Disclaimer: I wish, and so do most people. But we can't all own the rights to RK now can we.
A/N: New story, I'm excited about it. Hope you like. I made it PG 13 since I am pretty modest about gore and sex in my writing. Its there though, just to let you know.
Japan torn between New and Old
Screams, Cries, and Tears
Blood soaked streets
A night's routine
Behind it all,
These two Hitokiri
"Wait." The leading man in the group of ten held out is hand, singling the group to stop their motion. He listened through the sound of the rain drops splashing and against roofs and the stone walkway under them. With a sharp click his katana was drawn and pointed into the darkness just before them. "Who's there? Show yourself!"
Confusion glazed over the eyes of his company, not sure of their captain's sudden alarm. They all drew their swords nonetheless, trusting their leader's instincts.
Silence hung for a few long moments, and some of the men began to loosen hilt grips. No sooner than they did, two figures emerged from the shadows, both dressed in dark gi's and hakamas. They made no other movement or sounds, their mystery still shrouded behind their weaved rice hats.
The company's captain side stepped, placing himself in front of his client. "Identify yourself!" He commanded, his sword still raised at the two strangers.
One figure moved forward, his hand gripping the katana sheath at his side. With a low voice that seemed to hum in the air, he spoke, "There is not point introducing ourselves to dead men."
In response to the threat, the captain and another man to the side of him began to charge, their swords drawn high above their heads. But the two strangers remained still even as their attackers were only meters away.
As the doomed men came into striking distance, the first hitokiri smirked, taking a low stance, hand on the hilt of his sword.
It was a moment of realization for captain. "Battoujutsu..." He whispered as both he and his companion were slashed down by the cold steel of the man's blade.
The man resheathed his sword and stood straight as the two bodies fell to the ground in a pool of their own blood mixing with fresh rain. He removed his hat, throwing it to the side as did his partner.
"Its the Battousai and Karasu!" The older plump man yelled. He began to back away pushing more and more men forward as he did. "Go, Kill them! Protect me! Its what I hired you for!"
Soon all the men were running towards to two hitokiri, swords waving frantically in the air.
They both grinned at the efforts of all these valiant men. Sacrificing their lives for money. With hands on their hilts they both crouched and took off, right down the center of the company, splitting them into two groups.
The attacks ensued. Metal clashed and rang as swords met only for an instant before plunging deep into soft flesh.
It was a dance. His fiery hair was the only traceable aspect of his speed. It spun, it dipped, it flew as he delivered the fatal blows of Hiten Mitsurugi Style.
Her dark tresses along with her agile speed made her invisible from sight. Only sometimes could her presence be caught in the reflection of her sapphire eyes on the blades of their swords. She dashed, in and out, striking her katana with all the fury of the Kamiya Kasshin Style.
He was graceful and fluid, she was precise and sharp. Both beautiful and deadly, they were masters of their art.
Only moments after their battle had began, it had ended. The bodies of the guards all sprawled on red soaked stone below them. Only three left standing. Two hitokiri. One target, and he was on his feet and running for his life.
Amber orbs met sapphire, and in agreement Karasu slicked the blood off her katana before sprinting after the man, her sword drawn and dragging behind her. She zipped around him and stopped just in front of him, scaring him to the point he nearly fell back to keep from running into her.
The older man back away slowly, his hands up and pleading for his life. But it was no use. She heard not his cries nor prayers as she slashed across his abdomen. Just as he bent over, arms around the wound, she crouched down, sprung up, and drove her sword through his chin to the top of his skull. His body went limp on her sword before she drew it out in one swift motion, at the same time, flicking his blood from the steel.
She looked up at the amber eyes that approached her and sheathed her sword. He came, and stood merely centimeters from her. He raised a calloused hand and moved her damn raven hair, from her eyes. Gently, with the sleeves of his gi, he wiped the blood of her victims from her face pressed his lips to hers. She reciprocated with a soft hand on his face and careful kiss of her own.
When they pulled apart, he handed her the hat she had discarded early and she strapped it to her head before they both set back out into the darkness.