Kaboom: Never Mess with a Timebomb
I stalked down the halls of the building. It was a well furnished, neatly kept place, but I didn't really pay any attention to that.
People like to claim I'm unbalanced.
After the death of my men, I lived and trained for one reason: to have victory over the battousai.
Yet I was cheated. Not by a strong, unsurpassed warrior, not even by an incurable disease, but by a weak woman and chopsticks. The shame and humiliation was unbearable.
I should kill myself.
But first, revenge.
I used to pride myself on clear thinking and brilliant tactics. I hadn't been made the leader of the Obiwanban because I was weak-willed or hesitant, let alone stupid or cowardly. When things like torture or killing needed to be done… well, you did them by putting aside your personal feelings on the matter or the opinion of others. After spending many hours in a small dark room that reeked of sour sweat and rancid fear, one tended to grow desensitized. I wouldn't ask anything of my men that I wouldn't do myself.
And I still wouldn't.
But I don't have any men to command anymore.
And I now can't have revenge on the one whom I held responsible for their death.
Oh sure, Kanyruu played his part, the spineless coward. However, he was simply the finger that pulled the trigger. I should have been the one to die, not them.
I knew that man was trouble from his reputation if nothing else, however, with the coming of the new era, there wasn't much use for warriors, let alone ninjas. Money was required to live and practice was required to keep skills sharp. Unless we wanted to be a sideshow attraction at some absurd circus, then a job was a job. No questions asked.
Even though I was begged to let it go, I stubbornly employed us.
Pride. What a simplistic concept. What a deadly concept.
Was my revenge just another outlet for my excess pride? Was my tragic flaw not insanity but in actuality hubris?
Ah, but I digress. Now my mind wanders just as easily as old Okina's skirt chasing antics. Willy-nilly.
Now I simply cannot trust my decisions.
It is much easier to follow than to lead.
Why else would there be so few successful leaders, yet so many strong cults and factions? Simply put, people were sheep. They wanted a few handfuls of things: food, shelter, sex, pleasure, and a way to gain those things.
I had never quested for money. Wealth held no lasting interest. What good was money? All it seems to be is an outlet for greed. Another deadly vice.
"…Shinomori?"
I jerked my head up in surprise.
To my annoyance, it was the last person I wanted to see at the moment. Well, aside from the Yumi-woman.
"What the fuck are you doing here? I thought you escaped with Kenshin. Where is he? Is he safe?"
I studiously ignored Sagara's questions and avoided his eyes.
Perhaps I was merely a shell of a human. I had no compassion, no heart, and certainly no soul. Feelings: what a foreign concept.
Aoshi Shinomori was already dead.
"Hey! You bastard, answer me!" He ranted.
"Battousai is dead."
"What!" He screamed with despair. I tried to walk around him only to have a beefy fist slammed into the wall an inch from my nose. Fingers started creeping towards by kodachis. The worn leather was a welcome caress to my battle-stained hands. They felt like old friends. "Did you kill him? How!"
I finally glanced up to see tears running down his face. Not for the first time, I wondered if there had been much more between the two of them. More than a warrior's respect and mutual friendship.
"No," That part was forced, but the next part was frigid, "He was killed by a woman and wood."
"What!"
I blinked dispassionately.
If he chose not to believe me, that was his own fault. I could not lead a person away from stupidity's edge. Either they regained their senses or tumbled down, smashing against the rock face of denial, killing common sense by blunt trauma.
"No way!"
"Move."
"Fuck no. Not until you tell me everything you know."
"Mr. Sagara, there you are! I had been looking for you." Taking the chance offered by Seta, I slipped past the ex-gangster and melted into the shadows. Of course, spying is deeply embedded in my habits, if not saturating every instinct I possess. Knowledge was another form of power. A very potent one.
"Is it true?" Sagara demanded harshly, scrubbing his face.
"I apologize. I do not know what you are referring to. You see, I only just walked up and did not hear the rest of the convers—."
"Is Kenshin dead?"
"Why yes, I do believe so. Do you wish to be alone? Because, unfortunately, I cannot allow that. You have an audience with Lord Shishio, and I would hate for you to be tardy."
"Fuck Shishio."
"I believe that would be the whore's privilege." Kamatari snapped, limping by. He was being chased down the hall by a doctor, who was uttering dire threats. "Go away you quack! The lady doctor fixed me up nicely."
The doctor, deciding the cross dresser wasn't worth the hassle, threw something and stalked off the other way. Seta deftly caught the missile and handed it to the injured man. It was snatched without a thank you.
"Stupid doctors. They think they know everything!"
The Sagara boy wasn't particularly paying attention to this display of useless stupidity. Any good warrior knew not to trust a doctor. It was quite easy to be poisoned or killed by giving that sort of power to someone you didn't know. Foolishness. It's amazing that people are so naïve.
"You said something about a lady doctor? What was her name? What did she look like?"
Kamatari leveled him with a haughty glare and reprimanded, "Where are your manners? I was talking and you just butted right into the conversation. Wasn't that just unbearably rude Soujirou?"
Soujirou just gave him a hapless smile.
"Well?" Sagara demanded, cracking his knuckled, "I can always break your elbows too. Then you'd be like a pretty puppet. Oh wait, you already are!"
"Did you hear that Sou? He called me pretty! But flattery doesn't make a very good substitute for good, old fashion manners!" Kamatari tsked playfully, his eyes sparkling with revived good humor. Apparently, the man needed someone to torment in order to make his own life more bearable. How pathetic.
"Hey, listen to me you little bitch."
"Fine, fine. You've got some temper there. I almost want to dare you to punch me in the jaw, except then you wouldn't get your information, would you?"
Sagara dearly looked like he would test that theory out. His fist clenched until his scarred knuckle shone white. His dark brown eyes were little better. He might do well with nasty glares with a little more practice.
"Oh, I don't remember her name, but I suppose she was pretty enough, in a snotty way. Very professional however. And best of all, she'd love to kill Yumi by the looks she was giving!"
"Was it Megumi?" Sagara asked making me jump slightly. I hadn't considered that. What if it was Takani? Another past sin coming to haunt my soulless shell.
"I just told you that I didn't remember! Sheesh, pay attention, will you?"
I knew of only one female doctor, and I could tell by the look on Sagara's face that he did as well. Well, I would simply have to escort her home. She had no business around here.
Honor was a strange and demanding social code, but true to my upbringing, I was determined to do what I felt was right, others be damned.
"Hey, where are you going?" Kamatari called.
Sagara didn't even pause in his stride. "Out of this hellhole."
"Mister Sagara—."
"Would you stop that? You make me sound like an old geezer or something! The name's Sanosuke." The ex-gangster shouted over his broad shoulder.
"Well, Mister Sanosuke," Within a blink of an eye the young assassin had deftly blocked the retreating man's path, "I must insist that you remain here. I would hate to have to hurt you."
"You just try it you little punk!"
Sense apparently had not decided to visit Sagara recently.
"Fuck!"
"I told you that I would hate to hurt you. It is quite easy to do you see, and I would not want to overdo it on accident." The boy flashed an amiable smile and his eyes twinkled with merry humor. "So will you please come with me?"
"No."
"Aww, the boy's scared Sou." Kamatari cooed maliciously, "Why don't you hold his hand and make it better?"
Sagara, nerves and temper frayed, lunged forward, intending to strangle the man. Kamatari sidestep in a jerky hobble and stuck out his tongue.
"Kamatari, please do not torment Mister Sanosuke."
"Pooh, you're no fun!"
Sagara leveled a baleful glare on the smiling young man and insisted, "I don't need you to defend me."
Suddenly I was aware of a measured breath coming from behind me. Without pausing, I whirled with kodachis outstretched, slashing across where I assumed the chest would be. The tips of my swords traced a line in the skin, apparently missing bone, but slicing easily through muscle.
A horrible scream met my ears, and I instantly recoiled, knowing that I had done something terribly wrong.
Misao crumpled to the ground with her hands covering her face. Blood was pouring everywhere.
Kneeling quickly, I tore the ribbon out of her hair and futilely tried to wipe the liquid away to assess the damage. It was a useless gesture, I knew. My swords were doted on for several hours a day. They were sharp as razors and easily slid through any part of the human body besides bone.
Feeling another human's touch, she settled into a quivering mass, making small keening noises like a fox caught in a trap. A small whimper escaped my throat as I stared down at my bloody, calloused hands.
Was I cursed?
Doomed to forever hurt those I held dear?
What kind of older brother slashed his sister, intending to kill? I should have sensed her; I should have known that it was Misao! Careless, careless, careless! I was more than a fool and more than insane. I was a menace to all who were brave enough to get near me!
After this… after this I would cut ties with the world.
An outcast such of myself did not deserve to mingle with the rest of humanity.
By now the ribbon was saturated and a deep red in color. I tossed it away, ignoring the group of men standing yards away. They were of no importance at the moment. Shimmying out of my shirt, I blotted it against her forehead. There was a reason the clothing under my trench coat was dark. It naturally hid bloodstains. As it was, I could now see pale skin. If nothing else, my cut was clean.
"Misao?" I questioned softly, leaning over her, half holding my breath.
"Ao-aos-hi?" She whimpered, her hands twitching and flopping weakly against the wooden floors, "It—it hurts!"
"Shhh." I urged, staring urgently at the gash. One went straight across her forehead in an ugly line and had sheared her bangs off in a neat line. The other… the other was a horror. While as clean cut as its sibling, it was just a bit lower, slicing straight across her temple and the bridge of her nose. The eyelids below fluttered with spastic nerve impulses and I immediately knew she would never see again.
Gently, I gathered her body up in my arms marveling at how grown, yet how frail, she really was. If I had any tears left in my hollow heart, I would have wept until I was blind as well.
No one stopped me as I darted past with my burdens. The burdens of guilt and despair. And the suffering body lying in my arms, blinded, but still trusting. Those dogged and hounded me, nipping at my proverbial heels with vengeance. The burdens I had left behind were still coated with blood and askew with the hilts crossed.
The city flew by as I skittered across rooftops. I had stripped my coat and wrapped it around Misao's pale form. She was shivering, but her cheeks were flushed a rosy color with fever. The blood had formed a sickly looking crust with pus oozing at the corners and out of the cracks.
I found myself being far more talkative than I ever had been in my life.
"I apologize." I whispered harshly, "I apologize for not protecting you, for hurting you in everyway, for making you worry, for not training you the way you wanted, for not respecting your feelings or decisions, for underestimating you, for taking you for granted… for loving you, yet pushing you away because I was a coward."
Somehow I felt even worse confessing that when she was barely clinging to life.
A tiny, forced smile made its way to her lips and I knew I was forgiven. I was always forgiven. The irony didn't escape me.
The Aoiya was not nearly how I had left it. Beams and earthen mounds littered the courtyard. Virtually none of the building was left standing except a lonely corner where the frame had somehow survived.
My chest was burning, but I couldn't stop now.
I bolted forward. Coming around the corner, I hit a very solid mass.
There was a hefty grunt. My first instinct was to grab my kodachis. Even if I had been able to free my hands, I realized my hands would have hit empty leather.
Suddenly I was scruffed and staring at a large, imposing man. He had a sake jug dangling from one hand. Apparently I had interrupted his drink because there was a slight dampness to his shirt and chin.
"Lord Aoshi!" Omasu squealed in surprise and shock. I glanced around the man to see her rush forward. She immediately noticed Misao and gasped in horror. Her mouth worked like a carp, open, shut, open, shut. Finally she cried, "She was supposed to be in bed! What in the world happened Lord Aoshi?"
I sunk to my knees, earning another gasp.
Let her think it was from exhaustion because that certainly had taken its toll on my body.
"Megumi! Megumi! Someone find Megumi, quick! It's an emergency!" Omasu screamed as the big man picked me up, dragging me to my feet and frogmatching me to a clear spot. He carelessly eased his grip on my shoulder, letting me crumple down into a heap. Even so, I managed to cradle Misao against my chest. I could still feel her shuddering breaths, so I knew she was alive.
"What happened? Where is the emergency?"
So Takani was here after all.
I heard her gasp, but it was quickly stifled and replaced with the order barking doctor she was expected to be. I heard orders for bandages and boiled water.
I was barely clinging to consciousness now.
"Shinomori, let go."
Instinctively I tightened by hold on Misao when I felt hands tugging. They weren't going to get her! I had to protect her. No one would touch my Misao, no one!
"Kuro, please help me." The voice was fuzzy and my eyes were closed with effort as my arms were wrenched. "Shinomori, let go this instant!"
Stubbornly I refused to obey. They would have to break my arms first.
"Fine!"
Suddenly I found myself flat on my back and Misao laying full out across my body.
"What was the girl thinking, running around with broken ribs? I specifically told her to stay in bed and let them mend!"
Broken ribs?
"Can this week get any blacker?" Takani muttered, "First Sir Ken is dropped on the doorstep battered and at death's door. After laborious hours, there's hope, yet he is murdered! Kaoru, the silly girl, has had a break down! Not only that, but Hiko, the obnoxious ass, insists on staying to "protect" us. Where is Sanosuke? He promised to come back, no matter what. The world is falling apart, and I can do nothing."
"Do you need more water?"
"Will they be okay?"
"Are they going to die?"
"Stop crowding me! Shinomori is suffering post-traumatic stress and exhaustion. In addition to that, he looks like he was on the wrong end of one of Sir Ken's attacks!" she paused for breath, "Misao's ribs have re-broken and it's almost impossible to set them! Kuro, I will need your strength do try. In addition to that, she has two parallel slashes across her face. They are clean but deep. If she can fight off the infection, the one on her forehead may fade with time."
"What about her eyes?" Someone whispered.
There was a rustle of cloth and a failure to reply.
Having rested, I felt like I could push my eyes open and into focus. At first all I saw was white, but then my eyes adjusted.
Takani had a strained look on her face. A needle was posed to be tied off above Misao's forehead. I held my breath, trying not to move. If Misao was hurt again because of me…
"Take this for the pain."
A vile liquid vial was shoved under my nose. Choking down a reflexive gag, I tossed it down my throat.
"Misao?"
"She is very lucky you brought her here when you did." Takani replied firmly, "However, one must wonder how exactly she got those wounds." Her sentence trailed off half suspicious and half pleaded.
It seemed that even a former opium dealer was better than I.
She was looking for good that no longer existed.
Rather than reply, I closed my eyes, making sure as much of Misao as possible was in contact with my body. It wasn't long before I needed to feint sleep.
AN: Here's the next segment in the story! I ho-We hoped you enjoyed this chapter, cause it was a blast! Here's an unedited version…not that anyone here cares…some people can't spell in their reviews so we stopped caring about the little details…such as grammar.
Alright on to the reviews:
EEevee's replies:
bobbyneko: I love Kamatari, honest, however, I have to make him annoying in order to... well, he's annoying. shrug Then again, he might actually live this time…or call Katsu a teddy bear again, cuz that was funny (E's referring to one of her stories)
Flamer: Wow, real English! As for changing things, would you rather than Kenshin and Kaoru die from an STD? Because let me tell you, that's not how I want to die. Besides, give Yumi a little credit! The woman's got nerve And... uh, unless you're a dog... -whips out supersoaker-
Fyyrrose's replies:
Flamer: umm…How could I kill him like that? It was easy really, I just opened up a word pad and started writing, and the result was that death. Oh please we all know Yumi's not good at anything so I wanted to give her a shot at something other than being a whor- umm nice person…yeah that's it.
Charming Woman: umm I can't say that this will center on Sou-chan, but I will say I will do my best to warp this story into something of pure madness and delightful insanity…which would be in honor of him…
"Oro": Glad you liked it? How can I write a serious review to you when all you write is two little words? Come on, next tie give me something to reply to:big smiles:
bobby: I left this one up to E I have nothing more to say.