not in the habit to bluff. Glancing back, what he saw sent him spinning around, his knife raised defensively.
A few yards away stood the original prey. The one he had been so sure was taken care of. Yet there he was, standing just within a cluster of trees.
**
Hiko's mantle flowed about him, stirred in a slight breeze. If he felt any fatigue or pain, he showed no signs of it. His blue gi was dusted with the dirt from his roll, but that did nothing to detract from the striking aura of power he had allowed loose after decades of careful concealment and control. His sword was unsheathed, held seemingly casually by his side. It was tilted slightly forward so that its tip angled in from of his right leg, creating a rather dramatic effect as the sun flashed off the flat of the blade.
The older Hiten Mitsurugi master's face showed no particular expression, devoid of his usual confident smirk. His good humor had long gone the way of his patience. The illusion of the self-absorbed, laid back drunkard he usually presented to the world had been stripped away. His eyes now showed his true spirit, their dark depths glimmering with the power of banked inner fires.
*
A part of Schmidt in that frozen second noted with detached interest that it was disturbingly similar to the look in the redhead's eyes.
And, as impossible as it seemed, infinitely more deadly.
*
Hiko stepped forward, every move controlled and with the absolute minimum of effort. His smooth grace reminded the frozen Schmidt of a panther he had once seen gliding through its jungle home. As the traitorous hair on the back of his neck stood on end, he knew at a primal level that what he now faced was much more dangerous than any wild animal. His death was written clearly in those ebony eyes, and the certain promise of it shook him to the core. For the first time in his life, he felt the prickling of true fear in his guts.
*
Hiko said nothing. There was really nothing to say to the creature that had proved himself so without honor that he struck others down from a distance. He felt none of the respect he would have shown a fellow warrior. All he felt at that moment was irritation at this whole fiasco caused by a few pitiful little men. They just weren't worth getting upset about, injuries and blows to his dignity notwithstanding. Their actions had canceled any chance of mercy or respect normally shown toward worthy opponents. Gazing at the last of them, all Hiko felt was a weary disgust.
Then his gaze slid past the blot on his peace to the visibly battered form of his student. He did not miss the abnormal sway to his usually firm stance. Most especially he noted the large red stain that darkened one shoulder of his gi. Eyes narrowing, Hiko's lips pressed together briefly, the only sign of his fury, before he took a calming breath that briefly dispelled any personal feelings for later consideration. Turning his attention back to his opponent, he silently came to a decision. He would not even acknowledge this waste of humanity by speech.
No, he would waste no words on this one. He frankly did not care about what he might have to say. There was truly only one language that he would understand.
Hiko brought his sword in front of him, grasping it in a two-handed hold. Kenshin saw this and hurriedly stepped more to the side, until his back met with the trunk of a large tree.
Schmidt tensed.
Hiko shot forward, his head low, his mantle streaming behind him like great wings.
Then he was past, his head still down and mantle catching up and falling sedately into place.
The last of the hunters fell without a sound, the nine wounds caused by Hiko's Kuzu Ryu Sen taking effect all at once. He was dead before he hit the ground.
*
Kenshin watched his master straighten and turn, his dark eyes surveying all around him. The forest was silent; the feeling of other men finally faded to little more than a lingering memory.
At last, Hiko relaxed, his broad shoulders loosening, long held tension easing away as he turned toward his former ward.
"It's over?" Kenshin found himself asking in a thin voice, though he already knew the answer. It just seemed to need to be said.
Hiko nodded, his eyes once more hooded, the power within once more firmly in check. The rest of his expression was oddly unreadable as he again surveyed the other's sorry state.
Kenshin smiled, allowing his weary body to slump against the support of a nearby tree. One hand was pressed tightly against the wound on his shoulder where the bullet had grazed him, and he was feeling rather lightheaded at the moment. It had been a long week, and the dart's drugged contents were still running through his system. Still smiling, his eyes rolled up as he passed out, sliding down the smooth bark to land in a heap at his master's feet.
Hiko looked down at the unconscious pile that was his former student. Rolling his own eyes for an entirely different reason, he sighed in exasperation. Bending over, being careful of his ribs, he picked the small form up. The care he took in lifting him was a sharp contrast to his annoyed expression.
Turning, he headed for home, his slumbering charge cradled gently in the circle of his arms.
------------------------
okay, that was an odd chapter. But that's ok, there's more ahead! Hope you liked the resolution.^o^
By The Unseen Watcher
Previous, previous-not mine-see previous
Chapter 8
-------------------
Himura watched the former head man's retreat. Aside from the occasional sporadic cries from those unfortunate to come upon the last of his traps, the sounds of the forest were gradually giving way to a more natural chorus. The adrenalin rush was fading, taking with it the strength in his joints and muscles. His shoulders sagged, and his head felt full of cotton. He resisted the urge to find a hollow nearby to curl up in and sleep.
The majority of the enemy was thoroughly routed, but a few details needed to be seen to before he could allow himself any rest. Sheathing his sword, he turned, his hair flashing in the sunlight filtering through the canopy.
***
There! The sudden glint of color was all he needed.
***
Kenshin didn't consciously register the sound of the gunshot. One moment he was moving forward, and the next he was spun backwards in a vicious spiral as an invisible hand slammed into his shoulder with the force of a cavalry charge. He came to moments later, his vision full of spinning sky and trees, laying in an uncomfortable sprawl on the forest floor. He blinked, not having a clue what just happened - until he shifted his left shoulder.
A lance of sheer agony raced down his arm and back up to his head, causing him to stifle a startled whimper. Shifting his head around to try and look, his right hand found the answer to his current troubles. A clumsy probe of his fingers revealed a laceration at least an inch deep into the muscle of his shoulder. It also brought an increased bout of pain that surged up as the wound took its vengeance for being treated so by threatening to blacken his vision.
He breathed slowly for a moment, gathering the remains of his reserves and using his training to block out the worst of it. Gingerly, he managed to sit up, pausing briefly for his equilibrium to catch up. Looking around, he realized that he was on the opposite side of the tree where he had confronted the collaborator. Somehow his body had responded where his brain could not, instinctively putting something solid between itself and the direction of where the shot originated. *The shot. * Comprehension dawned as he thought of the wound, and he sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose. Yes, there was a definite carbide tang to it, along with the even more unpleasant smell of slightly burned flesh, no doubt originating from his shoulder. He had been injured many times, but this was his first gunshot wound. He didn't much like the experience.
The sniper was still out there, more dangerous than he had first estimated, if he could be far enough away not to even register on his ki awareness and still managed to hit him. He had shelter for the time being, but doubtless the man was moving to a different position even as he sat there in order to ascertain if he was truly finished or to get another shot off.
Kenshin tucked his left arm against his body in an effort to minimize any movement of his shoulder. The pain was now bearable, the drug from the earlier dart ironically helping to stave it off, for now.
Mentally pushing back both pain and lingering drowsiness, he tried to search the immediate area with his senses for the threat. He silently cursed himself for a careless fool. He had taken out two of the foreigners, and had little doubt that his master had seen to the third. However, in all the confusion and battle heat and drugging, he had failed to take into account that there was still a fourth out there. The man's long absence had pushed his importance further back on the list of priorities, a mistake that he was now regretting rather painfully at the moment. He shook his head slightly, which didn't improve the pain level. Shishou would never let him hear the end of this.
A thought flitted through his mind that this must be much like what his master had gone through for days. The idea proved to be beneficial as the comparison brought with it a surge of anger that did much to dispel the greater part of his disorientation. He couldn't give up now; he was still needed.
***
Schmidt crept through the forest, circling the area of his last shot. Stopping occasionally, he would peer through his rifle's sites, but could not relocate his target.
He supposed that the others had been disposed of in some way. He had not heard them blundering about for some time now. He felt no remorse over their supposed demise. To him, they had only been in the way.
He enjoyed the moment of the kill; it being the single moment he allowed strong emotions free play. He had been trained initially for special assignments requiring discretion and the effective removal of people his superiors had deemed inconvenient. His last official mission had involved more fighting than anticipated, ending up with him on the 'presumed dead' list of all those who'd had any sort of hold on him. This was fortuitous for his long-term plans, for he had grown tired of the endless dithering and decided to strike out on his own. The need to seek out worthy targets was still there, having been ingrained into him over the years, but now it was he who chose whom he killed.
He sought out challenges to his skill, in the process meeting and forming a tenuous alliance with the other three men. Together, they had formed a disparate group out seeking their own pleasures. One of them had always handled the details of where and whom.
He had yet to object to their selections. He could leave whenever he chose, and none dared to interfere with his movements.
They had gone to many exotic locations, including Africa and Asia. It had been stimulating, but ultimately disappointing. The game was over all too soon and far too easy.
But in this strange land, they had been setback for days. One man had been their target. It seemed another simple exercise. However, the so-called 'easy kill' had disappeared like smoke, being replaced out of the blue by another. Schmidt had known long before the others that they were no longer tracking the same man. There had been a difference in style, in strategy from the first that was too subtle for his less experienced comrades to grasp. True, there was a slight similarity between this new man's methods to that of the first, but there was also a vast difference.
Where the first had chosen a gradual approach, seemingly content to lead them around in circles, the other had tried to warn them off, quite a few times in fact. However, when that avenue was seemingly exhausted, he had wasted no time in implementing a plan that quickly wore away at their numbers and morale. The end result had been the now complete dispersal of the entire group. Doubtless, the survivors would quickly spread the word, significantly diminishing the possibility of any coming close enough to be of assistance.
Schmidt allowed himself a frown of annoyance. They had left the place in a shambles with their leave-taking. There were tracks everywhere, making it impossible to distinguish ally from objective. His mood didn't improve as he thought of the scene by the cliff.
He felt no guilt over Spencer's demise. The Englishman had actually been slightly less of a bother than the others, but it was his own fault for getting in the way. No, what irked him now was the fact that he wasn't quite sure that he had gotten their initial target either. He had been pleased when he'd caught sight of him after days without so much as a clue to where he had gone, and had taken full advantage of the distraction his erstwhile comrade was providing.
Sadly, now he couldn't make up his mind whether or not he had been successful. His record thus far had been perfect, and the possibility that he had not completed his goal nagged at him.
The large man's drop had been too fast to be normal, he convinced himself. He had to have been killed, the bullet passing through him to take out Spencer as well. He firmly shook his head, pushing aside doubts. He was dead. NO ONE was that quick.
Now he searched for the other. The one who had been a constant thorn in their sides; the source of much irritation and setbacks. He dared to interfere in the hunt. HIS hunt. Fingers tightened on the trigger of his rifle as he allowed his temper fractionally off its normally tight leash.
***
Two heads snapped around, each toward the direction of the other. They were separated by distance and acres of forest, but their eyes narrowed in unison as their stances shifted.
Both sped forward, heading toward a mid-point meeting, and the dark flash of ki in the middle. Their forms blurred.
***
Schmidt's only warning was a flicker of movement from above. Looking quickly upward, he wasn't able to move his gun up into position in time as Kenshin's Ryu Tsui Sen impacted with the weapon, splitting it cleanly in two as he smoothly flipped the blade to its edged side at the last second.
Off balance, Schmidt tumbled from his perch on a stout tree branch, twisting and alighting more or less unscathed on his hands and knees. Kenshin followed not far behind, touching down softly on his feet. The dramatic effect of his smooth landing was then ruined slightly as his current physical state caught up to his balance. Feeling lightheaded, he stumbled slightly, swaying and panting as he clutched his shoulder. Sweat dripped off his bangs as his head bobbed slightly with his heavy breathing, but his darkened eyes never wavered from the form of the sniper.
*
Schmidt was on his feet quickly. His primary weapon was a lost cause, but had a large hunting knife in his sleeve for emergencies and he unhesitantly drew it from its concealment. He disliked close quarters, preferring the detachment of shooting from a distance. However, if pressed he was willing to use such crude forms of combat.
He'd caught sight of his opponent almost immediately after landing. Now, he eyed the frail-looking, flame-haired boy before him. He noted the tiredness that the other could not quite conceal, and especially the wound he was sure he himself had inflicted. Silently, he berated himself for the poor shot. He must be getting sloppy, an intolerable weakness. Finally, when the small man made no move, his eyes traveled up to meet the other's gaze.
Schmidt was a cold man, with all the mercy and personality of a town gibbet. His was the type that would take out his own mother if the price was right. Neither pleas nor threats had ever moved him.
But now, looking into the eyes that met his behind the fringe of fiery bangs, he found himself pausing for some reason. Puzzled by his hesitation to finish it, he tried to sort out what seemed wrong with the situation.
The problem seemed to be that he was getting two conflicting messages from the injured boy before him. His body told that he was ready to drop from sheer exhaustion and his injury. He was easy prey. But the cold, gold-laced purple eyes that met his own were stating quite clearly that HE wasn't the prey here.
All of the German's training and experience told him to react a different way to each state. It was confusing, and he was momentarily unable to deal with it.
Schmidt paused, at an impasse for a few precious seconds. Then the strange eyes flickered, breaking the spell of silence. Mouth opening, he spoke in slow, careful English.
#Your punishment is not mine to provide. Another has that right before me. # the redhead said, those unsettling eyes glancing behind him.
Schmidt knew it would be foolish to fall for that trick, but something told him that this one was not in the habit to bluff. Glancing back, what he saw sent him spinning around, his knife raised defensively.
A few yards away stood the original prey. The one he had been so sure was taken care of. Yet there he was, standing just within a cluster of trees.
**
Hiko's mantle flowed about him, stirred in a slight breeze. If he felt any fatigue or pain, he showed no signs of it. His blue gi was dusted with the dirt from his roll, but that did nothing to detract from the striking aura of power he had allowed loose after decades of careful concealment and control. His sword was unsheathed, held seemingly casually by his side. It was tilted slightly forward so that its tip angled in from of his right leg, creating a rather dramatic effect as the sun flashed off the flat of the blade.
The older Hiten Mitsurugi master's face showed no particular expression, devoid of his usual confident smirk. His good humor had long gone the way of his patience. The illusion of the self-absorbed, laid back drunkard he usually presented to the world had been stripped away. His eyes now showed his true spirit, their dark depths glimmering with the power of banked inner fires.
*
A part of Schmidt in that frozen second noted with detached interest that it was disturbingly similar to the look in the redhead's eyes.
And, as impossible as it seemed, infinitely more deadly.
*
Hiko stepped forward, every move controlled and with the absolute minimum of effort. His smooth grace reminded the frozen Schmidt of a panther he had once seen gliding through its jungle home. As the traitorous hair on the back of his neck stood on end, he knew at a primal level that what he now faced was much more dangerous than any wild animal. His death was written clearly in those ebony eyes, and the certain promise of it shook him to the core. For the first time in his life, he felt the prickling of true fear in his guts.
*
Hiko said nothing. There was really nothing to say to the creature that had proved himself so without honor that he struck others down from a distance. He felt none of the respect he would have shown a fellow warrior. All he felt at that moment was irritation at this whole fiasco caused by a few pitiful little men. They just weren't worth getting upset about, injuries and blows to his dignity notwithstanding. Their actions had canceled any chance of mercy or respect normally shown toward worthy opponents. Gazing at the last of them, all Hiko felt was a weary disgust.
Then his gaze slid past the blot on his peace to the visibly battered form of his student. He did not miss the abnormal sway to his usually firm stance. Most especially he noted the large red stain that darkened one shoulder of his gi. Eyes narrowing, Hiko's lips pressed together briefly, the only sign of his fury, before he took a calming breath that briefly dispelled any personal feelings for later consideration. Turning his attention back to his opponent, he silently came to a decision. He would not even acknowledge this waste of humanity by speech.
No, he would waste no words on this one. He frankly did not care about what he might have to say. There was truly only one language that he would understand.
Hiko brought his sword in front of him, grasping it in a two-handed hold. Kenshin saw this and hurriedly stepped more to the side, until his back met with the trunk of a large tree.
Schmidt tensed.
Hiko shot forward, his head low, his mantle streaming behind him like great wings.
Then he was past, his head still down and mantle catching up and falling sedately into place.
The last of the hunters fell without a sound, the nine wounds caused by Hiko's Kuzu Ryu Sen taking effect all at once. He was dead before he hit the ground.
*
Kenshin watched his master straighten and turn, his dark eyes surveying all around him. The forest was silent; the feeling of other men finally faded to little more than a lingering memory.
At last, Hiko relaxed, his broad shoulders loosening, long held tension easing away as he turned toward his former ward.
"It's over?" Kenshin found himself asking in a thin voice, though he already knew the answer. It just seemed to need to be said.
Hiko nodded, his eyes once more hooded, the power within once more firmly in check. The rest of his expression was oddly unreadable as he again surveyed the other's sorry state.
Kenshin smiled, allowing his weary body to slump against the support of a nearby tree. One hand was pressed tightly against the wound on his shoulder where the bullet had grazed him, and he was feeling rather lightheaded at the moment. It had been a long week, and the dart's drugged contents were still running through his system. Still smiling, his eyes rolled up as he passed out, sliding down the smooth bark to land in a heap at his master's feet.
Hiko looked down at the unconscious pile that was his former student. Rolling his own eyes for an entirely different reason, he sighed in exasperation. Bending over, being careful of his ribs, he picked the small form up. The care he took in lifting him was a sharp contrast to his annoyed expression.
Turning, he headed for home, his slumbering charge cradled gently in the circle of his arms.
------------------------
okay, that was an odd chapter. But that's ok, there's more ahead! Hope you liked the resolution.^o^