REVISED: NOVEMBER 28 2004
Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic
Summary: It's modern day. The streets are rife with violence; corporations are corrupt; assassinations, commonplace. Himura Kenshin, known only as Battousai, is a shadow assassin for an organization so secret even he doesn't know who truly runs it. However, Battousai has an even bigger secret; one, that if it were ever discovered, would mean more than his death…it would end in his total annihilation. Battousai is not only the deadliest assassin to ever prowl the dark streets of night…he is also a vampire, one of the oldest still in existence…and a rarity among his kind.
He has a soul.
- R - English –Supernatural/Drama/Romance – Multi-Chapter - Status: In-Progress –
Rurouni Kenshin & Samurai X Original Japanese Version © N.Watsuki/Shueisha Fuji-TV SME Visual Works Inc. Sony Pictures Entertainment
All Fanfics created by Chiruken (me) were written for the sole purpose of shared entertainment and not intended for publication or sale.
Tears of Eternity
By: Chiruken
Prologue
The couple walked down the deserted street snuggled up close to one another, arms encircling each other's waists. Occasionally stopping to kiss passionately, both were oblivious to their surroundings. Neither noticed the sporadic flickering of the street lights nor the sudden hushed and ominous darkness steadily approaching them. One by one the flickering fluorescent lamps went out, plunging the street into inky darkness.
A chill wind blew between the old dilapidated buildings lining the ever-darkening street, whistling through the cracks in the foundations, moaning between the buildings, and sounding eerily like human wails. The woman shivered, heavily made up eyes darting around fearfully as she moved closer to her companion, the hair on the back of her neck rising with the creepy sensation of being watched. She gasped, pressing closer to the man beside her, when her terrified gaze fell on what appeared to be a set of glowing yellow eyes peering at her unblinkingly from the shadows of an alley across from them. "E-Erik…" Her frightened whisper fell on deaf ears as the man continued to move his hands over her well-endowed form, seeming to not notice that she had become stiff and unresponsive, and trailed into nothingness when a figure attached itself to the unearthly eyes.
"You are Erik Pryce of the Gordon Communications Systems, are you not?" The cold, dispassionate voice froze the couple to the spot. Slowly, the dark-clad figure moved the edges of his knee length cloak to the side, tucking it behind what appeared to be two swords.
"Wh-what do you want?" Erik Pryce swallowed with difficulty, perspiring heavily in terror. Something told him to be afraid…very afraid…of the short man slowly approaching him. Though slight of build, the stranger had an aura of danger clinging to him that seemed to emanate across the distance in ever increasing waves that made Pryce's hair threaten to stand straight on end.
"I have come to inflict the punishment you deserve." Slowly, with deliberate movements, the shadowy form closed the distance, voice devoid of all emotion, and drew the longer of the two swords at his side. "Surrender." Though softly spoken, the deadly intent was clear in the quiet voice addressing the couple.
Erik Pryce, a young and upcoming executive within the multi-billion dollar global conglomerate whimpered and, eyes darting furtively back and forth, shoved the woman towards the assassin sent to end his life. Ignoring the woman's startled cry, he turned and ran desperately down the street, heart pounding a frantic tempo in his temples, lungs laboring to draw in life-giving air. In the back of his mind, though, he somehow knew that his efforts were futile. The promise of death had been clear in the unknown assassin's chilling eyes.
When no sound of pursuit reached his straining ears, Pryce allowed himself to dare to hope that he'd escaped the cold killer sent to assassinate him. He bolted around a corner, stumbling over a crack in the cement of the sidewalk and nearly falling before righting himself, and risked a glance over his shoulder. A triumphant grin spread across his sweating and pale features when he didn't see the shadow assassin behind him.
He faced forward again and screamed in terror, skidding to a halt when his eyes fell on the familiar figure standing calmly in the street before him. He was now close enough that Pryce could determine details he hadn't noticed before. The assassin was short, just as his first glimpse told him, with freakish yellow eyes and long red hair held back in a high ponytail. His features were those of a young man barely out of his teens, delicate with a cold beauty in his hard and implacable expression. All of this Pryce noticed in the instant before the gleaming blade held parallel to the ground pierced his throat, killing him almost instantly.
Warm blood sprayed over the hilt of the assassin's sword, his hands, and coating his body, darkening his hair to an almost black hue in the darkness. He closed his eyes and shuddered delicately as the target's vital fluid dripped down his face. With a quick movement he pulled his sword free of the now-lifeless body of Erik Pryce. Opening his eyes slowly, he stared down at the corpse and licked the blood from his lips, an expression of distaste crossing his face. "Disgusting." He turned on his heel, flinging his sword to the side in a curt motion, spraying blood against a wall, pulling a cloth from inside his cloak and wiping his blade clean. He dropped the soiled cloth carelessly next to the body of Erik Pryce before striding away without a backward glance at the man he'd just murdered.
Quickly retracing his steps to the street where he'd left the woman, the shadow assassin's eyes took in the empty thoroughfare. Sheathing the sword with a snap he strode forward, eyes straight ahead, steps silent and deadly. Pausing at an intersection he tilted his head to the side, glowing amber eyes assessing. Finally, after a moment's pause, he turned to the left. An instant later his keen eyesight picked up the woman from before, the recently deceased Erik Pryce's companion, running awkwardly in her stiletto heels up the street away from him. Her panicked breathing came loud to his sensitive ears as he strode forward in unhurried pursuit. She looked over her shoulder and stumbled as she missed her footing, ankle twisting awkwardly in her stylish yet infinitely impractical shoes, falling to her hands and knees on the pavement. Increasing his pace, he closed the distance rapidly and halted to loom over her trembling form.
He studied her pale, tear-streaked face with careful and practiced detachment. He decided that she could've been pretty, if not for the garish makeup she wore like a mask, now smudged and streaked grotesquely under her eyes. The scent of cheap perfume and fear sickened him as he reached down and grasped her upper arms with surprisingly gentle hands, lifting her easily off the ground before setting her on her feet before him. Pulling a clean cloth from inside his cloak he carefully wiped the tears and makeup from her face, his touch gentle…almost tender in his ministrations. The woman stared at him with wide, confused eyes as his hands moved over her face, soothingly removing the make-up from her pale face, golden eyes steady on her own. He pressed two fingers against her throat in an almost loving gesture of affection, urging the woman to tilt her head to the side, eyes now reflecting pity and regret.
Slowly he lowered his head, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry. It's nothing personal." The woman frowned at the whispered words uncertainly, feeling almost as if her thoughts were being wrapped in soft, gauzy cotton, and then gasped in pain and growing alarm when she felt twin needles stab into her neck over her jugular. Only able to manage a whimper and feeble struggles, the woman's knees buckled, her body slowly sinking back towards the ground, the assassin's arms cushioning her from the cold, hard concrete. In the sky overhead, clouds parted, revealing the pristine clarity of the scene in the fullness of the moon's glow. Feeling her body grow limp and cold, the assassin slowly raised his head and looked down at her pale, lifeless features, reaching up to cup her pale cheek, tenderly stroking his thumb over the rapidly cooling flesh. "There can be no witnesses." His low voice sounded harsh in his own ears, the ancient excuse empty and hollow in his weary mind.
Carefully, with infinite tenderness, he arranged her limp form on the street, closing her eyes and folding her hands over her chest. He studied her and bent to press his lips to her cold forehead, satisfied that she was adequately laid out. He straightened with a soft sigh. She appeared to be sleeping. He turned away and stepped into the shadows, his form disappearing into the deserted streets as silently as he'd appeared, leaving, once again, death in his wake.