The Rebel and the Gaijin Part 3: Tengu Tengu By: Shutani Houkiku Zan Tuwaki Mizumo A man and woman ran out of the rain, into the overhanging roof of a shop. "Ouch, what a fiesty little maiden," The chuckle distracted Mizumo's attentions enough for Zan to crawl away, wincing. Mizumo startled, then glared. It was a man in a big straw hat and beggarly getup, dripping on her floor. "Hard to find a husband, with your expertise at brooms." The woman twisting water out of a kimono sleeve on to the ground outside nudged him in the ribs playfully. "Need she worry with you around?" "Onegai, Youka! Give me some credit! My heart has been lost to Kamiya-san and Kamiya-san only!" The protest seemed to have gone ignored. They saw that the woman was Shutani Houkiku when she turned and gave a deep, full bow. "Pardon us, Mizumo-chan, may we take shelter under your roof?" "Uh... sure, Shutani-san..." Mizumo stammered and ran to get them some towels. The minute the pair were left alone, the light mood shifted. "So, what do you think of our little mystery?" The man removed his wide-brimmed straw hat and affectionately tucked a stray lock of dripping hair on his companion's face behind her ear. Her eyes were stormy with a subdued anger and worry. "O-Yama-sama is angry." She replied sullenly. "This storm is the gods' rage. The slander must be attoned." "You don't think it could be me?" It was clearly the wrong thing to say because a hard slap landed on his left cheek. "Yamakawa Shoichi! That's not funny!" "No, I guess not." A wry smile came to his lips. "Besides," Was the mumble in his chest. "You'd cut yourself first trying to hold a nodachi." "Aiya..." She pushed away before Mizumo returned with towels for drying and Zan hobbling and wincing behind. The lilac-haired girl blasted Zan with one last raging-buffalo-look, as the Gaijin Swordsman grimaced and held a hand over the where he'd been struck. "Dang. Same place as last time. Should've moved so she'd hit somewhere else." After cursing his smart mouth, he closed his eyes, held his breath, and ever so slowly, released it. Much of the pain expelled with each breath, until it was totally gone. His eyes flickered open and he sighed. " 'When in pain, return to that which enables us to live.' Thanks, Sensei." He watched as Tuwaki Mizumo approached her two visitors and handed them a pair of towels. Right away, he recognized Shutani Houkiku as one of them. The rage she had let fly at him, Mizumo, and Kenshin awhile ago seemed to have ebbed a little. "But not by much. She's dressed enough to kill that she could stare down a bull herd and they'd stampede like outgunned Cavalry being pursued by Apaches." His attention shifted to her companion. Taller and older than Kiku and sporting long dark hair and a straw hat, the man had a fun-loving careless look on his face that seemed to conceal a powerful fighting spirit. Apparently, there was some sort of friendship between Kiku and the man. Judging their general proximity from each other, which barely came close to a millimeter, that friendship had to be a close one. "Old friend of Ma'am's, I'll bet." He tipped his hat and sketched a short bow at the two of them. "Good day, Miss Shutani, and sir." Mizumo took his cue and smiled at them cordially, gesturing towards the small table. "We were just getting ready for lunch, Kiku-san. You are welcome to join us if you wish." "No, really, Mizumo-chan," The woman smiled, pausing in her drying to return a polite smile. "We have intruded upon you enough." "Surely partaking of the young lady's hospitality cannot be an intrusion!" The lanky man chose to contradict, gallantly kissing the back of Mizumo's hand. "Yamakawa Shoichi desu, dozo yoroshiku. And I have the pleasure of addressing?" Mizumo took one look at her hand in silent disgust, *I may be a girl, but...* she gave one little glare at Shoichi and replied, "Tuwaki, Mizumo Tuwaki..." *at least he knows I'm a girl...unlike some people* she looked at Zan with an annoyed look. She wiped her hand off when Shoichi wasn't looking and sighed, "I hope you stay too Shutani, I need more company... I haven't be feeling so great..." she remembered the armored warrior and shuddered slightly. "Are you all right Mizumo-chan? You seem a bit pale," Shutani looked over to Mizumo, finished with drying. Mizumo smiled her usual smile though it seemed a tiny bit... forced, "I'm all right, it's just all those children... it's kinda hard to feel completely all right after seeing something like that. I'll be going to cook lunch, so do please make yourselves at home." She gave a little glare to Zan, then walked off. "The charm backfires, Genji-sama," Kiku nudged the man, teasing. The Gaijin Swordsman killed the smile before it could blossom. "She actually looks cuter when she's mad. Much more so when she's smiling. She needs to be made aware of that." Wordlessly, the remaining trio exchanged glances then slid into their chairs at the table. Zan nodded at the two and removed his hat, placed it before him. "I second Mizumo's words when she says she's happy to have you here. The murders committed awhile ago have taken it's toll on her, and she's under quite a bit of emotional stress. Though she's a strong girl, she needs some friends around her now, more than ever." "'Specially with a demon from her past haunting her and hunting me." Zan briefly wondered what the two's reason for visiting was. Awhile ago, Houkiku had seen the emblem of the tengu and had practicaly flown into a fury, then stormed out. Definitely, she had to be upset about it until now. Now here she was with this mysterious vagabond-looking man who seemed as if once in his life he had been something much more. He looked them both over. The fire in their eyes was unmistakable. They both seemed more than ready to hunt. Surely they couldn't be hoping to track the killer themselves. "Or are they?" "Are we what?" Kiku smiled her enquiry as innocent as a summer butterfly. He hadn't realised that he had voiced it. Yamakawa just looked crushed at the failure of his charms on Mizumo. The unspoken assumption that led her follow up was 'lovers'. "He's my secret treasure," She winked at Zan with a light laugh. "But you'd better not tell Harada!" "That kappa you call Harada had better watch it, though," The lanky man put his arms around her waist; really, more for Zan's benefit than anything else, "Or I -will- take you from him." Gamely, Zan grinned. The love between these two was strong enough that even a blind man frozen in an ice block could have seen it. Theirs was a relationship that was more than mere brother and sister and yet fell short of one of lovers. "If ever I had a sister, would things have been that way?" Johnny had been the only child of Kevin and Martha Markinson, so getting to know the answer to that was impossible. He held a hand up as his smile widened and he spoke. "Secret treasure? Ma'am Shutani, people who receive that kind of info have a tendency to kill the messenger. I got no wish to end up that way." Out of real curiousity, he focused his attention towards Yamakawa Shoichi. "Mr. Yamakawa, how long have you known each other?" There was more he wanted to learn about this person. Being observant, though, certainly paid off. The Samurai Gunman had to applaud their subtle change of topic. But he also had to oblige it, if only for Mizumo's sake. Zan let a dozen expletives directed at himself bounce around in his head, once more chiding his loose tongue. "Nice going, Zanny boy. Now they know that you know, or at least suspect you of knowing, their real reason." "Not as long as I should of, but of course, being gaijin, you would not understand the value of shiawase, giri and makoto." Was the man's mocking reply. "Shiawase, giri, makoto." He was correct. Such were words that found no suitable translations in the English language, none that did them justice. For the first, "happiness" will have to do. "Honour and duty" comes closest to the second and "sincerity" takes the last; but none can really explain the fullness of these emotions and concepts. Houkiku chuckled, hiding her grin under her sleeve. It was a heavy insult and only someone as brusque as the rude beggar-potter would have the audacity of addressing a gaijin with in such strained times. Zan shrugged. In this country, other people's underestimation of his abilities and knowledge was normal. Which was why proving them to be wrong later was a big pleasure. They'd later find themselves inhaling in hopes of sucking the words they had said out of everyone's ears. "So the guy's skin is white and his hair is blond. True, perhaps I wouldn't... 'cept I've been here longer than you think. Long enough to know things most of you would consider any non-Japanese to be ignorant of. So I wouldn't push it far were I in your shoes. There's much you can only THINK I don't know." He paused and observed him for a second. "Especially about you. For instance... your hands tell me a lot. I'm betting you do or did have some involvement with the potting profession because your palms are rough and still bear their stains which create clear patches of skin. Your knuckles are hardened and calloused yet your fingers are still slender and a bit delicate, hinting you must have been trained by a pretty skilled group of martial artists, likely Chinese. I strongly suspect the TianLong Ban beggar clan." He paused to send a silent thanks to Sazuki Sensei and his lectures on various martial arts troupes in and around Japan. The Gaijin Swordsman switched his attention to Shoichi's eyes. "Ah, you like looking at yourself, don't you? Light causes a man's pupil to shrink, and yours are quite small as if accustomed to it. Things like mirrors and bodies of water reflect light. Meaning you like looking into them whenever you can. Meaning you must be pretty vain. Your attitude and the way you carry yourself alone speak of that." He paused a while, looking a bit deeper. "Were you ever a Hitokiri before or something like it? I don't think you were in the job very often because... the dangerous edge in your eyes is there. But not the darkness of one who fully gave himself to it." His mind flashed back on another ex-Hitokiri, a redhead. He leaned back and this time let the grin come, knitting his hands before his belt buckle. "But you ARE a good man, and I'll give you a LOT for that. Kiku can see it and very likely agrees, and don't think for a second that I can't see that too because you know you'd only be fooling yourself." This time he sent a rushed thanks to his father's soul. "Nice to know all that detective training paid off." Out loud Zan spoke, and his smile faded. "In the final analysis, Mr. Yamakawa, let's face it: you don't know squat about me." He leaned forward. "Anything else you'd like to be told about you?" Without warning, a blast of thunder filled the air and the room momentarily lit up with a string of reflected lightning, much like a Christmas tree. "Even the elements wanna know.", he mused. His eyes came up and happened to look over Houkiku's head towards the window. As two amber reptilian eyes sneered back at him. Zan was transfixed for a second as whatever it was held its gaze, then suddenly broke off as if fleeing. "Hold it!" He bolted out of his seat without warning and slammed his hat on his head, rushing out the door into the furious rain. Barely a second passed, and he was fully drenched. "Time for ME to get dry later." The American drew sword and gun, water slashing down blade and barrel. He held the Johnny No More up to one one ear and cocked it, while the Demonslayer was up in an offensive/defensive grip. The sky above was gray and overcast though it was supposed to be early afternoon, and the streets were deserted owing to the rains, so all was safe should he ever have to fire. His blue eyes swept his surroundings, and suddenly he was with his father in Carson City, Nevada, hunting concealed outlaws through the confines of a ghost town. Zan's ears detected the splashing of footsteps, and he caught sight of something running off through the streets. "Run, but know you can't run far enough." The Samurai Gunman took off in hot pursuit, though his run was restrained as there was still the possibility of slipping. Deeper and deeper into the streets he followed, until turning one corner, he came to a wide deserted road with houses that bordered both sides and ended in a wall. "Nowhere to hide." He stopped himself and walked slowly, carefully onto the street. Things would normally be very silent if not for the rain. The area was wide open and yet Zan could not see any sign of his quarry. Perhaps his target had jumped over the wall... Something flashed at the back of his mind. A change in the air, or perhaps a gut-felt bad feeling. Whatever it was, he leaped aside and something metallic slammed into the ground and left a cut, which the rain quickly covered. Zan frowned as blood ran down his back. "Any closer and that would've gotten me. Whatever it was." His gun hand snapped up and fired back in the general direction, but he didn't seem to have hit anything. "Christ, what is this?" He could not see his attacker but something was trying to kill him. Another whistle of air, and Zan moved instinctively, and grunted as cold steel cut into his side. "Where is he, dammit?!" He rolled again and came up with both weapons in a cross-block and back against the wall, as a flat disembodied voice spoke. "Not possible to hit what you can't see, Gaijin Swordsman." In response, the American smirked, momentarily held his side to ebb the tiny flow of blood. "Hiding, Tatsujin? Or should I say...Kyodai. Just like the cowardly demon you are. You were once a lord with a bright future before you, but you gave it all up for the greed for more power. Before any of that, you were a real man, a true warrior, someone to look up to and emulate. Then you scheme against your lord, take the tengu for your emblem, and kill children. Where's the honor in that?" There was a pause before the mercenary answered out of nowhere. "I lost all sense of that word a long time ago, gaijin. It matters to me no longer. It's nothing but a high and blind ideal to pursue. Allow me to enlighten you." Through the rain, Zan heard the whistling blade, and without thinking, raised both weapons and blocked. As the clang of clashing metal filled his ears, he leaped up and triangle-jumped away from the wall, placing him behind where his attacker supposedly was to give more space. "I can't see him. How does he do it?" "Did I mention that the moment you saw me at the window of Tuwaki's shop, you fell under my little spell?" Tatsujin drawled, as if reading his mind. The gush of red sputtered through the rain. "Did I mention I was very good at my previous job?" A second voice drawled. Pitched high and mocking, a little on the shrill edge, like the challenge of an avian. "Two o'clock, the wound is in his left." A female voice whispered in Zan's ear. The voice of Tatsujin slowly slid into annoyance. "Who's there?!" "Tricks and sticks are all mighty fine," The voice of what Zan now placed as the man in Mizumo's shop positively smirked. "But nothing beats true skill and talent." Rejoined the female voice, no longer close to his ear. There was the ching and clash of metal in the direction the female had indicated to the gaijin. Someone whisked past his back and for a brief moment, he thought he saw the rain -bend-. Next thing the American knew, Shoichi was a few meters before him, letting loose at something he couldn't see. The man had a pair of claws on either hand, but Zan could also see a bo staff slung on his back. Though he couldn't see who he was attacking, the metallic sound of his claws meeting an invisible blade and the way Shoichi stumbled back slightly at certain times suggested Tatsujin was parrying rather well. "Shoichi can't see the guy, but he knows he's there." The rain was picking up by the second, and water was slowly beginning to flood the road. From the start, something was very wrong about one spot of the ground. In particular, the spot where Shoichi was attacking. It was like... rain flowing through a forest. The water splashes against the trees, and then snakes around them to rejoin. And right now, he could SEE a couple of large boot sized holes in the water, moving back and forth in tandem with Shoichi's attack movements. Moreover, a patch of blood provided a reddish tinge to the water, and was definitely the marker Houkiku had indicated. "Got you now, you son of a bitch..." Shoichi stumbled back to catch his breath, a tiny cut on his chest, claws in defensive stance, as his invisible foe spoke. "You'd make a worthy bounty, peasant. But since no one's paying me to kill you, be grateful I'm letting you live." "After what you did to those children, that's not how I want you." The .56 revolver/rifle let loose a solid chain of four bullets, as Zan tracked the boot holes' movement. The Gaijin Swordsman heard no response from the first two shots, but the unmistakable sound of slug striking metal followed the other two. Without waiting to see if they had indeed hit, Zan rushed forward all the way towards the disturbance, gaining momentum with his run. Shoichi leaped out of the way, as Zan's booted leg came up in a jacknife kick and connected with something solid. That something reared back, as if struck in the face. "Damn. His armor blunted the force of my kick. But that's the least of his problems." Immediately after the kick struck home, the Demonslayer came up as well in the same arc and felt it slice into something first solid then dug deeper into flesh. "DEMON FANG!" Now meters in the air, Zan twisted to turn his forward rising jump into a backflip. He hit the ground in a crouching position, sliding back a meter due to the water, and stopped a few steps before Shoichi. His head came up, and the ronin was fading into sight. Clad in a black and gold armor suit straight out of Japan's history and a few inches taller than him, Jigoro Tatsujin was standing upright as if nothing had happened, a long and lethal nodachi in his right hand. Zan noted though, that more blood was coursing down his suit, two holes in his right side. And a vertical indention across his armor's chest front. "He didn't take the full force of the slash. Either he's fast or it's all that armor." Tatsujin eyed Zan, the rain splashing down them both, neither making a move. Behind the American, Shoichi was clicking his claws together. At length, the mercenary ran a gauntleted hand over the two gun wounds Zan had inflicted. "I'm impressed a barbarian like yourself actually managed to INJURE me...with a gun at that." Zan smirked. "If ego were armor, you'd be invincible. You laugh at guns because you're fast enough to dodge their bullets. In your mind, you're so sharp that no 'barbarian weapon' can touch you. Swords do have an advantage over guns in that reloading is not neccessary, especially if the guy behind it is so fast he moves like a god. More or less you fall in that class. Because of that, you scoff at all firearms. Too bad for you: men as excellent with their guns as Hitokiri are to their own weapons DO exist. I certainly qualify on that account. You may think that's impossible, but here I am. And I just winged you. I could hit much worse next time." He shrugged and gestured towards the slash mark on Tatsujin's chest with his gun's barrel. "And if ever you thought we gaijin couldn't use swords if our lives depended on it...well, just look at you." Tatsujin held his reptilian stare for a while as Zan's smirk widened in contempt. "Don't trifle with me, tin man. Or my friends." The mercenary's shoulders shook, chuckling, a hollow humorless sound. The nodachi came up to his back and he sheathed it. As water helped slide it back in, his helmet bobbed in a nod. "Perhaps you weren't going to be the easy sheep-going-to-the-slaughter I thought you'd be. You truly are worth what Rand is paying. You're the only one who scares him...and he hates you for it. We will meet again...and when that happens, I will do my worst." With a long leap, the ronin flew to the rooftops and vanished. "And as for you two, I could make life most unpleasant for meddlers. Stay out of this if your life holds any meaning for you." The Karasu flew out of the deserted road, as Zan sheathed and holstered both weapons and hissed through clenched teeth. "When we meet again, Tatsujin, I will make sure that armor becomes your coffin." Shutani Houkiku swept quickly into view. Where she was up to this point, Zan had no clue. The cloth bundle she always carried in her arms is gone, replaced by a large leather case shaped like the half-moon dangling from her hands. Crossing the battlefield she tore open Shoichi's hakama, her lips a thin grim line, dabbing at the blood with a sleeve. "It's just a scratch." The man protested with a scowl, then shut up under a glare. "You promised me not to get hurt." "Hey, I put a hole through his side, little missy!" "AND I stayed put like you made me. You owe me. Stand still." He mumbled, crushed under the iron strength of her will and somewhat childish logic. "Girl like you... hurt like... shouldn't be fighting..." What Zan didn't catch was the hushed exchange buffered by the rain and her administrations. "So?" "It's him." "That armour deserves to be more than his coffin." "Youka?" "It has to be the murder weapon." "Now I know why I love you." A hushed chuckle. "No," She grinned and tapped his nose playfully, pulling away from the darkness of the mood. "You love Kamiya-dono. Me, you just need to foot your bills." "Come, Zan-san," She came to the gaijin and offered a stiff outstretched hand. Unwilling to display hospitality, but unable to leave him wounded in the open streets in such a rain. "I believe you need a doctor." As Zan gratefully took Shutani's hand, Mizumo came running, having seen everything from a distance but had been too frightened to help...her face was pale and she had a saddened, grim, angered look because of what she had failed to do. "That... that bastard..." she whispered. She felt worthless and helpless as she didn't even go to help Zan. The man that hurt Zan was the same one she kept seeing at her window, thus seeing a few flashes of him made her stop in her tracks and froze. Now she regretted it. She walked up to them carrying an umbrella, "Hey guys..." her voice sounded dismally empty without it's usual cheeriness, "I'll accompany you back to my shop. I have a few bandages and ointments there..." She held the umbrella high enough for all of them. "Thank you Mizumo-san..." Shutani said, helping Zan. Mizumo made a weak attempt to smile, and looked over at the American. "Zan... are you... all right...?" The Samurai Gunman came up and nodded at Mizumo, grimaced a second. "Just a couple of scratches. They'll heal in no time." Mizumo nodded, frowning now. She looked back, anger swelled up inside of her, "Gomen... everyone, I've should've helped! I had let you all down..." "Mizumo, everything's fine now, besides, you've had a rough day," Zan said trying to sound reassuring. "And barely past lunchtime yet.", he thought sarcastically. The lilac-haired girl bit her lip as the beggar looked at her. "Poor young maiden... smitten by a day of bad luck. Then again we all had that today." Shutani shook her head, "Let's go, Zan needs treatment." She took the umbrella from Mizumo and led them through the rain, silently. The lilac-haired girl was in the middle of following them... when her eyes spotted something flashing on the ground amidst the floodwater, on the spot where Kyodai had last been standing before he had left. It was shining like a pearl amidst the ocean, and hesitantly, she knelt to retrieve it. *Nani? What is this?* Her train of thought was shut off, Shutani was calling her, "Mizumo! Why are you back there!? Come on or you'll fall sick!" Shutani's tone was one of impatience. Mizumo quickly stuffed the coin into her hakama, rose, and caught up with them. *I will look into this later.* Zan winced as Mizumo tied a knot in the bandage around his side. "Ow! Hey, watch it!" The lilac-haired girl frowned, squeezed a bit harder. "If you would just hold still, it won't hurt too much. And that's what you get for running off and trying to leave me behind!" Her teeth were gritted, here eyes blazed, and she seemed ready to smash him on the nose. The Gaijin Swordsman's blue eyes met hers, a mix of anger and concern. "I did it to protect you." Their eyes met, and silence seemed to render the room devoid of all sound. Simple as that. But it was true. Mizumo swallowed at the lump rising in her throat, threatening to spill out in tears. "How... how could he care for me like that?" Instead she half-screamed at him. "I need no protection! I can handle my problems!" "Mizumo-chan," The calm voice of Shutani Houkiku cut through the emotion with a level enquiry. "What's this?" Mizumo turned and saw the coin Shutani held and inspected in her fingers. It was the one she had picked up in the rain. The man who introduced himself as Yamakawa stepped up and took it from the woman's fingers, turning it against the light. The young girl's face paled as Shoichi curiously began to turn the coin over in his hands. "No... I can't... won't let them see it." These three people with her now were trying to help her, but she just could not accept it. More of a desire to spare them any danger than warrior's pride. Zan had already gotten hurt doing battle with someone she had been supposed to fight. In a way, what she felt was a selfish desire. But she wanted to be the one to bring Kenjuro Kyodai to justice. The side of her that cared for her friends won, as she quickly pulled the golden coin from the beggar's hands and smiled at the three of them. "Er, clumsy me. I had felt my coins collection was a little lighter back there. Thank you Kiku-san." She broadened that smile, though even to her it felt plastic. She had never really been a good liar, but now she mustered every fiber of her face into acting right. "Must be quite a collection," The man chuckled. "Whatever." The woman smiled. Outside, the rain appeared to thin and let up. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mizumo-san," She bowed properly. "But I must go and prepare dinner now. See you later." And with that, half- dragged Yamakawa off, disappearing around the street corner. Darkness was in the sky, and the rain was still flooding down. Everyone, by this time would've been asleep, but one soul was still awake. The sun had set four hours ago, and she and Zan had just had dinner. At first, the American had seemed on the brink of either staying up all night to watch over her or to go Karasu-hunting. But what he did not know was that the ointment she had applied on him had sleep-inducing qualities, for the body healed better at rest. "At least he'll be out of the way." Mizumo looked at the coin again and again. Almost from the moment she had gotten a good look at the insignia, she knew that this had to be some kind of clue. Very likely left on purpose. She looked back at Zan, sleeping like a rock. She was so angry at him for leaving her behind and... and protecting her, when she could've looked out for herself just fine! *Damn it, Zan, you don't have to protect me.* She gritted her teeth then sighed. Looking back at the coin, the insignia on it shined back at her, a phantom of her past. She studied it more closely, then when she was certain, she slowly began to get to her feet, "What a minute... this, this is the insignia on the house of Hiro Komastu... my father's lord who sentenced Kyodai to death when I was nine..." Wasting no time, she quickly got a map from one of her shelves. Quickly spreading it out on the table, her eyes searched frantically. "There." She encircled the location of the house. Now it was supposed to be abandoned and aging, but she knew the Karasu's nest had to be there. "So... that's where I'll find you, Kyodai... you made a big mistake the minute you dared threaten the life of my friends." With that, she sheathed both of her swords and began to step out from the shop, but she paused and looked back at Zan. Good thing she wasn't sleeping or she'd have had to put up with his snoring. She couldn't allow any more harm to be done on him. *Besides... this is my fight, my battle*. So she turned around and ran as fast as she could to the house, remembering every detail of it's location. The flood from the sky which had seemed on the verge of clearing had picked up again, clouds eclipsing the moon and stars and blocking all form of heavenly light. The Karasu watched the rain from the window of the old house, then slipped on the gauntlet of his right hand and frowned at the wounds on his sides and the vertical cut on his chest. "Thank kami for small things. Were I not wearing that armor, I might have been sliced in half." Armor as durable as his was very rare and hard to find, but it could still be acquired and even had repaired by another if one knew how to go about it the right way. The gaijin bastard had merely been fortunate. He would get more of a fight next time. "And that next time just might be soon." Tatsujin turned and slowly drew his nodachi...and the sturdy wall behind him crumbled into dust. Satisfied, he set the blade down and leaned on it. "Perhaps the effect of that move on a living being would be most spectacular. Especially if it is one I'd love to see dead." He just knew that Tuwaki Mizumo was on her way to him. When the samurai class had been abolished years ago, Hiro Komatsu, his former lord, had settled down to the life of a merchant. But not before he had had the warriors under him melt their swords down and mix the steel wih gold. The resulting alloy was used to create medallions and were distributed as remembrances to the former samurai. Upon his arrival in Tokyo, Tatsujin had located his ex-lord and... relieved him of his memento. The man who was once Kenjuro Kyodai brought his head up and looked out the window, made out something on the grounds of the estate despite the darkness. Not very many people would have been able to see, but Tatsujin was used to nightstalking. Something was slowly but stealthily making it's way from tree to tree and towards the house. Though the trees were some distance away, he could make out a couple of swords at the intruder's belt. "Tuwaki..." Tatsujin was quite certain that the death of her father ate at her everyday of her life. "She'll thank me for killing her, for she shall be with her father again. But I will make sure she dies a slow slow death that she'll remember for all eternity." His hands came up and he placed the helmet around his head, then he turned towards the door leading to the halls outside. A bolt of lightning flew from the sky... ...and the noise of the accompanying thunder blasted Zan out of bed. The Samurai Gunman's eyes snapped open, instinctively aware of danger as he drew the Demonslayer. He took in the surrounding room, scanning for trouble. A few seconds later, when nothing out of the ordinary presented itself, he sighed and sheathed it. "Must have a paranoia nerve working overtime there." He threw himself up to a sitting position, glanced around. Right away, he noticed the shop was dark. "Mizumo?", he called as he groggily picked himself up. The last thing he had remembered was juggling in his mind the prospects of either keeping watch on Mizumo or going out to search for Tatsujin. Then he had felt very tired. "Wonder what time it is." He leaned against the counter and fairly quickly, he located an old grandfather clock. His eyes widened as he read the time. "Wait a minute..." He had gone to sleep at approximately six. Now it was ten. "Kuso! I've been asleep for four hours! What could have made me sleep like that?" Even as he said it, he knew it had to be that ointment Mizumo had used on him. He glanced around the shop again, the fear in his heart growing by the second. "MIZUMO!", he yelled again. Though deep insde, he just knew her absence could only mean one thing. Zan clenched his fists, bounced a fist off the table. Tatsujin wanted to settle an old score with her, but he wasn't about to let her live, especially after what her father had done to him. "Got to find her. But God knows where she went." His head happened to drop to the table below him, and his eyes widened once more. He ran a hand over the spread out paper. It looked like a map of the city. And encircled in bloodred, was a rectangular building, towards the older less modern section of town. Zan slammed a fist into his palm. "Got it!" The daimyo Hiro Komatsu's home had once been there, and he had heard it was there Kenjuro Kyodai had been sentenced to death. Maybe he had picked that place as a manner of symbolism to the girl. He flicked open the Johnny No More, slapped a new full load into it. Then he twirled and holstered, sprinted out the door and into the screaming night. "Mizumo... hang in there... I hope I'm not too late." Mizumo cursed everything in sight as she ran, especially the rain. It was slowing her down, "Grrr... stupid rain, why does these damn things always happen to ME!" her out burst made her stop and take a few gulps of air before running again. *Why does it have to be so far...* She cleared her mind, feeling foolish for thinking of such darn things, "Father never complained to himself about the rain... so why must I..." Mizumo saw something in the distance, a building, old... but very familiar... the house! She was closer! Finally! She smiled briefly to herself, *Soon, Kyodai... I will destroy you... even if my life is the line.* Finally reaching her destination, she looked at the old house. It was aging... the wood was rotten, and everything seemed so bleak... she shuddered, "But I'm here, this must be the place! This must be, I came too far!" With determination, she opened the door and entered. With a loud, angry cry, she called out to Kyodai... the monster that had dared spill the blood of the innocent and hurt those she cared for, "Kyodai! Tatsujin! Whatever you call yourself now! I am here! I am here to face you! Tuwaki Mizumo is here to bring you to hell! Where you belong!" With those words, she was ready to face this demon of her past. Maybe she should've kept her mouth shut, but nothing mattered now. She wanted revenge, she wanted this to be over with... Someone grabbed her mouth very suddenly and hauled her bodily to a dusty corner where her nose tickled and threatened to explode. She struggled and tried to work the surprised shriek around that big dry hand gagging her. "Kuso!" A man hissed in the dark. The hand relaxed just the slightest to allow her comfort, as if her captor only just now realised he could be hurting her. The sleeve attached to the hand was black and shredded in the delibrate way of stylised feathers. A cruel metal claw tied snugly to the back of the hand absorbed more light that reflect it, being of the dark ferrous of tarnished iron. She could see no faces, but there appeared to be a second figure with him. It was a him. The chest pressed against her back was naturally flat. The man's companion had a harsh, unearthly voice in her ear. "This is no time and place for you, child. Run home. Bolt the doors. Shut the windows. Hide under the blankets. The demons cometh." The restraining arms wisely held on against resistance to the order. Mizumo shook her head furiously, she will not leave, Tatsujin wanted to fight her and she wanted to fight him, and no one would stop her, "No, I will not leave and you can't make me, you should be the ones leaving, this is my fight!" she glared up at the direction of the voice, "I all ready cause injuries to my friends by not protecting them, I won't let that happen again! So whoever who you are,* she looked over behind her though she couldn't see any faces, "You let me go this second!" She struggled with the arms that restrained her, she felt anger mostly now, anger at her captors who had dared interfered, "Let me go!" *Why is everyone trying to protect me? I can take care of myself...* she wasn't sure whether she said that in her mind or in a whisper. "Don't get us wrong, little missy," The voice that cussed mumbled into her other ear, almost amused. "This is hardly a 'friendly favour' or 'your fight', as you so prudently put it." "We've got dibs, child. You may have the left overs... if there's any. But." The second figure shifted ever so slightly and a dim shaft of light revealed the most horrible sight the young girl had ever seen. The light itself seemed to dance away from that ebony countenance twisted in a spiteful vengeful snarl. She had to stifle a gasp. It was a face she has seen before, on rich tapestries and screens of days of yore in richer households, in nightmares old people used to frighten children into bed. The grosteque face of a demon. And although she, as a child of the Meiji knew they cannot exist, a primal fear would waken somewhere and pepper that knowledge with doubt. "Get in our way," It spoke again, granting her respite in a retreat to the faceless shadows, "And suffer the consequences." *No. They have no right! Tatsujin is mine!* As if reading the thought, some communion passed between these mysterious figures and in a moment, Mizumo found herself trussed up and gaged, firm and secure. They left her in a corner, yet, almost gentle. She struggled with her hands bond behind her in frustration. Thunder roared its discontent, reflecting her inner rebellion. *NonononoNO!* The duo looked out into the rainy skies. "The gods are impatient." The man that grabbed her reflected. His companion appeared to have nodded in the dark. Mizumo couldn't tell. "Let's go." A black cape fell over Mizumo and pooled across her prone shoulders. It was the rasping demon. "Don't catch a cold." Lightning lashed across the doorway, throwing strange light and shadows in wild abandon and Mizumo caught a glimpse of her usurpers just before she was hurled back into a darker silence by the flash of blinding light. Approaching the lair of her sworn enemy were avengers straight from the depths of Hell and Legend, a red-haired monster in shinto robes and a dark avian shadow air-born; Yasha and Tengu. Strange then, that the sight should bring her comfort. Albiet a haunted, chilling comfort. The lilac-haired girl strained wildly against her bonds, shifting about in an attempt to loosen the ropes on her wrists. At least the two creatures had not given her a heavy cloth, so she wouldn't suffocate. *If I'm to die, I'd rather do so by Kyodai's hand in battle.* Teeth gritted, she pulled harder, putting all her will into it. *And now those two are taking it away from me!* Through the thin material of the cloth, she could make out the shapes of the two demons, figures out of one's darkest nightmares, the Yasha and the Tengu. There was something oddly familiar about the two. Almost like... The tentative sense of security she had felt at the sight of the two demonic avengers shattered as low laughter pierced her ears. The cacophony seemed to come from everywhere around them, and she imagined the whole house shook with it. At the sound of the laughter, she watched as the two shapes momentarily reared back, eyes warily scanning the room around them. Fear, raw and whole, clutched her heart, just barely held back by a brittle courage. And a voice she had long hoped never to hear again rang out, extraordinarily menacing, as if from the depths of a tomb. "It is always a pleasure to meet living legends like myself. I'd have preferred to do battle with you in another time and place, but Fate seems to have other plans." The cavernous voice seemed to be getting colder by the second, more hollow and sepulchral. "I had warned the two of you that life would be most miserable for those who would impede my flight. On the bright side, ensuring you a fast trip to Hell will be a bonus on my agenda. Striking down two of the most elusive Hitokiri of the Tokugawa era's last days." Sword leaving scabbard filled the air, though none of the three in the room could pinpoint its' origin. "Pray for your souls. The curse of the Karasu is on you." A high mocking laugh echoed and plunged a dagger of ice down Mizumo's spine, definately inhuman. "No, my friend," It crowed. "It is upon you!" A loud clash of metals rang out in the cold heavy darkness as an attack from the knaving ronin was unexpectedly apprehended. When Mizumo blinked again, she saw Tatsujin still for a moment on the half-way landing of the stairs and no sign of her usurpers. Something changed suddenly in the air and there they were, a blood-haired nightmare rearing up with the moon, a shadow of superstition swooping down with the cruelest claws. The shrill "ching" of engagement and sick wet sound of tearing flesh made Mizumo wince. But she could not tear her eyes from the fight. It was an intricate dance, woven in lightning, shadow and blade- light. Occasionally one of the dancers could be seen, but never for long. There it was again, the dull wet sound of punctured flesh. Now was Tatsujin with a heavy straight slash from the skull and the demon's interception, the shadow falling upon his back, when he half-turned, delivering at the same time as avoiding the back attack, a solid blow to the exposed side of the yasha. It crumpled to the ground with a strangled cry and the tengu missed what was meant to cut the back of his throat open through the opening in his armouring. Without stopping, he swept down the stairs for the door, as though searching for Mizumo, and failing to find her in the dark. The armored ronin's glove wiped the blood of his previous foes off on the wall, though some of his own was mixed into it. He had never had such a good fight in a decade. "Rare to find warriors as good as they these days. No wonder they were so elusive." It took a karasu to do battle with a tengu. Beneath his helmet, his face broke into a grin at his own metaphor. Tengu and Yasha would only be disabled for a few minutes. He would have to accomplish his primary agenda first before he could amuse himself. An evil spirit floated into the room, its' blade that stood for the antithesis of life screaming for the blood of his enemy's offspring. The yellow reptilian eyes rested on the dark sheet of cloth where the two myths had concealed Tuwaki. "To no avail. Everyone dies eventually, and she will be no exception." For the barest of moments, he paused before lifting the sheet. To think that after all these years, it would be so easy now. All he had to do was lift the sheet, so his beaked helmet would be the last face she would remember throughout eternity, then run her through. He was... disappointed. "Nothing's perfect. Oh well..." The black and gold armored hand flicked the cloth away and revealed... Torn ropes. The smile beneath the ancient helmet grew by a millimeter, as Tatsujin looked around him into the shadows of the room, occupied mostly by furniture and an altar in a corner. His sharp ears could discern, ever so slightly, the rising and falling of someone's breath, laced with terror. "I can smell your fear, Tuwaki Mizumo. I'd have thought you would take so quickly to the idea of destroying one who took your father away from you." He hadn't actually killed Mizumo's father, but better to let her think it. No answer came, except that same breathing. Tatsujin had already located her hiding place, but he wanted to play with her a bit more. Goad her on. He spoke again, laughing. "And what are you doing for your DEAD father, Ms. Tuwaki, hiding in a corner? Is it enough for you to stay there in the dark and pray for someone to help you?" He laughed menacingly, as he felt the girl's breathing began to take on a dangerously slow tone. Fury it seemed, had clouded her emotions. He had hit his mark. He slowly turned his back to the corner where she was concealed, presenting her with a tempting target profile. "Ah... I remember it well and it's already been a decade. Your father... he squealed like a woman when they ran him through with their swords. Again and again, not once." He paused to let those words sink in, to let her get a good picture of it. "But I," he continued, letting sheer mockery flow through his words. "I had the pleasure of taking his head, and thrusting it on a SPIKE for all to see!!!" The volume of his laughter increased, cruelly and sadistically, even as he braced himself for the attack to come. All fear she felt in those moments were completely erased. Her eyes that were on the ground so she wouldn't have to look at the monster near her lifted, showing eyes flashing with fury and most especially hate. "You... you... BASTARD!!!!" with those, at her maximum speed she lunged from her corner, striking him. All though that move was blocked, she unleashed one of her most powerful moves... "SPEEDING TORNADO!!!" A whirlwind of sword slashes and strikes hit Tatsujin. But when the move was finished, he laughed, a cold hollow sound. Mizumo's eyes widened, sure there were injuries... but his armor protected him from the attacks in that whirlwind, severely reducing the damage done on him. Her eyes narrowed, and the mocking laugh was haunting her. "Impressive, Tuwaki... but still not enough," she turned to the sound of that voice, yet he wasn't there. She turned, only to block a slash that was close to slicing of her head. "Yet, your father was a coward, even in death!" "Shut up!" tears of fury ran down her cheeks as she striked and slashed at him, as he blocked, they were face to face, "My father was never a coward..." she thrusted back and lunged again... at thin air. "Nani!?" she looked around... seeing nothing, but hearing foot steps... from behind. She turned quickly but not fast enough. Probably even slowly. The intensity of Tatsujin's slash caused a very deep and long wound across her back. Her eyes widened and she fell to the ground, her back in horrible pain. She instantly knew that the pool of blood forming was her own. *If only I wasn't so furious... I could've gotten him...* Tatsujin walked over to her, rasing his nodachi above his head, ready to give the final blow. *At least... at least I would die in battle... and see father again* she thought, breathing in deeply. Then she heard his evil, haunting voice, "Goodbye, Tuwaki-san. It was good while it lasted. Prepare to meet thy cursed sire." Mizumo closed her eyes, waiting for death to meet her. But as Tatsujin was disappointed, so was Mizumo. The whine of scraping metal was all the warning she got before a flurry of white and red picked her off the ground and shoved her out of the door. The dull "thud" told her that the nodachi had missed her rescuer and buried itself in the door instead. She was wise enough not to try the doors immediately, but when she did, found them barred. Inside, it was too quiet. "You talk too much, Tatsujin." Mocked the shadow. "He is, after all, a crow." Agreed the other. He could not pinpoint their location. The voices came from everywhere and just when he thought he had a fix, a slash in his side, a movement at his back, told him he did not. "How, I wonder, HOW, did a man like this survive those troubled times?" "Perhaps by hiding among the carrion and subordinates." "Why hasn't he any now?" "Perhaps he ate them too." The pace was slower, hampered by the wounds their previous passes had inflicted. The harrying was unpredictable and they seemed more bent on driving him into a frenzy than attacking. It was working, too. The high mocking sounds that rang mercilessly in his head, magnified by his helm muddled his senses. He all but stumbled into the waiting Tengu when Yasha swooped down on him unexpectedly in a way he should not have been. It was a pair of quick, clean slash right between the joining of the two parts of the arm plates, one on each. Not deep, but proved to be more vital a few moments later when he realised his armour chaffed and rendered at the wounds each time he was to move his arms. Tatsujin was smiling despite the pain and the added difficulty of movement. The latter was something he had been training for. The former was easily dealt with, and would be reversed. Something was up his sleeve, something few others knew about. Those others who did know were no longer alive. The surprise alone would probably be enough to kill them. Though blood seeped down its' sides, the beaked helmet came up again, amber eyes silently laughing. "If you mocked your targets to death in the old days, I too can't imagine how you lived to see this day. Allow me." Barely a blink of the eye, and Tatsujin vanished. Familiar with this kind of attack, both Yasha and Tengu swept up their weapons. The clash of steel confirmed they had parried the nodachi's horizontal slash. The Karasu was before them, the long sword just barely held back by a hair's breadth. But a single push changed all that. It was like a bomb had detonated, as Yasha and Tengu flew back through a couple of shoji doors and landed against a table. Pain exploded in both their heads, and dazed, they struggled to get up. "Where... did all that power come from?" one of them asked, bewilderment ever so slightly funneled into the voice. "I've not lived long by repeating mistakes." the Karasu replied flatly. "I made the greatest deal of my life buying this armor, for not only was it forged to be durable, but also to turn my enemys' own strength against them." He tapped the black-gold breastplate. "This whole time you've been heaping all manner of injuries, you've merely been feeding me, for an expert armorsmith designed this suit to absorb the force and shock of all attacks, turning it to my advantage. My power and speed rise with each strike." It seemed the beak on the helmet was smirking. "Quite simply, the harder you fight me, the more you seal your own doom." He sighed and turned away, starting towards the doors Tuwaki was behind. "For all your ballyhooed skills as Hitokiri, you fell nicely for that." A clap of thunder shattered the house, but what would have been noted as odd was that two came in quick succession, and the sound of breaking wood accompanied it. Added to that, a searing pain shot across the ronin's right shoulder. He twisted around, and framed in the main doorway of the house, amidst a background of rain and lighting, was the silhouette of a man with a strangely designed hat. It seemed to be holding up a stick that had smoke flowing from it in the wind's direction, like an extinguished torch. Lightning crashed once more, and the temporary light revealed the pale- skinned man in the scarlet melange of the vest and the gi. Water was dripping off from all over him, and the 'stick' revealed itself to be a long-barelled gun. Beneath the brim of the odd hat were a pair of blue eyes bordered by an X scar, twisted in cold fury. "Absorb that." said Zan, injecting an unbelievable amount of venom into the laconic statement. The way the Karasu briefly touched his shoulder told him that his armor was not as Johnny No More proof as he thought it was. Also, Zan noted the armor suit was torn in places, slash marks here and there and occasionally dotted with blood. Behind Tatsujin, he caught sight of two figures that momentarily sent a jolt through him. A scarlet robed Shinto priestess and a dark cloaked man with feathers across the sleeves. His glance once more took the Karasu and his armor in. "Was there some kind of dress code no one bothered to tell me about?" Rather early for Halloween. The thought hit him suddenly. "Another birdman?" He nodded mentally, realizing the Tengu's presence. "I'd be pissed too if someone was using my name to do something I didn't." He turned to the ronin, who lazily and yet somewhat warily, slung his nodachi across his shoulders. "Your friend fought well. You will fare no better than she did though." The Samurai Gunman's heart began to freeze. He sincerely hoped she was all right. "When I finish with you and the two Hitokiri," Tatsujin continued. "I'll sew your eyes open and make you watch as I disembowel her. I was thinking about finishing you alone after all this, but then you come here and make my day complete." "And mine.", Zan retorted. "Forgiving you for what you've done is the last thing on my mind. You slew kids back there, Tatsujin. Kids who were the joy and comfort of their families and still had a big world and future to get into. And all for the sake of five thousand yen." He stated the price Rand had given on his head as if it had left a bad taste in his mouth. It did. "Everyone dies.", the Karasu answered. "I hurried their end, doing them a blessing. They would have had a life under a corrupt government that day by day stifles out the flames of the old years. Better for them to have a life elsewhere than here." Zan's anger grew. "Idiot. And it's those same lives you took that represented a ray of hope for your nation. Congratulations, Karasu. Fifteen less youngsters who can help this country, and two less women to guide their path. You're sure doing your country a fine lot of help." "Expulsing gaijin like you will help my country, those who help the Meiji government snuff those flames." And the nodachi lowered in a thrust-like stance. "So why'd you snap up Jason Rand's offer like trout biting worm, him being one of those people?" Zan remained still, but was ready to draw. "Even they have their uses. Besides I will deal with him when the opportunity presents itself. But enough talk...?" His right leg came forward, preparing to dash. "Come... let's see how much you've learned." Zan saw that leg extend forward, and then he vanished. Instantly, the Johnny No More fanned three shots in the arc in front of Zan. After seeing the effect of one attack on the two legends, Zan knew he had to adopt a temporary keep-away strategy. "And he knows my bullets can penetrate his armor." He felt the Karasu's attack path shift left and right, dodging the bullets. Not fast enough. Two of the bullets struck his sides, and Tatsujin's run was aborted as he reappeared. Zan then took the initiative, angling a slash towards the ronin's neck. Steel met steel, then snapped around and clashed again. And again.... Some minutes later, Zan rolled back over a table as the Karasu's nodachi smashed it in half. He took the lull to brush sweat out of his eyes. "He's taken all that punishment and he still fights like new. Dammit." He parried a slash aimed for his legs, countered with a thrust to the midsection. That too was blocked. Tatsujin did not show the slightest sign of letting up, while fatigue was just beginning to make Zan lose his concentration. He twisted to the side, barely saving himself from a vertically downward arc. It was only a matter of time before his opponent got him... permanently. "His defenses are excellent. Can't break through 'em. Almost like he knows what I'll counter with and what he can do about it." The American frowned as the Demonslayer's blade literally saved his neck once more. "And even if I do hit him, that armor will be his saving grace, both in terms of protection and retaliation." The solution, as he saw it, was to overload Tatsujin's armor with too much force that even it could not handle. "Fat chance.", he breathed out, rolling aside from another cut. Zan knew that Tatsujin defended so well, that whatever attack he'd do would be foiled. Sazuki Sensei's voice flashed, somewhere in the back of his mind, a lesson he'd long forgotten. " 'The greatest swordsman in the world fears not the second greatest, but the worst.' " He hadn't paid it much heed before, but now... it actually seemed to make sense. An excellent fighter deep inside feared a novice simply because he did not know what move that opponent would pull off. "And everyone fears the unexpected." Time to do something Tatsujin never thought he'd do. As the ronin cocked his sword back for a thrust, Zan held his breath. "Here goes." The long blade thrust towards his heart... And ripped into his side instead. Zan gritted his teeth against the stuck blade, releasing the pain in a breath of air. A warm sticky fluid was gushing down his side, and he imagined the ex-samurai was smiling in triumph. "Got you.", he said, slowly pulling it back. "Wr...ong." muttered Zan, as his called on his last reserves of strength, felt the ki in the room surround him and gather around his blade. "Got YOU." Tatsujin's eyes widened, but the Demonslayer extended in its' own thrust. Powered by the sheer might of ki, the ronin's front erupted in a blast, as a thunderbolt from the sky seemd to emphasize it. "DEMON THRUST!" And the second bomb in minutes exploded, smashing Tatsujin back against the doors where Mizumo was kept. A large cloud of dust lifted, and Zan picked himself up slowly, Demonslayer almost like a crutch. "Die..." He collapsed back to the floor, one hand rammed into his cut side to ebb the flow of blood. He sighed in satisfaction. "Sayonara, scumbag." When the dust cleared, Zan felt his heart take a plunge. Tatsujin was standing, but great was the change over him. His armor was cracked in places, and his helmet had exploded, revealing what had once been a handsome dark brown haired man in his late thirties. Right now, half of his face was horribly burned, and the room stank of burnt flesh. The only thing that had not changed was the fire in his eyes. He started across the room, paying no more attention to the girl he hated in the room behind him. In a single gesture, a gauntleted hand grabbed Zan by the neck and forced him up. Too weak to defend himself, Zan could only struggle as his feet dangled above the floor. Red was slowly creeping into his vision, and the air was begininng to leave his lungs. "Not bad... for a barbarian." The face, now every bit as ugly as its' former helmet was twisted in an evil grin. "Now then... where was it that I hit you the last time?" His eyes panned downwards, resting on the white bandaged side of the American. "Ah. Was it... HERE?!" The other hand reared back and chopped into the bundled wound, as Zan gasped and a reopened scarlet spot blossomed on the white. Still reeling from that strike, Tatsujin shook his head. "Wrong it seems. Here then?" And he slammed Zan into the wall, his back exploding with pain where the Karasu had cut him the last time. Then Zan's head snapped back as an armored leg smashed him across the face. The whole time this was happening, the Arashi no Tsukai, Tengu and Yasha, were not idle. Wounds were pressed down, moves studied. Eyes had widened at the mention of the armour. Both have heard of it before, the stuff of legends as compared to their minor folklore. But surely, if the armour could take and transmutate energy, the man cannot. "TATSUJIN!" The previous strategies have taken their tow. The man, slowed, befuddled, did not sense their movements until too late. Did not see Yasha pick up the helmet and toss it, nor Tengu vaulting himself to head height or the dull silent clang where he struck the helm. The cry made him turn at the very last moment, just in time to see the cruel beak of his own emblem ricocheting for him. He would have ducked, except he failed, too, to consider Yasha, who had routed around him and just now plunged the cold moon down the back of his neck. He screamed, head jerked up, exposing the soft pale neck that too soon became the last meal of the Karasu. Yasha pulled her sword from the bloody mess of flesh and metal, the white of her robes stained scarlet. "You talk too much." She rasped dispassionately at the corpse, then stepped off Zan and wiped the blade clean on his vest. "And so do you." "Least I've got actions to back the words up." Zan countered, amidst the blood on his mouth. Tengu came around and considered the fallen man. In some sudden synchronology, a metal spike, not unlike a shuriken, dived from his sleeve and the curved blade Yasha carried landed upon that, shattering the armour on impact. There was gore and guts everywhere, mostly on Zan, not that the pair cared. Yasha turned to Tengu. They no longer seemed so fearsome, now that the heat of the battle had passed. More like guardians over some dreadful thing. Before Zan's eyes, they lowered one last time to the man, and to his astonishment, removed the helm and closed his eyes. They stayed, long enough to execute four characters in blood and with some inhuman grace, left the room and house. Mizumo was saddled yet again with the black cloth when they passed by her. It was thrown around her shoulders this time, still by Yasha in passing. A few steps later, as if on second thoughts, an object was tossed into her arms. It was Tatsujin's helmet. "Keep it." Tengu sketched a mocking bow. She got the impression he was grinning. "I've no place to keep it anyway." Mizumo glared at the Tengu, then looked at the helmet. Looking at the bloody thing made her sick... and angry. "Damn it..." Then she remembered, "Zan!" Rushing in, she saw what had happened, battle, blood was everywhere...a pretty disgusting sight. And the body of Kyodai was there too. She felt furious, she didn't even have to have vengeance... "At least someone did it for me... but..." she shook her head and noticed Zan, injured. "Zan!" rushing towards him, she took off the blanket and wrapped around him, "Are you okay...?" she felt weak, having a deep slash across her back, but also felt more weak at seeing how injured her friend was... The American coughed a last spurt of blood, managed to talk. His injuries seemed to abet and vanish, seeing Mizumo all right. "I'll live." He shifted around in his sitting position, letting Mizumo's hands support him. His eyes swept the four newly carved symbols on the Karasu's chestfront. He read slowly, "Arashi... No... Yama... Batsu" Zan stared down into her eyes, which seemed somewhat forlorn and broken. Tears dotted them, but a brown gloved hand gently wiped them away. The other hand rested on her shoulder. "C'mon. He's dead. Why so sad?" "It's just..." She paused. "Just that... if only I could have settled with him myself. I'm not ungrateful for those two's help, whoever they were. For a decade, I've lived, prayed for this moment." A sigh whispered through her lips. "And you got it." Zan added, carefully squeezing her shoulder. "Maybe not in the way you'd have wanted, but you still bought the justice your father deserved. Just think of those two as the gods' way of answering your prayers." His sword's blade shook slightly and his knees buckled as he slowly rose. "Let's go home." "And know I'll have all the time in the world to ruin you further, Tuwaki. Count on it." The Gaijin Swordsman came up to his full height, albeit stooped, as he and Mizumo whirled in time to see a horribly mangled figure with strips of armor ctill clinging to it's body make its' way up the stairs, laughing insanely and spilling blood on the steps, crawling on like some rabid animal. "He couldn't stay in hell because his soul was even blacker than the demons." The Johnny No More came up and Zan emtpied its' last three shots, all three striking home. He watched as three new holes gushed even more blood, but Tatsujin continued to run up the stairs, still ringing with laughter. Zan began to move forward in pursuit, slowly reloading, but something blocked his path. He looked down into a pair of dark violet eyes. "You can't do this, Zan." The American moved to brush past her, gun coming up. "Can. Will. Watch me." But the push of a finger dropped him to the ground, and Zan landed on his rump with a thud. Breathing hard, he looked up at her, as she wagged her head. "Men. You think with nothing but your fists." Her head took in the stairs going up to the second floor so she wouldn't look at him directly. Perhaps Zan was thinking with his heart... for her sake... "Just leave me alone." "Leave you alone," Zan forced the words out, attempting to rise again. "So he can hurt you some more? Or worse?" The lilac-haired girl knelt, hands on his face, which she felt blistering with fury. "Zan," she said. "He can't hurt me anymore. He did that already when he crossed my father." She turned and surprised the Samurai Gunman by bounding up the stairs two at a time. "Live or die, Zan, I must do this." And this time, he didn't dare follow. "The gods help those," he slowly breathed out ", who help themselves." Perhaps the yasha and the tengu had merely come to lift the hammer. Mizumo had to bring it down herself. The girl had no trouble tracking the Karasu. The trails of blood on the floor were a dead giveaway. Outside, the rain and thunder raged even stronger, a mirror to the feelings in her own soul. "This demon will stay down forever.", she growled. The bloodstains stopped at an open shoji door, and Mizumo walked on through, hearing the puddle on the floor squish beneath her feet. Inside was perhaps the biggest room in the house, and she remembered it to be Hiro Komatsu's audience room. Here Kyodai had been sentenced to death. Either he would taste it again... or this time, she would. "Might as well come out, Kyodai." she called. "Time this was settled." An inhuman voice snarled and lunged from behind her, as a pair of hands wrapped around her neck and forced her to the floor with surprising strength. This close to him, with the whites of his eyes half rolled up and blood pouring everywhere from his body, he truly did resemble a lost soul stuffed back into a fresh corpse. She struggled wildly against the bile in her throat. Mizumo swung her katana, butt clopping the ronin on the side of his face and knocking him away. The girl gasped for air, the weakness of the past wounds beginning to take hold again. Before her, Tatsujin swiped a hand on his face and it came away scarlet. He laughed, a sound devoid of any humor, as his hands drew a sheathed katana down from the wall. Insolence played freely on his face. "Haven't felt this good in YEARS. So much for your father. This just feels so... right." Mizumo was staring at herself reflected in the' blade. And death. *Oh father*, she prayed. As a new spurt of adrenaline and energy gripped her. "It isn't." the girl snapped as she slid out from under the blade, her inhuman speed serving as her strength. It had always been, and now it was helping her once more. She came up in front of Tatsujin, eyes now so calm and resolute that the Karasu froze. "It's not about blood." Her wakizashi tore across his chest, and he stumbled back, Mizumo following like a cheetah having bitten its' prey. "Or vengeance." Her katana came next, and he backed once more, eyes pinched and mouth open in a silent scream. Right behind the window. "It's about..." Both swords thrust into either side of his chest, and as they embedded, he crashed back out, tearing the delicate material of the window. Mizumo held on to her swords which were holding onto her foe. "...JUSTICE!" Through the howling of the rain and crashing of thunder came the sound of broken wood and shoji tiles. Zan's head snapped up as he kicked the door open leading to the outside world. And silhouetted in the wet darkness were two figures, that of of a girl breathing, wheezing hard over the almost still form of a flayed and half-burnt man. A couple of swords were buried in the man's chest. Mizumo breathed in and out, almost collapsing over her foe's body, but she held herself up. With a million injuries all over him including a punctured throat and chest and a fractured back just now, it was unbelievable he refused to die. His breath was clearly slowing down though, barely perceptible. At length, she pulled out her embedded swords with a twist, Kyodai below her too weak to even scream. She aimed the sword point for his neck, planning to enlarge the wound the two myths had inflicted. "Zan killed you, the two creatures killed you. Maybe this time with me killing you, you'll stay dead. Not all the doctors in the city can help you now." So soft it was almost nothing came the Karasu's voice, barely even a whisper now, like the caw of a dying raptor. "Then I'm dead, just like your father." he taunted, the pool of brownish water around him slowly turning crimson. A pause. "You wish to know...if I killed him?" Mizumo shook her head, ready to thrust and cursing herself on why she didn't just follow through. "No. I wouldn't believe you if you told me and it wouldn't bring back my father." *And since you wish to torture me, I won't give you the satisfaction of knowing that I DO want the truth.* Tatsujin coughed. His life force was fading, eyes losing their flame. "Then let me tell you. I didn't. Though I betrayed your father to his enemies and enjoyed it, I didn't kill him, much less order it. Someone else did. One even more powerful than I and who hates your father even more than I do." Mizumo's jaw dropped open. *Who?! Who could it be? Who is this one?* "There." the Karasu laughed weakly, seeing her face. "I will haunt you." Mizumo shook her head, patted Tatsujin's shoulder as he futilely turned to bite her hand. "No, Kenjuro Kyodai. You'll die knowing that you've saved me. You've warned me about an enemy I didn't even know I had. You'll remember that in hell as a punishment, I'll remember that forever as the only good thing you've done in your whole black life." And below her, the ronin grew still for the last time. The girl's hand felt his neck for signs of life. None came, but she was taking no chances this time. Like a giant pair of scissors, katana and wakizashi sliced and decapitated head from neck. The face of evil rolled away thrice, came to a rest. "Stay dead." Wet leathery footsteps squished the grass behind her, and Zan bowed his head, paying no heed to his wounds. "Seventeen souls can now rest in peace." He saw the new expression on Mizumo's face, still somewhat sad and angered, but with a new sort of peace on it. His hand comfortingly drew her close in an embrace, as hot tears of both sorrow and joy further wet his vest. If she wanted to cry, now was the time. "Make that eighteen." And above the two, the white streaks of thunderbolts dimmed and vanished while the rain slowly weakened, and eventually ceased in seconds, revealing a dark blue sky with a full moon and stars. ******* A week later... "Eouch! Careful, foxy!" "Sagura Sanosuke, please hold still." Zan couldn't stop the contented grin as he left the sounds of the clinic behind him, sheathing the Demonslayer as he did. The sun had not yet even risen, and yet with Sano's presence, the clinic was unofficially open for the day. The sights and smells were wonderful. He had been recuperating for a week, and it was nice to be back out in the open again. "Gotta hand it to her training." As the nineteen year old brawler had put it, Megumi Takani was 'the Kenshingumi (miracle) first aid kit' from whose hands everyone who suffered battle injuries emerged like new. The average person would have needed hospitalization for a month. With Zan's metabolism and her skill, it had only taken a week. Since Mizumo had suffered the lighter injuries, had gotten out first. Right from Tatsujin's defeat that stormy night, until she had been declared healthy enough to leave, she had seemed so listless, melancholy. Lost. Zan was more than concerned about her. It was against the doctor's orders, but he had to see how she was doing. He strode across the street towards Shutani Houkiku's small shop, its' keeper pulling up and putting aside various boards that protected her goods. He reached over and gently rapped on the counter, as her face appeared at the front. "First customer of the day I see. What'll it be?" "Not entirely sure myself.", Zan said. But he did want something to chase Mizumo's depression away. "I'll buy two of the sweetest things you've got." "Just keep your hat on. It's around here somewhere." Houkiku turned and began to pore through the different shelves, as Zan shifted his weight to the other leg. The question came over her shoulder. "How is that wound holding up?" He stole a glance back at Megumi's clinic, then at the reinforced bandage on his right side where Tatsujin had skewered him. "Very well, thanks. With a doctor like that, I think I'm starting to see how Kenshin recovers so fast. Had this on for the past week." "So you can remove that by around tomorrow?" "If I don't move around too much, says the doc. Hard for me to stay put for long though. That'll be a problem." he jokingly confessed. "Maybe someone's mere appetite for these will keep you rooted.", said the woman, as she withdrew a purchase of boiled toffees, one of the few good things that came out of the west, nicely gift-wrapped. "That'll do nicely." His hand deposited the appropriate amount of yen, then he pocketed the sweets. "Domo arigato...Yasha-san." That last word was spoken very softly that none within half a meter could have heard the legendary name. He looked up to meet the odd look on her face. "C'mon.", he spoke. "Do I look like some desktop accountant who's going to believe he sees? Anyone with proper training, has met you and your friend, and a little logic, would know the Yasha and the Tengu are Shutani Houkiku and Yamakawa Shoichi." He tipped his hat, smile widening courteously. "But don't worry. Your secret's safe." She shrugged, making as if to sort something under the counter and dropped the word non-chalant. "Sanchuu." "Pardon?" "The characters 'yama' and 'batsu', gaijin." Her tone took on a mock haughtiness as she fixed him a serious look under her lashes. "The word is 'sanchuu'." He began to grin. "And it's Arashi-Yasha-sama to you, kid. Not 'the'. Never 'the'." He could have saluted her. "Yes Ma'am." Three steps later, he turned back to her. "Oh. And please watch where you spill someone's blood next time. You've no idea how long it takes to clean this vest." But he couldn't help but smile as behind him, she started bursting into giggles. When Zan arrived a short while later at Mizumo's shop, there was no one in but Yahiko, who told him it had been closed all week and that he was doing her some favors by cleaning up some. So Zan tried the Kamiya Dojo. The mistress of the Dojo was still asleep, as were the children, but the redheaded ex-Hitokiri was already up preparing breakfast. Zan silently shut the gates behind him, as Kenshin smiled and nodded. "Welcome back. The others were starting to ask about you. Kaoru was fuming about an unswept roof, but all that rain changed her mind. She says you've now got the job of looking after the garden, since you stay there." Zan rubbed his hands together. "Really? Great. It's one of the little things I've taken up before." Kenshin waved the fan and directed the smoke away from the fire, looked up again. "Must've been some fight. Sano tells me you and Mizumo came to Megumi's clinic all covered in blood." Zan nodded. "True. But based on all I've been hearing about you, I'm sure you've had it much worse off before." Kenshin shrugged, turning the meat over. "Nevertheless, I'm happy you and Mizumo made it out fine. You defeated one of the most feared and skilled mercenaries in the underworld. That's quite an accomplishment." "Mizumo and two others have a share in it.", Zan spoke. "Where is she by the way?" he asked. As he did, he looked around. At first, he saw no sign of her, but the area above his regular sight level caught sight of a solitary figure on the roof, staring at the dawn sky. "Never mind.", he said, as he hopped up. "Breakfast will be ready. Be back down soon." Kenshin called after him. Mizumo stared off wistfully at the lightening early morning sky, a cold breeze touching her face. It was as if in it she could see the face of her father, smiling at her. Her hands came up and cupped her cheeks. *Father, will I ever truly avenge you?* The brown gloved hand came up and gripped the roof, and hauled itself up. She turned and spotted the American. "Hi." Zan sat beside her, sat cross-legged and hugged his knees against the early morning cold. "You okay?" His blue eyes studied her intently. Mizumo brushed aside the prospect of answering with the ususal 'I am fine', responded. "Part of me isn't." Her eyes were still staring above, but her voice was aimed for him. Zan reached into his pocket, came up with the sweets. He smiled, held them out to her. "Here. A little something on my part." Mizumo looked at the two gifts and made a small smile, "Thank you..." she held them in her hand and looked towards the heavens again. Her eyes were set in a wistful line. "Kyodai...before he died, he let me know that it wasn't him who had slain my father, or even ordered it. He hinted I had another enemy, even worse than him." "I doubt if a spiteful tale told by a dying crow is very reliable. Perhaps he said that to hurt you, frustrate your thoughts that you bought justice for all that he did." Zan said "I'll agree it hurt me, but it doesn't mean it wasn't true. I've got a...feeling about this. Like he was right." Her fists clenched. "And I intend to find the real culprit one day." Zan nodded and placed a hand around her shoulders, let her lean into it and find reassuring warmth. "I won't interfere this time. All I can do is give you my best wishes. Just know that if you need the support, he's right here." "Thanks, Zan-san." He too raised his head to the sky, as yellow rays began to touch his face, gently warming him. "Y'know,", he said, tossing his eyebrows to the rising sun. "I love sunrises. Means a whole new day for all of us is coming on." And somewhere below, came the summons for breakfast. * * * [End Part 3/Tengu Tengu]