A/N: I'm back! A rather late Happy New Year to all readers! This chapter is quite smooth, and only takes me half a night (half a midnight to be exact) to finish half of it. Now that I've bought a new keyboard today – the old one keeps dying on me at odd intervals that I couldn't even type properly – I am very eager to test out its effects. And the story unveils itself… I confess, the chapter is greatly inspired by The Phantom of the Opera. Yah, I've seen the movie and all that. Needless to say, I'm greatly tempted to try the voice-in-my-mind thing on my story…
Katsura: (as Phantom) …and though you turn from me, to glance behind; the Lord of the Choshu clan is there, inside your mind… Sing, my angel of death!
Kenshin: …really? Now I'm questioning the man's sanity…
I'd liked to think that I have cut myself loose from old snares; but what I actually did was walk around with the noose still on my neck. In a game which walking away is never considered an option, where should I place my next step?
Ch 4 Confrontation
He traced feather-light fingers along the familiar shape stretching across the left half of his face; nearly oblivious to the fact that, by doing so, he was smearing blood over his entire countenance. He also ignored that half of his emotions, which he had kept reined under a façade of blank, composed displeasure, had chose to reflect themselves on his features.
This…this couldn't have been true. Heck, no, logically it could have happened, but Kenshin had always preferred to think that he was past that point. That cursed scar had faded away once, a little after his flight from the Ishinshishi; and he had reasoned that the disappearance of his scar marked one most important thing in his pursuit of freedom: that Katsura's reign over him had ended. After all, it was only reasonable that the power of the curse would not last for all eternity; it had faded over time, and its fading was his salvation.
He'd been childish in his assumptions, though. The spell might have gone to sleep during this lapse, but was entirely too stubborn and persistent to release him from its grasp. He – the analytical, ever-vigilant side of him chided none-too-gently – should have known better.
Reality snapped back to him in the form of a slashing club and the wielder behind it; Kenshin quickly discovered that he'd been, unforgivably, spacing out. And on top of that, he was currently sporting a slightly desolate wide-eyed expression on his face. Miraculously, it was his sudden exhibition of expressions that saved him during his slip; while his assailants had been well prepared – mentally, anyway - for his exquisite sword skills, the sight of Hitokiri Battousai's face betraying surprise, in the meantime being torn open by some unknown force, was a foreign idea to them. They had faltered for a bit during the occurrence, contemplating what exactly to do; and that granted Himura time enough to recover a trifle from the shock.
Kenshin ducked downwards, amethyst eyes widening a bit at the close call. Half-turning, he swept the offending assassin's legs from under him before dropping a karate-chop on another attacker's wrist, effectively blocking another blow aimed for his head. The electrified contraption went clattering into the granite floor, missing the boy's forehead by bare inches. He swore mentally; the reopening of his cursed scar was causing his attention to slip, little by little - and it was going to get him hurt further by those amateurs, if he didn't change that soon.
It was still dripping blood, the wound; the carnelian droplets accumulating into rivulets before sliding down his chin in a slick, coppery-smelling flow. He could feel the force now, that same force that bound him forever to the young Choshu Lord -was whispering his name, softly and seductively, in his mind. It was the one voice that he knew he could not tune out, and yet had tried anything in his power to forget…
Katsura was calling. Calling to him from nearby, his slave of mind, to return to him; to finish the task that he had neglected, for so long…
No.
He would not be returning, not this time. Himura Kenshin was a high school student. Himura Kenshin did not associate himself with some dark political figures that appeared out of nowhere asking for his company. And Himura Kenshin was certainly going to finish his Chemistry lab report tonight - or else Sano would throttle him for not providing him a piece of homework to copy off from, and Okita-sensei might make him mix some concentrated sulfuric acid with water just to show the class the potential hazards of Chemistry experiments (or late homework submissions).
The last notion brought a wan smile to his lips. That was where his life was supposed to lead to, to worry about not being able to submit his homework on time and whatnot. His smile, however, was cut short as yet another person aimed his apparatus directly towards his throat. He had some nerve, that one; obviously the failure of all previous assaults had lead the men to adopt a higher level of violence than they'd been instructed. Assassins, after all. Kenshin frowned softly, a decidedly fed up expression creasing his brows.
The monotonic, yet powerful summon. The repetitive, yet formidable assault. It was an attempt to disconnect him from his world of serene sanity. He, Himura Kenshin, had just had enough of this antic!
The ex-hitokiri removed his backpack from one slender shoulder with his available arm, only to slam it full-force into the face of his latest foe. He listened with uncharacteristic satisfaction as it made a loud crack upon impact, signaling that one more of his assailants was now out of commission. Oh, if there's one thing about industrious students, it's that their schoolbags are probably more solid than a meteor. And one thing that Kenshin could assure himself of, apart from his sword skills, was that he had always been on the industrious side.
Six down, half a dozen remaining.
It was time to go, unless he wanted to lose his mind or go completely berserk.
Seeing an opening, he made a run for it, swinging the backpack over his back as he went. It was not the way that he intended to go, but rather the opposite – it did not matter. As long as he could get rid of these friendly way-layers, he would have a thousand ways to get back home. And then, he could contact his master and solve this over wi-…
Where are you going, Himura?
It was he again, inquiring casually in the schoolboy's head. Kenshin felt anger now, an anger stemmed from what transpired a year ago…yet it seemed like centuries back. He quelled it instantly – white-hot anger would lead to nothing but his undoing; he was well aware of this. He would not let Katsura get the better of him. There was another feeling in his head though…something that seemed suspiciously akin to fear. He dismissed it immediately – what had he to fear, anyway? He went on, conscious that he was slowly leaving his pursuers behind, thanks to his god-like speed. A few more steps now, and he would be granted the blessing of solitude.
Do you wish for me to leave you in earnest?
It was said along with a virtual sigh, laced with unknown emotions. Himura winced in earnest - the cross scar was throbbing painfully , becoming more and more of a disturbance as the connection between them – slave and master – became stronger each passing second. The blood continued on its trail, now soaking the once pure white collar of his school uniform. Kenshin tried not to think of any metaphorical meaning in staining pristine white with blood that would have been worth some points in his Literature studies. He didn't need his life turning into some sort of Literature tragedy – hadn't it sucked enough, at this moment?
Reluctant as you are to see me, there is a reason why I am calling on you, Himura. Come to me.
Come to me, eh? Himura felt the corner of his lips twitch in annoyance; he was about to offer the mental voice a biting remark but a slight thwip alerted him to his surroundings. He leaped heavenward, his school jacket billowing behind him, as a thin, silvery thread coiled around the air where his foot would be a mere second before. He landed deftly, picking up speed again till his pursuers were out of his sight. He accelerated, blending into the shadows as he melted into the deceiving safety of night.
"If you think these men can bring me to you, Katsura-san, you still do not know me enough." The ex-hitokiri wiped at his cheek with the sleeve of his jacket, only managing to smudge the blood further. It was literally burning now, the scar; throbbing and pulsing as if it had a life of its own. Added to his original discomfort, the agony of this was nearly overwhelming. He took extra care not to stumble or lose his footing, not wanting any chance for his followers to catch up.
Stronger and stronger yet... It was perplexing. All the time he was going opposite from Katsura's associates; but it seemed, somehow, that the link tying him to Katsura was making its presence more persisting, more obvious. It troubled the boy greatly – the effort he gave just to sprint in a straight line was inexcusable.
There was one thing that Kenshin knew, and despised: when Katsura was in close range, and wanted strongly for him to do something, the ex-hitokiri's own will would always succumb to the unspoken command, falling into a daze that was no less different from a sleep.
The curse. His curse.
When it had started, and where it had originated, Kenshin had no idea; but there had been a time, towards the end of his official career, that he had been in an unthinking daze more often than not. Unthinking, yet vivid images of flowing carnelian liquid, of dismembered figures lying motionless would always return to him in most unsuspecting times…and then his cheek would began throbbing anew. The trances marked their openings and closings with the inflictions and healings of the scar…they always did.
It was odd, though, how these trances had never plagued him the time when he had first sworn his sword to the cause – twelve years old he was, thinking that his ominous past had granted him maturity beyond his years; and along with it, wisdom. He had thought, with childish logic, that his years of intense studying could guide him in the distinction of right from wrong, good from evil. It didn't, and when he realized it, he had…
Yamero.
The boy reprimanded himself, immediately, for such negligence in a time of danger. He had dozed off for about five seconds; it was too long, by a hitokiri's… ex-hitokiri's … standards. There was another thing about the cross scar – it tended too much to mess up his emotions and send him remembrances when he least needed them. But if he had realized his stupidity sooner, he could have left his career unscathed; could have left all behind without having to bear this mark of captivity…
"STOP IT." He had skidded to a halt, almost shouting at his train of thoughts - his inner mind in agitation. The referenced curse was now flowing with a renewed passion, no doubt responding to his earlier sentiments; the blood loss – not to mention the pain itself – was already starting to blind his vision.
"Remembrances could not be put to a stop, Himura. You have no way of tuning your inner mind out - just as you have no way of tuning my will out."
Violet eyes sprang to its widest extent; refusing, in mute dread, to meet the face of the aforementioned voice's owner. Uttering what sounded akin to a bleak sigh, the man in question drew nearer; the ex-manslayer did not, could not free himself as the man reached out and lifted his chin, forcing their gazes to meet. He was frozen in resignation, as a prey would have been before its predator; knowing that there was no use and no point in petty struggling, and that its fate laid entirely with the predator's will.
At such close quarters, it would take only a thought in mind on the man's part to get the boy do whatever he saw fit…to throw himself down at the his feet, to slaughter the population of an entire kindergarten, or to throw himself off the nearest skyscraper…
Yet, as Kenshin surveyed him in frozen numbness, he could see that he, at least, didn't have the above maniac designs in mind for the moment…
A solemn, handsome face slightly more worn and haggard than before; straight, dark tresses gathered into a topknot, with a single strand lying across the forehead. A suit of navy blue adorned his lean figure, making him a figure of flawless graciousness.
And the ebony shade of his eyes, so laden with the duty and gravity of his position…
He had came face-to-face with Katsura Kogoro; current administering president of the Meiji government, and the sole master of his manipulated soul.
Katsura studied the young features before him, as if pondering and memorizing what he saw. The boy's face was set in various emotions: the Choshu Lord could discern anger, confusion, and antipathy…those being the most obvious…and a trace of dread behind the orbs. The bewildered amethyst gaze slowly hardened, now regarding him with defiance evident in its expression. Kenshin, still, did not utter a single word; thinking that any word bestowed on the young lord would be meaningless.
"I had hoped that it would not come down to this." Katsura's smooth, formal wordings flowed like water through the crisp night air, but no reply from his companion was received. It was meant to be like this: there was no communication between the two, master and slave.
"Forgive me, Himura."
His skull…it felt like it was bursting open in all this agony. In a way, it had; the scar dug ever deeper into his flesh, sending realities and fantasies merging in one great jolt of pain. The familiar crimson crossed his mind; and this time, it was accompanied with a surreally serene child's voice…
" Have your soul been stolen, hitokiri?"
"I shall come back for you, bewitched hitokiri."
It was a fantasy made up of thousands of voices representing anguish…yet it was a distinct memory. Dimly befuddled, Kenshin tried vainly to recall the child's voice…
Then, eventually, he heard no more in the vortex of oblivion.
Katsura watched with graceful composure as the child in his grasp convulsed violently upon his will, a pained hiss of moaning escaping from formerly wordless lips. The blood bursting forth abruptly from Kenshin's wound alone had drenched the young lord's forearm, and still he made no effort to retract it. When the animated violet eventually lost its luster, the boy went slack and fell into his former commander's arm; his long, flaming topknot trailing behind him.
Without a word, the Choshu lord hefted his charge up by the shoulders, transferring him into the hands of one of his men who had at that point entered the scene in pursuit of the redheaded student.
"Get him into the limo – gently." Was the president's instruction as he himself retired into the said vehicle.
Unbeknownst to them, a dark-eyed creature was audience to the whole curious scene at the next junction point.
"Ew!" The slim figure promptly withdrew into the shadows, making a noise of disgust as Himura's limp form was lifted into the limo. She had to admit it: it looked uncannily like an ultra-violent case of schoolboy-kidnapping. All considered, except that the kidnapper was the current president of Japan itself and the schoolboy was the most feared assassin of the same nation.
Another shadow, further in the depth of darkness, ventured in a cheerful voice, "What is it, Yumi-san?"
Yumi held a hand against her lips, as if she was on the border of being sick. "For Kami's sake, Hitokiri Battousai is literally dripping with blood! They do treat him rather violently for a prized asset. Isn't it so, boy?"
As the limo sped out of sight, Soujiro materialized from among the shades, tapping a finger on his lips thoughtfully. "I do think that Shishio-san does a better job at keeping his assets." He smiled that constant smile of his, cocking his head. "I bet Himura-san won't be too happy about this; but we shall soon see."
"Honto ne." Yumi readily agreed, turning on her heels to leave the gruesome sight behind. Blood and violence usually did not bode well with her - she was a lady ,and certainly not a warrior! She marveled a little at the boy's uncaring attitude for the situation. Even she was...surprised would be an understatement...awed to see the notorious Battousai carried off easily like a broken rag doll, or a bag of potatoes.
With that they disintegrated into the dark, leaving only a scant few nocturnal souls as witnesses of their presence. None other than those who were present tonight would know the fate that had befallen the young ex-hitokiri.
That would suit them well enough.
Glossary:
Ishinshishi: literally, patriots of the revolution
Yamero: stop it
Honto ne: that's true
Lilmatchgirl007: yep; in my world of fanfiction, angst pretty much rules. I have a liking for remembrances, dark pasts and other things of the sort…or maybe I'm being paranoid. I surely won't want to have any of the above happening in my life!
Night-Owll23: Yep, a happy new year to you too! It's nice to know that someone out there really enjoys the crap I'm writing.
Nekotsuki(screw the unsigned-in): I've included quite a bit of additional information in this chapter, just so the story doesn't get one heck too mysterious that no one understands what I'm writing . That's not all…I assure you. If you can work out the whole story plan, I'm going to worship you. Heh.
Enchantedsleeper: Kenshin and normal life sure as hell has nothing in common. Who would want to see the show if his life's all normal and uninteresting, anyway? Um…about the female cast of the story, I'm not sure what to do with the girls without turning this into a romance fic. Something I'm still working on…
Nice name! (snickers) yeah, Kenshin's rather useful, in some way, and so has many different sides looking out for him. I assure you that I shall make his life one hell of a mess before he can consider living!
Lucrecia LeVrai: What Katsura-san wants? It is something that should be explained in the next chapter, no doubt…and Saitou, and Soujiro, and the Shishio behind him…it seems that everyone wants something out of the poor little hitokiri! I'm glad that you like my hitokiri-turned-schoolboy; characterizing Kenshin is one hell of a nightmare! Still, I'm going to calculating what he says and does rather carefully…
I threw in something about his "official career", as you suggested. Still, it is sort of misty and unclear…it will clear up. Someday . Thanks for reading!
XZig-zagx: I'm glad you like this story along with PaF! I'm rather curious about the Author Alert thing…I never learnt how to use it. I rely on my Review Alert a lot, but for some strange reason it is currently disabled. Kenshin shall be thrown into the turmoil of all power struggles and rot there forever!…
BakaBokken: For the animosity part, it's mainly Kenshin denying Katsura's persisting presence in his life. Still, we shall find out their mixed feelings about each other…and Saitou wouldn't be content to be left out of the show, ne?