What makes history (Hijikata x OC)

Exhaustion

"Yield!", I yelled at the top of my lungs, capturing some attention amongst the chaos. "Yield, or face my wrath!"

To care and protect.

Some of the men flinched. Others fled. Good. I charged in that tiny opening created by Harada's troops, blade aimed high in a move so reminiscent of Hijikata's hiratsuki that I felt his spirit cheering me on. Then, everything dissolved into cries, pain and death. I fought like a madwoman, filling the blade with light as I cut a path open for Shinpachi's men to retreat.

My control didn't last long enough; fear was consuming me, and I was too weak to call happiness forth in the midst of all this pain. Both mine and the one I was dealing took a heavy toll. Too heavy. Or perhaps my magical potential was depleted already. Who knew? Without missing a beat, I unsheathed the wakizashi and started anew that familiar dance with death.

Fortunately, my intervention had disorganised the troops that blocked Shinpachi's path. With both my efforts, and his company's, we hacked the men to pieces. Except for a few, most weren't skilled swordsmen. Unfortunately, I was now facing one of those. While I had got used to gaining victory in two or three moves, at worst, that one kept pushing me back. I was getting sloppy, my blows less precise, arms weaker than usual. The samurai took advantage of it and tapped my blade aside. He would have impaled me if my wakizashi had not crossed right in time, pushing him back.

Muscle memory. Thank you, Saitō.

The man had the gall to smile, dark eyes gleaming with anticipation.

On a normal day, I would have beaten him. But I was dead tired. He attacked again, and I deflected, only to block a second attack coming at my legs. I allowed his blade to pass, the wakizashi preventing it from digging into my calves as I twirled ... only to nearly impale myself on another's sword. My right arm came up at once, the elvish blade deviating the blow at the latest second.

A grunt of pain came from behind me, and the first samurai fell down, his sword still aimed at my head. Behind him stood Shinpachi, a weary grin upon his face.

"Come on!" he said, "We're charging out."

Damn, that was close.

I nodded, panting heavily; my chest was on fire by now; I didn't know how long I would last before collapsing. So I followed Shinpachi's lead. His bulk alone provided cover; doubled with his superior skill and stamina, the second captain led us out of the bridge. Harada's unit – mine – had lost many men trying to keep that impossible position, and they surrounded us at once.

"Retreat!" he bellowed.

The flow of soldiers pushed us forward. I noticed blearily that the sun was dipping already, harsh rays turning orange. How long had this battle lasted?

As we ran up cobblestones, I felt my legs give way altogether. I would have kissed the ground harshly had Shinpachi's hand not reached for me.

"Just a little longer, Kitsu," he said.

Dozens of feet pounded upon the ground, but the SatChō remained down the bridge we had failed at securing. My blood boiled with dishonour. Damn them and their superior guns! What could swords do against such an arsenal? Even my elvish blade was no match for their artillery ! The noise of pounding cannons told me Saitō had also failed at taking them out of commission. Or perhaps they'd brought in new ones?

Could any of those cannons be ours?

We were now out of rifle range, and the captains allowed for a slight pause. Shinpachi didn't sheathe his sword. My vision was slightly blurred, and my arms so heavy that I had trouble flicking the blood away before returning the blades to their respective scabbards.