Kenshin gave Sakurai a moment's head start before sprinting forward, meeting the samurai's charge halfway in a crashing flurry of swords. Sakurai's style was flowing, elegant, with big sweeping motions ending in flourishes -- a far cry from Kenshin's own minimalist technique. But he was fast, and strong. They flew apart with a screech of steel.
Kenshin landed on both feet and spun around, ready for the next attack. The cut in his side was stinging again; the motion had tugged at it and he'd felt something give. No big deal though. He could handle this.
Sakurai was smiling, delighted, his cheeks flushed and exhilaration in his eyes. "You touched me!" he exclaimed. "If you had a real sword, you would have drawn blood!" He flicked his eyes toward Kobayashi, then back to Kenshin. "If you joined us..."
Kenshin shook his head a fraction. "Let Shinichiro go."
Sakurai looked disappointed for a moment, then shrugged dismissively. He met Kenshin's eyes and gave a small nod, as if to cue the next charge, and sprang forward.
Kenshin leapt at the same instant, slashing in at Shinichiro's center line, pressing forward. Faster. Sakurai dodged, blocked, twice, three times, and then sprung forward himself, his long black topknot flying behind him. Kenshin ducked under the first swing, blocked the next two and dodged the fourth. Sakurai was forcing him back. He clenched his teeth and threw himself forward -- faster! -- but Sakurai met his lunge in a close press of swords and they were nose-to-nose for an instant before they hurled each other apart.
Kenshin slid to a halt next to Shinichiro, breathing hard. His sleeve fell open; tiny beads of blood made a line across his upper arm.
"Shinichiro. Run. Get out of here now."
He kept his eyes nailed to Sakurai. Shinichiro hadn't seemed to hear him. No time to repeat. Sakurai was gathering himself to spring again, his dark eyes hungry. But Kenshin was in his element, the adrenaline singing in his blood. He raced forward again -- faster, faster! -- this time a fraction of a second before Sakurai, and their swords met in a rapid ting-ting-ting before they flew apart again.
Kenshin ricocheted off a tree (his ponytail snagging on a branch; he yanked it free with a jerk of his head) and flew at Sakurai again, their two swords cutting the air into ribbons.
Shinichiro watched, or tried to watch, his eyes registering only the arcs of reflected dawnlight left by the flashing swords in front of him, the black ribbon of Sakurai's hair and the red fan of Kenshin's, pulled loose by an encounter with a tree just a moment ago. His heart was pounding, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck.
This was what he'd seen in Kyoto.
Only, it wasn't! It still wasn't! Fast as Kenshin was moving, Sakurai was holding his own. And there was something desperate now creeping into Kenshin's style. He was tiring, much faster than Sakurai was. To another swordsman, it was obvious.
The two flew apart, paused for the blink of an eye, and crashed together again. Enough time for Shinichiro to see the blood spotting through the bandages wrapped around Kenshin's ribs. So that was why.
He almost stepped forward. He had caused that.
Shinichiro was well aware that he would most likely lose in a fight against Kobayashi. He'd been aware of it when he'd taken Kobayashi's challenge rather than be a part of their ill-advised ambush, choosing his own path of honor even if it led to his death. There had never been any question. He was samurai.
And now he was aware that Kenshin was trying to save his life. Why? What could he possibly mean to Himura Battousai? For whatever reason, Kenshin was trying. And it looked like he was going to fail. Shinichiro almost laughed at the irony. So this was his karma. Kenshin's blood on his sword the night before, and because of that, his own blood on Kobayashi's this morning.
Kenshin had paused, crouching slightly with his eyes narrowed, standing still for just a moment too long as Sakurai whirled towards him, his blade swinging in an unstoppable horizontal arc.
Shinichiro stopped breathing. This was it.
Now.
Kenshin jumped high into the air as Sakurai slashed into the space where he'd been just a moment before. He tucked his knees, pulling in his sword as he reached the top of the arc and started to fall, hair floating weightless behind his head. Sakurai finished his swing, still not yet aware that his target had moved.
Kenshin brought the blunt steel down hard across Sakurai's shoulder. Sakurai staggered, knees folding, and slumped limply to the ground.
Kenshin landed awkwardly, stumbling a little. Sakurai was down, unmoving. But something-- He caught a flash of motion from the corner of his eye and spun, throwing up his sword barely in time to block Tomonaga's overhand swing, then the second and third, easily as fast as Sakurai but straight and sudden, without the readable lead of arm and shoulder--
Kenshin's guard was up, over his head, and Tomonaga took the opening, twisting his hips to land a vicious turning kick on Kenshin's bandaged ribs.
Kenshin felt something tear in his side, the pain cutting through the sudden numbness of the impact as his feet left the ground.
His fingers clenched instinctively on the handle of his sword. He'd been taught that a long time ago.
'Rule number one. Don't let go of your sword. If you lose your sword, you die.'
The ground hit him, hard, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He skidded on hard earth, scraping skin off his knuckles, not sure which way was down.
Someone was shouting his name.
"Himura! Himura!"
"Get up, boy."
"Don't bother, Tomonaga, there's no time, just kill him."
"Himura!"
Kenshin forced air into his lungs. Darkness swirled around him.
'Rule number two. Keep breathing. If you don't breathe properly you'll black out, and if you black out, you die.'
The sound of another sword being drawn, almost directly above him.
"Yukawa?! What the hell are you doing? Get out of the way!"
"No." Shinichiro's voice, clear and calm. Then a tense silence.
Kenshin clenched his teeth and lifted his head.
'Rule number three. Ignore the pain. If you live through the fight, you can deal with your injuries later.'
His vision cleared in time to see Shinichiro springing forward from beside him to meet Tomonaga's rush, their swords keening as they scraped past each other. Bad, very bad...
Shinichiro blocked Tomonaga's next strike and then half-turned, slashing upwards. A thin spray of blood followed the arc of his sword, spattering to the ground not far to Kenshin's left. Tomonaga staggered back, his peaked eyebrows shooting upward in surprise.
"Shinichiro!" Kenshin gasped, pushing himself up with his hands and pulling his knees under him. Too fast, it was all moving too fast, and Kobayashi was rushing towards him now from the other direction, pulling out his sword....
Tomonaga's face twisted in rage and he launched himself back at Shinichiro with a bloodcurdling scream, his sword tracing an arc of light through the air above him.
Kenshin pushed off desperately from the ground, straightening his legs and bringing his sword up to block Kobayashi's first strike. It jolted him back, wrenching his shoulder, nearly making him fall. No time... He twisted, planted one foot as he parried Kobayashi's second swing, and jumped. Too slow... Tomonaga had just made contact, slashing Shinichiro across the chest, and Shinichiro was falling, Tomonaga bringing his sword up in both hands, ready to stab--
Kenshin tucked his knees and hammered his sword down across the back of Tomonaga's shoulders. Tomonaga went down like a felled tree.
Kenshin landed lightly on his toes and started to spin back towards Kobayashi. His left leg buckled unexpectedly and he went down, a thin line of pain shooting upwards from the outside of his knee. What--? He glanced down momentarily, trying to get his feet back under him. There was a long slash down the outside of his hakama, blood on the edges of the white fabric.
Annoying. It would slow him down. Kenshin was back on his feet, just a little unsteady, his weight on his right leg. He watched Kobayashi through narrowed eyes, sakabatou in both hands. The samurai had his wakizashi out, held left-handed in a backwards grip. It must have just clipped him when he'd jumped.
Kobayashi wasn't attacking. He was walking slowly to one side, almost sauntering, his round face calm and relaxed. But his eyes were full of rage. Kenshin shifted awkwardly to keep Shinichiro behind him. Something warm ran down his side below the bandages, tickling him. He ignored it.
"Himura..." It was Shinichiro, struggling to lift his head.
Kenshin ignored him too, keeping his eyes on Kobayashi. The samurai was slowly making a half-circle around the edge of the clearing. Kenshin shifted again to his right, staying in front of Shinichiro. Sweat dripped from the tip of his nose.
At last Kobayashi came to a halt and turned towards him, sheathing his wakizashi and stilling into a subtle stance, katana in both hands. It was to be a single charge, then. This was it.
Kenshin sheathed his sword deliberately and dropped into the stance for battoujutsu, right foot forward, left foot back, knees deeply bent. He held the sheath in his left hand, right hand hovering ready in front of him with fingers spread.
Kobayashi waited. Ten seconds. Kenshin's knees started to tremble. Twenty seconds. Thirty--
The sun peeked above the mountain directly behind Kobayashi, hitting Kenshin in the eyes. He blinked, his vision dazzled, and in that moment Kobayashi sprang.
But it didn't matter. Kenshin didn't need to see to do this. He pressed the sakabatou hard against the outside curve of the sheath and drew as fast as he could.
He felt the blunt edge of his sword connect perfectly with Kobayashi's solar plexus, felt the slight change in Kobayashi's momentum that sent the samurai flying over Kenshin's right shoulder, leading the arc of his sword. His arm reached full extension. He heard Kobayashi hit the ground behind him.
