Kenshin crouched down in the bushes, brushing aside a few stray leaves that covered his sight. The hut was just ahead, no more than 300 square feet of land taken up by its dimensions, nestled in a miniature valley surrounded by forest. Thin smoke rose from the chimney, and traces of firelight seeped through the partially opened windows. He didn’t like it. The lights were lit but he couldn’t hear any conversation going on, which made him anxious. If there were men in there, awake but silent, they might be anticipating an attack. But then, the Shinsengumi were well trained and could simply be speaking softly. There was no way of knowing. No more than twenty men can be inside there comfortably, he calculated. Ten seconds…it may not be much, but it is all I have. I will have to work fast.

"Something isn’t right," Sanosuke muttered beside him. "I’ve got a weird feeling about all this."

"Me too. But there is no other choice."

"Well, I’m coming with you."

Kenshin shook his head. "No, Sano. There is not much room in there, and I will have to be fast. Please stay back, or at least wait. Wait nine seconds, if you must."

He snorted. "You’re so damn selfish. Think you can handle all of’em?"

"Thanks for the concern." Kenshin smiled, then adjusted the sword on his hip. "Here I go."

"Good luck."

Kenshin leapt out of the bushes and started won the mild slope that led to the hut. He made almost no sound as he moved quickly to the closest wall. Knowing that Saitou had most likely already begun his counting, he slid low along the side of the building to the door. With a deep breath he kicked the door open and ran inside.

And then he stopped.

No one was there.

Kenshin gazed about, breathing a sigh of relief; there would be no casualties after all. The cabin had clearly been used at one time, but now there was no indication of a presence. Several rice barrels were set in the middle of the room, but that was it. A fire cracked, unattended, in the fireplace.

"A decoy," Saitou muttered, entering behind him. Sanosuke shouldered his way in after. "Hmph. I should have expected our information to be leaked."

Kenshin glanced at him over his shoulder. "What happened to the ten seconds?"

He exhaled smoke. "Well, it doesn’t matter. There’s no one here. Consider yourself lucky."

"You bastard," Sanosuke hissed. "Even though you gave your word—"

"I’m doing my job." Saitou moved over to the rice barrels and attempted to open one, but the top had been nailed shut. "There’s something in here."

Kenshin nodded, allowing his gaze to scan the rest of the interior. "Yes, but if they knew we were coming, why leave it? As if…" He stopped, finally noticing another barrel that had been used to prop one of the windows open. The way it was placed…and the group in the center…

Damn! "Both of you," Kenshin shouted urgently, "get out, now!"

All three men rushed for the door, but just as they reached it a gun fired from outside, striking the barrel in the window. Instantly the keg exploded due to the gunpowder packed within. The blast wasn’t extensive, but it was more than enough to ignite the group of larger barrels in the hut’s center. Kenshin felt the heart sear his back, throwing him into the air with the force of the explosion. He managed to land somewhat on his feet and then dropped to the ground, curling into a ball as wooden debris beat against his body. Sanosuke was soon beside him, helping to shield the older man, as his body was more accustomed to the brutality of such blunt attacks.

Saitou muttered curses, crouched nearby. He spat dirt and flicked wooden splinters from his uniform. Damn it. This isn’t like the Miburo at all—I would have never planned something like this. He muttered a curse and glanced about the forest clearing. The entire cabin was burning down quickly, forcing him to shield his eyes from the hostile glare of the flames. Luckily the blast had not affected the surrounding woodlands. His men were scurrying about like rabbits, some departing back for the city—hopefully to retrieve a fire patrol. But then his eye caught a flash of movement across the small valley. A man was perched in the trees.

Saitou leapt to his feet, sword drawn, but his reaction wasn’t quick enough. The first shot came from a gunman he never saw, burying its painful fire into his right shoulder near the end of his collar bone. The impact caused him to stumble, and a second bullet that grazed his left thigh dropped him to the earth once more. The third whizzed past his ear, missing his flesh, though it tossed bits of soil into his face.

Kenshin cursed under his breath. He searched the line of trees for the source of the attacks, finally catching sight of a rifle as the firelight reflected off its metal surface. "Look out!" he called to the officers. "In the trees!" He ducked as several shots barely missed his head. The government agents returned fire in kind, beginning the shooting match. "Damn. If this keeps up…" He jumped to his feet and dashed up the hill once more.

"Kenshin! Shit—" Sanosuke yelped as a bullet grazed his arm, not deep, but painful. He slid further down the hill pressed himself into the grass, trying to remain out of range of the guns. 

Haya was faster than his younger adversary had expected. He covered the distance between them in less than an instant and clashed swords with the boy, attempting to overcome him by means of brute strength. But Tsuyoshi held tightly onto the sword given to him by his father, unrelenting. Annoyed, Haya struck out with his second kodachi, coming dangerously close to severing the boys arm.

At the same time Mari attacked Eiji, with a few swift blows slicing the bokutou cleanly in two. He retreated not quickly enough, and his life may have ended then had Tokio on interfered. Her tanto locked with one of Mari’s two blades, pushing her back as Eiji scrambled to find another weapon.

"No one touches my children," Tokio hissed, green eyes blazing like that of an enraged feline. "I won’t let you."

"I don’t think that’s what you have to worry about now." Mari disconnected the second kodachi from the shaft, twisted it around, and stabbed the blade into the woman’s unshielded stomach.

Tokio gasped, biting her lip so that she wouldn’t cry out despite the agony. Blood began to seep along the sword length and down the front of her colorfully patterned kimono. Then the kodachi was ripped out once more with a sickening tear of flesh. She dropped to her knees, gripping the wound as her fingers became stained red and warm. Someone was calling to her; Tsuyoshi and Eiji were quickly at her side. "Mother—Mother!" the former cried.

"Damn it, Hajime," she whispered faintly, untying her outermost obi layer and retying it around her stomach tightly to stop the blood. "You made it look easy. Why didn’t…" She stopped, grimacing as blood welled thickly in her throat. "You never told me it hurt this much…"

"Tokio-san, hold on," Eiji said, reaching to take her tanto. "We’ll—"

"No. No, run from here." She snatched the blade from him and clasped it to her. "Both of you, just go."

Haya kicked the woman in her side, and she cried out as she rolled onto her back. "Dumb bitch," he growled. "Don’t you get it? You’re all going to die."

Tsuyoshi whirled on him, sword in hand and fire in his eyes, and he charged. He and Haya exchanged several blows until Mari attacked from behind, cutting a long gash down the boy’s back. With a cry he fell to the floor. The man’s laughter filled his ears. He tried to climb back up—he had to, for his mother—but the pain was so intense that he couldn’t manage to lift his head. "Father…"

"I told you," Tokio whispered, pulling herself onto her knees. "No one touches my children."

Mari brought her now reconnected staff down, ready to end the boy’s life, but Tokio was just fast enough. She lurched forward, on hands and knees she taking the blade into her own back and crying with the pain. But she was firm in her determination. The anguish spread all through her, causing her body to shake and blood to cascade sluggishly from her lips; it didn’t matter. All she saw was her son. "Tsuyoshi," she spoke, choked and suffering, "go."

"Mother…" He twisted, trying to see her, but it was difficult for him to move from his stomach. "Mother, no…"

Eiji scampered to her side, carefully pulling the injured youth out from his protector. Haya and Mari watched, one bemused, the other indifferent. He slung Tsuyoshi’s arm over his shoulders. "Tokio-san," he whispered. "Can you run?"

"No…" Tokio lifted her head, catching his eyes with hers. She smiled faintly. "Go. Take my son and leave. Please." She shifted the tanto that was pressed hidden against her chest. "Live, and be a man like your brother."

Eiji’s wide eyes brimmed with tears. "Tokio-san…I will." His anger was overflowing, but he remembered Kenshin’s words to him; if they all died there, who would that make happy? And if he could lead the two murderers away…and if he could get Tsuyoshi to a doctor, and then send one back for Tokio…

If he could save one life, as his brother had…

"Thank you, Eiji." Tokio spun around, uncaring of the sword still lodged in her shredded flesh. She lunged at Mari and tackled her to the ground. The younger woman was able to knock the tanto away, but even then her attacker refused to withdraw. Tokio screamed and clawed at the woman’s face with her nails, smeared blood on her clothes, raving like a demon. Haya cursed as Eiji lifted up his limp brother and ran for the door. He started to give chase, but seeing his sister in such a state thought otherwise. He dragged Tokio off her victim by the hair and threw her to the floor.

"Mother!" Tsuyoshi strained against the other boy, attempting weakly to escape and return to his mother’s side, but he was unable to. Eiji pulled him out of the room and away.

Mari sat up, staring at the blood that now covered her. It was on her hands and clothes, in her hair and mouth, so that none of her five senses were left unstained by its presence. Fearfully she attempted to scrub it away—she’d never experienced the feeling of a human life soaking her the way it did now. It settled on and in her like a hot skin, and she was terrified.

Tokio flopped on her back, staring blindly at the ceiling above as she listened to the man chiding his sister for being foolish. She was exhausted. Her body was already growing numb from the loss of blood, and her sight was quickly fading. The smell of blood filled her senses. Choking on each breath, she closed her eyes and prayed silently. All I ask is that my children…those two boys…someone please protect them…

The blade cut her flesh a third time. She did not cry but only tightened her fists and suffered in silence. Her husband did not cry when hit. Many nights he’d returned to her in such a state of injury that frightened her terribly, but he never uttered a word of complaint, and of her was demanded no less. Crimson fluid surrounded her in a slowly growing pool, forever staining the tatami with her fading life. She endured, smiling quietly at the darkness collected above her. A very insignificant thought came to her: she would never know if Kenshin ever confessed to the dojo girl, and she would never convince Sanosuke to let her meet Tsukioka. But then she regretted most of all not being able to see her husband one last time.

She shook herself, clearing the image of the bloodied woman from her mind. "I’m all right," she said a bit weakly, drawing him away from the crowds of people that were gathering to see. "But those kids—"

"Where’s Hayato? Is he all right?"

"Yes—yes." A moment later the man in question burst from the inn, also bloody, bringing a chorus of startled and horrified shrieks from the bystanders. "See? Now where did those kids go?"

"That way." Akira pointed. "Are you—did you—kill her?"

"No," Hayato interrupted, dragging them with him as he started in the direction the two boys had gone. "But she’ll bleed to death soon enough. Now come with me—we’ve gotta get those little shits."

"H-Haya…" Akira hesitated, shocked and feeling nauseous from the stench of fresh blood. Had his friends…his best friend and Mari…they’d killed the woman he’d eaten lunch with only days before. She was mostly likely lying in her room, alone and slowly dying. She’d spoken so highly of her husband, and now she would never him one last time before she died.

By now Haya and Mari were far down the street, and they didn’t look back. Akira went the other way. He knew what he was doing was foolish and most likely would get him killed, but a strange feeling had enveloped him, and he had to keep going. Perhaps he thought he could erase some of his guilt if he did this last favor for the woman. Perhaps he could even safe her life.

 Kenshin worked quickly. It was a simple matter finding the marksmen once he was made aware of their presence, and he leapt along the stronger branches of the trees, tossing them to the ground. Several were brought down by Saitou’s officers. He was able to remain unscathed by their bullets, but when one impacted against a nearby branch a large chunk was sent scraping against his right forearm and wrist. Once he had disposed of this last threat he jumped down once more, surveying his work.

"Kenshin, you okay?" Sanosuke came running up the hill, his arm a bit bloody but other than that unharmed. He wiped sweat from his forehead. "Damn, that was intense. You get hit?"

"A scratch." Kenshin sheathed his sword, and grimaced only faintly as his wound complained. The fingers of his right hand were a bit stiff and slick with blood. He began to wipe them on his sleeve, and was startled to find the garment nearly falling off his body.

"Kenshin," Sanosuke said, his voice quiet with concern. "Your back…"

Kenshin twisted his head, trying to see, and was finally made aware of a searing pain along his spine. It was a familiar feeling—the sensation of his charred skin reminded him very much of his battle with Shishio. Pushing those unpleasant memories aside he focused on this new injury. "It is not serious," he said, though his face betrayed the words with a look of strain. When he was fighting it was simple for him to block the pain, but now he could feel it in full. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Fine." Sanosuke undid the wraps on his forearms, using one to bandage his arm roughly. The other he tied around Kenshin’s injured arm for him. "But you’ll have to see that fox-doctor about your back—it looks pretty bad from here."

"Yes. But…what of Saitou?"

He pointed. "There."

Across the clearing Saitou was tying a bandage about his injured leg, while still barking orders to his men and the fire patrol that had arrived. He stood, tested his weight, and then lit himself a fresh cigarette.

"At least he looks all right," Kenshin said, relieved. Though the man’s right arm appeared sluggish, the wound could not have been serious. Kenshin was about to suggest they go over there when a familiar figure came running out of the line of trees. He frowned. "Is that…Akira-dono?"

"Who? That kid from the other day?"

Akira moved quickly to Saitou and spoke to him briefly. Even from the distance that separated them Kenshin could tell he wouldn’t raise his head to meet the policeman’s gaze. After the exchange Saitou snapped something to his inferiors, then started out of the clearing.

"What the hell was that?" Sanosuke muttered. "What is that kid doing here?"

"I do not know." Kenshin frowned, watching as Akira scampered away in a different direction. "But something is not right. I feel as if something has happened."

His friend made a disconcerted face. "You’re really weird, you know that Kenshin? You’ve been getting damn philosophical and ‘all-knowing’ lately. Either that or damn paranoid."

He sighed. "You might be right. Come on—we should help get the fire down."

Eiji cursed and pushed his strength to its limits. He had to go faster. He wasn’t sure if the pair would follow them, but it would be easy enough with the trial of blood Tsuyoshi was inadvertently leaving. There was no way to help that, though; the fluid had already soaked through the shirt-bandage Eiji had tied around his torso. The boy’s only hope now was to find a hospital, or a policeman—

Ahead of him Eiji could see warm yellow light spilling into the dusty streets. It leaked onto the old wooden sign: Oguni Clinic. Isn’t that… Eiji quickened his pace despite his already aching limbs. "Takani-sensei!" he called, nearly stumbling under his friend’s weight. "Sensei!"

Megumi appeared in the door, stifling a yawn, but she quickly forced herself awake upon seeing the pair. "What happened?" she demanded. "No, wait—just bring him in." She helped Tsuyoshi into the clinic and laid him on his stomach on one of the tables. "Eiji-kun, wasn’t it? Are you hurt? Then go fetch me some water, quickly." She tied her hair back and set upon ripping the boy’s clothes away from the wound.

"But Takani-sensei," Eiji heaved breathlessly, "we were being followed. They may come here."

"Followed?" she echoed, not looking up from her patient. "Who? Why?"

"I don’t know, but…" He choked on frustration and angry tears, and quickly slapped them from his face. "We had to leave Tokio-san. You have to help her—she’ll die."

"Tokio-san?" Megumi finally lifted her head. "Where is she?"

"She’s dead," Tsuyoshi hissed. He pressed his forehead into the stiff mattress, tears running freely from his eyes. Eiji was surprised, as he’d passed out soon after they’d left the inn. Now he was clinging desperately to consciousness. "Butchers…they….they killed her…" He pounded his fist into the bed. "They killed my mother!"

Saitou ran. He had a disturbing feeling, but he didn’t understand why. He was not a man given to panic, nor did he usually resort to abandoning his men on a whim, but his instincts told him something was wrong.

He didn’t know why he was listening to the boy—it could have been a trap, or a ploy, but he was going anyway. He was running as fast as his injured leg would take him.

When Saitou reached thee inn he was startled to see several policemen about, speaking to some people on the street and the other inn customers. There were bloodstains marking a path in the road—the stench hung heavily about him. His heart began to pound as he hurried past the crowd and into the building. "Hey!" one of the officer’s called after. "What are you—"

He didn’t stop to respond. The anxiety was building up in him now, and he sprinted down the hall to where his room had been. The panel was open and he could hear soft talking inside. He skidded to a halt at the opening. "Tokio?"

The voices ceased, and Saitou entered quickly. The first room that the boys had been using was empty, but their things were in a mess and the tatami was stained. What the hell…? He strode swiftly to the panel that led to the next room and threw it open. "What the hell happened here?" he demanded.

Dr. Oguni and another man glanced up, as did two police men who were standing nearby. "Are you Fujita Gorou?" one asked.

"I am." The room was in total disarray, futons strewn about and bloodstains scattered everywhere. Tsuyoshi’s sword and Eiji’s broken bokutou had been laid aside. But what drew Saitou’s eyes first was the woman that law in the room’s center, her once beautifully patterned kimono now painted crimson, surrounded in more liquid of the same color. Her hair was down and soiled, her skin pale. From her lips issued forth weak and strained breath.

Saitou dropped slowly to his knees at his wife’s side, staring in disbelieving horror at the brutal wounds that had been inflicted on her. "How…?" he breathed, reaching as if to touch her and then recoiling. "Who did this to her?" When he didn’t get an answer immediately he snatched the aging doctor by the collar and dragged him forward. "Who did this to her?" he shouted, causing the others in the room to back away in fright. "Why aren’t you helping her?"

"I-It’s too late, sir," the doctor stuttered, shaken by the man’s temper. "By the time we got here she’d lost too much blood—"

"Bastards." He tossed the old man away in disgust, then returned to his wife. She wasn’t dead—not yet, but her breath was barely above a whisper in the stillness of the room. "Tokio," he coaxed. Pulling off his white gloves he touched her face. Her eyelids fluttered. "Tokio, open your eyes," he half instructed, half pleaded. "Look at me. It’s Hajime."

Tokio coughed, spilling blood over her chin. Slowly, her eyes opened partway. They stared listlessly up at the ceiling, blinded by pain. "Ha…" She couldn’t speak, as her throat had been long since coated with red life-fluid. She shuddered.

"Hush, Tokio." Saitou took her hand and warmed it between his own. Then he placed it on his face. "Keep your hand there," he told her softly. "You know it’s me. I came back, and I’m going to take care of this mess you got yourself into. Hold still and stay with me." She smiled weakly with recognition of him, and he began to work. He tightened the bandages on her, arranging them in a way he’d learned from experiencing similar injuries. He was able to hide his fear in the purposefulness of his task. "Now," he said to the men as he worked. "What the hell happened?"

"There were two murderers here," one of the officer’s replied. "A young man and woman. They killed four other guests."

"What about my sons?"

"They’re being searched for. We didn’t find any children’s bodies."

Thank God. "Who were they?" Tokio moaned in pain, and he quickly reassured her by running his fingers through her hair. His anger rose as he watched her tremble; whoever had done this would soon pay dearly.

The second officer came forward, showing him a slip of paper. "It was found beside her, sir, but we couldn’t decipher it."

Saitou turned his attention to the crumpled note, quickly scanning the hastily scrawled ink. It had been written in code, one that the Miburo had once used. It was the address of a place not far from where he was now. A trap. But it doesn’t matter—they’ll be punished for this. "Do you have any descriptions of the two?" he asked.

Tokio inhaled shakily. By now the pain had stolen most of her senses, or else the blood had overpowered them; her world now consisted only of the feel of her husband’s cheek and his voice, even if she couldn’t make out the words. She could hear, however, that he was speaking sharply to the men around her. Oh Hajime, don’t be angry with them she wished she could have spoken aloud. His breath fell heavily and rapidly over her fingers. You’re scared, aren’t you? Didn’t I help you at all? You can’t hide in anger.

She was going numb now. She couldn’t feel her legs, and her arm was growing heavy. There was not much time for her, and he wasn’t even watching her now. He was afraid and being carried by denial—he wanted her to survive. But in sinking into the abyss Tokio knew there was nothing to be done. She knew once she’d taken the blade for her son that her sacrifice was meant to be a complete one. If she could only find a way to say goodbye…

Saitou was startled as her hand slipped don his face, winding tightly around his uniform collar. Her fingers were straining and cold. She pulled him forward, and because her strength was lacking he gave no resistance. She pulled until his face as just above hers, her breath ragged against his skin. Then she kissed him. Her lips which were once soft and sweet were now harsh, trembling, and tasted of blood; but somehow, though it pierced his very organs and bones with the realization of her coming end, they alone retained some warmth in that last moment. Even before the kiss ended he could feel her hand clutch tightly onto his collar, and her body stiffened momentarily before lying still. By the time he recoiled the last of her form’s heat had departed; her eyes, brilliant and beautiful, had closed forever.

Saitou pulled back slowly. It took several moments for him to fully comprehend what had happened. He’d watched men and woman die—had taken the lives of more men than he could remember—but this was infinitely different. Over ten years he’d lived with this woman; he’d watched her work and sleep, seen all the life she had to offer, but now all that was gone. He couldn’t believe that the fire which had led him to love her was now nothing but cold ashes. It wasn’t possible.

"I’m sorry," Dr. Oguni said quietly. "There wasn’t anything we could have done for her."

But the man never heard him. He drew the body into his arms, not caring as her blood stained his skin red. In feeling the coldness of her flesh he knew that she was dead. He turned his head upward and howled in rage like a lost beast.

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