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Character Profiles Micellaneous Fan-Fiction  |
The sky was dark and starless, the fading sun painting the colors of blood across the burning sky. It mirrored the blood-soaked earth upon which Aiko was standing, her feet set apart, her arms dangling at her side. Beside her stood the Hitokiri Battousai Himura Kenshin, the only love and compassion she could find in these dark days of hatred and suspicion. As the samurai of the shogunate charged forward she felt Kenshin’s hand slip into her own. She stole a glance at Kenshin, but he did not return it. His eyes were hard and cold, focused on the advancing enemy. She gave his hand a tight squeeze and released it, hoping, praying to the gods, that somehow they would both survive this battle. The shogunate samurai were now just paces away. She grasped the hilt of her sword as Kenshin leaped away from her, his sword slicing the air before him, cutting down all the enemies in its path. Kenshin leaped mercilessly from one person to the next, slicing him open before he could even move his sword to defend. Soon the air was so riddled with thick blood drawn by deadly swords that it was impossible to inhale without drinking some of it in. Aiko drew her sword and it rang like a distant bell as it was unsheathed. Enemies were all around her, closing in, preparing for the kill. Calculating, measuring, determining, deducting, Aiko prepared herself for the attack that would allow her to kill 5 men in less than 15 seconds. Breathing deeply, willing herself to see clearly, she brought her sword before her face and prepared to swing. Abruptly, a familiar scream shattered the buzzing sound of battle. Her attention wavering, Aiko turned to see Kenshin, bloodied and torn, fly from the ground, and decapitate two men who were getting ready to deliver him a fatal blow. Kenshin turned to Aiko for a split second after his deadly swipes, and for a moment, Aiko saw Kenshin Himura, not the Hitokiri Battousai. His eyes were filled with pain and discontent, and he seemed to weep for the fallen warriors that lay scattered around him. Barely a man, at the age of 19, this boy was an assassin who had seen more than his share of blood in his short life. Just like she had. Aiko tried to smile comfortingly, but before she could Kenshin’s eyes suddenly grew in surprise and anger. He rushed forward, sword ready, roaring the yell of a manslayer. Taken aback, Aiko turned to see what was wrong, but too late. The sword of a shogunate samurai slashed down on her. She released a blood-curdling scream as the sword shattered her collarbone and tore into the flesh, and ligaments, and nerves just beside her neck. She felt the searing-hot pain as the samurai turned the blade in her shoulder, preparing to swing it up and out and slice her neck. Gritting her teeth, tears streaming down her cheeks, she watched with blurry vision as Kenshin drew nearer, his eyes ablaze with cold fire. To slow… to slow… Aiko awoke with a start, gasping for air, clutching her shoulder with one hand and the hilt of the Japanese sword that hung from her waist with the other. Cold sweat ran down her temples and her travel clothing clung to her clammy skin. Sitting up, Aiko stretched her back, trying to relieve the tension that had settled between her shoulders from the many nights of sleeping out doors. The trees around her makeshift camp swayed as a light breeze suddenly blew through the area, causing a chill to slide up Aiko’s spine. Trying to ward off the cold, Aiko pulled her manto tightly around her and leaned back down to the ground, attempting to stay out of the force of the wind. As she stared at the stars, her mind wandered in the way it does on the brink of sleep. She had left Osaka about twenty days ago and was now just a day outside Tokyo. Very soon she would be able to take her revenge. As sleep was about to take her, a small smile crossed her shadowy face as she imagined the look of horror on Kaoru Kamiya’s face as she ran her sword through the girl’s heart. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 |
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