Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ The Red Death ❯ Another Bloody Nightmare ( Chapter 2 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Disclaimer:I do not own Rurouni Kenshin or the RK Characters; nor do I receive any kind of monetary gains from this, or any of the stories I have written. This is strictly done for my own pleasure and that of the dear readers who honor me with their patronage.

WARNING: Graphic violence/murder


Chapter II
Another Bloody Nightmare



Fragile is the pigment of dreams,

Brilliant the blush of a spattering of blood,

yet the body of a scream carries no decoration,

nor does it bear form or grace.

The killing stroke of the Assassin’s blade,

and silence reigns beneath the stars,

glimmering down upon flat eyes that will never shine again.

The soul’s white light is swallowed by the blackness of doom,

and Death heralds the discourse of a Life interrupted.

Murder so quiet... walks away on human feet.




She sent her students home early. Her mind just wasn’t on training. Something cold and anxious was gnawing at her... perhaps, persistent was a better description of the sensation, whichever, Kaoru couldn’t seem to detach herself from the nibbling jaws, and she finally gave up trying to concentrate. It was a hopeless and fruitless attempt at best.

The day dragged on, slower than any she could remember for some time. Cleaning the dojo and the kitchen did nothing to alleviate her disturbed emotional state, so she turned to her garden. The weeds were starting to overrun the fragile plants and her attention was sorely needed to rid the offensive overgrowth before it damaged her pending harvest. Still, she could not keep her thoughts centered on her task, and soon discovered herself sitting with her hands folded in her lap, her eyes staring blank into the distance.
Kaoru gave herself a firm shake, and forced her sluggish limbs back to work, trying not to dwell on the fact that her mind was filled with visions of darkness, red hair, and golden eyes. He was prowling the streets somewhere... she could feel his feet padding along the sidewalks, taking him silently through the shadows of some city or village... unseen... unnoticed... He was hunting; her senses were as highly attuned as his, and she detected every nuance of his heartbeat, his breathing, and the energy he exerted to mask his ki.

He was ghost. A tiger stalking his prey through the tall grasses... hidden... slipping past innocent eyes on his way to a kill. But he was angry... worried? The icy fingers of his fury played across the harmonious strings of her heart like a master musician, and she shuddered.

Kaoru was worried too. The sun was just barely above the horizon. There was at least another hour before it set. He had never gone out on a kill this early before. Surely someone would see him... wouldn’t they? Maybe... maybe he would be killed this time. Once more the idea of her Red Demon dying wrenched through her, doubling her over in terrible pain, and it in that moment it occurred to her, if he died, would she die too?




Another black envelope was slipped under his door. He could see the corner of it sticking out, just enough to be seen. His dark reddish-brown eyebrows furrowed as he knelt and opened the fusuma to pick it up. It was hardly five days since his last mission. He was hoping to go longer this time since his last mission left his Angel in such a terrible state of distress. This was too soon.

“Kuso!” He swore, entering his room, closing the door behind him. “Damn you, Katsura.” Striding to his tatami, he sat down and opened the envelope, pulling the red note free. The script read clearly and was simply stated.

Your next target is Byojin Ryoko. He is the owner of a printing shop on the lower east side of the city. It has come to our attention he is publishing propaganda against the Imperialists and must be neutralized before he causes more difficulties. You can find him at the Red Dragon Inn every night between seven o’clock and nine o’clock. You will know him by his green printers apron. He always wears it. Do not fail me.

Katsura

“A printer?” Battousai snorted and tossed the note and envelope aside with a disgusted twist of his wrist. “Aren’t we reaching now, Katsura?” His eyes glittered with contempt. “How can a man who only prints words really effect whether or not the Imperialists achieve power in the government? What exactly is he printing? Dirty stories about the High Secretary?” This was beneath his level of skill and stature as a hitokiri. It should have been given to one of the lessor assassins. He loosed an angry sigh. There was nothing to do about it now, but he felt slighted nonetheless.

Checking the time, he saw it was close to six o’clock. He would have to hurry if he was going to make it to the Red Dragon by seven. It was at least an hours walk. He would have to eat something later after he was finished. A feral growl crawled out of his throat as he left his room. The expression on his face was cold and unflinching, his steps fluid and determined, and everyone who saw him coming moved out of his way, letting him pass unhindered.

Once he reached the streets, he took to the shadows and melted into obscurity, passing people without raising so much as an eyebrow. The small, petite red-head did not appear threatening at first glance. Rather, many passed him over for a young girl with his fair looks and long flowing hair. Little did they know how close they were to the most terrifying legend in Japan. It would take looking into his face to truly understand ‘what’ he was... only then would they feel the chill of his presence, and discover the need to be as far away from him as possible. He, on the other hand, would not even give them a cursory glance. That is how little the dregs of humanity effected Battousai. They were little more than insects... an annoyance at best, and he ignored them as such.

He reached the Red Dragon in a little more than an hour, and slipped through the front door without notice. Standing in the dimness of a corner, he surveyed the packed room, looking for a man wearing a green, ink stained apron. It took only a few moments for him to find the man, he was at a table next to the far window, drinking sake’, a full bottle on his table. He was alone.

Battousai smirked. They were always alone.

He left the tavern and found a dark, quiet place outside to wait, hoping he wouldn’t have to wait long. His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast.




She was dressed in a plain green yukata and slippers. Her hair was loose, hanging over one shoulder in a silky rope of obsidian. She was sitting on the edge of the engowa, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, waiting. It wouldn’t be long now, she knew it wouldn’t.

His heart beat steady--slow and strong. His hand rested on the hilt of his katana; comfortable, long-practiced, easy. He was ready, watching, waiting... It would happen soon... there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Nothing. He would kill again, despite his anger and bruised pride. He would still carry out his orders and perform his duty to the Imperialists who puppeteered the movements of his sword... and she would see every bloody detail as if she stood at his side.

Then he would come to her... come... for what? Forgiveness? Absolution? She didn’t know why he came. He said he loved her, but what was love to a manslayer?

A cold breeze picked up the loose tendrils of hair around her face and tossed them about her eyes; some clung to her lips and lashes, she wiped them away. Her breath turned to steam and she shivered as his icy touch slithered around her. She almost heard the ‘click’ of his thumb unlocking his blade from its sheath, then felt the muscles bunch and flex in his arms as he pulled the katana free, swinging it into motion-ready for the kill...

It was beginning.

She closed her eyes and tucked her chin to her chest and prayed it would be over soon.




Naitsuusha=traitor Oni=demon

‘Hiten Mitsurugi Ryo Shou Sen!’

He barely had time to register that there was another human being in the same proximity with him before a burning pain erupted in his shoulder and he stumbled, falling to the ground. A terrible moaning sound filled the night air, and as he reached up to feel the bloodied fabric of his gi, he realized he was the one making it. Surprise and fear mingled inside his heart. There was a through and through wound in his left shoulder, just below the collarbone, and he was bleeding profusely. It had happened so fast, he didn’t even see his attacker, but now he raised his head and tried to see into the shadows.

“Who is there?”

“Judgement for your sins, Naitsuusha.” The voice was rich, almost cultured, but it lacked any warmth or compassion. It was almost cruel with its absence of emotion, as if taking life were no more arduous than catching and cleaning fish. “You have been found guilty of treason against the new Imperialist Government, Byojin Ryoko-san, and you will pay for that with your life.”

“T-treason?” He coughed, spitting up blood. “What treason do you speak of, Assassin... I have committed no such treason.”

“You are a Naitsuusha, Byojin-san. You print dangerous propaganda that damages the minds of our citizens...”

“Propaganda?” He scoffed at the assassin. “I have done nothing but voice the words of a repressed people... the peasants and farmers who suffer the most from this ‘peaceful government’ the Imperialists would push upon us. Is your precious government afraid of the words from one man that they would dispatch one of their assassins to silence him?” He glared into the shadows from where the disembodied voice drifted, and growled, rebellious despite his wound. “They promise us a future with no bloodshed, yet our land is stained red with it... where is this world of peace, Assassin? Do you offer it to me with the edge of your sword?”

The voice in the shadows turned hard, icy, unforgiving as it spoke. The distant neutrality that chastised him before was gentle compared to the crushing force that bore down upon his soul now. “Peace is not won by the sword, Byojin-san, nor is it won by the hateful and corrupt words of one individual. Peace is won by the men who fight to destroy the oppression of those who would subjugate the freedom of the farmer to enjoy the profits of his own lands. People like you...” the voice lashed out like a frozen whip, striping his flesh, laying it open to the razor sharp words. “People who create dissent and chaos with half truths and explosive suggestions designed to cause malcontent. It is people like you who keep this land bleeding, and you must be silenced for the greater good.”

“You may think to oppress me, Imperialist...” he sneered. “You may believe that by taking my life you will silence my words, but you are wrong. The truth can never be silenced. It will always manifest itself in whatever form it deems necessary. I was its vessel for a time, and when I am gone, another will be chosen. My death will not stay its progress, iie, it will only hinder it for a short time. So, do what you must, but know this... you kill nothing more than a messenger.”

“Messenger, eh? If this is so, tell me, what truth is it you carry, Printer? I see no truth in you words, only the seeds of dissension planted from a traitors lies.”

“You ask for the truth, Imperialist? This is the truth... you believe you are working for a unified Japan, but you aren’t. Can’t you see that you are simply forcing our people to trade one world of chaos and tyranny for another? There can never be a single government ruling one nation... only the Emperor and his Damiyas have been able to maintain law in this land. You are Samurai... you should know this... you were trained to uphold the honor of your Damiya.” There was a subtle shift in the air, and he gasped as a boy with blazing red hair stepped from the shadows, his glittering amber eyes burning holes through the night.

“Iie, Naitsuusha, I was not raised on these beliefs you so vehemently speak of... the only “Damiya I remember is the dishonorable man who sold the child I was as a slave after my family died of the plague... I was not reared by Samurai nor was I taught their beliefs. My Master was a proud and honorable man who believed in the Will of a Man’s Soul and the strength of his mind. I do not believe in the old ways anymore. They brought only heartache and war upon our people as the Samurai argued among themselves for power and what they believed was honor... now, we fight for peace, for a world without bloodshed, without domination, where people may enjoy the fruits of their own labors... where they may raise a family and benefit from their own labors...”

“Then you are a hypocrite, boy, for you have shed more blood upon this land than any other.” He spat, his dark eyes malicious. “You are the Battousai. You are a disgrace to your sword and whatever Honorable Code your Master may have taught you... you disgrace your Sensai and his way of the sword. I name you, Oni, and I condemn you to the lowest depths of hell for your crimes. You are right... you are no Samurai. You are an abomination without honor. Kill me now so I may not have to see your face anymore... you disgust me.”

“As you wish, Naitsuusha...”

For a split second, he saw the glint of fine steel capture and reflect the pure light of the moon, and then a searing pain bit into his neck. White starbursts exploded in front of his eyes, he tried to gasp one last breath, but his head was already dropping to the ground, blood spouting from the severed vessels in his throat. He was dead, barely aware he’d been alive.

No sound heralded his passing, not even the quiet padding of feet as his killer departed. Only the chilled breeze sifting through the fine hairs on his right temple belied any movement across the macabre scene. His eyes stared up at the stars, flat as a fish out of water.




The essence of cold intensified as He drifted across the courtyard and settled next to her on the engowa. Kaoru trembled and wiped the tears off her face. One more bloody memory filed away inside her mind; just one among a hundred or more. She lifted her head and looked skyward at the stars. They shimmered and winked like dragon eyes.

“I know you’re here,” she murmured, her voice small as baby breath. “Why must you always come? Why must you seek me out?”

‘...love... hope...’

“There is no hope,” she shook her head and raised tear filled eyes to the starry sky. “There is only death where you are.”

‘...and life with you...’

She felt the chilled touch of his finger trace the line of her cheek, and a tear escaped the corner of her eye. A sob broke in her throat and she huddled closer inside the blanket. “Please, go away.” She pleaded. “I-I want you to go now.”

‘...forgive me...’

The icy finger brushed over her trembling lips and then he was gone. “Kami-sama,” Kaoru buried her face in her hands and cried, wetness leaking through her fingers. “Help me...” She struggled to her feet and stumbled back to her room, pulling the fusuma closed behind her. Burrowing deep inside the blankets and quilts on her futon, she tried to block out the vision of the Printer’s murder, and found herself left with the wispy memories of her lover’s words and tender, icy touch. A cascade of violent shivers shook her frail body, and she clutched at the rumpled bedding, a shuddering, blasphemy tumbling from her quivering lips.

“I... I wish you were dead...”



The warm fragrance of Spring blows over a field of green,

Rice, waves a heavy-headed rhythm,

bowing to the easterly breezes.

Children’s laughter rings musical beneath the Sakura trees,
rushing water falls from the pinnacle,

a rainbow of color splashing in waves against the rocks below.

Innocence lives and grows alongside the sprouting harvest,

a promise for the future,

a hope for the renewal of the World.

But Innocence, Promises, and Hope are only wisps,

fragile as cobwebs,

elusive as a virgin’s dreams.

They are lies whispered on the frozen winds of ill will,

they rot in the bellies of the dead,

and fade into the obscurity of Hell’s embrace.

The day Innocence dies,

the World ceases to Hope,

and there are no more Promises to make...



Grief and Death are born of such things.




He lay on his back, the comfort of the futon beneath him lost in deference to his state of preoccupation. Each night his connection to Her grew stronger. Soon he believed he might be able to see her face... perhaps. He could smell the scents of her perfume, the soap she used to wash her skin, even her sweat. The texture of her smooth, petal soft cheek was an almost reality to him, and he rubbed his fingers together trying to bring the sensation back, trying to recall how it felt when his soul touched her face and lips. ‘So close...’ he thought. ‘She’s so close, yet...’ A frustrated groan squeezed his chest and he slammed his fist into the mattress under him. ‘She may as well be part of infinity.’ He’d never touch Her.

Anxiety. Guilt. Remorse. Fear? All were emotions he thought were long left behind him, but it seemed he was mistaken. A weakness long forgotten in the age of a little boy named, Shinta, had come back to haunt him. A weakness named, Grief. Loss. Loneliness...

He’d frightened her... horrified her. He felt it when her soul recoiled from his touch, shunning him, sobbing like a child and bleeding from a thousand tiny wounds. Wounds he created by continuing to bind himself to her. He’d seen the despair and futility in her eyes... those beautiful blue lanterns of pure light that had wept blood for him the night his soul cried. In his selfishness, he reached out for her warmth and hid his tortured heart inside the softness of her breasts and let her bear his pain, even if it was only for a moment.

‘What sort of beast am I?’ He threw an arm over his eyes and blocked out the blank vision of the ceiling over his head. ‘Isn’t it I who is meant to protect her? Shouldn’t my sword keep the demons from devouring her spirit? Shouldn’t it?!’ The angry roar of his own voice slammed into his temples and he growled at the painful throb, sitting up to grab his katana and climb out his window. It only took a moment for him to climb to the roof, and then he was staring at the stars, his golden eyes seeing nothing but pain filled pools of her eyes swimming before him.

‘I’m destroying her,’ he thought, gritting his teeth. ‘I am draining the life-energy from her soul just to stabilize my own.’ She was slowly becoming hollow–an empty vessel where life once flourished, and he was responsible. The glowing luster of her spirit was growing dank and dim as any tomb, and the fragrance of jasmine that belonged only to her, was becoming nothing more than the old musk of a lifeless derelict.

He was killing her.

As he shut his eyes, the image of a woman with long, flowing red hair flashed before him and he cried out, the fragile lids flying open in horror and alarm. Grief and fear rifled through his unprotected system, and he clutched his katana in both hands, holding it against his thundering heart as if it would save him from the horror of his own suppressed memories.

“Iie...” he whispered, willing his eyes to stay open, staring intently at the moon. “I will not see you again... I will not see you...” His voice cracked and he snarled, leaping to his feet and raising his clenched fist to the starry sky. “I will not see you!” He cried. “You’re already dead, and you’ll never be real again! Now leave me... LEAVE ME!”

O.O

Kaoru thrashed in her bed, sobbing in her sleep. The tumbled mass of her ebony hair was matted to her face and pillow beneath her head. Her bloodied hands clutched at the blankets, then smeared the viscous, sticky liquid through the linens. She surged upward, her eyes blinded by the red film, her mouth open as the pitiful moan of anguish was born from her throat.

Pain. So much pain.

“Bat-tousai,” his name tumbled in a broken sob from her bloodied lips. ‘What’s happening to you? Are you dying? Battousai?” Suddenly the thought of her Red Demon being dead was a worse agony than a lifetime of watching him kill, and Kaoru panicked.

‘Battousai?’ She screamed across the ethereal infinities, trying desperately to travel to him the way he had to her. ‘BATTOUSAI?! BBAATTTOUSAAIIII?!’

Only the silence of her room answered her cry, and Kaoru huddled into herself and cradled her lover’s agony for a second time, blood streaming down her face while the thundering ache of her failure pounded inside her head.

“Battousai...”


O.O
TBC


Happy ThanksGiving.

Tuski-san
November 24, 2005