Author's note: Hi readers! *waves and then dodges the flying projectiles* Ok, ok, here is my excuse for the incredibly late chapter! First, I was doing my final exams (which were, of course, of the utmost importance), then came graduation and all the jazz that goes with that and, finally, there was my holidays, during which I spent as much time as possible with my friends before we all head off to university. Having said this, I still humbly apologise and prostrate myself before your feet!
Anyway here it is. It was actually supposed to be the second to last chapter, but I got a little carried away and decided to split it into two to avoid it getting too long. Hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it and many, many thanks to TheAlchemist'sDaughter for her amazingly fast and accurate beta reading! Not to mention, a special shout out to indusina for her lovely message that inspired me to really get down to work.
Chapter Twelve
Was it possible for an emotion to make you physically ill? Kaoru would have had to say yes, sitting up momentarily from her prone position by the toilet only to drop back down as nausea threatened once again to overwhelm her. There had been too many shocks in this one day alone, her mind and body simply could no longer cope with the stress.
Head swimming and stomach churning with the loathing she had felt, Kaoru had used the last of her waning strength to keep herself upright, as she was escorted back from the exquisite little chapel to her equally beautiful bedroom, a married woman. The thought caused bile to rise in her throat, burning like acid. She was married. It should have been the happiest day of her life, but instead she was curled up in a fetal position on a bathroom floor hoping against hope that it was simply a terrible nightmare. She prayed she would wake up soon in the arms of her redhead. He would murmur soothing words against her ear and gently run his fingers through her hair, dimming the horror of her dream and slowly driving the shadows away.
It was ironic really that not too long ago she had thought Battousai the worst thing out there, a sickening monster who made her life a living hell. Now it was only too clear that he had instead been attempting to protect her from the dreadful conspiracy that was really stalking her every step. Why did realisation always come when it was far too late?
Misao's pale face flitted across her mind's eye and she shot to her feet, careless of the already irrevocably creased white wedding kimono swaying delicately around her. How could she stay here, wallowing in her own misfortune, forgetting all this time that her friend was lying dying on a chaise longue in a ballroom without medical facilities to aid her? She had to make sure that Shishio kept his side of the bargain and Misao was properly taken care of.
She was distracted from her horrified and guilty musings by the repetition of the dainty knocking sound that she'd been studiously ignoring for the last ten minutes.
'Kaoru-sama, I am dreadfully sorry to disturb you, but we must dress you for the wedding reception immediately. It begins in half an hour and you must be ready to greet your guests.'
The maid's voice was shrill with panic and she sounded close to tears.
Kaoru had no doubt that it was the thought of Shishio's wrath should his bride be late for his ridiculous social gathering, which was causing the terror. She was perfectly certain that the punishments doled out by the sadistic bandaged man were as cruel and painful as the mental torture he was putting his own bride through. There was no need for a wedding reception to make their marriage official, Shishio merely wished to pour salt into her open wounds by forcing her to pretend to be the blushing, joyful newly wedded wife in front of acquaintances who no doubt knew of the farce.
She knew she shouldn't care for the predicament of the maids. They had watched her be blackmailed into walking down the aisle with a man so black at heart there could be no shred of light in his soul. In fact, they had even made her up for the occasion. Yet, even so, deep inside she could understand what seemed on the surface to be their cowardly inaction and felt a pang of pity for these women who suffered under Shishio's tyranny everyday.
So, even if Kaoru had not meant that moment to leave the locked bathroom in search of her friend, she would have done so for the pleading sound of the maid's voice. Walking purposefully to the door, she allowed the maids' striving ears to hear the sound of their salvation as she clicked back the lock.
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The air in the car fairly crackled with the energy emanating from its occupants. It was almost physically uncomfortable to be in close proximity to Battousai and Sano wondered, from his position in the seat behind him, how long the man would be able to retain the tension almost tangibly lacing his muscles. It was clearly a stupid question; the wrath visible in every sharp movement his friend made would remain as long as his fear for Kaoru lasted.
If anything were to happen to her before his redheaded companion could reach her…It didn't bear thinking about. Hell hath no fury like the Battousai enraged and Sano had no doubt that the whole surrounding region would suffer for Shishio Makoto's mistake. The sky would once again rain the blood of the Battousai's enemies. His friend only feared that the man would not, in his grief, be capable of stopping there.
Kaoru had been a stabilising force in Battousai's life since her entrance into it. Sano had to admit the sometimes volatile tempers his friend flew into, even after his resolution to escape his dark assignment, had become less frequent and finally faded entirely under the calming influence of the young woman's presence. Judging by their sudden and terrifying return after their temporary separation, Sano could only speculate fearfully as to the effect her death might have. Blood, both innocent and guilty, a lot of blood.
Hiding a shudder, he tore his gaze away from Battousai's powerful and ever darkening Ki and turned instead to regard the driver of the vehicle. However, this change was no better. A tension identical to that of Battousai's was clear in every line of the Oniwabanshu leader's body, only instead of the rising heat and sparks of flame building in the space around the redhead, there was an icy chill from Aoshi's aura that made the hairs on the back of Sano's neck stand up.
Unlike Battousai's obvious anger, there was no physical movement to give away the Okashira's fury and distress. His hands remained loose around the wheel, his eyes still focused, a very good thing considering the fact that he was the one driving. Yet, despite his clear efforts to retain a stoic façade of indifference, his pain was palpable in the very space around him.
Aoshi's ability to maintain, at least outwardly, a semblance of composure astounded and impressed Sano. He had no doubt that the man's fear was immense and almost worse than that of his fiery friend. Battousai, at least, knew that when Kaoru left the Oniwabanshu base she was in good condition. The Okashira had seen his love sliced open in an attempt to protect him, a fact that would no doubt haunt him no matter the outcome of future events. The icy ninja prided himself on his independence and ability to fight, yet, in the end, the only thing preventing him from being in an equally cold grave now, was the body of the woman he loved. Her sacrifice was unbearable to him and now he had no idea whether Misao was alive or dead.
Pity rose inside Sano, forcing him to turn his gaze from the front of the car for fear of arousing suspicion of his feeling. Neither of the two fighters would have wanted or appreciated the emotion welling up inside the tall man. They would probably have seen it as an insult to their already wounded pride. Sano couldn't help it though. If Megumi had been one of the two girls taken, nothing, no obstacle no matter how big, would have kept him from destroying those foolish enough to attempt it.
No one touched his woman without suffering his wrath. This chauvinistic thought allowed his mind to dwell for a moment in a happier place than where he was now. If Megumi had overheard the words playing through his head, she would have flown into one of her famous and stunning furies, removing some very vital parts of his body. She did not hold with his sometimes overbearing caveman tendencies.
'What are you grinning at, Stupid?' Yahiko growled, glaring at him from the seat beside him. 'Kaoru and Misao could be dead right now and you find it funny?'
Sano scowled at being caught doing something even he, with his infamously bad manners, knew to be completely inappropriate. Luckily, only Yahiko seemed to have noticed though, as both the men in the front seat were entirely focused on their own thoughts.
Suddenly, the anger building inside him burst its dam. It wasn't that he didn't care for Kaoru, on the contrary his very being sang for the revenge they were going to take, and this stupid brat dared to question his commitment, his love? The men who had taken his Jou-chan would pay for what they had done with their blood and, after some suffering, with their lives, but until he could reach the compound where she was kept, there was nothing he could do but wait and try to think of better things.
'You shut up, you little twerp,' Sano spat. 'You shouldn't even be here. What can you do to help with your toy sword?'
Yahiko's face went a surprising shade of puce and he spluttered furiously.
'At least I have a weapon, Tori-Atama. I have every right to be here, Kaoru is like my sister…' He trailed off, looking shocked at his own words, and about to cry in fury and fear.
Sano was so angry at the Tori-Atama quip and the earlier insinuation of his indifference to Kaoru's abduction that the next words slipped from his lips before he could stop himself. Megumi always did say he had a big mouth and a matching foot to stuff in it.
'Well, at least if I'd been there I wouldn't've hidden like a coward and let my sister be taken away.'
It was an unfair thing to say and Sano knew it. There was nothing Yahiko could have done even if he had stayed and fought. The men that had taken Kaoru were highly trained fighters and the young spiky haired boy would have been no match for their strength. If the tall man thought about it, what Yahiko had done was actually a lot smarter and braver than losing his life in a fight he could never win.
Yahiko dawdled down the corridor, admiring the battle scenes depicted in the old paintings on the walls. Although he had studied under Kaoru and her no killing philosophy, the wars of the world had always fascinated him. Even now, despite the gravity of the situation they were facing, he could not help falling behind to take a closer look at some of the more bloody images.
He was examining the minute and loving detail put into the gore of an ancient battlefield, when the sound of his friends' voices up ahead changed. Kaoru had drilled into him the instincts of a warrior. Changes of Ki and voice were both things he had learned to pay attention to and he now no longer had to be particularly aware of them to notice a difference.
Treading on silent feet, he slid along the wall to the entrance of the room his companions had just entered and peeked inside. Aoshi's broad back prevented him from glimpsing the person he was talking to, but something must have happened that Yahiko couldn't see, because before he could assimilate the next movement the clash of metal resounded through the room.
Now that the Okashira had moved aside, Yahiko could finally get a clear view of the room. Several burly guards stood against one wall, guns slung over their shoulders and eerily blank expressions pasted to their faces. He shuddered as he looked at them, their eyes were as depthless as stone and seemed to stare at nothing in particular.
Frustration built inside him. Kaoru and Misao were a mere step away from him, yet he could not draw their attention to his presence without also attracting those of the puppets against the wall. He knew without a doubt that to do that would be extremely hazardous to his health. Despite his intensive training with Kaoru, he was not a superhero and he could not dodge bullets. Besides, he was the only member of the group that had not been identified. He had seen neither hide nor hair of another Oniwabanshu member since their arrival at the base and could only assume they had all been sent away on missions. He was the only ace up his friends' sleeve. Kami save them.
A crash drew his attention back to the fight at hand. Fear uncoiled in his gut like a viper, angry and fanged. Aoshi was struggling despite his skill. As Yahiko watched, another well-timed slash from his opponent caused dark blood to stain the Okashira's pristine white coat, faltering in another step of the deadly dance. Each blow forced the man to slow his pace that little bit more and it wouldn't be long before one would fall that he could no longer block.
It all happened in a split second. Yahiko closed his eyes unable to bear seeing, as Aoshi hit the floor, the smiling man above him already preparing his death with the shining metal of his katana. The scream that met his ears was inevitable, but the name being called confused him. Opening his eyes, he saw Kaoru held firmly in the arms of a guard and Misao's bleeding body being dragged from the limp grip of the weakened Okashira.
A memory suddenly pressed to the surface at that ridiculous moment. Kaoru leaning over him, clucking crossly as she dabbed at a cut above his eye. He remembered the scene vividly, he had stumbled in, bleeding and bruised after picking a fight with a guy twice his size for a perceived insult to the young waitress in his favourite café. Not surprisingly, he got his ass kicked and Kaoru had been furious with him, adding more bruises to his already marred flesh, before sitting him down to clean him up.
'You know, Yahiko, backing down in a fight is not cowardly.'
He had snorted derisively, wincing as she patted one of his wounds with a little more force than was strictly necessary.
'He who fights and runs away will live to fight another day,' she had continued, shrugging at his non-plussed expression and cruelly patting him on his wounded shoulder. 'Perhaps you're just too young to understand, Yahiko-chan.'
Once he had finished attempting and failing to beat his teacher to a pulp, he had thought about her words. At the time, they had made no sense to him. Running away from a fight made you a coward, pure and simple. Yet, now as he stood frozen, watching the suffering of his friends, the words became clear and he did the only thing he could think of to help them, he hid. He didn't know it, but this was to be the decision that saved Aoshi's life.
'Perhaps, Sanosuke, you should not speak of things that your meager cognitive faculties cannot grasp.'
It was the first time, since they had stepped into the car that Aoshi had spoken and if it had been anyone other than one of the two assassins in front of him, Sano would have sent them to the hospital.
'Naturally, I must have misunderstood. You are not suggesting that Yahiko should have fought the men in that room and left me to die without the medical aid he gave me."
Sano clenched his fists in his lap, but managed to keep his expression emotionless. If he didn't know the man any better, he'd think that Aoshi were trying to pick a fight with him. In fact, if it had been Battousai or even himself in the Okashira's place, he would have been certain of it. Following his instinct, he kept himself, with a show of incredible self-control for him, from saying anything that would allow the man to feel he had been provoked.
'I'm sorry, man, what I said was uncalled for,' Sano said gruffly, reaching over to punch Yahiko gently on the shoulder.
Yahiko didn't reply, simply nodding stiffly to the scenery flashing by. Sano sighed heavily. This was going to be one hell of a journey.
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'Where is she?' Kaoru hissed, standing by the entrance to the grand hall, resplendent in her deep red uchikake kimono.
The intricate, gold embroidered song birds fluttering across the silk gleamed in the light of the room and the delicacy of the sewing coupled with her natural beauty meant that Kaoru outshone every other woman effortlessly. Not that this fact interested her in the slightest, although it clearly did a very jealous Yumi, who stood at a respectful distance beside the ever-smiling Soujiro. Kaoru had wondered in passing, as she had grudgingly taken her place beside Shishio to greet their guests, whether the bandaged man had ordered the young swordsman to remain at Yumi's side for the duration of the reception, in case her temper should lead her to ruin his plans with an inappropriate outburst. She wished she would.
The thought had been thrust from her mind immediately, as she took in her surroundings with a discreet sweep of the eye. Misao was nowhere to be seen. It shouldn't have surprised her that Shishio had removed her friend to a more suitable location, considering that guests were arriving to help them celebrate their happy union. Yet the fact still set alarm bells ringing in her mind.
'Where is who, my dear?' Shishio asked in syrupy tones, no doubt for the benefit of anyone listening.
Her acerbic reply was interrupted by the arrival of yet another guest.
'Ah, Mr. Jumoto, welcome to my humble home,' Shishio smiled superciliously, bowing. 'I am honoured by your presence. Allow me to introduce you to my new wife.'
Mr. Jumoto turned to look at her and Kaoru immediately lowered her gaze, clasping her hands demurely before her and bowing to a depth identical to that of her husband. Bowing was incredibly important. Ever since she was a little girl, she had been taught that the depth of her bow and how long she maintained it could mean the difference between showing respect and causing insult. In a world where honour was everything, bowing became of paramount significance.
When she returned her eyes to Mr. Jumoto's face, she found herself looking into a gaze of mingled pity and sadness for the millionth time that night, before he returned her gesture and left, murmuring platitudes as he went. She fumed inwardly as she watched him walk away. She didn't need useless sympathy from these people she needed help.
'You know exactly who I mean, Mr. Makoto,' Kaoru snarled quietly, purposely refusing to use his first name.
She might not be able to openly disobey him, but she would be damned before she lay down and took his abuse without at least some small rebellion.
'Your friend is being taken care of as we speak,' Shishio said, leaning a little nearer to her and placing a hand against her back, as if soothing the nerves of his anxious bride.
Something about his words made Kaoru frown. It was an odd construction to use. He could simply have said that Misao was receiving medical care. Stepping away from his hand, which burned her skin despite the layers of cloth between them, she turned to look at him warily.
'What do you mean Misao is being taken care of?'
For a split second the mask of condescending civility that Shishio always wore slipped just as it had done earlier in this same room. The eyes, showing through the slits in the bandages, gleamed with a malicious glee that made her chest constrict and her stomach drop. Then it was gone, once again replaced by his arch superiority and disdain.
'I do not break my promises, Mrs. Makoto.'
Kaoru flinched at her new name just as he had wanted.
'I promised you your friend would not die slowly and painfully and I have fulfilled that promise.'
Horror enveloped her, stealing the breath from her lungs and leaving her speechless. His words left no doubt as to their meaning, especially with the sparkle of vicious joy still bright in his eye. Misao was dead. Her sweet, energetic friend, bursting with life and ambition was gone.
Her hands fisted at her sides, itching to beat and tear at the bandages covering Shishio's scarred flesh, to make him feel some small part of the pain and suffering he had caused. He was playing Kami with people's lives, deciding who was worthy and who was not, or more precisely who was in his way and who was not.
She felt like screaming and wailing with loss, but right at that moment more guests arrived, smiling with fake joy and eyeing her with the same pity and curiosity as all the others. She managed by some miracle to reign in her pain and fury, clearing her mind for the first time since she had seen her friend sacrifice herself for her Okashira.
'Mr. Kumori and Mrs. Kumori, what an honour it is to have you in my home tonight,' Shishio said, bowing lower and for a greater period of time than he had deigned to give any of the other guests who had arrived so far.
Perfect.
'Allow me to introduce you to my wife, the late Mr. Kamiya's daughter.'
Kaoru had recognised Mr. Kumori instantly. He was the owner of several large uranium mines in the north. Apparently Shishio was courting his favour. He had, however, made a huge miscalculation just now, taking away the only safeguard he held against Kaoru's temper. She could not care less for her own life any more, but she had cared for that of her friend. Now he would pay the price.
Smiling insolently at Mr. Kumori, Kaoru maintained eye contact as she bowed stiffly, more of a bob of the head than anything else. Her hands remained at her sides. She wasn't going to have any more of this submission crap.
Mr. and Mrs. Kumori looked at her in shock, before turning in outrage to their host. Shishio immediately apologised, saying that his wife was tired and overwrought with the excitement of the day. She was also more educated in western etiquette than Japanese culture and she did not understand the significance of her actions. A lie, of course.
Mr. Kumori appeared to accept this explanation, perhaps because he had heard the rumours of the brutalities suffered by Shishio's enemies. He smiled beneficently at Kaoru, before demonstrating proper manners by bowing deeply and leading his disgruntled wife into the crowd.
Shishio rounded on Kaoru the second they were gone, a snarl parting what she could see of his lips and his eyes glinting with the light of insanity. With blurring speed, he had backhanded her so quickly and so hard she was actually knocked off her feet, unable to prepare herself, despite her extensive martial arts training. She felt the cut on her face, hidden by caked make up, open up and begin to bleed again.
For a moment the room around them fell silent, everyone's eyes riveted on the woman in the red kimono lying on the ground, cheek already bruising and dripping crimson blood to match her attire. Then, with the same swiftness, they returned to their conversations, eyes averted from the scene for fear of attracting the wrath of the unstable man.
'You will never disgrace me like that again, do you understand me?' Shishio roared, practically foaming at the mouth. 'For the short time that you have the honour of holding my name, you will comport yourself with the dignity the title merits.'
'You hold no power over me any more, Shishio,' Kaoru laughed derisively, spitting blood from her split lip at his feet. 'I care nothing for my life and you have already destroyed your only bargaining chip. I will behave as I wish.'
Shishio shook with irrepressible rage, raising his clenched fist to hit her again. In a blink, Yumi was at his side, hand resting a little under the jacket of his black suit and body pressed against every line of his own.
'Shishio-sama, please stop,' she purred, catching his hand and holding it to her cheek. 'She is not worthy of your touch.'
Kaoru watched in horrified fascination as, between one second and the next, Shishio's anger vanished. Homicidal fury replaced by calm contempt. Running a tender finger down Yumi's cheek, he rested an arm around her waist and smiled.
'You are right as always, my sweet. My lovely bride is simply confused and misinformed.'
The word lovely had an entirely new meaning with the way he said it, somewhere between a hiss and a spit.
'Of course, I take part of the blame for her uninformed state. I shall rectify my error immediately.'
He waved the hand that had been raised moments ago to hit her, signaling to someone. Soujiro moved faster than Kaoru could catch and Shishio took a thin rectangular object from his hand, fiddling with it a moment before holding it out for her to take. It was a touch tablet and on its screen were numerous boxes, each with an image fed from a security camera around the compound.
A flash of red caught her attention and she focused on one of the boxes in the far right corner. Soujiro's smiling face moved into her line of sight as he bent down beside her, helpfully touching the screen and enlarging the box to fill it. It was of a courtyard somewhere within the compound. She could just make out three all too familiar figures hidden in the shrubbery surrounding it. Her heart dropped, they had no idea they had been seen.
'There are military trained snipers positioned on the roofs of the buildings surrounding that courtyard, Miss Kamiya. One word from me and the Battousai and his friends will suffer the same fate as Miss Makimachi.'
She felt nothing. There was a complete absence of feeling. It was as though her ability to process emotion had been burned out and she had been left a shell.
'What does it matter, Mr. Makoto. My friends are dead anyway whether I obey you or not,' she hissed, directing a look of pure hatred at the bandaged man.
Any normal human being would have, at least, been disconcerted by the obvious loathing she felt for them, but Shishio merely laughed coldly, watching her with vicious enjoyment.
'That is quite true, my dear, but would you really be able to live out your few remaining days with the knowledge that you were the direct cause of their deaths? Would you not prefer to give them a fighting chance at survival, as opposed to an ignoble, fruitless death?'
Even as the words left his lips, Kaoru knew them to be true. She would not be able to bear the idea of continuing, even for a short while, if her own pride and obstinacy had led to the death of her friends.
Shishio had won and his triumphant smirk showed he knew it. She lowered her head in silent submission, handing the tablet back into his waiting hand. As soon as it was in his possession once more, he turned his attention away from her, no longer interested in his broken toy.
'Soujiro, Chou, please ask the guests, with my most sincere apologies, to vacate the premises. We have some unforeseen intruders.'
Soujiro nodded politely while Chou, who had just arrived from the buffet table with an armful of food, sighed dramatically. Turning to usher away the many people milling about the room, Kaoru saw the same odd expression flit across Soujiro's normally blank face as she had noticed at the Oniwabanshu headquarters. He looked confused and pained, a hand coming up to rub at his temple. Shishio seemed to notice too, frowning slightly before returning his gaze to Kaoru, who had stood up and was resignedly smoothing down the layers of her kimono.
'I underestimated the intelligence of your Battousai and his comrades, Miss Kamiya. They should not have discovered my location so quickly, if at all. I will not make that mistake again.'
She gave him a venomous look, but refrained from responding. Further rebellion was useless. It would only lead to death and pain. The only hope she now had left was that Shishio really was underestimating her friends' skills.
'Shall we go and welcome our new uninvited guests, my blushing bride?' Shishio asked, smirking cruelly.
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Aoshi crouched low to the roof, breathing heavily. Dark blood dripped from his kodachi onto the lifeless body of the last gunman. The man's face was still contorted with shock and terror, a walkie-talkie hanging limply from one hand where he had been about to radio for help.
Frustration warred with anger, as the Okashira attempted to steady his racing heart and rasping breath. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck and every limb ached with the strain of the blows he'd struck. There had been twenty snipers, five on each of the surrounding rooftops and he had killed them all before even one could shout or get off a shot. Normally he would have done this with ease, sliding like a shadow soundlessly between the men, watching them drop like flies, but with the injuries Soujiro had inflicted he could barely move, let alone use the stealth tactics that were the trademark of his organisation.
After a few seconds of rest he was finally able to go again without suffering from unbearable jolts of pain. It wasn't entirely comfortable either though. In fact most people would have been curled up on the tiles of the roof, crying in agony, instead of climbing to the edge to give the ok signal to his companions.
Catching Battousai's attention with a slight wave of the hand, he carefully remained in the blind spot of the security cameras as he continued on his way. The unspoken plan was very simple, each assassin was responsible for finding and rescuing his own woman. Once done, there would be no returning to help the other no matter how dire their situation.
Aoshi silently slid down the drainpipe of the building he was on and crept along the wall, following the blue print of the compound layout he had memorised. It had been very simple to do, but the document had not been so simple to find. It had taken Hannya a full hour and half to locate and bring it to his leader, a length of time unheard of in all the years the ninja had worked for the Okashira.
It was lucky they had managed to find it, however, since the building he entered in search of Misao was a never-ending maze of door-lined corridors. On initially looking over the blue print, Aoshi had surmised that in Misao's wounded condition she would undoubtedly be kept in the hospital wing of the compound. That was if she was alive, of course. His mind skittered away from this unbearable thought, unable to cope with the throbbing ache that burned through his chest.
His intention had been to use the air vents to reach his destination since he was pretty sure outside the main house everything would be sporting the minimalist chic look. He would have nowhere to hide from a passing guard unnoticed. Unfortunately the blue prints demonstrated that Shishio had come to the same conclusion. Motion detectors and pressure pads had been installed all through the pipe work. The only way to turn them off was with Shishio's own retina scan.
It took extreme concentration to dodge the security cameras fanning the corridors, finding and using the blind spots in the motion. It was like a dance, weaving in and out, something Misao would no doubt have enjoyed immensely.
Aoshi's senses were also primed for any foreign Ki's approaching his position. Most people could only sense the auras of strong individuals such as warriors, but through incredible dedication he had honed his skill down to the ability to pinpoint the exact location of even the tiniest mouse within a ten-foot radius.
His hands rested on the hilts of his kodachi under his coat the entire time, ready at a moment's notice to draw and attack. Yet, surprisingly, he met no one and sensed not even the slightest Ki signature. In the silence, the corridors rang with the sound of his footfalls despite the lightness of his tread.
It was not hard to guess when he had reached the hospital wing even without the blue prints as a guide. Rounding a corner and looking through the small window in a swinging double door, he found that the décor suddenly changed from dull beige to stark white and several gurneys rested in a line along one wall.
He was about to push through, rapidly scanning the area for signs of life, when a delicate touch to his shoulder had him spinning round, kodachi drawn. Curse him for being so hurried that he had not thought to retrace his earlier sweep behind him. His desperation to find Misao was impeding his ability to accomplish even the most basic of protection work.
A young woman stood before him, smiling innocently, one hand still outstretched towards him. Black hair shone in the strip lighting and, for a split second, his mind played a cruel trick on him, superimposing Misao's face onto that of this female. It was ridiculous, she bore only the slightest resemblance and was also much older.
Shaking himself, he took up a defensive stance, eyeing the woman warily. There were no obvious weapons on her person, but that didn't mean there weren't any. She was strangely dressed in a kimono of turquoise, purple and yellow material, a heavy looking bow of thick rope peeking from behind her back, wrapping over her shoulders and under her armpits like some sort of restraint.
'Well, aren't you just the handsomest thing I've seen in days,' the woman purred, before a dark look passed over her face and she scowled, muttering grumpily. 'I mean a girl simply tries to plait Shishio-sama's hair and suddenly she's persona non grata, banned from basking in his hotness.'
Aoshi filed away the detail that this woman was about as sane as Misao was demure, tensing as she moved a little closer to him.
'But here you are, my knight in shining armour, come to save me from spending another dull moment in the presence of these brutish guards.'
She didn't bother to hide the way her eyes roamed his body, undressing him with her gaze.
'Well, of course, you are no match for my Shishio-sama, but you will do for now. What's your name, honey? Mine's Kamatari Honjo.'
She slid up close to him, a finger drawing a pattern lightly on his chest. When he refused to respond, moving backwards towards the double doors, she pouted.
'Why don't you forget about that skinny, little thing through there and come have some fun with a real woman.'
Aoshi lashed out angrily with his kodachi and, if Kamatari had not managed to dodge at the last moment, she would have received a wound almost identical to Misao's. As it was, her kimono was slashed to the waist, falling away to reveal…nothing.
Unable to stop himself, Aoshi blinked in shock, a move equivalent to a jaw drop from anyone else. There was no bra to be seen, because there were no breasts for it to hold. Kamatari wasn't "a real woman". A man had propositioned him. The expression on his face was stony, a continuous scream playing through his head.
Anger flashed across Kamatari's face as he pulled the tattered pieces of his kimono together with one hand, the other shooting out of sight round the corner. It reappeared with the biggest scythe Aoshi had ever seen, a ball and chain dangling from the top.
The Okashira rapidly dissected the weaknesses of the weapon and, therefore, the advantages it presented to him. It looked extremely heavy, making it remarkably powerful and lethal if it connected with its target, but unwieldy should it miss.
'Well, now that wasn't very nice, was it? I think I'm going to have to teach you how you should treat a lady,' Kamatari spat, swinging the scythe with brutal force.
Aoshi dodged easily, landing lightly on the balls of his feet and throwing his momentum into his counterattack, kodachi trained on Kamatari's now exposed side. He had, however, failed to take into consideration the backlash of the ball and chain as it thundered through the air, following the motion of the scythe.
He quickly dropped into a low crouch, feeling how close he had come to a whole lot of pain, the ball brushing back the hair on the top of his head. He rolled into a standing position once again, sliding out of the scythe's range.
Kamatari rounded on him, raising the weapon into the air above his head and spinning it steadily faster until it was a blur and a hiss. It was a deadly technique, the ball and chain spinning around his body as a moving shield and the twirling scythe slicing through any obstacle. Large chunks of the plaster and paint covering the walls and ceiling were gouged out, flying through the air and adding to the things he was forced to avoid. They didn't seem to bother Kamatari in the slightest, the weapon moving ever faster.
Aoshi's mind raced for a solution, a way of creating an opening for attack. Frustration built inside him as he continued to nimbly dance out of Kamatari's reach, tensed and ready for any mistake the other man might make. Misao was dying somewhere, damn it, and he was being forced to fight a she-male thug without the finesse to wield a weapon that actually took more than power to use.
Then it came to him in a sudden flash of brilliance. It would take a certain amount of ingenuity to pull off, but Aoshi had more than enough of that.
In one smooth, rapid motion, he pulled back his arm and threw a well-timed kodachi, forcing Kamatari to consciously block the attack.
The weapon connected with the metal of the chain, before falling to the floor, the sound ringing in the quiet corridor.
'That was pathetic, honey. I'm disappointed. You didn't actually think that would work, did you?'
'No, I did not,' Aoshi replied in his usual monotone drawl, already in motion.
In the moment he had thrown his kodachi, Kamatari had been distracted, mistaking his move for a ridiculous attempt to pierce his shield. The scythe had stopped its mesmerizing whirling and Aoshi seized the advantage. Before Kamatari had a chance to raise his heavy weapon for another attack, he went in for the kill. Bringing his kodachi down on the weak spot on the handle of the scythe just below the weighty metal burden at one end, it snapped with a hideous crack.
Kamatari stared down at his broken weapon with a look of pained disbelief, unable to assimilate the fact that it had been destroyed. His whole body shook with the force of his wrath and he clenched his hands into fists around what was left of his precious scythe, tensing as though to attack again.
'Do not continue this foolish fight. Your weapon is gone and you cannot win. Do not stand in my way and I will allow you to leave with your life,' Aoshi warned, his gaze never wavering from the man's menacing form.
Something like insanity shone in Kamatari's eyes as he raised them to the Okashira's face.
'I can never be at his side. I am not a beautiful woman like Yumi or a masterful swordsman like Soujiro. There is no place for me near him.'
His words were spoken thoughtfully, as though he had completely forgotten Aoshi's presence.
'Yet, I will serve him with everything I have. I will not let him down. I will complete every mission without fail. Shishio-sama will come to need me.'
The last words were said on a scream as he caught the ball and chain on a small hook attached to the unbroken end of his weapon, sending them hurtling towards Aoshi before the man had time to realize what was happening.
The Okashira narrowly avoided the blow, sliding sideways on pure instinct with the grace and speed of a jungle cat. Then, before Kamatari had time to blink, he moved forwards, slicing into one of his legs and forcing him to his knees. Lifting his kodachi to strike the final blow, he was beaten to the punch, as the other man pulled a needle from the sleeve of his torn kimono and drove it smoothly into his own neck.
Aoshi watched emotionlessly as the blood flowed rapidly from the wound, Kamatari gasping in the agony of his own making.
'Forgive me, Shishio-sama,' he choked out, gaze trained on something only he could see.
On his last shuddering breath, the light faded from his eyes and he lay still.
Aoshi moved to pick up and stow his kodachi in their sheaths, flicking the blood off the blade he had used. Time had run out. He needed to find Misao now and get her out of here before the guards made their appearance. They would no doubt have seen the fight with Kamatari on the nearby security camera and have called for backup. Normally, he would have been able to take on an entire room full of the barely trained thugs, but he could already feel his body weakening under the strain of his exertions and he did not think he would be able to transport Misao and deal with them at the same time.
Pushing through the swinging door into the hospital wing, he began to search the many rooms down the corridor. One after another he found them dark and empty of life, not even a patient or a medic in sight. There wasn't a single ki signature, neither Misao's nor anyone else's. With each passing moment, his worry increased. Had he been wrong? Was Misao not in this area? Did that mean she was dead? But that couldn't be, Kamatari had accidentally let slip a very useful piece of information during his ramblings. He had said that he would find the "skinny, little thing" through the double doors.
Trying to keep his fear in check, he entered the second to last room. Harsh overhead lighting bounced off sterile metal countertops, blinding him. The room was bright white and smelled, as all hospitals do, of disinfectant, chemicals and disease. Only this place was overlaid by a metallic scent only too familiar to one as accustomed to carnage as Aoshi. Right ahead a pristine white wall was defiled with a dark, dripping stain. Blood. Aoshi's world dipped and spun for a moment, thoughts whirling. It was arterial spray, he had seen it enough times to be able to tell. His heart stopped in his chest before picking up a furious, panicked pace. Fear mingled with grief in his breast.
The room was deathly silent aside from a slow plink…plink…plink of liquid dripping onto the black linoleum floor. Aoshi couldn't see where it was coming from. He could just make out a wrought iron bed partially hidden behind a screen. His body begging for rest, he forced it into motion, thrusting the curtain aside.
Misao lay corpse-like, skin almost translucent in the fluorescent lights and it suddenly became obvious to Aoshi why he had not sensed her presence. Even this close to her, he could barely feel her ki. Had it not been for the slight rise and fall of her chest, he might well have mistaken her for dead. Giddy relief flooded his system, despite the obvious gravity of her condition. She was alive. There was still hope.
The man slumped across her legs was not faring so well. Blank eyes gazed unseeing from the head lolling over the side of the bed. An ebbing flow of blood oozed from the deep gash severing his neck from ear to ear. A gun lay uselessly at his feet.
With a low sound of contempt and fury, Aoshi grabbed the back of the man's uniform, wrenching him from Misao's limp form to dump him unceremoniously into the puddle of his own blood. Death had been given to him far too quickly in the Okashira's opinion.
It was only the lightning reflexes honed by years of training that prevented the scalpel from rending his carotid artery. A glint of deadly metal was the only warning and, in the split second it took his brain to register it, his hand had already shot out, grasping Misao's wrist in a vice-like grip.
Misao's pupils were dilated to the point where her blue irises could barely be seen, a mixture of adrenaline fueled hysteria and drugs driving her on. There was no recognition in her eyes, perhaps because her body was in shock after what it had been put through. With the wound Aoshi had seen inflicted on her, she should not have been conscious let alone attacking him with the brutal intent to kill. It was clear that the only thing keeping the strength in her body was her innate instinct for survival and the iron will he had always admired her for.
Carefully freeing the scalpel from her clenched fist, it was obvious that she had been grasping it incredibly tightly, a deep indentation cutting across the palm of her hand. The second her weapon was wrestled from her grip, the fight left her body and she slumped in defeat, certain of her imminent death.
'Misao,' Aoshi whispered, laying her back against the bed to inspect her injury.
As he lightly brushed his hand across it, he could feel crude stitching beneath the bandages. The dressings were equally roughly done and not much care had been taken for her comfort. An IV drip was still in her arm, but there was no blood for it to feed into her. They had kept her on a knife edge, providing her until recently with enough blood to survive, but not giving her the aid she needed to recover.
Gently brushing some hair from her pale face, he noticed the slight blue tinge to her lips. She was not going to last much longer without serious medical attention. He needed to get her to Hannya as quickly as possible. The other ninja should already have reached the rendezvous point with the necessary equipment.
Aoshi moved with great care, lifting her into his arms and cradling her to him as he stepped over the dead man on the floor and made his way to the exit. It was viciously frustrating how slowly he had to travel, afraid of jarring the limp woman in his arms in case it harmed her further.
Surprisingly, no one attempted to stop them as he retraced his steps through the building, avoiding the debris and Kamatari's lifeless body as he moved. Once outside, it became clear why no obstacles had been laid in their path. A howling alarm was blaring through the compound and, if he was not mistaken, the smoke curling up from the doors and windows of several of the far off buildings signaled that Sano had successfully started his revenge. It was highly doubtful that any of the guards would be paying attention to the security monitors in their building when chaos was reigning everywhere else.
'Hold on, my Misao.'
Aoshi tightened his grip on the body that felt so fragile in his arms and quietly slipped away.
'Just hold on.'
Author's note: As always, I would really appreciate your comments and reviews. After all, the more I get, the more excited I am about writing you some more!