Even as they heard cries of battle and the shrieks and curses of the dying - in the distance, in the valley, in the courtyard, in the villa itself - Megumi and her fellow shamans underwent their ritual as planned.
Incense. The shaking of rattles and the droning of prayers. Burning herbs.
And blood.
Rivulets of blood
One by one.
Bleeding.
Growing still.
Becoming silent.
The room was silent but for Megumi's moaning, tuneless singing by the time Shinomori Aoshi and his men entered the hall.
Aoshi put his arm out swiftly, to stop them.
The shamaness knelt, surrounded by corpses, her robes staining darker and darker - kneeling and praying in the middle of a floor - a pool - darkly gleaming from wall to wall, spreading in the shadows, creeping toward their feet, a slick carpet of blood.