Author's note: This chapter contains significant action and violence, offering a stark portrayal of Battousai. Given the violent nature of this chapter, reader discretion is advised. If you're sensitive to such content, you may want to skip this section.
Much of the material is inspired by sequences from the live-action movie "The Beginning."
The hanamachi lies cloaked in morning mist, night's grasp reluctant to release this peculiar world that stirs only after dark. Rain has fallen ceaselessly for days, transforming the Kamo River's once-soothing lullaby into a thunderous roar. The air is heavy with the scent of damp soil as dawn's light timidly attempts to caress the cobblestone streets. From my room in the okiya, where I have resided these past days to safeguard Katsura-san, I observe the world outside, still enveloped in silver as morning light struggles, largely in vain, to penetrate.
I gaze at the Kamo River as it swells, roars, and flows without pause. I continue to watch, for it diverts my thoughts from a certain individual - one I ought not to contemplate at present when my attention should be elsewhere. Yet it seems the mind and heart rarely find accord, and so I observe the river's ceaseless current and the unrelenting rain.
The riverbank, usually adorned with the colors of plants finding solace along its sides, now stands decorated by the delicate silver threads of rain.
As morning light continues its struggle to illuminate this world, I am soon summoned once more to the hall where Shishis have gathered. This hall is uncomfortably small compared to the one in Kohagiya. I once again find my spot near the window; regardless of where we meet, this one thing remains unchanged. I have grown so accustomed to observing and analyzing my surroundings that not having a clear view brings waves of discomfort within me.
I see Katsura-san with his brows furrowed in concern, soon meeting my gaze.
The words of one of the Shishis pierce the air, "The Mimawarigumi has decided to create a new division solely to capture Battousai".
"How many of them are there?"
"There seems to be around 25... but this is a very rough estimate."
"25?!"
A momentary lull settles over the assembly, a fleeting respite soon shattered by another voice joining the fray.
"They aim to regain the favor of Matsudaira Katamori, who is currently completely favoring the Shinsengumi." As he speaks, his countenance twists with unmistakable revulsion.
The discourse unfolds like a gathering tempest, each word a raindrop in the growing deluge.
"But we cannot afford to be entangled in their pursuit. Our movements have already slowed with the Shinsengumi on our tail constantly." Another Shishi interjects, his words tinged with palpable frustration.
"If we're to fight with Mimawarigumi as well, our efforts will be in vain," adds yet another. His tone mirrors the shared apprehension permeating the room.
The room teems with unease, voices rising like a tide, each Shishi adding to the discord of worry.
Suddenly, Katagai-san's commanding voice cuts through the noise: "Quiet!" A sudden hush follows, the remnants of talk fading into the still air.
Katsura-san turns his eyes to meet mine, and I perceive him asking with a composed face, "Himura, what are your thoughts about this?"
"If who they want to catch is the Battousai, let them catch," I answer.
The room, which had briefly fallen silent, suddenly bursts into a flood of talk. A wave of bewilderment and doubt ripples through the air.
A voice pierces through the rising clamor, sharp as a blade: "Do you even know what you're saying?!" I offer no response, allowing the query to hang in the air, unaddressed. There is no need to answer such a question.
I continue, addressing the gathering: "It is not possible for us to run from them forever."
My eyes meet Katsura-san's as I speak. "If we keep running from both Mimawarigumi and the Shinsengumi, it is a matter of time before we start getting stopped."
Katsura-san, who has remained silent till now, turns his gaze towards me once again and says "How many men do you need with you?"
"None," I say. A collective silence falls, and the debate continues in hushed tones.
The weak light of dawn struggles to break through the thick curtain of heavy rain that has wrapped Kyoto in a relentless downpour.
At the center of this tempest, the headquarters of a newly established special branch of the Mimawarigumi breathes with an air of unease.
Within, an unusual sight unfolds. A solitary captive kneels in silence, rainwater trickling from his red hair, which clings to his face like streaks of blood in the dim light. His light-colored eyes, uncommon among the more traditional features, shine like those of a predator in the darkness.
The Mimawarigumi men encircle the prisoner like carrion birds hovering over their quarry. The captive's beauty, neither wholly masculine nor feminine, stands in stark contrast to the stern warriors surrounding him, drawing a mix of wonder and doubt from those who look on.
A whisper ripples through the gathering as one among them speaks, dismissing the notion that this unlikely figure could be the feared Battousai. That man, is considered a living nightmare, a demon ruling the streets of Kyoto, tearing asunder all that stands in his path - yet the only trait that marks this enigmatic figure is his unusual crimson hair.
No word has reached their ears about his eyes, such an uncommon hue. Could it have escaped notice? Perhaps not. No one likely dared to gaze upon his eyes and lived to tell the tale, thus their color never became a point of consideration.
A question lingers in their minds: could crimson hair be so common a feature that another man in Kyoto, bearing such a trait, would fall into their hands within days? Is Battousai truly so easily ensnared?
"What nonsense?! Who exactly did you bring here? This cannot be the Battousai. This is just a boy that looks like a woman!" a brash voice declares.
Another voice speaks out, seemingly in agreement with the previous one saying, with an air of nonchalance, "Ohh! You're right."
He brings his face close, observing him intently.
Perhaps owing to this, his perception soon crumbles when he catches sight beneath the hem of the captive's kimono. He remains silent and still for a noticeable interval as if to arrange the thoughts within his mind.
Presently, his eyes widen in astonishment as he beholds the captive's uncommonly sculpted form, with its unusually defined, lean muscles.
What manner of existence must a man lead to possess such an extraordinarily honed physique? A body with sinews that bear less resemblance to those of an ordinary person, and more to those of a savage beast that has dwelt its entire life in the wilderness. As his gaze shifts to the captive's eyes, he observes that it is not merely the body that evokes the taut muscles of a ferocious wild creature, but indeed the uncommonly light-colored eyes as well.
What exactly does a man need to do in order to...? He discovers the answer to his inquiry before completing the thought, and in the instant of this realization, he can nearly sense a foul odor, the acrid scent of impending violence.
In the fleeting moments that pass, an imperceptible change occurs in the atmosphere. The captive man, attuned to this subtle shift, seizes upon it with a ferocity that mirrors the raging storm outside. It is as though he has been awaiting this precise instant as if the members of the Mimawarigumi present in the room have unwittingly been actors in a play directed by the very man they believed they had brought in as their prisoner.
Their ears catch the sound of his voice, soft, nearly indistinguishable from a murmur, however, certainly that of a young man's. For an instant, they doubt their senses, for the words they hear him utter are:
"I have nothing against you but for the sake of the new world I will have each of you die here."
Huh?
Before a single thought can form in their minds, he moves with the swiftness of a predator, lunging towards the nearest person. His teeth sink into the man's ear. Crimson blood begins to trickle from where the ear meets the skull as he violently tears the appendage away, spitting it out with a dismissive air of contempt.
The room descends into disorder as the injured man falls to the ground, grasping his damaged ear. His visage betrays a profound mixture of terror and incredulity, as though he were witnessing a dreadful apparition.
The sword, held firmly between his teeth, becomes an extension of his deadly purpose. He moves with an almost supernatural quickness, attacking his captors. The blade cuts the air with an ominous sound. It strikes its targets with remarkable accuracy, piercing through chests and hearts as if guided by some malevolent force.
As his bindings fall away like tattered whispers, he grasps another sword. The chamber transforms into a scene of horror, a stage for blood and desperation.
The den fills with discord of screams and the unsettling sound of steel meeting flesh. The cries of the dying blend with the persistent rain outside as he continues his grim dance of death. His blade, an unforgiving executioner, finds its mark beneath chins, cutting through bone and sinew with a terrible precision that allows no mercy. Faces are torn apart, and the once-human forms collapse in the wake of his unholy rampage.
In the dim light, faces twist in fear, and the unfortunate souls move in a grotesque dance of dying. Battousai's form becomes a haze, a wild flurry leaving only destruction behind.
The last cries of pain fade, and the room stands witness to the aftermath. The smell of death mingles with the fading storm outside, where rain continues its steady fall. The freed killer stands among the ruins, a ghost of death against the backdrop of a stormy dawn.
His sword, like a grim paintbrush, leaves a trail of dismembered bodies in its path.
Time passes, and the Shinsengumi arrive to examine the dreadful scene. As they enter, the third unit Captain Hajime Saito, and the first unit Captain Okita Sōji, even their composed faces betray a hint of shock as they view the terrible sight. Men from both units who accompany their leaders hurry out of the house, their faces pale, with signs of utter horror etched upon them. Some fall to their knees, vomiting in trauma.
"There is no doubt, Saito-san. It is the Hitokiri," Okita mutters, his voice sounds like a hollow whisper yet on his face remains his usual childlike smile that completely defies the position he handles and even more so defies the carnage surrounding him.
Saito's eyes remain transfixed upon the ghastly spectacle before him. His gaze wanders meticulously, seeking out any minute detail that might shed light on the matter at hand.
He inquires, "What do you think, Okita?"
"I have never seen such brutality," Okita replies, and he continues, "He is not human."
As the early hours of morning approach, the rain shows no sign of abating. The city lies enshrouded in an eerie stillness, with naught but the rhythmic patter of raindrops to be heard. It is in this moment that the harbinger of chaos returns to the Okiya. His garments are so thoroughly drenched in a mixture of blood and rain that one can scarcely discern their original hue; they have taken on a murky shade of crimson.
Katsura, ever observant and solicitous, greets him.
"Are you hurt?" he inquires, his eyes tracing the scarlet stains upon Battousai's attire.
"This blood isn't mine. It's theirs," comes the response, delivered with an unsettling composure.
Katsura asks, "How many of them were there?"
"Around 35."
"Is there any survivor?"
"No."
Those present in the room, bearing witness to this exchange, feel a chill run down their spines.