Disclaimer: shivers : I don't own Kenshin. I own the Samurai X movie and the entire series on DVD, but alas, with my DVD player at my grandmas, I have no way to watch them. : sulks :

Author's Notes: Well well well! CHAPTER TIME: does not hear anything : Okay, be that way then! SEE IF I CARE! LOL. I'm going to start this chapter with no ideas, so if you think I made it turn out completely terrible, I apologize ahead of time. I'm going to be doing a lot of time skipping to get to the next strong part of the story. Bear with me, please? Oh, and to Kat, who told me about the problems with half of the chapter being indented and the other half not being indented………… when I wrote out the chapter it was all indented, but for some reason when it posted it got rid of the indenting I did. I wonder why? AND THANK YOU DOVE-OF-NIGHT FOR REVIEWING TO MY STORY. I am so honoured to have your support. And as always, I'm going to shout out to my dear friend, Human Chew Toy. Just because your special, too! That's a darn good reason in my book.The interlude to this chapter is from a poem I have posted on this site, called 'Curse in Death'.

Building the Hitokiri

Chapter 7- Curse Upon a Cursed Soul

'In the dark the man still fights,

Amongst dying days and bleeding nights...'

Splendor.

Beauty.

Strength.

Ideals.

Sacrifice.

Kenshin's mind wandered through these thoughts as his hands cleaned the blade of his katana. The monster he held within his palms was tamed by only one- that one being him. But did he truly tame this thing, this tool of absolute murder and destruction, or, in a sense, did it possess him? Was he under the power of something that would weigh him down forever, was he the tool of this tool of warfare? In this cruel world, was he a pawn being played to the furthest extents of his powers, being driven to unimaginable odds, and then being bounced back to do more of the rulings of his god, this godforsaken katana?

There was a splendor to such a weapon- the intricate way in which it was made, how it reflected the lights of day and illuminated the color of blood, giving it a spectacular appearance. The beauty it held, just staring at such a crafted piece of technology, one that you were bound to and would forever be, was immense. You could never compare something so thoughtfully prepared, with so much heart behind it. No other weapon could compare- everything else was that of a coward. The strength of a katana, of a live blade of steel as cold as ice was stronger than that of a gattling gun, or any other western made weaponry that could be produced. It took skill to achieve this weapon's strict course of action- and Kenshin had surpassed all expectations in this manner.

Ideals were borne by such things, these swords that were carried regretlessly at the sides of so many other samurai, some skilled and some just holding the blade to feel good. Ideals were borne from this, ideals that drove this revolution, the Bakumatsu, to the extent of slaughtering carnage it was at now. It was the ideals that bled from these gods of men, demons of weapons, these swords- it was these ideals that forced the country in two and made it snap, bleeding the men that were found lifeless and embodied upon the streets of so many towns each night. Sacrifices, they were, to bandage a blood seeping nation and help it heal. One day, this bloodlust, the rain caused of liquid cherry blossoms would end. That was the one thing that helped Kenshin hold on.

There was no other truth. Sacrifices now to save those later; he had to do this to help prevent the things that happened to him from happening to other innocent people. But how many innocent people had he killed, simply because they had witnessed the horrendous acts he caused, the devilish things his sword could do? How many people never got to see their mothers again, assure their wives they'd be home, drop of a gift for their brother or protect their sister from prying eyes? How many daughters lost the thing that held their family together, and how many sons lost the man they looked up to, just because of his orders to keep his acts secret?

Kenshin shook his head. He shouldn't think about this. There was no reason to worry so much about these things. He wasn't destroying any lives- he was destroying evil and then preserving the generations that followed.

But, how many would give up because of such loss? How strong would the next generation be? What kind of men, women, children- what kind of people would thrive because of his blood shedding nights and guilt filled days? How many people would simply give up, because of the loss he caused?

No one would understand in the end, he decided, taking the cloth he was using to scrub away at the remnants of hundreds of men from nights past. No one would understand, and in the end, he'd have to sacrifice himself to make up for what he did. Running his hand along his trusted sword, he could feel the strained texture. Most swords were smooth, sharp only to one edge. But his was covered in scratches, a few dents present here or there. The scratches on this blade would cut your hand if you held them with even the slightest pressure, and each were there to symbolize one dead soul he'd someday remember and regret taking.

Slipping his sword back into its sheath, Kenshin stood and looked out at the men practicing. Each was acting just like a new recruit, just like he had. Strong ideals to uphold, people to impress, friends to avenge. And the sad part was, in Kenshin's reasoning, only a third of these men would be able to go home to the people they left behind, and the rest will leave legacies of ideals they never were able to ensure and goals they never fulfilled. So many of them would die in vain.

And, what if it wasn't their side that won? How many of them would have lost their lives over a justice that was never served? How many would become unneeded sacrifices, and how many people would look down upon them for the things they had fought for with such vigor and vivacity? So many were dealt such useless endings. And Kenshin pitied them all.

He had survived one year of warfare in the shadows, fighting with a lightening skill that offered painless death to his victims. They died before they knew they were in the reach of a katana's bloodthirsty, demon driven blade. And not once had he himself had to meet resistance. The chance of that was slim, but he prayed that it would come. If he could fight in a battle where there as a chance of him getting hurt, then perhaps the death he dealt wouldn't weight upon him so much.

"Himura." Came a voice.

Turning slowly, Kenshin looked at his addresser. "Katsura-san."

Katsura took a seat next to his brooding prodigy, looking forward slightly. "You don't need to continue with this, Kenshin. I see how it affects you- you're definently not the same person I took in as my assassin. You fight for the same reasons, that's never changed in you. But you've closed yourself off more than you used to, and you don't communicate with anything more than short, curt sentenances."

"Sir?"

"See what I mean, Himura. This job affects you more than you let off. Don't let my selfish decision ruin your life more than it has. You've had a troubled childhood, I could tell by the way her were when I suggested the job to you, when I found you. It is your choice, Kenshin, but I want you to know, that you can stop whenever you desire. Until then, I will still have to give you the jobs I have you assigned to, and you will still have to do what I cannot entrust to the other men." Katsura told him.

"You regret it?"

Looking at Kenshin fully, Katsura took in his words. "I will never regret helping you try and achieve your goals by using your skills to their highest extent, but, I will always regret not being able to find a way that would better suit the man you are."

"I am an assassin." Kenshin told him. "Don't regret the sins I caused on my own."

Katsura looked toward the other men that were training, using his keen eyes to track down anyone with a superior skill. "My offer is still open. You may walk away at anytime, and you will never be frowned upon as a coward. Your intentions were good, and you served well and beyond the call of your duties. You deserve this option, and it will remain open until the end of this war."

Dropping and envelope next to him, Katsura walked away. Kenshin pocketed the black note and otherwise remained unmoving, his thoughts swimming rapidly in his head toward the intent of his leader.

Speed. Faster. He was late for his mission that night, having been postponed by an abnormally long meeting and then the delay in his meal. If his godlike speed failed him now, Battousai would fail, and it would be his first- and last- failure. Pushing the speed up a notch, he slid to a silent halt.

The street was quiet, the area too desolate and dangerous for habitation. Yet, some people were fool enough to walk this street at night, including the man whose life he was after. He took a moment to pity the man who was going to die because of a stupid mistake. Battousai would give anything to not have to kill for one day, to be able to go back and say that he had never met up with the target. But this was his job, and if he had to do it, he was determined to excel at it.

Night had grown unusually dark, but it had been that way ever since his first kill. The nights seemed darker, and the moon a deeper shade of red with each passing night. Soon, he feared he'd be completely engulfed in a false darkness. Shaking away his morbid thoughts, Battousai found a good place to lurk in the shadows as he awaited that night's victim.

His eyes were keen, but he heard his victim long before he saw them. He kept his ears in tune to the conversation, something he wouldn't normally do. Maybe this could help give some new information to his twisted cause, and maybe, the bloodshed could end earlier.

"It's much too dangerous here. Lets hurry up."

"I've heard the news, Kiyosato."

"What news?"

"You know what I'm talking about, son."

"Oh, yes."

"You're a lucky boy to be getting such a lovely bride."

Battousai cringed. There were three men, and one of them would be leaving behind their betrothed that night. Inside his body wished to double over and let him do something he should have done a long time ago- vomit and cry. He felt oddly guilty for a crime he had yet to commit, and the way he was planning on doing it- the body he left behind wouldn't even be fit to send back to whoever this man, Kiyosato's, woman was. He felt sorry for her in that moment, but he had to push his emotions aside.

He had no choice in the matter anymore. Kill or be killed.

"Yes but I must admit I feel a bit guilty for having so much happiness while so many others are suffering."

'You don't know what guilt is, what suffering can be. You don't know the definition of anger or hatred, or the feelings of regret and anguish. You speak like you know so much.' Battousai thought momentarily. 'But, you will not have need to ponder such trivial things anymore. I am sorry; I would prefer not to have to take your life tonight, if not for you than for the woman you'll be leaving behind, but I must.'

"That's nonsense. Each man must seize happiness for himself, regardless of the sorry state of the world."

Battousai gripped his skull tightly. These words were doing something to him he couldn't explain. It was irritating him. He had to get this assignment over with before he failed to do so.

"You are Jubei Shigekura of the Kyoto Shoshidai, are you not?" he said, his voice cold. "Now old man, you will pay for your tyranny."

The men seemed shocked at his appearance- none of them had realized it was the Battousai at that moment. A few threats were shot him, and all reflected by the invisible, icy shield he had placed around himself and his life. The largest of the three men ran forward, attacking him without hesitation.

Taking no stance, Battousai reflected the first shot with his hilt, slamming the sheath into the mans eye. As he stumbled back, the kill shot screamed through the air and the man fell to the ground, soaked in blood and spraying like a waterfall across the alleyway and all the men in it. The second guard ran in front of Jubei, but he forced him back.

"No Kiyosato, he's after me."

That had a been a fool move on the mans part. Battousai wedged his sword between the man's arms, and sprung it up through his jaw, slicing venomously through the bone of his skull and the softness of his brain. The sword was stuck, and he yanked toward himself, pulling the red glittering blade through the mans skull. This maneuver proved to cut the face half so it opened like a book, exposing his snow-white bone amongst pink tissue from brain and the deep crimson of blood. He fell forward, his eyes wide open and the now unconnected flesh wrinkling against the disgusting blood soaked earth.

That left one man. Battousai looked at him, and watched the horror spread across his face. He ran forward slightly, unblinking as he stared at the terrifying carnage and shreds that was now his two companions.

Battousai lurched forward, his sword poised to kill. Kiyosato didn't think, he just reacted and deflected the potentionally deathly blow. Arching away slightly, Battousai brought his wakizashi to slice through Kiyosato's stomach. He jumped back and forced himself to stand, panting heavy.

"Drop your sword."

Kiyosato refused, and attacked at his own will, both of his strikes being easily parried. Another slice from Battousai's death scythe of a sword was aimed into his shoulder, and again Kiyosato backed away, falling ungracefully to his knees in the process. His face was contorted with concentration, not agony as expected.

'What is driving this man? He's not very skilled, yet, he's outlasted any of my former foes.' Battousai thought, not allowing his confusion to shine through to his eyes of lava-like amber. 'Why is he refusing the inevitable?'

Using his sword, he stood up again. "I fight until you're dead!"

Battousai and Kiyosato charged at one another. Battousai's blade sliced through his chest, and he fell, crying out in agony and mumbling something about a woman named Tomoe. Stepping closer, Battousai did the only thinkg he could do for the man to keep him from his agony. He chopped through his throat, and twisted the blade, and there he died.

Hearing footsteps but sensing a familiar ki, Battousai stopped staring at the man at his feet and cleaned his blade with a quick flip of his wrist. He sheathed it before looking at the men that ran to the scene.

"That took longer that usual, Himura." It was Iizuka. He walked closer, and his eyes widened. "Himura, is that a wound on your cheek?"

Unaware he had even been close to being injured; he brought his hand up to his cheek, run his fingers along it. There was a sticky liquid, and upon pulling his hand back, he saw the blood that now lined the crevices of his palm and fingers.

"This man stubborn. I must not have been paying attention. It's nothing serious." He clarified. "I believe it would be your job to take care of this mess, Iizuka. Do so."

He walked away slowly from the men that were now staring at the slaughter brought about by his blade. After he was out of the distance where they could spot him, Kenshin ran.

He dumped the third bucket over his head, the chilling water doing nothing to help stop the bleeding. The wound wasn't deep, and he assumed it wouldn't even leave a scar. But still, the fact he had been injured was startling to him. It frightened him. It wasn't right.

"Don't let your ego get to you, Kenshin. You're not as good as you think you are. Every man has a weakness, and no one can ever be invincible."

Those were the words of his master after he had been excited over accomplishing to learn to the Ryu-Tsui-Sen. He had been boasting about how he could do it so well, and as usual Hiko-sensei had been there to put him back in his place with a shrill bonk on the head, orders to do laundry and cook dinner, and a lecture. But, now, the punishments for failure and other things were not so easy, and he didn't have his mentor there to instruct him in how to live day to day life, how to get over tragedies.

Was that what he had done, became too big for his ego? Had he truly began to believe that he was invincible? It had a miracle from some grace of the Gods that he had not been injured earlier. Surely an injury now would not seem all that strange. But the man hadn't been skilled at all. There had been something else behind it, behind his strength, and it was an imposing factor that slightly worried Kenshin.

What gave that man so much power?

Reaching for bandages to do the only thing he could think of, he covered the constantly bleeding wound and then left to sleep. It was so tiring and hard, and that assignment had been oddly more disturbing to his state of mind than the rest. Kenshin leaned against the books in his room, not bothering to change. This night, in remembrance of that man, Kiyosato, he was going to sit and haunt himself with the scent of blood and nightmares, along with the realization he hated most.

He was just like his father. He was becoming his father. Killing people and ruining happiness, destroying a family that was on the verge of healing, all things his father had done. But the only difference was that he had suffered for it, and his father was still getting away with it.

Closing his eyes and willing these musings away from his oddly achy body, Kenshin fell into a mild sleep, consisting of the repeating nightmare of a woman finding her love dead on the streets of Kyoto.

Author's Notes: Yes. I went back and actually watched the Samurai X movie to get the names right and to get most of the scene correct. I'm going to be spinning off from this, I have an idea concocting in my head. You'll see.

Thank you to all the reviewers. I love you!

Love and hugs,

Crystal Renee