It's modern day. The streets are rife with violence;
corporations are corrupt; assassinations, commonplace. Himura Kenshin, known only as Battousai, is
a shadow assassin for an organization so secret even he
doesn't know who truly runs it. BUT Battousai has an even
bigger secret; one that if it were ever discovered would mean more than his
death...it would end in the total annihilation of his soul. Battousai is not only the deadliest assassin
to ever prowl the dark streets of night...he is also a vampire, one of the
oldest still in existence…and a rarity among his kind.
He has a soul.
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Rurouni Kenshin & Samurai X Original Japanese Version ©N.
Watsuki/Shueisha * Fuji-TV * SME Visual Works Inc. * Sony Pictures
Entertainment
All Fanfics created by Chiruken (me)
were written for the sole purpose of shared entertainment and not intended for
publication or sale.
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Tears of Eternity
by: Chiruken
The couple walked down the deserted
street snuggled up close to one another, arms encircling each other’s
waists. Occasionally stopping to kiss
passionately, both were oblivious to their surroundings. Neither noticed the flickering of the lights
nor the sudden hushed darkness steadily approaching them. One by one the street lamps went out,
plunging the street into inky darkness.
A chill wind blew between the old
dilapidated buildings lining the ever-darkening street, whistling through the
cracks in the foundations, moaning between the buildings, and sounding eerily
like human wails. The woman shivered,
heavily made up eyes darting around fearfully as she moved closer to her
companion, the hair on the back of her neck rising with the creepy sensation of
being watched. She gasped, pressing
closer to the man beside her, when her terrified gaze fell on what appeared to
be a set of glowing yellow eyes peering at her unblinkingly from the shadows of
an alley across from them. “E-Erik…”
Her frightened whisper fell on deaf ears and trailed into nothingness when a
figure attached itself to the unearthly eyes.
“You are Erik Pryce of the Gordon
Communications Systems, are you not?”
The cold, dispassionate voice froze the couple to the spot. Slowly, the dark-clad figure moved the edges
of his knee length cloak to the side, tucking it behind what appeared to be two
swords.
“Wh-what do you want?” Erik Pryce swallowed with difficulty,
perspiring heavily in terror. Something
told him to be afraid…very afraid…of the short man slowly approaching him.
“I have come to inflict the punishment
you deserve.” Slowly, with deliberate
movements, the shadowy form closed the distance, voice devoid of all emotion,
and drew the longer of the two swords at his side. “Surrender.”
Erik Pryce, a young and upcoming
executive within the multi-billion dollar global conglomerate whimpered and,
eyes darting furtively back and forth, shoved the woman towards the assassin
sent to end his life. Ignoring the
woman’s startled cry, he turned and ran desperately down the street, heart
pounding a frantic tempo in his temples, lungs laboring to draw in life-giving
air.
When no sound of pursuit reached his
straining ears, Pryce dared to hope that he’d escaped the cold killer sent to
assassinate him. He bolted around a
corner and risked a glance over his shoulder.
A triumphant grin spread across his sweating features when he didn’t see
the shadow assassin behind him.
He faced forward again and screamed,
skidding to a halt when his eyes fell on the familiar figure standing calmly in
the street before him. He was now close
enough that Pryce could determine details he hadn’t noticed before. The assassin was short, just as his first
glimpse told him, with freakish yellow eyes and long red hair held back in a
high ponytail. His features were those
of a young man barely out of his teens, delicate with a cold beauty in his hard
and implacable expression. All of this
Pryce noticed in the instant before the gleaming blade held parallel to the
ground pierced his throat, killing him almost instantly.
Warm blood sprayed over the hilt of the
assassin’s sword, his hands, and coating his body, darkening his hair to an
almost black hue in the darkness. He
closed his eyes and shuddered delicately as the target’s vital fluid dripped
down his face. With a quick movement he
pulled his sword free of the now-lifeless body of Erik Pryce. Opening his eyes slowly, he stared down at
the corpse and licked the blood from his lips, an expression of distaste
crossing his face. “Disgusting.” He turned on his heel, flinging his sword to
the side in a curt motion, spraying blood against a wall, pulling a cloth from
inside his cloak and wiping his blade clean.
He dropped the soiled cloth carelessly next to the body of Erik Pryce
before striding away.
Quickly retracing his steps to the
street where he’d left the woman, the shadow assassin’s eyes took in the empty
thoroughfare. Sheathing the sword with
a snap he strode forward, eyes straight ahead, steps silent and deadly. Pausing at an intersection he tilted his
head to the side, glowing amber eyes assessing. Finally he turned left.
Moments later his keen eyesight picked up the woman from before, running
up the street. Her panicked breathing
came loud to his sensitive ears. She
looked over her shoulder and stumbled, falling to her knees. He’d closed the distance rapidly and now
loomed over her.
He studied her pale, tear-streaked face
with careful detachment. He decided
that she could’ve been pretty, if not for the garish makeup she wore, now
smudged and streaked grotesquely under her eyes. The scent of cheap perfume and fear sickened him as he reached
down and grasped her upper arms with surprisingly gentle hands, lifting her to
her feet. Pulling a clean cloth from
inside his cloak he carefully wiped the tears and makeup from her face. The woman stared at him with wide, confused
eyes as he pressed two fingers against her throat in an almost tender gesture
of affection.
Slowly he lowered his head, closing his
eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing personal.” The woman frowned at the whispered words
uncertainly, then gasped in pain and alarm when she felt twin needles stab into
her neck over her jugular. Only able to
manage a whimper and feeble struggles, the woman slowly sank back towards the
ground, the assassin’s arms cushioning her from the cold, hard concrete. Feeling her body grow limp and cold, he
slowly raised his head and looked down at her pale, lifeless features. “There can be no witnesses.” His low voice sounded harsh in his own ears,
the ancient excuse empty and hollow in his weary mind.
Carefully, with infinite tenderness, he
arranged her limp form on the street, closing her eyes and folding her hands
over her chest. He studied her and bent
to press his lips to her cold forehead, satisfied that she was adequately laid
out. He straightened with a soft
sigh. She appeared to be sleeping. He turned away and stepped into the shadows,
his form disappearing into the deserted streets silently.
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