The still of night remained with the last few yards toward the inn, not a soul to be seen drifting along the vacant streets. Such a thing was common in the very early morning; many now sunk into the refuges of their beds, their homes going dark with nothing, save the fire of lanterns to light the road. The inn remained against that idea, a sanctuary pleasantly aglow and beacon for the weary and restless. A single flame beneath a celestial array of nighttime jewelry and pearlescent lunar glow, one now sought for sake of the coming dawn.

There was a clear gentleness to the passing evening, serenity that inspired great awe and ease of thought. A calm before the storm, as it were. Still, like some inevitable wall that must be broken down, fear remained parasitic in its hold upon a tempered resolve. That hesitance had long been cut from his character since his rebirth from the previous life, but Tasuke saw that anxiety clearly within Shisuka. She feared that despite all of her careful planning, the flow of time, the cruelty of fate, would reject her vision and allow the Shogunate to continue its tyrannical reign. He, however, would make sure Tokugawa tasted his sword—lest some unforeseen occurrence took place.

And how hysterical the irony of fate was.

It was then that a voice from the past rose up from his rear, a woman he’d wished never to hear again. Softly, lovingly, her words floated in the summer air in tranquil phrase. “Good evening, Tajira. It’s been some time.”

That voice…

He solidified into place, glacial liquid his blood as his expression changed from calm compassion to terrifying bloodlust. His kindness evaporated as quickly as a flash of lightning and the seething hatred that sloshed through his veins provoked cruel desires, amplified in portrayal by a gaze that scorched with rage. Tasuke not so much as turned to face her, instead looking over his shoulder to the woman of porcelain flesh adorned in a fine scarlet yukata. Her black hair poured atop her shoulders and over her deceitfully warm gaze in slick feathers that winded along the curves of her bewitching face while she stood with her arms wrapped around her waist like someone cold. She possessed a mystifying glance that could stop any man in his tracks, appearing to the stranger as an earthly goddess. However, those who knew her feared the monstrosity that lay ready and hungry beneath her attractive appearance. She was the black widow, wrapping the meal around her finger before taking them to the web. A sadist and torturer.

They locked gazes, fire and ice meshing against one another in that intense moment of nonverbal confrontation. She wore that familiarly calm mask, one that might arouse a sort of sisterly connection that went without blemish in presence of his boiling hatred. It were as if he looked into his former self, so at peace with the life of killing, so confident. So pathetic. He detested that facet of himself so much that he could barely stop himself from letting loose the beast that howled for blood, from drawing his sword and cutting this girl—Yoshino Retsuya—down in one beautiful blow that drenched the streets in her sanguine innards, that destroyed a remnant of something he had attempted to annihilate but went without victory. He knew well that he hadn’t killed Retsuya along with the other members of the clan, and his first act of mercy appeared to have followed him. The lust for the kill resurrected old fantasies and flashbacks of inhuman atrocity, and at that moment he simply wanted nothing else, save for the opportunity to cleave his katana down through her skull and into her black heart…or perhaps a slash through the collar and to the same destination, so as to see her face contort in wondrous brutality while she coiled about the ground like a waterless fish. A sensual motion of sweet death far less painful than what she deserved.

Her voice filled with sarcastic humor. “What’s the matter, hmm? I thought you’d be so excited to see me again.”

The reply came in more of a hiss, his lips curved into a malicious snarl as he said, “I’ll be far more excited to see your head fall from your shoulders, Retsuya.”

She chuckled heartily, a loud bellow flecked with confidence—with arrogance. “I knew a part of you remained, Tajira.” She smiled with all her teeth. “You so wish to leave that life, and yet your heart and hand thirst for the kill. The only difference now is that you hide behind self-righteousness and you’re without an employer. Ever heard of hypocrisy, sweetheart?”

You know nothing of me, fool.

The powerful urge to kill her began to grow like an inflated hot air balloon, and once filled too far, the ensuing explosion would result in her express appointment with the grave. He knew Retsuya well, and she him, and he was sure she had been surveying him for some time before deciding this meeting—this fated moment with the one that would end her life far sooner than she may have hoped or realized. That meant she likely knew of Aki, and Shisuka, and if she possessed knowledge that could compromise their schedule, she had to die. Even so, his motives were his own. This woman was an unrepentant serial killer, a stalker of defenseless people and a merciless torturer. She was the blossom of a vile seed—and he would be the reaper of harvest.

Her inquiry went without answer. Tasuke instead turned fully toward her and dropped his arms, bringing the right hand to the hilt laced of green. Slowly he pulled the katana free with a smooth exhalation, moonlight kissing the silver of the guard and streaking gorgeously along the curve of the blade. As the glossy sheen splashed off of his eyes, suddenly the plan to administer a quick, decisive blow disappeared. He now wished to break her. To give her a taste of the misery she had inflicted upon so many others. Her sentence was death, but her executioner would not let her have it so easily.

The Terraga fell silently to his right side in a loose grip, a sort of leisure that might cause a witness to question the conviction of the swordsman. One should make no presumptions—Retsuya’s first mistake would not go without punishment.

She, however, appeared unwilling for combat. She finally dropped the façade as her look of happiness split into a glare of happiness, as if she had not expected him to draw his sword. Gone was her confidence. All that remained was fear, even evident by the shaking in her voice. “Are you so fast to want me dead? Do you not question my purpose here?”

He plainly shook his head. “I don’t care. I am going to do something that I should have done months ago…I should have hunted you down like the mutt you are…” The raging wildfire that swirled within whorled with collective winds of meditation, a serene and slumbering calm yet to erupt with the first swing of salacious steel. His wrath would fall upon her head like a thunderbolt, the beginning of her end; by her apprehension, he predicted cowardice in the form of a hasty sprint into the dark, but he would follow. He would kill her. Beginning the first calm and trained steps in her direction, each fall of his foot matched the cadence of his slowly beating heart. A countdown, the tick-tock that muttered demise. “Prepare, Retsuya.”

His words housed no compassion, no love. Only the volcanic animosity, the gelid lack of remorse that followed a wish to administer swift justice.

__________________
Armies lay in waste, their corpses strewn along, an all-too-faint breath of death, a shallow little song.

With my sword I kiss the wicked, and bring them to their knees, with this sword their evil is answered and heaven is well pleased.

Those who spread the tainted seed, who know that they have sinned, will feel the icy steel I swing like a whisper in the wind.