~*~Chapter II – Where The Night Smears~*~
Who lasts the longest
Is who suffered the most
~*~Memories of Blood – Cryptopsy~*~
The night was a murky web of thick shadows. There was no moon, no stars. Only streetlamps splashed bits of buttery light onto the cracking asphalt. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a dripping, icy wind. There was solitude all around him, silent and watchful. No one was about.
It was a night made for secrecy and things destined to be.
Himura lived in one of Tokyo's lower class quarters, where the maze-like streets were crammed full with rows of narrow, dilapidated houses. The threat of violence hung heavy over areas such as these. These were the homes of Yakuza members, prostitutes, drug sellers, broken families. This type of neighbourhood was well known to Soujirou. He knew well what lay behind the chipped, peeling walls. The places and people varied but the situations were always the same.
The unusual, heavy silence was shattered by a lady's scream. A man's deep voice rose to join her. They argued, in muffled tones coming from far off and then there was silence again. Soujirou slipped further into the shadows, unseen and unheard. Chills clung to his skin as the feeling of rooted unease intensified.
Only after a good twenty minutes had passed did he finally find the house he'd been looking for. It was as unremarkable as the others, with crumbling brick walls and deep fractures in the windowpanes. Yukishiro had given him a duplicate of the key to the rear door. He wrapped his cold fingers around the hard steel and surreptitiously made his way towards the back. His footfalls trod upon thick tufts of weed grass and crumpled litter. Passing through the broken wooden gate, he raked his gaze over his surroundings. The back garden, a miniscule, overgrown affair, was separated from the other houses by a tangled thicket of wild bush and rotting fence. He stepped upon uneven stone steps and unlocked the rear door.
All at once, Soujirou knew that he wasn't alone.
A fierce presence emanated throughout the tiny house, diffusing through the stale air like the smell of cooking. The aura of this unknown stranger grated against his own. It was harsh, hateful. He felt a tremendous energy made up of crushing emotions. There was anticipation and rage and caution and above all, something murderous. A killing desire for blood. Whoever lurked was seeking to slay.
The atmosphere rippled with an ominous edge. There would be brutality tonight. He could see that as clear as he could decipher the impressions coiling throughout the house. Soujirou closed the door as swiftly as he dared, slicing off the scant light that slid across the sunken linoleum floor. Darkness enshadowed him. He paused, allowing his eyes to adjust. From another world it seemed, he could hear the same woman shrieking again.
Was it Himura waiting hidden for him, having somehow gained knowledge of Yukishiro's plans? Or was this some other person also seeking to kill the scarred redhead? Either way Soujirou supposed it didn't matter. Blood would spill, either his own or the other's. It was what he'd come to accomplish. The end wouldn't matter, not in a situation such as this. Because after all...
Stained hands will forever remain stained.
...truth, however callous, was unchanging.
He crept forward, slinking into the black embrace Himura's home had wrought. All his sensory perceptions were magnified, heightened. Every creak in the house, every shift and every movement, he could feel. This was what he'd been trained for so long ago. This is what he knew. He tightened numb fingers around the hilt of his katana. There could be no hesitation now. Someone was here to kill.
The house was devoid of all noise. There was only the overpowering force of some enraged though wary stranger. It came from beyond the living room, from the bedroom. Soujirou made not a single sound as he breezed through the scant room and into the hallway. Yukishiro had provided him with floor plans of Himura's house and so he knew that to the right was a washroom and to the left, one bedroom. He shifted forward.
That was all it took.
The deadened air sizzled. Cold steel slivered, emerging from a looming shape of murky shade. Two blades there were, thirsting for scarlet fluid. Soujirou, being the quicker, slashed his katana upwards. Steel ground upon steel, clattering into the darkness. The second blade though, its mark was true. Fire danced in a river upon the curve of Soujirou's upper arm. Blood fanned upon the flaking wall.
This sort of quickness he had not expected. Surprise overwhelmed him. His opponent was stronger that he'd anticipated. It couldn't be Himura, this stranger that prowled through this silent house. Himura was a short, slight man while this person was tall, with a foreboding, livid aura.
Soujirou darted backwards, bringing his katana parallel to his body while holding the hilt before his face in an offensive First Stance. The stranger also fell into a Stance, a defensive one Soujirou didn't recognize. A lull puddled between them as each sized the other. Soujirou felt his smile grow. While this stranger was rapid, he could not be as rapid as he.
The house creaked and that was their cue. They broken stance.
Soujirou flung his blade forward with a speed that surpassed human ability and skin was shorn. The other's blood fell in great splatters. The force of his slash sent the tall stranger reeling backwards into the wall. Soujirou advanced. The stranger was swift, on his feet and defending in seconds. He was talented and now wary, as he fought with Soujirou.
"Your death is mine," the man snarled, his voice low and cold. "This time you will not live Kenshin!"
Those words startled Soujirou and he lost precious seconds. The man arced with his first blade, his steel meeting Soujirou's. With the second he thrust and it slit at the boy's collarbone. Soujirou choked, blood swelling at his lips. He was driven to his knees. The man kicked at him with brutal strength. Soujirou was quick but not quick enough. The blow caught him in the left side of the neck. There was another kick, rupturing at his trachea.
Sweat-slick fingers tightened around the hilt of his katana. Soujirou was beaming, in spite of this pain. He allowed one final swipe and then he was on his feet, in an instant. The blunt side of his katana stung the man full in the face.
"Not Ken...shin," Soujirou gurgled around a mouthful of blood.
He jumped forward, his katana dancing in a swirl against the other's. They sparred with a fury that flamed the air. Blood spilled in clotting drools, coiling upon erratic breathing. Soujirou couldn't speak, couldn't form the words to tell this murderous stranger that he wasn't the man he sought to kill. So he fought with waning strength, as rapid as his aching body would allow. He damaged the other but the man was fighting with two blades and a will that surpassed Soujirou's by far. His reasons to kill Kenshin were personal; that much Soujirou could read, while he was only doing the bidding of another.
Soujirou hissed as the other managed to strike with his second blade, once again searing at his throat. Soujirou's vision swam. He managed a weak slash before the stranger jammed the hilt of his first blade straight into Soujirou's jaw.
The world fractured and he knew he'd been beaten into unconsciousness.
~*~*~*~*~
Five burly security guards stepped aside as Yukishiro Tomoe passed through the double Mahogany doors and into her stepfather's ornate bedchamber. In spite of the room's enormity, the smell of both Wisteria and sickness was cloying. The heavy, brocade curtains were tightly drawn, closing the night from the room. Only the ceiling chandelier was lit and it had been dimmed to a low, amber glow. Her slight movements cast angling shadows upon the maroon and grey papered walls.
Beside the postered, curtained bed sat an elderly nurse knitting. Upon perceiving Tomoe she stood, bowed low and took her leave. Only when the solid doors had been firmly closed did Tomoe step onto the marble dais the grand bed sat upon. She gazed down at the gaunt countenance of the man who believed that she was his own true daughter. He had been one of the most powerful men in all of Asia and now his entire empire rest in her hands, the bastard child of his wife and her illicit lover.
"Father." She gently perched upon the edge of the bed, beside her stepfather's limp, spotted hand.
Lashes fluttered as he slowly awoke. Pale, bloodshot eyes stared up at her. Once so strong and handsome, he was now reduced to brittle bones and trembling limbs. His body was dying but his mind, his mind was still as shrew as it had ever been.
"My child," he croaked, his voice parched. His gummy lips were cracked. "Tomoe."
She took the half-filled glass of water that sat upon his Oak night table and carefully fed him a few sips of the tepid fluid. The tiny action left him gasping, his thin chest heaving beneath the thick comforters. She lifted his warm, mottled hand into hers and waited for his spell to pass.
"What shall I do for you father?"
He had never been one for sentiments or other such weaknesses but upon his deathbed, he'd softened. Now his watery gaze was filled with pride. "You have done as I would, daughter. There is nothing left to ask. You know all that I desire."
"And you will have it. Do you know this evening he left Tokyo." A faint, humourless smile touched dark-painted lips. "I shall follow him. I realize that I wish to do it. Another won't take this pleasure from me. I would hear him scream and in his suffering, I will know peace."
"You have always pleased me Tomoe," he whispered, managing to tighten his flaccid fingers around hers for a scant moment.
"You honour me, father." She soothed the blankets around his bony form. "I won't rest until I've taken life. Of this I vow."
"And then shall I rest, when you are in peace." Rheumy eyes close. "Read to me, child. I would hear your voice upon this black night."
Tomoe obeyed, reading softly until he fell asleep once more. She spared one final look to the dying man. His body repulsed her. She left the room.
In the vast, marbled corridor that lead to her chambers in the Eastern Wing, she was intercepted by a young maid who informed her that her younger brother awaited her arrival. She found Enishi in her living room, pacing like a barred criminal.
She dismissed all the servants from her quarters before sitting down. She knew something had gone awry. "Did you find him?"
"Himura's house was empty. The kid wasn't there." Enishi pushed up his glasses with one long finger, impatience marking his stance. "We searched the whole goddamn neighbourhood. Nobody saw or heard anything. The only thing we can tell is that a fight went down. A big one."
Inky eyes narrowed slightly. "We both know Himura left the city hours ago."
"Yeah but someone was there and they probably took the kid with them. There was blood all over the place." A cool smirk slid across his features. "A real gorefest."
Tomoe allowed herself a tiny smile. "It's all yours then. Find Seta Soujirou and this mysterious stranger. I want to know exactly what happened tonight."
"Any holds barred?"
"None. I grant you full reign." She unfolded herself from the loveseat and stood. "I only ask that you keep the boy alive. He interests me."
"You're the boss." His eyes flashed behind his glasses. "Soon to be Mistress of this whole fucking city."
Tomoe added ice and a splash of Vodka to two French-cut glasses. "Have we not earned this?"
Enishi took his glass from her. "The world's an oyster ," he quipped, pouring Fire Whisky to his vodka. "We deserve all this shit."
"Yes. I want only your happiness." She touched cool fingers to the slope of his cheek. "You are my all."
His hand curved around hers. "It's not too late to change your mind. You should stay here. I'll go and hunt down that bastard. Say the words."
Tomoe shook her head. "Himura leaving before the boy could complete the task is a sign. I see now that this is my path. I shall find him myself and know the colour of his blood."
"I see." Enishi was disapproving but he knew nothing could sway his sister once she'd made a decision. "You'll be careful?"
She took a sip of her drink, feeling the bitter liquid spill into her throat. "Am I not always? Failure will not be bourn."