Hey, people, I'm back again with another random Soujiro fic. I seem to be getting the hang of it. Anyway, Soujiro does not belong to me. Eisaku Daimon does not really exist, and neither does Senko. Please do R&R!

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Betrayal, Revenge, Death

Eisaku Daimon sat quietly in his office, staring unseeingly at the documents before him. Reports, grants, sanctions, and declarations… all awaiting a signature that was slow in coming. He was exhausted, and he was disillusioned.

In summary, he did not know why he was doing all this. Eisaku Daimon, the great samurai, had slashed a way to a new era, to become a… what? A dog of the government? A pen-pusher? A… what… what was this? A mere hand that signed and signed, with eyes that read, and saw, yet a mouth that could never protest?

Sighing, he pushed his chair back and hitched his heels onto the table, ignoring the black stains that spread over the government documents. Swiping a dagger from his table, he balanced it on his finger, tossing it occasionally, as he was taught as a child.

"Listen Eisaku."

"Yes, Father."

"You never know when you must defend your country."

"But I do, Father. Now."

"… Yes, my child, and thus you must learn how to use a sword."

"Sword, Father?"

"It will be too heavy for you now, my child, so you shall use this."

"A dagger, Father? But that's a woman's weapon."

"I know, my child, but a warrior will scorn no weapon. Do as I do."

"Yes, Father. I shall do as you do."

And he had. He had joined the freedom fighters as an assassin, he had fought countless battles, he had killed and slashed and burnt his way to a new era. Blood… blood, all over the place, on his hands, on his clothes, on his face; like rain, it drenched him to the bone.

Here forth, the innocent bleed, for this wonderful Meiji era! The irony, all the sweet, bloody irony! To kill, and kill, and kill, and kill, and yet be unable to remove the plague from the earth. He had slashed, and cut, and the deeper he drove, the more of the darkness within the soul he revealed. It was like he had opened up the flesh to reveal that there was nothing within but a blackness that could devour whole countries.

What was this all for?

"Daimon-san!" The door burst opened suddenly, and a young soldier ran in, his face filled with panic. "Please remain within this room, Daimon-san! There is an assassin loose on the grounds. He has already killed twenty of our men!"

"Twenty?" Eisaku raised an eyebrow. Twenty! That would make him a samurai, no doubt, and one that had survived the cultural transformation of the Meiji era. "How does he look like?"

"Well… no one knows, sir. We haven't seen him yet… just what he had done."

"Really?" A ninja, perhaps then, and not a samurai. "Did you check the ceiling boards?"

"Wha… Whatever for, Daimon-san?"

Eisaku smiled bitterly. Ah, the great Meiji era, where the policemen don't even know the ways of the ninjas. So long, culture! Farewell, customs!

"Daimon-san?"

"Fetch my sword."

"What? But…"

"Do so. I'll take the blame."

"Well… it is against my better judgment…"

"I didn't ask for your judgment."

"Yes, sir."

Eisaku watched the young soldier leave muttering to himself, then leaned back again and sighed. Finally, something interesting was happening. He hadn't felt so excited in a very long time.

Not since he killed his own wife, that is.

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Crouching silently in the shadows, the young assassin peered through the cracks of the ceiling board, smiling happily to himself. He hadn't quite expected the search to exclude the ceiling, and had been quite prepared to slaughter the people who ventured upwards. Apparently, however, the ceiling was not part of the search area. This people knew nothing, which was fine with him. The three feet space present above the ceiling boards were not conducive for prolonged battles of any sort.

Shishio-sama was right. This people are weak, and should be slaughtered straight away.

That, however, could be carried out later. His first priority was to kill his prey, the prey that Shishio-sama had decided for him.

Slowly, quietly, he crawled above the men searching desperately for him, a spider, he decided, bent on catching the harmful fly, and devouring it whole.

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Eisaku Daimon touched his sword reverently, slowly raising it to his hip, and drawing it out. The blade that had slain so many, the very blade that had taken his wife's life.

It had seemed like a good prospect then. Dear Senko was such a… Tokugawaist, supporting the feudal government feverishly. After the war, she had turned bitterly on her husband, keeping to her room in silent protest.

"Kill your wife, Daimon, if you want to enter the government."

"My wife?"

"She is… a rebel now, in her mind. If you have any wish to enter the government, this traitorous stain in your life must be removed. Can you do it?"

"… Yes I can."

Not that it was not justified, he mused with a shrug, and she had been a traitor after all. Turning against her own husband, because he helped bring forth the new era was just plain wrong.

Now that he thought about it, maybe she did have a point. The Meiji era seemed little better from the Tokugawa era.

Slowly, he turned his mind back to the woman he had not thought of for ten long years. The fastidiously neat hair, the thin, slanted eyes, the permanently pursed lips… always criticizing, always… fussing… those slim white hands...

Gradually stained with blood.

Regardless of the pity the city showed him for having been forced to kill his wife, the traitor, he knew deep in his heart that he had not regretted that act. He had enjoyed it with as much pleasure as he had enjoyed slaying other samurais. Perhaps even more – at least she didn't fight back.

In fact, he mused, she had accepted it with a calm look on her face, like she had known all along this would happen.

"Senko, darling."

"Darling? When was the last time you called me darling?"

"Well…"

"Why did you come into my room, Eisaku? I told you I have no wish to meet this traitor."

"Senko, I have brought in a new era, where everyone can be happy."

"No. Not everyone. I'm not happy."

"Why… why do you love the war so much?"

"I do not love the war, but I love it much better than I love this new era of yours."

"I am your husband. Will you at least listen to me for once?"

"No, Eisaku, because you are wrong. You have always been wrong."

"About what? About peace? Look out there, woman, look! It is all… quiet!"

"Because no one dares to speak anymore."

"There is no more fighting."

"Because there is nothing left to salvage."

"There is no more blood spilt."

"Now it is all spilt behind closed doors."

"Senko… this is your last chance."

"I know it is."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Farewell, my love."

"I was never your love."

He laughed harshly. What a way to go, denying the attention he had once showered on her, to speak those words as her last words, after he had fought so hard for this new era. After all that he had done, she had turned her back to him, closed her door to him, silently protesting his presence in the house. Thus he had killed her, and enjoyed every bloody second of it.

Sighing, he felt his emotions ebb away, and he kept his sword again. He had to be focused. There was an assassin in the mansion, and he was coming for him. He had to focus.

Focus.

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The assassin paused, tilting his head to listen. There were fewer soldiers in this area of the mansion. Had he wandered in the wrong direction? No. He had been through this mansion several times before, silently planning his way through. He was not wrong.

That would mean then that his prey was barely guarded.

Fool.

Still smiling happily, he continued on his way, his blue eyes sparkling with an incongruous childishly mischievous light that seemed to penetrate the darkness like a sword.

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"Daimon-san! Daimon-san!" Another young soldier burst into his office, interrupting his thoughts. "The assassin cannot be found… we think that he has been repelled already."

"Repelled?" Eisaku smiled sweetly. "By what?"

"Well…" the soldier was taken back, "by our sheer numbers, sir."

"Sheer numbers." Eisaku smiled even harder. An assassin that could kill twenty men before the mansion was alerted would not be repelled by sheer numbers. The fools. More than ever, he was now certain the assassin was still somewhere in the mansion. "I understand. Stand down."

"Yes sir." The soldier left.

Eisaku listened quietly to the noise level receding as the men wandered back to their posts. Tonight, he would have a very interesting fight, and this time, no silly young soldier is going to interrupt him.

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Silently, the young assassin removed the ceiling board and peered down into the office. His prey was sitting there, alone, with a sword.

He smiled. He would be a poor samurai, if he did not meet the challenge.

Quietly, he dropped down and tapped the prey's shoulder, ready to clash swords with the Minister of Education.

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Eisaku startled when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Shocked turned to fear as he leapt up and spun around to see who it was. He half expected to feel a blade to his throat, but he was allowed to face his assassin.

He stared.

Stared.

And stared again.

"But… but… but you are a child!" he cried, shocked.

The boy smiled disarmingly at him. "Oh no, sir, I'm already fifteen, sir. That would make me a man already."

"And you're not a ninja!" he exclaimed, taking in the blue clothing the boy was wearing.

"Ninja?" the boy's smile widened. "Oh no, sir, I'm a samurai sent by Shishio-sama to kill you."

"Shishio? Shishio Makoto?"

"Oh yes. My name is Seta Soujiro, Daimon-san."

Eisaku picked himself together and drew his sword. "Why didn't you kill me just now?"

"You were going to challenge me, weren't you?"

The boy had shocked him into silence again with the acute observation. "But you are just a child. How long have you been killing people?"

Seta Soujiro rubbed the back of his head abashedly. "A good five to six years," he said with a shy smile, like a boy modestly telling a friendly aunt about the awards he had won.

Five to six years - only.

This boy was dangerous, Eisaku realized, something he should have noticed a long time ago. It was darn foolishness to challenge him like this.

Sweat ran down his back. Now he had to find a way to wriggle out of this.

"Well, I must say I didn't expect this," he said, smiling falsely, "It was brave of you to accept my challenge."

"Oh no, Daimon-san, not at all," the boy laughed, dimpling in his right cheek, "it's just that I know I will win anyway, because you are weak and I am strong."

"Well, before we start, we should say a prayer to the moon."

"Moon?"

"Oh…" Eisaku faked embarrassment, "it is my custom to pray to the moon before I start a battle. I don't suppose you can humour an old man…"

"I suppose I could," the boy smiled, "only I've never prayed before."

"Well, it's like this." Eisaku stepped behind the boy and gently pushed him towards the window. "You close your eyes…." Slowly, he drew out the dagger, "and tell the moon how you would like the battle to turn out."

"Ok. Moon, I wish…"

The dagger pointed straight at the boy's heart.

"… That I can…"

He drew in a deep breath and prepared to stab.

"… Kill that false samurai…"

Eisaku hesitated.

"… Before he stabs me with his dagger."

A gasp then he was lying on the floor, a sword through his chest. Blood bubbled through his lips and dribbled onto the floor.

"That was very dirty of you," the child murmured, shaking his head like a disappointed parent, "and here I thought you were weak… but at least… honest."

"…I… help…"

"Oh, don't call," he smiled happily, "I already killed the rest of the mansion before I met you, you see. I didn't want any interruptions to our fight." His face turned dark suddenly as the moon went behind a cloud. "You are a horrible, weak man, Eisaku Daimon."

"… Please…"

"No. Shishio-sama has a message for you."

"… Help… help… me…"

"I don't really have nothing against you, except for the fact that you are weak, Daimon, and that you did try to kill me once."

"…S…stop…"

"It is my dear Yumi who begged me to kill you."

"…Wh… wh… what?"

"I thought you weren't worth killing, but Yumi has always been loyal to me."

"… Y…y... yumi… wh… who…"

"You shouldn't have killed her best friend, Daimon. You shouldn't have killed Senko. Not that I know who she is, but you did make Yumi cry a very long time."

"…O…oh… god… th… that… bitch…"

Seta Soujiro smiled. "God wouldn't save you now, Daimon-san. Farewell."

Then he was gone.

Eisaku laid back and stared out of the window, as the pure, white moon slowly turned a deep shade of red.

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