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Prelude to a Nightmare: Chapter 2 - Shadows

by amamiya

Tenchuu.

It was a word that continued to echo through my mind as I killed. Like a mantra, I used it to keep reminding myself of one very important thing.

Why?

Because it was right. Because it needed to be done. I was not the instigator; I was the tool. I had surrendered to them my free will, so that they could do with me as they saw fit. Until this war was over, I was not a thinking, feeling human being, but a man with a sword. And the man with the sword was a killer.

Or so I told myself, over and over again.

The truth was, however, that with every drop of blood spilt; with every heart stilled by my blade; with every pair of eyes that continued to stare at me long after they were gone, I was hurting, and it was the kind of pain that was so intense that I didn’t recognize it for what it was.

So I did what was easiest. Instead of confronting my pain, I ignored it.

I shut myself off, closed up my heart and narrowed my mind.

Have you ever asked yourself why we need to feel pain in the first place? Pain is one of the body’s warning mechanisms. If you are hurt, you know that something is wrong with you. To ignore the source of that hurt would be foolish and dangerous.

What I had been doing to myself at that time was incredibly dangerous, although I couldn’t see it; couldn’t sense that there was something sick inside of me.

Before each assignment, I would steel myself, closing off my mind to everything except for the task at hand. Then, like a whirlwind, slice my way through my opponents – living, breathing – people, with a relentless fury. The only thing that I would leave with afterwards would be bloodied clothes and hands and the memory of terrible, horrified eyes. The eyes were the worst, for they would be irreversibly burned into the back of my mind. None of them ever stood a chance. With the exception of Kiyosato, they were unable to so much as scratch me.

The kills would be clean, but I would feel dirty, and my hands would feel clammy and sticky. The viscous feel of drying blood would always make me feel sick and I would scrub my hands afterwards with an almost obsessive fury, trying to get rid of the blood… the dried blood was so hard to wash off.

And then when it was time to sleep, I would feel a slight sense of dread.

I knew that I had to sleep. It was impossible for anyone to function properly without a decent sleep, however it also involved me lowering my guard. Not my physical guard; I always slept with my sword at my shoulder and my ear half-open for any sounds of attack. It was the emotional guard that was the most painful to lower. Because then the eyes would come back to stare at me; dreadful and accusing. Every single dying look of horror had been branded into the back of my mind with such terrible intensity that they are still there to this day… all of them.

This – the sheer mindlessness of it - went on for some months, until I was merely a shell of what I had been. A part of me had died, but I was no longer able to care about things like that. I lived solely to carry out a job, and that was no life at all.

It was on one of these such nights that I was washing my hands in a bucket at the back of the inn. It was late at night, and I thought that no-one had seen me return. The smell of blood would not escape me, no matter how hard I tried to rid myself of it. I must have been making a little noise as I thrust my hands into the water, scrubbing ferociously, for I did not seem to notice that one of Katsura’s men – a man called Izuka – had been approaching until he appeared in the doorway.

“Oh Battousai, there you are.” He did not seem to realize that I disliked being called by that name. I did not protest however, for there was really nothing that I could do about it. To him, to the other Ishin soldiers and to the common folk on the street, I was not Himura Kenshin but Hitokiri Battousai, and I couldn’t very well go around demanding that people call me by my proper name now then, could I?

And besides, I had overheard a few of the men saying one day that the name was a good thing, for it gave me – the real me - a certain kind of anonymity. They also mentioned that it was the kind of name that a legend could be built upon; a legend that would strike fear into the hearts of men. That was what they wanted after all… to create fear.

I don’t think I realized, at that moment, that many years into the future I would at times come to loathe the name Battousai.

I looked up from the bucket of reddish water and Izuka smiled, seeming excited about something. “Come quick,” he urged, oblivious to my current state of mind. “Katsura-san is waiting.”

I’m sure that you know who Katsura-san was. Katsura Kogoro, the young leader of the Choshuu Ishin Shishi. The man who was ultimately, I suppose, my boss.

I left the bucket a little reluctantly and dried my hands by wiping them on my hakama. Izuka led me – a little eagerly, I thought – to a small secluded garden behind the inn where we were staying. Katsura was waiting for me there, flanked by a large bodyguard, and holding a cup of sake. He seemed, upon first appearance, to be calm and relaxed, however as he looked at me I could see a flicker of darkness in his gaze. I sensed a troubled soul.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been able to meet,” he greeted me, smiling slightly. For some reason, I got the distinct impression that he was trying to… appease me, or something to that effect. “Are you doing well?”

How could I reply to that? I was no longer capable of social niceties; of ‘small talk,’ as some would call it. What did Katsura want to hear? I realized that it didn’t really matter to me anymore.
”Yes…” I replied, without so much as a pause. “I’m killing them just fine.” My voice was flat and cold, bordering on impertinence. Beside me, Izuka shifted nervously, obviously uneasy in Katsura’s presence.

“Hey hey,” he chided, not liking my tone.

Show a little respect… He left the words unspoken, but I could tell that that was what he meant.

Respect? I had given this man my sword. That was the most respect that I could possibly give to anyone. It would have been so easy for me to leave at any time, however I believed in what Katsura was doing. He and I, we essentially wanted the same thing.  

That was as much respect as I could give. My tone, my attitude, they were simply signs of the fact that I had shut myself off to people. Being nice was simply not a thing that I was capable of right then.

“What is my assignment tonight?” I demanded rather abruptly, wanting to be gone from their presence. Talking… conversation… it all seemed to be too much of an effort to me. Katsura glanced at me – a little uneasily, I thought.
”Well, it’s not so important that I’d call it an assignment...”

Not so important? What on earth did the man want, then? I really wasn’t in the mood for idle banter, and besides, it was dangerous for me to even be in the presence of Katsura. Violence followed me like a shadow, after all.

“Well if it’s not important,” I interrupted harshly, “please refrain from calling me.”

Katsura’s eyes widened a little at my tone, and beside me, Izuka took a step backwards in honest surprise.
”Hey!” he exclaimed once more, and I could sense his nervousness. Although why he was nervous, I didn’t understand. He was beginning to irritate me slightly.

I shook my head. “I’ve assassinated almost a hundred people this past six months,” I informed them coldly. “No matter how we hide ourselves, the Shogunate is beginning to sense that we are here. It isn’t a good plan for me to be near the Choshuu hantei.”

At this, Katsura’ s eyes began to narrow. He wasn’t the kind of leader who would discount first hand information, and he knew that I wasn’t the type to exaggerate, or believe fanciful rumours.

“The Bakufu forces are growing stronger day by day,” I informed him, noting idly both the look of disbelief on Katsura’s bodyguard’s broad features, and Izuka’s surprisingly expressionless face. “Especially the Wolves of Mibu…”

“The Shinsengumi…” Katsura’s tone told me that he was well aware of them. His voice sounded like that of a man who had thought on the matter and was not taking it lightly. This, I reflected briefly to myself, was part of the reason why I had allowed this man the use of my sword arm… why he had earned my respect.

“We have yet to cross swords,” I continued, “but they could be the strongest of the Bakufu’s weapons.”

Katsura’s bodyguard looked at me a little disdainfully. “What could that ragtag crowd possibly - ” he snorted, before Katsura held up a hand to silence him. The man was not a fool.
”I understand,” he said, giving me a small look of gratitude. “We’ll look out for them.”

I nodded briefly. Beside me, Izuka was practically quivering with nervous tension.
”Well, what about the assignment?” he demanded eagerly. It seemed that he was more anxious to learn what Katsura wanted of me than I was myself. Katsura looked at me with a slight smile on his face, and I knew suddenly that there would be no killing assignment tonight.

“Actually, tonight during the Gion festival,” he admitted, “there’s to be a secret council held at a certain inn. Toshiwara and Miyabe-san are expected to attend.”

Ah. Perhaps…

“You need a body-guard?” It was the first thing that had come to my mind, so I was slightly surprised when Katsura shook his head.

“Well, no.” Still, he was wearing a slight smile. “I was wondering if you would join us.”
That was the second conclusion that I had reached, however I hadn’t actually thought that it would come to pass. Beside me, Izuka grinned widely.

“That’s great!” he exclaimed. “Hey, your name could go down in history – “

His attitude, to me, was beginning to seem slightly like that of a… sycophant. It was starting to irritate me, so I simply ignored him.

“I must decline,” I replied flatly. Izuka’s wide smile faded, turning into a look of disbelief as I stared at Katsura. They didn’t seem to understand that this was exactly what I didn’t want. Recognition… for what? If I did decide to attend that meeting, then the moment I stepped into that room I would be greeted with wide eyes and quickly hidden expressions of shock. Their eyes would flicker up and down; from my swords to my face, and back again, and they would cease talking for a single, frozen moment.

It happened, and there was nothing that I could do to stop the way that men reacted to my presence.

They would then resume talking; perhaps act as if I wasn’t even there; try to act as if everything was normal, but always I would sense an undercurrent of fear.

Recognition… for what – the murder of hundreds?

This was why I didn’t belong in such a place. I couldn’t talk to people; I couldn’t join Toshiwara and Miyabe and Katsura and the others and assume an air of righteousness all of a sudden.

I killed people, for Kami’s sake.

I was Hitokiri Battousai; I wasn’t supposed to exist in the same circles as these men. They were the commanders and leaders; the movers and shakers. I was simply their finely honed blade; a killer, and nothing more. If the rest of the Ishin soldiers weren’t invited to the council, then I didn’t see any reason for myself to be present either. I was also a soldier; I didn’t deserve any special praise or accolades. I was not the star of this show; I belonged in the darkness.

“It’s easier if a hitokiri keeps to the shadows,” I told Katsura, and for a brief instant, I thought I saw a glimmer of apology in his eyes. “And I’m not interested in history or honour.”

“H… hey!” I ignored Izuka’s gasp of disbelief.

“I’m here to carry out a job; that is all.” I did not bother to acknowledge Katsura as I turned to leave.

As I walked away, there was nothing but silence, save for the chill brush of the wind. For this I was slightly grateful. My refusal to attend the council; I did not regret it at all, as there was not, on my part, any great desire to attend in the first place. Let Katsura Kogoro think what he liked. I was simply cold, and tired.

***

But Kenshin… Yahiko wanted to interrupt, for he had so many questions. How did you get there in the first place? Why did they keep… pushing you like that?
He didn’t dare however, because of the look on Kenshin’s face… sad… miserable… but determined… Kenshin needed to tell the rest of his story. You didn’t dare interrupt a man when he looked like that.

Kenshin…

Yahiko had known… yeah, he had known that Kenshin was Battousai back in the days of the revolution, however he had never imagined that it had been like that.

Kenshin hadn’t had much of a say in the matter really, Yahiko realized. He had been acting – killing – on behalf of other people. Yahiko had always imagined things a little differently; the legendary Hitokiri Battousai, carving the new Meiji era with the sharp edge of his sword; defeating the evil Shogunate… the Ishin patriot Himura Kenshin…

He had never thought about what it would be like to actually kill a man. He had never even considered what it would be like to kill a hundred men.

How had Kenshin dealt with a thing like that?

He had shut himself off. Yahiko realized that there was no other way that he could have survived. He had become the real Battousai. Not an evil, terrifying demon, seven-feet tall and wielding a blazing sword, but an almost soulless man. Yahiko wasn’t sure which one was more frightening.

They are still there to this day… all of them.

And he still… still carried the scars of that. He had just hidden them so well that Yahiko had never been able to see it before. Yahiko remembered, with a slight shudder, the first and only time that he had seen Battousai in the flesh. It was the day that the bastard policeman Saitou had come and challenged Kenshin to a fight.

Yahiko recalled seeing Kenshin get beaten up badly, and for a while he had honestly thought that Kenhsin was going to lose; was going to die.

Then, something had changed within him… something had snapped, and when Kenshin looked up, Yahiko had seen, for the first time, what must have terrified them so badly back during the Bakumatsu. He wasn’t sure that even Kenshin himself was aware of the impact of those awful, flat amber eyes. It was like seeing a calm summer sky suddenly turn dark with the fury of an oncoming storm; the storm was relentless and cold, cruel and unstoppable.

And now, finally, Yahiko was beginning to understand what had eaten away at Kenshin’s soul so horribly in order to cause such a change.

“You are probably wondering how things came to this, after only six months.” Suddenly, Kenshin was speaking again, after what had seemed like an endless pause. In reality, it had only been a few seconds, however the silence had dragged through the stillness sluggishly while each of them tried to gather their thoughts. Yahiko glanced around and noticed that Kaoru, Sano, Megumi and Tsubame were as shocked; as speechless; as spellbound as he was. Kaoru in particular, was a lot paler than usual.

“Well it all started,” continued Kenshin, “the day that I came down from the mountain.”