Tales of the Mitsurugi Dragon: Shadow of Shadows
By: Hitokiri Gentatsu
Author's Note: Thanks so much for the reviews on this. I wasn't sure that I got inside Battousai's head very well. Anyway, here is the next part. You know what to do when you finish reading it, so don't make me send an angry hitokiri after you.
Chapter One: Heaven's Justice
"Shigure told me that the Bakumatsu was incredibly chaotic. Nobody could tell good from evil. He said that people fought solely for what was in their hearts. I believe what he said"
Takatsuki Toki
Ishinshishi no Requiem
"Heaven's Justice!" The words echoed just seconds before a gleaming, silver blade whistled through the air, cutting down the man in front of the hitokiri from shoulder to thigh. Before the second guard could move, the silent shadow had flown into the air and the last thing the man felt before death rose to claim him was the impact of a sword slicing through his skull. The third guard and his charge scanned the area for the assassin but could not find him amid the shadows of the alleyway. Suddenly, there was a gurgling sound from the remaining guard and he slumped to the ground, his head rolling some feet from his twitching body.
The hitokiri turned his amber gaze toward the man who was his target and smiled a cold smile when he saw the man trembled slightly, even though he was attempting to face his killer bravely. The man had a sword in his hands but that mattered very little to the Hitokiri Battousai, the man was as good as dead now.
"I have come to give you the justice demanded of the people of Japan." His eyes burned, glowing amber orbs of cold rage.
"You're a demon! Damn you, Hitokiri Battousai!" the man yelled as he charged the assassin, who stood calmly in the face of his enemy's charge.
The battle was over before it began. The man's charge carried him quickly into the range of the Battousai's katana and, just as the man arrived in range, he drew his sword, cleanly severing the man's sword hand from his arm and slashing across his throat. The man made a faint sound in the back of his throat and fell to his knees, clutching throat with his left hand, a look of surprise and hatred in his eyes.
"Heaven's Justice." Hitokiri Battousai hissed the words at the dying man, whose eyes were beginning to fade but not before he managed to grab his killer's hakama, leaving a smear of scarlet on them. He looked up at the young hitokiri, hatred for his killer evident in his fading gaze.
"Revenge…" he managed to gasp before he fell forward, silenced by death. Battousai removed the man's bloody hand from his hakama, and then he surveyed his work. The four men lay in pools of their own blood and there were blood splatters on all the buildings near where they had stood. Battousai looked down at them with no trace of emotion, other than cold detachment, on his face but, in his heart, he was silently grieving for the men he had slain.
"May you find happiness in the next life," he thought as he slipped quietly away to his next assignment.
*
He moved through the night, an inky black shadow hidden within the other shadows of the alley. His sandals made no sound on the uneven pavement and he had stilled his breathing to barely a whisper. His eyes were closed to mere slits, to keep the their amber glow from betraying his location to the next target. The mouth of the alley faced one of the main thoroughfares of Kyoto-the Kawaramachi and he could see the waters of the canal brushed with silver moonlight. His target would be walking passed the mouth of this alley any moment now. Sawajiro Ichiro was known as a staunch supporter of Bakufu's policy of opening Japan to the foreigners and he was rumored to be an expert swordsman. He thought himself so expert, in fact, that he often went out alone and unguarded feeling no need of such protection.
Battousai grimaced. Sawajiro would be more difficult to deal with then that last man had been, but he would die as well. The hitokiri had yet to face an opponent who could defeat him. This fact did not, however, make him overconfident. It was merely the truth. He was certain that some master swordsman would be able to defeat him since he had never completed his own training and there was little doubt in his mind that he would meet his end on that swordsman's blade just as surely as the sun rose. It was only a matter of time and no hitokiri last more than a few months at best. They either died at the hands of one of their targets that happened to either be better skilled or lucky or they went mad from all the slaughter and were slain by their own comrades. Either way, they died and so would he.
Battousai's morbid train of thought was broken by a sound out in the street, a few feet to his left. He moved closer to the mouth of the alley he was hiding in and felt the beat of a powerful ki coming toward his position with a steady pace. Battousai had long ago masked his own ki from detection and he stood in the concealing shadows of the alley, waiting in tense anticipation for his target to appear. He saw Sawajiro pass the mouth of the alley, so close that he could have touched the man with his hand and Battousai tensed, ready to spring upon his unsuspecting target. It was then that he noticed a second man pass the alley's mouth.
"A guard?" Battousai paused in confusion. Was Sawajiro expecting an attack? Had someone warned him? 'It doesn't matter, the man must die.'
Battousai's mouth twisted into a snarl and he stepped out of the concealing shadows. "I have come bringing Heaven's Justice." His cold voice whispered into the night, a hand on the hilt of his sheathed katana for emphasis.
The two men turned, their eyes widening in surprise, then a look of confusion crossed their features when they saw him. Battousai's snarl turned into a sinister smile that twisted his mouth. He walked slowly forward, his targets trapped by the cold furosity of his gaze. Finally, the second man moved to shield Sawajiro and hissed at him to flee while he had the chance. Sawajiro backed up a pace or two but did not run as his bodyguard requested. A few seconds later, something warm and sticky hit him as he saw his bodyguard cut down without having even drawn his katana.
Battousai's sword made a silver arc in the air, which was grotesquely echoed by the arc of blood that came from the fallen man. The hitokiri's eyes glowed ferally in the half light and he turned those eyes toward Sawajiro, reveling in the power he held, enjoying the fear he could feel coming from the other man. He moved quickly but silently toward his target and was surprised when his katana met the blade of another instead of the man's body.
"You will not find me so easy to kill, hitokiri. I will fight you." Sawajiro glared at the boy in front of him.
Battousai narrowed his eyes in concentration and took a step or two back, positioning his sword in front of him to guard against attack.
"You will die here." Battousai's voice was flat, without emotion and cut the air like a blade of cold steel.
Sawajiro's answer was to attack in a blur of motion. He was as good as the rumors claimed he was and his attacks had more power behind them than anyone Battousai had fought thus far. He found himself being pushed back with each attack and unable, for the first time, to get in one of his own.'But soon his power will wear him out and then I will strike.' Battousai's eyes narrowed and he waited patiently, continuing to parry the man's blows.
The final blow came less then fifteen minuets later. Sawajiro had managed to get passed his defenses twice: once to graze his left wrist and once across his chest. The wounds were but a minor annoyance to him but his opponent seemed unlikely to become worn out any time soon. Sawajiro continued to rain blows on him with the same amount of power as time passed and soon Battousai found himself with his back against the wall of one of the buildings. He growled low in his throat and continued to parry the man's katana.
A dim corner of his mind registered another wound. 'Along his collarbone, shallow and of no consequence'. Then he saw the man's katana slicing through the air, aimed at his neck and he found his opening at last. He ducked under Sawajiro's swing, dropping his own katana in favor of his shorter wakizashi. His aim was true and he could feel the man's blood covering his hand as his wakizashi sliced open Sawajiro's stomach. He made a surprised sound and his lifeless body fell backwards, showering his killer with more blood.
Battousai stood and flicked the blood from his blade. Then he bent down to retrieve his katana from where it had fallen. He looked the blade over and, after cleaning it and his wakizashi on the dead man's haori, he disappeared into the night just as whistles began to sound, announcing the arrival of the Shinsengumi or one of the other police forces that patrol the blood soaked streets of Kyoto.
*
"I will create a better world with my sword. One where people, all people, can live peaceful lives without fear. With these hands I will protect those who cannot protect themselves." Kenshin looked at his hands, submerged in the bucket of cold water and frowned at the now hollow sounding words.
He had returned to the inn an hour and a half ago but he was still in the bathhouse cleaning. He was trying to wash away the stench of blood from his person and clothing but was once again failing to do so. The smell of blood was still there for those who knew its scent. Even after ten buckets of water, Kenshin could still smell it. Its sweet, faintly metallic odor clung to him and to everything associated with him. It created an impenetrable barrier between him and the other men of the clan. He knew that his presence made them uncomfortable, that they avoided contact with 'the hitokiri' at all cost. As time passed, he noticed how the others went out of their way to avoid crossing paths with him, how they would never look him in the eye whenever they had to speak to him and how all conversation stopped whenever he entered a room. He also noticed that they never addressed him by his given name. He was always 'Katsura's man', or, more often, just 'hitokiri'. Kenshin wasn't even sure if the majority of the men even knew his real name.
He dried his hands on a towel, his face seemingly placid but his insides knotted in turmoil. He felt he was slowly turning into a shadow with no existence beyond all killing he did. Every time he went out to his assignments, he felt a little bit of the light inside him die to become replaced with cold darkness. He felt as if he were becoming another person, one that he didn't want to be. Yet, there was no way out of his situation. He had made a promise to Katsura and to himself. He would protect the new era that was being created. He heart would not allow him to do otherwise. He would not stand idle while innocent lives were being threatened nor while people were suffering in front of him. He just wished there was some way other than the murder of men whose only crime was working for the Shogunate. Wasn't he guilty of a far worse crime than that? Kenshin shook his head. It was already to late for him. He could not escape this cycle of death and destruction. He had made a promise and he would keep his word, even if that promise led to his death, even if his soul was twisted beyond all hope of salvation.
He gathered up his swords and walked into the inn, passed the landlady, who watched as he mounted the stairs quietly, headed for his solitary rooms. She shook her head, as soon as he had disappeared up the stairs, wishing could think of a way to help him. She knew what the young man's job was only because he had to have a way back into the inn late at night. Once again, she silently cursed. What did Katsura think he was doing, turning a young boy into a killing tool? What could have gotten the notion into the man's mind?
She had seen the change in Kenshin, just as she had seen it in others before him. At first, he had been curious about things and wore his emotions openly on his face and in his eyes. In the first few months, she had had to shoo the boy from the girls in the kitchens, whom he insisted on helping, while the girls flirted shamelessly with the handsome youth. When she found out he had extra time on his hands, unlike the others who stayed at her inn, she had assigned him a few chores to keep him occupied. He had been happy to be of help to her, particularly since they were shorthanded. He had even volunteered to escort the girls to the market and back.
But now…now Kenshin had become silent and moody. He never smiled and there was no emotion in his dull, lifeless eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was a flat monotone and his speech was clipped and precise. He never helped around the inn anymore, preferring to stay in the isolation of his rooms or to walk the streets of Kyoto alone during the day, when he was not sleeping through it in preparation for his nightly work. She was worried about him; about the way he had seemed to lock up his emotions behind a sealed wall, hidden from sight. This change was more pronounced in him then it had been in his older counterparts and that worried her even more. She feared that in a few months Himura would tear himself apart as his two sides came more and more into conflict.
She left a note telling the others not to disturb Himura-san until he called for them and went to her own room, still thinking how unfair the world had been to the boy turned hitokiri.