: : : Disclaimer : : :
Sessha does not own Rurouni Kenshin, that he most certainly does not. :)
REVIEWER RESPONSE
Night-Owl123 - I'm glad you like it, and very sorry I took so long to update. Here is chappy 8! ( o.O) I hope you enjoy it.
Unseen Watcher - .. The authoress who inspired me to begin writing my own story. I thank you for your review of my little fic, and proudly present chappy 8!
D.F. Feda - ( o.o) No offense taken at all. Actually, I did a little dance at getting my first death threat! My family thinks I'm weird now.... . ;;
skabs - ( o.o) ? Kenshin...? Oh, you mean the screams. Oh, well. Read on. Enjoy the chappy!
DarkFeenix - I'm glad you liked it! ( o.o) I present Chappy 8 and a more-IC Saitou. ( I hope... )
RLB - .. I sorta failed that two months thing... sorry about that... But here's the update!
vinny valentino - . ;; when you said 'take as long as you like," I think I took it a BIT far.... o.o;; Sorry about that.
the sacred night - My devoted beta. I'm VERY sorry for not shipping this one to you first, but I thought I better hurry up and update SOON.
That won't happen again, I promise.
pruningshears - I'm happy you're happy. As for BEST battle scene, I'm not sure if I deserve that but will happily take that title! ( O.O) Thank you! It's a huge confidence boost, believe me.... w00t!
D-Chan3 - ?? Kenshin? Ah, Kenshin... Thanks for your enjoyment, and enjoy the chappy!
Lucrecia LeVrai - u.u I'm sorry you didn't enjoy my battle scene, but am very glad you liked the chappy itself. This chappy might fill your craving for conversation, though!
daniel-gudman - ( O.o) Actually, Hiko's a very smart and learned person. I don't find it odd to imagine he's learned stuff about other nations and stuff. It actually makes sense to me... as per 'hitokiri', the people in RK seem to treat it as a thing of terror, I decided to follow with that. To Battojutsu, you're right, of course.... but Hiten is different. To evil swordsman/ evil politicians ratio, if one considers all the Juppongatana, Shishio's army, Jin'e, etc... ( O.o) Number gets big. Besides, swordsman automatically get more attention and are more conspicuous because of the nature of the thing. Dirty politicians are always trying to keep the deed under the table. As to the Shinsengumi... :D read on! Thanks for reading, too. I hope you enjoy chappy 8!
Hitokiri-san - I got Hiko as drunk as a herd of elephants in a Budweiser factory. o.o Yep, he's drunk. By the way, I highly recommend alcohol abstinence....
Note -
.. You may throw heavy objects at me now for being so late....
Please note, for those of you who have the Final Fantasy Tactics soundtrack, I recommend reading the part in italics to the song "Hero's Theme". o.O It sure sounded good to me...
The Sword of Seijuro Hiko
Chapter Eight - Chance Meetings
Stained with blood, a tall man's katana was lowered so that it rested by the side of its wielder, a man cloaked in white and blue, and equally stained with the blood of men. A flick of the wrist, and the blood dispersed into the air, leaving the blade relatively clean, if one discounted the deep red stains on the silken wrap and the scent of death that hung in the air. The owner of the katana grinned coolly at the carnage before him, his eyes betraying not a hint of regret or sorrow as he whispered those famed words of the Shogunate's finest swordsmen corps with reviling relish.
"Aku, Soku, Zan."
The men behind him chuckled their agreement, their eyes equally unmindful of the tragedy that had just occurred. Their own bloodstained weapons were swung wildly from side to side, flinging blood in all directions; sheathing their weapons, the illustrious Shinsengumi began to examine the men they had left lying dead in the streets of Kyoto.
"Hey, Shinzo!" one man called out. "You'd better have a look at this!"
Grinning, the man named Shinzo kicked aside the body of one particularly bloodied swordsman, the expression of the fallen man desperate and determined. "I've told ya, Tanaka, don't call me Shinzo. My new name," he said, savoring his arrogance, "is Shin-zan."
The men around him chuckled in grim amusement at the self-applied nickname. His grin widening, the leader of the small band kicked the dead body once more for good measure before turning to walk towards the smirking Tanaka.
Walking through a field of dead men as if he hadn't just ordered his unit to slay a dozen men, he stifled a sadistic chuckle as he watched his men frisk the dead bodies for money and valuables, and the weapons.
He didn't want to seem like he was having too much fun.
"So, what's so bloody interesting, Tanaka?" he called nonchalantly.
The other man only grinned and pointed in front of himself. "Have a look-see at this."
Mildly irritated by his underling's vague reply, he quickened his pace and cast his eyes to his right, and promptly stopped cold. His face split into a lecherous smirk.
"Well, well, well. Supper and dessert to boot! What a day," he chuckled. "I was pretty sure I heard a wench's scream."
Amidst the wreckage of a street vendor's tent, surrounded by three dead swordsmen, lay a young woman in her teens, her formerly light violet kimono wet with blood, smeared across her torso and legs. Her head hung at an angle, her kimono and obi ripped across her abdomen, obscured by the dark blood and the shadows from the tent. Through a rip in the material that made up the cloth roof, a glimmer of moonlight shone down upon her upper torso and head, illuminating the long, silky raven strands of her hair that fell around her youthful face, and glinting off a peculiar hairpiece, shaped like a butterfly, both soiled in blood. Her young body's soft curves were accented by the moonlight, eliciting an animalistic grunt from Tanaka.
"Never let it be said that the Shinsengumi are without luck," he chuckled. Tipping his head up to the sky, he nodded.
"Thank you, gods."
The other men now noticed the object of 'Shinzan's' and Tanaka's attention, and were themselves drawn to the spot where the young woman lay silently.
"Whaddaya say, boss?" one grunted. "Shall we have a little fun before we go back?"
Shinzan gave a small grunt of approval. "Can't let a nice little opportunity like this pass us by," he commented gleefully. Kneeling down, he reached his hand out towards her...
...and nearly impaled himself on the sheathless swords his men were carrying, as an earth-shaking scream pierced the deathly silence of the night.
The thunderous sound of his landing did not go unheard, nor did his uncharacteristic battle cry. His cloak whipped in the winds as he skidded to a stop, one booted foot extending out as a brake, his hair shining in the moonlight. His decade-old sword, polished, spotless, and completely unmarred, whistled through the air in a blinding blue blaze of light, coming to rest above his head, arm extended outwards, blade facing behind him. His sword unsheathed, his burning eyes quickly analyzed the bloodied streets, searching. His eyes passed over dead man after dead man, but his mind did not even register it as he scanned he streets, almost in desperation.
His search was interrupted by several cries of surprise and sudden anger; sparing a moment, he glanced upwards to learn whom it was who still breathed on this bloodbathed patch of dust.
What he saw froze him solid.
There, in the moonlight, surrounded by fifteen men, lay a young woman, covered in blood, her head hanging in death, her kimono partially opened. Her glossy midnight hair dripping blood...
But that was not all.
In her hair there was a strange object shaped like a butterfly, crude and artistically lacking, it was nonetheless well-made, its wings many different hues of red and violet, it's golden body's legs nestled in the young woman's hair. A hairpiece, most likely made by a child.
A child Hiko knew well.
"What have you got there, Kenshin?" Hiko boomed loudly. His deshi, formerly locked in intense concentration, jumped twelve feet into the air and rammed his head into a sturdy tree branch with a resounding crack. Hiko couldn't contain himself and began laughing at the top of his formidable lungs as his deshi fell into a crumpled heap on the ground.
After a moment, Hiko's loud laughter died down, and he poked his motionless deshi with one booted foot. The boy didn't move at all.
Hiko's eyebrow twitched.
"Hey! Get up! It can't be that bad, I hit you twice as hard as that on a daily basis!" he snapped.
His motionless deshi did not respond.
Grunting, Hiko pushed him over with his boot, and collapsed into laughter again at his deshi's swirling eyes.
Another chuckle rang out from the big man sitting across from him; Kenshin, quite fed up with it, lifted his eyes and gazed accusingly at his master, whose grin only widened as he fed the campfire.
"Don't look at me, boy. It's your fault for being caught off-guard."
Scowling, Kenshin went back to dabbing his grass brush into the red-violet liquid in the bowl by his side, and began applying it to the object in his hand, wincing as his head assured him that it wasn't going to forget the little fiasco from earlier.
Curiosity, still unsatisfied, took over control of Hiko's behavior, shoving Nonchalance and Indifference aside.
"So, what new way of embarrassing yourself are you working on this time?" Hiko opined into his sake.
...accompanied, of course, by Sarcasm, ever-present, ever-vigilant.
Kenshin's scowl deepened. "It's..."
Hiko's eyebrow quirked ever so slightly. "It's... what, baka deshi?"
The scowl creasing Kenshin's face threatened to make a permanent valley between his eyes.
Hiko grinned broadly. "Careful, deshi, your face might freeze like that."
Kenshin muttered something inaudible and continued to work.
Hiko's grin faded as Curiosity grew more and more insistent. "What is that you've got there, boy?"
"It's nothing."
"You're a poor liar, my dumb apprentice."
"Alright, it's nothing you'd be interested in."
"I beg to differ."
Kenshin's head shot up, and he stared at Hiko in unmasked shock.
Feeling like something he'd not wanted to be known had slipped out, he belted out a quick, "You'll never be as handsome as me, baka deshi. You might as well forget about it," complete with dismissive flicking of fingers.
Kenshin's formerly wide eyes narrowed in exasperation, and he hung his head with a considerable sigh.
Still feeling as if something was amiss, Hiko again insisted on knowing what Kenshin was doing.
The young redhead eyed Hiko warily. "What do I get if I tell you?"
Hiko sighed and shook his head. "Sometimes I think I should've made you a merchant's apprentice, Kenshin."
Kenshin was unperturbed. "Well?"
Hiko leaned forward. "What is it you're looking for?"
"I want to skip training tomorrow."
"Not a chance, kid."
"I also want you to loan me two yen."
"What?! Why?!"
"Because I'm gonna need it."
"What for?"
"I'll tell you that, too, for another yen."
Hiko scowled. "I haven't even agreed to give you the first two."
"But you will," Kenshin grinned.
"Oh? And why is that?" Hiko snorted skeptically.
"Because curiosity is the one weakness you have, Master." the boy said triumphantly.
Hiko's eyebrow twitched. "Fine, the two yen and the day off. But, you're going to tell me what you're gonna do with it, too, or you get nothing."
"Then YOU'LL get nothing, too."
"I'm not the one who was fishing for something in the first place."
"Yes, you were. You asked me what I was doing, and then -"
"Shut up and tell me what you're planning, Kenshin, or I'll make you run five miles right now, in addition to making you work off that two yen I WON'T give you by chopping firewood!"
"Alright, alright..." Kenshin sighed. His eyes fell back onto the small object in his hands. "I'm making a hairpiece for Miss Ayane."
Hiko was speechless for a moment, and then a smile crept across his face. "Well, it's about time, apprentice. What do you plan to do with the money?"
"A band of traveling performers is going through the village tomorrow, and they're having a festival on the same day," Kenshin responded quietly, lightly dabbing the object. "I'm going to ask her to come with me."
"You mean, you're going to ask her if you can go with her."
Kenshin looked up. "Oro?"
"You know very well you'd rather be playing with your sword than attending a festival, baka deshi, and I know it as well," the big man replied coolly. "The only reason you'd be in that village tomorrow is because of a... special attraction, one that has nothing to do with the performers or the festival."
Kenshin paled. "I, uh.... well... that is, I- I mean, she-"
Hiko waved him off. "I know how it is, deshi. There's no need to explain it. When you fall for a woman, very little else seems to matter; swords, kenjutsu, anything. I understand exactly how you feel." he said, smirking into his cup.
That only encouraged Kenshin's stuttering, which was exactly the effect Hiko was going for. His sadistic sense of humor satisfied, he leaned back against a log and watched his deshi in amusement through the licking flames of the campfire.
After a time, Kenshin regained his coherence, and continued to paint the small object in his hand. Hiko nodded at it and inquired what it was.
"It was part of the deal, after all."
Kenshin was silent for a moment, but after a few moments of consideration, he said, "It's a butterfly."
Hiko nodded gravely. "Of course it is."
Kenshin's eyebrow twitched.
Hiko stifled the bubbling laughter inside him, and instead gazed up at the stars, trying not to break down in front of the boy, who, by the feel of his ken-ki, was feeling increasingly violent.
Several minutes passed, and as Kenshin's ki calmed, the boy began to snicker. Curious, Hiko's gaze fell upon his apprentice-with-a-plan. The boy's expression was akin to that of sinister satisfaction. Hiko wondered if he was raising a hentai for a moment, but dismissed that thought. The kid was too shy and respectful to be thinking anything... less than honorable. The snickering continued, however, until Hiko finally spared him a dispassionate glance and asked what was so humorous.
Kenshin's smirk broadened, and the snickering grew louder. "You begged."
Hiko sat quietly for a moment, listening to the crackling of the fire...
...and the never-before-seen sweatdrop graced his head for the first time.
As it had become habit since he had taken the flame-haired youth in, the thirteenth master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu was very much unaware that his eyebrow had begun to twitch regularly when he was faced with some ridiculous aspect of daily life regarding his bumbling swordsman-to-be apprentice; Hiko's oft-frayed nerves had gone from perfectly in-tune to twitching and highly sensitive to annoying stimuli. It gave him something of a comical appearance at times, a man of his size and build in a total facefault, his eyebrow twitching sporadically.
It was even more comical when he was standing behind a tree, watching said bumbling swordsman-to-be bumble into a tree or three on his way back up the mountain.
For the third time that night, Hiko sighed quietly as his apprentice walked right into a rather large oak, and earn another sizable bump on his war-weary forehead. Even more exasperating was that the kid took no notice, but simply back up and continued walking, utterly ignoring his wounded head and lightly tracing his fingers over his right cheek.
Heaving another weary sigh, Hiko could only grin at his apprentice's silent awe at the gentle mark that had been given him. It reminded Hiko of why he'd taken the boy in; that naive innocence that enshrouded the just heart within him. Many times Hiko had been surprised at the ferocity Kenshin showed in training, and afterwards equally surprised with his timidity and clumsiness. The boy was a walking compilation of small mysteries and contradictions.
Hiko's exasperation came to a peak as he watched his daydreaming apprentice set course for yet another tree. Seeing as how it would be the fourth run-in in less than six minutes, Hiko decided that he had to intervene so that the boy would return to the cabin before dawn the next morning.
That decided, he pitched the small pebble he'd been holding towards his apprentice's head.
There was a thump, a yelp, and a keeling over of one small redheaded boy. Hiko felt a small bit of annoyance at having pitched too hard, and decided to remedy his mistake by soundly rousing his apprentice.
Therefore, he lifted the pail of water he'd brought along for the occasion.
"So, Kenshin..."
"Master?"
Hiko smirked with considerable sadism. "How'd it go?"
Kenshin stiffened, and the blood drained from his face as his mind raced to find a way out of his situation.
' If he finds out she kissed me, I'll never survive it... I'll have to kill him... ' he told himself again and again. ' Think, Kenshin, think... there's got to be a way out of... '
"I'm waiting, apprentice." The smirk widened all the more.
Kenshin growled quietly, and vengeful thoughts begin to fill his head. ' Arrogant, nosy, self-righteous thinks-he-knows-it-all... There is no way I'll EVER let him find out that - '
"Would you just be out with it and say she kissed you, baka?" Hiko asked in a feigned tone of boredom.
Kenshin facefaulted, and Hiko collapsed, roaring in laughter. Totally ignoring the speechless boy, he rolled onto his side and began to pound the ground incessantly, spilling his sake in the process.
Flushed and embarrassed, Kenshin's growl deepened. "Master...!"
Hiko only laughed harder, the pain in his side growing more vivid.
Furious, Kenshin could only fume as his master rolled about in the dust, totally absorbed in his own mirth. ' Trust him to find my romantic life to be a funny thing... ' he thought to himself bitingly. ' I'd do a thousand practice swings a day for the rest of my life if I could just embarrass HIM for one...'
Time passed, and Hiko's raucous laughter eventually died down to constant chuckling, to mild chortling, and finally ending in an extremely satisfied smirk. Kenshin watched the process with a mixture of curiosity and professional interest. ' I wonder if he'd laugh that much if I dipped his hair in some of those paints I bought... ' he mused.
Mindful of his deshi's silence, and wishing to avert his own impending assassination, Hiko tried to make some light conversation.
"So, tell me about the festival, deshi. How'd it go?" he asked, refilling his saucer.
Settling back against his log, Kenshin crossed his arms and glared at Hiko. Hiko followed suit, and for a time, the two continued to simply sit and stare, neither blinking, both totally intent on breaking the other.
A minute, then two, then three, and despite the blazing fire not two feet from either of them, neither batted an eye, flinched, looked away, or so much as hinted at any expression other than a vivid scowl.
Hiko felt his eyes begin to grow tired, he was a little closer to the fire and his eyes were drying out. If the staring match continued much longer, there was a chance that he might break first...
And that was anathema to him.
Hiko flicked his wrist and his beverage went sailing into Kenshin's face. Sputtering, the boy wildly wiped at his face, and glared venomously at the smirking face of Seijuro Hiko XIII.
"Ready to tell me now, boy?"
And the fight was on.
The fire was low and smoldering by the time the scuffle ended, and following that master and student shared a lengthy conversation regarding the events of the day. Several times both men found themselves searching for firewood, and the moon was half done with it's nightly journey across the sky before the chat came to an end. It reminded Hiko, a bit painfully, that being the heir to the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu came with a heavy price; his life had been anything but normal, even by the standards of civil war, before he had taken Kenshin in, and his life following that had seemed to Hiko to be close to what a widower must feel; raising a young child without the love and support of a wonderful woman to lean on. His inner strength was indeed sufficient for life, and he was content as things were now, and with the addition of Kenshin and his new romantic interest, Hiko was approaching satisfaction in life. There was, however, a void, something that his belief in Heaven, his battles with iniquity, and his makeshift adoption of Kenshin could not fill.
It was a lonely existence, the life of the man who wielded the invincible sword of justice, who spent his days training endlessly and his nights slaying wicked men. The addition of an apprentice had lightened the load somewhat, but still he felt it, a longing for more, something that he simply could not make better as he was now. Strange, but true; in the end, even the nigh-invulnerable master of the Holy Sword could not cure all ills, indeed, far from it.
The silence of his master was something that struck Kenshin as highly uncharacteristic, and a little scary. His master had almost never been at a loss for words, no matter the situation, and when he was, it was a certainty that something was very much amiss. Kenshin found himself shifting uncomfortably against his log, wondering if he had sad something he shouldn't have. Glancing uneasily at the glorious master of Hiten Mitsurugi, Kenshin was again struck at how awe-inspiring his master's appearance was; powerfully developed muscles wrapped in fine silk and cotton, the marvelous, shimmering cloak of the Hiten heir, white and red and totally without blemish, the simple, elegant beauty of his cherry-wood sheathe and the glittering blade within, and his long, dark hair that seemed always to be perfectly in place, as subject to his will as any other aspect of himself. Kenshin felt some slight envy at his master's great size and appearance; being short and over-slender himself. He knew well how much Ayane liked his own appearance, but also that the mere presence of Hiko rattled the girl into stuttering oblivion.
The great swordsman sat in careful thought, his long bangs hanging in front of his eyes, obscuring them slightly, and casting his face into deep shadow. Even the moon's brilliant rays could not lift the darkness that masked his face. His arms folded over his chest, he gave the impression of a man trying to come to a difficult decision.
All was silence for a few minutes, and Kenshin was debating whether to break the silence himself when Hiko tilted his head back very slightly, his eyes still shrouded in shade.
" ...It sounds like you enjoyed yourself very much, baka deshi," said he softly.
Kenshin flinched at his master's soft tone, unconsciously pressing up against his log. Often had Hiko spoken quietly, in reverence or solemnity, but 'soft' was not a term he would ever have thought of to describe his master's speech.
"Ah, yes, Shishou..."
The older man did not move, and was a long time in speaking again. "Now come, Kenshin," he whispered, "listen to what I say. I will question you and you will answer me like a man. I don't want you to think about how to answer, I want to know your heart's thoughts, not those of your mind. Close your eyes and listen."
Kenshin shrank back against his log further with a hasty, "Ah, yes, Shishou."
Hiko tilted his head slightly. "Suppose the revolution spread to the village below us, Kenshin. Imagine that every day is filled with executions and night patrols, instead of quiet farmers peddling crops and merchants selling pottery," Hiko held up a hand, silencing his deshi's response before he could voice it. "I know how you feel about the Shogunate, Kenshin. That's why I'm asking."
Kenshin settled back against his log, and Hiko continued quietly. "Naturally, since we're so close to the town, and we have friends there, we would often be there to keep them safe. One night, we are forced into battle with an elite swordsman, as powerful as myself in every respect." Kenshin started again, and Hiko gave a faint smirk. " I didn't say it was a realistic scenario, baka deshi." Kenshin smoldered, but remained silent.
"The swordsman manages to kill me, Kenshin, but is grievously wounded himself. The whole battle has revolved around Ayane's family being accused of harboring rebels, and her parents and siblings are imprisoned already. Only she managed to escape, and we found her around the same time the swordsman found us." Kenshin nodded slowly, face scrunched up slightly. "My question to you, deshi; what do you do now? I'm dead, my killer is injured, the city is filled with soldiers, Ayane's family is imprisoned, and she herself is with you. What now?"
Kenshin balked at the question, prompting Hiko to level a cool gaze at his apprentice. "What do you do, Kenshin?" he repeated quietly.
Stuttering for a few moments, Kenshin returned his master's gaze uneasily. "Can I have a minute to think about it, shishou?"
Hiko nodded once, and Kenshin instantly fell into thought. Several moments passed, and Kenshin did not say a word, but merely sat and hung his head in deep thought. Hiko's own mind was clear, having already decided what his judgment on Kenshin's possible answers would be.
Rousing slightly, Kenshin looked up and folded his arms. "I suppose I'd take Miss Ayane back to the cabin, have her wait there, then go and try to free her family..."
"What about the enemy?" Hiko asked. ' Answer right, apprentice... '
Kenshin folded his arms. "After I freed her family, I'd go back and bring down the man who beat you, Shishou."
Hiko's face did not change. " After that?"
Kenshin's eyes narrowed in thought. "I... guess I'd keep patrolling as often as I could, keeping the village safe from the Shogunate." Kenshin shrugged. "Ayane and her family could live here on the mountain, and I could come back here if I needed rest or medicine or food."
Hiko nodded in Kenshin's direction. "You'd keep this up for how long?"
"Until it wasn't needed anymore."
Seijuro was silent and unmoving. Kenshin was confident in his answer, however; he felt something very important had just occurred in his master's mind, though for the life of him, he did not know what.
Slowly, Hiko came to his feet, cloak gently swaying in the calm breeze as he turned away from the fire.
"Wrong answer, Kenshin."
Kenshin was dumbstruck. "Wrong?!"
"Wrong, Kenshin."
A moment Kenshin sat, feeling drained and drawn, then a flood of conflicting emotions came to him all at once. "What's wrong about it?" he asked, confused.
The breeze picked up gently, swaying Hiko's cloak and hair gently from side to side.
"Even injured, you are not nearly strong enough to kill anyone like me, Kenshin." Hiko said quietly. ' Not yet, anyhow... ' he thought. Out loud he said, "Beyond that, if I was dead, and there were swordsman like me out there, patrol would be nearly useless either way. You'd just die as well, and what would that serve?"
Kenshin gritted his teeth. "I'd have gone down like you, Shishou."
Hiko gave a genuine chuckle, and an extremely uncharacteristic, "I appreciate that, apprentice."
Kenshin started violently, staring wide-eyed at Hiko. Hiko's mouth turned upwards in a small smile.
"Having said that, there's no guarantee that they would not find the mountain cabin. And without you there, Ayane's family wouldn't have a chance in hell of escape or survival. The penalty for escaping arrest is death, after all. Your life would have been wasted taking on too much responsibility than was meant for you..." Hiko again fell silent, and Kenshin could do nothing but wait for his master to continue.
"For the Hiten Mitsurugi masters before you, the sword was used to eradicate evil all across Japan, doing the most that one man could to keep innocent people safe from wicked men. Not so with you, my baka deshi." Hiko said after a time.
'Not so...?'
"Shi-shishou?" Kenshin stammered.
"I'm saying that it's not your responsibility to fight at all turns, Kenshin, nor to try to protect everyone who is persecuted. That was my lot; it is not yours."
"Wh- what are you saying, Shishou?" Kenshin demanded; he was both confused and discouraged by Hiko's words, unsure what they meant and what they meant for his future.
"I'm saying, Kenshin, that the correct answer is that you take Ayane away, and her family, and never return. You keep her safe, you protect her, you never let her become endangered again. Find a small village, raise a family, become a farmer, always keeping in practice, always the best swordsman you can be, so that if your family is endangered again, you can protect them and survive."
"But what about the village?! What about the man who killed you?! And what about the Shogunate?!" Kenshin demanded angrily. "I have to do what I can to protect the people and avenge the wrongs the government committed, don't I?!"
Jumping up, Kenshin grabbed Hiko's arm and jerked the big man to one side, glaring at him furiously. "What good is the Hiten Mitsurugi if I don't put to use, shishou?!"
The taller man smiled wistfully at his apprentice, remaining silent.
Frustration welled up inside Kenshin, and he shook his head violently, as though denying his master's words in his heart. Hiko spoke again softly.
"When I first began training you, do you remember how you responded to me, deshi?"
Kenshin glared again at the taller man. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"You were suspicious of me," Hiko continued, answering his own question with a hint of amusement. "You had no idea why I wanted to teach you anything, let alone how to defend yourself and others. You asked me what I wanted from you-"
Kenshin scowled. "And you never answered me. But that has nothing to do with -"
"Your sword is not meant for protecting Japan, Kenshin, but the people around you. You will not follow the path of the Hiten masters before you," said Hiko, and Kenshin's anger left him suddenly, as a child's balloon pricked by a needle loses air. "Your duty, your MISSION, Kenshin, is to protect your family and friends, those people in your sight, and pass on the principles you have learned on this mountain..." Hiko stalked away into the night, snow-white cloak gently swaying in the cool twilight breeze. "Be happy, Kenshin. That is what I want from you. That's what I demand of you, more than anything else."
And he vanished into the starlit night.
In that moment, he could see nothing except his own tears, feel nothing but the boundless sorrow that slid into bottomless rage. A fury like none he had ever known possessed him, as his searing gaze took in the motionless young woman lying against the bloodied lumber, her beautiful kimono stained with her innocent blood, and that slight wrinkle in her obi where that bastard Shinsengumi had expressed his lust for her, even in death.
Despite all his training, he had never in his life assumed that he could handle the death of one so young and so close to him without some degree of insanity possessing him. Gazing at the dead young woman, the woman he had hoped would marry his fool apprentice and bear his deshi's children, all thoughts of emotional training and cool detachment were cast into the screaming wind. He was a passionate man who kept his potent emotions under lock and key at all times, suppressing more and more as he watched the world around him collapse; there was simply too much to contain anymore.
His mind snapped.
And the world around him responded.
Hajime Saitou was not a man prone to superstition; he did believe that there was more to life than what one could know with his own senses, but he had always regarded mysticism with a mixture of distaste and 'Aku, Soku, Zan'. Being one who didn't care for charms or ofuda or the like, he had walked through battlefields thought to be haunted, pursued his enemies through graveyards said to be guarded by demons, and essentially gone where no other man would without flinching. That was the kind of man Hajime Saitou was - courageous, dedicated, and most of all, obsessed with justice.
He was an obsessiveman in all respects; he loved his wife more deeply than could be understood, and if he caught even a hint of a threat to her, that same night there would be bloodshed. He was loyal to a fault - defying orders was nothing to him, nor was facing down dozens of swordsmen or even Western guns, if those few he called friends needed aid. Despite his cold exterior, he loved children, and burned with a violent rage when they were hurt or sorrowful. He made it his life's mission to do battle with evil whenever it presented itself, for the sake of his country, his people, and his wife and unborn child.
Hearing a scream of a young woman in the night, therefore, was something that merited his immediate attention, and that of his sword.
And so he ran.
The swordsman named Hiko was blindingly fast; Saitou was not a slow man by any means, indeed, he was swifter than most, but the giant of a man had left him in his dust as much as a gazelle might leave a tortoise in it's wake. The Wolf ignored his body's quiet warning that he could not tolerate going much faster, and forced himself to increase pace a bit more. Still pathetically slow compared to the 'Hiten Mitsurugi' master, it was nonetheless swifter than the eye could follow effectively.
His pace increased all the more as the gentle breeze of the night suddenly howled into furious action, whipping through the streets violently, scattering dust and debris everywhere. Faintly did he hear the guttural cries of men; just as faintly did he hear the voices grow frantic, and then all was silent, save for the violent gales that whipped and lashed in all directions.
Running faster now, the Wolf's left hand immediately went to his katana as he beheld movement in front of him. He felt the presence of the powerful swordsman in front of him, perhaps a quarter-mile off, and also, several flickering life-forces, which quietly faded into obscurity, even as he strained to differentiate between them and the overwhelming, murderous rage that rolled like ocean waves over the Wolf's soul. His eyes glazed over for a moment at the sheer magnitude of the emotions he was sensing, but he did not stumble or sway as he continued running towards whatever it was that awaited him; surely, it was not something he was in any hurry to see on an emotional level, but he ran nonetheless.
He came to a skidding stop as a strange fog swept over him, obscuring his vision and filling his nose with the scent of blood. Blinking rapidly, the Wolf grimaced again as he realized what had occurred. The scent of blood gave much away, but what was left for the Wolf to deduce was sickening.
There had obviously been a fight in the direction that the winds were coming from, and judging from the scattering of the mist and the amount of it, it must have involved many men, perhaps a dozen. Since he felt only Seijuro Hiko in that direction, he concluded that it had been the dozen versus the Hiten master; however, that was only half of it.
The slashes and movements of this man were so swift that the blood that burst forth from the men he had slain had not settled, but instead had been distorted and dispersed by the gale-force winds that flew from one end of the street to another; truly, such had been the strength of the scattering winds that the blood had not fallen to stain the ground; a mist of blood, carried on the winds, like nothing so much as ocean spray amidst the chaos of a typhoon.
Even for one as hardened by war as he, Saitou privately conceded that never had he ever encountered a situation like this, or aftermath, for that matter; some more emotional aspect of his persona quietly asked what kind of power and speed it took to create a fog of blood from a dozen men. Ignoring his weaker half's pain at the experience, he wrenched his emotions under control and took a step forward through the scattered patches of fog, now sparse and far apart.
The dancing of the droplets from his sudden movement would have melted the resolve of a lesser man, but the Wolf continued forward, his eyes burning with a cold fury, and he resumed running, though more slowly now, for whatever events had led to such bloodshed, he heard and felt very little, except for the life-force of the swordsmaster whom Saitou had met only moments before.
Whatever had happened, it was over. All that remained was an impossibly angry man with the strength of an army and the speed of lightning, emotionally unstable, and very likely ready to kill whatever came his way.
Even as the Wolf resumed his pace, another man came to a screaming halt.
Dressed in light blue and white, a small contingent of the Shinsengumi's finest swordsman rounded a bend in the winding streets of Kyoto and emerged into a portrait of death, as though summoned from their deepest nightmares.
A tall man in a cloak that must have been a brilliant white once before stood amidst at least a dozen dead Shinsengumi and almost as many men in dark Chousu blue yukatas. Ishin Shishi and Shinsengumi alike lay dead at the feet of the giant man whose long, dark hair and elegant mantle, spattered with dark red stains, violently whipped in the winds.
The man in front of them, whose senses and spirit were more fine-tuned than those around him, held up an arm and motioned for the men behind him to stay still. One man, older than the others, wearing the dignity of an ancient samurai house, ignored the motion and swiftly strode the leader's side.
"Don't move," the first man whispered harshly. "You can't possibly fight a man like this."
The graying elder swordsman stared at him incredulously. "But Captain, it's just one man! And even were he a demon," and at that the elder glanced uneasily at the cloaked killer, "the Shinsengumi cannot retreat!"
"You can, and you will," the man said in a voice of iron. "You are all going to turn around and report back to base, and you, in particular, are going to inform Hijikata-san that if I am not back within the hour, to find Saitou-san and gather all the other Captains together, and to come here and kill this man." If Saitou is even still alive...
The stunned Shinsengumi didn't budge. "But, Captain Souji...!"
"You will follow my orders," Okita Souji said quietly, his young voice cool and level with the air of a man who expected to be obeyed whenever he spoke to anyone. "You will take the men back to base and inform Hijikata-san of exactly what I have told you. You will do this immediately; I will not repeat myself again. Is that clear?"
His second-in-command stuttered for a moment, searching for the words with which to bring his commander to his senses, but he quickly gave up, seeing the burning determination in the smaller man's dark eyes. His shoulders sagging in defeat, he only whispered, "Good luck, Captain," and turned away, shouting at the surprised soldiers to fall back. All was confusion for a moment, but the shocked Shinsengumi gradually melted away from the bloody street, leaving Okita very much alone.
The wind screamed even louder, whipping his hair into his eyes; Okita brushed it away and matched eyes again with the crimson-drenched swordsman before him. Despite himself, the blood drained from his face as he glared back at the violent amber eyes that bore into him accusingly. In Okita's mind, it was as if he was staring at Death incarnate. The two swordsmen stood silently for many long seconds, their glaring eyes speaking louder than any words.
An explosion of dust, and the raging swordmaster's blade was at Okita's throat, narrowly blocked by the lightning-quick reactions of the First Squad Captain. However, though the attack was blocked, the smaller man stood no chance against the staggering strength of the unknown behemoth of a swordsman.
Despite Okita's timely parry, the young Shinsengumi was unable to stop the furious warrior's follow-through, and Okita found himself flying through the air, crashing back-first into the support beams of a large vendor's tent. Grunting, he flipped himself up as soon as he came crashing down, stifling a grunt as the splinters of the wooden beam pricked into his back and legs. Coming to his feet, he squared off into the Hiratsuki stance and gave himself a moment to recover his equilibrium. Hurling himself at his opponent, he thrust his blade forward with blinding speed, yet the only thing he caught was the bloodstained cloak of the giant swordsman, now rent down the center.
Okita threw himself totally into his thrust, and escaped death from the sweeping stroke of his opponent by the slightest margin. He did, however, lose his topknot to it.
The First Captain's insticts were well honed, and they were screaming at him to run away from this battle, as far as he possibly could. Already he felt the air shifting around him; the madman was to his right, already swinging...!
Okita shifted his arm up, his blade again barely deflecting a blow that would have meant instant death. Whirling to his left, shifting his sword up and then down as he did so, he swung upwards with all his might, intending to cleave the tall man from knee to opposite shoulder. The man, though, wasn't there.
Okita froze, bewildered at the disappearance of his opponent, until a shadow passed over him and the air shifted again.
Above!!!
Okita whirled again, raising his sword, but he never got the chance to swing.
Flipping over in mid-air, Hiko's booted foot drove squarely into Okita's chest, flinging him backwards and sprawling him against a sturdily built stone wall, denting but not destroying it; he gasped loudly as all the air he had rushed out of his lungs, trailing off into a wheeze as he tried to stand.
Lifting his eyes, he saw his death personified.
Left arm angled back, right arm thrust out, sword parallel to the ground, hand at the base of the handle. Saitou's Hiratsuki Gatotsu, expertly copied by the blood-drenched swordsman, whose cloak seemed unnaturally still, as though held aloft by the whipping winds, his eyes burning with a strange kind of vengefulness.
Okita could hear nothing except his heartbeat, which seemed to have slowed dramatically from the racing rhythm during the battle. Slowly and irregularly did he perceive the explosive lunge of his enemy, so lost was he in the latter's blazing eyes.
The world went gray to his eyes, and it seemed to Okita rather like watching a display of canvas paintings, each one much like the last, only slight shifts in position and tone. At first the swordsman's left arm was cocked behind himself, just beginning his lunge, the next moment it was slightly forward, and there was a cloud of dust behind the man; next, his arm level with his chest, and then, it was ahead of him, his cloak billowing behind him, his blade shining and pure as crystalline ice.
"Hi-... Hiko-sama...?"
Some time passed before Okita fully grasped the change in the situation, as the giant swordsman roared to a halt, sword pulled back, screaming to a halt barely in front of Okita's face. The tall man was still as stone, and the roaring wind died down as swiftly as the man's fury had; seconds passed with no sound from either Okita nor his opponent, until finally, the swordsman relaxed and let his sword rest by his side, releasing a sigh that seemed to hold the weight of the world.
Hiko turned away from the fallen Shinsengumi, not caring the slightest if the man came after him while his back was turned.
A thin voice came again from the shadows. "Hiko-....sama?"
Quickly now he dashed to her side, knowing instantly her peril. Her abdomen still bled slowly, yet the slash was only cursory, with no serious damage done; but from her snow-white complexion and her shallow, rattling breathing, he knew something more deadly was at work.
Hiko fell to his knees, hunching over her, gently running his hands over her to check where she was wounded. His hands crossed over her chest, and his heart stopped cold as she gave a slight gasp.
The work of the Hiratsuki, a direct puncture through her right lung, which was now filling with her blood. There was no side-slash - a mercy.
Choking back a cry, his eyes turned swiftly to the dazed Shinsengumi, and in one mighty leap, he was at the fallen man's side, hoisting him into the air at sword point.
Hiko's lips curled into a snarl. "Take me to the nearest medical clinic, boy, unless you want to die this night." he hissed through clenched teeth.
Okita's eyes narrowed, and Hiko's grip on Okita's throat became violently strong, making the smaller man choke quietly. The intensity of Hiko's gaze grew all the more. "Is it worth your life to refuse to help a wounded little girl that YOUR men attacked, samurai?" he growled.
Okita choked again, but said nothing.
Finality came into Hiko's eyes. "Your death is deserved, then -"
"South of here, about a quarter mile."
Hiko's head snapped around; before him knelt Saitou, observing the wounded girl carefully.
A deep growl sounded in Hiko's throat; Saitou eyed him warily, slowly standing and backing away, carefully avoiding grasping his katana.
Dropping the small Shinsengumi captain unceremoniously, Hiko ran swiftly to Ayane's side, and, gently picking her small form up, dashed into the south, vanishing in the darkness quickly.
Saitou harrumphed. "It seems we have a new problem to deal with," said he quietly, reaching into his back pocket and withdrawing a cigarette.
Okita eyed Saitou in confusion. "Who the hell was that, Saitou-san?"
Shrugging, the Wolf twirled the cigarette expertly as he lit a match single-handedly. "I only met him tonight, but he says he's a master of a sword style called Hiten-no-Mitsurugi Ryuu." he murmured, leaning back against a wooden beam and closing his eyes thoughtfully.
Dusting himself off, Okita stumbled to his feet, wincing as his back pleaded with him to just lie down. "There is no such style in all of Japan, not that I've heard." said he, rubbing his throat firmly.
Nodding, Saitou took a long drawl on his cigarette, the burning cinders lighting his face up eerily. "I agree, but from our fight tonight, and from looking," and at that, he motioned behind himself to the bloodied bodies in the area, "at this, I'd say his style is certainly worthy of such a name."
The First Captain glanced around himself. "You fought him?"
Saitou smirked. "Fought him? Yes, I suppose you could say that. It seemed a bit one-sided after a time."
Okita's gaze locked on the smirking Third Captain. "Alright, Saitou, I think we need to start at the beginning."
Saitou's eyes opened, dancing with amusement in the fiery light of his cigarette. "We're going to be talking awhile, then. I suggest we head back to headquarters and have a chat with Hijikata-san."
A crack of light shone across a darkened room, only a small, single, where all was silent save for the pained breathing of a young woman and an elderly man applying cool water to a cloth. Shadows passed over the thin crack of light, making the elder turn his head slightly to observe the newcomers. Two men talked in low voices, one nervous and the other restraining a great deal of rage. Hurried whispers became more frenetic until the second man shoved the former aside and entered the room, flinging the shoji aside and hurriedly making his way to the side of the young woman.
His breath caught violently, his expression darkening over furious eyes. Kneeling softly, he spoke gently to the girl, caressing her pale, cold face, his hands trembling with fear and fury. The elder's eyes softened in grief as he watched the man torn between staying and leaving, caught in the throes of a terrible indecision. Free hand clenching and unclenching, the younger spoke now in a quiet tone to a third man who now stood in the doorway, head bowed in sympathy.
"I want the men who did this thing found, and I want them dead," said he, voice trembling.
The man in the doorway nodded slowly, then froze as a gleaming blade emerged from the shadows, barely stopping an inch from the jugular of the man kneeling by the injured young woman.
All three men in the room stiffened, not budging an inch. A cold voice spoke from the shadows, asking the name of the kneeling man. The response, seemingly innocent, sent a violent shiver through the body of the assailant, the candlelight dancing on his motionless blade.
"Your life is forfeit, Kogoro Katsura," the blood-freezing voice intoned. "Yet before that, I want to hear exactly why you felt it worthwhile to drag a fourteen-year-old boy into this bloodbath you've created."
Katsura's face paled slightly, yet his voice remained steady. "If you're going to kill me, do it. Just leave the doctor and the girl be, I beg you. She's no thre-"
Katsura hissed quietly as the blade at his throat drew a slight trickle of blood; the man in the doorway flinched, and two golden eyes appeared from the shadows, boring into the man's soul.
"Himura?!" he choked out.
Katsura's eyes widened in shock, then doubly as his attacker growled in derision.
"That's the name of your pet assassin. I am Seijuurou Hiko, thirteenth master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu," he rumbled. "I'm the one who raised that idiot boy you call Battousai."
END CHAPTER 8
Author's Notes -
Rule 1 - There is no such thing as too many cliffhangers. :)
Rule 2 - If you're gonna cliffy, make sure to write next chappy within a month or two. ;; Seven dun cut it.
Rule 3 - The art of the cliffy must be mastered to become a good writer.
Rule 4 - I'm still thinking about that one. o.O
Alright, I believe Shinzan literally means 'Spirit-Kill', or 'Heart-Kill'. Either way, it's a good name for a really, really bad guy... Perhaps unoriginal, but that's how it is sometimes... o.O Please forgive.
It took a while to write this chappy for various reasons, but primarily because when I write something, I want it to be good, and taking two/three months to write a good chapter for a story that I really want to write well is worth it to me. That, and my laptop went in for repairs AGAIN, and it was six weeks before I got it back. oO Anyhow, quality is what I strive for here - I hope I'm succeeding. o.o
In addition to that, deciding whether or not to let Ayane die in this chapter held me captive for nigh on a week. I choked up when I began writing the death scene, seeing it clearly in my mind. I'm sorry for the additional delay, but I just couldn't write it. It was killing me. As you can see, it didn't turn out as a death scene, but no guarantees for future chapters...
Technically, it WAS supposed to be a death scene, but I'm finding myself unable to ever finish it. It keeps getting scrapped. o.o;; What you see is my alternate product, the backup plan. ..
Please review! The story's getting a little darker right now, but... hey, it's a dark era. o.o Know this though - the good guys always win in the end, so, Hiko's gonna rule the day!
O.o Please post commentary on the style of this chapter; I tend to feel I was a bit wordy in places, and I found myself wishing I could draw a picture instead for you to see instead of write words to be read...
oOo Perhaps I should look into drawing a fan comic of this story! O.o I am a fairly good artist...
--' No way, I have enough to do as it is... o.o Well, it was a fun thought. Anyhow, please review!
Thanks for reading!