Light seared Ryouma's eyes when his lids first parted; he clamped them tight again and tried breathing instead. That was even worse. Something at the point of his right shoulder burst into flames at the first gentle movement of inflating lungs. He managed to slit his eyes open enough to find that he was not, in fact, on fire; but it looked like he had been. An ugly, oozing burn pitted the hollow just below where his collarbone met his shoulder-socket. The flame-resistant cloth of his shirt had blistered away from the wound, and the buckle of his armor shoulder-strap had fused to the chest-plate.

Lightning, he remembered dimly. Cloud-nin. Lightning jutsu.

Katsuko.

His aching skull tapped gently against the stone wall as he tipped his head back, trying to scan the ruined corridor. His vision was dotted and seared with purple spots and white flares, but when he blinked hard it cleared a little. The body of the splinter-skewered guard lay very close, his head turned to face Ryouma, blood leaking out of his mouth to mingle with the rotted flesh sloughing off his shoulder. Beyond him, a small knot of the surviving guards had gathered around a tall, broad-shouldered man in a bloody silk robe over lacquered armor. One of the men seemed to be trying to tend to his master's wounds, but was waved impatiently away. The tall man--Masahiko--and the rest of his soldiers seemed focused on a small, crumpled heap at their feet. One man lifted his drawn sword, as if to strike.

Masahiko didn't bother ordering him to stand down. Blood-drops spattered through the air as he slammed the man into the wall, against the cracked brickwork where something had already struck hard enough to shatter stone. Someone else said disgustedly, "Don't be a fool, Shuuichi. The bitch wounded Masahiko-dono. She can't die nearly that easy."

Ryouma's lips curled back from his teeth. She's not dying at all.

He wasn't sure if he could make it to his feet, or even to his knees; he didn't bother trying. His hands moved all right, at least, even if they were weaker and shakier than they should have been. Ox, Hare, Bird, Boar. Masahiko was barely ten feet away, easily within range. Hare, Monkey, Dog, Ram. The chakra didn't come easily; his pathways felt as if they'd been seared by the same lightning strike that had fried his shoulder. Probably they had, as the jutsu-driven electricity surged through his body. But it came, drop by drop, thread by thread, building like a storm. Horse, Monkey, Dragon, Ox...

Masahiko's booted foot connected solidly with Katsuko's ribs. Her slight body smashed against the wall and rolled back. Someone laughed. Masahiko, his bruise-darkened face tight with pain and fury, drew his foot back again.

Snake.

Chakra roiled, feral, furious, black with killer intent. Masahiko felt it, too late. He turned, but Ryouma was already straightening his left arm, gripping his elbow with his weakened right hand. "Naizou Tokasu no Jutsu, you bastard," he said.

The bolt of chakra took Masahiko straight in the chest. He lurched a step backward with the force of it. Someone yelled; someone else reached out to steady him. He dropped between their hands, vomiting liquid globs of half-dissolved organs. He was dead before he hit the floor.

One of the men threw up. Another, white-faced, took a step toward Ryouma. Shaking, chakra-drained, blurry-eyed, Ryouma still managed to grin at him. "You volunteerin' for next?"

Only one of the guards even hesitated before he ran.

Which left Ryouma, the corpses...and Katsuko. He tried pushing himself to his feet, and his left elbow buckled twice before he managed it. Limping, swearing at every step, he made his way to Katsuko. She was curled against the wall in a pool of what looked alarmingly like her own blood; there were red smears on the wall, too, where she'd hit. But Masahiko and his men had wanted her to die slowly, which meant--

Her eyes were open, in the shadows of her mask. Ryouma stopped, tilting a little, and grinned crazily down at her. "You've gotta admit that was impressive, right?"