A/N – The tournament begins. This is where the story becomes very like a bad martial arts movie. Hopefully, it's not nearly as bad as some of van Damme's worst, though…
Disclaimer – Ruroken belongs to Watsuki-san et al. I make no claim on it.
Chapter 6 pt II – The Killing Circle
"…These past few years he had hunted only the lower animals, but he had never forgotten what it was like to hunt down and to kill a human being…"
Wilbur Smith, "The Seventh Scroll".
"Ladies and gentlemen," Enishi stood up, holding his arms out for attention, his peevish temper forgotten in the triumph of the opening moment. "Welcome, one and all, to my promised tournament, where you will see the most extraordinary bouts ever fought in the underground."
He waited a while for the rumble and murmuring to die away, before he continued. "Today I will show you something different, something extraordinary: a man, fighting not for money, not for glory, but for the life of his friends and companions–" he gestured grandly at the holding cage where the former assassin sat, "my friends, I give you Himura Kenshin, the Battousai –"
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Himura looked up, straight up, and into Enishi's eyes, those flat golden eyes suddenly terrifyingly cold. Enishi faltered.
"Who must kill every single one of his opponents, if he is to win his freedom and his companions' lives. Today, he is the wildcard draw – a gang lord, a pirate, and a ruthless murderer with nothing to lose."
The filthy rich spectators, all of them jaded, and pleasure seeking, were watching with avid, predatory eyes. Enishi felt the power of the moment, the thrill of holding them all in the palm of his hand –
"Let the games begin!" he cried, dropping his arms suddenly and dramatically, a pre-arranged signal to one of his men. There was a roar of anticipation, and the glass door to Himura's holding cage sprang open, freeing him to step out into the killing circle. As the spectators began to shout and clamour, dignity forgotten in the excitement of the moment, the first of the assassin's opponents was released into the circle.
Kaoru, her hands tied together as she sat beside a grinning, jovial Yukishiro, looked down at the small, red-headed figure and frowned. The Kenjiro she knew was graceful, yes, but his normal walk was slow and measured, his head lowered so that his fringe concealed his eyes and his scarred cheek.
This time, however, he paced into the circle with his head held high, his steps suddenly more than graceful; they were purposeful, perfectly placed, every shift of weight evenly balanced. Instead of slow, deliberate movements, he kept everything to an absolute bare minimum; he was spare, and sleek, and terrifying.
She blinked away sudden tears.
"Kenjutsu is the art of killing."
Cold, cool Kenshin Himura stepped out of the glass cage and into the packed, earthen circle. The flat, smooth floor was solid beneath his feet, and he moved with all his old, lethal grace, the feel of the sword in his hand like an old, trusty friend – more familiar than his rifle had ever been, and much surer.
Behind him, he could hear Sano's voice, a vague, irritating distraction; deliberately, he drowned it out. There was no room for mercy here, no hesitations: if he was to save Miss Kamiya and her brother, if he and Sano were to come out of this alive, he must kill, and kill, and kill, until there was no one left to die…
His entire focus narrowed down to the killing circle, to twenty metres of packed earth, and to his opponent – his enemy – stepping slowly into the ring. A young man Thai man, all sleek, ropy muscles and flat, empty eyes, expertly gripping two long, wicked knives. Kenshin was taller, a little, and his sword gave him more reach, but his opponent was younger, stronger, a killer like so many others he'd seen, born and bred on the streets of Bangkok.
The crowd roared, but he ignored them, his senses focused on the feel of the earth beneath his feet, on the dart and flicker of his enemy's eyes, on every hitch and hesitation in his breath and his step. His hands were confident on the sword hilt, his muscle memory powerful and instinctive; as he stepped out to meet the other man, he was calm and absolutely confident of victory.
They circled, the Thai man shifting his footwork and feinting attack and retreat with his blades, Kenshin coolly following, his senses almost hyper-alert. With a flurry of flashing steel and a swift ringing exchange of blows they engaged, Kenshin watching the eyes, not the knives. Kenshin fell back, retreating a step; the other man followed eagerly, pressing home his advantage –
Sidestepping, Kenshin struck –
A hideous screech of metal, and one of the twin daggers snapped. Kenshin's enemy staggered under the unexpected strength of the blow, the force driving him almost to his knees. Immediately, Kenshin followed up, shifting and striking again, from another angle, attacking unrelenting, determined to dispatch this one, and the next, and the next after that…
Rolling, the Thai man barely managed to keep ahead of him, wavering as he stumbled back and resumed his guard, one of his daggers useless, aware for the first time just how dangerous this match had become.
Slowly, Kenshin sheathed his sword.
No mercy. No hesitation.
No warning.
Bending his knees slightly, his right hand playing lightly over the sword's hilt, he gripped, suddenly, and then charged, his muscles coiling as he sped towards his enemy with extraordinary speed and ferocity.
Ten steps. Nine.
Eight, seven, six, five, four, three –
He drew his sword, a swift, sleek, endlessly practiced manoeuvre.
Two steps.
The blade swept out, a shining streak of pure silver killing steel.
One step away –
And his single, devastating strike ended, his arm extended far to the right, slick crimson blood staining the shining length of the blade. Almost in slow motion, the Thai man choked, blood spilling from his open mouth, and then folded and collapsed to the ground, his stomach slashed open with surgical precision.
Kenshin Himura, the assassin, flicked the blood off his blade and sheathed it, his eyes flat, cold and unreadable.
The crowd howled in bloodthirsty delight.
A/N – Are you not entertained? Please tell me what you think. Feedback is greatly appreciated.
