Shades of Revolution {Mature and Private for Shi }

‘What have we done to deserve such a wretched punishment? Haven’t these people caused enough heartache already?’ The old man questioned contemptuously, struggling internally to quell the ever increasing sentiment of hatred and desperation forming in his stomach. ’Why don’t you give up? Why are you stubbornly clinging to life? No matter how much you struggle or plead…these men will never know the true meaning of mercy ’ His subconscious whispered ‘Look at the bright side…after your execution ends…you and your wife will rest six feet underground.’ Death was part of a natural life cycle right? The elderly would simply waste away, leaving behind bundles of precious knowledge to be exploited by ungrateful charlatans. “A-All of you are murderers! What do you demand from us? Respect? Money? Gratitude? Why would I express my gratitude to a bunch of corrupt samurai!? The poor are merely disposable assets to the dishonorable swordsmen who only reign in vast amounts of terror!” Insulting the swordsmen with his sharp tongued beliefs might not be the best approach to dealing with hostility, however on the other hand staying silent gave the warriors a chance to practice domineering through displays of intimidation. ‘How far can ambition carry a man too do terrible deeds?’ He understood poverty was a catalyst for barbaric acts committed in the name of survival, yet the brutal murders associated with the ’honorable’ samurai contradicted every notion known to man. Did these swordsmen have family? Had any of them experienced the feeling of death firsthand? Brushing trivial conjectures aside, the elderly male wrestled fruitlessly in his vulnerable position attempting rather unsuccessfully to rid himself of the rigid twine binding both wrists together. If Kyrro could liberate himself long enough to free his wife Sarai and draw attention away from her, she might have a better chance of surviving. He overlooked one tiny detail though. How would he cut his wife’s bindings? ‘It would be a miracle if we escaped out of this alive.’ Impossible. Escape was absolutely impossible. He and Sarai were destined to meet their end at the hands of a so called ‘praiseworthy’ warrior. Twisting head sideways, Kyrro offered his long term companion what little comfort he could muster - a loving smile filled with genuine sentiment. “Please forgive me Sarai….please…” He half choked between restrained sobs “I should’ve listened to what my heart was telling me! You were never intended to become a needless victim of this senseless war!”

“Are you insinuating I’m a murderer?! How dare you bring dishonor to our name! If we hadn’t arrived on time this pathetic village would’ve been wiped off the map!” Hisoka remarked neutrally “Of course…what would a peasant farmer know about ambition? You’re poor…not to mention quite illiterate. The new government doesn’t need refuse like you running the show. Don’t worry about your impending death sentence, Battousai has a reputation for swift kills!” Letting his morbid speech gradually sink in, the brunette-haired youth snickered beneath his breath “Foolish old man…what were you thinking? Humiliating me was your worst blunder yet…and to think I was planning a proper funeral arrangement.” Should he leave the bodies to decompose naturally? Or should Hisoka convert the deceased occupants into macabre trophies? ‘My son… you will encounter treacherous men on the battlefield…..in order to survive one must take advantage of any present opportunity. Humanity in war can be exploited by enemies and comrades alike…remember the wise saying nice guys always finish last.’ Were these valid reasons to plant apathetic thoughts into a fragile human mind? ’Fragile human mind? What am I talking about? Fragile minds only pertain to dismal idealists wanting equal justice for all of mankind!’ Egalitarianism obliged flimsy leaders to assist the financially deficient farmers with free distribution of precious supplements, however the swordsmen battling for their lives day and night struggled constantly to survive on despicable snippets left by the poverty stricken farmers. ‘Why Katsura?! Why prefer him over me? Have I not proven my worth as a responsible swordsmen?!’ Perhaps Katsura planned on pitting his two most experienced swordsmen against each other? For what valid reason though? “I…..I despise Kogoro Katsura.” He spat between gritted teeth as honey-colored eyes studied Kyrro’s body language tentatively. The elderly male displayed palpable signs of wanting to fight against his predestined execution, but the russet-haired adolescent would ensure every last civilian in this remote village paid with fire and brimstone. “Why should she forgive you? Isn’t it your fault for opening your mouth in the first place? Still I find public displays of affection to be trivial assets. Love is the weakest emotion anyone can experience…it is a dirty sentiment I as a swordsmen will never display.” It wasn't unusual for Hisoka to keep controversial topics hidden from sight, especially if said opinions mentioned involvement in the needless massacre of innocent civilians - still the inoffensive lexicons could provoke an unintended reaction from Kenshin Himura.

What glory could a four year war bring to the countless citizens whose livelihoods were wiped out instantaneously? Had the self-righteous swordsmen forgotten their original purpose? Humility and temperance were once character traits highly admired among the aristocratic class, but now chivalry seemed more like a pleasant dream from the distant past. Absolute power corrupted weak-minded merchants ,who in turn gave away all their hard earned wealth to obtain the exclusive privilege of abusing the unstable Japanese infrastructure known as sovereignty. The island nation had already sustained enough plundering from foreign countries wanting to extend their vast empires into fertile land, of course Japan wouldn’t fall easily unless the internal government collapsed. ’Our proud Japanese heritage threatens to be divided if both sides don’t reach an agreement soon.’ Kyrro contemplated scathingly, although internally he loathed himself for allowing pessimistic thoughts to persuade him so easily. Why should he care about nonsensical thoughts? Why should the elderly male care if the central government crumbled before his very eyes? ‘Sarai…Kadory..’ His mind mustered up images of the two most important people in his life - Sarai being the first person who understood Kyrro’s traumatic past ,and his deep involvement as a samurai during the bloodiest revolution. ‘If we die here….how will Kadory fare?’ He asked himself internally, yet his foster daughter had more advantages then the average girl living out their lives in relative comfort. Kadory held remarkable knowledge of how to utilize raw materials into useful objects - still despite all the innate talents his adopted daughter possessed; Kyrro feared she would lead a solitary life. After all the greater majority of society found great displeasure in assimilating humanoids, particularly those baring anatomical abnormalities into their niche for fear the latter would unbalance strict traditional values. “How predictable! Expecting respect from your would-be-victim is laughable by nature. No one in their right mind would show deference to an adolescent still wet behind the ear!” The older male retorted bitterly, demolishing inner laments as he chose instead to face Hisoka’s egotistical nature head on. Flouting subsidiary remarks aside, Kyrro’s jaded gaze bore deeper into the brunette’s twisted psyche - while examining the boy’s brutal nature with a pained sense of reality dawning before his eyes. ’Such a pity….that at this age boys would lose their innocence.’ Piteous how the real world worked right? “My fault? The offender always finds excuses to relieve the burden from their own shoulders correct? I refuse to comment on your misshapen attitude pertaining to love…evidently someone of such high caliber doesn’t need distractions.” Thinning leathery lips into a forlorn grin, Kyrro decided to allowed himself the luxury of watching his intended ‘executioner’ materialize out of the shadows.

Traditional folklore constituted of gossip acquired through outside sources, and brought into the secluded village via the artistic method of orally spoken rumors passed down from one generation to the next generation. Perpetual legends had a chance to flourish untouched in a barren community devoid of foreign intrusions, consequently the minimal passage of traffic ensured the myths purity. Desolation had once provided ample protection against trouble looming past the distant horizon, however in recent times Jima’s hearsay resonated with a different tone. Youkai, ghosts and otherworldly apparitions slowly diminished from local legend - replaced by a mysterious swordsmen capable of murdering hundreds with a single sword strike. Were the story tellers rehashing traveler’s experiences into falsified information? Was it even possible for a mortal man to slaughter legions without sustaining injury to himself? “Farfetched fabrications…my old mind must be at it again.” Kyrro surmised, instinctively coming to the conclusion that his fellow villagers needed a new source of entertainment. If the mere mention of an assassin sent townspeople into chaos, then most of what the old man heard rung true; which meant said warrior might be hidden away. ’What should I do? Is this the end of the line for both of us? Can Kadory cope alone? What about our beautiful village? Eighteen long years living in peace….while the world beyond fell into chaos. Who would’ve thought Jima’s demise came in the form of ’honorable’ devils disguised as samurai!’ Holding onto prized memories made departure almost bittersweet in some aspects, yet his greatest wish was for his surviving daughter to remember her parents in their ecstatic moments. He didn’t want Kadory’s smile to falter - but inner anguish sometimes succeeded in smothering happiness. Who ever heard of preexistent joy during warfare? Perhaps, the only bliss present on the battlefield came from victorious soldiers enjoying their conquest. ‘Faux victory at the expense of others.’ The grey-haired male brooded, mentally picturing the ’executioner’ as an older military man - highly regarded in his regiment for his expertise’s in slaughtering defiant scoundrels; undoubtedly, Kyrro and Sarai wouldn’t be the only victims dealt with an unjust capital punishment. ’What appearance will my murderer take? Will he do the job slowly?’ Jostling macabre thoughts aside, he tried forming visual images in his head to correspond with the shadowy figure emerging out of the darkness almost menacingly. Regardless of his retired military status, the ex-samurai still possessed the ability to decipher physical prowess based on a careful analysis of bodily movements, although his earlier postulations dissolved like ashes in water - rendering the totality of his assessments useless. Forlorn smile immediately faded from Kyrro’s face, replaced by a grimace as the dark figure turned out to be an adolescent looking no older then nineteen-years of age.

‘I don’t believe it! I just don’t believe it!? Are my eyes deceiving me again? My executioner isn’t an adult like I originally expected….he’s nothing….but a mere child still.’ Was the regimen recruiting naïve youngsters to fight in their cruel battles? How could the older samurai allow such a despicable act to occur? Weren’t well educated children Japan’s only hope of survival? Or would the government simply stand aside without lifting a single finger? ’Death lies all around us…while the sickly sweet stench of blood entangles him..’ Calamity, impregnable silence, and despondent sorrow combined into an overwrought atmosphere, generating an eerie situation parallel to the one Kyrro went through nearly twenty-five years ago. Lucid images illustrating premeditated attacks on harmless civilians broke through the elder’s concentration briefly, sending him into the past when Sekigahara exploded into a gory full scale battle which resulted in heavy casualties. Would history repeat itself again? ’If high ranking officials ceased to be greedy…another battle like Sekigahara could’ve been avoided. Although I’m no longer an active swordsmen…I know many brave samurai risked their own lives to secure a better future for Japan.’ Sacrifices alone couldn’t solve many of the islands internal matters ,nor could opposing groups rally support in light of all the fatalities caused by ronins running amuck. Sadly, the central government only cared about unification of valuable goods - instead of questioning why minors had become increasingly violent. The continual strain between two opposing sides had spiraled out of control; giving rise to disastrous consequences as demonstrated by Jima’s scarlet covered streets ,and mangled corpses littering every inch of the city square. “People are losing hope…..” Kyrro mouthed lowly, resigning himself to an inevitable fate of execution at the hands of a skilled youngster. ’Reputation for swift kills….the corrupted youth called him Battousai? That name sounds quite familiar, but where have I heard it before? Could the legendary Battousai be the one standing in front of me?’ Should he even risk staring at the approaching young man? “Does it really matter anymore? We might as well face reality head on.” He spoke softly, making sure Sarai was the only person who heard his voice. Twisting his head slightly to the right, the grey-haired male settled hazel colored eyes on exotic attributes few individuals ever saw in their lifetime. Indigo optics emanated coldness, auburn tresses reminded Kyrro of freshly spilt blood, but the most sobering feature he saw on the red-head was his emotionless face. ’No mistaking it….he is the Battousai!’ Dawning realization nearly knocked the air out of Kyrro’s lungs, as the ginger-haired assassin moved slowly in his direction - brandishing a silver katana equipped for quick disposal of condemned prisoners.

“Are we done already? Did the other samurai runaway like cowards? I was seriously expecting more opposition from the Shogunate government and their corrupt lackeys.” Katsura growled softly, rotating his head in both directions to survey structural damage as well as assessing how many of his own group members perished battling untrained warriors. He was pleasantly surprised though to see the snow beneath his feet dyed crimson - after all the blood of despicable sinners should be abolished for the greater good of the country. “Don’t forget the people living their life in constant repression.” He added, sheathing his katana into it’s scabbard before navigating an erratic path carved into the ice; surely the trail had been excavated by Hitokiri Battousai himself to lead all party members to safety. Hitokiri Battousai, the legendary manslayer who had gained celebrity status almost overnight due to his impressive maneuvers remained largely unknown to the public eye. No one had ever seen his face, after all the only signs indicating his presence lay carved in the very flesh of his unlucky victims. “Murdering without remorse…the kid really does a good job.” Kogoro Katsura told himself, cresting up a steep slope until his sharp gaze picked up strands of reddish-gold hair whipping in the wind and a dripping blade froze mid air. The rising sun cast eerie shadows around the trembling figure, creating an allusion of how terrifying Battousai must be in the eyes of those unused to seeing an adolescent wield a sword with such grace. “Himura? Mr. Himura are you alright?” Tossing ridiculous observations aside the raven-haired male quickly ran to Kenshin’s side - shocked beyond belief when red-rimmed indigo eyes meet his ashen-colored ones. “The snow….why is the snow turning red?” Himura whispered “Why would I kill a man? For Japan….I will bury all my emotions…I will create an equal society free of corruption…even if it means losing my heart in the process. Katsura….I’ll become Hitokiri Battousai..” The red-headed assassin averted eyes to the floor, a bitter smile playing across his lips for he knew the implications of what he had just done. Hitokiri, the nickname given to a select few willing to become shadow assassins for the Choshu Ishin - in this particular case Himura Kenshin was chosen. One marveled why a fifteen-year old adolescent risked premature death working the frontlines, but for him isolation was a welcome break from his daily assignment. ‘This isn’t me! This isn’t who I am! I’m not a murderer! I would never kill unarmed civilians!’ Squaring his jawbone rigidly, Kenshin felt himself constricting the sword’s hilt tighter and tighter - till his knuckles turned pallid from pressure inflicted through Battousai’s own turbulent nature. ‘Aren’t we being hypocritical? The sword has and will always be a tool of destruction…salvation is just a stupid ideology.’ Was he indeed a hypocritical human being? Were his actions beyond redemption?

Redemption and salvation, the two terminological words held a profound symbolical meaning for Kenshin Himura, although his strong feelings for morality were often challenged by disagreeable individuals attempting to break him down into a common criminal. The red-headed assassin completed assignments without questioning possible motives leading others to believe he was coldhearted like everyone else, of course misshapen perspectives never saw the reality beneath the quivering disguise; no one dared to imagine that Hitokiri Battousai could one day have a nervous breakdown in part due to his diverged nature. “I…I will protect your happiness.” He voiced soundlessly, but noticed how the sentence seemed to affect his mental state as well as clouding his rationality with brutal sentiments. Protect whose happiness? Who should he protect? The raven-haired woman haunting Himura’s dreams late at night had been promised protection - to bad faith in the blood splattered samurai led to her premature demise. ’The faint scent of white plum and blood mixing in together….silver meeting white as crimson splashed everywhere. Screams, meaningless words spoken…apologies never heard….a broken heart shrouding itself in ever lasting darkness.’ Gritting teeth together, the nineteen-year old adolescent suppressed his troubled emotions, before revealing his hidden silhouette to the condemned prisoners of war; except Kenshin saw them as martyrs dying for a senseless cause. ’Hisoka maybe the one ordering the execution, but he won’t be the one stained in blood. Master Hiko was right all along….I’m just an imbecile following orders.’ Perhaps, all Katsura cared for was glory at the expense of delivering naïve youngsters down the path of self- destruction. “Human, yet not a ‘human’….I’m dispensable once my worth as Hitokiri is exploited.” Admitting evident facts pointing towards Kenshin’s usage as a ’means to an end’ infuriated the youth slightly - he didn’t want to consider himself a mere ‘tool’ for calamity. ’Stop fooling yourself…’ Admonishing himself harshly, the ginger-haired swordsmen hurried out of the darkness masking his emotions beneath Battousai’s stoic glare. Holding the silver-colored sword in his right hand, Kenshin drew close enough to see the signs of resignation and fear etched into the old man’s facial expression. Fear, every single victim he encountered displayed the same primal mechanism when facing imminent danger - the only difference was Kenshin's intimate front row seat set up purposely for Hitokiri to witness death firsthand. “We should be protectors of peace….We are part of the Choshu Ishin are we not?! Murdering civilians for the sake of silencing their opinions is a deed I won‘t participate in.” Scathing indigo eyes met equally derisive gold eyes, as the brunette-haired youth contorted his face into a myriad of expressions ranging from shock to barely veiled disgust. ’Shocked are we? Were you expecting an obedient Battousai?’ Raising forearms upwards, Kenshin acted as if he would carry out his dutiful task of sending the elderly couple into nirvana, but at the last minute Himura frozen mid-swing his katana blocked not only by an invisible force…but also the introduction of a foreign woman wielding a dagger.

‘Why are you stalling Battousai? Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts!? Now isn’t the time to repent for all your aberrant sins!’ Hisoka snapped mentally, knowing visual temper tantrums weren’t appropriate in circumstances involving large group gatherings. If, he truly wanted to discharge his pent-up anger on Hitokiri Battousai: why not do so in private? ’I wouldn’t risk my life challenging such a superb warrior to a duel. Himura is capable of cutting his opponents in half…before they even get the chance to parry.’ Brushing chestnut tresses behind his right ear, the russet-haired adolescent narrowed eyes immediately after hearing Himura speak out loud - clearly using deceitful tactics and civil disobedience to call Hisoka’s unfairness to light. “Protectors of peace? Who ever said…I wanted to protect? The Choshu Ishin is nothing, but a stepping stone into obtaining absolute power over all Japan.” He mouthed the response soundlessly, since spoken words filled with corruption tended to be silenced by sympathetic patriots favoring a more equal government. Figures, the red-headed assassin wanted everyone on parallel fields, however Kamachi saw Kenshin’s dwindling character as a chance to take advantage of his dispirited heart. Eliminating Himura out of the picture should be easy, once Hisoka proved that Katsura’s favorite swordsmen was just a shell of his former self. Unfortunately, the intruder alarm had been raised among the tightly knit group as a young woman appeared seemingly out of nowhere - managing to evade all the samurai ,and even having the audacity to interrupt the execution mid-way. ’How did she get here? Himura should’ve sensed her!’ Pushing plans of conquest aside, Hisoka quickly accommodated the nearest samurai into position - not only would he cut of any possible escape routes, he would also make sure Kenshin accomplished orders right on schedule. ‘Not good…not good at all. What is Hisoka planning now? He won’t rest easy…till I shed their blood.’ Was his comrade ignorant? Couldn’t he see the red-head’s reluctance to kill? ’Simply a tool of destruction…’ He reminded himself, keeping the soiled blade frozen until Kadory’s appearance took him completely off guard. The old Battousai might have gone forward with Hisoka’s macabre plans, but the ’real’ Kenshin Himura took great care to avoid injuring his unexpected guest. “What are you doing here? This is a battlefield field if you hadn’t noticed already.” Himura stated bluntly, allowing himself to be pushed back several inches from Kyrro and Sarai. ’I don’t understand….why is she putting her life in danger to protect the elderly couple? Are they related?’ They had to be related in one way or another, otherwise she wouldn’t be risking her life to face Hitokiri Battousai in person. “Kill you? Now why would I have any reason to turn my blade against you? The elderly couple…must be related to you then. Well…stop wasting time…untie them and get out of here.” Kenshin hissed back, locking indigo eyes against Kadory’s mismatched ones.