Last chapter! *more fanfare*
And oh are you guys gonna hate me when this ends....
----------------------------------------------------
This can't be happening, Kenshin thought. Things like this didn't happen in real life - it was reserved for stories. For the theater. For nightmares.
But this wasn't a nightmare.
Sanosuke staggered as the little round bullet hit him square in the chest. There was no sound, no cry of pain at all, giving it the surreal atmosphere of some terrible dream - a dream that couldn't be woken up from. As Kenshin looked on in wide-eyed shock, Sano sank to his knees, a look of complete surprise on his face. Teetering there for a moment that lasted an eternity, he slumped down on the cold floor.
It was this last action that finally tore Kenshin out of his horrified trance. "Sano!" he sobbed, practically diving for his fallen friend.
"Please do not move, Himura-san," Namaka said, pointing his revolver at Kenshin.
It was the terrifying coolness of his voice, not the words themselves, which forced Kenshin to obey. Though every fiber in Kenshin's being screamed at him to check Sano - He might still be alive! Oh god, please let him be alive! - he stood and faced his plain-faced nemesis, his whole body shaking slightly with shock and grief.
"Please excuse the inconvenience," Namaka said, as if he were asking Kenshin a minor favor, "but if you don't mind I'd like to kill you by the sword. I believe it will be much more entertaining." He holstered his gun and drew his sword - a katana instead of the usual saber. It was the first atypical attribute about him, besides his unnatural speed. The blade glinting keenly in the light of the kerosene lanterns lining the walls, Namaka advanced at a relaxed walk towards Kenshin.
Kenshin made no move for his weapon. Instead, he stared down at Sano's still form, as if unwilling to believe that the fighter wasn't going to stand back up, flash his cocky grin, and make some smart-ass remark like he had all those times before. Get up, get up, Kenshin commanded his friend silently. Sano couldn't die now - they'd been through too much together. Since they'd met, Kenshin and Sano had shared danger, sorrow, and joy. They had divulged innermost thoughts and emotions, learned the taste of each other's bodies...
Anger flared up in Kenshin, causing him to clench his quivering fists. He could have been happy! For once, after all these years, he had found someone to love and desire. Didn't he deserve at least a little happiness? And what about Sanosuke, who had also been through so many hardships? Couldn't he get some pleasure, some satisfaction out of life? It wasn't fair! Just when they'd found some glimmer of joy, some little bit of happiness to call their own, it was torn away for ever... by him.
Kenshin's gaze snapped up and landed on Namaka, who was now just a few dozen feet away. It was his fault Sano was gone. Because of him, Kenshin couldn't ever be with the one he loved again. What right did he have to do this to someone?!
...But... no... that wasn't right. It wasn't just Namaka who was responsible - not even that slimeball Fushiyuuki was entirely to blame. The whole fucking world was. The entire planet was against Kenshin. Against Sano. Against them. Even if there were gods, then they were also hostile towards Kenshin and Sano. There was no way they could have ever been happy - for reasons that they couldn't even understand or begin to control. It just wasn't fair...
A cold, terrible bitterness gripped Kenshin's heart with icy claws, replacing his initial anger and sorrow and wiping out all other thoughts. Without even realizing it, his trembling hand strayed over the hilt of the sword Sano had given him. As he gripped the hilt the shaking in his limbs subsided, replaced by a quiet - yet immense - strength. "No..." he whispered. A refusal of temptation? Even he didn't know. "No," he repeated, more forcefully, "no, no, NO!!" This final word of denial morphed into a ferocious battle cry as he drew his sword just in time to block Namaka's blow. The two clashed for a moment, sparks flying from their blades, before they sprang away to size each other up. A mere second passed before they charged.
A saber and a katana are very similar in principal - that is, they both focus on slashing the opponent with the blade rather than stabbing with the tip, which is the driving notion in most Western blades. Because of this parallel, it was relatively easy for Kenshin to adapt to the European-made sword as he and Namaka dueled. However, the confined space of the corridor prevented Kenshin from maneuvering much and thus he couldn't perform his deadliest attacks, which Namaka used to his full advantage. The fight quickly became a contest of brute strength and speed, areas where the contestants were nearly equal. The two exchanged blows again and again, both straining for an opening in the other's impeccable defense.
As the duel dragged on, Kenshin retreated further and further into the unfeeling tundra that was growing inside him in order to escape the near-incapacitating grief that vied for dominance within his heart. He had hidden in this frozen landscape devoid of any emotion long before - during the revolution, as the Battousai who killed without mercy. Kenshin abhorred reverting to the inhuman ways of his former self, but it was either that or face the horrendous truth: Sano was gone.
He just couldn't admit that. Not yet.
Old habits and nuances resurfaced as Kenshin delved deeper into the persona of the Battousai. His footwork became firmer, more confident, and his blows lost their hesitation, their fear of causing real damage. Namaka must have noticed, for his own swordplay suddenly seemed more anxious and in a greater rush to finish the job he had started. Suddenly, Kenshin realized that he'd crossed too far over the schism that separated the wanderer that refused to kill from the lethal Battousai. Oh god, he thought, what am I doing? I can't...!
Too little. Too late.
He slashed downwards. Something warm and wet splattered across his face. Namaka collapsed to the ground, his chest a bloody mess. Kenshin could literally see the last beating of his enemy's heart as the blood spewing from severed arteries pulsed once, twice, then slowed to a trickle.
Kenshin stared down at his slain adversary, his eyes wide and glazed over with shock. Ten years... ten years ago he had made the oath to never take a life again. His entire being had been devoted to fulfilling that oath, even if it meant his own life. And now he had broken his vow. Consciously. Willingly. It made part of Kenshin want to vomit even thinking about what he'd done. And yet...
And yet, another part of him - a part that was rapidly taking control - felt surprisingly... liberated. That part of Kenshin was like a wild animal in a cage - confined, under control for now, yet very conscious - and now that that animal had broken free it wanted to make up for lost time spent in captivity, away from the world.
At the end of the hallway, another regiment of soldiers searching for the escaped convicts spotted Kenshin and what used to be Namaka. Amongst loud shouts of "Namaka-san!" and "You bastard!" the soldiers drew their swords and charged at Kenshin with the full intention of avenging their fallen comrade.
The Battousai heard and registered their presence, though he did not turn towards them. Instead, he dropped his pilfered saber on the stone floor with a loud clang and picked up Namaka's katana, which was definitely a superior weapon. As he ran his fingers along the finely honed blade with the same tenderness that one would embrace a long-absent friend who had just returned, the Battousai looked back over his shoulder at the oncoming men, his eyes like two cold, hard gems. After years of being healed over, the damaged skin tissue on his left cheek spontaneously reopened as neatly as if it had been sliced with a knife.
Kenshin's scar began to bleed.
O_O O_O O_O
Fushiyuuki looked out the carriage window, back at the structure of the prison receding into the trees, and settled back into his plush seat. At the first sign of trouble he had high-tailed his ass out of there, leaving his aide Namaka behind with full confidence in the unusual man's ability to handle any... problems that may occur.
Drumming his fingers rapidly on his leg, Fushiyuuki chewed his lower lip with irritation. He was scheduled to have a meeting with the Director of Internal Affairs concerning his upcoming promotion in return for his quick handling of the attempted bombing incident, but this incident currently unfolding at the prison would undoubtedly delay things. If the shit really hit the fan, it was even possible that Fushiyuuki would be denied his long-sought-after advancement. Of all the possible days to have an event like this...
Suddenly, the carriage lurched to an abrupt halt. Fushiyuuki looked up, an annoyed expression on his face. Now what? He waited for a moment, expecting either the driver or one of his other escorts to open the door and explain exactly what the hell was going on, coupled with a profuse apology for the inconvenience. Seconds passed, but no one appeared. Finally, Fushiyuuki's patience ran out and he irritably opened the door himself, silently deciding exactly whose heads were going to roll for all this.
He turned and spotted the liver-colored horse of one of his escorts milling nervously several yards off the road, stamping its hooves, snorting, and flattening its ears fretfully. The sight didn't sit right with Fushiyuuki. Where the hell was the rider? He looked around and quickly spotted both of his escorts. Lying on the road. Surrounded by blood. With most of their insides on the outside.
The blood drained from Fushiyuuki's face at the sight of his slain men. Quickly nearing panic, he whirled around - only to be faced with the driver, whose broken body was draped over the top of the carriage. The right arm was missing; all was left was a bloody stump cut so cleanly that Fushiyuuki could see all the bone and veins as clearly as if it were a cross-section diagram in a book of anatomy.
Standing over the driver's body, the carriage's reins in one hand and a bloody katana in the other, was a short, lean man with long hair as red as the blood that was splattered over his clothes and face. On his left cheek, a cross-shaped gash oozed dark blood, adding to his demonic appearance. It took a few moments for Fushiyuuki's panicked brain to recognize the man - it was the swordsman that had turned himself in as the culprit in the attempted bombing of the Internal Affairs building. Himura Kenshin. Formerly known as Hitokiri Battousai... "Battousai the Manslayer."
Bile rose in Fushiyuuki's throat as he realized, despite being quite good with a sword, he stood no chance against someone of the Battousai's caliber. Nevertheless, he drew his sword and said in a loud, forced voice, "Well, well, well, if it isn't my dear friend Himura-san. I see you convinced the guards to let you go."
The Battousai didn't respond, didn't so much as move a muscle.
"Tell me, Himura-san, what exactly do you hope to accomplish by... eh... all this?" Fushiyuuki asked, gesturing with the blade of his saber at the bodies of the soldiers. "You're only hastening your own demise by going on this delightful little rampage. Even if you kill me, eventually they will catch you - and the next time they do they won't give you the chance to escape."
One look into the Battousai's eyes told Fushiyuuki that he already knew he was doomed - and that he didn't care. His eyes weren't those of a desperate man, of a man seeking revenge, nor even of a madman. Those two amethyst eyes, which burned into Fushiyuuki's very soul, weren't even human; they were the eyes of a demon. Gone were the emotional barriers, the complex sentiments that all humans share. Instead, there was pure, unadulterated hatred of the whole world. This was a being that would kill everyone on the planet if he were able.
Before Fushiyuuki could draw his next breath, the Battousai made his first move. Dropping the reins, he crouched briefly and then jumped - he was impossibly high; how could anyone jump like that? - into the air. As Fushiyuuki followed the Battousai's path, the midday sun shone into his eyes and momentarily blinded him. Reflexively, he put up a hand to shield his eyes from the glare. Damn him to hell, he thought, he's using the sun to -
He wasn't even able to finish the thought. In the next heartbeat, the Battousai plunged down and slashed. Suddenly, the arm Fushiyuuki had used to shield his eyes was gone. Just like that - gone. Staring in horror at the stump that abruptly ended just below the elbow, at the blood that gushed out in time to the beating of his own terrified heart, Fushiyuuki opened his mouth to scream. But even that was denied him, for without a moment's hesitation the Battousai swung his blade upwards and cut diagonally from Fushiyuuki's hip to his shoulder, slicing him nearly in half.
Fushiyuuki collapsed in a bloody heap with a sound that resembled someone dropping a half-full bag of wet cement. He was dead long before he hit the ground. The Battousai watched him fall, shifting his foot slightly to avoid the remaining outstretched arm. Slowly, calmly, he raised one hand to his face and wiped away the blood from his victims that had splattered on his face. As he did so, his fingers brushed the tender flesh of his newly opened scar, sending a twinge of pain up the side of his face.
He paused, as if he had just now realized that his scar was bleeding. Carefully, the Battousai ran his fingers up and down the length of the gash as if stroking it, contemplating the spasms of pain it induced. After a moment he withdrew his hand and held it in front of him, staring down at the blood on his fingertips. There was so much blood on those hands - the blood of the Battousai's enemies, the blood of those he hated... but also the blood of those he loved...
Slowly, his eyes softened their gaze as the manslayer receded and the gentle wanderer took control once more. As he left his icy cocoon, a barrage of emotions assailed Kenshin with so much force that it actually hurt him physically. Oh dear god, what had he done?! With a sob of agony Kenshin sank to his knees, letting fall the tears that would not come before. Not only had he killed so many people, but Sanosuke was gone. Dead. Kenshin had broken two vows - to never kill again, and to protect those he loved.
Kenshin wept uncontrollably for several minutes, hugging himself and rocking back and forth like a scared child, as the events of the past day replayed themselves over and over, always returning to the look of surprise on Sanosuke's face as the life drained out of him. God, why did it have to be like this? How could Kenshin live with himself now? He'd never be able to look Kaoru or Yahiko in the face again, after what he'd done. They'd be so ashamed to be even associated with a murderer like him.
Murderer. Kenshin shuddered at the word. It was so ugly, so cruel - yet even that word didn't fully describe the terrible, ghastly crime he'd committed. He was a murderer. A killer. A hitokiri. Kenshin groaned with anguish and bent over double until the edges of his red bangs brushed the bloodstained ground before him. As he did so, something caught the sun and glinted brightly in the corner of his eye. He turned to see the katana he'd taken from Namaka lying in the dirt, its blade dulled with blood from his victims. It made Kenshin sick to even look at that weapon; he wanted to either throw it into the woods or run away as fast as he could or both. But still...
He picked up the katana by the blade, ignoring how the razor-sharp edge bit into his palms and drew blood. This sword has taken so many lives, Kenshin thought. Perhaps it could claim just one more. He placed the tip of the blade against his stomach, right below his sternum, pressing just hard enough to nick the skin. Closing his eyes, Kenshin tilted his head back slightly and whispered one word - his first true prayer: "Sano..."
Himura Kenshin ended one last life.
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*moment of silence*
....I really hope that made you sad. It is what I intended. But don't bother yelling at me because when you think about it, this is the most logical ending. And the least cheesy. And if there's one thing I hate, it's cheesy endings.
So please send in your reviews, whether you liked the story or not. This is my only source of entertainment other than homework.
And oh are you guys gonna hate me when this ends....
----------------------------------------------------
This can't be happening, Kenshin thought. Things like this didn't happen in real life - it was reserved for stories. For the theater. For nightmares.
But this wasn't a nightmare.
Sanosuke staggered as the little round bullet hit him square in the chest. There was no sound, no cry of pain at all, giving it the surreal atmosphere of some terrible dream - a dream that couldn't be woken up from. As Kenshin looked on in wide-eyed shock, Sano sank to his knees, a look of complete surprise on his face. Teetering there for a moment that lasted an eternity, he slumped down on the cold floor.
It was this last action that finally tore Kenshin out of his horrified trance. "Sano!" he sobbed, practically diving for his fallen friend.
"Please do not move, Himura-san," Namaka said, pointing his revolver at Kenshin.
It was the terrifying coolness of his voice, not the words themselves, which forced Kenshin to obey. Though every fiber in Kenshin's being screamed at him to check Sano - He might still be alive! Oh god, please let him be alive! - he stood and faced his plain-faced nemesis, his whole body shaking slightly with shock and grief.
"Please excuse the inconvenience," Namaka said, as if he were asking Kenshin a minor favor, "but if you don't mind I'd like to kill you by the sword. I believe it will be much more entertaining." He holstered his gun and drew his sword - a katana instead of the usual saber. It was the first atypical attribute about him, besides his unnatural speed. The blade glinting keenly in the light of the kerosene lanterns lining the walls, Namaka advanced at a relaxed walk towards Kenshin.
Kenshin made no move for his weapon. Instead, he stared down at Sano's still form, as if unwilling to believe that the fighter wasn't going to stand back up, flash his cocky grin, and make some smart-ass remark like he had all those times before. Get up, get up, Kenshin commanded his friend silently. Sano couldn't die now - they'd been through too much together. Since they'd met, Kenshin and Sano had shared danger, sorrow, and joy. They had divulged innermost thoughts and emotions, learned the taste of each other's bodies...
Anger flared up in Kenshin, causing him to clench his quivering fists. He could have been happy! For once, after all these years, he had found someone to love and desire. Didn't he deserve at least a little happiness? And what about Sanosuke, who had also been through so many hardships? Couldn't he get some pleasure, some satisfaction out of life? It wasn't fair! Just when they'd found some glimmer of joy, some little bit of happiness to call their own, it was torn away for ever... by him.
Kenshin's gaze snapped up and landed on Namaka, who was now just a few dozen feet away. It was his fault Sano was gone. Because of him, Kenshin couldn't ever be with the one he loved again. What right did he have to do this to someone?!
...But... no... that wasn't right. It wasn't just Namaka who was responsible - not even that slimeball Fushiyuuki was entirely to blame. The whole fucking world was. The entire planet was against Kenshin. Against Sano. Against them. Even if there were gods, then they were also hostile towards Kenshin and Sano. There was no way they could have ever been happy - for reasons that they couldn't even understand or begin to control. It just wasn't fair...
A cold, terrible bitterness gripped Kenshin's heart with icy claws, replacing his initial anger and sorrow and wiping out all other thoughts. Without even realizing it, his trembling hand strayed over the hilt of the sword Sano had given him. As he gripped the hilt the shaking in his limbs subsided, replaced by a quiet - yet immense - strength. "No..." he whispered. A refusal of temptation? Even he didn't know. "No," he repeated, more forcefully, "no, no, NO!!" This final word of denial morphed into a ferocious battle cry as he drew his sword just in time to block Namaka's blow. The two clashed for a moment, sparks flying from their blades, before they sprang away to size each other up. A mere second passed before they charged.
A saber and a katana are very similar in principal - that is, they both focus on slashing the opponent with the blade rather than stabbing with the tip, which is the driving notion in most Western blades. Because of this parallel, it was relatively easy for Kenshin to adapt to the European-made sword as he and Namaka dueled. However, the confined space of the corridor prevented Kenshin from maneuvering much and thus he couldn't perform his deadliest attacks, which Namaka used to his full advantage. The fight quickly became a contest of brute strength and speed, areas where the contestants were nearly equal. The two exchanged blows again and again, both straining for an opening in the other's impeccable defense.
As the duel dragged on, Kenshin retreated further and further into the unfeeling tundra that was growing inside him in order to escape the near-incapacitating grief that vied for dominance within his heart. He had hidden in this frozen landscape devoid of any emotion long before - during the revolution, as the Battousai who killed without mercy. Kenshin abhorred reverting to the inhuman ways of his former self, but it was either that or face the horrendous truth: Sano was gone.
He just couldn't admit that. Not yet.
Old habits and nuances resurfaced as Kenshin delved deeper into the persona of the Battousai. His footwork became firmer, more confident, and his blows lost their hesitation, their fear of causing real damage. Namaka must have noticed, for his own swordplay suddenly seemed more anxious and in a greater rush to finish the job he had started. Suddenly, Kenshin realized that he'd crossed too far over the schism that separated the wanderer that refused to kill from the lethal Battousai. Oh god, he thought, what am I doing? I can't...!
Too little. Too late.
He slashed downwards. Something warm and wet splattered across his face. Namaka collapsed to the ground, his chest a bloody mess. Kenshin could literally see the last beating of his enemy's heart as the blood spewing from severed arteries pulsed once, twice, then slowed to a trickle.
Kenshin stared down at his slain adversary, his eyes wide and glazed over with shock. Ten years... ten years ago he had made the oath to never take a life again. His entire being had been devoted to fulfilling that oath, even if it meant his own life. And now he had broken his vow. Consciously. Willingly. It made part of Kenshin want to vomit even thinking about what he'd done. And yet...
And yet, another part of him - a part that was rapidly taking control - felt surprisingly... liberated. That part of Kenshin was like a wild animal in a cage - confined, under control for now, yet very conscious - and now that that animal had broken free it wanted to make up for lost time spent in captivity, away from the world.
At the end of the hallway, another regiment of soldiers searching for the escaped convicts spotted Kenshin and what used to be Namaka. Amongst loud shouts of "Namaka-san!" and "You bastard!" the soldiers drew their swords and charged at Kenshin with the full intention of avenging their fallen comrade.
The Battousai heard and registered their presence, though he did not turn towards them. Instead, he dropped his pilfered saber on the stone floor with a loud clang and picked up Namaka's katana, which was definitely a superior weapon. As he ran his fingers along the finely honed blade with the same tenderness that one would embrace a long-absent friend who had just returned, the Battousai looked back over his shoulder at the oncoming men, his eyes like two cold, hard gems. After years of being healed over, the damaged skin tissue on his left cheek spontaneously reopened as neatly as if it had been sliced with a knife.
Kenshin's scar began to bleed.
O_O O_O O_O
Fushiyuuki looked out the carriage window, back at the structure of the prison receding into the trees, and settled back into his plush seat. At the first sign of trouble he had high-tailed his ass out of there, leaving his aide Namaka behind with full confidence in the unusual man's ability to handle any... problems that may occur.
Drumming his fingers rapidly on his leg, Fushiyuuki chewed his lower lip with irritation. He was scheduled to have a meeting with the Director of Internal Affairs concerning his upcoming promotion in return for his quick handling of the attempted bombing incident, but this incident currently unfolding at the prison would undoubtedly delay things. If the shit really hit the fan, it was even possible that Fushiyuuki would be denied his long-sought-after advancement. Of all the possible days to have an event like this...
Suddenly, the carriage lurched to an abrupt halt. Fushiyuuki looked up, an annoyed expression on his face. Now what? He waited for a moment, expecting either the driver or one of his other escorts to open the door and explain exactly what the hell was going on, coupled with a profuse apology for the inconvenience. Seconds passed, but no one appeared. Finally, Fushiyuuki's patience ran out and he irritably opened the door himself, silently deciding exactly whose heads were going to roll for all this.
He turned and spotted the liver-colored horse of one of his escorts milling nervously several yards off the road, stamping its hooves, snorting, and flattening its ears fretfully. The sight didn't sit right with Fushiyuuki. Where the hell was the rider? He looked around and quickly spotted both of his escorts. Lying on the road. Surrounded by blood. With most of their insides on the outside.
The blood drained from Fushiyuuki's face at the sight of his slain men. Quickly nearing panic, he whirled around - only to be faced with the driver, whose broken body was draped over the top of the carriage. The right arm was missing; all was left was a bloody stump cut so cleanly that Fushiyuuki could see all the bone and veins as clearly as if it were a cross-section diagram in a book of anatomy.
Standing over the driver's body, the carriage's reins in one hand and a bloody katana in the other, was a short, lean man with long hair as red as the blood that was splattered over his clothes and face. On his left cheek, a cross-shaped gash oozed dark blood, adding to his demonic appearance. It took a few moments for Fushiyuuki's panicked brain to recognize the man - it was the swordsman that had turned himself in as the culprit in the attempted bombing of the Internal Affairs building. Himura Kenshin. Formerly known as Hitokiri Battousai... "Battousai the Manslayer."
Bile rose in Fushiyuuki's throat as he realized, despite being quite good with a sword, he stood no chance against someone of the Battousai's caliber. Nevertheless, he drew his sword and said in a loud, forced voice, "Well, well, well, if it isn't my dear friend Himura-san. I see you convinced the guards to let you go."
The Battousai didn't respond, didn't so much as move a muscle.
"Tell me, Himura-san, what exactly do you hope to accomplish by... eh... all this?" Fushiyuuki asked, gesturing with the blade of his saber at the bodies of the soldiers. "You're only hastening your own demise by going on this delightful little rampage. Even if you kill me, eventually they will catch you - and the next time they do they won't give you the chance to escape."
One look into the Battousai's eyes told Fushiyuuki that he already knew he was doomed - and that he didn't care. His eyes weren't those of a desperate man, of a man seeking revenge, nor even of a madman. Those two amethyst eyes, which burned into Fushiyuuki's very soul, weren't even human; they were the eyes of a demon. Gone were the emotional barriers, the complex sentiments that all humans share. Instead, there was pure, unadulterated hatred of the whole world. This was a being that would kill everyone on the planet if he were able.
Before Fushiyuuki could draw his next breath, the Battousai made his first move. Dropping the reins, he crouched briefly and then jumped - he was impossibly high; how could anyone jump like that? - into the air. As Fushiyuuki followed the Battousai's path, the midday sun shone into his eyes and momentarily blinded him. Reflexively, he put up a hand to shield his eyes from the glare. Damn him to hell, he thought, he's using the sun to -
He wasn't even able to finish the thought. In the next heartbeat, the Battousai plunged down and slashed. Suddenly, the arm Fushiyuuki had used to shield his eyes was gone. Just like that - gone. Staring in horror at the stump that abruptly ended just below the elbow, at the blood that gushed out in time to the beating of his own terrified heart, Fushiyuuki opened his mouth to scream. But even that was denied him, for without a moment's hesitation the Battousai swung his blade upwards and cut diagonally from Fushiyuuki's hip to his shoulder, slicing him nearly in half.
Fushiyuuki collapsed in a bloody heap with a sound that resembled someone dropping a half-full bag of wet cement. He was dead long before he hit the ground. The Battousai watched him fall, shifting his foot slightly to avoid the remaining outstretched arm. Slowly, calmly, he raised one hand to his face and wiped away the blood from his victims that had splattered on his face. As he did so, his fingers brushed the tender flesh of his newly opened scar, sending a twinge of pain up the side of his face.
He paused, as if he had just now realized that his scar was bleeding. Carefully, the Battousai ran his fingers up and down the length of the gash as if stroking it, contemplating the spasms of pain it induced. After a moment he withdrew his hand and held it in front of him, staring down at the blood on his fingertips. There was so much blood on those hands - the blood of the Battousai's enemies, the blood of those he hated... but also the blood of those he loved...
Slowly, his eyes softened their gaze as the manslayer receded and the gentle wanderer took control once more. As he left his icy cocoon, a barrage of emotions assailed Kenshin with so much force that it actually hurt him physically. Oh dear god, what had he done?! With a sob of agony Kenshin sank to his knees, letting fall the tears that would not come before. Not only had he killed so many people, but Sanosuke was gone. Dead. Kenshin had broken two vows - to never kill again, and to protect those he loved.
Kenshin wept uncontrollably for several minutes, hugging himself and rocking back and forth like a scared child, as the events of the past day replayed themselves over and over, always returning to the look of surprise on Sanosuke's face as the life drained out of him. God, why did it have to be like this? How could Kenshin live with himself now? He'd never be able to look Kaoru or Yahiko in the face again, after what he'd done. They'd be so ashamed to be even associated with a murderer like him.
Murderer. Kenshin shuddered at the word. It was so ugly, so cruel - yet even that word didn't fully describe the terrible, ghastly crime he'd committed. He was a murderer. A killer. A hitokiri. Kenshin groaned with anguish and bent over double until the edges of his red bangs brushed the bloodstained ground before him. As he did so, something caught the sun and glinted brightly in the corner of his eye. He turned to see the katana he'd taken from Namaka lying in the dirt, its blade dulled with blood from his victims. It made Kenshin sick to even look at that weapon; he wanted to either throw it into the woods or run away as fast as he could or both. But still...
He picked up the katana by the blade, ignoring how the razor-sharp edge bit into his palms and drew blood. This sword has taken so many lives, Kenshin thought. Perhaps it could claim just one more. He placed the tip of the blade against his stomach, right below his sternum, pressing just hard enough to nick the skin. Closing his eyes, Kenshin tilted his head back slightly and whispered one word - his first true prayer: "Sano..."
Himura Kenshin ended one last life.
--------------------------------------
*moment of silence*
....I really hope that made you sad. It is what I intended. But don't bother yelling at me because when you think about it, this is the most logical ending. And the least cheesy. And if there's one thing I hate, it's cheesy endings.
So please send in your reviews, whether you liked the story or not. This is my only source of entertainment other than homework.