AN: Um... I'm still alive. With many distracting things. This is proof of me still living, and a promise that I'm still working on other stuff.

Edit: I don't typically get these beta'd, and don't often go through rigorous editing, but Weland was so kind to show quite a few areas that were very poorly done. Hopefully, I have corrected most (if not all) of these, and now this piece should be a little less confusing.

Amber & Jasmine

4: Sigil

XX

He walked on the balls of his feet.

Of all the things she could have been thinking about in this situation, it was that. He walked on the balls of his feet. The way he balanced on them could not have been comfortable. Did he not get bunions from doing that?

It was not that she cared, but it was an ample distraction from her situation, and from this creature in the shape of a man. He stalked back and forth in front of the campfire, his weight balanced precariously on the balls rather than rocking from heel to toe. His pace seemed mindless, shifting speeds and moving in various angles around the dancing flames.

He was of slight stature, perhaps just slightly taller than herself. His attire and ornaments were archaic, but the origins were only vaguely familiar at best. The clothes were long, and loose, embroidered with sigils that were somewhat reminiscent of old magick. Long red hair cascaded down his back, reflecting the fire's colors tenfold. Golden eyes swept across the room frequently, as if waiting for something.

Never once did they glance at her, sitting quietly in front of the fire, as much of a victim as she was a guest. Bound at the wrists by rune rope she had only seen in books, with blood painted across her body in ritualistic symbols she did not think she would ever be associated with.

The night was still young, and yet it had held much more significance than the rest of her eighteen years of life. Even in front of the fire, she could not suppress a shiver.

It caught his attention and he paused, golden eyes gleaming down at her in a moment of thought. The attention was short-lived, and he moved back to pacing again.

She could not say her situation was truly better than what it had been a mere hour prior. There, the danger was obvious, imminent, and frightening. She had vague ideas as to what they had started to create back there, with her in the center of it all, but it never saw fruition. Out of seemingly nowhere he appeared in a blaze of fire and brimstone, sending the building magic dispersing rapidly away, making her feel drained as her own energies left her with the release. She was hardly aware of what truly happened, fading in and out of consciousness, but she could feel the magic bubbling around her.

Before she could truly start to recover, she had been tossed over someone's shoulders and carried out from what she had assumed to be her death beyond death. Rituals like that were meant for more than simple killing. Whatever they had been planning on doing, it would have been far worse than simply death.

It felt like eternity before the ground below her stopped rushing past her vision and she was put down. The mountains nearby housed a wide network of chasms. Once she got her bearings, it was easy to tell that's where they were.

He had not attempted to unbind her, speak to her, or reassure her. The seals painted on her remained in tact with dried blood. His movement, while erratic and strange, spoke of sleek power like that of a great hunter or sight hound, and she dare not set it off.

The fire he had made provided some measure of comfort, though she had not tried to move closer to it. She was not so sure she could, either. She was pretty sure the rune rope was a body inhibitor. She suspected if she tried to move, her body simply would not respond.

Though, it could also be a mental inhibitor, willing her to think she could not move. Those were easier to weave, after all, and might explain her reluctance to try. However, her reservoirs for magic had not yet returned, and she resolved that it was really the former type of rune rope, and she needed to have an ample well of magic to draw from before she tried anything.

Her gaze focused back on her new captor, still moving with a purpose that only he seemed to be able to see. Her brow furrowed, focus coming back to her. He seemed to sense it and glanced over at her, pausing on the far side of the fire.

"Your wits have returned."

She inhaled sharply, because what he said and what she heard were two different things. He spoke in a language unfamiliar to her, and yet she could understand the words in her head as if he were talking in her own tongue. She had not realized someone could still Speak in this day and age. That had to be what it was. She had heard elders speak of it. Those who could project words to one's mind, regardless of language. It was a gift passed down to mortals from creatures of the Otherworld.

Despite having "heard" his words, she focused instead on what he had actually "said." His accent was strange and thick, and the language unfamiliar.

Belatedly, she realized he was waiting for a response. She swallowed, her throat dry and scratchy. "Drained," She supplied. She did not have such a gift as he, and if he could not understand her, she would not waste her precious energy on talking. Why was her magic not returning to her? She felt as if she were drawing from her life force to simply breathe.

He regarded her curiously, head canted to the side like a dog. Then, he nodded once and returned to his strange pacing. She watched him, wondering if he had understood at all, and if that was simply the end of it.

Pale light filtered in, and she glanced up to see the clouds had parted in the sky, allowing the moon to shine through down into the chasm. The full moon twinkled at her, and she felt a strange stirring of power.

Her breath caught and she glanced back at her captor to see that he had stopped and was staring down at the ground. Her eyes followed his to see the path he had been moving about, so strangely and seemingly without purpose and now come to life, glowing brightly in a mixture of silver moonlight and red fire. What she had assumed was aimless pacing was something so much more. With horror she realized he had created a sigil by simply walking the pattern.

With wide eyes did she feel the magick respond to his sigil's completion. She sat outside of it, and he stood in the center, staring at her with eyes of hot gold and she felt her heart rise up into her throat as he stepped toward her.

"What... what are you doing?" she gasped, and to her dismay her body refused to heed the call of her mind. She could not move. The rune rope was a body inhibitor. She was trapped. Even with a full well of magic, she could not guarantee she could break it.

He lifted her up with ease, and it was with the motion, did she feel the prick of claws against her skin. Her eyes fell to his hands, and to the onyx-colored tips that shone in the light.

His description suddenly fell into place as a faint memory of ancient texts came rushing back to her. A weathered page, of faded pigments on old parchment depicting a creature with a red mane and black claws, whose eyes glowed bright with the heat of the Otherworld.

Frozen, unable to do anything, she could only helplessly stand there in the center of the sigil with him as the magic snapped to life, devouring them both in an enormous wave of hot energy.

Battousai, one of three faces of the Otherworld's Trinity. A deity of fire, death, and honor.

He was taking her to the afterlife.

XX

AN: This was fun, even if I spent far too long coming up with just what Kenshin was. I think too hard on these things, oy.

Comment, please.