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New York, NY

To Newton and Anne.

From your beloved son, with love.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

ONE – I am the Law

TWO – Osaka has Fallen

THREE – Ruler of the North

FOUR – Know Your Place

FIVE – Danger Road

SIX – No More Debating

SEVEN – A Name is Everything

EIGHT – Now Entering Hades

NINE – Death's Terrible Twin

TEN – The Victorious Dandies

ELEVEN – Interception

TWELVE – A Professional Courtesy

THIRTEEN – The Empress is King

FOURTEEN – Milk of the Earth

FIFTEEN – His Imperial Majesty

SIXTEEN – An Honorable Request

SEVENTEEN – Yuma's Champion

EIGHTEEN – Emissary of Life

NINETEEN – Gunfire Monk

TWENTY – False Prince

TWENTY-ONE – Lone Wolf Sleepover

TWENTY-TWO – Walk on the Wind

TWENTY-THREE – A New System

TWENTY-FOUR – Edo in Charge

TWENTY-FIVE – Adistaana the Great

TWENTY-SIX – The Flying Dog Inn

TWENTY-SEVEN – Paranoia's a Nasty Companion

TWENTY-EIGHT – Temple of the Queen of Solitude

TWENTY-NINE – Kagoshima City Rhapsody

THIRTY – Kick Down That Door

THIRTY-ONE – Little City Blues

THIRTY-TWO – Heads Don't Roll

THIRTY-THREE – Kyoto's Brood of Vipers

THIRTY-FOUR – Outside the Pit

THIRTY-FIVE – In the Name of the Emperor

THIRTY-SIX – A Meeting with Fate

THIRTY-SEVEN – The Liberator

THIRTY-EIGHT – Roasting a Spymaster

THIRTY-NINE – Welcome to Nobeoka City

FORTY – A Spy Among Them

FROM THE AUTHOR

THE GOOD. THE BAD. AND THE UGLY

Mikasa "Gunfire" Yamakazi: He's our hero and the imperial special agent in charge of finding and destroying all the enemies of Japan.

Marko: A seasoned assassin who now works for the crown, Marko specializes in disinformation. He's got the gift of a thousand silver tongues, like his companion Anata K. He can weave stories into a thousand different relations. Some say he'll lie his way out of Hades when he runs out of cunning stories to tell the Relic of Death.

Anata K.: Also a seasoned assassin who works for doing good, Anata K. specializes in a quirky type of subterfuge. Anata K. is chaos incarnate. Whatever place she walks into, she'll leave it in upheaval within minutes; having folks at each other's throats, swords in torso and daggers in necks.

The Major Clans: There are many clans who are contesting for control of their regions and power in the empire, our hero hails from Clan Virgo which was an ancient clan once based in Osaka, Japan and were charged with protecting kings and princes.

Onna-X-Donna – a powerful Wizaryan who Gunfire consults from time to time as he encounters more than his share of physical altercations with things which were only thought to be metaphysical.

The Wandering Beast: A giant creature who wanders through the woods eating the fear of travelers who it encounters, and if it cannot eat their fear and they are wicked men, it consumes their flesh instead. If they're good men, they just had the luckiest day of their lives. It used to be human.

WARNING: From time to time, this alternate historical samurai fantasy has moments of violent encounters for the protagonist, which may be inappropriate for individuals under the age of 17 or who suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress. Samurai were warriors, they were rarely diplomatic with their enemies. They'd punish trespassers the instant they felt disrespected. There is mild adult language, though nothing vulgar. This tale is written without filters. It is a risky and uninhabited tale... so read at your own risk.

REVISED EDITION: This edition has many new chapters. The original Gunfire Samurai storyline pretty much remains the same, but the story is now decompressed and more precise with less unanswered character arcs towards the end of book one – far fewer cliffhangers, but the action's been ramped up where appropriate a little for balance. After this updated version book two, available for preorder, will be released September 7, 2018 with book three to follow in December 2018 rounding out the trilogy.

PROLOGUE

SIX DAYS passed since the samurai in black had fed his Jungle Crows and he felt their patience would thin out given a seventh. There was plenty to go around, but they didn't see it that way.

Should be called vultures, he grinned.

As he walked alongside his Emperor's coach, the young man he'd sworn to protect with his life, he looked up checking on his avian chums who hovered a quarter mile above the royal pageant which he'd been asked to watch from arm's length. He alone heard their excited caws urging him to get back to his dirty work already.

The alpha male, a broad silver wing tipped and red-eyed fellow, head bumped a smaller member of his murder, no doubt testing him to see if he was weak enough to turn against, maybe make a quick meal of him mid-flight. He'd observed them go cannibal with or without his objection. The samurai in black shook his head.

Again, no loyalty in the animal kingdom.

His Jungle Crows, like any wildlife men had attempted to tame, hated waiting for their next feeding. They batted their wings feverishly sideways showing their disapproval of his sluggish work ethic. Their talons had sunk into many a man in their time under his employ, and they'd turned a dark purple.

The blood chips fell into the crowd as snowflakes. It was another vile protest which the samurai ignored feeling he'd been put in charge of the black carnivorous demons by some cosmic fate, and he alone chose when they ate.

It's about time we had a fresh pecking, lord samurai. Feed us now, or we'll make you our next morsel!

The samurai in black made a quick figure eight scan of the area. His eyes moved in a fashion which his training had, over the decades, turned into nothing more than a reflex. He landed on a parchment advertising the latest grand monster hunt – his curiosity peaked.

The fictional beast sighted at the time was the epitome of "a sight for sore eyes" with huge fangs, thick, brown, tree bark-like fur. It stood sixteen feet tall, with long, steel claws, and those ferocious, 'don't you ever dare mess with me' eyes which often came with the savages roaming the dark wilderness. The monster hunt wasn't of a mythical Bigfoot or Yeti, though that idea did amuse the samurai in black.

He held his composure in the crowd for he wanted to laugh at the top of his lungs. There was one exception which caught his eye even further; though it was a quadruped, it stood on its two hind feet to chase down any pray albeit select, or unlucky...and some say to scare the life out of them. That had been the main horrific rumor passing from one ear to the next, hopping from village to town.

The beast was alleged to devour fear itself for its sustenance.

The flyer's illustrator didn't know where to place the eyes, so there were many. Word was the monster's several traveling eyes wandered around its head and could be anywhere the beast wished them. The samurai figured this meant it didn't have to move its big old head too darn much. It could look ahead and behind itself at the same time.

What a nightmare! What a freakish mess it must make of the imagination, he laughed again on the inside.

The samurai in black favored hunting humans, not creatures of frail men's imagination. They were a tamer thing to him, the humans. Though, at times, they were more dangerous prey to stalk. Before his own eyes, he'd seen them act more animal than the beasts of the wild. Most of the men whom he'd been asked to hunt down, like the wild dogs they were, deserved it, whereas the animals were just minding their own business.

You leave them alone, they leave you alone, he'd often say.

He envisioned that the son and grandson of farmers would rather be in their lush rice fields in times like this. Though, as a father, he wished his wife, Oichi and his son, Endō, as well as his daughter Nakano, could come to the festival instead of baking in their rice field back in outskirts of Osaka. He felt they'd enjoy the pageantry despite their modesties, and it wasn't too far away.

Yet, on that festive occasion, drunk peasants and merchants got to mingle; guzzling Doire Roots and dancing crazed dances, with sweat the size of raindrops on their foreheads, as the greats passed by to bless them for another year. The Festival of the Great Lights; a festival for which blood had to be spilled for it to be had in the first place, wasn't about debauchery. He wouldn't have allowed his family to see that part of the services.

He turned his attention back to the festivities, closing his mind away from family and farm life. To think, it had taken place in Osaka on seven Sunday mornings under Emperor Yamamomo, with tens of thousands of people clogging the streets only to see their emperor renew his vows to reassert that he'd be their deity. That he, Emperor Yamamomo, would protect them from brutality and strife always from the Chrysanthemum throne way back in Kyoto.

They were a sea of dirty clothes to the samurai in black. Any of them an assassin, a traitor. He couldn't trust even a boy, old lady, or a beggar, for to do so meant a dead Emperor and the loss of his family's honor for three generations. The Shogun, Nagasaki-no Akira, would never tolerate such a failure either; nor would he ever grace them with his presence in such pageantry which was why he'd sent his despotic nephew Commander Sora to ride behind the Imperial family's coach.

The Emperor rode securely with Empress Minamoto-no-Tatsuo, their son Ryuu, his brother Takahiro, and his cousin Ryota in a yellow coach splattered with gold trimmings. They were surrounded by troops and Samurai, but their real champion was the samurai in black; a member of the Unbound Samurai lineage – a shadow, or Sons of the Moon. He served as deterrent used by generations of emperors who'd counted on their services to counter a threat worse than any assassins to have ever existed in Imperial Japan.

The Haduat.

He was instructed to blend in the crowd as an aristocrat or a peasant and hide his weapons at his side just in case there'd been an attack by a Haduat and in the rarest occasion, a Saduat.

He remembered how the first emperor who'd kissed death because of a Haduat; Emperor Jimmu, did so a century ago. Jimmu had called on a very powerful Mystic in his deathbed, who'd been able to heal in real time. The mystic was named Baku Tenenbaum, an outlander, who then was able to rescue him from mortal peril.

Mystics were later forbidden by The Shogun but never made officially illegal on the books by the Emperors who followed Jimmu. The samurai had never met one, but if he did, he'd probably have to sever their head for essential law keeping.

The prime minister, Prince Goro Fujita, came next in the royal procession. He was no priority to the samurai in black. The emperor was his task. Hayato Kojima, the Emissary to the Shogun, who had a purple coach went after the prime minister's coach accompanied by an even numbered amount of royal guards. General Yuma Kojima, the Commander of the Armed Forces, choosing to be frugal as he often did, sat next to his cousin in Lord Hayato's coach.

Though there were military and royal guards there, the samurai in black knew his role in the story as the real last call should they all fail his master, and according to the legend, the specialist assassin had succeeded every single time except for Jimmu.

He stared deep at the peasants once more for what they looked like and how they acted to him seemed strange. Was it the Sake or was it too much Doire Roots going to their heads? To the roof above he saw dingy houses which needed repair. The street lights were in need of repair, the pungent scent of street food, and dancing entertainers distracted every sense in his control. They dressed as green as Argwars, bright yellow as Ansolis, dark as the Relic of Death, as beautiful as the Daudanes.

The people hadn't celebrated the end of The Great War Era, which many elders felt was a worse tragedy. Worse for those who were old enough to recall the brutality. As the imperials passed, the samurai saw a group of twenty women, some dressed in black and some in white sheets, sprinkling green scaly flakes on the ground and over the crowd.

Their image reminded the samurai of the Sacred Children of the South; those green and scaly beings were once hunted down for godly treasures. They'd gone into extinction by the time he was a teenager. The SCOTS, they were called for short, used to be spotted all over the Northern Isles, but of late, they'd been thought of as mythic creatures, mere folklore, and another atrocity born of the mind of zealot menfolk. More real to him than the monster hunt, he chuckled. Yet the annual giving of thanks had its own weird beginnings.

He'd heard long ago, as a child working the fields, of the Insane Pretender Emperor, named Asahi Itsuki, who'd ordered a division of his most loyal men to slaughter the entire Village of Hyuga. A total of thirty thousand perished by sundown.

The village was near the mouth of the Oyodo River, where women and children of peasants had refused to accept him as God Almighty. His men had already killed twenty thousand just on their way to Hyuga, many of them pagans, before being stopped by his own generals over their payment and land disputes. It seemed greed prevailed over bloodletting.

Many more had defected after being sickened by the sheer enormity of the carnage, and a regiment of Army troops led by then Colonel Yuma Kojima made sure Itsuki never saw the next daybreak. At the end of the ordeal, over fifty thousand peasants were dead all over the Kagoshima Province during the Insane Pretender's infamous massacre.

There'd been so many bodies, that the river water, which emptied near the village, turned to a crimson color for miles upstream frightening many residents in the area, for which it was later called the Crimson Massacre.

The samurai in black had read only brief notes on scrolls, but he remembered it as if he were there. It all started with several groups of demented male nomads known collectively as the Kam, the Ari, the Rams and the Gori and sixteen unnamed groups of female nomads.

They were once a simple folk who roamed many village outskirts, avoiding 'other' human contact, as disintegrated families. They remained disunited and hungry until they intermarried and joined forces as one forming the mess which later became one of the most powerful clans in Japan.

They were Clan Kamari.

For centuries there was plenty of bloodless infighting among the Ari, Rams, Kam, and Gori for supremacy over the sixteen unnamed female tribes. This stopped when a new princess arose among them from the blood of an emperor.

Jimmu, then Emperor of Japan, couldn't keep his fly shut but he'd refused to acknowledge the princess. Through this princess, they had a claim to the throne regardless of the denial. She was said to be the most beautiful Kamari clansman ever brought forth to the world of the living, and if ever a man had met a Kamari clansman he wouldn't beg to differ. They were an especially ugly lot according to the text of the time, with the women often being mistaken as good-looking men while the men were often confused with ugly women.

The samurai in black veered his mind away from ancient stories, as they reached the end of the parade. The royal family bid their people farewell and headed back to Kyoto. The partaking of drink between peasant and merchant quickly ceased as they replaced their old façades, though the party went on in large segregated groups. Towards the end of the festival when all men and women had gone too drunk to walk, and children into their homes, the samurai in black was brought a contract for a young peasant in the North, so he headed straight to his sail team on the coast.

That night, The White Horned Devil paid the city a visit. A single candle fell from a drunkard's hand onto a cesspool, igniting a bright green spark; Osaka began to burn.

Only after a mortal has lost all things

Will he turn his eyes North

And beg us for a sweet fling

With the kingdom of the South

Pleading to be pulled by a string

His heart opens and praises pour out his mouth

Like a lovely harp his honeyed melody shall ring

And he'll yearn again for days filled with simpler things

\- The Great Oracle, Canto One

ONE

I am the Law

In the North Jade Isles on the month of the Ram...

SEVEN DAYS passed since the samurai in black had fed his Jungle Crows and as he walked towards the ancient stone manor, his spectral defect was out in the open. The circumstance of his visit had called for an extreme he had hidden most of his adult life. One which would have denied him the right to become a samurai long ago.

The journey through the small farm town of Yazaki, known for its great fruits, at the base of the manor, proved the narrowmindedness of the world had not changed. 'Freak' they would whisper as he passed by the local fruit market with a confident stride; for he didn't make it apparent, he was a samurai upfront.

The torment of their words ended shortly after he struck a fruit stand with his blade, leaving behind slices of apples peppering the gutter behind it. He chewed on the last remaining slice he had procured with imperial silver pieces and continued his silent journey toward the stone fortress, which he'd been commanded to investigate.

The samurai in black's mutation lingered in the terrified villager's minds. It was not where it belonged, where he usually kept it while he'd be on missions – under his charcoal colored kimono. It was not where he stuffed it when in public – tucked within a pair of brown gloves. It was not where he hid it as a schoolboy to keep the other children from dashing off in a cringe or to stop his bullies from having at him.

This time, the situation had changed for the old soul – he figured his shortcoming would serve a spine-tingling and dark purpose. Mikasa thought his accessory would serve their design on this mission very well, as they did decades ago when he was a hardy teenaged warrior campaigning in the Northwood.

He'd slipped in plain sight through the patchy turf, which, just moments before, appeared to be an angry bed of dust the blight had brought with it from the South, choking all but the most resilient plant life in the North. The elements were accelerating the sun's darkness as it slipped down the horizon.

He kept all his senses on high regard; taking in the pungent rotting trail of nearby outhouses, light tavern music to his right, and the noisome ringing of steel, no doubt being pounded into weapons, didn't escape his ears either.

He'd taken inventory of the prophetic gray clouds attempting to push the sun out of sight for his coming. Nothing big or small escaped Mikasa's ninjalike awareness. He couldn't afford to at that moment – not even in a land which he was familiar with.

The people of the North Jade Isles were filled with superstitions; of gods and goddesses, of demons and angels, of rare beings with strange supernatural gifts, of items with ungodly abilities, and men who cavorted with immortal dragons. All filled with folly they were, as were the rest of the zealot tribes of the Great Empire.

It did occur to him how ruthless Hirohito's men were, but it mattered not. They'd plant their eyes on his unparalleled blessings in disbelief. It would be a critical distraction once a skirmish broke out which, counting the far-reaching nature of the governor's home, would be a long-drawn-out affair. He dreaded the thought.

In the case of anonymity, he'd come prepared as well. His black leather face mask, taking the elongated shape of a smiling lion with a trinket in its mouth, covered what the black face paint had not. They also held back his distinctly pointy ears and perky nose.

His weapon forged for a long-fallen crown prince – under a year's worth of white-hot flames – was razor-sharp. It had tasted the blood of close to a thousand fearless fighters under its new companion. It swung against his hips, tied down with a thick golden cord. If it came to such a bloodletting, he thought, he'd mesmerize Hirohito as well when the evil Lord of Lands saw him sheathe his rare cannibal of a sword. This, of course, would be after a glorious victory.

He'd mesmerize the loony and deranged governor to death.

With the endorsement of his appearance to favor him, this victory, if at all necessary, would end with the samurai in black taking the child without mortal injury. No cuts on his arms, back, and neck this time, nor any deep chinks on the expensive light armor under his silken garment.

He worried not about his feet for they had been an abomination in their own right; covered well under specially made sox and a worn-down geta, which kept his kimono from touching all the muck on which he trampled.

He had this one goal; snatch that damn kid away from the Monster of the North; a man known for seizing the peasant children of his own farmers. The child was headed to a Bokou to learn to read and write. His father had applied for and got him accepted to the Bokou and paid for the license fair and square. But the Lord of Lands wanted the money, which had been saved from two generations and buried somewhere in the farmland.

They sent two samurai; one to search the property and one to interrogate the peasants. When the family played dumb, they kidnapped the son. The mother pleaded with the samurai, who killed her by accident. In the Isles, peasant blood wasn't considered accidental once spilled by a samurai dispatching his duties; not to the samurai in black.

So, this was his sole task. It would be simple. It would send a clear message about the new system which would soon arrive. It was sanctioned – though the governor would never know by what accursed authority. He couldn't know. It would mean bloody treachery and a bit of that good old sweet civil war that no one likes if his ultimate source of power was discovered.

He needed to extract the little snot-nosed boy, bring him back home in the southern end of the Isles – that was it. But would it be that easy? The gates were right before him. All he had to do was enter.

Seven days had passed since the samurai in black had fed his hoggish crows – they grew antsy, eyeing his every step below. Ordering him to act with occasional venom filled caws here and there. For a moment he stared at the gate, then he looked back – caws filled the air.

He stopped short.

The samurai in black thought of his last crusade in the Northwood. He remembered how much of a rigorous and protracted mission it had been. He'd lifted every rock, toppled every tent, tracked down every campfire, to find the dreaded General Yakushima.

He'd searched night and day for the opportunistic miscreant to no avail. He went without food for three days drawing close to death; he thought he'd seen The Relic. The fertile soil under his feet had beckoned him to enter it on the fourth. When he was about to give up and double back to sniff out a new track, it was the father of the little bedwetter, which he'd been sent to rescue, who had altered his destiny forever.

The old farmer was shivering in the frigid wind, his thin peasant clothes seeming like they'd served as a nest for the mating season of moths and worms. With tears rolling down his wrinkled face, an eager Mr. Minamoto bowed before the samurai in black whom he'd run into many times before as Mikasa Yamakazi and sent him toward the general's hiding place.

The fierce battle between the two combatants was short, but the samurai in black prevailed over General Yakushima. And as promised, Emperor Yamamomo had rid the land of another cruel monster – though the speech on record had been about brutal creatures who roamed the village exterior terrorizing the provincial and agrarian serfs.

Mikasa Yamakazi, the samurai in black, had saved that man's name in his heart, mind, and soul, but never revisited the name for a time. It was not until that name, the name of a man for which he owed his glory, came upon a secret list, that it would come back to him.

He'd faced and brought to heel countless heedless men – more than his memory could muster up a decent count. But never had he been tasked with taking down a governor. They were considered beyond reproach in the empire. In his days, he'd been stared at by strongmen and looked back with his own cold, brown sets, before tearing them down with his trusty sword. On this grimy day, he'd have to do the same to one whom the villagers perceived to be an unconquerable force.

Working solely for the O.C.I. at Palace Rose would be an honorable departure from the monotony of Imperial Guardian duties. It should be a noble step forward – worthy of his lineage considering he'd been an Unbound Samurai for so long.

Though with this new task, it could end up sending him towards the scorching gates of Hades. If by the favors of fortune, or an act of a god, he'd escape its fiery grip, he figured a part of him would remain down there regardless of any intervention on his behalf.

Mikasa shut his eyes and inhaled a deep cold breath.

He pushed the thick metal gates. Its rusty hinges creaked and flung bits of red metallic flakes, which fell with reluctance on his black leathers. There went the element of surprise.

No need for catlike behavior thought Mikasa. He'd figured that day had no violent destiny written within it. They'd see who he was and hand the little piss-pants over to him and he'd deliver the child to his faithful friend in the southern end of the Isles.

He pushed the vulgar gate open all the way, and it creaked louder, releasing a sheep's bawl. Once through the stained barrier, his eyes landed on Governor Hirohito, sitting on his marble porch, a boy next to him, two Dandy Destroyers standing at the entry to the manor, armed for doomsday, as if by some cosmic foresight, he'd been expecting Mikasa's coming.

Mikasa's action would've been unexpected; a scandalous torpedo to long-held etiquette among those of noble birth.

Unknown men of his cast; Samurai 9th Class, were forbidden from entering the orbit of a Governor with arms in hand; this was a frail, yet well-known, effort to take the bite out the possibility of betrayal. An attempt that has, up until that nebulous moment with some unknown samurai in black, worked very well among the samurai ranks, who were honor bound to the land from which they hailed, lived and died from.

Who in all the dark pits of hades dared to walk past Hirohito's gates, a governor? Who were this crazy samurai who'd been willing to have his village of birth arrested and half of his compatriots executed or banished from the province? Hirohito wasn't pleased with the trespass...nay the suicide attempt on his beautiful expansive manor.

There must've been a death amongst the gods...

Two sets of eyes locked; governor and samurai, one cold and one lukewarm, one valiant and one determined. Mikasa couldn't see his future, but he wagered it would be a great one either way.

The fruits of his madness would either pay off at that moment; being respected for having the gall to make such a bold move alone – or it would end up leaving him with a head which would become less of its...once upon a time...comfortable shoulder.

TWO

Osaka has Fallen

In the Kansai Region on the month of the Ram...

A TERRIFYING new disaster had transgressed the people. It was a devastating butchery of a recovering empire's spirit. Confusion would rob the masses of what was left of their painful existence. Rolling panic trampled the cityscape – Osaka had fallen. Fallen to the Devil's Terrible Twin.

The desperation of a race had morphed into a deranged contagion. It was as the worst plague imaginable, spreading anguish throughout the realm. It reached out like heedless hemlock petals, to poison all remaining hope, and stirred up terror-filled nights with wild abandon.

The Brotherhood of the House of the True Religion was swamped with demands for the reincarnation of their dead relatives, with requests that the bodies be buried immediately. Lord Hayato Kojima dreamt of past days.

This is only the beginning of the Saduat Crusade. I just feel it, and not even an emperor can tell me otherwise. This has got to be their work. But if I even suggest such a silly notion, even though I know with all my conviction that it must be true, I'd probably sit in the Pearl Tower until I draw my last breath.

A crusade filled with much hellish intent it was. Also, a campaign as deadly as it was faceless. But whoever had brought it to the doors of a weakened empire had gone for the jugular. This was their imperial death rattle. Right when Hayato was about to make great leaps in life.

While they sat as helpless babes, paralyzed by the turmoil around them, this unknown enemy seized the moment to approach from the void and ravage them. Refuge has become a fleeting dream for the millions they left behind. Oh god, that's us. We're left here anticipating the terrible pain of a gruesome death. It's not fair. It's just not fair. Oh, how it would be a sweet kiss on the cheek, this thing they call death. In contrast to what awaits us all, the survivors of one of the worst atrocities in the history of mankind... it would be a tender mercy.

Lord Hayato Kojima had a front-row seat to the apocalypse. An appalling end to his world would come from beneath his weary feet. A flood of tears fled down his pale cheeks. He'd wept on only two occasions in his long years.

The first was as a boy when his father's head sat on a wooden plank. Delivered to Taeko, his weeping and broken mother, who offered him little comfort for the ordeal. Soon after, chagrin had sent her on an early journey to hell. He did recover from the loss and thought the experience served him well. What didn't kill my spirit set it ablaze, he'd repeat. The wise, comforting words of his deceased father still flowed from his tongue as a diplomat.

As a young man, he depended on the kindness of the Royal Court of Osaka. A petty and fiendish lot they were, with their shameless display of affluence, runaway Florentine decadence, and a fierce superiority complex. No decent member on the R.C.O. had any personal pledge to the Kojima's. But still, they held their hands out in support.

For a time, not even his beloved cousin and confidant, Lord Yuma, could console his broken sole. Hayato had wanted to move in with a Kojima, but the Osaka Royals tried to mold him as their new work of art.

He often felt like a misbehaving house pet under their care and guidance. He'd buried all the traumas of his former self into a deep chasm. And existed as all the orphans who came before him in his country; forever a transfigured being and an incessant cynic.

Those were Hayato's formative days – which he was happy to put behind him. Those were the days when war and reprisal tore his country apart. When brothers lifted their swords against their own blood. When rivers had flowed as hot red as fresh-plucked tulips. When every able body who could speak had to choose a side. And if they'd made the wrong one, coldhearted retribution awaited them in the darkest nooks of the land.

Vicious denizens of the empire found ever more creative and treacherous ways to defeat their bitter rivals. In those days, natural death was always embraced – death before dishonor was echoed throughout the empire.

The bloodletting had a brief crescendo towards the middle of the horror – the violence seeped into the halls of Palace Rose. But in the end, peace conquered discord. And power balanced between the imperial capital and the great halls of Edo. The waters were safe for drinking. And forgiveness was plentiful. The Emperor was God Almighty, the Shogun was his wench...on paper, and the Prime Minister administered part of their business affairs as well as most of the people's.

That era of harmony had ended with one ferocious act of terror. A scar which would take generations to heal. And looking at the destruction in front of him during the twilight of his years, Hayato was facing a bitter-sweet decision.

A decision looming over the heads of every citizen; young, old, rich, poor, royal, and commoners. An itch he had to either allow to fester or scratch until a wound appeared. One which he thought he'd never encounter in this world again:

Wage war or bow down!

THREE

Ruler of the North

IT HAD been decades since someone gambled at challenging Hirohito's authority. As Lord of the Land, he'd broken in his power, reigning in succession through despotic lenses, from a long line of virile Jadesmen. Ruler of the North Jade Isles, Governor Hirohito would be damned by the gods if some unfamiliar, master-free, samurai would become the first one ever to live over half an hour beyond crossing his domain armed for warfare.

Those who tested their ephemeral nature had met the bittersweet end of cold steel and loved it. Those who fared well met their finale with a swift introduction to chamber propelled lead. They'd protested honorably. They'd fought mightily. They'd resisted voraciously. They all rested in peace.

The matter at hand, the grand prize of sorts – the peasant boy – not being such a special one was beside the point to Hirohito. So, what he didn't hail from a wealthy family in the Far North Territories, or the Northwood, as peasants called it. He didn't piss out rum punch in the stead of urine. He didn't shit out gold from his rear end, nor was he a mystical luck charm, like the beautiful Sacred Children of the South; elusive, green-skinned little critters for which men will pay a god's ransom.

The boy didn't make much of a contender in Hirohito's late-night Battle of the Boys games, which involved boys twice the kid's size – often curling up into a ball instead, being pummeled into submission until an adult stopped the bout. Hirohito saw the lad he as property, which was more than enough for the Isles.

Jade Isles villagers had told tall tales of a lone shadowy crusader roaming the empire freeing peasants from their evil overlords – breaking the chains of nobility off their necks. They loved to tell these tales, the peasants. It was a secret wish begging to be fulfilled. It was their anchor of hope.

A bounty had reached the wages of three-hundred samurai for a year. He was no longer a story, he was an idea. Hirohito had impaled more than a few merchants, entertainers, and farmers, throwing caution at the idea. But for all his precautions, the idea still reached his doorstep.

As the unknown samurai approached, Hirohito held out his hand. This gesture seemed to halt the advances of his death-dealing little boys known as Dandy Destroyers.

The Dandy Destroyers were otherworldly. The grotesque products of an out of control selective breeding program, Dandies feared nothing but their creators, whom they called Papa. They were tall and wide. They were menacing and firm. They were colossal. They weren't just fearless, they'd been well-trained in the combative arts; each Dandy wrapped in armor millimeters thick.

Their eyes settled on the dark horizon, occasionally venturing on Mikasa's silhouette with his lamentable deformity.

"Please," said Hirohito, "let him there speak. Then I'll allow you the sweet pleasure of killing him for all this trespassing he does."

He turned back to the samurai. "Now, what brings you to this here place, old traitorous thing?"

A double chin bolstered Hirohito's round face. In his mid-forties and gout-ridden, he seemed to be in slight pain. The victim of arthritis, no doubt. His pale skin, a ghostly presence on the porch, was covered in fine oils. Plump with a stomach pushing over like a rice sack and extra fat hung under his double chin.

He sat upright.

His yellow cape with white furry trimmings reached for the floor. His thief's crest, on his fat neck, with its off-yellow hue accented by lavender doves, had turned out fuzzier with age. Shiny and black boots adorned his stately feet. A long silver beard, which refused to be tamed by a barber's razor, stretched to his bellybutton, sitting below his thick food-stained mustache.

"You," Mikasa shouted at Hirohito, "of all people should know exactly what I'm here for. What you've done has reached the ears of fate. And you've been found wanting."

"Was that supposed to make me quake in my boots, old man?" Hirohito rolled his eyes then scoffed at him. "This isn't your place of power, not likely to be. All I see is things that belong to me, Hirohito, Governor of the North. I repeat it, because you must not know who I am. Hirohito, Governor of the North Jade Isles!"

Mikasa bowed, which was quickly taken to be a taunt by Hirohito who turned his back to him as he stood upright.

The samurai in black stepped closer to the manor. "One need not have a fear of death for it to work its invisible magic. It doesn't operate that way. It's not fear that kills you. It's the raw pressure of steel rupturing what keeps you drawing breath, my friend. That...is what kills."

Hirohito balked at the thought as he curled his lips. With sixteen of his most talented killers – men who'd follow him to the fiery gates of the void – standing between him and Mikasa, he released an ominous cackle, "Haaa... haaa.... haaaa..." which forced a flock of geese to takeoff in every cardinal direction.

"When these here menfolk are done with you, old traitor of a man," shouted a red-faced Hirohito with tightly clenched fists. "I'll have my big clan come down here and dump a whole lot a shit on your dead dem self. So much of it will be there, old coonie. Seen it many times in my days. Even took to doing it too on special occasions. The body disappears under it all. Imagine that. That is, all the while that ugly...severed...head of yours watches it all from a few feet away. You should've done like the geese and fly off rebel."

The commotion woke the rest of the house. Lamp lights came flickering on through the top floors, throwing odd shadows of women and little children who peered out their windows to get a glimpse of the action. A few overly inquisitive boys came to the front door, with their female cohorts by their side or giggling behind them. One of Hirohito's Dandy Destroyers sent them running back upstairs with a dull blank stare.

Mikasa swallowed a burning desire to mock the governor's northern backwoods dialect, with its heavy inflection on the T's and S's, its mispronunciation of simple terms, and an uptick here and there of volume to accentuate his vocal cord's delivery of their expression of disdain.

A short Dandy, about no older than sixteen, who stood close to Hirohito rejoined the formation upon locking the front door.

"They say," said the short Dandy who looked skyward, "he supposed to kill so many of us samurais everywhere he goes... he got crows follow'n him round from the sky and all."

"I see no crows, Jintao," said Hirohito. "Do you?"

"No, Papa."

"Then, shut up about the damn crows!"

"Yes, Papa."

"And you're not only samurai," said Hirohito. "You're my Dandy Destroyers, remember that. You're my little monsters."

"But what should we do if the crows are real..." the short Dandy was about to continue, but before he finished his sentence, a large group of cawing crows arrived from behind the manor, blanketing the roof, their skinny talons ticking and tacking on the tin-lined roof in a chaotic symphony.

Scratch that, the group of crows wasn't large, it wasn't exactly what you'd call a damn group. It was an intrusion. A group is a what one invited into one's home. This was a clusterfuck, a countless horde of home invading, beady-eyed, pooping, disrespectful, menacing, loud, greedy, funky smelling, dark-winged little sons of bitches.

They eat everything – if corporeal versions of repugnant copulated with regurgitate, you'd get these special brood of Jungle Crows the samurai in black had trained; they were the definition of deplorables.

"Get some slingshots," shouted Hirohito. "Find the alpha male and take it out, then the out of here fast."

"You'll only piss them off," said the samurai in black. "Especially if you miss, because they rarely miss when they retaliate. And it can be an eye, an ear or the jugular artery – they don't care. Flesh is flesh. These aren't regular crows. Except for the part where I said that flesh is flesh. That still remains the same for all crows."

Hirohito reached in his pocket, lit a brown sheet of rolled-up tobacco, which he casually balanced between his fat fingers, releasing a hazy cloud as sullied ash fell on the boy's head. He gazed back at Mikasa from the corner of his left eye and shuddered.

It was happening. It was happening to him, the most powerful governor in the region. He refused to fall to a wanderer. He was too high a pillar of the aristocracy, a cornerstone of the empire, for that to happen. The Shogun wouldn't let it happen to him, would he?

Mikasa said nothing as he strode forward methodically, eyes locked on all of the little monsters, scanning them for weaknesses. The sky cracked loose a barrage of thunder, and thick beads of rain bounced off him, which made his kimono assume a more nocturnal shade.

His hypnotic war paint stretched down his face, more frightening than when he'd arrived. His cloak fluttered. The wind howled.

Then Hirohito saw it...

The wraithlike aberration which reached out towards him from the samurai in black's kimono absolutely astonished him. The meddlesome samurai's strange jaggedness, a telltale omen he was indeed the crusader, made Hirohito grip his chest. He lowered his head for a moment, his eyes traveled at the little brown-eyed boy sitting between his legs, who wept like he'd just been spanked. He swiped ashes off the boy's head. The boy looked up. Hirohito pursed his lips as if to cast a curse on the child.

Wretched peasant with nothing to piss in. All this fanfare for you? But why? Thought Hirohito.

Mikasa stepped to his left for a better view. When he made eye contact with the child, Mikasa's body tightened. His confirmation was complete – he'd reached the point of no return. There was no way he was leaving this place without the child. Either they were going to hand the boy to him, or he'd have to slaughter them all like fattened pigs. There would be no bargaining. If they could block him, by some act of fate, they'd have to slay him right where he stood. Mikasa braced himself for whatever, the crows would take care of the rest.

FOUR

Know Your Place

WHAT A mess," Lord Hayato Kojima said to one of his guardsmen, to which the guardsman nodded under his gleaming, reinforced, brass armor, an armor which served as both a barrier and a symbol of hope for Hayato.

His guardians stood as pillars, unmoved by the ruins around them. Hayato shut his eyes tight and wished himself in their shoes. He hoped for a fool's bliss. He wanted to be endowed with their false sense of courage.

For decades, he'd never needed no more than two personal royal guardsmen – two brawny men he trusted with his family's secure existence.

On that day, it couldn't have been clearer that even with sixty of them, he didn't feel as safe as he'd like to be. Death could vulture pluck him from the sweet flesh he'd grown so accustomed to. It would steal him away from the very ground upon which he stood. It would snatch him from within the comforts of his palatial living and trap him in it while he roasted. It would tear him away from the one thing he'd held most dear. It would do to him what it did to the countless victims of the calamity assaulting his drenched brown eyes but with double the fury.

Hayato was royalty, and in this land, it seemed, they were the new Greegarian Omens.

Why didn't they just kill all of us and get it over with? What's the point of all this suffering? Glory, honor, or are they just cruel bastards? Are men even capable of such a thing as this? he thought.

It was Lord Taketa, the Imperial Accountant, who'd determined the goners as too numerous. "No need to count and identify them," he'd said. And Hayato fought in vain to have this idiotic proclamation overturned. A declaration which was used before in significant calamities, with terrible fallouts for their administrators.

Burying all of them in a smoldering heap was the last thing I'd expected to come from the throne. This will rob so many families of a traditional funeral, thought Hayato,

It was not his decision to make. If he were in charge, he'd have given the families the chance to claim any one of the bodies in the rubble. To Hayato, it was a matter of decency, not only public health. The diplomatic blood flowing through his veins compelled him to think in such a manner; a way the rulers of the land had long abandoned.

He'd be responsible for overseeing the cleanup. And as the ranking representative of the imperial throne, he alone was said to be best suited for the awful task. Hayato and his staff were charged with calming the residents of Osaka. He had to make sure cooler heads were present in a time when rationality had packed its bags. And where necessary, protect the mourning masses from hurting themselves or rioting.

Emperor Ashiko Yamamomo had ordered a cadre of priests. They'd bless the dead and pray for them, but Hayato still believed more could have been done. The Fellowship of the House of the True Religion demanded burials for the departed within a day. It was an archaic and dying custom the old corps of nobles clung to.

If I had the authority, I'd put a stop to all this nonsense. A few legions here and there and bang, Emperor Hayato, he thought.

Sedition would come at a hefty price. Sixteen legions of the Imperial Army's best troops stood between Palace Rose's nine-hundred acres and anyone who had the gusto to storm it. They reminded Hayato of the uphill battle necessary to commit. Most of the big coups in the past ended as massive failures, resulting in self-imposed exile for the cunning conspirators. Those who weren't so lucky, or prescient, often discovered beastly confinement, followed by an absent head.

Hayato's rage was cracking through his patience. He'd been observing workers toss charred corpses into sixteen mass graves for hours. The men and women toiled like an army of bipedal ants under the malodorous remains and scorching heat. This sort of work was beneath him – it was humiliating. Don't they remember who the hell he is at Palace Rose anymore?

It was an undeserved smack in the face of a great man. To be brought down to the level of those common beasts peaked his already high blood pressure. He thought himself destined for a higher purpose than chaperoning bawling wenches.

But was he? A man too weak to commit a simple coup?

Hayato refocused his gaze away from the Gulf of bodies in front of him. To his right, in the distance, a dark, solemn figure walked barefoot through the ashes, his feet kicking waves of the dusty debris as he went forward. The unfortunate thing had drooped shoulders. Defeated and anxious, he had his head slumped as tears rolled off his chest. It looked as if he'd throw himself into the pile with the rest at any moment. He dragged his feet, pulling his body through the lots of mourners near the pileup. Dried up tears, mixed with ashes on his face, made him appear distorted and ludicrous.

Two more images caught Hayato's wet eyes. They were mere babies, no older than a year old, probably still suckling when they were taken. A young man struggled with two workers. He tried to dislodge the children from their hands, but they ignored him and tossed the infants on top of the heap which shot up occasional jets of methane. It was a tinderbox waiting for a fuse. The priests had asked, but Hayato refused to rush the already tired workers.

Having just seen the fight and nobody intervening, Hayato jumped from the mass of boulders from which he stood, darting past his guards, and ran towards the workers. When he was upon the working men, he spoke up loudly. "Retrieve those bodies at once!"

Every worker ignored him. One of them, a tall and bearded brute in his late teens, looked at Hayato, rolled his eyes, sighed, picked up a corpse and was about to toss it into the heap.

Hayato stopped him short. "You there. Give him those two bodies."

"Who are you, sir?"

"It doesn't matter," Hayato whispered in his ear. "I'm overseeing this shit show. Now, do as I say."

"Afraid I can't help you, mister. Got standing orders. Coming from the emperor himself. Not to say you ain't important or nothing but we ain't going to be pushed around by nobody – no matter how well they are getuped."

It was at that moment when Lord Hayato understood he was a fish among sharks. It dawned on him that he might not belong in the field after all. He couldn't fight with the infidels. Doubt in his ability weighed over his head, and his blood pressure shot up some more. The distant sky grew fuzzy.

An older woman pulled the boy by the ear. "Silly ole boy, that be his imperial emissary, his boss is the emperor. Best do what this chap says now. Pardon him his ignorance, my Lord," she said and bowed to Hayato.

The worker bee made a quick bowing gesture after the old woman, apologized, and dove feet first into the hole to retrieve the corpses. He fished out a few as if he'd been shopping and showed them to the boy, who shook his head to disapprove. Then he found the twins and tossed them up. A rope was thrown down to allow him back to the level of the living.

The fearless boy who'd fought for the corpses, still whimpering, wiped ashes from his face and looked up at Lord Hayato, who stood with his head fixed at the smoke and ash-filled sky. When he was handed the pallid bodies, he turned to Hayato again. He refused to leave without acknowledgment.

Why is he still here? Did I not just give him what he wanted? What is he expecting from me? A pat on the back? A hug? That would be unthinkable. And besides, I just did the snot-nosed kid a huge favor – something one in a million. Get away from me, you dirty wretch.

Hayato sensed something hard boiling in his belly; an awkwardness in his bones. His throat rejected the spit building up in his mouth. He'd tried harder to swallow. It refused to go down, so he spat. He felt different in his clothes – as if they'd implored him to strip down right then and there. With his silver tongue, he'd talked his way out of many troublesome situations before. But this one mystified him in ways he couldn't deal with. What does a nobleman say to a commoner in times like this?

He turned to the child, never making eye contact. "Go on, take them away. I'll suffer the consequences. And don't you go telling anyone important who let you have them, or I will take them back, you hear? Matter of fact. This didn't' happen at all."

The kid smiled. "Thank you, sir," he whispered as he wiped tears from his eyes and took the two younglings into his arms.

The bodies were still limp, so he carried them as if they'd only been asleep. Hayato turned to see loads of ash falling off the infant frames as the boy brought them home. He thought of all the families who'd have to spend the night without loved ones. Another wave of tears tried to break away, but he held them back.

As the rest of his guard detail caught up, he walked to his pile of boulders to finish supervising. It was these small acts of kindness that would rally the people behind the emperor. They were strategic moves. He began believing perhaps he was the best-suited man for the task. No one on the Imperial High Council would humble themselves as he did to serve the people. They were busy bickering over allowances and other mundane things. The kind of stuff the average man could only dream of. And as they rested their heads on soft pillows, thousands of survivors would still be weeping throughout the night.

The blaze had gutted the city. It looked like a giant crab had latched onto Osaka and took a giant bite into it; all in a single hour. Black, brown, and silver ash had flooded the atmosphere, blocking out half the sun. Each speck seemed to defy the brisk western wind. It was noon when the heat had become unbearable for Lord Hayato. Even under the shade of an umbrella, he'd perspired like a wild boar.

As the sun shuffled itself towards the horizon, he felt relief, but the wails of grieving widows and mothers grew to a feverish pitch. The cacophony of skirmishes breaking out in the remaining water holes irritated Hayato.

Every third tent had a Brotherhood priest teaching the true religion instead of the way of Shinto. Their prophets had promised reanimation for their deceased loved ones and with no law and order, who'd be there to stop them from proselytizing their poison to a group of people seeking spiritual comfort?

Word came quickly to Hayato from Palace Rose that a few squadrons were ambushed by desperate hordes of peasants and stripped of everything, ten soldiers were killed. With bandits and True Religion zealots now running every corner of Osaka, the Imperial Army was forced to head toward Osaka to take over the city.

Obesity didn't help Hayato either. As the workers carried on in the outdoor inferno, as if immune, dragging what they couldn't lift, Hayato watched them kicking them into one of the twenty-foot holes.

The stink of burnt flesh had robbed the air of all its natural fishy odor, which often came from Osaka Bay each morning and would often stick around till late at night.

Earlier in the day, Emperor Yamamomo had spoken to his people in-person – breaking centuries of written royal tradition. He was headed for Palace Rose under heavy security, clogging one street after another as they proceeded through a dying Osaka.

Hayato had watched a phalanx of royal bodyguards standing in his inner circle. Sixty samurai in the next ring. And over six hundred infantrymen surrounding them, creating a cocoon of sorts. Lord Hayato sensed the emperor would be in a terrible mood that evening. He'd try his best to miss the upcoming High Council meeting.

Yamamomo's fuming, but resolute speech had rallied the people around a single cause; instant justice. Justice in a can. He'd reach out and thrash those responsible with this singular purpose. Their call to arms had emboldened him more than he'd ever been since taking the throne. Whose task it would be to mete out this justice – nobody had a clue. Not the emperor, his ministers, or even the great Lord Hayato. They only knew it wouldn't stop until their cup overflowed. This he promised with ravenous resolve.

Most of the dead had passed in their sleep, poisoned from wild noxious plumes of smoke. It wasn't unheard, just very unique. It had inundating the warm nighttime breeze. It snuck in on its easy targets using the same winds its progeny, the ashes, had defied. The unlucky few who faced the blaze while still conscious had screamed in bloody agony. Their death spasms rocked the spines of every observer – who were unable to lend them a helping hand.

As the blaze consumed their bodies, they ran like rabid animals into the streets - setting more homes on fire. And those who came to their rescue were met by a formidable, unstoppable force which lit the city in a bright green hue. It consumed quite a few of the rescuers before running out of combustible material.

The Security Council had determined, through a quick scientific inquiry, that an unidentified substance was the main culprit. One which had been resting on the ground in wait for the perfect opportunity. They were as embers jumping from a dying flame onto a pool of hot grease.

That evening, rumors had run amuck throughout Palace Rose. What was this terrible magic that burned as bright as the sun yet was as green as a pasture? Was it indeed sorcery or was this the act of a cruel new science? Nobody knew if the ground would ever be safe to walk again either in Osaka or anywhere in the empire.

Security doubled at all government places after official word came in accusing, among others, the lethal Kamari Clan in the south – a group of bandit thieves who'd been all but annihilated during the Crimson Massacres.

Before the night fell, Lord Hayato felt a tap on his shoulder. He'd been recalled to Palace Rose. The emperor's squad of top consultants would be waiting to counsel him. But Hayato would have to console his master. It was going to be a long evening. At the end of it, someone might have to pay for either falling asleep on the enemy or for sheer incompetence.

A mission you took with success on the line

Knowing your place in this world in due time

Foreseeable failure festering your mind

Keep all spirits fed and you will be fine

Though powered by love you may still be frail

Amulets and rings prevent you from fail

Follow the demons along the long trail

After the end of it all, you may tell your tale

-The Great Oracle, Canto Five

FIVE

Danger Road

AS THE six stallions raced down the dark road, tossing thick mud on arbitrary palm trees, Yuma wanted to draw the curtains to take a quick look outside. He wanted to see if the majestic world he'd helped built was still out there.

Of course, it still exists. But is it still the same. This is silly. I'm not a civilian. Nobody would dare try to. Or at the least if they did, they'd have to earn it, he thought.

Earlier, his thoughts had rested solely on his family, particularly on his wife, Markuro. The very touch of her skin that morning had beckoned him to stay in bed.

Duty called, and so here I am, on a coach ride on a hellish road to Palace Rose.

She'd cooked eggs that morning, his favorite, but his breakfast tasted bland in his mouth. The madness around him had robbed him of all the small joys he'd once had in life. General Yuma had warned the High Council that there was a growing threat in Japan, though he refused to name it, they admonished him. Yuma wasn't alone in sensing the impending doom for his ancient empire. There was way too much quiet before the storm, so to speak, and Hayato had joined in being cautious and watchful, but it still wasn't enough.

The world wouldn't have to change for Yuma to hate the decisions ahead. The empire would be in upheaval whether he liked it or not. If it weren't the brewing clan politics between the Kojima and Fujita family, it would be the disaster. He took his focus off the dirt road, which would potentially be filled with outlaws. The words of his aide were slowly coming to his forebrain as he focused back on the real world again.

"The Outpost in Osaka," said Wataru Kojima, "didn't report at eight pm." Wataru, a young blond eyed dark-haired lieutenant, had been Yuma's assistant for years.

"And what was done about it," asked General Yuma.

"The Colonel of the First Brigade," said Wataru who flipped through parchments to search for the orders, "he was sent out to check on the Outpost from Kyoto."

"And..."

"The colonel never returned. When he didn't return to give a report, a Lieutenant Minamoto was sent to look for him, who didn't return either, at nine forty-five pm. At ten o'clock pm, the Commander of the Guards at Barracks ordered general quarters due to a report of smoke in the general area."

"What was the cause of the smoke?" asked Yuma leaning over to look at the document.

"A group of survivors reported to a police dispatch office, who then reported to the Edo Office of Intelligence about the fire in Edo. They still don't know what caused the fire. They said the city just started burning all at once."

"Nonsense!"

"It's being called an act of terror, though the justice ministry wants you to use the terms civilian, arson, accident and to keep any words involving warfare out of the conversation.

"What else," he asked Wataru, "did they tell you about Osaka?"

"The city is still burning," said Wataru. "The number of homes and lives lost can be very massive."

"It means, Emperor Yamamomo will be in a terrible mood. Whoever has this new weapon means business. We need to get the High Council together and hide the Administration. They always go for the bureaucrats first. They must leave town with a large force just in case they're needed later."

Yuma thought of peeking outside again. This mustn't be happening. A great fire, again. Not in his homeland of Japan. This new calamity had forced him to take a perilous route even peasants abandoned at the crack of dawn, but it was fast. The irony lied in the fact Yuma knew he'd be safe in going down this road that day since no one would dare take it now on such a day of mourning.

For an old man, his sight had stood the test of time. No one would sneak up on him from the woods. How absurd is my strategy? And being that I'm a war strategist and a general, shouldn't I know better than to take this kind of risk. But wait a minute. This is the best kind of ruse. I just know it'll work. And just in case it doesn't, still got four shots in this gun and my field officer's sword. They can come get me, but them bastards got to earn it.

Yuma reached his hand out to pull the curtain.

"Sir, that isn't a good idea," said Wataru.

"I dictate," he replied. "You take notes. We'll be fine."

"It's just that we're in bandit territory and not heavily armed as you request ."

"If I can't look outside my own damn curtains in my own damn coach, then by the gods be damned, what have we come to?"

"I understand, sir," said Wataru. "But these aren't the regular times. This is a national emergency. We need you more than anybody in the Empire of Japan right now. No time for you of all people to take risks, General Yuma."

"You ordering me around, young man?"

"Yes, sir. Absolutely!"

Yuma turned his head and lifted the first smile his cheeks had seen in weeks.

"This is why I hired this one. The sacks hanging on him are huge. Sure going to make something bang here in this Army of mine, boy. I can smell it all in the air."

Just then, a commotion erupted outside the coach as it sped up. Yuma grabbed his seat and dared not look outside. It became bumpy.

A crunchy feeling beneath him followed by the agonizing moans of people, then gunshots by the hundreds.

"Bandits," shouted Wataru.

Yuma pulled Wataru down to the floor, and both men were covered by the two guards who sat across them as the barrage of bullets flew over them.

The sound of the coach's old wood and iron beneath him clacking under the pressure of the hairpin turn unsettled Jammu's stomach. As Yuma stood and then sat, Wataru took a quick look outside and saw the thick treelined had disappeared and regained his confidence they'd make it to Palace Rose.

"The plan should've worked," said Yuma.

"I marked the outside," said Wataru, "As you instructed. It looked like we've dropped off supplies and that the coach was headed to pick up a prisoner. That there was nobody on it. The bandits had absolutely no reason to attack it. Why would they attack something with nothing on it?"

"I have no idea," said Yuma.

"To make a statement," said Yuma. "Everybody's out to make a statement these days."

"Well then it's about time we rein them back in," said Wataru."

"Your words are like a sweet lullaby, said Yuma. "Now listen closely. I want you to write an order right now. The order is to be saved in the Emergency Directory the moment I reach Palace Rose, and it cannot be executed until the emperor or I am either incapacitated or dead. If one or both of those combinations occur, it means the empire is at peril."

"Is the Shogun to be notified of this military declaration?"

"It's not a samurai related declaration," Yuma shouted. "It's purely military, so, no. I'm moving military troops not his samurai. He may be a part of the problem, anyway. The order goes no further than this coach and my adjutant, General Goro Mayako. If the Privy signs it, end of conversation."

"And if he doesn't?"

"I'll take it to the Security Council for consent, but we won't have to get to that."

"There's one more thing, General.

"Saving the best for last, as usual, Wataru?"

"As usual. It seems the Kamari Clan are being tossed in as a possible suspect from a credible source. Lord Yamaguchi is tight-lipped about the source."

"As if he's got any credible sources left. Probably some hocked up on opium whores down in Gobbler's Point – do anything for their next score. That's not a source, that's a desperado. But just in case, have the O.C.I. follow up on this so-called source and get back to me before the HC meets. Anything else I need to know was just feet from the gates, Wataru."

"Yes, sir. Emperor Yamamomo is making many of the Lords perform some awkward ancient rituals, so be prepared to do some of them too. Are you up to date with your ancient gods and goddesses?"

"Do I? I practically own a museum in my Chamber of Solitude. Now, what is it that he's been asking that you consider awkward?"

"I'm barred from speaking of what I've seen in the Palace, lest I have my tongue removed. You'll have to see yourself, sir. The only thing I can tell you is to expect to have your clothes replaced once you enter Palace Rose. You'll be given clothes issued by the Palace Guards."

It wasn't enough that the world outside the palace was tearing itself apart, but Yuma had to piece together an encapsulated Emperor as well. His master would no doubt be in shambles. The young man had the throne for just under a decade before the most significant tragedy in Japanese history sat right on his lap.

The coach slowed, he knew where he was – in the hands of safety. The back gates slid open, he was allowed into Palace Rose by forty-four royal guards. Yuma could always pick up the aromatics of the red roses in the mornings, which is when the scents are the strongest, at gates of Palace Rose, for which it got its namesake. Yuma closed his eyes and prayed to Ansolis hoping the sun would come around tomorrow and that his world was not at its end.

SIX

No More Debating

THE TALL one, a surprisingly young man, standing above six feet, descended the stairs leading to Mikasa. He was nonchalant. He was poised. He was ready to die.

The little of Mikasa's face that was visible under the mask seemed unmoved by the young man's presence. Fifteen more stood behind him, on the porch, circling Hirohito, and the boy. The sky continued to blanket what was left of the sun.

The tall one cocked an eyebrow at Mikasa. "What will be your last words, old coonie? I want to tell your family this when we give them your head. The body, as my master said, will stay here next to the outhouse."

The tall one wore the yellow thief's crest on his helmet – the crest of the Jades – the one and only clan with a history of abandoning the empire in times of trouble. They'd never been wholly conquered through hundreds of wars but remained a part of the empire as a means for their own social stability. A rebellious lot, they were known for their terrible command of even basic Japanese. The tall one only contributed to this label.

His thick black armor shone even without much sunlight. Mikasa saw part of his image against the shield, and a royal crest on it, but this did not stir him. The sun eased down the horizon unnoticed, further blanketing the sky with darkness.

"That won't be necessary," Mikasa replied with cold eyes. "It's you who won't be going back home to your family if you test me, boy. And you're a prince and a samurai. That's so cliché. You'll certainly die on this day if you take out a blade."

They broke out in a mad and muffled bout of laughter under their yellow masks. Hirohito snapped his fingers. The remaining Dandy Destroyers quickly filed down the steps, each of their getas clicking loud as they went.

They were quick to surround him. Their cynical humming, which sounded like a pagan prayer ritual, echoed around Mikasa, who pursed his lips. Once the gang of little killers unsheathed their katanas, Mikasa sighed heavily.

"Foolish children are what you are," he shouted. "I came here for the boy and only the boy. Not to fight all of you. Give him to me. I'll be on my way. Your lives will be spared."

"We," said a young samurai, "don't know what you're talking about. We don't see anything belonging to you, do we?" he asked his brothers. He stood behind the behemoth in black, who faced Mikasa. They all shrugged as Mikasa awkwardly tilted his body to make eye contact with the heavily armed young man. He was not a day over twenty. He carried two white side swords crossed behind him, a black-handled sickle and a short red ax.

"What about this?" asked Mikasa. "Found after he went missing a while back. After his family was warned by your men. About crop quotas in the south end of the isles. Doesn't it strike you as familiar?"

He raised a torn shred of a cheap rubber shoe. The type that most peasants wore. The black-haired boy sitting between Hirohito looked at his rubber shoes and saw a missing piece in the same shape like the one in the hands of the samurai.

Hirohito shoved the beige-skinned boy's head between his legs and squeezed. Mikasa's jaw expanded as he ground his teeth. The wind whistled and howled again, sending Mikasa's ebony, shoulder-length hair flapping skyward.

A well-spoken samurai replied for Hirohito. "We have so many boys. They're here for the governor. To do with as he please. And what does it matter now? In a few seconds, you won't be able to speak, let alone take anyone south with you, old coonie."

Mikasa palmed his most extended katana. "Not this one boy. He's no one's property. Neither governor, prince, emperor, or shogun. I won't repeat it!"

"This is not your concern false samurai. You need to make final arrangements for entry to hell," shouted the well-spoken brute.

The raindrops were like bullets. His kimono weighed down. The prevailing winds couldn't move it as much anymore. He was about to fight the little monsters, and he felt terrible for them. The facts of his identity were not enough. The exploits of his shadowy self-image were too small. The mounting number of heads he'd collected, which he'd thought would have served as a deterrent, was for nigh. He shut his thoughts, filing them away in a deep crevice. Quick reaction and calculations were what's left of this affair. No more debating.

SEVEN

A Name is Everything

GENERAL YUMA walked at a fireball pace towards his office at the end of the Tokugawa Annex which was adjacent to Palace Rose. The Tokugawa Annex had a long history as the military directorial control center for the Imperial Armies.

Before he could enter his office, he was approached by a detail of six Royal Guards led by a young lord. They wore a brown and red leather, carried black shields which held the chrysanthemum rose each surrounded by a yellow burning circle.

"I assume," said Yuma, "you're here to disrobe my assistant here and me."

"It's just a precaution," said the young lord. "I had to do the same this morning, and I sleep here every night. Everyone's done it as well as my commander, Lord Ryota."

"I don't wish to become the odd goose," he replied. "Where to then?"

"Follow me," said the young lord who stepped it out with three guards.

Three Royal Guards stood behind the general and his lieutenant while the young lord and the other three lead the way to an empty room.

"You're going to watch as well?" asked Yuma?

"I'm afraid so," said the young lord.

"Now this is deplorable."

"I apologize for the inconvenience, my lord. You can change one you reach your workspace."

Yuma stripped down to his underwear. He didn't have to order his lieutenant to do the same. They changed into the brown kimono given by the palace and exited. Once he reached his office, Yuma ripped off the kimono, shoved it into a drawer, and threw his uniform back on.

The minute he sat down to review the reports, there was a knock on his door. When he opened it, lieutenant Jimmu had a young captain with him. Behind the lieutenant, a barrage of uniformed men and women flowed up and down the hallway. Chatter also filled every hall.

"Shut that damn door," Yuma ordered.

"They have every right to be concerned," said the Captain.

"Is it concern or just fear?" asked Jimmu.

"We won't get into that right now," said the Captain. "Right now, I have important information to share."

"My time is precious, Captain," said Yuma. "If it's not earth-shattering...by the gods, it better be earth-shattering."

"Well, sir," said the Captain. "It seems like you're going to be wearing more than just those four stars on your shoulders."

"The word 'war' is being thrown around too haphazardly," said Wataru.

"This is not what I'm here to speak of," said the Captain.

"I already know about the Kamari," Yuma shot back. "I was made abreast of the so-called treason by lieutenant Jimmu here."

"That is only the tip of the iceberg," said the Captain. "At the end of the day, you will get a report we're working on about an intercepted communication between twenty-one high ranking lords. We have yet to identify who these individuals are but the nature of the communications between them have us listening closely."

"What region?" asked Yuma

"The communications have no specific region. They've happened from throughout the empire, which has cause for significant concern. What's really made my office concerned about the communications is that they took place the day before and after the fire and have stopped since.

"As if they'd planned it?" asked Wataru.

Yuma had never held his tongue with his subordinates, and he figured this wasn't a good time to start. He held a stern face, stood and walked over to the captain.

"It seems," he said in a soft tone, "you've unmasked a grand conspiracy. This, you must keep within the confines of this room. Tell no one, lest you lose your tongue. Not your mother, your father, your dog, a mouse or roach, understood, captain?"

"Understood, General."

"If that's all, you're dismissed."

The captain stood at attention, saluted Yuma and exited the office. Yuma returned to his desk as Wataru headed to his small pine desk, which sat across from Yuma's oaken bureau. Yuma pulled out a quill and ink and began to jot down some notes, but he lost focus.

"Forget it," he shouted. "Get the next twit who wishes to waste my precious time," shouted at Wataru who stood. "I must prep for a meet up with an egghead in the lower bowels of the Annex later this evening."

Wataru left. He was gone for a mere second when he returned with a short man in his mid-forties who wore a commander's uniform. The Naval officer had an expectant look splashed across his face as if he'd been waiting to tell Yuma he'd visited god himself.

"This is Commander..." said Wataru.

"Commander Kaito," the middle-aged man interrupted. "I'm here to report of an uprising in Kyoto. Brigadier General Tadayo Sanosuke, Commander of the Ninety-First Brigade, has requested reinforcements numbering 1,200 men. He requests they come from the One-hundred Thirty-First Division since they're the closest major unit to Kyoto."

"Go back and tell Sanosuke his request has been denied. He'll get no more than 100 men from conscripts in the Barracks back in Kyoto, that's it."

"And the reason for this denial, sir?"

"Our troop resources heavily are needed in Osaka, in case you haven't noticed, Commander."

"Osaka's been destroyed from what I've heard. Why divert an entire Army to a city that's lost most of its population, General?"

"You've been sorely misinformed. Maybe it's because you've been away from the land too long. Osaka isn't in ruins as the rumor goes. As per General's Sanosuke's situation, does his name not mean 'one who is a survivor?' I have full faith in him. You should too since you're under his command."

"General, sir," said Kaito, "this is a serious matter. He's stated in his request that the 91st Brigade is about to be overrun by bandits at any moment."

"Then he should either live up to his birth name, die protecting his city, or quit."

"A name is only a name sir," said commander Kaito with sarcasm in his voice.

"A name is everything," said Yuma. "You must live up to it. It is all that we are given when we come into this world, and it is all that we leave with."

"I promised him I'd come back with results," Kaito furrowed his brows. "This is unacceptable."

"You will," said Yuma with a smile. "One hundred young men will accompany you all ready to die at his side. Can you ask for anything more?"

"With all due respect, sir," said Kaito as he approached Yuma's desk. "You're sending him pawns, not troops. You're sending him pawns when he needs knights. That's not reinforcements. That's a death sentence. What grudge do you hold against General Sanosuke?"

Yuma let out a substantial euphoric holler. "Haa! What an outrageous overreach!"

He turned in his seat as he laughed. He then thought of the harrowing situation which occurred on his way to Palace Rose, yet he lived up to the occasion. Why can't this so-called General Sanosuke do the same?

In the heat of battle, it is the mettle within a man that makes him either rise or fall on the sword, and a name is everything. It's about time some of the leading men in my sacred army started living up to their names and leading by example, he thought.

"Commander Kaito. You're at this moment ordered to stay here overnight at the Tokugawa Annex. You will maintain communication with General Sanosuke and keep me up to date with the situation in Kyoto every hour on the hour. If the outpost in Kyoto falls by the morning, I'll personally join you up there with a full battalion of conscripts. That's it. For now, we focus on Osaka."

"I understand your position, sir," said Kaito, "but I only do so under protest."

"Your position is noted, Kaito. Now, let me tell you something. My name Yuma means 'excellence' or 'superior,' and I had to show the enemy I meant business once or twice in my days as a young soldier rising up the ranks. Don't look at this old shell and think I'm just some quill fondler, now. When I stood on the battlefield at Wakayama, I was just eighteen years of age. It was the end of the Crimson Massacre. I'm glad," he continued, "mother never got to see the empire in this state. Her tears would flood the Sumida. We've grown weak. This generation may have actually needed a calamity like the one in Osaka as the lightning bolt to wake us up in the morning as Ansolis once did in the olden days. I wish I had the time to talk, but my duty doesn't permit me, young man. You're dismissed."

Kaito stood at attention, saluted Yuma and left the office. Yuma took off his green Army jacket, with its many medals and pennants and settled it on his chair. He'd barely rested the thing when another knock came to his door.

"Enter," said Wataru.

The guard outside his door opened the door, and a thick young man was accompanied by an elderly one who both entered at the same time. They seemed to be fighting each other for airspace–as two brothers would do for face time with their parents. Yuma recognized the elder of the two whereas Wataru recognized the younger.

Wataru rose from his desk to shake Noriko's hand.

"I didn't expect to see you here," he said to Noriko.

"Sorry, Wataru, no time for small talk this morning, I'm here on some grave business."

"I understand, Noriko."

"Mr. Tomoko. What brings you to the Annex this morning?"

"I need you to come down to the lab as soon as possible. I have some new developments about Death's Terrible Twin, you've been summoned at once."

EIGHT

Now Entering Hades

FINAL ARRANGEMENTS? And for what? Entry into hell? It's your asses that's going to roast down there, not me. Who do these fools think they're talking to? thought Mikasa, who sized up the men, looking for openings in their armor – nothing. Not an inch of leeway.

"Hell is right here," he told them with a berating stare.

His eagerly appointed executioners bobbed their heads. Mikasa didn't pay much attention to them. His eyes closed. He concentrated his strength into his sword. Cold drops of rain continued to bombard his face, trickling down his perky nose. His long black hair defied the waters. Nature had permitted it to remain dry despite the inundation. The sun continued to descend towards the horizon, unfazed by the clouds.

The samurai in black unsheathed his katana. He opened his eyes – the killers took quick steps back when they saw his unusual weapon.

"Better make a way before my blade finds one, boy. Believe me, she'll find one. Always does. More than likely through the spot where all your excrement comes forth. And judging from your appearance, which holes that is," he shrugged, "might be very hard to tell."

"Wait, boys," Hirohito screamed as he twisted his thick gray mustache, "Wait. Who are them who sent you, old coonie?"

"That," said Mikasa, "is no business of yours. You heard my demand. But you sent these men down here. Now make your decision. I'll give you a minute. After that, I'll make up your mind for you."

"Tell you what. If you can defeat just one of my Dandy Destroyers, you get this boy. What say you, old coonie? I like a good fight. It would be a shame if my most talented bodyguards tore you to shreds without a clean one on one."

"So, you admit to taking him from his home for personal use? You violate your own codes. The emperor's codes. The shogun's."

Mikasa directed a strenuous gaze at the governor who shot him one in return. Hirohito shifted again in his chair, his heart raced. He rose, pushing the boy to the side, revealing his diminutive stature. Though part concealed in the encroaching darkness, Mikasa could make out his top-heavy yet oval bottom outline.

"It's I that have a say to answer you!" Hirohito screamed at Mikasa. "Who be you? Silly old coonie! We're not afraid for the steels you carry. No matter how creepy it may be. See now, see any fear in me? You think I shake under this cloak?"

"Then," replied Mikasa, "bolt that fat mouth of yours shut and let them fight me. It's clear you don't want them to see the next day. It's also clear you don't intend to keep the laws of this land. I'll save your chunky pig's neck for last."

"Take him down, my children!" Hirohito shouted between grunts of laughter, "he's like a rabid dog now. No redeeming him. Bring me every limb. Take his head last, just to teach this sorry ass the example I make of outlanders. Don't waste more of the day doing it boys – the light closes very soon. I got more important things to watch tonight than another beheading."

Mikasa pushed back his hair with his free hand, tied it into a ponytail, and came forward. Hirohito watched him, feeling trepidation mixed with the familiar awe which hid in the interior of his immortal soul. There was no Shinto symbol on his person, although that meant nothing without further inspection of the corpse – everybody had beliefs.

He'd have to wait and see whether they'd taken down one of their own or a mere heathen posing as a warrior. He'd take his head and mount it somewhere new. Should the outlander win, by some act of the gods, like the villagers had chattered about, he could always order his Dandies to go back in the manor, open the armory, and shoot him in the chest, but only cowards use airborne weapons in a swordfight.

NINE

Death's Terrible Twin

AS HE walked down the stairwell leading to the Tokugawa Annex workshop, the little debate Yuma had with commander Kaito was still stuck in his head. He'd always been among the sternest members of imperial officer corps. Yuma frequented the barracks of his troops, often sneaking up on them. He thought it kept them keen and alert in case of danger, though his forces thought of it as an invasion of privacy and many on the outside looking in thought it tyrannical.

Yuma had done it before; the unit didn't know he'd been called in after the disaster, figuring he'd be in the Security Council at Palace Rose, neglecting a well-known fact, built up over the course of thirty years, that the Commander of the Imperial Armed Forces was an extraordinarily hands-on man.

They'd let their guard down as they gossiped, which would become a disaster in and of itself if any one of them were caught by Yuma doing anything other than regular guard detail duties. Yuma had spotted the six young men from behind and swooped in for the kill... they never saw it coming.

"What is the meaning of this?" he shouted to their horror. "Why aren't you at your post, soldier?" the men stood, faced him at attention and saluted. Yuma, being the forever stern general, didn't return the salutation, leaving them at full salute. He proceeded to inspect their uniforms. After he'd finished, he saluted, and they released their arms.

The highest-ranking member spoke up, a young sergeant. "Sir, we're on break and were only..."

"I swore I heard scuttlebutt," said Yuma, "and what did I say about scuttlebutt?"

"That there's no place for it in Tokugawa's Annex, sir?" replied the sergeant.

Yuma walked up to the sergeant. "You should know better," poking his chest with his index finger. The sergeant stood as a light post.

"Yes, sir," replied the sergeant. "It won't happen again."

"It better not," said Yuma with twisted lips. "What is this talk of war I hear?" he said as he circled them with a menacing scowl. They'd seen that face before – the going to the brig face. They began to search for their commander with their eyes and ears knowing full well if any one of them moved their heads, they'd be harshly disciplined.

His feet were quieter than a cat's.

"It's scuttlebutt, sir," said a young corporal, his voice a soft baritone.

"Well, I'm here now," said Yuma, as he stroked his beard. "Might as well be done with it. Get it out your darn systems."

The sergeant spoke up again. "There's a rumor going around that the Shogun is going to take the throne from the Emperor and give it to his son, sir."

"How in all hades is the Shogun supposed to do that?"

"He's going to order all the remaining samurai from all the clans," said the sergeant, "before they're converted into soldiers, and march them to Edo to overthrow the government of Prime Minister Fujita and Emperor Yamamomo and unite the Empire under one tent once again."

"Nonsense!" Yuma shouted. "One and one half a million gun-armed troops stand between Palace Rose and the Shogun with his three million samurai whom by the way are sworn to protect the empire, not the Shogun. I don't ever want to hear of such vile idiocy unless we're at actual war with our dear leader. Now, go find the Captain of the Guards. Tell him to locate the individual responsible for introducing this sort of heretic and bombastic crap around here and to jail, him or her immediately – three weeks. Now begone...dismissed."

They hopped out in a single file formation without looking back at their cunning and elusive commander.

Mr. Tomoko and Noriko were silent throughout the ordeal, watching Yuma execute his duties as if he'd done it through many lifetimes. He had a way with these men which mesmerized Noriko, who made a note never to cross the old man in the future.

Mr. Tomoko decided to take the rear stairs leading Yuma and Wataru through meandering sets of halls which were put to use for various industries purposes.

Most of them Yuma had taken peeks of here and there, but being a man of the ancient gods, he'd considered many of the things going on below the annex to be necessary evils or fundamental atrocities of nature.

"Where'd you move your lab to this time," asked Yuma. "Only a few weeks ago, it was in the east wing."

"This week," said Mr. Tomoko, "I've placed our highest priority investigations at the farthest corner of the annex, away from peeping eyes and the occasional good ear."

"Does this kid have to accompany you?" asked Mr. Tomoko. "It seems you take him everywhere. He could be a loose end if you know what I mean."

"You're far too paranoid to be a scientist," Yuma replied, as he looked at Wataru. "I should've hired you as one of my spooks. No, Mr. Tomoko, he goes everywhere I go. That way, I keep my third eyes on him at all times."

"You've got nothing to worry about," said Wataru.

"He's a straightforward fellow," said Noriko.

"You know of him?" Mr. Tomoko asked Noriko.

"From around the building."

They knew each other from the Imperial Science Academy, but that was beside the point at that moment. The two lived in dangerous times for men of their status; men who, whether true or not, the empire feared had a fancy for the male flesh. Should they get found out, it would mean a simple beheading but also many ages of shame for their families.

"That's enough for me, then..." he shrugged. "He can come in. Just keep an eye on him. We're here. Please take off your shoes. I don't want to contaminate my lab."

They took off their shoes and entered the small, dimly lit, dank room filled with glass jars, some of which were boiling with green or either orange substances. Yuma noticed that the scent of sulfur had pummeled his nostril; as if a thousand matches had been struck at once in his face. Wataru felt the urge to vomit the moment he stepped in – he ran out, bent over and dry heaved.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," said Mr. Tomoko, "there's a horrid stench in here. It's the vestiges of methane gas. It sticks to the walls."

"You forgot to mention..." squealed Wataru between heaves outside the entrance.

"Is he alright?" asked Mr. Tomoko.

"He'll be alright," said Yuma, who shut the door, leaving Wataru outside the laboratory.

"Now, what is this new development you've got me here for?" asked Yuma. "What is going on with Death's Terrible Twin that has science hacks like you two running around like headless chickens?"

"We have an idea of what's happened in Osaka. There is a possibility that it was arson. The substance being used, which we call DTT, we have a sample of it here,"

"Short for Death's Terrible Twin," said N. "It's sort of a laboratory joke."

"You brought me to ridicule the old ways? The old ways are no jest, boy."

"The old ways still exist my friend and just because you don't believe in doesn't preclude its existence.

"There's a huge difference between religion and the sciences and facts, general. You cannot mix up the two."

"But can they not live next to each other? Death's Terrible Twin is alive, this I can tell you."

"There are clues that it's a scientific evil though and not some living creature that waits in the night to burn the wicked. Those are over."

"What clues?" asked Yuma. "You call these clues?"

He pointed at the vials and substances which cluttered the tables in the lab and turned towards the door.

"They're right in your face, and you refuse to accept them, general."

Yuma stopped short for a moment and turned around. He shook his head, stroked his white beard and kept walking towards the door without further argument.

"If I weren't on my way to Osaka, I'd sit and school you on the proper ways of the old world. This stuff right here, sure it's all calculated and all, but it lacks soul... inhuman. Gentlemen, until next time."

He closed the door behind him and collected Wataru, who'd been wiping vomit from his uniform. Back in the laboratory, Mr. Tomoko's face had turned tomato red.

"It's his type that keeps Japan in the dark past."

"One day, his gods and old ways will be nothing but fairy tales. Nothing but hocus pocus," Noriko.

TEN

The Victorious Dandies

THE GOVERNOR was yet to finish his speech and venture to sit when Mikasa hopped into the darkening sky, arms spread like a vulture, with his elephantine sword stretching out from his right hand. The gold and white katana, if it can be called that, didn't appear as regulation samurai gear. It looked like it was made as ornamental or ceremonial attire for a giant. No man of ordinary size should be able to carry something like it around successfully in battle.

Hirohito laughed on the inside. Come to think of it, this one is a dead man with that big and silly ole thing. It's going to make a huge mess of things and only get in the way, he thought.

The Dandies' heads tried to follow, but their bulky armor rendered the motion silly and moot. He landed outside the sixteen-man death formation and effortlessly plunged his sword into the mouth of an older Dandy Destroyer with no effort. The slowest one in the pack, he fell to his knees. And his attacker, long gone before he dropped dead.

Hirohito's head wobbled and shook as he looked around in the increasingly dark lawn, with the lot of hungry crows above him cawing and ticking and tacking on his roof. The deteriorating weather above aided in the hastening of the sun's downfall over the horizon.

The Dandies turned their heads fast as well, their eyes wondering, searching for the elusive samurai. Their eyes only landed in footsteps where he once stood. A single lightning bolt revealed their dead brother's body and drove confusion into the seasoned fighters.

Mikasa had vanished, leaving them only confusion and his annoying, menacing, crows.

For a moment it felt like time froze. Nothing happened; a form of open-eyed and on the alert, vigilantism paralyzed the Dandies who were preoccupied with the ear-piercing silence. Plowing through their distress, they searched for the samurai in black's muddy footprints, but they'd disappeared after only a few steps out. The samurai in black was a ghost.

After hearing no sound, seeing no sign of him for a while, they relaxed their guard a bit. As time passed; seconds turned into minutes, the men began mocking the samurai in black.

"I was filled absolutely with the confidence ," said Hirohito, "that he'd have been taken down by my beautiful little monsters."

"He's a coward, Papa," said one of the Dandies.

"Then we hunt him down," said another Dandy, "like the dog that he be."

"Let us act tonight, Papa," said one Dandy. "If we act now, we'll have justice for Heroku before the next day." Hirohito looked down at the body of his youngest Dandy Heroku. A few tears were about to slip out of his eyes for the first time in a long while when he was interrupted by the demands of the crows, who seemed to be cawing for their master on the roof.

"Would someone," said Hirohito, "do something about these gods be damned crows."

The cawing continued to grow in volume, but just then, a young Dandy held his throat and began to shake violently. As his brothers came to his aide, his head fell off. The samurai in black had struck again.

"Reveal yourself coward!" said Hirohito.

"I'm right here," said Mikasa beneath a bolt of lightning which showed his location. When they looked again, it was as if the darkness had consumed him.

Hirohito, startled, freed the frightened boy's head from his thighs again, which he'd grabbed just as the fight had begun. His eyes scanned his property searching for any sign of the stranger. There were none, and it started to eat at his soul. The only things remaining were darkness, rain, wind and his remaining upset Dandy Destroyers.

The boy, who'd taken a little peek at the scene, quickly turned his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Hirohito kicked him in his belly. Then smacked his face. The boy let out a soft whimper as he flapped trying to regain his wind. The volley of rain increased.

"You think he's supernatural or something," whispered one Dandy to the squad.

"Well," said another. "We're going to find out soon, brother.

"Everything that bleeds dies," said the oldest one. "Now, pay attention to your surroundings."

Suddenly, they heard ominous footsteps in the mud.

The next three Dandy attackers fell in an instant. Mikasa had caught them as they turned to face him. Their heads slammed on the wet mud in front of their trembling bodies – making unpleasant squishy sounds as they thudded. The remaining twelve tried to get their bearings to mount a counterattack by closing ranks as a circle. Mikasa disappeared again.

The footsteps returned, but the sounds emanated from every direction. The rain added to the confusion the crows had started.

Leaping high, he reappeared behind them, inside their perfect circle. He slashed as quick as he could with a wild force. His cold and wet steel struck and severed neck bone after neck bone, penetrating their armor, until none of Hirohito's Dandy Destroyers remained.

It thundered without lightening. Then the lightning sparkled through the clouds without thunder to follow. An omen.

Mikasa stood still, towering over the shuddering corpses. Their fresh blood pooled at the tip of his monster blade and trickled down to the mud. His face, covered and dripping red and giving off the impression of a velvet demon, lacked a humane countenance.

A fog of steam rose from his shoulders, escaped his nostrils, and floated from his forehead. His countenance was that of an angry bull after a long-running.

Hirohito's stomach cramped. He felt his intestines turning into knots. Mikasa's glossy eyes defied human nature, glowing with each streak of lightning. To the little boy, whose face animated with a smile he sent to Mikasa, this savior was God himself. He appeared to be otherworldly or enchanted in some way – as if he'd been given some preferential sacrament from above. To act in a manner that was superhuman, breaking the laws of nature. The boy's little heart filled with delight from witnessing his mighty feats.

Hirohito stood again, feeling the urge to flee. He couldn't – even if he'd meant to – his legs betrayed him. And his mind prevented a fast flight response. He'd heard of men possessing this sort of power; those who'd opened the seal of the Greegarian Omen. To see it firsthand beckoned him to escape from the mystical samurai. Still, the governor wasn't moved.

Mikasa walked at a casual pace towards him. Hirohito grabbed the lad by his head and banged it once against the front door. He pulled out a silver dagger from the rear of his waist and slit a piece of the youngster's throat. Blood oozed onto the child's dirt-peasant clothes as he thrashed and shrieked. He looked like a chicken being decapitated as he clutched his throat with one hand and he cried out, his other hand stretched toward his savior.

Hirohito's own hand shook something fierce as he gazed into Mikasa's morbid eyes. "Come to me any closer, coonie, try me now...you know what I'll do, you see this knife? I will drive it into his head without a second thought. He means nothing to me. I can replace him with a snap of this finger."

Mikasa heard a torrent of heavy footsteps approaching. He didn't take his eyes from the governor as two squads of Dandy Destroyers flanked him from behind the mansion; twenty from his left side and twenty from the right. He had them in his peripheral vision. He lowered his katana and squeezed its handle. The blade made a hissing sound as it vibrated under the pressure.

"It's about the time," said Hirohito. "You're in for it now. Did you think I only had them sixteen Dandies? I the Governor of these North Isles? You'll be ever the luckiest if you make it out of this here place in less than three pieces, traitor. They'll tear you up now, sorcerer."

Once again, the thunder got violent. It was as if the gods were watching and placing bets. The lightening retreated to the clouds. Darkness stepped in to rob them of his location.

Mikasa overtook his right flank by surprise. His sword pierced their armor with an awful metallic shearing sound. He grunted as each one retreated while he cut them down. They fell fast and perished before most of the pain reached their brain.

He chopped an old Dandy Destroyer in half. A strategic move to keep the veteran Destroyer from rallying the diminishing group. Then another targeted his wrist, but he was too slow for their infuriated aggressor. Mikasa ripped the large blade through his belly, releasing his bowels onto the mud. His in-flight blood splashed radially, striking Mikasa, who did not flinch in the process.

A swift kick to the back of the head finished a short and stocky samurai as the left flank of Dandy Destroyers descended upon Mikasa. They shouted a fierce battle cry in the dark – which, in an instant, followed shrieks of agony from all the dicing and slicing which resulted.
Mikasa blocked all their advances with supernatural precision. Then, as a few Dandy Destroyers rushed him in a panic, he flipped backward, handing a powerful kick to one of their masks, tearing the young lad's helmet off with the acrobatic motion. He flipped before falling back to the ground. Then his body made a thumping sound with half his head shattered.

Hirohito watched with wild motions of his face and body as Mikasa went after and decimated one Dandy Destroyer after another. This was all done by the gentleman he'd been calling 'Old Coonie' in seconds.

The fight quickly expressed to the top of a table mere feet away from Hirohito. A quick strike to the throat of the youngest samurai finished the deal.

One to go thought Mikasa.

The last Dandy Destroyer standing seemed more careful as he charged Mikasa. Their steel banged loud against each other, forcing the boy to cover his ears. An ill-timed double kick fell both men on their backs. Mikasa shot up quick and disarmed the assailant, who then kicked Mikasa's terrifying weapon out his hand. They proceeded to knock each other around with blows, heading up towards the house.

Hirohito squirmed with the boy tight in his grip as the scuffle got closer. Mikasa pushed the young samurai through a closed window. The sound of the broken glass made the little boy hug his kidnapper, who pushed him off and turned him around to witness the end of his liberator.

Mikasa's whitish hands were reddened by the blood, which trickled to the wooden patio leading to his porch, staining it in a round pattern. He jumped after the Dandy Destroyer through the window but was violently kicked through the wall, spiraling out to the porch and landing on his side.

Winded from his fall, Mikasa got up just in time to take his sword. The last Dandy Destroyer hesitated when he saw the monster in Mikasa's hand, held by something that could only be called upsetting. They weren't hands, they couldn't have been. They were not human. But Mikasa egged him on with a taunting hand gesture. This angered the young Dandy Destroyer, who screamed as he attacked.

Rapidly calculated steel clanking stung the air for a short period...

A sharp, discombobulating kick struck his left cheek and flung Mikasa head first into the mud to his right. His bloody-nosed aggressor descended the steps ready to finish him off. The fierce young Dandy Destroyer had persisted longer than Mikasa expected.

I must finish this now, or I'm a dead man. And the poor boy...he'll get it worse. Essence of my ancestors, power me up, thought Mikasa as he panted.

He shoved a jet of air in his lungs, recovered, and charged the Dandy Destroyer who'd just hit the last flight of stairs. Mikasa rushed in the killer's direction. As he reached the young man, he lowered his body and slid through the mud on both his knees. The momentum carried him quickly in the boy's direction. He tilted his head further to avoid decapitation.

Their swords met, and sparks flew.

The young Dandy Destroyer was fast to respond, turning back to reposition himself for the killing blow, but Mikasa had already stopped, reversed his momentum, and aimed for his collar.

The monster sword exploded through the Dandy Destroyer's neck...

The surprised young bull dropped his katana, fell to his knees clutching his throat and gasped for air. A beautifully crimson flow spilled through his hands and out his mouth. Mikasa sheathed his bloody katana, looked in the direction of the governor, wiped his bloody hands on his kimono, and pointed at him with a horrific index finger. Hirohito fell with the boy still clutched in his hands, knife in his throat. But he was shaking and panting as if he'd done all the fighting himself.

ELEVEN

Interception

GENERAL YUMA could no longer wait for the tension to kill him. Lord Takoma Kojima, General of the First Army, and Akagi Kojima, who he'd placed in charge of the Imperial Navy just a year ago, had arrived and sat patiently (although with closer inspection they seemed restless) across from him in the Hazard Room.

All three men were very busy due to the world outside about to violently collapse at any minute. Yuma stopped tapping his left foot and ordered Wataru to fetch the Bugout Brigade who'd supposed to bring the interception reports. "Tell them to step it out!" he shouted. Moments later, two little boys followed Wataru into the Hazard Room to whispers and stunned faces.

"What is this?" asked Yuma.

"It's them," said Wataru, who showed Yuma their papers. Yuma gave Wataru the documents which had three unique Privy Office stamps on it, making it more official than any document the general himself could issue. Before Wataru could hand them their papers, the little one snatched it out his hand and placed it in his pocket.

"This is a safe place," said Yuma. "You don't need to hide your face. Only cowards hide their faces." They stood still, looked at each other for a lengthy period as if they were talking without saying words, nodded their heads at the same time, and then back at Yuma, but never moved their feet from their position.

The munchkins wore masks that concealed their faces leaving only tiny slits for their eyes. The taller, and apparently older, of the two boys, wore a dark brown mask made from expensive linen, but not silk, while the younger boy wore a white mask fabricated from silk. They reached for the back of their heads as if to remove their costumes, but only tightened their straps.

At that point, Wataru understood that Yuma had never personally met them. Not only with the face he made when his eyes landed on them, seeing that they were mere pushovers, no older than thirteen, but he didn't know the rules of the Bugout Brigade – thou shalt not show thou façade to the stranger. The fact that he didn't know whether to feed them for being so small or spank them for being late was amusing to Wataru as well – all inductees were children.

"It came in last night," said the smallest boy wearing the white mask. The unfortunate thing stood a mere five feet tall and couldn't have been over nine years of age. His companion, the older, probably a bit over twelve, was just over five foot three.

"How old are you boys?" Yuma asked.

"We don't answer to you, stranger!" shouted the younger one. "We're only here to report."

"Alright then, don't be so quick to the defensive," Yuma whispered, defeated by pushovers. "Now, what is it you got for me?"

"They're cryptic telegraphs," said the older boy.

"No one knows what they mean," said the younger boy.

"Only the sender and recipient," said the older boy.

"But we were able to intercept them," said the younger.

"And can do so again," said the older boy.

"Is that all you have for us?" asked Yuma.

They looked at each other for a short period. It seemed as if they'd been communicating in some sort of telepathic language. No movements of their lips. They turned back once it looked like some consensus between them had been established.

"You asked us to figure out what it means," said the young one. "We have a way to do this. Our fellows are already whistling all over the four corners of the empire as we speak."

"By the end of the day," said the older boy, "we'll have one of the twenty-one books, and you will have the meaning of your enigma."

"You're good," said Yuma. "Too good truth be told. I must keep my third eye on you."

"No one can see a bug coming or going," said the young one.

They looked at each other. A simultaneous smile emerged from under their garments. Yuma showed them the door with his right hand, and the exited quick. He palmed his beard as he turned towards the generals who all had their heads down, busy jotting notes.

Wataru observed the boys had left a dead fly on a nearby desk. When he looked out the corridor, which was over five-hundred feet long, the boys had cleared it and exited the building, no doubt back in their temporary barracks at the O.C.I. building.

***

GENERAL HINATA wrestled with the idea of having children ferry around sensitive information. Information which he considered could get him or his entire family beheaded or worse. If the time ever came, he could do the damn thing himself or face the enemy with the trusty katana.

As for an execution, that's way out of the question, he thought.

"Do you trust them," he asked Yuma just as he stopped pacing through the small room and claiming his now cold seat.

"Most children their age have no reason nor gain any profit from deception," said Yuma. "Given the proper incentive, that is. Besides, if you look at all of that's going on out there, they have more vested in this world than we old farts do in the end. For the most part, we've lived our lives, had our battles, they haven't. Whatever we do now, is what we leave for them in their future. If we cuck it up now, they're left with cuck."

"Bravo," slow clapped Hinata. "The myriad of ways you've reassured me over the years," he continued clapping, "are so well put that it scares me every single time, general. I swear to the heavens and hades, Yuma, you could prepare nightshade right in front of me and force me to swallow it with a single bedtime story."

"I wasn't aware of your level of unremitting confidence in me, general," quipped Yuma. "May all the gods be damned for letting me be such a blind... foolish dog. Thank you so very much. This enlightening revelation has flooded my eyes with eddies of teardrops for which I now have trouble holding back."

Uproarious laughter filled the room as hardened professional military officers, and their fledgling assistants nearly fell off their seats over the hilarity. Even general Hinata couldn't hold his own throat from blasting out a few guffaws with his compatriots. Though his face was nearly blood red after Yuma brushed him off, his cheeks settled to a cool peach shade.

Once again, General Yuma proved he was the king of breaking icy rooms. And with the air finally cleared of tension, Wataru felt it time to itch the one scratch he'd held the moment the two boys followed him into the Hazard Room with those gods be damned Privy Office papers.

"How was that the actual Bugout Brigade," he asked Yuma. "I still cannot believe it. They had Privy Office papers with all three official seals on them."

"Yes," said Yuma. "That was them alright...in the flesh. Thought they'd be a little older by now."

"The seals, the seals," said Wataru.

"Don't worry about the seals," said Yuma. "I'll get to the bottom of that for sure. No one can get all three. Not the prime minister, not even I can get those seals unless we're at full-scale war. Well, maybe Hayato, if all hell breaks loose or if the emperor and I are both dead... maybe. The High Council can issue all three as well, but only with the consent of the emperor himself."

"I heard somewhere the ones who come to visit are just the Legate and his Dasheetz," said Wataru. "That you'll never, ever lay eyes on a sworn member of the Bugout Brigade."

"Which one do you think was Legate and which was Dasheetz?" asked Yuma. Wataru shrugged his shoulders, "No clue," and took his seat next to his boss.

"Well," said General Hinata, "most of this disloyal rubbish seemed headed near Kagoshima City, where Clan Pelican resides." Hinata had worked under Yuma as adjutant general for over twelve years. The two soldiers had crossed the Oyodo River together in irony to taste the blood of their enemies as they stared at the havoc which was the Crimson Massacre. The Oyodo River campaign was a harrowing start of a career. It was only a few years after their military training. The two generals had witnessed each other's loyalty and counted on it on many occasions. But would mere words and familiar attachments be enough at a moment like this?

"What do you know of the Pelicans my lord," asked Wataru. "What could be used against them in any campaign of sabotage.?"

"Only that they were known for their debauchery in the old days," said Hinata. "But the O.C.I. employs its whores as lookouts, not as cutthroats, so that's a dead end approach. We need more up to date information on the Pelican's leader."

"Clan Sparrow, back in Fukuoka are no better," said General Takoma. "A treacherous bunch of backstabbing misfits grouped together who dared to call themselves honorable men. Back then, they started out as thieves."

"As was Clan Wolf up in Nagasaki," said Lord Akagi. "But their cunning ended in Saga where Clan Raven met them and gave them a good raping. You see, Wataru, the Ravens didn't get their name accidentally. They had a most disgusting, reprehensible eating habit back then. One we've haven't spoken of since."

"One in which the village of Saga has left behind," said General Yuma.

"How do we go after them without tipping off another clan?" asked Wataru, "they worked alongside each other. If you take one out, the others will certainly know."

"This is why I bring this one along. He asks the right questions, keeps me on my damn toes. The answer is; we'll tear down the main lines of communication," said Yuma. "Even while the mission is going on. And only reopen it once it's complete, even for us, it won't be available. We'll use alternative sources of communication."

"Sounds brilliant sir," said Wataru. "Yet how'll we communicate amongst ourselves?"

"The ancient method, of course," said Yuma.

"Ancient method?" asked Wataru with a blank face. He didn't stand alone in the room, for all the aides looked dumbfounded too. This was not something they taught at the Imperial Military Academy anymore; it was all telegraphs and Morse code. Wataru had glossed through the history of field communications, but the ancient method, this was all new history to him.

"Smokestacks, my little lieutenant," Yuma continued. "Green for go, red for stop, yellow for danger, brown for retreat, black for lay low, and so on and so forth. At night, it will be fireworks and gunfire based on successive rounds – cannons work the best for long distance communique. Admiral Akagi can coordinate this through our fleet."

"As in during the Crimson Massacre?" said General Hinata. "We both remember what that was like. You'll arouse total panic. Especially if it's a sustained campaign."

Yuma stood, walked to a window and drew the curtain. "Look all around you, general. There's already a great panic all over us."

"The greatest panic is in Osaka," said Hinata. "You're only going to spread it further south."

"We'll see what the emperor has to say about it," Yuma replied.

"I agree with Yuma," said Wataru.

"Same here," said Takoma. "We need to take this to the High Council."

Hinata shot a strange look at Wataru. "When will a lapdog ever bite the hands which feed it?" Wataru ignored him, instead looking at his boss who then retook his seat without saying anything in response. Admiral Akagi stood, his many medals clinging enough to wake the dead. He served as the elder statesman among them on the Security Council at fifty.

"I strongly believe," he said, "that Clan Lion in Kurume can be trusted to turn against the other clans, "as you all know, I grew up not even a stone's throw from Kurume – they're still a loyal people at the end of the day. If we approach their leader, we should be able to find out who's betrayed his trust and take it from there." As Akagi sat, Hinata couldn't refuse the urge to point out a flaw in his reasoning.

"What if their leader is among the traitors?" asked Hinata. Wataru was quick to find a moment to seem impartial.

"The general is correct. Only a clan leader," said Wataru, "could have sent a scrambled message this heavily masked."

"They've always," said Takoma, "had a tenacity in battle that's unmatched in the empire."

"That doesn't scare anybody here Takoma" added Yuma, "but their thirst for vengeance is what I cannot stand."

"Here we are debating as if we know," said Akagi, "and don't even know what's on these notes sent between the twenty-one clans. They could be anything."

Yuma slammed both hands on the table as he stood. "With all due respect, Admiral; have you finally descended into the farthest crests of insanity? These unreadable messages were sent before the blustery inferno that consumed half of Osaka and abruptly ceased immediately after the fact. Do you not see the simple clarity of a major pattern there? We're treading on dangerous waters. Powerful forces mean to unbind the very seams that hold this fragile empire together."

"We must act quickly," said General Takoma. "This level of deception could end us all."

Just then, there was a knock on the Hazard Room's door. Yuma seemed annoyed since there was a large and legible red sign which read; DO NOT OPEN on the door. Lieutenant Wataru stood and peeked out the door with his foot blocking the entry. The Army guards asked him to open the door, he allowed them inside the Hazard Room. Behind the guards stood a young man wearing what looked like an army and samurai outfit mashup. The guards whispered in Yuma's ears, who then nodded and then they escorted the young man into the Hazard Room.

"So, this the fabled Hazard Room." said the young officer.

"Yes, it is my lord," said Wataru, who'd been quick to realize he'd been speaking to Prince Nobu's son, Prince Nobu Kojima II, his distant cousin of his and Yuma. It was more than evident to Wataru at that point. Who in all hades would be allowed to wear such a pompous uniform or carry the rank of colonel so quickly, at the age of nineteen, but a freaking prince?

"My father, Prince Nobu, sent me from Osaka Castle to deliver this message in person," said the young colonel. "We'll have O.C.I. confirmation before the High Council meeting."

"If that will be all," said Yuma. "You can leave, my lord."

"No," said the princely colonel. "I'd like to sit in on this meeting."

The generals and Admiral Akagi all stood to give the young prince their chairs. Yuma grounded his teeth and slammed his right hand on the table.

"Sit down. All of you. Now!"

They sat just as quickly as they stood. Yuma stood and gave the princely colonel his chair with a gracious hand gesture. Wataru wasted no time bringing his own chair over to his boss. After taking a seat next to petulant little colonel, Yuma sat quietly lifting and dropping his fingers on the table with a repetition meant to signal his boredom.

"Well, then," said Hinata, "where were we?"

"I must apologize my Lord Yuma," said Admiral Akagi. "Apparently, in retrospect, it seems that you're correct. The Empire of Japan is in great peril. It's about time we all stop debating and come into the fold as one to defend her, no matter what differences of clan or creed. We must find this great evil, even if it is one of our own."

"Admiral Akagi," said Yuma, "did show us a bit of his wisdom when he spoke earlier. We will do nothing for now. We'll advise the Emperor. Only His majesty Yamamomo should decide what we shall do."

"How do we deal with Emperor Yamamomo?" asked Hinata. "He will want the military to be at the ready... to react fast. He's a reactionary young man. He loves the empire very much... too much. If we're to tread this so-called 'dangerous water' you speak of Yuma, how do we avoid a violent drowning when a young and passionate ruler who loves his people is captain of the ship."

"Hinata is right," said Takoma, "His Imperial Highness won't be thinking with his mind, he'll be thinking with his heart. His heart is big and merciful. We must lead him to retribution. Lest the people turn against him in their search for vengeance."

"Any suggestions," said Yuma. "Because I already have one. I only wait to see if anyone among us possess a superior alternative."

"I tire of beating a dead horse," said Akagi. The navy is simply too easy to spot so I won't advocate for a naval blockade or attack, but I'll support any naval strategy that aides or supplies the efforts you come up with."

"I suggest the use of an Unbound Samurai if it gets to it and I've got the perfect one. He's already up north on a mission."

Hinata shook his head. "No, not him. He's a disaster."

"He's exactly what we need," said Yuma. "And all the risk we can afford for now."

"We could send a small detachment of specialized 'professional' assassins to do the snooping and killing,

"That it's too much," said Yuma. "It ought to be a one-man job."

"You'll be putting the fate of the empire on one man's lap," said Hinata. "And that man's life is completely ruined. Let's not mention how unmanageable he was as an imperial bodyguard."

"He got results," Yuma shouted. "Every single time. Also, if you send too many heads out, you risk being found out – and you get too many heads back in baskets. Too many loose ends mean too many variables. A lone wolf is easier to disavow and control in the whole scheme of things."

"Still," said Hinata. "You're going to present our young emperor with these options instead of setting any of these operations into a test before the Security Council? That will be the death of the emperor and this empire. You're willing to trust our future and safety to some reckless Unbound Samurai? He's like bad weather when you see him you go home and lock your doors. I say we find a better alternative."

The generals and admiral said nothing. This wasn't because they knew how severe Yuma had been in saying it, or how dangerous it was to imply that the emperor was too young to decide such pressing matters. The problem came down to pure clan politics. It was the Shogun's burden to handled matters of discipline when it came to the clans – an old, unwritten rule which kept the two halves of Japan's ruling hydra, as the ancient masters called it, from butting heads for generations.

Yuma stood and looked out the window again seeing all the chaos of military and civilians preparing for the worse and said, "Do you see what we have outside these palace walls, general? We have a tornado or a problem. There's a tornado heading our way, my friend. It's ready to tear apart everything we own, know, hold dear or love; our family, our property, our very flesh from our bones. Tornadoes are unstoppable, they don't discriminate, they are a force of nature. Tornadoes come and go as they please. So does a cyclone. Tornadoes and cyclones share many properties, but over time, a cyclone is much larger than and more powerful than a tornado. This man I speak of is like a cyclone. And only a cyclone can take out our tornado problem."

TWELVE

A Professional Courtesy

WITH EACH step the stranger took toward him, Hirohito's bowls begged to be released. He'd lost control over his lungs, hyperventilating. His heart galloped in his chest as the crows feasted. He felt woozy. And then, a slight pinch, a warmth traveled up his head. His temple pounded under the pressure.

"Look now coonie," Hirohito shouted, "you kill me, and my clan won't sleep until everyone of this boy's peoples is eating dirt pies in hell. He'll then have no fam-fam cause of you! It'll be you who take em' away from him now. Think about it. Think really hard, false samurai. A peasant boy like him...with nobody. Can you live with that? Can you? I have the right to take him. You, on the other side, don't."

Mikasa considered the proposition. The Shogun's edicts were too strict for his liking. Farmers, who worked from dusk till dawn, were required to bring crop quotas for the region. Women couldn't travel too far from their villages alone. Even under pressing situations, they were banned from mobility. The boy's family had broken both edicts, which permitted lords like Hirohito to punish them severely. Was it the governor's right or too far of a reach?

"You see that woman," Hirohito said pointing at a peasant woman running away with a sack in her hand, "she brings her husband food three times a day. They love their life here under my care. I must show strength, and you of all men should know this. I provide them with safety from bandits through my samurai. Portions taken from farmer's crops pay for this service. I am law and order here. I have a purpose. You'll be destroying this if you kill me."

Mikasa walked up the steps. "I didn't come here for all the politics. You brought this misfortune on yourself, governor. You can't punish your subjects for the ills of the Earth. It's not this boy's fault for what the ground gives up from one harvest to the next. For God's sake, he's the son of a peasant farmer. Now I wonder what you'd have done to this poor child if I was not here to take him from this foul place. You don't deserve any children in your presence. Now, hand him over!"

Hirohito's face twisted as he spat on the floor before Mikasa's feet. "Him, born of a merchant, he ain't nobody's special kin. Not worth all this pain, if you ask me. Less than a sack-a-peasants, if you ask anybody? You want to do all this for worthless filth?"

"If he's not worth it, you'd let him go. So, death it is," said Mikasa softly, raising his menacing steel to the governor's chin. "The One of Many Names will come for you this evening, Governor."

Invoking the One of Many Names, another of the many names for The Relic of Death, was a threat comparable to cursing one's mother to the darkest pits of hell. Doing so to the nobility would earn any scallywag of low birth, with such a dauntless and enterprising tongue, a great deal of pain followed by a sweet and kind little public decapitation.

"All right, all right now, take this boy. But listen to me, false samurai. I'll pass him to his peoples if they leave these Isles? Make me this promise."

"I am honor bound to keep a promise. What about you? On your blood?"

"Yes, yes, on this blood I swear and bloody say to you, coonie!"

He'd lost prowess in his voice when he shouted. With his head down, eyes shut, and hands in

the air, quivering, Hirohito looked pale to the strange samurai. He seemed out of his element after dropping the dagger. He was about to keel over. His eyes were growing as gray as the ominous clouds.

"It's a deal, then," said Mikasa, who swung his blade, relieving him of his mustache.

Hirohito flinched with eyes still shut tight. He felt his upper lip and released the boy. Mikasa stashed his katana into its scabbard. He raised his hand to the boy's face and checked his throat. The wound was superficial.

The child looked back at Hirohito, who turned his gaze away, staring at his beloved dead Dandy Destroyers. The rain slowed as the boy looked back at Mikasa and wiped tears from his eyes.

"Come here Toshiko," said Mikasa with open arms.

Toshiko quickly removed everything he had in his pocket; a wooden samurai, a toy pistol, and a flag bearing the yellow thief's crest. He ran to and hugged Mikasa's legs, crying aloud. Mikasa held him softly, caressing his head until he finished letting out pent-up anguish. He hadn't heard his real name in over six months.

Mikasa picked up Toshiko and went downstairs. He didn't look back at Hirohito, who had his head between his legs as he rocked himself. When they got to the muddy turf, he put the boy down.

Fifty of Hirohito's Dandy Destroyers had arrived at the gates from parts of the town. It seemed the woman who'd run off while the skirmish started went for reinforcements. She stood behind them drenched in rainwater. The men, all fifty, were waiting for him just outside the gates. Gunfire looked at them and palmed his katana, but they just walked past him.

Maybe it was out of respect, or it was because they'd run to the Governor to check on his health. But as the ravenous Jungle Crows the samurai in black had brought with him feed on over thirty of their dead fellow Dandy Destroyers, it couldn't have been an encouraging sight for them.

As they walked past the mansion's main gate, Toshiko looked back at Hirohito, who'd been shaking in the same corner when they left, but was still as a post, holding dearly onto his stout chest. Mucus had turned into bubbles out his nose. Fresh urine pooling next to his feet, his eyes cold and locked into nothingness. The deathly claws of a rigidity had consumed what was left of him – no doubt from his own fear.

A river of tears is all I seek

A cloud of fears is what I need

I drink my fill to douse my greed

The monster's stuffed with evil deeds

The strong are poised to devour the meek

They leak and leak a lake so steep

Events revealed to trouble the soul

Unique the treat that makes one whole

This end befits a hero's road

A toad as Prince is what I forebode

The end is here so death takes hold

A story so vile remains untold

-The Great Oracle, Canto Two

THIRTEEN

The Empress is King

AN AIR of anticipation filled the halls of West Palace, where the imperial family formally resided, as Empress Tatsuo bedazzled onlookers with her red and brown kimono. Since it was a late Friday afternoon and she'd been bathed in oils, and the emperor had don't the same and was waiting in the marital chamber, the jig was up – this was a hump night.

Having completed her part of the lengthy bathing ceremony, she was ready to enter the Imperial Coupling Chamber – a most sacred part of West Palace within Palace Rose where she and Emperor Yamamomo met once a month.

Followed closely by her three courtesans, or what she'd come to consider bodyguards in her own mind, there was a sensation of gaiety in the air, one that tormented her very reason for being alive. It had been six years since an heir had been given. As if Crown prince Ryuu wasn't enough for them.

Tatsuo ignored the usual fanfare, which had become a blur to her. Their occasional statement that 'another heir must be given,' grew more preposterous as the little emperor to be went up in age. As she held her head upright, fixing her eyes towards the end of the hallway which led to the rapist, Tatsuo tried her best to take calculated breaths between her tightly bound waist which enhanced her hourglass figure. She'd been dolled up. They spared nothing. Lips, eyelashes, hair, buttocks, legs, fingernails, toes, inner thighs, back of the ear, etc. by the end of her grooming, she felt like a work of art.

Is that all I am to them? A work of art? My mind doesn't count for anything?

The twenty-four-year-old empress did all she could to look casual, that fake smile splashed across her face, the waving, stopping to kiss babies and ladies she despised, and allowing men who she'd behead, if she ever became more than a consort, to bow before her.

This is only the beginning of the ordeal. Actually, when you think of it, it's the best part, thought Tatsuo. The ogre's at the end of the hallway waiting to devour what little's left of your spirit.

She reached the first-rate family room, filled with all the great men and the little women who'd fallen in line behind them and slammed the door, rather yet, had her courtesans do it for her.

Just thirty more paces and she'd be in the rape chamber. She'd given it a name. The Rape Chamber. Because sex with Yamamomo felt like a raping to Tatsuo. And yes, for the last seven years she'd been with the most powerful man in Japan, she'd memorized the number of steps it took her to get from the door to their bed.

A bed for which they'd shared and created a beautiful son, Crown Prince Ryuu. But why would Empress Tatsuo be so repulsed by husband? A handsome young man most women in the empire would sell their entire family to be with?

If I get a chance, this time, I'll strangle the little bastard the moment it comes shooting out me.

As she pushed the bedroom door open, the young empress shuttered her lovely blue eyes and performed a quick prayer to Bizeelshalla, the God of Death. When she reopened her eyes, she secretly cursed him for not answering her 2,254th prayer to him. So much for devotion.

Her eyes landed on Yamamomo, she held back an urge to hurl an object at him. Anything would do, a shoe, why even one of the pins holding up that ridiculous hairdo. Maybe it would strike one of his disgusting brown eyes. If she were lucky, they'd behead her, a quick death.

Her courtesans gave her a little push as did his. It was as if they were school children who needed to be egged, pun intended, on to do a dare. The whole affair would have looked strange to an outsider who didn't understand the custom of a royal conception ritual.

"You look lovelier than ever," he said.

His words...they're like a river of softness laced with poison, slowly killing my resistance. They've always disarmed me. Shut up you monster. Damn you, stop talking!

He approached her and grabbed her by the waist. His admirably soft hands felt like fish scales left out in a desert for a decade to Tatsuo. She leaned back with both her hands against his shoulders, her head tilted away, still smiling that bogus grin. He leaned in to give her a kiss. She held her index finger over his lips and took a deep breath.

"My love," she said, biting her tongue in between. "You honor us too much."

She let his lips touch hers. Oh, the taste was acid to Tatsuo and seven years wasn't enough time for her lips to acclimate. Behind them stood a large bed covered by soft maroon sheets and eight yellow pillows. They were surrounded by an eternity of lit candles. Yamamomo gently swung Tatsuo's hourglass body onto the bed. They continued kissing for a moment, then Tatsuo flipped the young emperor onto his back. At this point, every single courtesan and aide vacated the room – they were officially in full hump mode.

Her beautiful long black hair fell on his belly. He played with it like a kitten with a ball of twine. Tatsuo's hair had been tamed by crossing it above her head as if they'd been two elongated bunny ears and pushed down through a ring and then allowed to flow behind her scalp down through the back of her head. She pushed it to the side and scooched closer to her soulmate.

He'd been well bathed in hyacinth based soaps, but the odor of him so repulsed her, and of course, it was all in her head, that she'd pushed enough bile up to her mouth forcing her to swallow her breakfast again. She reached for the main package and touched it ever so tender, he closed his eyes a little and gyrated.

Aren't these the dirty things your whores and concubines supposed to do for you, you nasty little thing?

"So, my love," said Tatsuo, "I hear we have a High Council meeting coming up."

"Soon," said Yamamomo. "What's it got to do with our marital affairs?"

"It just so happens we have to do this marital affair now, and I know you're going to do something radical to display your displeasure to the public about what happened in Osaka, but it will make you seem insane when you do it. To counter this, you'll need to defer to the High Council." She groped him a bit and reached under his kimono and stroked him a little rougher.

"Go on," he said with a shudder in the tone of his voice. His toes curled slightly upward. Tatsuo knew she had his attention. She moved in for the kill.

"Okay, what is the general plan?"

"I hear," he said in a jittery manner as she stroked, "that there are twenty-one unfaithful people in the land that are supposed to be responsible. They haven't identified them yet. When they do, we'll go after them. If they're close to the Shogun, we'll have a big problem. We can't attack them in the open because that will imply the Shogun."

"A hired assassin perhaps," she continued as they made love. "Someone not connected to Palace Rose."

"What a cunning solution," said Yamamomo. "Any suggestions?"

"We could...hmmm...wouldn't an Unbound Samurai serve your purpose the best, my love?"

"If I come up with something like that, the record will show I'm responsible for it. The Shogun will have plenty of reason to storm Palace Rose if he's captured."

"Then we suggest that the Emperor lead the High Council to reach that conclusion themselves. And make it seem as if they're simply truth-seeking. As if they didn't know the Shogun was wrapped up in it."

"The only Unbound Samurai that is loyal to Palace Rose works for O.C.I.," he said as she let him enter her body again. She whispered in his ear as he thrust forward.

"Father always said they were once hired to track and kill Saduats. To this day, I still don't believe it."

"Only because they were better trained than samurai, being permitted partial Saduat and partial samurai training at the same time. They were neither one nor the other. Some of them became confused and switched sides, choosing to be full samurai or Saduat, but most remained Unbound. It's a tough and lonely calling."

"I don't think Saduats exist anymore," she smiled.

"Me neither, my love... to be chased to the ends of the empire for your beliefs must be hard on a person as well."

"Then why are Unbound Samurai still around?"

"I don't know," he said, "Tradition?" he shrugged.

He reached out and touched her face softly... She felt softer than the luxurious pillows they laid their heads on each night, but her skin was as cold as ice.

"You know that man at the Crimson Massacre Tribute Ceremony?"

She nodded, then caressed his cheeks, wanting all the while to bury an ax in it, or maybe something sharper. The very sight of that thick chin drove madness into her.

How could something so perfect at the start end up in an ugly, thick chunk at the end? Nothing was right with him in her mind. The gods were testing her will.

At least that Ryota one looks good, if this thing dies, I get him.

Yamamomo continued. "You know, the one who walked next to us the whole time shrouded never showed his face..."

Tatsuo tried lifting herself off the bed into a sitting position, but Yamamomo was in full swing of his thrusting and pushed her back.

"The tall one in black?" she said as he thrust forward.

"Yes, that one..." he roared almost home.

"No!"

"Yes..."

"I knew it. Deep down in my bones," she whispered trying to hold in the good feeling. "It's the way he walked. Something about that strut. That air of confidence..." Ah. There it was. He stopped and held it. At least she got what she wanted from the fool.

He'd climaxed just then... groaning with intense ecstasy and Tatsuo rang the bell right above their heads signaling the chamber maidens to come.

Tatsuo stayed on her back until Yamamomo had finished excreting. When he turned over, she got up and stood next to the waiting chambermaids who began wiping off the organic fluids from her thighs. As they wiped her and Yamamomo off, she looked at him with an air of disdain, which he seemed to either miss or just didn't care for.

What a naïve twenty-nine-year-old. Some emperor you are. Doesn't even understand what just happened to his silly ass. But he's got a big smile on his face. Enjoy it while it lasts you silly fool.

FOURTEEN

Milk of the Earth

WITH GOVERNOR Hirohito near the gates of Hades about to kiss the One of Many Names, there'd been no need for Mikasa to ask him permission to take just one black stallion from his vast stable of horses.

Their mud trail ride took them south to Ishikari Bay, eliminating all which remained of the prior night with its tumultuous weather. The peeking tip of sunlight near the horizon seemed ready to embrace Toshiko. It reminded him of all the ills he'd left behind – it was a new day.

The boy had spoken to Mikasa the whole length of the journey.

They'd spent a night on horseback from the governor's mansion to the nearest town. It was a peasant town called Yuzu, where Mikasa purchased an ale, a couple strips of unsalted fish with rice for the boy and kept it moving. They ditched the horse with a young man who'd just came out a temple with his new bride. The two wedded peasants thought the gods had blessed them, thanking Mikasa and kissing Toshiko on his little brown head, never seeing the blood spatter of dozens of Dandy Destroyers which sat on the saddle of their gift horse.

Yes, in this case, do look a gift horse in the face only.

The second leg of the trip was completed on foot through the bushy valleys of the Isles. Mikasa figured it would help keep a low profile if they switched the way they traveled. Despite being tired, Toshiko refused to stop, so Mikasa carried him the rest of the way to the bay. They reached the docks as the early morning sunlight bounced off their backs. The boy's face lit up with joy, he felt safer than ever.

At the front of the docks, teams of sailors, laborers, and fishermen stalked moored ships looking for work. Amidst the chaos, longshoremen loaded shipments headed for the Kingdom of the Netherlands and unloaded packages from the United States of America. Most of the cargo was textile in nature, though the Dutch had a unique, exclusive, island of their own where widespread trading was conducted between them and Japan. To their right stood an old telegraph post which seemed unusually busy to Mikasa. Wonder what's going on there?

Their transport home, the Jiro II – an eighty-foot fishing ship – was approaching its fiftieth year in use. It had leaked the whole journey to North Jade – forcing the small crew of five to toss buckets of water overboard. No one could find a single hole to plug with planks or rubber. They'd taken it north from Amori to Hakadote, then west around the Sea of Japan on to Sapporo. The original seventeen-hour land journey was cut in half by taking the wily old ship. 'Those foul winds were on our side is all,' the skipper had told Mikasa.

The Jiro II's skipper, who'd brought Mikasa across from the mainland island of Honshu, ran towards him from the telegraph post. His face had a ghost-white hue which Mikasa had never seen in the years they've known each other. He must've gotten some profound thing to declare since his eyes wandered without aim. Mikasa sensed something dreadful had happened to the crew while he was rescuing Toshiko.

What's the problem now? Maybe the damn thing gave up for good? And all after I paid a whore's ransom for this? He probably thinks I'll be pissed off. We barely made it this far north. Wasn't expecting too much out of that old bucket of rotten shit wood though.

Once the skipper got close enough, he shouted Mikasa's name louder but with a desperate tone. It was more serious than he'd figured. Toshiko grabbed Mikasa's right leg and held on like he was in danger again. Mikasa rubbed his head. He went behind him to hide from the approaching skipper, who might be another monster ready to torture him, who knew?

"Mikasa, oh Mikasa, I'm so sorry," said the out of breath skipper, bent, sweat pouring from his forehead, ready to keel over.

"What is it, Makaru?" asked Mikasa, who kept the old man from collapsing. In the many years, they've traveled. Mikasa had never known Makaru to be a drama queen. He'd been poised and to your face with things. As captain of the Jiro II, he was a no-nonsense type of person. He'd always been able to deliver bad news to anyone. He was never afraid of telling you off when you needed to hear it. Makaru's mantra was "Don't ever ask me to tell you what you want to hear because I'll always tell you only what you need to hear."

"It's your house..." he said with teary blue eyes which he began to wipe off.

Before the skipper could finish his sentence, another crewmember came dashing out the telegraph post at breakneck speed. He seemed to have more urgency in his step than the old man who'd just collapsed in Mikasa's arms. It was Hideki, the Jiro II's First Mate. He waved his hands as he ran. Mikasa closed his eyes and wished him away. Fuck the gods and this day.

Hideki fell to his left knee and bowed before Mikasa. "Mikasa! It's so tragic and unfortunate, my friend. Your house. Your house has..."

Mikasa couldn't take it. The tension formed ripples on his forehead – a migraine was brewing. His heart raced, and his blood felt like it boiled in his veins. He grabbed the sailor by his shoulders, lifted him three feet off the ground and shook him violently. He knew he was wrong. He wanted to put the man down, but he thought of his family. There better be nothing wrong with them. For the god's sakes there better be nothing wrong with any of them, or I will rip the heavens and kill every single last one of those sons of bitches up there.

"Tell me, my young Hideki, tell me," he demanded. "What is it? What's wrong with my household?"

"I don't know how to tell you this, Mikasa..." Hideki hesitated and looked down before continuing, "Your house has burned to the ground. It was...It was..."

Mikasa stopped shaking him but held on tight. "It was what? Is everyone okay? What about my wife and children? What have you heard of their condition? Tell me, man! Tell me now!"

Before Hideki could continue, another crewman, Daido, their navigator apprentice, darted out the telegraph office. He was a thin, brown-eyed, black-haired teen. He was swift too and shouted as he ran with a piece of paper in hand. Mikasa looked at him with narrow eyes. There can't be any worse news coming out of Osaka to top my house burning down. And I swear to you, you better take that gods be damned piece of paper back if it doesn't bear good news on it, or you'll be eating it the opposite way that all edible things should ever be eaten.

"Mikasa," he shouted louder than the first two bearers of bad news, drawing the attention of nearby seafaring villagers, whom at that moment, according to Mikasa, were the nosiest lot of people to ever set foot on the Universal Realms of Men, "Oh god, Mikasa." Mikasa gave him a blank stare. "What the hell is it now?"

"I just got the word through the line. Your parents...Your parents Mikasa...They've perished in a massive blaze. But there's more..."

Another gentleman tapped Mikasa on his shoulder. He turned to see he was not a member of the crew and breathed a sigh of relief. He wore an immaculate brown suit, was well-shaven and seemed as if he had makeup applied on his cheeks. Unlike his compatriots, he was calm. This made Mikasa settle down even more. He thought, finally, good news.

The suited man read from a brown piece of telegraph paper before speaking. "Are you Mikasa Yamakazi of Clan Virgo? I'm assuming you are because I see all these men call you by that name."

"Yes, I am Mikasa Yamakazi. What business have you for me?"

"Sir," he said clearing his throat, "I do apologize for being the bearer of such horrific news. My eyes were filled with tears and my heart with distress when I got this news myself. My god, how could something so evil happen to a single man in one day? Mikasa, it's your wife and children. I'm afraid they've all passed in a city-wide fire. It hit Osaka last night. We're just getting the word from Hakodate Station. It was..."

Mikasa fell ill. A sudden sensation of scorching heat had risen at the same time from the ball of his feet and the base of his head and met deep in his gut, going off like a grenade. "No...no! Don't you speak another word. This is not real. This is not real!"

"I'm afraid so, sir..." he continued, tucking the paper in his vest.

"Didn't I tell you to stop talking?" Mikasa shouted, shoving him aside.

The first few messengers were tear struck. They held their mouths and turned away from him. The skipper bent over and vomited. Mikasa prepared himself to implode. His heart thumped in his chest once again. He lost his voice as he shouted. The world was spinning. He felt like a top at a boy's gaming table. He felt a sense of wooziness mixed with untapped rage.

"I need to be alone," said Mikasa, who walked towards the docks where the Jiro II was moored, with Toshiko following close behind, tears also filling his little brown eyes.

When he reached the Jiro II, Mikasa dug into his emergency travel sack. He picked up a bottle filled with a white milky substance. It contained a chocolate label with the letters M.O.T.H.E. etched in the inscription on it. He turned to look at the boy he'd rescued.

At least someone's going back to their living family soon. Well, in a way, my little child, this will make two of us since mine live in another realm. There'll be one alive and one dead. For tonight, I dine with my kin in hell.

Toshiko read the misery in Mikasa's crumpled face all too well. Though he didn't know what was contained within the bottle of M.O.T.H., he started crying again.

Mikasa squatted to his eye level and wiped some tears away. As he took another sip from the bottle, a warmth came to his belly. He sympathized for the lad. It was a terrible time to abandon such a fragile thing – it was a selfish move. He'd never cried a day in his adult life and figured this was no time to start. He'd see his fam-fam, as the Northwood clans say, the moment the last bottle was empty. That was all he thought of. That was all that mattered to Mikasa.

As the Milk of the Earth coursed through his veins, the pure white thing would bring the hellish nightmare he was living to a blissful end. It had worked for his uncle, Takeo, who committed suicide (the untraditional way) after shaming his family in a terrible, drunken, escapade. He was no samurai, bound or otherwise. I don't deserve a samurai's death – so this is the only way, he thought as he drank the second unpleasant bottle.

After he'd popped the third bottle of Earthen Milk, Mikasa only felt one thing; pain. A searing, blistering, pain that ran from his belly and flowed gently up his throat. It spread to his eyes, legs and even the tips of his hairs where pain shouldn't be felt. It was as if it searched for places to create new pain in his body. It was the worst pain he'd felt since setting foot on mother Earth. It was the worst pain he thought a human being could or should have to bear. It was beyond mortal pain – it was pure misery trapped in a bottle. That gods be damned bottle!

He began to hallucinate; and poorly he did.

Two days had passed since Mikasa Yamakazi had fed the crows. The moment he saw the leading male land on his shoulder, he knew something was amiss. They'd never come this close unless there were a bone they had to pick with him. Mikasa reached in his bag to look for anything to give him, but he couldn't find anything. The crow looked as if he was ready to tell Mikasa to get back to work as if he'd been prepared to speak the spoken word, but he only fluttered his dark wings.

Then the little petulant, funky, son of a bitch had the nerve to, with a terribly deep peck, draw blood from Mikasa's shoulder with a single stroke, as they often do.

Mikasa shooed the crow off gently and examined the gaping wound on his body. It returned, this time with a buddy, the beta male. Mikasa lunged at them. They flew off. Then he stopped and waited, when they landed again on his shoulders, he killed both with his hands. From that moment the remaining crows jeered as if they'd been angry at Mikasa, though they kept their distance as if to stalk him waiting for him to die.

Just then, the burst of pain returned, stronger than before. He wanted to die, but he wasn't fading or losing consciousness. Nothing was happening. He should have croaked minutes ago. What the heck was going on?

Instead of the swift release he'd expected, Mikasa had unleashed something far worse. He'd released the One of Many Names; the Father of the Two Moons, Architect of the Dark, Ruler of the Realm of Perpetual Night, the Son of Fire, the Flesh Thief, the One Who Doesn't Bargain, the Keeper of the Big Ending, Izanami's Fiend. He's called Bizeelshalla, the Relic of Death himself. And once he's taken Mikasa's spirit, his own crows will finish off the rest.

One sip of her tit and you won't feel any pain

Surely, you'll be well and have everything to gain

Two sips of her tit and you grit your teeth

The aching long gone and agony bequeathed

Three sips of her tit are when she bores in your head

Restless nights are salaries for all the twisting in your bed

Five sips of her tit and you'd think you were dead

But don't fret my pet, for afterlife there's nothing left to dread

Six sips of her tit, that's when your belly will be burning

Life will be a bore, and it is death you'll be yearning

Seven sips of her tit will make you beg for release

Eight hours shall pass, then you'll rest in peace

-The Great Oracle, Canto Three

FIFTEEN

His Imperial Majesty

AN ORANGE tint hugged the walls of Palace Rose, casting Lord Hayato's plump shadow as he walked toward West Palace. At the end of the hall, he stopped for a moment to catch his wind and could see the emperor had not arrived.

He hurried through the wall of young lords, most of whom were under thirty, unmarried, and gathered outside in case the High Council called them. Half were from the Ouchi Clan, and the rest were Fujita men. Their sight seemed to unsettle Hayato, who kept a simple face as he passed. Wet-eared little pencil pushes. Come to the field with me, just once. I guarantee you, not a single one of you will last a day, thought Hayato.

When the palace guards opened the giant oaken doors, he was quick to his high chair. Three lords from the Ouchi family sat on his right while three lords from the Kojima family and Prince Ryota were to his left. Prince Ryota was fixated on one of the six pillars holding up the ornate ceiling. Hayato sat waiting, his stomach in a knot, wondering where the prime minister, Goro Fujita, had vanished to.

When Emperor Yamamomo was announced, the council stood. Sweat beads trickled down Hayato's blue kimono. His heart leaped out of his chest, and his palms shook. Oh, my, this is not good at all. Thousands of people live and work here, but only aides were out in the halls. What sweet hell is about to break open? He thought.

Lord Yuma had once told him that he was the most opinionated member of the High Council. And Hayato had agreed with the hardened soldier. But he wished nothing more than a listening session this time around. He'd wait to see which direction this stoning would go first.

But the emperor just sat there, pondering on whatever it was men in his position contemplated. His head at the gold-encrusted ceiling, eyes following the dragons who chased winged cows, Yamamomo's face was unreadable. And this disturbed the life out of the councilmembers, who knew at any moment, somebody could be sacrificed.

His different attire and disturbing ghastly appearance spoke for his mental state. A casual blue kimono hung on his shoulders instead of the traditional purple. He was barefoot, and he'd trimmed his black hair down to his ears. Instead of his royal scepter, he held a black ruler stripped of its markings and dipped in tar. He wore a thin coat of white makeup with blackened eyes – making him appear as a possessed Russian doll. And only two close servants attended him.

The golden throne was roofed with bear furs, hiding its immaculate detail and finish. It was a formal courtesy for the monarch to speak first. Hayato slouched in his seat, watching his master's body language closely. And when he expected him to talk, lifted himself.

Yamamomo's voice thundered through the expansive chamber, startling everyone but Hayato. "It's already being called the 'New Great Fire' of Japan!"

Yamamomo tapped the ugly stick on the crystalline floor, killing their continuous stretch of horror. Somewhere in that twenty-three-year-old soul, he'd been knocking around and tinkering with various images of revenge, thought Hayato. His thin face was drooped as a widow at a funeral. His dark brown eyes had pierced their souls with impending urgency.

The advisors shifted in their chairs to ease weak stomachs – none of them spoke up. Hayato looked around and discovered nothing but cowardice infesting the age-old board. He shook his head and crossed his arms.

Here we go again, thought Hayato.

"It is most unfortunate what happened, your majesty. Yet this is the opportunity you've been waiting for," said Hayato.

Not a single member of the council balked at the remark. When the emperor sent his gaze at him, Hayato stood, bowed, and sat. Yuma flicked his eyes at Hayato and quickly back at the emperor hoping for a sign – he got nothing.

Look at me all you want Yuma. Damn, right I'm going to say something. You'll be sitting here in relative comfort and safety when I have to visit the real ruler of Japan just days from now. So, forget you, my little cousin...forget you and all your penny thoughts, thought Hayato.

"The people are calling for blood. You must give it to them lest they turn their fury towards you," added Yuma, Commander of the Imperial Army. The short, stocky, bearded man stood and sat as well.

The emperor kept looking at Hayato. What he'd said seemed to have struck a deep chord in his heartstrings. This was not the time to be restrained, but reactive, and Hayato had made it so clear to him. Everybody felt a variation of that emotion, but they only wanted to hear it from someone else's lips. The fear of retribution from spies was great within Palace Rose.

"We've lost the largest tax base in the urban center of Osaka. Our wealthiest citizens have been wiped out," said Lord Takumi, head of the Imperial Treasury. Bald and aged Takumi was from Osaka. He'd owned many businesses in the section of the city destroyed. He too stood, bowed, and sat.

Emperor Yamamomo scratched his chin, stood, and descended from the throne to the council table before him, with the ruler in his right hand. He circled the roundtable twice before saying a word. The stress was as palpable as the soot that had been irritating Hayato's throat all day.

"I will not sacrifice troops in the field against the Shogun; it will only lead to a bloodletting. This must be done in a manner the clan alone will feel and understand. We must send a strong message to the Shogun's rabid animals and show him that we have the will of the people in the palm of our hands. That if he cannot keep his dogs on a leash, we will castrate them for him. That we will put them down when necessary. We must determine a way that won't lead to an early war with the Shogun. One we will certainly lose. As usual gentlemen, I want your best suggestions."

"They wouldn't dare turn their spears and guns against the empire's sovereign ruler. That would lead to civil war," said Yuma.

"A common man too accustomed to power soon grows drunk with each sip. Don't ever underestimate the willingness of the Shogun to rid himself of any perceived enemy, my friends," said Hayato. And once he's drawn blood, he will see you for what you really are, my emperor, a human, not God himself, he thought.

"An excellent point," said the emperor, "I couldn't have made a more eloquent statement. The Shogun wants a response from us. It would give him all the reasons he needs to march to the capital. What I represent now is a dying belief. The new threat is from outside. You all know what I mean, but that is for another time and place."

"What other forms of retaliation have we?" asked Yuma, stroking his gray beard. Hayato turned to him and threw a searing grin. Yuma looked ahead and turned his eyes at the emperor. If Hayato wanted to have at him in rhetoric, then it would have to wait until the emperor left. In Yuma's old days, he'd kill a man for looking at him the wrong way.

"My office has it on good authority that Saduats were involved. We are in the process of vetting our sources. But for now, the only solution is one that doesn't imply any connection to Palace Rose, my dear cousin," said Hayato.

"Saduats?" asked the emperor.

"I can confirm the Saduat involvement, however implausible it may sound, your majesty. How about sending in teams of private assassins from the north. They've forever hated the north and would blame them instead of us," said Yuma.

The emperor's face lit up. "Saduats! This can't be."

"Whatever it is, it must be swift, precise and should rock the base of their leadership. Without and I say 'without' arousing suspicion on us. As you've said, Lord Yuma, it is retaliation, not an invasion," said Hayato.

"We shall cut the head of the snake to kill the body," added Yuma, adjusting his glasses. He tilted his head down to look towards Hayato who'd been writing something. Hayato turned to look back at him, and Yuma turned his gaze towards the emperor again.

Ryota, head of the Imperial Guard Corps, was the youngest and newest member of the council. The cousin of the emperor, he was a tall and confident blue-eyed warrior in his early thirties. He lifted his head in his cousin's direction. "The Shogun is too well protected to send in an assassin squad. They'd be obliterated the moment they reached the castle walls. And besides, launching such a quick and unplanned mission would fail before it began. We have a leak in the palace.''

"That's not the only way to kill a snake. We could cut it in half. Take out some top deputies here and there. What do you think? They should get the message, right?" asked Hayato, who continued without a response, "It's just that we'd have to employ a breed of despicable and disloyal monsters to get the job done. It unsettles my head just thinking about it. Even his majesty would lose sleep over using them."

"You mean ninjas don't you, Hayato?" asked Yuma.

"Precisely."

Yuma shook his head. "I agree with Hayato. Ninjas should be out of the question."

"It's been a while since you've agreed with anything that came from these lips. I should have a stroke by the end of the hour," said Hayato to muffled laughs. Lord Yuma gave him half a smile and then turned to the council. Hayato wrote something on paper. He held it up at Yuma who scanned it quickly and then let out a graceful chuckle. "We have already prepared a preliminary list of key traitors," he said, "our sentries in the south..."

"This is starting to smell like a wild goose, your imperial majesty," Ryota interrupted.

Hayato interrupted too. "Wait a minute, Yuma. These sentries also answer to the Shogun, am I correct? Their intelligence cannot be trusted if that is the case."

The emperor was shaking his head. Lord Yuma sighed and continued. "These sentries come from my own personal spy network, my lord Hayato. I can bet my life on it. The ones responsible were seen celebrating and bragging throughout the southern quadrant. Whorehouses and taverns are still a good source of intelligence, and I have plenty of eyes still left in the south."

Lord Yuma snapped his fingers. One of the interior guards, dressed in military green, opened the chamber doors. Soon, a young man with his face covered with a satin cloth was escorted in. He handed sheets of paper to each of the members of the council. The emperor didn't look at the names, twenty-one in all. He walked back to his throne and sat with his face crumpled.

Once again, silence invaded the chamber as the men read out the names. Hayato had seen this sort of list before. It was a kill list written in code with a cipher stamped under each name. Only the Security Council, which Yuma reigned over, had the keys to the cipher, which was translated before it arrived at the High Council.

Emperor Yamamomo stood. "Then our suspicions are confirmed. Who do we have that could pull off such a mission without risking everything?"

"We could consider recruiting someone from the north. I mean far north – in the Northwood. He must be a samurai. I know Lord Yuma has a secret list of them," said Ryota with a wink at Yuma.

Yuma squinted, swallowed, and stumbled for his documents. "How about Mikasa Yamakazi, your majesty?" Lord Yuma asked with a self-assured chest poked out as an old baboon rising to a challenge. Hayato did a quick roll of his eyes.

"The one they call Gunfire?" asked Ryota, "I read of him in your formal report. He's not so secret. He could be a troublesome candidate to manage. The man is a little, how do I say this... maniacal."

"He's without honor?" asked the Emperor.

"Oh, no, not at all," said Ryota. "He's bursting with the stuff, but that's not the problem. He's an Unbound Samurai. Controlling something like that is impossible. Frankly, I don't know how the O.C.I. does it."

"Like walking on brass tacks," says Yamaguchi. "Like walking on brass tacks."

"The man was supposedly born with a lion's heart," said Hayato, who giggled on the inside at the thought. Hayato was not above having faith in relics of the old religion, but urban myths were where he drew the line. Only lions are born with a lion's heart. Men are inbred with what God gave them. And if they were not, then they were never real men, to begin with, like the green-skinned savages that stalked the plains of Midwood.

"Yes, Lord Ryota, you're correct. But he's a most loyal warrior. Came from one of the wealthiest families in the district. Is of royal descent but doesn't even speak of it – a humble man. He could have been a general, adventurer or minister, but chose to become a samurai. I dare anyone to find a better candidate for the task," replied Yuma who crossed his arms and cocked a smile. Hayato was ready to rip the cocky smirk off his cousin's face with an unsettling question which would've poked vicious holes through his pick. You want to place the life of the emperor and his family in the hands of a madman? Thought Hayato.

He held his tongue.

"But he lost his entire family in the great fire," added Ryota. "I read this in the report. It's the same Mikasa Yamakazi, is that correct lord Hayato?"

"Yes, your highness," said Hayato. How'd they come to know so quickly caught him off guard, but that was the work of his cousin, Yuma no doubt, who should've been asked the question, to begin with. He was the new spymaster who'd been watching over everyone these days.

The room, silent. Every member of the High Council turned to Ryota. Hayato's jaw dropped. He palmed his face, lowering his head.

This is their savior? A man who's lost it all? A man with no motivation? How could they ask him to go out and do this after he's been through so much? He won't be motivated by anything but revenge. It will cloud his judgment. These fools will pull us into a long and protracted civil war. I must stop them, but if I push too much, they might suspect I sympathize with our attackers, thought Hayato.

Just then, Empress Tatsuo walked into the High Council meeting. Thirteen Imperial Guardsmen stood between Empress and Emperor, and once she gave them the most glaring look, enough to blast a hole through their armor, they made a hole for her to walk through.

"Gentlemen," she announced to the men at the table, looking at them but not at them directly. "This meeting is adjourned. Can't you see what this catastrophe has done to my Emperor?"

The men of the High Council stood in silence waiting to see what the Emperor would do, but he just sat there like a log, eyes distant and face droopy.

SIXTEEN

An Honorable Request

MIKASA HAD hallucinated the rest of the afternoon away as he awaited death's merciful embrace. When he realized it wouldn't come to him, he hated the Flesh Thief. He plunged his fist into the air, cursing him, just as Tatsuo had done in the chamber with her husband.

For a moment, he remained inconsolable, a mass of human flesh, ready to be plucked by the opportunistic birds he'd been nourishing for years. They hovered above, and like Mikasa, just waiting for that moment to arrive.

Look at them bastards. Unfaithful bastards! Then again, I didn't expect them to be. I knew deep down inside if I ever fell in battle they'd pluck every single ounce of flesh off my bones. But this... this right here is betrayal, pure and simple.

Makaru had seen enough of Mikasa wallowing in his own filth at the base of the Jiro. The sun would either bake him into a permanent stupor, or he'd be stripped of his remaining clothes as the dock workers left and the petty criminals came out. They'd be ogling for easy prey from the woodwork, and he knew the outcome would be disastrous.

"Come on now, Mikasa," said Makaru. "Up and at it." He picked up his dear old friend with Hideki and Daido's help. They took him up the Jiro's gangway, with his feet dragging while his head sank to his chest. He drooled.

Taking Mikasa down below was another ordeal. He refused to go while in his visionary madness. Mikasa was robust for a slim-waisted man. It took all their might to wrestle him towards the stairs, but they eventually got him to cooperate.

When the team reached the belly of the ship, they placed him on top of a cot. He rolled around for a moment and then opened his eyes. He quickly sat up. When Mikasa realized Toshiko had never left his side, he tried to shake off his nausea.

"Daido," said Mikasa, "please take the boy out this room for a moment. I need to speak with Makaru and Hideki in private." He turned to Toshiko. "Don't worry little man. They'll take care of you. You'll be right outside this room. If anything, just call my name."

Daido left with Toshiko.

"Can you," said he said to Makaru, "take the child back to his father for me?"

"Without question," said Makaru. "Now, what is your plan?"

"Just give me thirty minutes alone," he said as he rolled back on the bed, facing away from Makaru and Hideki. The two men looked at each other in dismay.

Thirty minutes alone only because his first route failed. He'd been denied by the god of death and thought since the drugs were taking too long, he'd do it himself. But what if the god of death, the Specter of Death, the One Who Doesn't Bargain doesn't want him at all? More pain and anguish and for what?

"I see that look in your eyes," said Makaru. "I know what it means, Mikasa. What have you done?"

"It's already too late," said Mikasa. "As we speak, I die."

"What ails you?" asked Hideki. "Surely there's a remedy."

"Worry not, my friends," he mumbled. "Your payment is in my sack."

"This has nothing to do with money," said Hideki. "We're your friends first. Business partners second."

"If it were," said Makaru, "we'd have left you days ago, for so many other, larger clientele. We believe in your mission. We've always believed in your mission, Mikasa."

"Well, all things must come to an end," he grunted. "I've consumed three MOTHE bottles, hours ago and the Specter hasn't claimed my spirit. Bastard's torturing me. So, tonight, I perform Seppuku."

"You've been denied a dishonorable death," said Hideki.

"Then, the honorable way it is," added Makaru. "You lived honorably, and you should die as such."

"Then it is agreed, we shall serve as witness," said Hideki.

"Makaru, I want a simple water burial. When it's over, I want you to deliver this katana and this seal, to the peasant boy's family. With it, I have severed at least a thousand heads by now. It is most fitting that it should partly sever my own. As for my side swords, you can keep in memory of me, your friend till the end."

He handed Makaru his large katana, which he'd seen before but just holding it made him weak in the knees. The weapon was shockingly overproduced and built specially for someone who was either deformed or would never put it to real use. Unfortunately, the maker of this weapon didn't know it would've ended up in the hands of Mikasa Yamakazi.

Two days had passed since Mikasa Yamakazi had fed the crows. They were no longer wrestles, though they'd circled him and tasted his blood and he'd lost their trust. They were no longer hungry since there were plenty of bodies now to go around as people seemed to be dropping like house flies. They were no longer outspoken crows, and they were no longer his.

SEVENTEEN

Yuma's Champion

THE EMPEROR'S eyes widened. His face seemed to be reddening under the black and white makeup. His brows furrowed, and those pinkish feminine lips tightened. He leaned to the side and vomited into the hands of a servant. After composing himself, he stood and walked away from the throne room. A short period passed but came back into the chamber.

"What's the meaning of this my love?" he asked her.

"You must come to chambers," she ordered him. "It's not time to play administrator. You've got the Prime Minister for that. The other children are calling for you. And most importantly your son calls for you."

"I must apologize for this, my love. Take her away at once," he ordered. She was escorted out of the chamber. "I'll deal with her later." The Empress smacked the guards as they took her out.

Emperor Yamamomo gripped his ruler tight. "His entire family you say?"

"That's correct your majesty. He's all alone now, looking for a cause, and we've got one to give him," answered Yuma. At this point, Lord Yuma didn't bother to look to Hayato for approval, since there was none to be had. He'd believed he could make traction with the only man in the room that counted.

Yamamomo turned quick to Yuma. "How could we ask this of a grieving man?"

Hayato stood and bowed. "Your majesty, men like Mikasa are dangerous in more ways than we can number. Let me remind you what happened the last time we used this same tactic. The Samurai was caught and sang like a Warbler during mating season... something which had never occurred in centuries. This lead to Emperor Tokugawa abdicating and going into hiding and the Samurai once freed committed seppuku. I don't want to see this happen to you, your majesty."

Ryota stood and bowed. "Which is why I think he's perfect for this mission. He's got nothing left to lose. And if he's caught, I've got something for him to take, just in case it even gets to that."

Hayato balked. "What do you mean he's got nothing to lose? All men have something, even when think they've lost it all. And no matter what passion compels them, in the face of torture they will do whatever it takes to make the pain stop," he said, handing Ryota a nasty gaze. I may not outrank you in the empire, but here I do, young lord. I'm not afraid of you either, mister 'I should be emperor,' not one bit, he thought.

"What is life without family?" asked Ryota, who looked back at Hayato and blew him a kiss. Hayato rolled his eyes and looked away. Ryota struggled to hold in his laughter. An unamused Hayato looked in the emperor's direction, turning his body away from Ryota. Childish! Thought Hayato.

"How would we go about doing this?" Emperor Yamamomo asked.

He knew Hayato would still contribute even if he disagreed with the method applied. That was what he valued most in him. His ability to work with a group, even if he had a high disdain for most of them and didn't see them as his intellectual peers. Hayato's university education was only matched by the emperor's. And was a heavyweight in the young ruler's eyes.

"Give him a commission. Maybe the rank of general, and a battalion of our fiercest fighters. But they would have to wear southern crests and carry weapons forged down there as well," said Ryota.

Hayato shouted. "And do what? March to the Shogun's castle and ask him to give himself up? Always the same with you, my young lord. You see a nail and think yourself a hammer. Another thing is terribly wrong with making weapons in the last minute. They leave a trail."

Hayato had twisted his lips in a way which seemed almost comical as he derided the young man. This made Yuma cover his eyes and bend his head.

"And even if one does this, your highness, they'd have to contend with the hundreds of dogs he keeps roaming that smelly space," said Lord Akagi Kojima, Admiral of the Fleet for the Imperial Navy, who looked back at his cousin, Hayato, with a nod. Akagi had stayed as a willing family hostage at Edo Castle when he was a child and had an intimate knowledge of the Shogun's wrath.

Ryota stuttered. "It's, it's... better than letting him..."

Hayato powered through. "And if this half-witted overt campaign you're suggesting fails, Lord Ryota, will you be giving up your head in the emperor's stead... huh? You're way too important for taking such ridiculous risks. I simply won't allow it. This council won't allow it."

There was grumbling of agreement all around. Lord Ryota reclined in his seat. It was Hayato's duty, as ranking member, to question everything brought up in the High Council, but he didn't have to dig in to extract flesh – he seemed to enjoy it.

When it came time to take a berating, Ryota was half prepared. But Ryota's royal skin was not as thick as Hayato's. And though he knew the emissary was looking out for the emperor, he still grew sparks out his eyes.

Yuma slammed his right hand on the table. "Quiet! We can always perpetuate the rumor that he went rogue after losing his family. That he was seeking retribution for the loss. We have plausible deniability on our side. This plan could work, with some adjustments. Don't you guys agree?" Oh, little cousin, you fell for that trap, thought Hayato.

The emperor lifted his ruler and smashed it over Yuma's hand. He winced and held the bruised skin, cradling it like an infant. "Calm down my one and only Yuma. What else do you know about this Yamakazi?" he asked, as he walked back towards his throne.

He began pacing back and forth, his face animated like a child plotting mischief. Mischief he'd need to execute with deliberate swiftness or risk his reign. A reign which had begun with a retired emperor departing and being replaced by an unimportant, weak, and even less liked son.

"It's recorded, officially I might add, that he once faced over a hundred men on the battlefield and emerged victoriously," said Yuma, "that was during the campaign in the north, your majesty."

"That was nearly a decade ago. Are you forgetting that he hasn't picked up a sword since? If this report is accurate. And he's what, helping peasants now? You really want to bring a retired samurai back on duty for this important mission?" asked Hayato.

At that point, he was sweating buckets and catching his breath. He was ready to walk out of the meeting. This was not the way he'd go about removing that southern plague tormenting his country. A deranged and retired warrior will only mess things up. Diplomacy is the first act before waging war or engaging in subterfuge, you militant, foolish, halfwit, thought Hayato.

"Let me continue Lord Hayato... your majesty, these are the accounts of eyewitnesses, not a single scratch was on this man. He cut his way straight to the general, who he spared and brought back to the capital to none other than your father. I sealed the records of the event personally until he retired. The man has proven himself repeatedly to be undefeatable. He's our best option unless anybody has a more suitable candidate."

"He's been touched by his ancestors... maybe the gods," said Takumi. The wide-eyed old man had his curiosity fixated on the list of twenty-one. Takumi was a born religious zealot but clung to the old ways; the ways of Shinto. The new religion, being touted as the true religion, was not for him with its pagan roots, blood magic and budding young women surrounded by what he only thought of as shameless pedophiles.

"That sounds like a myth if I've ever heard one," said Hayato, who was laughing at Takumi.

Takumi didn't seem to take the belittling well, but he kept his mouth sealed. It was typical Hayato. At a more appropriate time, he'd have to deal with Hayato, and maybe this time, for good.

"Any brighter ideas? No... If nobody has anything better to offer, then I think we are left with this one option; this so-called Yamakazi," said the emperor.

An even more full smirk stretched across Lord Yuma's face. He leaned back in his high chair and tossed the paper with the names on the roundtable.

"His second task should be to escort your cousin back from Edo. If, and when, we are ready for a full retaliation, they'll have no leverage over us," Yuma continued.

"No. That'll only make our intentions too obvious. Even the Shogun is not that easy to fool. We must leave them scratching their heads over this, to suspect, but unable to draw a full conclusion, giving us time to amass a decent army in the Northwood. Does anybody know how we can locate Yamakazi without causing a trail of gossip to lead all the way from here to Edo? This place has become as leaky as a broken stool pot. And as unsightly as a cesspool."

"I know precisely where to do this, your majesty. Where Yamakazi won't be spotted by a commoner's inquisitive eyes," said Yuma.

"Excellent. Lord Yuma, summon him immediately. Lord Hayato, you will accompany Yuma to keep him out of trouble amid the common folk. Gentlemen, he must not be seen entering the palace. I implore you to think with your heads and not with your hearts. A great opportunity is ahead. We must snatch it before it wanes."

You want me to supervise your highest-ranking soldier? You want a general to take orders from a diplomat? His own cousin? Good luck with that, mine young emperor, thought Hayato.

Yamamomo walked off to the rear door near his throne, followed by his royal guards and servants. Without his presence, random chatter filled the chamber.

All but three council members had spoken. Among them was Lord Taketa, who served as the Imperial Accountant. The tall, slim number cruncher was in his late forties and had attended one of the top universities in Japan but didn't have a tactical bone in his body. Taketa abhorred politics and was only there at the request of Hayato.

Lord Yamaguchi, whom the emperor was losing faith in, said nothing. He was the Spymaster for the Office of Clandestine Inquiry at Palace Rose. And it was his post that fell asleep while the fox went in the chicken coop to feed. Hayato had warned him about a lax in recruiting efforts, but he'd ignored his old friend. Instead of opting for non-traditional sources of information, he used real spies. Men who are trained in the art of deception. Men who can be easily spotted by other well-trained men in their field.

And Lord Takoma was obliged to be quiet. He'd been instructed by Hayato not to speak – he had a terrible reputation with secrets. He was also ordered to supervise the army from the palace, under the supervision of the Military Council.

Prime Minister Fujita and most of his ministers were also not present. They were in the Northwood reviewing the troops at the behest of the Emperor.

The emperor had declared war, but would their plan work or would it burn up along with the hundreds of thousands of lives lost to the fire? This thought lingered behind Hayato's mind the rest of the evening. His master made a significant promise to his people. To keep them safe from future tragedy would require rivers to run red again.

With their cause firmly on his side, he was no longer a figurehead, or object of veneration, he was no longer impotent, he was the hand that would reach out over the empire to exact their revenge. The blood of the dead had cried out to him for bold action. If fulfilling that promise rested in the fate of a solitary, heartbroken former soldier of a man, then so be it.

It makes men intense, will force them to wander

That feeling inside him the one he must conquer

I conjured a shelter, a place for his rest

He thinks it be simple, will he pass the test

He has a big weapon, one filled with resistance

Soon I will make him agree with persistence

Will he use it in battle or use it for fun

A single wrong choice and his mission is done

-The Great Oracle, Canto Seven

EIGHTEEN

Emissary of Life

MIKASA'S FORMER nocturnal companions stalked the deck of the Jiro II without mercy as he bathed in a large tin bucket at the corner of his cabin. He'd heard their thick black and flashy talons clicking and clacking, intimidating the heck out of the crew, their wings fluttering everywhere.

They made a foul mess of things as usual; shitting everywhere they wished, gawking at the crew as if they owned the ship, waiting with maddeningly watchful eyes for something, anything, to just drop dead. And when nothing did, they misbehaved something awful, cawing the at the top of their lungs in unison.

When it was finally made apparent that they were the persona non-grata on the ship, with the shuttering of doors and windows, they shat aggressively on the decks to show their disapproval to such a verdict. Makaru had had enough. The nasty little bastards had to go.

"Get this rust bucket ready to sail," he shouted to Hideki and Daido.

"Aye aye, captain" replied Hideki.

Down below, Mikasa had finished his bathing ritual. Daido had returned from town where he'd gone to purchase a white kimono while Hideki cooked fish and white rice as Mikasa's last meal. There was plenty of sake aboard the Jiro, so Hideki had instructed Daido to only grab two individual cups. One would be for Mikasa and one for Makaru, who'd perform the partial decapitation portion of the ceremony.

Daido handed Mikasa the white robe just as he dried off.

"The boy is upset," said Daido.

"Bring him here," said Mikasa.

Daido walked out, and a minute later, he brought Toshiko to Mikasa. The boy wouldn't look at Mikasa. His head stayed to the ground.

"Come here, Toshiko."

He slowly motioned over to Mikasa, then he ran over and grabbed his leg. He started crying and pounded his hand on Mikasa's left leg.

"What are you doing?" asked Toshiko.

"I'm preparing for an end of life ceremony," said Mikasa. "I'm not long for this world."

"What does that mean?" asked the boy as tears fell. "You're not going to leave me like Zita did too, are you?"

Just then, it pounded Mikasa like a wet battle drum. The connection he once had to the boy came flowing back to him. His uncle had taken his life in the manner his drunk uncle Takeo had when he was young. He remembered sympathizing with the boy from the very beginning.

And now, he was about to put the child through the same traumatic event he'd gone through as a child. But he couldn't go back on his word, the ceremony was prepped. He badly needed, no wanted to, be reunited with his sweet Oichi, Endō, and Nakano. He had to.

"It means that I won't be here for long," said Mikasa. "I wish I could explain this to you in more detail. But when you're older, you will understand."

"How long do you we have together then?"

"I don't know," said Mikasa.

"You said you'd take me to see my father," he cried. "Will you make it there?"

"These men will do that for me."

"How do you know that unless you're going to do it yourself?"

"I don't," he sighed. "What's really on your mind."

"I saw the letter. It's a poem of death isn't it?"

"You're aren't as naïve as you look, boy," he sighed. "Toshiko, I wish to tell you the truth, and it seems like you've already had a glimpse at it so, here it is. It's simple, Toshiko. I only wish to bring honor back to my family and join them in the world of the dead. Now, you must leave, because this ceremony is not for children.

Daido placed his hand on the boy, about to take him out Mikasa's cabin. He shrieked at the top of his lungs. Daido let him go out of panic. Mikasa continued dressing with a firm resolve on his face as if the boy had already left him.

"Please, not now Mikasa," he pleaded as Daido pulled him out the cabin. "Please wait until we get back home. Maybe you'll change your mind. If you only see how good my family is. You can be our family. We can be yours too."

He planted his foot on the ground and tried his best to force his weight, the little there'd been of it, against Daido. At that point, Daido lifted him and began carrying him. He fluttered and kicked the sailor. As the boy was carried out, he screamed and cried louder than ever, begging Mikasa to stop the ceremony and not to abandon him. But it had already begun in Mikasa's mind.

The tanto, a short and very sharp blade, which Daido had polished for the ceremony, was brought into the cabin and placed next to the quilt where Mikasa would sit. It was wrapped in a white sheet of silk so it wouldn't cut Mikasa when he picked it up to slice his upper abdomen from left to right, severing the major artery between his heart and kidneys.

He'd eaten his final meal, check. He'd shared sake with is best associates, check. He'd written his beautiful death poem, check. A trusted swordsman, Makaru, who didn't have to be a samurai and can make a partial decapitation, was there with another witness Daido, check.

That was enough for Mikasa, who sat on the burgundy quilt at the center of his cabin. He began slowly, unraveling his kimono, then he lifted his head. Makaru stood just a foot behind him, brandishing the giant sword he'd used to liberate Toshiko from Governor Hirohito.

He picked up the blade.

A solitary crow landed at the window to his right, as if to tell him not to do it inside the ship. It seemed to beg him, pleading with him, as it pecked incessantly at the metal mesh separating him and his would-be meal – Mikasa.

Makaru lifted the katana. He held it tight. He couldn't miss the swing or overdo it for if Mikasa's head fell to the floor – instant dishonor. In only a few seconds, he'd be sending one of his greatest associates to a long nine-day journey to the afterlife. Hopefully, the gates of Hades would permit him a quick entry into the fields where his family resided, and he'd be eternally united with them and his ancestors.

Mikasa lifted the blade, closed his eyes, trying hard to ignore the damned angry bird outside, ready to plunge it deep into his abdomen. This was Makaru's cue, he readied himself and was about to swing the katana.

Then suddenly, the cabin door swung open.

"Stop!" said a strange man they'd never seen before. Makaru, Hideki, and Mikasa turned to look at the man who looked like a dock worker. Maybe he was a longshoreman.

He smelt of the docks, thought Makaru.

Everything stopped. There was a look on Mikasa's face which said plain and simple; "You're one gods be damned dead man walking," to the stranger, who'd just handed a piece of telegraph paper to Makaru. As Mikasa stood, the stranger turned tail and ran out of the cabin.

"Who let him onto my ship?" asked Hideki.

"It no longer matters," said Makaru, who handed Mikasa the telegraph. "Please read this. It looks critical."

"What is the meaning of all this?" an angry Mikasa shouted as he took the telegraph and began to read its contents. "We have a ceremony to..."

In Care Of: Mikasa Yamakazi.

You've been summoned by the His Imperial Majesty's Emissary. Lord Hayato Kojima. Mount Lizuna. The Shinano Province. Dinner in honor of thee. Bring plenty of Gunfire.

In Care Of: Lord Yamaguchi.

This was not so, he knew his own calling card all too well. It meant the emperor had summoned him. And "In Care Of" was code for O.C.I. or the Office of Clandestine Inquiry at Palace Rose. Mikasa was back in demand, and this time it was at the behest of the Emperor himself, or at least the High Council, the only two bodies who could summon an Unbound Samurai in the field. There was no dinner in his honor. Actually, there'd be a dinner in his honor as a cover, he wouldn't be there though.

Mikasa looked at Makaru and Daido. They expected him to sit back down, so they took their position. Mikasa leaned over to the quilt and took to rolling it up. Toshiko ran into the room to see that the ceremony had stopped. In his confusion, he looked up at Mikasa and then back at the two sailors until they faced him.

"Should we tell him?" said Makaru.

Mikasa looked back after he finished rolling the quilt, making sure Toshiko made eye contact with him. "We'll postpone this lovely ceremony for another time," he said. "Seems like I have a most important mission ahead, a final mission, and so I must accept it. Tonight, we sail south."

A gigantic smile stretched across the boy's face as his savior would live to see another day. The crows vanished with the setting sun.

NINETEEN

Gunfire Monk

THE MONASTERY at the edge of Mount Iizuna had been a terrible choice in Hayato's mind. Shinano Province was filled with spies, all loyal to their Shogun, Akira Nagasaki. Most of the Lords of Lands in the province considered Nagasaki, in secret, the de facto ruler of Japan.

Not only was the mountainside an appalling strategic location, so was the selected attire he now wore which he was sure would fool no one once they arrived at the monastery. Look at us. Nobody with their full faculties will ever believe we're real monks. I pray they don't inspect us at the door, our hair alone will give us away. Yuma, you idiot, why did I agree to this.

Their carriage rocked as it turned a hard left. Yuma didn't budge, but Hayato swore he heard a boulder fall off the bluff. Hayato took a quick look outside, he got an eyeful. The cliff had to be a thousand-footer – he bit his tongue and snapped the curtains shut.

When he turned to look at his traveling companion, whom he gave an ugly stare, he'd been deep into reference papers. Hayato had read the inflated reports back at his compound and laughed at the top of his throat. It was a well-needed laugh. He had not read such dribble in such a long time. Fairy tales they were; one man who was a spy hunter-killer, covert double agent, counterintelligence officer, disinformation officer, imperial bodyguard, samurai 9th class, security analyst, interrogations officer, agent recruiter, and assassin first class, with eleven known aliases and the remaining ones were redacted.

All this at thirty-three years of age... bullshit! No man was this dedicated to the Empire. Not even the Emperor himself.

And now his cousin sat down dawdling and drooling over the very idea of it as if it was a gospel from the gods themselves. He must've idolized this phantom of a man.

Did you even check the route there, cousin? Two widows in one night, that's what's going to end up happening.

"Tell me," he said. "Is this the only way to the gods be damned monastery?"

"I know what you're thinking," said Yuma.

"Do you?" replied Hayato. "You must be talking about the buzzards down there waiting for our carriage a thousand feet below. I must say, they've grown quite accustomed to free meals along this route."

"Relax," Yuma shrugged. "The driver's a professional. Been through this pass a thousand times."

Just then, they came to a screeching halt and sped up, turned right, then left and stopped abruptly. There was not a single sound as the darkness around them seemed to rob both men of their ability to speak. Yuma grabbed his sidearm. Hayato's heart leaped in his chest. You idiot, I knew it. You've killed us.

Just as Yuma was about to exit the carriage, the driver made a "giddyap" sound, and the horses began moving. It moved again with haste.

"You worry too much, my dear cousin," said Yuma. "Worries are the harbingers of wrinkles and nose hairs in old men."

"I was sent here to keep you out of trouble. But it seems like it's just what you've found. And we haven't even gotten to our destination yet."

"You're going to meet an Unbound Samurai," Yuma quipped. "You thought it was going to be a simple affair. My lord, this man is a killing machine so dangerous that he doesn't exist. Even when they existed on paper, they didn't exist."

"He's just a man," said Hayato. "If he can bleed like a man he can die like a man. Why do we depend on him so?"

"Unbound Samurai were said to have had a glimpse into the purest form of Saduat training, a combination so deadly, that they weren't permitted to have any masters for a while."

"Sounds ridiculous," Hayato shook his head. "We all know that the Unbound were supposedly these wall defying genii; surgical tools of the state which were able to come and go anywhere as they please. Now tell me what I don't know about the lore, I need a good laugh to dull the forthcoming pain of our imminent deaths."

"Fear of heights is unbecoming of you, cousin." He said, tilting his glasses to look at Hayato, possibly to see if the emissary was severe. Hayato's face had that 'I will strangle you when this coach stops' look splattered all over it.

"The fear of any death so ludicrous," Hayato blasted, "unjustifiable, preventable, might I add at the hands of one's own family member, is unbecoming of any lord of this great empire. They won't even be able to ceremoniously cremate our bodies, because there won't be anything left after whatever there is out there's done with it." He tugged at the curtains, ready to reach out to take another glare outside, but held himself back.

Yuma powered through the conversation right as the coach jostled and took another sharp turn, sliding them to the left side of their seats. "The fear was," he continued unbothered by the motion, though Hayato had a short fit, "that if they had masters, there'd be too many of them outside imperial control, and too many warriors of this class would create a problem for the empire in the long run."

"I see. When you've got a rat problem, you get snakes. But once all the rats are gone, you're left with too many snakes."

"That's such a simplistic way to look at it," said Yuma.

"That was how the emperors of old did, did they not?"

"Well, in retrospect," Yuma grabbed his beard," You could put it that way. Yet the few Unbound that are left are more than weapons now, they can serve as symbols of retribution as well. Right now, they are a tool we can use to make our mark in the sand."

"This mark could turn out to be a battle call, my cousin. And samurai or Saduat. Warriors love to answer calls to battle. Just remember this."

"Warriors respect an efficient and crushing form of conquest," Yuma said pumping his fist in the air. It's the only type of defeat they respect. Trust me, this will work."

"Only time will kill my somewhat incredulous feeling right now, Yuma. Though I commend you for trying to get me to understand a little more about warrior culture. I don't' detest it, I just wish there was more time to figure out how to deal with this problem before picking up weapons."

"The enemy didn't allow us the courtesy of picking up our weapons," he shouted. "They struck us when we were asleep. So, we'll hit them with a force that can vanish and appear before them without them ever seeing him. This is what an Unbound Samurai embodies. You'll see this very soon."

"One does not just vanish and appear before the Lord Hayato's face," he said contemptuously.

"The hands are quicker than the eye, Hayato," said Yuma. "At the end of this evening, you'll be a believer, my lord cousin."

TWENTY

False Prince

THERE'D BEEN a certainty in his soul that he'd keel over dead at any moment. Mikasa knew that day would come, just not when or where, as he and Toshiko waved goodbye to Daido, Makaru and the crew of the Jiro II. They'd sailed south all night, reaching Hakodate right as the sun peaked over the tip of the Eastern horizon.

He wanted to avoid detection, and that meant rough areas of the countryside. It wasn't a big problem since the boy was from a farm family who lived miles outside of the port of Hakodate. They footed it through the city searching for a mule for rent. Mikasa figured the prices were decent after the merchants had set up their stores – most things had been delivered either early morning or the night before.

After procuring a small, sickly and grayish mule, the duo headed northwest into the same bushy trial which Mikasa had traveled to seek General Yakushima. It was a trail often traveled by women who'd been banned by the Shogun, or their lords, from going without their husbands or during the harvest . The women were forced to travel the route for if they were spotted on normal ones, it would mean a terrible spanking and possible beheading for disobedience.

They didn't make it, but a few steps into the shrubbery before being surrounded by a horde of ragged men and women headed the same way. The group seemed more interested in what Mikasa had in his pockets than what lied before them on the extended trail toward the countryside.

"Halt stranger," said an old man from deep within the crowd. Mikasa reached forward and grabbed Toshiko, who'd been a few paces ahead oblivious to the situation. Their trip, relatively quiet and free of danger, had pushed the boy to grow accustomed to roaming free again. Mikasa felt Toshiko's little heart thumping in his chest against his hand and reassured him with a slight rub on his belly. He stopped his rampant breathing, then calmed himself against his protector.

"What's this business?" asked Mikasa in a booming voice. His gut burned to a new level of misery. This was the worst time for engaging in an argument. Let's practice diplomacy, thought Mikasa. I can't let anything happen to this child now. Not when we're so close to his father.

"If you've passed this way before," said a younger one, who emerged from the crowd, "then you know the cost to travel this way." He was not as rugged as the bunch around him, having seemingly bathed recently and wearing clothes which were made that decade. Clearly the ringleader, Mikasa approached him with caution, with Toshiko at his right.

"Bow before Zustru the Warrior Prince," said one of the young girls in the group. Mikasa looked at Toshiko and rolled eyes. The boy was about to chuckle, but Mikasa shushed him and brought him closer to his body.

"This," said Mikasa handing the young savage an imperial travel coin, "I hope should be enough token for my passage." The travel coin, a square copper with the Shogun's seal used by the nobility to send out workers or courtesans, permitted whoever held it to move about in places where there were curfews and travel restrictions. This would hinder any samurai or governors from any other region from detaining the person who carried the coin, on pain of death.

"That most certainly will not suffice over here," said the Warrior Prince, with his hands on his waist. There were two swords at his side. They seemed to be older than he was. Mikasa drew Toshiko behind him. But the moment he did, they were surrounded from behind. He picked the boy up and held him.

"Kid's got to be important," said one of them. "Much is he worth to you traveler?" asked another, to which Mikasa tossed the contents of his pockets to the Warrior Prince.

"Not enough," said the so-called Prince. "We'll take everything."

That look on their faces when he entered the forest had said it all, they cared not for their lives. They'd been in there too long, they'd been dejected roaming the woods, they'd been trampled on by their lords, and now they'd been spreading chaos, they'd been foolish at the least to swarm random individuals – who knew whom or what stalked the woods at night? Fearless wasn't a good enough word to describe them. They were bandits, and there was only one way to deal with bandits in the deepest valleys of Mikasa's mind.

Under his cloak was his trusty katana which he quickly palmed and thanked Makaru for returning to him when he left the Jiro II. The monster weapon would be needed not only on his next mission but right there to scare off a few bandits on the trail, he hoped. I shall return it to you, my friend, that is a promise.

"A warrior and a prince," Mikasa huffed. "That's so cliché. He's definitely going to be the first to die here today." He drew his katana with his right hand, Toshiko held tightly on his left bosom. The horde stepped back, but the Warrior Prince did not budge. Seconds later, the sound of hundreds of daggers being drawn made the boy piss his pants. This enraged Mikasa who lunged at the Warrior Prince.

They fought briefly, with an occasional interruption which Mikasa brought to a bitter ending with a beheading here and there until the Warrior Prince had no more battle left in him. As he struggled to get up with cuts and mortal wounds throughout his body, the horde hissed and jeered at Mikasa, who was about to return his katana to its scabbard.

Just then, as they approached him for round two, probably hoping their strength in numbers would outdo the samurai, they heard a deep, wraithlike, monstrous, roaring sound to the left, far in the interior of the woods. The growl couldn't have been made by man or animal nor a combination of the two, but it sounded like the creature said, "feed me!" Whatever it was, it hadn't ever made human contact and twiddled with the darkest sides of the human imagination, forcing it into a deep state of panic.

The earsplitting shriek headed their way in a crescendo until the horde couldn't take it anymore and left scattering in all directions, except for where it came from. Mikasa followed them as well figuring it was better to stay with a group than go seeking whatever beast was that articulated such an overwhelming sound.

The rest of the way through the forest, Mikasa was forced to tell Toshiko tales to stop him from seeing the hundreds of bodies which peppered the route. There was no immediate explanation for the bodies. They had no bruises, no scars of any sort. Some of them seemed to have self-inflicted wounds on them. Then there were the giant paw prints set far apart for miles. This confounded Mikasa. The scratches on the deceased people's backs also made sense since Mikasa could tell they'd been inflicted after death. What on Gaia's green earth would do something to a dead body like this?

There was no time to investigate. The boy's village was just a few miles away, and he'd need to make it to the monastery shortly after. Three days had passed since Mikasa Yamakazi, once known as the samurai in black, fed his nasty backstabbing crows. He had not seen them since and didn't care.

TWENTY-ONE

Lone Wolf Sleepover

WITH MOST of the wilderness behind them being swallowed by rice paddies, Mikasa had long placed Toshiko on the ground. He'd removed and washed his urine soaked white kimono in a nearby river, tucked it in his travel bag. There was little time to allow the thing to dry, therefore he wore his black liberator wardrobe and continued Northwest.

Just ahead, stood a solitary house made of cheap cedar wood and paper. Toshiko recognized the weathered cottage he grew up in. As they approached near, a middle-aged man came out of the home, he had a bucket in his hand. He had dark hair, and his hands seemed like the hands of a man who'd plowed the fields bare handed – ashy and wrinkled. The man's demeanor was worn down as if he'd been waiting for the earth to take him back.

He tossed the bucket of dirty water out the yard. As he turned to look at the horizon, he caught a glimpse at Toshiko who ran to his father. Mikasa kept his eyes on the boy as he ran to his father, still hypervigilant even in times of rejoice.

Minamoto, his father, barely recognized his boy as they hugged each other and shared tears of joy. Toshiko cried the loudest, holding onto his one remaining long-lost parent.

"Toshiko," said Minamoto, "Is it really you?"

"Yes father, it is I."

Mikasa caught up. Minamoto didn't have to take a second look at his face to remember the samurai he'd sent out to take out the dreaded monster General Fukushima.

"It is you," he said.

"Yes, it is me," Mikasa replied.

"Why did you honor me so?"

"If it were not for you, I would have died looking for Fukushima."

The boy's father bowed and motioned for Mikasa to come into their home.

"I've already prepared the first day's meal," he said. "It's not much, but I will share it with you anyway. I usually leave some for the wanderers who stroll through, but today it'll go to you, my dear friend."

"Wanderers?" Mikasa stood to look outside. "I only saw a horde. Is that what you speak of?"

"Why yes, we've had lots of them lately," said Minamoto. "Plenty of lost people. Large numbers of them moving away from the cities and into the mountains. Some seeking to be awakened or transfigured or something. Something about the Brotherhood and Sisterhood."

Mikasa scratched his head and drew a blank. He'd been on the hunt for so long and hadn't spoken to a single soul either. He needed more human contact. Usually, he'd have known when there was something this big going on by starting a simple 'hello, looks like a good day' conversation to the street merchant.

What is this Brotherhood, Sisterhood?

Just then, two boys strolled into the small house. This startled Mikasa at first as he drew his dagger and stood, but Minamoto told him it was Toshiko's cousins. There were noises as they hugged and jumped on top of Toshiko.

"They come by every morning and evening asking for him. Let them play. Today is their reward for being faithful."

"You must move out of the province to another one," said Mikasa who gave Minamoto an imperial coin. He also gave them some silver to hide on their person – which was his whole payment for the Hirohito job. Something still bothered Mikasa. He knew the emperor had a bone to pick with the remaining despots in his empire, but why start with Hirohito?

While the boy played with his visiting cousins in the field, Minamoto took Mikasa to the door and showed him what he'd have to leave.

"I'm very grateful to you, my dear friend. Return my only child is like a blessing brought down from the gods themselves. And I shall do exactly as you say, sir."

Mikasa shook Minamoto's hand. Toshiko looked inside the house. There was a wrinkle on his little pale face. When he realized that Mikasa was about to leave, he ran and stood in between the door and his friend, refusing to let him by. Mikasa dug into his travel sack and handed the boy a toy lion.

"I know what's going on in there," he said tapping on Toshiko's temple. "This little lion once belonged to my son, Endō. He was close to your age and would have terrors at night."

"Why are you giving it to me?" asked Toshiko. "Why can't you stay? You promised."

"I have a mission, remember. But this here...it will give you the courage of a lion. With it, you will have no fear."

"What if the bad men come for us again?"

"I promise you they won't be coming for you ever again. This little lion will protect you in your dreams as you sleep."

"No, don't go. Please don't go. I can't sleep here. They came when I was sleeping. They might come again when we sleep again."

"Then to prove to you they won't come. I will spend one night with you," said Mikasa who winked to Minamoto.

As the night fell, Minamoto made a particular corner for Mikasa to lay his head next to his new admirer. Mikasa rested next to the boy waiting for him to descend into sleep. A few hours later, he woke up to the sound of crickets in the countryside. Minamoto was up staring at the stars. Mikasa tucked Toshiko in after securing the lion in his embrace and snuck out the room. The two men shook hands again, saying nothing so they wouldn't wake the boy.

Mikasa then went Southeast, vanishing into the rice field as Minamoto watched. The crows had hovered above him impatiently the whole time. Mikasa rubbed his tender gut and ignored the faithless birds as he slipped into the night, unnoticed by any other humans.

TWENTY-TWO

Walk on the Wind

LORD HAYATO couldn't believe how the previous night, Yuma had fooled the gate attendant, who took one look at them and pushed the black monastery gates open when they arrived at Mount Iizuna unshaven and dressed in their faux monk's outfits.

Maybe it was the time of day, or it was sheer luck? He refused to believe it. It also occurred to him that Yuma was pulling his coat tail throughout the whole affair. That they didn't need the ridiculous attire and the entire priesthood was made aware that there'd be a clandestine meeting at their monastery.

They were sworn to secrecy, so it made every bit of sense that these monks could be trusted to keep their lips tight.

Yuma and Hayato stood at the dark corner of a hallway cradled by a balcony. Below them, a cliff six-hundred meter deep. There was no way the two men couldn't see someone coming or going – the wooden floors would give away any walker first, and only a winged creature could make it from the above or below decks to the balcony. Yuma had made sure of that. He wanted to show Hayato something.

"You sure this is the right place?" asked Hayato

"This is it," said Yuma. "He's never late."

"Looks like we'll be waiting till the sun sets if you ask me..."

"Turn, and you both shall perish," said a strange voice very quickly. They'd heard no footsteps. Seen no shadows. Smelled a single human being or even sensed that there was another lifeform in their area, but here was this stranger telling them to stand still or they'll be dead men.

If that wasn't enough for the poor Hayato, a bunch of ugly red-eyed crows showed started landing, walking around them, inspecting them as if to make choice of them as meals, and then, out of nowhere, they took to the sky.

Hayato couldn't move a muscle. He started to sweat. He couldn't' take it anymore. There was no way he was going to die a coward in some freaking monastery. Hayato's heart rattled as he reached for his dagger. Yuma tried to stop him with a slap of the wrist, but he continued to reach for the weapon. Yuma held Hayato's hand tightly so he couldn't reach for the dagger. Yuma didn't turn to see the dark stranger behind them. "Who are you strange one crawling through the night, walking without noise as your companion or herald?" he asked.

"I am no one," the stranger replied. "I am a phantom."

"How'd you get here, then?"

"I walked on the wind," said the stranger, spreading his arms. "It carried me right here towards you. And one day, it will carry me away like all things that face it's raging fury."

Yuma turned around slowly to face the stranger, seeing his arms spread like a bird. He then instructed Hayato to do the same. The hooded stranger revealed part of his face hood, which only showed he'd been wearing a smiling lion's facemask and removed the part of his cloak which held his entire cloak up against his chest.

He's very tall and thin for a samurai, thought Hayato. Though his upper body is rather exquisite...even under all those garments. Still, I don't see what all the hoo-ha is about.

"What is that beating in your chest?" Yuma pointed to the stranger's chest then he struck his own chest hard and at the attention position. This thrilled Hayato a bit because it seemed a little more than ceremonial and he'd been at many military ceremonies than he could count.

"It was once my own," said the stranger returning the striking gesture. "But I lost it. Now, it's a lion's, for I stole it but that is another story for another day and another realm."

"What is that thing on your side, boy?"

"It's not mine either, but it's my birthright, so I claimed it. It is judge and executioner. Those who deserve to taste its wrath shall meet the coldest end of its bite without mercy. And those who deserve its protection shall witness the ferocity it produces in doing so."

"What are those two things sticking out? Those soft elongated things bulging out from between your head... What are they?"

"People refer to theirs as ears, but mine... mine are gifts... gifts with which I both listen and learn. I use them to search for, close in and locate those who've been found wanting. I also use them to listen to the blood of the fallen that cries for vengeance from within the sands of time."

"And what of those two gaping holes bearing those glossy spheres... the ones spaced evenly between your nose?"

"The windows to my soul they are. With them, I gaze through the Universal Realm of Men and catch clear images of the futures of the enemies of this great empire both foreign or domestic. And then I plot ways to end them."

"Who is your master?"

"I have none. I am an operator. I am employed. A bringer of order and agent of chaos. I am Unbound. For Unbound Samurai do not fall at the sword unless we choose to. Therefore, we lack a necessity for any masters."

"And who am I?"

"You are nobody. You are also a man who walks on the wind. It will one day carry you away like all things that face it's raging fury."

"Well, then," said Yuma. "Now that we've gotten the formal handshake out of the way, Agent Gunfire, this is Lord Hayato, Imperial Emissary to the Shogun, and Lord Hayato, this is agent Gunfire."

He bowed before Lord Hayato and faced Yuma again.

"Tell me, Lord Yuma," said Mikasa. "Why is the Emissary to the Shogun and the Lord Commander of the Armed Forces of Japan are terribly dressed like BLANK Monks?"

"Just to blend in with the surrounds," said Yuma. "You never know who's around."

"You did follow protocol," said Mikasa, "did you not?"

"Yes, the abbot knows, which is why there are very few monks around. They're in a session somewhere unaware of our presence, so don't you start interrogating and killing anybody in this sacred place. Now, let us get down to business."

I... gods be damned... knew it. All that shit was a mind game with him – predictable Yuma as usual. Like a dog to its own vomit; you just can't resist the flavor, the scent. You want to see two playing this game, don't you cousin? Well, I won't stoop down to your level. We're not children. When we get back to Palace Rose, it will be as if you didn't act like a teenager. I won't even mention this idiotic thing you did to, in a failed attempt, get under my skin.

"Someone this hotheaded," Hayato interrupted. "Is whom you're sending out on this important mission. Are you sure you're up to the task at hand, samurai?"

"What does he mean, sir?" asked Mikasa.

Yuma gave his cousin a dangerous looking down and then faced Mikasa. He signed and then handed him the parchment filled with twelve seals, each one unique.

"This mission is critical and time sensitive," said Yuma.

"How long do I have?"

"No more than a year," said Yuma. "And failure isn't an option."

"Why's that?"

"Well, let's just put it this way," said Hayato. "If you fail, the emperor and everybody close to him, including us...

"Especially us," added Yuma

"...could be seeing their bodies from the ground up," Hayato finished.

"I'm sure," said Mikasa, "I can complete any task if I plan it out carefully. Tell me what must be done."

Sure, I could do it, but I just left out the fact that I drank the poisonous amount of M.O.T.H.E. which is killing me, and I may not be able to complete this extended mission. What was I thinking? I thought this was a kill and leave mission. They want me to assassinate twelve people, don't they? Knowing my luck, it will be twelve groups of people.

"Here," said Hayato. "This is your funds from the treasury. It should last you the entirety of the mission. You will be paid separately, upon completion of the mission."

"You still," said Mikasa, "have yet to prep me for this grand mission, my lord Yuma."

"Why yes," Yuma said, snapping out of his daydream. He'd been hanging on to, slightly drooling over every single letter of each word which came out of Mikasa's mouth, to Hayato's general disgust.

"Your first mission priority pertains to twenty-one Lords of Lands. We have uncovered that there are twenty-one rebel Lords of Lands who we believe are responsible for releasing Death's Terrible Twin in the form of a green blaze in Osaka. Your mission is to search for them and assassinate each one.

"They're responsible for what killed my entire family?" asked Mikasa.
"We believe this to be fact," said Hayato. "This takeout order is just the beginning, agent Gunfire. A message to the Shogun that he needs to reign in his dogs, so to speak. You cannot get caught or be known, agent Gunfire. For each locale you enter, you'll use a different alias."

"Your second mission priority is the Saduats," said Yuma. "As unlikely as it may sound, it seems like we may have a Saduat problem. We must know if this is true or false. And if it isn't, we need to know as well to quell the fears of our emperor and the people at large. Your mission is to find and destroy all known Saduats, through any means necessary, and anyone closely associated with them."

"Any means necessary means the old way," said Mikasa, to which Yuma only nodded. Hayato didn't understand but figured it was something that had he been told it would jeopardize his impartiality in the matter.

"Your third mission priority is The Fellowship of the House of the True Religion and Death's Terrible Twin," said Yuma as he rubbed his beard. He paused for this one. "You are to infiltrate them and gain and report useful intelligence on Death's Terrible Twin. It is believed that the House has a dog in this fight. I for one think they're just zealots playing with something they don't understand, but no stone left unturned, understood?"

"Yes, sir," said Mikasa. "I assume there's a dossier on these groups within this folder?"

"That is correct," said Yuma. "It will provide you with all the information you need on them. Lord Hayato has it and him handing it to you will be your signal of release."

"Don't forget The Sages of the House of the Rising Sisterhood," said Hayato, "They've been seen heading for mountains to conduct reanimation and transfiguration rituals for the dead. They might have a part to play in this."

"Will do, Lord Hayato," Mikasa bowed. He handed Mikasa the dossier with all the information they'd compiled on the groups he'd be going after. As Mikasa took it, Hayato saw the light bounce off the monster sword and nearly lost his footing.

What in all the God's heaven is that thing? Why would a man need something so wide and so darn long? It's not at all necessary. What does he think he's going to run into out there? Giant beasts with wings and metal talons?

"In times like this," said Yuma, "it's certainly hard to lean on the old ways, Gunfire. And yet, I'm going to ask you to visit the Temple of Solitude before you go on the mission if you can or if you feel up to the task. I know it's asking much of you after such a loss."

"It's not," said Mikasa. "I'd intended to go regardless. I have to get my own spiritual affairs in order. It's been too long."

"That would be a great moment of healing for you," said Hayato. "Get your mind back and focus your chi – balance out everything."

"I only have one request before I go," said Mikasa.

"You need only ask," said Yuma

"Tell my two old friends, Marko and Anata K., that they are to meet me down by the place where we used to meet as children. They'll know."

"It is done," said Yuma. And as he turned to Hayato, who had one more thing on his mind, Mikasa vanished from their sight. Just as he'd entered he left; no sound or shadow. It was a mystical exit which made the hairs on Hayato's skin stand firm and his throat lock.

"Again, with this?" Hayato commented. "Where'd he go and how he do it so quickly?"

"To the winds, dear cousin, to the winds," Yuma rubbed Hayato's shoulder. "We'll never know what forces makes the Unbound move so quick and unseen. Just be thankful he works for and not against you." Hayato shook his head. What an insane thing to witness. A nightmare incarnate, he is for sure. Seeing him now, I can now confirm the Saduat Crusade exists, and a single Unbound Samurai is but a drop of sand on a beach to them.

The two men in their monk's outfits then quietly slipped off the balcony and into the hallway, took a right and exited into a stairwell. As they walked down the stairs, Yuma took his cousin's hands.

"Remember when we used to hold each other's hands to the stairs back home on the way from Tatami's Tavern?"

"Oh yes," said Hayato. "We'd fall flat on our asses if we didn't. I miss those days."

"We were young and foolish then," said Yuma.

"Yes, we were, cousin, young and foolish."

"I'm thrilled you made it out unscathed," said Yuma, who patted Hayato on the back. Hayato looked at Yuma with a face filled with confusion. He thought the whole thing was part of an elaborate thrill, not life and death. Are you serious?

"Well," he shrugged. "You never warned me about your first contact procedure. This is why I don't work with the O.C.I. very often. You can be a brood of petty boys at times."

"Now you know them," said Yuma whit a bright smile. "I like to teach by showing."

"So, that burning question?" asked Hayato, who stopped at the bottom of the stairwell waiting for his cousin to catch up. He'd crossed his arms. His demeanor was blank, but Yuma could tell he wasn't amused. And the answer would only further enrage him.

"The answer is yes, dear cousin. He'd have torn us limb from limb if we had turned around without going through that convoluted introduction. You can thank me later."

TWENTY-THREE

A New System

MIKASA BOARDED the Hiroshima Premier Southern #1, a new though overcrowded stream locomotive, traveling disguised as a peasant. Earlier that day, he'd scaled the razor-sharp cliffs of Mount Iizuna, went on horseback to Nagano and waited for the train to arrive. There'd be checkpoints at the scheduled stops in the cities of Nagoya, Kyoto and finally Osaka, where he'd get off without trouble.

Though for that moment, he'd been bothered by other things. The smell of feet out of boots and dirty children, who vomited or urinated everywhere there'd been space. The feeling of the engines chugging along motivated his stomach too much, he felt woozy. The constant chug-a-lugs of the steam engine soothed his aches and pain. The beautiful countryside, which he refused to look at, whizzed by him at sixty miles per hour. Then there was the taste of MOTHE, which inched up his mouth every time the train car bounced against the iron rail.

He'd bound his weapons into a white sheet and placed them inside his travel sack. Though he felt this left him vulnerable, there was still the imperial travel coin, which he showed the conductor and the occasional nosey official searching for deserters. Mikasa took a long look at his drab brown clothing.

I think I might have overdone the peasant dressing this time. Next time, I'll have to ease up on this dreary tailoring.

The travel coin also kept the few samurai who'd looked at him with suspicious eyes from inspecting him when he'd been ready to board, for most samurai recognized one another from a distance, unbound or otherwise he wasn't fooling anyone without official paper.

For the nosey sons of guns, Mikasa had psychology on his side; the scent of month's old crow's urine kept even the most inquisitive officials far away from him. Who the heck knew what a peasant looked like? Not all peasants were poor or dressed alike. There were businessmen and women who'd become wealthy and wore clothes that made the nobility jealous, so Mikasa loved teaching them a simple lesson "don't judge the proverbial book by its cover."

Or, it would backfire!

Occasionally, he'd overdo the trickery, and the samurai wouldn't believe he came into the possession of an imperial coin through any means other than deception. And that affair ended in bloodshed, of course, it was for the other samurai.

The game was always evolving. It was cat and mouse, and it was the thrill of it all that kept Mikasa in the art of clandestine theatrics. It wasn't only the burning patriotic feeling he'd had inside him since he'd been a little boy growing up in Clan Virgo, it was more than that and as that train reached the border of Osaka. Mikasa lifted his head to see the small villages which reminded him of why he'd stayed in the game; the little people.

The village folk, and hamlet dwellers who forsook the opulent life of city living to provide for the city dwellers. The little guys who get up every morning to do their part in the game called life. They were his heroes. They were the reason he got up out of bed every day to fight evil men who wish to trample upon their heads. This was for them.

***

THE TEMPLE of Solitude in Osaka had always been a place to go to shower the gods with gifts of gratitude. It had served as a place for warriors of old to thank the many gods for their grandiose victories in the field, or in bed, not a venue to plead for one's own life, or for the preparation of an impending afterlife with the fam-fam.

What Mikasa had knocking around in his head was considered borderline sacrilegious, so he decided to enter an abandoned temple first for practice. His feet led him towards a small village at the edge of Osaka called Nan.

Nan had the only Temple of Solitude for the first century before a second was ever constructed in Kagoshima, bringing their monopoly to a quick end. The dilapidated structure held stray animals and roaming homeless men who knew nothing of the ancient religion and their dead gods. Mikasa strolled right past the thing – twice. It didn't occur to him it was even a temple. When he'd been sure he was in the right place but felt that frustration would soon take hold of him, he flagged down a young female local.

"Excuse me miss," Mikasa said as he stepped in front of her path. She had a basket of water over her head and seemed like she didn't want her momentum stopped one bit and tried to go around him. The basket kept going forward when he stopped her. Mikasa snatched the basket midair before it hit the ground. "My apologies, miss, but can you point me to the local Temple of Solitude?"

The young lady giggled through her anger as she pointed at the collapsing hole with untrimmed shrubs covering it, looking like a centuries-long abandoned tomb. Leaves and flowers jutted from its exterior, dust could be seen through the holes which permitted light within the crumbling structure. Most of the virtuous sculptures had been carried away long ago, leaving nothing but disfigured artwork which the locals, no doubt the children, have defaced out of frustration or through play.

He stepped towards the depilated sanctuary, which had not seen by an Unbound Samurai or Saduat for ages, and ducked in. Mikasa remembered how it used to be a place where the two would meet to iron out their differences without the necessity to shed blood on the streets. And after meeting, an amnesty would be held for twenty-four hours. But the Saduats were nasty back then. They'd carry a distinct bug bite flowing through their veins, which get them sick the moment they entered the temple. They'd shake the Unbound Samurai's hand to transfer the pathogen, smiling in their face. When the meeting was over, they'd both close to the edge of death, but the Saduat would take the antidote when he got home. The Unbound Samurai, having no clue what happened, would die the next day regardless of the treatment given to him by his physician.

Inside the temple, there were still urns filled with dirty water. The source was evident to Mikasa after he saw the roof had huge cracks in it. He decided to shorten the ceremony to a prayer. After slicing an apple in half and eating the other half, he closed his eyes and prayed. An hour of solitude passed, and he left the temple unbothered by passersby.

That was easy. Now, for the real thing. Just remember, Mikasa, it's going to be more challenging with them in there pushing you.

***

WITH THE battered former Temple of Solitude and his practice run behind him, Mikasa set out to visit the real one. He felt his muscles burning. It seemed the poison killing him had finally reached somewhere other than just his stomach. He picked up the pace just in case he was running out of time too fast. The city of Osaka was only a few miles from Nan.

He reached the bank of a river which ran through Osaka. Three food merchants, swarmed by customers, had noodles in a big metal pot. Mikasa waited his turn and fished out a silver imperial coin from his pocket, careful not to let his hands slip from its glove. The merchant looked up to serve Mikasa. When he saw the silver piece, he gaped for a moment, hesitating and then he grabbed it and tucked it into his money bag. Though he'd been a merchant, he seemed not to be accompanied to such coinage. Mikasa figured the young child had just started out, maybe because of the disaster, perhaps to earn some extra funds for the family – of the lack thereof.

"Why thank you, sir," he said. "Will that be two scoops or four?"

"I'm not that hungry," said Mikasa. "And you can keep the residual."

"Two it is," smiled the young merchant, who poured the hot noodles into a cup Mikasa gave him from his travel sack. After the line died down, Mikasa had finished his bowl. He approached the merchant out of curiosity. There was something he wished to get off the back of his mind.

"You seemed to be new to this," he said. "What brings you out here?"

"Since the confusion, the price of wheat has doubled, the price of rice has quadrupled, and no one can really afford meat but the very rich, or if you hunt down small animals. My family was starving until we decided to sell our noodle soup all over the city to buy rice and meat."

"There's no quota in place?" asked Mikasa.

"Yes, sir, but people are hoarding everything from metals to firewood. It's terrible," said the merchant. As Mikasa shook his head in disgust, a woman in her mid-thirties, who'd purchased her soup before Mikasa, overheard the conversation and chimed in.

"There's talk of regime change all over the place," said the man. "These foul men are reckless if you ask me. I pray every day for our dear emperor."

"Every single one of them is tired of the infighting," said the merchant. "And they are ready to change the system of land ownership."

"Yeah," said another man, "The Dutch got it right."

"You don't know what you're talking about," said the young woman, who threw her soup at the men. "You're all traitorous dogs and cowards."

"Go home to your husband," said one of the men.

"Gentlemen, please," said the merchant. "Let the woman speak."

"They think it's a blessing," she said. "And think the American and Dutch way would be a good idea. Until it's put in practice, then boom, everything blows up in our faces. You just watch. Nobody likes to change like that. Not overnight at least. To do it this way will be the downfall of our beautiful homeland."

"We have other issues too," said an old lady who joined in on the conversation from across the street. "My husband went into the blaze to rescue his mother sixteen days ago and hasn't come home since. I don't know if we'll ever see each other again. What is the government doing about that I ask you? Nothing I tell you, nothing."

Mikasa stepped to the old lady and touched her right shoulder. "I'm so sorry for your lost husband. I wish the government were much faster than they are now. I also lost my entire family in the blaze. I know how it feels and I sympathize with you, my dear stranger. Wherever he is I hope the light of Ansolis shines on him."

"There's also too many wounded people to care for," said the old lady. "We don't have enough caretakers. Euthanasia or suicide has become the only two options for most. It's either that or bear the crippling pain."

"I'm traveling into the city now," said Mikasa. "I pray to the gods I don't have to see such sights too many times. It would rip my heart to see my fellow Osaka citizens in pain."

"Getting around Osaka is going to be a doozy," she replied. "Most roads are covered in tons of ash, bone, house parts and rubble. Looks like the gods lit a bonfire."

"To tell you the truth, traveler," said the young merchant, "I'm thinking about going into the mountains with the Brotherhood. They've got this sort of stuff figured out. Rebirth is the only way. It's the end of the old world."

Having heard their complaints and having left out the fact that he's a part the system they're considering breaking down, Mikasa deliberately slipped away as the argument heated up. He figured they didn't notice him leaving since their anger wasn't directed at him; and the fact that he was dismantling the system himself, bit by bit, and that the emperor had visions of creating something new would be felt on deaf ears. They were hurt, and morale was down, they needed to see something big, and this was his chance to make it happen. So, to Osaka, he headed, to visit his home and say his final goodbye to his deceased loved ones.

***

MIKASA STOOD one-hundred feet north of the border of his beloved Osaka. This was the town his family had called home for only a generation before it had met an ugly end through Death's Terrible Twin. The natives had never called it so, but the Brotherhood zealots had already begun to spread the word of the arrival of DTT to their world.

Osaka had been at the heart of Japan's economic rebirth since the start of the restoration period brought by Emperor Yamamomo. Though the nobility back in Edo thought the citizens of Osaka were a gluttonous, selfish and miserly breed, this was quite literally because of the abundance of rice. In the Osaka region, it wasn't so. Osaka residents were a very civilized, educated, cultured group of people from Mikasa's point of view.

As he continued down a hill towards the city, a group of what seemed to be mourners of the great fire approached him. He didn't take delight in seeing mourners and removed his hood. A man wearing an old black robe made eye contact with him as he came near the mourners.

"Cast your worries to the earth," shouted the old man, who seemed the priest du jour to Mikasa. "Transform and be reborn or perish," he admonished. He was accompanied by six men and ten women, all in black robes as well, heads shaven, ready to cast themselves to the earth and transfigure or reanimate. Mikasa passed by without paying much attention to the vague sermon, only their garb, and makeup, which made him fish out his dossier and look up intelligence reports given to him by Hayato. When he looked up the description of the zealot group they'd tasked him to infiltrate, there it was – the Brotherhood; heads shaved, black garments, priests and the words 'REANIMATE' and 'TRANSFIGURATION' in bold letters.

Mikasa froze, turned about and stared at the mourners in black.

There was no time for him to divert his attention to them and it wasn't his highest priority. He had to get home and make his peace with his deceased family. The gods required it. If he went on the mission before doing so, there'd be lousy blood spilled and it would taint the whole affair. This can wait. There is plenty of time to get in bed with these muskrats and figure out if they're involved. And if they are, their craven disregard for life shall be rewarded the in the same manner.

The trip through the city of Osaka had been a blur to him. He'd ignored the countless buildings that had tested the fire and stood, the numerous buildings which fell atop their owners or renters, the innumerable ashen bodies which disintegrated upon touch, and the incalculable piles of refuse he crossed on his way to his family's home. And there he stood – home or what was left of it... it was all a blur. Surreal.

He fell to his knees, unable to utter a single word, a single tear, a single bellow of anguish or even a cry for help from a stranger, loved one, anyone. He just stayed there, on his knees, staring at the foundation of what used to be not only a house but a home for him and an entire generation of Yamakazi's. And now it had been reduced through consumption to a few jutting wood struts, nails, and mud. Gone were the voices of children and adults who loved them. Gone were the animals who'd grown accustomed to being petted by those children, they'd either fled or been taken by thieves.

Nothing remained here for Mikasa but their tears which he felt in the air. He closed his eyes and tried to un-cry for his wife, daughter, son, mother, and father. The beautiful cries of their births rang through his head. He envisioned holding his daughter's hands on the way to her first day of school as he'd done for Enzo.

He tried to reach out to capture their tears and place them in his own eyes, but he couldn't. He tried desperately to un-hurt for them as well, hoping that the gods would take the memory of the agonizing pain they suffered away from them and place it upon himself, but he couldn't.

When he reached the conclusion that his exercise was moot, that his entire family wouldn't un-feel the pain and misery, that he could not reverse the hands of time, Mikasa stood and dusted himself off, he bowed to his former home and said goodbye to it forever.

I will be your storms my loves. I will be your storms. A tempest of reprisal.

TWENTY-FOUR

Edo in Charge

Near Kagoshima...

THREE GHOULISH, grave-dug, dark-skinned men encircled the vixen. Their skin flaked skyward as if they'd been incidental progenies of an orgy between snakes and men. This mummified coating, which had become chipped over many years of self-imposed maiming to appease Ansolis, the ancient deceased sun goddess – the deity who blessed them with their unsightly curse – failed to repulse the enchantress. She was high up in another realm as they basked in her wonder.

Serving as eyes, and hardly a perfect squeeze in their tiny sockets, were sets of gloomy bulbous orbs. Long, misshapen corks masqueraded as noses. Jagged, protruding, ivory and tusk-like hinges meant to be teeth. And enveloped by a tarnished sea of warped scalp, were bits of random strands of snowy hairs. Emaciated, they looked as if they'd left the realm of men long ago and were pushed on to the afterlife...then forced back to the land of the quick as a cruel jest.

They were her breasts and she was their beauty; as fiery as a Phoenix falling to the ashes. Skin as soft and white as fresh-picked cotton, her full, terracotta lips glistened under the warm yellow candlelight. Glamorous and enchanting was this virulent queen.

She looks fresh out of the womb, too new to be doing this, thought Mikasa Yamakazi.

Clad in bold, imperial, purple silk, the three monstrosities clamored for space between their siren. As she spun around, bouncing her beer keg hips side to side, she drew them ever so close to the inferno. They were caught up in her absolute magic. Even Mikasa, a reticent critic of the dark arts, began feeling this in his soul.

She was their everything. Nothing else in the world mattered. Not food, water, or wine. And as the three relics of men drooled over her, Mikasa battled a dominant force pulling him into her mystical abyss.

The traditional pigeon sacrifice, which involved disemboweling, decapitating, and draining the poor animal of its life-giving fluids, concluded by tossing it into the flaming chalice. Mikasa paid the temple with silver pieces given to him by his concealed employer.

The priests arrived bold-faced as he presented the money as if the coins carried with them plagues from the new world. He slit the lining of the bag holding the payment and tossed them into the nearest fountain. A tower of fire erupted as each coin kissed the blessed water, eliciting awe inspired cringe from their visitors.

Mikasa couldn't look away from the fledgling mistress as she gyrated in front of the blazing chalice. Inscriptions of the lives saved covered the marble artifact – a testament to their mystical powers. But Mikasa needed more than heresy that day; he wanted instant gratification.

Mikasa watched in horror as the serpentine men rubbed their elastic hands on her thighs. She tilted her head back, lifted her arms, allowing them to slip their ghastly tips up her dress. And then, as she'd begun to feel violated, she stopped the ogres from going too far.

As Mikasa strained to keep from vomiting, an ancient grizzled woman crawled from behind him. He'd heard her cautious steps, beating the marble interior, and kicking back faint clicking sounds from the stone walls, but had been locked in by the decadent ballerina. When tapped on his right shoulder, he snapped out of his trance, ripped his eyes from the dancing goddess, and turned to gaze on yet another eyesore.

What in all the pits of hell is this? he wondered.

Mikasa couldn't lift his gaze from her off-white beard, flowing like a waterfall from her chin. His mind thought back to the moment he'd heard her first utterance. When she first called out to him, he was sure he'd see a woman. She had the voice and mannerisms of the fairer sex, but that beard...that menacing beard. It disturbed him. It must have been gifted by a cruel court of false gods, payment for a sour deed or an unrepentant sinner.

A few moments of deep, perplexing observation passed through his head. After an exchange of awkward glances, Mikasa figured she was charged with the affairs of the temple. Her brown cloak and the three silver cords around her waist were telltale signs of her post. It all made sense to him: she was the temple wench – and temple wenches were known for their Spartan appearance. I hope to god I'm right, he thought.

Sensing his skepticism, the old lady quickly broke contact, limped away to a cluttered table at the end of the temple, and laid down her black pipe. As she approached him again, he saw that one of her feet was longer than the other. Her right wooden shoe struck the marble hard, with each step making an irritating, clicking which thundered throughout the small sanctuary.

Her deep eyes grew as she opened her mouth. "What? Never seen a woman smoke Milk of the Earth before? Or is it the beard that's got your lil tongue in a tight grip? Look at you now, my little boy. All grown up, I see. Good, good, good. Haven't changed a bit, though, have you? Good, very good! I've always dreamt of bearing a prodigal son."

Mikasa was sure she'd never seen him before and must have lost her faculties from years of puffing on the dirty Earth's Milk. The same wretched thing which made his stomach burn white hot.

"I wish to speak to the Seer, but since he's not here yet, I will wait for him. Do you know when he will arrive, my lady?"

"No foreplay with you, I see," she snickered. "Well, sonny, I'll see you the king and raise you this queen."

Yep. She's insane all right. Now I must play it cool, or she'll keep me from meeting the Seer in time, Mikasa thought. He returned a polite tone. "I don't follow?"

"What are you, blind? You're looking at him...or maybe should I say her...whichever works for you. I don't care, I mean should I care? Shit boy. You got me all jumbled up here. A woman's old and tired. Quick with it, now, quick with it."

She winked one of her dull gray eyes. A spicy aroma mixed with something sweet battered Mikasa without yield. He tried to place the sugary smell but couldn't. He couldn't shake the scent from the front of his mind. It had a hint of dried donkey sweat after a long mountainous trek. It both repulsed him and drew him at the same time. But he maintained a pleasant countenance as he spoke.

"Is this a joke?" he asked as he crossed his arms to comfort his searing belly and turned his head. "I gave the priest more than enough money for this request. While it's a last-minute ceremony, I have vital matters to attend to and very soon. Things you'd have no understanding of, my lady. Also, I'm a desperate man with little time left in this world."

She waddled behind him, with her noisome clacking. "I saw the way you were gawking at her – probably thought she was the Oracle, didn't you? It's not an uncommon thing. You all think with that shriveled little worm stitched between your pelvic bone. Men will be men, isn't that right? Don't worry, though... you're partly correct. But she's only a conduit, young man. I alone speak for the gods and goddesses of this and all realms. I thought you'd be humbled by now, hmm, even I can be mistaken, so it seems."

She continued examining Mikasa as if he was a piece of subtle, but overpriced, cloth on a silk merchant's table – determining whether he was worthy of a reading.

After finishing a full round of intrusive inspections, she laughed at the top of her bulging throat. Mikasa thought a thousand women had cackled at once and scanned the temple to no avail. His skin crawled like a caterpillar as he grew impatient.

"Please, quit joking around, my lady. Do you have any idea who I represent or how important this visit is to me?"

''I know who you are...Mikasa...Yamakazi," another ominous cackle, worse than the first, arose out her thin mouth. "Or should I say...Gunfire. Of the Clan Virgo. Oh, my, look...I've got his attention.''

Mikasa was a streetlamp – his knees locked in position. This old hag must have been toying with him. She'd heard tales of his many victorious campaigns throughout the North Jade Isles. Every child old enough to read and understand folktales could identify him with intimate detail. It's the reason he traveled everywhere in a ridiculous white cloak, under an assumed princely name – as a tool of anonymity and to ward off potential street thieves from making the fatal mistake of ever attacking an aristocrat or noble.

How did she see through his disguise so quickly? How did she know he was covertly referred to as 'Gunfire' by his employer? How did she know his clan name? Still, Mikasa "Gunfire" Yamakazi of Clan Virgo was not impressed.

"How do you know all of this information..."

She cut him off mid-stride, commanding an infuriating mannish voice. "How do I know your name? That's just the beginning...an iceberg's tip...Son of Two Moons."

This voice failed to bridge the gap haunting his eyes and ears. The mannish image upsetting Mikasa "Gunfire" Yamakazi made him hot as a tea kettle. An unholy image was seared into his brain, driving utter confusion into him.

Regardless of her Spartan lifestyle, she shouldn't have such manly features. He'd lost track of whether he should call her sir, or madam. Although most of the temple wenches were women, there were some rare eunuchs in their trade. But this served little comfort for Mikasa "Gunfire' Yamakazi.

If I'd run into you ten years ago, I'd have already placed that despicable head on a plank by now. And would I be wrong for it? Look at you. What are you, my lady? What are you? Thought Mikasa "Gunfire" Yamakazi.

She clapped her pale and clammy hands. In unison, hundreds of dead candles, sprinkled throughout the room, came back to life. A parlor trick! But, I must say, it's a very good one, he thought.

Something like that could be done with excellent preparation and maybe a hidden collaborator. He took a quick glance beneath the tables...nothing. Nothing but volumes of run-down books. Books laded with dust as if they haven't been touched in centuries.

He sighed and lowered his gaze to her wrinkled face. "I came here to..."

She was swift as mongoose, raising her hand to his lips. A surprised Mikasa "Gunfire" Yamakazi stepped back, but she followed, placing her index finger over his mouth. He tried pulling them off, but it was as if they'd been bolted there by a terrible lip binding force.

He found he could no longer speak. Not that he didn't force himself a try, but his lips were as sealed as a sarcophagus. He was a mate trapped in a Black Widow's embrace. And she, a mystical creature, as deceptive, and as cannibal as the love interest, had paralyzed him. Would she swallow him while he still possessed a beating heart? Or wait until he'd succumbed to death's lonesome vice grip?

"I know, I know," she whispered in his left ear. "You came here not to pay homage to your ancestors, but to cleanse your soul...You're here for protection because you've made a terrible mistake in taking a mission you think you cannot complete. Do I not have it right, young man?"

He drowned in those canyons leading into her eyes, taken by them, and uttered nonsense.

She paused, meeting his gaze with furrowed brows and then continued her sermon. "This I can give you, but the price will be very...very...high. Do you understand me, Gunfire?"

If you'd freaking release me, then, maybe you'd get an answer. Or the back of my cold katana thought Mikasa.

She shouted with a diabolical voice, sending shivers into his bones. "Answer me!"

When he nodded, she released him. Then, with both feet planted next to each other, she leaned back without a thing in the world for support. She hovered like a quill tilted sideways in the hand of a poet. She held a triangular angle to the floor with no strings in sight. She turned to him with a proud grin.

This is unholy, he thought.

This was the best parlor trick he'd seen in thirty-three odd years. At that moment, he should have either feared her or derived some form of joy from witnessing such an act. But he was impartial. Unusually impartial, which somehow, deep down, began to unsettle his train of thought. Before he could act, an unbearable sting shot up his throat.

***

MIKASA "GUNFIRE" Yamakazi began to suspect he was in the presence of a Saduat; a master of the deadly art of Sadhuatin. It was a dead combative art form long outlawed by the very first Shogun for many reasons. Though some still say Saduats exist – many believe they're but false myths.

Some crafty study and spying are behind all this pageantry, he thought.

And it was all intended to lower his guard before going in for the kill. He'd encountered many Haduats in his decade as a full-fledged samurai. Haduats, the apprentices, were often as good as samurai, yet it was usual to see one fall on the sword of a master warrior.

But their masters, the Saduat, were as cunning as most well-read scholars and seasoned master combatants. They were feared by the bravest of men. They moved as she did, with a deliberate swiftness meant to betray the eyes. Their disguises were always sitting on borderline absurdity, designed to throw the real target off kilter.

He walked around her to inspect the trick she was pulling off. "Are you some sort of..."

Still leaning and looking away, she signaled for him to shut his mouth. "Some sort of spy you're about to say...no! Not at all. And I'm no Saduat either. I know that's what you are thinking. Hmm, but how do I do that, you say? Well, that is a trade secret, Gunfire. But you will learn soon where from I conjure my unopposable forces."

"How could you even know..."

"Hush, youngling, hush I say. For months, my little Gunfire, I counted down the days and hours of your eventual arrival. Sometimes, it seemed like you would never come, but I never lost the faith...they all did...every single one of them...but I didn't. I prepared and prayed. At times, I wanted to summon you against your will, but long ago, before your parents were here, I promised the former rulers of Universal Realms of Men never again to interfere in such a manner. I only connected to the great spirits who guided me and gifted me with the necessary tools to aid you in your intrepid endeavor. Now, give me your hand, Gunfire."

He hesitated. Reaching for his katana and slaying this imposter in a Temple of Solitude, the highest and most holy of Japanese shrines would be indistinguishable from a spiritual death in the eyes of the Great Ones. He had to lure her outside, but how could he persuade this remarkable and ingenious creature?

She rose back from her invisible strings and leaned in his face. "They told me you'd be a tough nut to pop. It just so happens I love challenges. If you'd just take my hand, then you would see what I have seen. And together, Gunfire, we will see even more. I will show you the world. Or, I could just compel you to do it, but like I said, I made a deal. And I always keep my word."

Gunfire was unmoved by the gesture. She sucked her teeth, unwound the silver ropes from her waist and took off her wardrobe. Whatever sort of Saduat she is, she's a stupid one to be unarmed. Or is she? Maybe she has something else up her dirty sleeves? Thought Mikasa "Gunfire" Yamakazi.

Before he could ask, the old woman pulled up her sleeves revealing nothing but thin and wrinkled forearms. In his early days of training to become a samurai, he'd been told they could anticipate, with uncanny accuracy, the will of men. This was said to be the sole weakness in their disguise. If they followed this typical pattern, a samurai would know they had a Saduat in their midst.

"Are you ready to begin, or must I strip down to my skin to convince you that I'm the one and only Seer here in this temple? I promise you...You won't enjoy the sight. Let's just say that I have let this shell go a bit in the past few cycles. But I find this form less distracting, don't you think?"

A little smirk stretched across her face as she stepped towards him. "If I were to ever appear before you as an object of your affection, it will take too much focus away from your mission. I once witnessed a patron rip his eyeballs out, fearing they'd land on another woman's figure in his lifetime after seeing me in my natural form. Now, where were we...give me your hand, Gunfire. This is no longer a simple request!"

He held out one hand with the other next to his companion sword. The moment they touched, she began convulsing like two sables fighting over scraps before nesting for the winter. The ancient wooden tables lining the wall to his left shuddered as if they wished to dance. Sheets of paper and anything not secured by nail floated about aimless, slamming into each other. A whirlwind of objects surrounded the two. The three ghouls and the mistress continued their sexually charged dance unbothered by the swooshing sounds bouncing against their eardrums.

Her eyes turned off-white. Her gray hair darkened, and streaks of red emerged from a few thick patches. Then they curled up into what appeared to Mikasa "Gunfire" Yamakazi as dozens of snakes. The dark creatures hung their heads above her round scalp.

A cluster of cracks developed on the floor as the temple rumbled under his feet. He gripped his sword, ready to pull her outside to relieve her of her head, but he lost his strength and went to his knees. Mikasa "Gunfire" Yamakazi lost his power to exhale and struggled to inhale. A cloud of darkness started suffocating his sight as well. Robbing him of his peripheral vision was quick, and seconds later, he was blind as beggars at the Riverside Shrine.

The old wench squeezed his hand tight Gunfire's hand melted into Adistaana's. "I see death in your path so clearly now. One who calls you subjects before whom you bow. Greedy, evil men have placed obstacles at your feet. Ah, but in the moment of defeat, a great hero will emerge ready to eat. You think yourself rusty, but the tools that will be given are trusty. A covenant that cannot be broken. A mission to vanquish the forsaken. Paternal blood will spill. The dastard deed meant to break the will. A secret yet to be revealed. From the lips of one whose fate is sealed. Two beasts of no relation. One from up high and one of low station. Troops will surge, and the veil between enemy and friend will merge. Heads rolling, but with a fine wine, a troop as large as many armies cut down in their prime, fearless men who melt in your handy grip. Drip, drip, drip, their blood will seep. Fires from the ground that dance and leap. Ashes to ashes all in a heap. Passionate red eyes and darkness terribly loud. The beast uncurls in the deepest of clouds. An omen who owns men. A green omen who lends them. The sweet milk of her bosom turns sour in your belly. Bones rot deep, and brains turn to jelly. Death...Death...Oh, death will come as a thief in the void to thrash you and devour your enemies."

Her voice changed once again to an ogre's tone. "None shall escape its fair tentacles. Now let her go...let...her...go. You...silly huh...man!"

She withdrew her connection fast, dropped and stopped trembling. Her eyes, still open, returned to their proper hue. Her hair was gray again. Mikasa "Gunfire" Yamakazi had seen only flashes in his head – all too quick to make any sense of. He'd regained most of his strength and had sprung to his feet. Yet his feet were still chopsticks under his weight, and the ceiling spun around him as he stood still. His vision quickly phased to black again. He dropped head down, squinting.

He begged her an answer as he pounded his hand on the cold marble. "What have you done to me miserable old woman? I cannot see. I cannot see. I cannot see!"

There was momentary silence as he caressed the marble with his fingertips. He felt the tiny cool grains scattered about from all the years of wear and tear. Then he heard her approach. "Rise to your feet, and you will have your sight again, human."

He used all his might to summon the courage not to attack her. He stood, and as promised, his vision began to return. It was as if he'd descended into the abyss and was coming through to the world of the living. When he could make out her silhouette, he turned to her with a strange look on his face.

"What kind of thing are you, my lady?" he asked.

She lifted both arms as if to take flight. Her clothes rose from the floor and wrapped her body. "I am the true Oracle of the Palace of the on High, Queen of Solitude, Goddess of the Power of the Air, Emissary to the Universal Realms of Men, the Chief Archer, the Last Daudane and the First Born to the Inferno. I am Adistaana the Great! Tremble at my feet...for you are but a fly on this ground which is the canvas I've painted for you to crawl upon...human!"

She walked – no she floated backward.

He watched her coasting around the temple as if her feet had abandoned the ground. Mikasa "Gunfire" Yamakazi, almost convinced he'd met the real thing, followed her close – though something profound inside his soul was telling him to resist her mighty pull. She'd compelled him without resistance – he was as powerless as a rag doll. If she were indeed a Saduat, he'd meet his ancestors soon. He did a quick prayer and readied himself for the end. But when would it come and how gruesome would his grand finale be?

A sickly new shape this devil may take

A body or two is for their own sake

Ruins have twisted after this ground quakes

Seeking out souls for malice to rape

To wisdom and cunning, they all shall not heed

Terror will strike them at unsightly speeds

Nothing to trust that's under their feet

Fear will greet them and demise they shall meet

-The Great Oracle, Canto Four

TWENTY-FIVE

Adistaana the Great

GUNFIRE FELL before Adistaana, tugged on her cloak, and pleaded with the Oracle. "Death? Why does he seek me out so soon? Is there any way to avoid all this...to defeat the Relic of Death? Maybe I can appease the great specter with a special offer?" he begged.

A temporary offer to keep his head where it belonged was all he had. Was there even a thing? A thing that could compel the Relic of Death himself to change his infinite mind and bypass a man fixed in its sight? A man whose deeds had earned him a ticket to the afterlife, and the embrace of the dark pits of hell?

The Emperor has dispatched me one last time. I made a promise to Lord Hayato. I can't fail them now, Gunfire reasoned.

Adistaana floated past Mikasa. "You're a dying man and must not go. Find yourself a surrogate to finish your task and achieve your destiny. Because nothing above or below will appease him. His eyes are set upon you, and once they are, not even I can stop him. One day, when all you see around you has ended, he will even come for me, his sweet, loving mother, and smother me with a kiss. He will even overpower the many lights of this great universe at the Big Ending," she murmured, stopping short and glaring down at Gunfire. "Does something bedevil you?"

Gunfire looked away and lowered his gaze to a piece of paper among the many strewn about on the floor. He thought back to an image of his son, Endō, and daughter, Nakano, playing in a field. Oichi, his wife of sixteen years, was behind them giving chase. He could see the trio running around in hell. They loved running about in the open fields of grandpa's rice farms.

If he avenged their loss, he could meet up with them and tell endless tales of his conquests, just as grandpa used to. But there was the looming possibility of venturing into the Dead Realm with shame clinging to his spirit. Dishonored and defeated, he could never face his ancestors, never mind his wife and children.

Adistaana broke eye contact. "Then tell me why you making that face...it's the truth I speak."

She ripped her cloak from his grip and drifted towards the red-hot chalice. The burning desire to follow her grew deeper inside of Gunfire. For once, he ignored the slow decaying of his bowels, brain, and blood vessels.

This is ridiculous! Why do I fear this woman? Is it because of the things she just did in front of me? Or is it because she knows I'm dying? I have to believe that she's the real thing. But how could I discount the possibility of her being a Saduat? thought Gunfire.

He figured the Saduat would take him out back to do the deed – where there were no witnesses. He braced himself once more for the coup de grâce.

Gunfire gave her cloak a defiant tug. "I have nothing left in this world. If death seeks to embrace me, then I will return him the favor. But before I go, I must right some wrongs in this world. Please let me make these things right, great Oracle. There must be something you can do."

She halted, with her head hung low and face to palm. "Shit... human. I knew you were going to say that, but I had convinced myself you'd take the wisest and nobler route. You're so darn stubborn – always have been – it's in your bloodline, Son of Two Moons. This is how the Great One Who Builds designed you – even at my displeasure. It shall serve you well someday, though not as soon as you think. This is precisely why I've prepared these nasty little sweeties for you."

Adistaana slowed her moving to a virgin crawl and threw him a grin. She stretched out her hand for a brown cloth and handed it to him. It had a high weight to it for a small package. Gunfire was hesitant to reach in and touch his present. What if this was the trick? To be the architect of my own death. Then she could sleep at night while I rot in hell, he thought.

His tone was filled with skepticism. "What is it?" he asked.

She opened the cloth. "This ancient Flavian Amulet will keep you safe and the Argwarian Fire Ring, the last of its kind, will make you as fast as the wind," she said as she returned to floating away to the back of the temple, passing the girl dancing for the ogres at a feverish pace.

"This is the lost Flavian Amulet of Emperor Jimmu, given to him by Ansolis, the sun goddess?"

"Yes, he conquered the land with it, but Ansolis took it away upon his death."

"And the Argwarian Fire Ring. How am I even able to hold it without bursting into flames? It must be fake. I just can't believe it."

"You won't have to. It will believe in you as do the beasts who patrol hell for which it owes its namesake. It is your lion's heart that tempers the fire raging within it. A fire that rivals a thousand suns."

Gunfire had more questions for the Great Oracle. The sound of drums interrupted him. The time he'd spent in the temple, they'd been banging to a rhythm, but he did not hear them at first. He placed the amulet around his neck and slid the gold ring, which had a vibrant red ruby, on his index finger. A general feeling of goodness bounced throughout his body. Gunfire felt energized - like he could take on the world, the universe or even the Greegarian. Her spell of enchantment seemed to have been lifted by either the amulet or the ring.

Adistaana smiled when she saw his demeanor morph from fear to confidence. "I have one last demand," she said still hovering, "and since you won't regard most of my warnings, it is not going to be optional."

"Just speak it, and it is done great Oracle."

"Let me examine your blade. I need to see it up close. I have to feel it for what it is. Knowing is not enough when I'm in this physical space you humans inhabit."

"You're an Oracle...the Oracle. What business do you have touching an object of desolation and destruction?"

"I am desolation incarnate. I have danced with despair, and a blade is hardly their equivalent. And I know what it looks like, but I want to try it out myself. Now, come with it, quickly."

He wavered once again but removed the long blade from his waist and held it in the air, right above her head. She motioned her right arm in the shape of an S, and the blade lifted itself from Gunfire's hand, with its handle landing right in her palm.

Gunfire took a step back as she began to twirl his katana like a parading bandmember. She spun it so fast that it disappeared. When she stopped, the air was still whirling throughout the room. Gunfire's mouth was wide open as he witnessed a handicapped woman move like a master swordsman. Then he thought of how silly it was for her to even take such an old form. Gunfire yearned to see her precise figure but thought of how painful it would be to rip out his own eyes in protest of her unknowable beauty.

He watched her from a cautious distance. She weighed the thing and tried to bend the steel. She looked at its edges, with all its scratches and dents and blood stains, and pursed her lips.

When she stopped, Gunfire approached Adistaana, but she held her hand out. "What will you do with it?" he asked.

"Do you wish your foes to truly crumble at your feet?"

"Yes, I do."

"Do you want to come back a victorious warrior as you did in your olden days?"

"Yes, great Oracle, yes."

"Then listen to me, young human. Heed my warnings and take my advice into your frail, mortal beating heart."

"Yes, yes I will."

She played with the sword some more, eying it with the contempt shown to useless ruins. She threw it in the air and caught it, whipped it around her back and jabbed at the sky. Adistaana stopped, tugged on her long beard, and then she struck the marble with the tip of the sword. She shook her head with twisted lips and threw it at the nearest table. The cluttered desk teetered to one side, and aged pots and pans fell clanking to the floor.

"Hmm...that one will not do. Not at all. Come back tomorrow, and by then I will have turned it into something spectacular," she grinned letting Gunfire see her tiny and shiny teeth for the first time.

Gunfire countered with a crumpled forehead. "A samurai without his sword is like a helpless infant wrapped in bed sheets."

She sucked her teeth. "If you must, use your short sword. It will suffice for now. For you are among friends and those who shine adoration upon you. Also, among you are those who share a great fear of you, Gunfire. By the end of the day tomorrow, right as the sun begins to set, you will find yourself facing a multitude of brutal enemies. That is when you will need your master blade. And trust me, this is no master blade... this thing is as useless as a shit flavored lollipop. But after one night with me, it shall become a white tiger among a thousand housecats."

"Then you may have it for the night. I have great trust in you now, my Oracle."

"Oh yes, I almost forgot. You cannot lay with any women until this whole campaign is complete. Understood?"

"What happens if I do?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know. And after your first encounter with the Greegarian that you so seek to tap into, you'll have a longing for the unconventional love, to sully yourself in the depths of abandon. It is all her trickery and one of many she'll toss your way in her desperate attempt to destroy you and anything that comes between your now tangled destinies. It is a perilous dance. There are ways to dismiss such unique desires. I'm absolutely sure you can be most creative in that aspect," she tipped her head down to give him a most awkward look, which he was quick to understand as a gesture of naughtiness.

"I understand. Great Oracle, I don't have..."

"A place to stay... I know, I know. With so many of your people on the street, gold doesn't go too far in securing lodging, which is why I reserved a space for you this week. Go west to the Flying Dog Inn and tell the hostess that Adistaana the Great sent you. She will give you quarters for the evening."

"Can't I just stay here for the night?"

"What do you take us for? This is a temple filled with virgins. We do not permit men to lay their heads here. Especially not human men. Even the priests go home at the end of their day services. Did you think they were human, Gunfire? Well, they're not. They have been but will never be again. It's time you stop seeing with your eyes alone. Now begone and come back only at the appointed time I have given you and not a moment sooner...or later."

She looked away as she waved her hands, and, in an instant, Gunfire found himself outside of the temple. Something substantial had palmed his torso and pulled him at a demonic speed into the street. He was woozy from the breakneck trip. The doors slammed by themselves, and the whole shrine went dark. He'd arrived in the morning, but it was dark out. Yet to his recollection, he'd only been in there for half an hour.

In a street filled with people going up and down, he was the only one who'd seen the spectacular event. He looked to a passerby whom he thought had seen his mystical exit and tried to ask him if he saw what happened, but the young man back-pedaled and ran off. Unable to guess what had just happened, and unwilling to contest with the most potent oracle he'd ever encountered, Gunfire headed west.

"Ah, stop worrying, Mikasa. When the morning comes, everything's gonna be clear to you. If they don't clear up and she proves to be a Saduat after all, I could always take her head as a prize."

A seat of power stands between him and them

When facing eternity, he soon turns fem

His headgear is false

His empire lacks pulse

They'll follow his orders til the end of time

It won't matter if he seeks justice or crime

He speaks, they act at the turn of a dime

His authority prime, their ignorance sublime

-The Great Oracle, Canto Six

TWENTY-SIX

The Flying Dog Inn

THE INN would be as quiet as a cricket's fart – if they were ever able. Once the Red Hole Inn, it received its namesake from the wild dogs which used to jump from rooftop to rooftop in the evening; supposedly chasing the birds perched there wishing they too could fly. And like most of its tenants, those hounds were without permanent homes.

Most lodges were hushed solitary digs during the middle of the day, but not like the Flying Dog. It radiated a hair-raising feeling in Gunfire's mind; as if the silence was the fault of a recent gruesome death in the building. As if the body was still in the building and was awaiting burial. As if the clients were ghosts or shadows of former men. Gunfire shut the door behind him and headed for the front desk on his right.

It was dinner time, but the galley area was devoid of any human presence. A youngster sat behind the front desk counter playing with a wooden toy. He took an instant liking to Gunfire, the single mysterious figure of the day, with his white cloak dangling over his face.

The boy stood and came around the counter to make a closer review of the white stranger. Gunfire ignored him as he felt on his cloak and tugged at its tips. The boy reminded him of his younger brother, Akiko, who had grown up looking up to Gunfire – who'd been buried with over one hundred and fifty thousand souls, along with his wife, son, daughter, mother, and father.

After he'd had enough prodding, Gunfire reached into his pocket. He pulled out a sugar candy and handed it to the boy, who popped it in his mouth and walked off grinning. Are you not going to say thank you? He thought.

The innkeeper was a young woman, about sixteen years old, slim, and blond haired. Dressed in a short and tight white skirt, she tried to make eye contact with Gunfire, who refused her the pleasure.

After he mentioned Adistaana, she handed him a key and walked around the counter. She escorted him to a room, three floors up, with her hips deliberately swirling from side to side. Sounds of lovemaking crept through the thin timber walls. In one place, there was banging as the bed slammed against a wall. In another, whips were heard. And the following room was filled with deep moaning. Gunfire wondered if he'd still hear the oohs in his room – which would either arouse him, amuse him, or piss him off.

"Want some company...the night's still young?"

He took a quick glance at her and looked back at his door and placed his right hand on the door, leaning a bit. Gunfire looked down.

She stared at him as he tried to look away. "What's a matter? Your tongue doesn't work? Mine does. Really good too."

Gunfire scratched the back of his head. "I, uh, I don't think it will be necessary. Unless you just want to cuddle for the night."

"What, are you a limp chap or something?"

"No, it's nothing like that, really. I just have a big engagement in the morning that requires me to be in top shape, but I wouldn't mind female company. Just no sex, though."

Her eyes turned black as a shadow. And she tilted her head to the right in a most uncomfortable position. Her hair lifted in what appeared to Gunfire as slow motion and she froze in place. There was an awkward silence throughout the hotel as if everything had frozen as she.

He heard a raspy voice reminiscent of Adistaana from the girl's mouth. "Good going ole boy. You haven't permitted your human lust to commandeer your mind. But remember, I'm watching you... Gunfire."

A startled Gunfire jumped back, his shoulders hitting the wall, shattering the cheap wood. Then she started moving. She popped back her neck, and her eyes returned to normal. The sexy sounds all returned too. Gunfire staggered headlong towards her and grabbed her arms.

"Oracle, is that you?"

"What are you talking about? Who's Oracle? Oh, I get it, you've already arranged to have company later. Well, couldn't say I didn't try. You're a hunk of a man. If you change your mind, you know where you can find me, baby."

"If you're not the cuddling type, then that will be all, thanks."

"Your loss. Some men can't get enough of this booty."

"Order me a Wizaryan. One who knows anything about the Daudanes. She can name her price....and young lady...I need her tonight."

"Alright...Wizaryan, my bum," she smirked.

"One who uses real enchantment!"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, I know it's forbidden."

She walked off, then stopped, looked back to see if he was watching her derriere. Disappointed, she strode off as if she was angry and disappeared down the stairwell. The moment she was gone, a fellow wearing green and red appeared behind Gunfire. He was twice Gunfire's build and at least half a foot taller. The Goliath stood shoulder to face with Gunfire in a confrontational stance.

"What's wrong with her? She's not good enough for you?"

Gunfire took a step back. "Who in all of Japan are you?"

The behemoth leaned forward. "I'm the top man around here. Now answer my question."

"I'm going to my room."

"No, you aren't," he said blocking Gunfire's entry to his room.

He made eye contact, and at that moment, gunfire could have sworn he was the young woman's father. At least a next of kin. They had the same high checks, similar round face, and sunken eyes. Their nose was almost a carbon copy as was the shape of their earlobes. Maybe this was coincidental? What brother, father or uncle would sell their female relatives this way? This cheap. She was lovely enough to train as a Geisha.

"Now let's be gentlemen about this. Please, get out of my way, sir."

"Answer my question first. What gives you the right to refuse an offer in my place."

"You own this hotel?"

"No, but I own the women here."

"Then I've heard enough. Please let me get to my room."

"Or what."

Gunfire saw him take one step towards him. Instinct pushed his right hand forward with a quick cannon of a punch to the brute's chest. He flew to the back of the hallway and struck the rear wall.

Bang! Crumple! Tumble!

Gunfire looked at his hand in disbelief. The ring. It's got to be the ring. This real after all, he thought.

Gunfire slipped the Argwarian Fire ring off. He then ran to the check on the man. He was out, but he was still alive. With a sigh of relief, he grabbed a bucket of water hanging by a door and splashed it over the man's head. He snapped out of it, got up and stumbled his way downstairs screaming 'please don't hurt me' the whole way.

Just then, a stranger approached him from behind. She touched his Gunfire's arms. He turned around, and his eyes landed on a red-headed woman with blonde streaks in her hair. She had skin that is white as a pearl. She wore a white gown which was wrapped flawlessly around her body, it wasn't a kimono; it looked as if it wasn't from the land of Japan.

He lunged forward.

"Who are you, my lady?" Gunfire asked her with his hands on her throat. She tucked her arm around his fists and wrestled herself free. He was shocked she was able to resist his strength.

"I've been summoned by you," she said. "I am Onna-X-Donna...your Wizaryan."

"I must apologize," he said bowing to her. "There's been a lot of awkward happenings around me."

"Apology accepted," she said waving him forward. "Shall we proceed."

"You arrived rather quickly," he said as he closed the door behind them. Just as he did, there was a brilliant light in the room radiating blues, purples, and yellows; a swarm of gorgeous black butterflies commenced entering the tiny room; by the thousands. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Silence!" she whispered. "Or you'll mess it up."

He surely would; for the butterflies were a protection spell, one in which she'd need to create to house herself and Gunfire from the watchful eyes of all gods and Goddesses of realms both above and below. The thousands of black butterflies went into an oval glass jar. Gunfire stared at the glass jar with respect.

"How can you fit that many into..."

"It's not the jar that's the illusion...it's me, my new friend."

The occupation of Wizaryan was well known to be a deadly one; one which drew the ire of many creations of the cosmic realms. She needed a prevailing form of protection each time she consulted a client. This was especially true since she'd go in not knowing which one of the many powerful entities a patron had pissed off. It was best to maintain some form of anonymity; hence the cloud of butterflies.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Paranoia's a Nasty Companion

GUNFIRE'S ROOM was a funky, tight, and dark hole in the wall. The area had the lingering musty scent of sex floating about which he'd caught the moment he stepped inside the macabre quarters; an odor that reminded Gunfire of old damp rags left in a dark place. The stink was shipwrecked on the avocado walls, the wooden floor, and the half-washed bedsheets.

Gunfire walked to the sole window in the room and pushed it open as the Wizaryan watched with grossed out look on her face. It was apparently not the presidential suite, nor the whore's suite for that matter, but it wasn't ordered for anything more than sleeping. Nonetheless, Gunfire couldn't help but get a load of the disgusting nature of the space.

What in cold hell is this? Good thing I'm only here for the night, thought Gunfire.

"Before we start the transactions," said Onna-X-Donna reaching into her bag. "I must create an erasure ceremony, removing the beginning of our encounter from the Homolitanae."

The Homolitanae, which was a list showing human encounters amongst each other also displayed when they used magic. This was to keep tabs on when celestial beings intervened on their behest; a sort of tablet which kept count on all cosmic actions. It was said the Homolitanae would balance the equation at the Big Ending.

"You have access?" he asked her. "I was always told that it was a god's weapon."

"It is," she said quietly. "But I can ask permission to use it. And once I've gained success and access, I can proceed."

"What if another being sees you?" he asked. "You know what I mean?"

"That's precisely what this is for. I'll cover us under the Veil of Boreniniva to keep any deity or their retinues from witnessing us either from above or below."

"You are a Wizaryan," he said amazed that the young inn maiden had retrieved one for real. He'd expected a half-cocked tale which he'd have to piece together from many sources but never the real thing; this was usual in the spiritual underworld.

"How long have you been operating?"

"Longer than you can imagine," she winked and fished out a ball of salts and sprinkled them into the air. She then blew on the spices; the spices caught on fire and a cascade of blaze followed, creating a globule of fire which swallowed her and Gunfire.

Gunfire's eyes lit up in the blaze. "This is amazing."

"In order to hear the truth," she said looking at him with deep blue eyes. "Proteus, The God of Deception and Hiding, asks for extra dough for the revelation."

"And what need does Proteus of money?"

"Because I must seek Proteus's help after the revelation. It's for my protection, truth seeker!"

"Alright then," he sighed, reached into his bag of coins and give her two gold pieces. "Proceed."

"The Lost City of the Daudanes...The original protectors of the Lost City of the Daudanes were the Realm Raiders who held a special metallic glove and rode an armored horse which threw fire at their enemies, devouring them instantly. They were all replaced by Lord Koa-Bol."

"Yes," said Gunfire. "I've heard of Lord Koa-Bol. But never of the Lost City of the Daudanes. What were they?"

"Daudane means emissary of peace in the Godly language,' she said in a shaken voice. "It was a city in a realm where gods fought a war of attrition for eons until one great god by the name of Lord Koa-Bol, was able to ascend the Seat of Ansolis and force a truce among them."

"Yes," said Gunfire. "I know this part. The Seat of Ansolis; the chief of the archaic gods who had control over the cosmic fires and winds. His throne was so bright and hot only he could withstand it."

"Which is why he stayed in power," said the Wizaryan. "Lord Koa-Bol forced the gods to live in peace within the City of the Daudanes. This new king guarded the domed city from the outside gate with a sword made from weapons he'd confiscated from all the warring deities."

"They all lived in peace inside there?"

"But not for long. The Greegarian grew angry and felt like she was in prison and wanted out of Daudane, she manipulated the other weaker gods. She lead them to plead her case to Lord Koa-Bol."

"They were that stupid?"

"The Gods and Goddesses aren't much more than mortals to each other," she said laughingly. "Much like how you trick one another, they do it to each other. The Greegarian tricked Lord Koa-Bol into letting her out once a year to mourn her lost loved ones since she'd bore the greatest losses during the war."

"This is starting to sound like an invasion story," said Gunfire. "Let me guess, she used the time outside to grow an army?"

"Close. She attempted to escape, so they fought. And when she was about to be victorious, the other Gods and Goddesses of Daudane City stopped her. The sword broke in her belly during a violent tussle, transforming her into a green and black snake and forcing her to bear gifts with any curse she bestowed upon anyone."

"But she got away?" he asked her angrily. "I was made aware the Greegarian Omen was trapped somewhere and for a warrior to call upon it was a great legacy."

"No, that's a foolish thing to even seek," she said. "The Greegarian Omen is a curse and a blessing."

"My Gods," he said pacing back and forth. "Go on, waste no time. I must rise early."

"The Greegarian came back and killed the Gods and Goddesses of the city by devouring them one by one with only Adistaana surviving."

"So then, she had nowhere else to go? That made the story complete. The Greegarian was trapped in the eternal Dark Realm."

"But the Universal Realms of Men was fruitful, my dear. Where all other ones were not; they were heavily affected or in decline by the campaigns the Gods had staged against each other, and some of them were dead. The Universal Realms of Men were bursting with life. Therefore, the primordial Gods and Goddesses stopped their infighting to preserve the last beacon of light in the universe. She'd sought out the realm of men as her next conquest, but with the curse it was hard...next to impossible."

"She went after it still? That was rather covetous."

"The name Greegarian was short for Greedy in the Daudane language, but they gave her many names; The Green Snake, The Green Garian, The Greedy Snake, The Greedy Garian, The Greedy Snake; all names given to the Daudane who'd taken on the form of the beast after that mortal wound was given to her during that fateful battle with Lord Koa-Bol."

"Adistaana did know of her?" he said clasping her hands together and rubbing them which caused the bubble to widen showing Gunfire the world of the Daudanes. "And she's not doing anything but equipping me to fight her own mess?"

"Adistaana is neither good or evil," said the Wizaryan. "And they have an immense quantity of malice to dispense on any unfaithful mortal who crosses her path. Don't you ever draw the anger the Daudanes."

"Why's this?" he asked. "I thought they were the benevolent ones? My father and grandfather prayed and served the Daudanes, and we especially visited their Temples of Solitude."

"They're Gods and Goddesses," she looked at him with a bewildering expression. "They can become very petty if they're crossed."

"That's not what I saw in the temple?"

"You've been summoned to battle the beast?" she asked him to which he nodded. She stopped for a moment to think. "You mustn't go on such a mission because the last person who attempted it died a miserable and agonizing death."

"How'd you know I won't succeed."

"Sachiko Tanahashi is in the Secret Tomb of the Great Emperors and Kings now," she said to him and having never heard of the place, he ignored her plea.

Just then, the Wizaryan looked at Gunfire strangely. "Be calm and act natural," was all she told him as she vanished into the globe of fire. Gunfire found himself alone in the dank room. Suddenly, Gunfire heard Adistaana the Great's voice; she was in the walls, on the floor and the ceiling.

"Gunfire!" she beckoned him. It felt like she'd been calling his very body and soul towards the roof of the building. Then the roof emerged revealing the light and a giant being; it was a beautiful elderly woman, not quite Adistaana but not quite the woman he'd encountered in the Temple of Solitude.

Adistaana suspects something strange is amiss inside the hotel during the séance, so she suspends time,

As he lifted up, it seemed as if everything had stopped again; she'd broken the hotel piece by piece, then she plucked him by his collar.

"Gunfire," said the gargantuan voice. "What are you up to in there?"

"Nothing," he said. "I was getting ready to clean up the place before you arrived, Adistaana. You can look around for yourself. It's not the tidiest place in the world."

"For a minute, I felt your presence was fading," she sniffed him as if he'd been lying and the lies were contained within his breath.

"I was here all the time, Great Oracle."

"All alone, you say?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm keeping a close eye on you," she whispered in a grungy voice. "You should expect company if things go awry, or if you go off track,

"I was under the impression you wouldn't be meddling with my..."

"Silence," she released him. He fell to his feet. "I won't be meddling, just aiding. Get some rest for the days ahead will be testing and lengthy, Gunfire."

Just like that, the pieces of the room began to fall back in place. When Adistaana was out of sight, everything came back into motion; he could hear the action outside. She'd relocked the time again to where they'd left.

Then the Wizaryan took off the Veil, breaking the protection glass which released thousands of white and black butterflies.

"I must go now," she whispered. "It's become too dangerous."

Gunfire watched in awe as the swarm of butterflies carried her out through the small inn's window.

He did a quick sweep as if he'd expect there to be company inside the drawers. He searched under the bed, in the closet, the bathroom and then the closet again. He started yawning, and the bed began to look tempting. The more sleep you get, the better, he thought and sat near the end of the small bed.

He spent the latter part of the day tossing, unable to draw a wink. He'd been thinking about Adistaana for the better half of the evening. And the hallucination he'd just had with her voice had brought everything back to the forefront of his mind. Maybe she'd done something to him and had him under her control?

What I saw in the temple was so unnatural? No man or woman should have such powers. It must have been a hallucination. People don't float in the air like that. She had to have drugged him when she touched me, he thought.

He thought of his family. He saw the kids playing in the field on their grandfather's farm in the north. They looked happy. He heard the call of his wife begging them to come to dinner. And he saw his mother and father tilling the land. He would have to wait to see them again. He'd have to wait for his venture to the crossroads to the afterlife. He shook the images from his head – moving on to Adistaana the Great.

Gunfire didn't know what to make of all Adistaana's titles. During their travels to the Northwood as a boy, he'd learned about Adistaana the Great from many of his grandfather's tall tales. But as far as he knew, the Oracle of the Palace of the on High, the representative of the seven seeing spirits of the Gods, was supposed to have been killed by the Greegarian. Even the most ancient texts of Japanese lore she was deceased figure called upon to see the future – a cosmic gift for which she was the sole bearer.

Grandpa adored Adistaana, an ancient wind goddess known for her ability to protect her loved ones with uncanny ferociousness. She was the family's patron goddess – and grandpa never let anyone forget this. She too was said to have fallen to the Greegarian in a tragic battle in a distant realm, but only after leaving an unbreakable curse on the immortal beast. This curse beckoned the venomous creature to grant god-like powers to worthy humans – a creation it had despised the most.

The Queen of Solitude, as the goddess of the realm where decisions about other domains were once made, as well as the Goddess of the Power of the Air, were assimilated into the Green Garian monster. Per grandpa, this happened after the Great Oracle confronted her in a great war that forever ruptured both realms.

The Great Oracle left a token of her distaste for the Greegarian's incursions in the form of a mortal wound that stretched the length of its leaf-green back. She then tore a hole in the universe and disappeared – out of the reach of the Greegarian.

The Emissary to the Universal Realms of Men was a secondary title given to the one who spoke to the builder of everything, who himself was known to never take sides, preferring the lesser gods to deal with their own problems while he built infinite and 'marvelous' things. The title was more ceremonial than formal since the builder only spoke to the Emissary once after the Greegarian had begun her war on the celestial realms by releasing the Relic of Death.

The Chief Archer, the cosmic architect of weapons both great and small, fell as well, along with the Last Daudane, who were the first gods created to arrange the universe after its construction. And the First Born to the Inferno, the first god-like being fashioned at the Big Beginning, was imprisoned by the Greegarian after she proved impervious to even the hottest flames of the fieriest pits of hell.

And fearing the return of the Great Oracle to free the Last Daudane, the Greegarian destroyed the key to his prison. But it was too late. The Last Daudane had transferred all his powers to the Great Oracle as she left the realm, which, per myth, included a weapon with the ability to delay the beast's advances on mankind.

His mind veered not only on his mission and Adistaana but his sword. He'd spent his entire adult life with his blade. Given to him by his late father, it once belonged to an unknown prince of high rank in the empire. A young prince who was fifth in line to the throne. It was like an extension of himself – separating him from it was tantamount to an amputation.

Although her words sounded wise, the enemies of the state do whatever they must to keep their power. He could be a sitting duck in this small excuse for a room. Gunfire stood, pushed his bed to the door, barricading himself in and slept on the floor.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Temple of the Queen of Solitude

TWO DAYS had passed since Mikasa had fed the crows who were asleep atop trees next to the inn. They huddled close together for warmth which wouldn't have been a norm, but the night air was unusually cold.

An Auburn tinted sunlight blazed its way through the tiny room's window hitting the back of Mikasa's shoulders. Sweat pooled around his neck, forehead and the small of his back. The intense humidity roused him. His kimono felt heavy – as if he'd swam through a creek.

He figured he'd overslept and leaped to his feet and headed downstairs. He ran to the temple at a brisk pace, knocking many street dwellers to their asses as he pushed through with apologies.

It was a good thing it was just three hundred and sixty meters from the Inn. Gunfire was starting to feel his age and was soon out of breath. It felt like he'd run faster than a cheetah. How he got there so quickly, he didn't have a clue, but it was an exhilarating experience.

After opening the huge double doors, he took off his shoe and headed into the sanctuary. Adistaana had a twisted posture, like the one a mother gives to a son for forgetting to do all his chores. Her legs were crossed, both hands on her hips, and the pipe dangled from her puckered lips.

"You're late. But then again, never mind."

She tossed him the sword, which she'd balanced in her lap like a child. It looked nothing like what he'd given her the day before. Gunfire's mind ran amuck with disbelief. The sight of the thing boiled his blood vessels.

"What have you done to my sword?"

"I've converted it so that it resembles the Broken Sword of Daudane,"

"Does it have the same powers as the Daudanes?"

"Now that would be preposterous. Not even I, the Oracle, was permitted to even lay hands on such a great and powerful weapon."

"Because it can kill a god or goddess for good?"

"Because it can undo the cosmos for good. Or so that's what the Builder told me. It's now a worthier weapon for the powers you're going to be heading up against."

"It's half the length it used to be and has double tips. It's worthless now."

"You're welcome, you know. I labored all night on it. It's sixty percent lighter. And now many times more powerful than before. You might as well have been carrying a bamboo stick with the blade you handed me last night. I have rendered it indestructible too. You want a demonstration... look at this!"

She bounded her left hand inside a green rag. Then she lifted the shortened sword and slammed it against a metal shield, cutting it in half. The only sound the blade made was a swoosh when it cut through the air. There was not a scratch on it. Gunfire's face lit up, his eyes as wide as they could get. He lifted a smile, and she met him with her own.

"Satisfied, I see. So, what shall you call it?"

"Man-eater... I will call it Man-eater because only something meant to tear men away from their flesh and blood should hold this kind of power."

"Good... good. A very appropriate name for a most deathly tool. Knees will grow weak when you slice through entire squads of shields with this marvelous thing. They won't want to see what it does to flesh with just a slight touch."

"If you're as prescient as you appeared to be yesterday, then it was not a surprise to you at all, was it Oracle?"

"I don't believe in providence. You came in here expecting something and got just what you expected. Hey, ole human boy, I have one rule."

"Here it comes. I knew there was a catch."

"Be quiet and listen carefully. Don't you ever... ever utter the source of this weapon to a single soul, lest they lose their capabilities forever."

"That won't be a problem."

"I'm not finished... it will be faithful to you and you alone. Anyone who tries to wield it shall meet a most disastrous end. From the moment you took it in your hands, you and Man-eater became one spirit. You shall move and think as one being. And as a topping on the proverbial rice cake, it will vibrate when you are amongst those who wish to do you harm. But if for one instance, you are not faithful in return, it shall betray you without hesitation. Reciprocity my human boy, reciprocity."

"I am a samurai... need I say more."

"Hubris is the sharp needle that pokes out the eyes of many men like yourself. Be careful young samurai. Remember these instructions. Abandon them at your own hazard."

"But confidence is everything in the heat of a battle."

She shrugged him off and continued as if he had not spoken. The lights in the room began to flicker. The roof creaked. It felt as if the temple was being taken apart piece by piece by a giant standing outside. The windows banged open and hot air flowed inside the cool temple.

"I don't have much time. Look at your right palm."

He lifted his palm to his face. A circle had been seared into it. Within that circle was his family's banner; the red dragon.

Witchcraft!

He knew she was a fake and now this act was confirmation.

"What the heck is this? How did you? Why?"

"The melodrama with this one. You've already seen what I can do, don't be so surprised. Somehow, I think it will be the next weapon that will gather your interest the most."

She walked to the back room, passing the dancing temptress. Gunfire wondered if she'd been dancing the whole night. The young woman was glistening with sweat. When she returned, Adistaana had something wrapped in a white cloth.

"These are my babies. Treat them well and only use them when you absolutely must."

She handed them to Gunfire. When he unwrapped the cloth, there were three star-like weapons in it. Their tips were sharp, cutting the fabric with mere contact. They shone as bright as the sun and lit up his face. And yet, they were cold to the touch.

"I made them with what I took from your old sword – if you can call it that. They can be controlled with your mind, do your bidding with a single thought. All you need to do is but look at your target, and they will accomplish the rest. But once they're lodged in the flesh of your enemy, you must personally retrieve them. Try one out."

He picked up the three stars and looked at the wall next to him. They vibrated and started spinning, each one in the opposite direction of the other. They made a hissing noise as their gyration surpassed the speed of sound.

"Concentrate. Concentrate, Gunfire! At the beginning, they will resist your commands. You must show them who the boss is, or they'll turn against you and even kill you. Concentrate with all your, might."

One of the stars lifted and lodged itself into the wall. It had moved so fast that Gunfire didn't see its trajectory, just the thud sound once it struck the stone wall. It had almost penetrated the wall. The other two continued to spin. He stared at them and ordered them to stop. They fell in his hand. It took him a split second to realize that they were hot, and he dropped them on the floor. He used the rag to pick them up and slipped them into his side pocket.

"Everyone's a bit rusty at first. Practice makes perfect. Eventually, you will be able to control them at great distances. No one within your line of sight will be safe."

"You've given these types of dangerous weapons to others?"

"What, did you think you were special? The 'One' and only? I am a granter of wishes, not one who meddles and take sides. I seek to balance the world not tip it in any direction."

"Have you done something to me? Am I dreaming or is this some kind of trickery?'

"Oh please, human, you knew what you were going to get the moment you saw what I did on our last encounter. Did you think them all parlor tricks then? No, so tuck that bit of incredulity somewhere else son of men."

"It's just that, I'm a believer, but I've never seen anything quite like this before."

"And you may never again see such a glorious thing. Get over it – by the time you finish this task of yours, your eyes will have fallen on things you never thought existed and never should have. You will question the motives of the creator of the cosmos. You will question the nature of your existence. And what is light without darkness? These are my Teneba Lights, you can block out the light from entering your immediate vicinity, rendering your location hidden or confusing your enemy. All you have to do is crack one over your chest, and they'll do the rest."

She handed him a brown packet filled with the tiny balls. Gunfire looked at the package and saw the little balls moving around as if they were alive. They seemed to be making a pattern of sounds as if they had a language. He leaned his head toward the packet and listened. The little balls whispered something to him in simultaneous harmony. Gunfire pulled his head away and closed the pack.

"They talk? How is that even possible?"

"They're not talking my dear human; they're reverberating your thoughts."

"I don't know what to say, but thank you, great Oracle. There's no way for me to repay you for these gifts. I am a man of humble new beginnings."

"Live to see the heads of your enemies, both in the palace and outside of it, on a wooden platter. Live Gunfire, live. That will be my recompense."

"Inside the palace. What is that supposed to mean?"

"Use them sparingly Gunfire. And above all, sleep with no woman."

She stroked her beard, smiled wide and began to turn pale. She was becoming transparent as if she'd been made from water. Then she evaporated into the air and disappeared. There was a flash of thunder and a rumbling. Gunfire lost his footing for a second. The sky, which was filled with clouds, cleared, letting light into the temple. Everything shone, even the marble flooring. Gunfire ran throughout the entire structure searching for the old Seer. She was gone. Then he realized that the priests and the dancer had vanished as well. He was all alone in an empty temple.

TWENTY-NINE

Kagoshima City Rhapsody

IT WAS late in the evening, and the sun had started setting over what was left of that humid Friday. The Serpent's Pit was swamped. Half-naked whores clung to drunken mercenaries with their hustlers not too far from earshot. A place known all throughout the province for its share of odd folk, the Serpent's Pit was entering its first century in operation.

The shabby night hole was put together from surplus bamboo, brown brick, and horse hay left over from two wars among regional warlords. It was a symbol of peace – the one and only neutral zone in the province. And it served as a rest stop for travelers heading further south.

It was hot and drizzly outside while the moisture inside grew to intolerable levels. This didn't stop the alcohol from flowing. Every wet head nearby had crowded the Pit to wait out the storm. A good half of the regulars were in the back rooms humping their way through the harlot population.

As the music grew louder, the double doors swung open. A thin-nosed man walked into the den of men. He drew suspicious expressions from every patron within view. He was well shaven and had thick, sunken, blue eyes. Long, dark hair spilled out of his white hood and hung past broad shoulders. He towered over the young men guarding the entrance. They were fascinated by his richly detailed cloak, with its dragon insignia sewn in gold on its backside. The splendid cloak seemed to expand the stranger's aura – as if an angel had descended to be among ordinary men. The stranger took stock of the small, crowded bar, ignoring the stares directed his way.

They could see that two swords, one broad and one short, were hidden around his waist. Only a slight outline gave them away, but the bar heads knew what to expect. Most of the patrons looked away. This was one of the Shogun's killing machines.

The bar had terrible lighting. The stench of horse feces was as strong inside as it was outside. Though the music had stopped, the women of the night continued wiggling coins out of the pockets of their clueless marks.

As he walked towards the bartender, the aging wooden planks struggled to keep up with his weight. His trampling shook nearby tables. The vibrations were so violent that some of the cups on those tables toppled, spilling onto their owners. The commotion drew the bartender's attention, whom at first, was not impressed by the stranger. It was not the first time a mysterious figure walked into the shadowy dive. While it was not universal, over the years, they've even seen royalty. He walked to the bar, sat on a stool, and pulled out a cloth from under his cloak.

"I need this quickly washed," said the stranger, who threw a thick bloody rag at the bartender. After stumbling to catch the ghastly thing, he tossed it on the counter. And then, he tried to look at his rude and demanding new customer.

"What I look like, a maid?" asked the bartender with furrowed brows. The bartender had a thick Southern accent – a villager's cadence. Unlike the north where they placed emphasis on the T's and S's, the southerners spoke with inflections which stressed the vowel of each word.

The stranger said nothing. He only stared at the bartender, eyes cold and deathly. At that moment, the bartender wished he had not looked him in those worrying blue crystal balls. He looked around for some support – there was none.

In the past, if there ever was a problem with rude patrons, there were always plenty of quick hands to teach the intruder a lesson. But there was an air of 'don't mess with this stranger' which seemed to infect even the most hardened men in the bar. This fellow who hadn't blinked from the moment he entered. This stranger, whose cloak was bewildering and may have hidden something gruesome beneath. Something worse than the weapons bound around his waist.

The bartender had resigned to his reality at that point and grabbed the soaking wet, bloody rag with two reluctant fingers. His face was twisted as he covered his nose with his free arm and threw the thing in a pale.

The bartender looked at the stranger again. "Please, don't mind me. I've had a terrible day. We'll have it back in no time, sir."

Seconds turned into minutes of complete silence in the bar; a new phenomenon. When the silence began to annoy him, the bartender announced rounds of free drinks for everyone; the cheap stuff, though. High-pitched shouts and happy clapping followed.

The ludicrous village melody continued, and gaiety regained momentum. Besides breaking the stalemate, the stranger had brought in with him, it was good for business. Thoroughly drunk men usually bought more alcohol. In times like this, they only needed a little push off the wagon.

"Not from around here, huh?" he asked the stranger after he'd developed more courage, and more drunk friends should anything pop off. The stranger lifted his head and looked past the bartender. His pale face was blank but fierce. As if he'd seen a thousand horrors.

The stranger made eye contact with the bartender. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, you wearing that expensive getup for one. And it's thought of as an insult to hide your face round these parts. Only someone from far, far away would dare make such a faux pas."

"Faux pas?" he grimaced.

"That's a social blunder – learned it from a passerby one day. But it's not your fault. Can't fault the ignorant. God knows I'm not much sophisticated either."

"Next time I come through 'these parts,' the stranger murmured, "I'll dress more appropriately. To your liking. With a touch of poverty in my getup."

He removed his hood, revealing his dazzling masculine features. His skin was like that of men used to the pleasures of a lavish lifestyle – good hygiene and expensive oils – which was scarce in the province. The bartender could tell that he'd never seen hard times – at least none recently. There were streaks of white in his dark hair, which descended beyond his torso. This reminded the bartender of the Lakud Clan; a group of warlords from the Northwood area of Japan, known for never cutting their hair until their Death's Day for Me ceremony.

"Don't get me wrong. It's a breath of fresh air to see you. Somebody who's not a complete peasant walk through these doors. It happens less than I care to mention. This place mostly caters to the worst of the worst if you know what I mean."

"My kind of people," said the stranger as his eyes veered to the bottled sakes on the back of the bar's lineup of strong liquors.

"So," said the bartender, "how'd you get here. I didn't see any transport out there. All them horses look familiar to me."

"On foot, of course."

"Oh, my," he laughed, "good one stranger, you're an amusing fellow. Look, if you don't want to tell me the truth, it won't take any skin from this nose," he touched his nose. "I get plenty of stories over the years. I can tell when a man is lying. It's why, I guess, so many of em' stopped telling me their tall tales long ago."

The bartender shook his head with a grin. The thought of somebody walking from the far north all the way to the Kagoshima Province was ridiculous. He'd have taken anything; like a nearby town or a wealthy village, but this was too much. He didn't know that the stranger was telling him the truth. That his employers had instructed him to ride on horseback until he reached the border of the province and then proceed on foot. That if he were caught and killed, it would lead to a protracted war and millions of lost souls.

"You could'a gone to an upscale place just at the end of town...why here?"

"I'm looking for somebody."

"Does this 'somebody' got a name?"

"Guan Kayshett. The first of the Pelican Clan. I was told this was his favorite watering hole."

The bartender stood still, but his hands began trembling. The aluminum cup he was cleaning fell, making a muffled clang on the wooden floor. He bent down to pick it up, shaking as he tried to cup it in his hands.

A chubby gentleman, who'd been eavesdropping, stood with his hands on his hip. He was a brutish and short man, with short black hair and a masculine chin. Once again, silence had enshrouded the bar as all eyes turned to the stranger.

"Who you say you looking for, mister?"

The stranger turned around, still resting on the stool, and spoke up so everyone could hear him. This time his voice was booming. As if some sort of magic had amplified it. It halted even the most engaged ladies and their marks. That was the bartender's cue. He reached for a piece of dense wood behind his counter.

"I'm looking for Guan Kayshett."

"What business you have with Guan?"

"It's personal."

"Oh really," said the standing man with his hands on his hips.

He had three other men join him. They were about his build but much younger. They sat with their hands wrapped around their blades. The stranger unbound the gold rope around his cloak and displayed his weaponry. His abdomen was tight, his arms stocked with muscle and all his chiseled manliness was clear under his tight black kimono.

"Yes, I know him well," said the stranger, "Do you know of him?"

"I not only know of him, he a very dear friend to me. Keeps me alive and well, that Guan. We make our way to the outhouse from time to time. And I shit him out once or twice a day."

Laughter and hooting filled the room. The stranger looked around, observing the revelers with crushed lips. Each time he eyed someone, they'd shut their mouths and look away.

"Then kindly direct me his way, if you will," he said lifting a pocket watch from his cloak, "Heard he'd turned to a piece of donkey excrement. I'm on a tight schedule. I'd like to see for myself before leaving town."

"You gone let him get you like that?" shouted a harlot, directly behind the standing man, sitting on a client, whose pocket she'd been running her hands through.

"Whip that outlander good and good," a man in the far right of the bar shouted.

"But, spare his life so he can go tell all his friends back home," shouted another anonymous speaker on the other end of the bar. The hooting regained momentum. A group of men started striking their tables with their empty mugs. The standing brutes poked out their chests.

"What if I told you I was Guan," the leader shouted over the commotion, "What'd you have to say about that?"

"Oh no, he's no Guan," shouted a young man.

"Shut," said the leader pointing to the young man, "your goddamn mouth, Mitsuko."

"I'd tell you you're a foolish man," said the stranger, "and tell you to sit your damn ass down. Little men like you shouldn't play with fire. And right now, I'm an open furnace."

The standing man looked back at his comrades. They lowered their heads. He exchanged threatening gazes with the stranger. Then the man who stood reached for his blade, but sat down.

He displayed a reluctant smile. "This outlander, huh. He got no sense of humor. We're just pulling on your leg, outlander."

A half-naked woman, who had finished her turn dancing on the stage at the rear of the bar, approached the stranger. She had purple all over whatever part of her body she'd chosen not to display. She was a borderline voluptuous and curvaceous young woman. Long haired, blond, and very attractive. The stranger's countenance became pleasant when she came to him.

She leaned over whispering in his ear. "You want to find the Pelican? I can help, but it will cost you, Outlander. I can't be seen working with you for free. Worse than telling you where he is in these parts."

The stranger took close inventory of her shapely frame. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an imperial gold piece, balancing the metal between his index and middle fingers. The girl's eyes lit up like the morning sun. Gold pieces were hard to come around in the south. And a single coin could feed a family of six for a month.

Her eyes followed the coin as the stranger played with it. "How much?"

"Fifty little coins. And don't you be telling me you ain't have it either."

"Fifty coins? That's what, three years' salary for me? That's too much, no! What about one coin?"

"I know your types to be loaded like the guts of a whaling ship. If you want my Pelican, pay me up, Outlander. I told you it would cost something big. Nothing's free round here."

The stranger looked at her with his eyes narrowed. But since she was the only willing spirit in the bar, he got up to follow her. It was a good thing she didn't know he'd been given eight hundred gold coins for his campaign. If she did, he thought, she'd have gouged him for sure.

A couple of steps from the bar, his rag was returned to him by a little brown-haired girl. It was white again, with the image of a dragon holding an exploding gun sewn into it. He pocketed it and went after the dancer.

"Come on before you miss him," she whispered, "follow me and keep up, outlander."

She maintained a brisk pace ahead of him as they headed towards the romping rooms. The hallway was made cheaper, moldier wood than the rest of the Pit. It was narrow and as nightly as a cave. She sashayed her way past each room until she stopped at room thirteen. She then put her hands out, and the stranger gave her five gold coins; each with the number ten on them.

"This is the room," she said, pointing at the brown thirteen signs nailed to the door. Then she took off in the opposite direction, bumping into the stranger. As she reached the end of the hallway, she looked back at him.

"You're a God be damn dead man for brushing up with the Pelican. He's a dangerous man. I hope he shows you mercy... outlander."

Just as he was about to kick in the door, and slaughter the gods be damned living hell out of Guan Kayshett, Gunfire heard heavy drum beats followed by a fat clapping sound. He'd heard it before when he first entered the Snake's Pit. The thick bass had rumbled individual raindrops on the side of the Pit. It created circular potholes in the mud road which ran in front of the bar. The bold red sign read; BANGERS. It peaked his interest. What could possibly be going on in there in a time of turmoil? In a time when their fragile little empire is tearing itself to slivers?

When he entered Bangers, Gunfire quickly realized why the Serpent's Pit had gotten its salacious title.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Clap. The drummers went on to the heavy claps, as a naked woman, drenched in sweat, who had shredded, red and black sheets in her hands, dipped blood over her face from a ladle, and danced as if she'd been ready to spasm before the stage.

The next dancer was a man...he convulsed as a fish out of water, and when many drops of blood fell from his face, some landed on the naked woman's breasts. She plucked blood drops with her middle finger and lapped them up with her tongue, then she fell limp on the wooden floor. He jumped over her symbolic corpse, and she rose up slowly, like a zombie, to the drummer's rhythm, smiling with bloody red teeth. Gunfire wondered whose blood it was they were drinking.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Clap. The drummers went on to the fat claps, as a naked young woman, drenched in sweat, who had shredded red and black sheets in her hands, after dipping blood over her face with a ladle, and danced as if she'd been ready to spasm in front of the stage. She hopped from one leg to the other, to the beat of the drum, moving forward, with a bottle of Doire Roots in her mouth, held with her right hand, and her left hand tucked in her special place as she hopped forward.

Gunfire had seen what the Roots can do to people. He'd steered clear of the stuff. Those who claimed it brought them closer to the gods were fooling themselves. He'd seen a man rip a house from its foundation, with his bare hands, while on the Root but forget to tell his sleeping children to vacate the house, killing his entire family.

The hallucinogenic properties of the Doire Roots were beyond dangerous, but the allure... magnificent. Some will go on long insanity laded treks seeking the "THINGS," only to walk in circles until they die of thirst or malnutrition. That room filled with naked Pelican clansmen was more than enough physical proof he needed; they'd been celebrating the death and chaos of others.

As the filthy ritual continued, a naked male on the opposite side of the room was doing the same dance as the young woman. He'd been resisting the urge to get to full sail, or he'd ruin the entire ceremony until he'd completed his bottle of Doire Roots. He hopped on the opposite leg she did, to the beat of the drum, making sure when they met they didn't collide improperly – that would piss off the gods, especially Zodo de Copua. They met right as they'd finished their Roots bottle which they tossed, he at full sail, she with her dress over his head, burying her shame and hiding him from the sight of the gods, especially Zodo de Copua.

The few women who were dressed, the so-called post-vaginal onlookers, known as the Sateris Non-Famis, were elders and had drunk way too much Doire Roots to dance along with the clan anyway. They only clapped their hands up in the air with the drums rhythm. A few of them lifted their dresses, showing their pride, with the drum roll in solidarity of the perversion, praising Zodo de Copua for a life of once filled with vitality.

Once the consummation ritual had completed, the Blood Orgy to raise Zodo de Copua had pushed into full swing. Then the men and women divided, each taking a side of the stage. They menaced one another, dancing to the beat of the drum as before, approaching close and retreating. It all looked choreographed to Gunfire as if they'd practiced it for years, but he remembered how the Roots also sped up the nervous system's processing at the beginning – before crashing it.

Suddenly, in the middle of the dance, one of the younger men hurled himself into the air towards the lady's section. When he was caught by the women, it was in a lewd sexual position which placed him on top of one of them. It was as if she'd been waiting to be mounted by the lad.

The remaining women quickly took him in their midst. They swarmed and symbolically devoured every part of him with their lips and tongue, making a churning sound which, even with the heavy drums ringing aloud, Gunfire heard it all too clear.

When they released him, he appeared to be disheveled, but in a right way. He started walking like a zombie as the young woman had done earlier, with rickety leg motions, tilted to the side, his head and arms off-kilter, mouth gaping, and eyes buggy, but more crooked and drunker, to the beat of the drum he went, back to the men who howled and congratulated him.

Gunfire couldn't believe his gods be damned eyes. He'd seen a gathering so revolting, so contemptible, the Roman Emperor Caligula would've blushed from the mere sight of it.

THIRTY

Kick Down That Door

GUNFIRE LEANED near the door, placing his right ear on the dirty wood. He heard many joyful voices – the sort of merriment that blended with commotion. They seemed to be enjoying themselves beyond casual play. As if they were in the company of nobility. This is my opportunity, he thought.

He knocked on the door and waited, but there was no response. Whatever it was that was making them chuckle and fool around, was also making them flamboyant and distracted. This made Gunfire grit his teeth. They'd been reveling over the heads of the deceased.

"This is perfect," Gunfire whispered and then stepped back. He placed pressure on his left foot as he used the other to kick down the flimsy door. As the door flew open, its hinges were destroyed beyond repair, and Gunfire's eleven-inch footprint was emblazoned on it. He drew his sword and fast entered.

The suite was maroon with gold accents. There was smoke throughout the first room. Gunfire could smell raw opium burning. The furniture seemed to be out of place. Empty glasses of liqueur strewn throughout and bed sheets on the floor. He moved unseen from the first room to the next. The frolicking grew to a pitch that annoyed Gunfire as he stepped closer to the last room at the end of the suite.

In a steamy porcelain tub, were six young ladies of the evening playing around with an older man. Though Gunfire couldn't see his face, the man seemed to fit the description of the Pelican Clan leader. No other men were around.

This is an even better sign, thought Gunfire.

He could slay Kayshett without having to fight his way through a slew of ready to die, idiots. Which would have turned into a bloody nightmare. A nightmare filled with flying body parts. A nightmare that would render the floor impassable afterward. With nowhere to place his feet as warm blood flowed throughout. This scenario amused him and had that been the actual outcome, Gunfire was more than ready to serve all of them a cold and brutal finale.

He slowly stepped into the room, silent as the dead. He was not noticed. The partiers splashed water around like jumping fish in a stream. One of the women, who'd been beneath the water, popped her head up. She saw the stranger first and let out an earsplitting shriek.

The other women squirmed and cluttered one end of the tub. The man fitting the description of Guan Kayshett looked at them with a caved forehead. One of the girls, a thin brunette about fifteen years old, pointed at the intruder and then he turned around.

He had a scar on his left cheek. His skin was bronze, and his nose was thin. His hair was black, and he had pointy ears. He had brown eyes and a wide forehead. This confirmed his identity to Gunfire, who stepped bathroom with a firm hand on Man-eater.

"Who in the cold ass of hell are you?"

"You are the Pelican Chief, right?"

"What's it to you? And which suicidal half-wit let you in here? This is a master suite, in case you haven't looked around."

"I have a warrant to serve you. It comes straight from the Shogun. Whether you open it or not means absolutely nothing to me. I will still carry out my duty."

"Around this part of the province, I am the Shogun. Now, come closer and let me see this so-called warrant. And put that damn weapon back in its place, or I'll have you dragged out of town head first."

Gunfire handed him the document, which had the symbol of a pink pelican spreading its wings. The man in the tub opened it and then stood up, letting water spill on the heads of the women. He shook his hips side to side, throwing water on the women as his wet, erect penis swung back and forth.

A smile stretched his cheeks. He glanced at Gunfire with the way he'd looked at the girls when they pointed him out. He sat back in the tub. With his arms around two of the younger girls, he leaned back looking at the rest of the women, with twisted lips.

A defiant son of a bitch to the end. Guan Kayshett was born on a farm in the outskirts of Kagoshima City. When he was six, he began his samurai training and rose through the ranks via sabotage and backstabbing his closest friends. And at forty-six years old, he thought himself the ruler of the Kagoshima Province.

"And who's supposed to execute this order, you?"

He pulled the two girls even closer. And he tightened his grip around their necks. They fidgeted, and the Pelican pushed them off. They tried to get out of the tub, but he pulled them back. Gunfire could see the fear in their eyes. It was an instinct he'd developed from years hunting men in the darkest of woods. He could taste and smell it. He clenched his fists and took a step forward.

Would Guan Kayshett use these innocent women as human shields? He'd read of his ferocious and unapologetic treachery and had prepared for him, but he couldn't read the man at that moment. Anything was liable to happen. The stakes were higher than he'd expected. But if it came to slicing his way through the girls to get to Kayshett, Gunfire was undecided.

"There's always an honorable death," he said to Guan.

Kayshett's face turned red and squeezed his arms again. The girls rattled about in the tub, tapping his hands, and trying to scream for mercy, but he did not relent. Their faces turned red, then blue, and finally, he let up. As they gasped for air, he grounded his teeth and stared down Gunfire. Tension was growing between the two men. The girls started crying in unison, begging Kayshett to let them leave.

"Shut your mouths before I stick something in it," he shouted and then let his grip loosen even more. Their necks were bruised. They sat there as if they'd been transformed into geisha dolls.

"That's not the way you treat your houseguests," Gunfire said in a soft voice, as he crossed his arms. He took a step towards the tub. Kayshett sat upright. Kayshett's breathing was rapid, and he looked around the room. His sword was nowhere to be found.

"Maybe after I kill you, I can be more of a gentleman. You did rudely interrupt our little party here. We were having much fun before you stormed in proclaiming to have a warrant from the shogun."

"I could just kill you where you sit. Don't' you think it proper, considering the location?"

"What's that supposed to mean? Can't a man appreciate the sweet joys of life? Besides, the code forbids it, and you of all people should know that. You're not going to do shit."

"The code doesn't call for all of this debauchery. I see why the Shogun sealed your fate days ago. And in your case, I could choose to slice and dice you right there in this tub without consequence. You and your clan didn't give those people an honorable death. Then why should I afford you such a courtesy?"

"I really don't know what you are talking about. And you're not that good of a liar, my friend. This document is too well written to come from the Shogun. It's either from Edo, somewhere near the capital or from some wealthy, well-connected family in the province. The Shogun and his staff of monkeys posing as men are barely literate. They couldn't have composed anything close to as cogent and comprehensive as this farce. But do you know what gave you off? It was the paper used. This kind of expensive sheet is hard to find around here, and the Shogun is too much of a cheapskate to spend so much on a death warrant."

"Call it whatever you want to. Do you want to die the traditional way or in here, like the man that I see you really are?"

"You have no right to judge me, peasant."

"Then here in this tub is where you'll die."

"Wait, wait, wait. At least give me the courtesy of dressing in my formal fitting first. Then we can do this someplace more open and private. Where I can have the honor of taking your head without a captive audience."

Gunfire's face was flushed. He took a seat and contemplated for a moment. The bastard was worthy of a dishonorable death in the deplorable pigsty where he mingled with the degenerates. Why should he give him any courtesy? It would be an act of cowardice to kill an unarmed man while he's in the bathroom naked – he's not a Saduat. He had a code to follow. The gods would look down on him, no matter what transgressions the fool had brought upon his station.

"Okay, Kayshett, I will give you time to get dressed, five minutes, and not a second sooner."

Kayshett waved one of the girls away. She returned with a robe. He walked out of the tub, still smiling. When he'd disappeared into the bedroom, Gunfire looked at the remaining women. They held each other and cried aloud. As the youngest one wiped her eyes, Gunfire saw that she had a mark on her arm. It was a Pelican brand. The sight of a slave brand made Gunfire's throat itch.

"Get out...Right now, all of you!" he shouted.

A storm of panic confused the women as they tried to look for their clothes. As one of them left, Gunfire looked down. Kayshett had dropped the letter when he went to change. The broken seal still looked like a pelican.

He ran his fingers into his pocket and picked up the remaining twenty letters. Each of them had different seals. He'd been instructed not to read them by Lord Yuma. But the message sat there taunting him. It Begged him to take a gander. He bent over and picked it up and started reading. Gunfire's mouth dropped. This was not the way he was told everything was supposed to go down.

His attention came back to the women scrambling for their clothes. They were playing tug of war with various garments, undecided, disorderly and struggling.

"Leave it," he shouted, and they ran past him wet and naked out and over the broken door.

Gunfire began counting in his head, but it seemed like time came to a crawl as he waited for Kayshett. He scanned the room again. His eyes rested on a strange object sitting on top of a drawer. It was a carved animal of sorts, but the beast was more out of the mind of someone's nightmare. Nothing in the world looked like it. It seemed to be substantial when compared to the carvings of men standing next to it; about ten times the size of an average human. He thought about taking it as a souvenir after decapitating Kayshett.

While the mystical carvings took away his concentration, he'd lost track of the count. It must have been at least three minutes, he thought.

Kayshett was taking too long to get ready. Maybe the Pelican was a coward? He'd soon find out if he'd have to track him down a second time. And if such a second encounter did occur, the Pelican would have his thugs around him for good measure. When Gunfire increased his concentration and expanded his hearing – it was quiet, too quiet.

Man-eater began to rattle like a fish out of water. Gunfire lifted off the chair, as Kayshett popped into the bathroom holding two guns.

Shots rang out above his head. He threw himself behind the tub. One of the rounds was lodged in his left torso. Kayshett came around to finish him off, but Gunfire dodged most of the bullets. He was struck again. This time on his right shoulder. He didn't flinch. Kayshett had run out of rounds. My turn, he thought.

Gunfire ran to the bedroom where there was less lighting. He could hear Kayshett reloading as he tied the wound on his arm. He braced himself for another round of fire. He dug his hand in the packet filled with the tiny speaking balls Adistaana had given him and crushed one on his chest. Within seconds, the room darkened, as if night had fallen. But he could still see outside.

Behind a wall of darkness, he waited for the Pelican with Man-eater in his right hand. Another barrage of bullets came at him shattering lamps on the wall. When the hailstorm ceased, Kayshett started to reload again, with shaky hands and a pounding heart.

Gunfire held out his sword and charged through the night at a surprised Kayshett, who had finished reloading. He swung Man-eater twice slicing the guns in half. Kayshett looked at his demolished weapons with wide eyes. What sort of magic was this man in possession of? Trembling, he backed up and tried to reach for his sword, which he'd placed behind him.

Gunfire moved in, closing distance between him and Kayshett very fast. His speed was more magnificent than Kayshett had expected. It was supernatural. As it had been with the Dandy Destroyers but magnified. Kayshett had no chance. Gunfire's delivery was flawless. Man-eater connected with Kayshett's throat and split it through to the cartilage, its razor-sharp edge disconnecting Kayshett from the rest of himself.

Before he knew it, the overconfident Kayshett's head flew off his shoulders in a forward tumbling manner. The move by Gunfire was a flash of lightning to him. Man-eater was back at his waist before the severed head hit the wooden floor. It bounced three times and settled with Kayshett's eyes locked on Gunfire face.

With his heart still pumping, blood erupted out of four holes in what was left of his neck. Kayshett fell to his knees. Gunfire looked him in the eye and then stepped off. The blood from his neck continued to gush out in violent squirts. The rest of him fell to its knees. Then the squirting ceased, and his headless body fell on top the blood with his head only inches away. Gunfire wiped Man-eater with his rag and slammed it back into his waist. It was his one-thousandth kill. Now he was one head away from being only the third man to test the ancient Shinto myth of the Greegarian Blood Omen.

THIRTY-ONE

Little City Blues

ONE DAY had passed since Mikasa Yamakazi fed the crows and it was a late Tuesday afternoon when he'd tracked down the man back to the Snake's Pit. He couldn't believe how many of his targets were patrons to the Pit. Gunfire held a slow pace, making his way towards the bar. The mystical ring Adistaana had given him in the temple itched his finger. It was like no other itch he'd felt before. He slipped it off and shoved it into his left pocket.

As he scratched the irritated finger, he experienced a drain in his strength. It was as if he'd been a candle that had been put out. But he shook off the weakness and continued.

A few paces from the Pit's entry, Man-eater began to rattle. Gunfire stopped and palmed Man-eater. The vibration was stronger than he'd experienced since having the little beast. But there was no dangerous looking person in sight.

Except for the two young men who'd been guarding the entrance to the Pit, the street was as almost bare. The two men's arms were crossed as they spoke nonsense to each other. None of the street dwellers looked daunting. Maybe it was a false alarm? Could Man-eater even make such mistakes?

Gunfire heard a massive trampling of feet. It sounded like a team of horses on a track racing towards the finish line. In the darkness, a large group of young men appeared from behind the alley leading to the Pit. They halted in front of Gunfire.

"There he is," said the smallest of the fifty-three-man squad, pointing his finger at Gunfire. The apparent ringleader, he wore a blackened metallic armor with long spikes jutting from his shoulders. His helmet, which was too big for his head, was black and had six metal spikes on it. It had a demon's face, painted in red, on the forehead of the helmet.

He didn't appear to be a seasoned samurai. Nor were the fifty-two men with him, who wore various colorful clothes but no armor. Not only was the armored boy tiny in comparison to his mates, but it was also clear from his voice that he was an adolescent. Gunfire fought off the compulsion to release a bit of condescending laughter.

He removed his right hand from Man-eater and dropped his arms to his side. These men weren't on the list of twenty-one, and he was told to keep the mission's collateral damage as small as possible. In fact, Hayato would consider the mission failure if he was discovered at all.

"It has to be him. Look at his hands," said one of the men, pointing to Gunfire's fingers.

"He's a freak of nature. No man is born like that," said another.

"What is your name, outlander?" asked the young armored samurai. He was flanked by one in red and one in blue. They rose over him as a hill over a valley. How many battles has this brute been in? One, maybe two in his entire life? And in the line of danger, would these men risk their lives and limbs for a child who has yet to prove himself in the heat and fog of battle? Thought gunfire.

"We haven't formally met, and yet you're already asking for my name. At least buy a guy a drink first before asking him to put out," said Gunfire with a wide grin.

"This one is a comedian. I always thought that discount assassins moonlighted," said the one in red, who looked like a potato which had been left out in the sun for too long. He was thin from the lower end of his body and thicker as Gunfire looked him up. His counterpart, on the other side of the armored samurai, the one in blue, was just as tall and built in the same manner, though the sun did not blaze his skin as much.

"Gentlemen, I must apologize. It was not meant as a jest. I'm only stating the obvious. One doesn't simply ask a full-blown stranger his name and expect an answer, no matter how large their troop may be," said Gunfire, who continued scanning the men standing before him with piercing eyes.

They didn't make eye contact, instead, they stared at his oddly colored weapon of choice, which was vibrating like a mechanical thing. It captivated them, but Gunfire didn't pay much attention to this. His hands had the young men in the group bewildered. Its form forced them to gawk impolitely, but still, Gunfire was not moved.

"This is not the streets of Osaka," said the one in red.

"Whoever said I was from Osaka?"

"We are a simple people, with simple rules. Rules you have been violating from the moment you set foot on these grounds," said the armored one.

"And why is this any of your business? Are you the official law keepers here?"

The little-armored one looked up at Gunfire, his gear clinking with the quirky motion. "It is our business to make sure that foreigners like you don't come stomping in here with your flawed ways, tarnishing tradition and clearly observable rules that date back centuries."

"What rules exactly do you speak of? If I have broken any of them, I do sincerely apologize."

"For one thing, you bow to a samurai," said the one in blue.

"I didn't see any samurai here - should I suffer a beheading simply because a few youths want to play dress up? And on that note, who exactly are you younglings?"

"Younglings! Younglings! I am Kotaro Tanahashi, of Clan Pelican. Thanks to you, we have a to bury the former Pelican One! This is Blue Bastard and Red Bastard, my personal Sinuettes."

"That's very nice, whatever it's supposed to mean," Gunfire returned with a brief patronizing smile. He started to reach for Man-eater but lowered his hand back to his side again.

"Don't you ever call me or my men younglings for the little bit of time you're still permitted to draw breath," said the armored one, waving his hands in the air. His armor clinked and clicked again as he spoke and moved inside it. One foul movement and the cumbersome thing would fall off the lad, thought Gunfire.

"I don't know what you're talking about, really. I must be on my way now, gentlemen. You have a blessed day."

Gunfire took two steps towards the Pit, but the Red and Blue Bastards blocked his path. He sighed and took a step back. He looked at the muddy turf for a moment. This is going to be a sticky situation to crawl out of, he thought.

Gunfire played many scenarios in his head as to how this confrontation would end. None of them completed without all-out violence.

"Are you not the cold-hearted twit that killed Guan Kayshett? The former first of the Pelicans?" asked the armored one.

"If I did, then I did you a favor, now didn't I?"

"Show your face you coward," said Blue Bastard, who reached for Gunfire's facemask, but Gunfire blocked him with a massive swipe of his wrist. The armored one called Blue Bastard went back into formation.

"We hear you're trying to wake the Shinto Greegarian Omen," said the Red Bastard.

He spoke with a lisp as if he'd been sucking on a piece of sour candy. Gunfire didn't take his eyes off the armored one for a second. Grown men following such a clueless teenager, he thought.

"If I were, that would also be my business, wouldn't it? And only fools would block the path of a man who has taken a thousand heads from their very relaxed shoulders."

Gunfire lifted his hands to look at his itchy finger. I've got to get a cleaning soon, he thought.

"It's also our business...you've made it so with your bold and unwise actions. I'm bound by law to punish you now, whoever you are. The least you could do is show us your face. You might find some leniency in your sentence if you do," quipped back the armored one, who took a few steps towards Gunfire.

He looked up through the eye slits of his heavy armor. Gunfire lowered his eyes, keeping his head up, still vigilant. Then he bowed before the young armored boy.

"I beg you, sir, and gentlemen, please let me pass. I have important business to attend to."

"You haven't begun to beg just yet, stranger," said the armored one, who turned his back on Gunfire and walked back in formation. Gunfire's face was flushed, and a flash of heat flooded his eardrum. Their mumblings became a blur.

THIRTY-TWO

Heads Don't Roll

IF YOU must know," Gunfire said to the bloodthirsty young boys, with a soft tone, "my orders came straight from the Shogun. If you have a problem, take it up with him."
The armored one stepped forward. "Shut your mouth! I wasn't done speaking," he said with a hand raised as if to smack Gunfire from three feet away. Gunfire took another few steps back as he was being surrounded.

"Like I said, gentlemen. Take up your grievance with the Shogun. Are ready to risk his wrath?"

"Silence!" shouted the Blue Bastard, "you have no idea who you are talking to with such insolence. I should cut those damn things you call fingers right off."

The armored one gave the Blue Bastard a brief stare. Blue Bastard folded his arms and stood quietly. "If you work for the Shogun, you can start by telling me your name. This is your last chance, outlander."

"My name is Baku Tenenbaum, and yours?"

"He is Kotaro Tanahashi. He is Pelican One, old man," said the Red Bastard, who walked up to Gunfire and tapped his index finger on his chest.

Gunfire grabbed the finger and twisted it with great force. The young man squealed and fell to his knees, cradling the finger. The others went for their katanas, but the Blue Bastard raised his hand, and they retracted.

The Blue Bastard approached him and leaned into his face, nose tip to nose tip. His breath stunk of alcohol and green tea. Gunfire didn't move an inch. He stared at their leader to the left of his field of vision. The one who'd been questioning him for no reason other than to be nosey. The one who'd be the first or last to fall depending on his attack pattern. Remember how well southerners stick together. They're band-like and stubborn. Don't forget that before you get yourself into this, thought Gunfire.

"You've got something smart to say now, comedian? You have something to say...say it to my face like a real man," said the Blue Bastard, who drew his sword, a long and thin blade with a black handle.

Gunfire crossed his arms. "You cowards intend to kill me right here in the street, with all these people watching?"

When he took a quick inventory of the street, the emptiness took him by surprise. The road, which had a few onlookers when the confrontation had begun to heat up, became bare as most ran into their homes and businesses. This must have happened after I broke the Red Bastard's finger, he thought.

"There's nobody here to save you, stranger. Today you die a coward's death or an honorable death. The choice is up to you," said the Red Bastard.

Gunfire hadn't experienced true combat vulnerability before this moment in his life. He'd faced volleys of men and slashed his way through them like a hot poker through a pillow, but he'd never allowed himself to be surrounded like this. It was a strategic mistake to try to bargain with them first when they'd clearly wanted his head on a wooden plank. I should have attacked and talked later, he thought.

They surrounded him with their feet squishing in the mud. Gunfire slid his right leg back and grabbed Man-eater, which was still vibrating.

"Dice him up into enough pieces to send back to every resident of Osaka as a gift," said the armored one.

Gunfire saw part of the boy's face contort under the armor-plated helmet.

"God lives in this sword, and it will protect me," said Gunfire, closing his eyes, and readying himself for battle.

The first blow came from behind, as they always did in such situations. Gunfire was expecting this from inexperienced samurai. The pain was searing. It felt like he'd been slapped with a piece of heavy treated plank. He felt his head and looked at his wet hand. He grunted when his eyes landed on bloodied fingers.

In his past, Gunfire had never been too kind to sneak attackers. It was a coward's move in his mind. He turned around, reached for the young man who'd struck him, pulled him close and head-butted him. The teen fell to the ground as another attack came to his left leg. He sprung back to his feet and countered with a kick to his second assailant's gut, which threw him into the hands of the armored one. The invulnerable kid threw the man back at gunfire, who spun around and kicked him in the gut again. He fell to the ground, bent over, unable to breathe and coughing up blood.

The Red Bastard raised his right hand. All the men backed up. He ran and tried to uppercut Gunfire, who leaned back avoiding the blow. Two brutes placed hands on Gunfire, who shrugged them off with a double kick landing on their temples.

Gunfire jumped up and executed a flawless rotating kick, which landed on the Red Bastard's chin. The Red Bastard flew back across the street and landed upside down on the porch of a blue house adjacent to the Pit. Then he heard a bunch of swords being drawn behind him. As he turned, he listened to a shredding sound, and then Gunfire felt the coldness of steel pierce his side.

Gunfire's heart began to pace. He blocked the next few attempts at his life which came from behind as six of them approached with their swords drawn. He saw blood trickling down from his torso. Gunfire's face turned red again, and he began to inhale faster.

I must look for gaps in my opponent's armor and strategy. If I don't find any soon, I'll surely be a dead man in a few seconds. I must finish this mission, and a dead man can't uphold a promise.

The Blue Bastard had recovered and was about to pierce his neck with his navy-blue katana. Gunfire jumped into the air and slammed his right leg on the Blue Bastard's head, making a crunchy sound as it connected, smashing his skull inward. Blood gushed out what was left of his forehead and drifted down his ears as he fell face down, motionless in the mud. Gunfire withdrew Man-eater from its holster. The men looked at him and at each other. At first, the short killing tool mesmerized them. But then the armored one busted out laughing.

"What are you going to do with that? Wipe your ass?" asked the armored one, flapping his wrist, unable to contain himself.

Gunfire was still fuming from the substantial loss of blood. His inhaling and exhaling narrowed. The sky began shifting from dark to bright. They formed a tight formation in front of him with thick copper shields. Gunfire moved in and smashed the first shield with some effort. The gentlemen wearing black and holding the shields dropped the useless things. They revealed their twelve-inch claws - which were attached at their handless wrists.

They attacked together, first going for his chest and then his feet, but he blocked. Then he countered with a quick slash, relieving them of their weapons. As the pieces of iron, which made up the claws, fell in the mud, Gunfire lunged at the armored one. The remaining men stormed him. He took out six of them, but they managed to kick Man-eater from his hand.

Gunfire was dragged backward by two giant boys and held down. As they struggled, a third one came in flying with his sword aimed at his chest. He wiggled and twisted, desperate to avoid what appeared to be his grand finale. At that point, he was tired and hard of breathing. Time was slowing down for him. The samurai seemed to be rising through the air in slow motion.

This was the moment he'd prayed to avoid before finishing his task. This is the moment that tormented him his whole journey south. This was the moment he wanted to embrace, but only at the end. Adistaana had told him that death awaited him, but would this be the appointed time of his demise? Would this be the moment when it would rear its ugly head to rob him of his ferocious demand to seek justice for his family and the thousands buried in Osaka?

THIRTY-THREE

Kyoto's Brood of Vipers

THE GREAT, weighty, timber door leading to the chamber was pushed open by a tall young guardsman in a tight-fitting gray uniform. He had a brown rifle slung over his right shoulder, as did his partner. The visitor's eyes landed on a distracted Lord Yuma, whose face had been buried in a thick green book. Yuma lifted his head to see his visitor, who wore a blue suit, and went back to his book as if he'd been expecting him for a while.

"Sorry for the interruption Lord Yuma."

"What brings the great Lord Hayato to my humble office?" he asked as he combed through the book looking for something important. Lord Hayato took a quick glance at the title. It was the hourly field reporting logbook, seen only by Yuma and his chief military advisor.

"It's been a long week and I'm bored. Thought I'd visit an old friend," Hayato replied with his hands clasped. Yuma dropped the book, crossed his feet on top of his desk and looked back at Hayato. Yuma wore an expensive shiny pair of black shoes to match his black suit.

"I thought you'd hardly consider me a friend," he grinned back at Hayato.

A proud smile stretched across Hayato's face, which grew pink. He'd never forced himself to visit Yuma personally. But this matter was a sensitive one. He'd have to speak to the one man who had information that mattered more than anyone else's at Palace Rose. Over the past few days, the cutting teeth of ignorance were tearing at his flesh. Yuma, your silence is as loud as a tempest, he thought.

"We've known each other long enough to know the tit for tat at the High Council are meant to secure the best outcomes for the emperor. My role is not only to validate assumptions but to test the truth in all statements for the emperor. You've been tight-lipped for quite a while, my old lord and dear cousin."

"That, my friend, and dear cousin is the measure of a man's conspicuousness in this meddlesome place."

"With all those matters aside, we can speak frankly. Speak as most friends do."

"Don't beat around the bush, my lord. You are here for gossip and to throw around more insinuations. It's the way your type works all around the palace. I just don't have time for that kind of stuff these days. If you wish, you can wait for my weekly briefings so you can tear that apart as well."

"Come on now Yuma, we're family, you're not keeping anything from me, are you?"

"What would I have to keep from you? I'm a grown man with great responsibilities. Not a hapless child that has just stolen a cookie from the jar. I have no fear of retribution or rebuke. And because we're family doesn't mean you have to exploit me at every turn."

"All right, I understand, but it's not like that. Not at all. It's just that I've noticed less activity in your department in the past few days. And a lack of activity means something. I don't know what exactly, but I know...trust me."

"Here it comes," said Lord Yuma, who dropped the book on his desk, crossed his arms, and looked Hayato square in the eyes.

"I'm not as foolish as you think, Yuma. I know you just like you know me. I know you've got something. Something exciting."

"Shouldn't you be speaking to Lord Yamaguchi?"

"You know his information is as worthless as a second tongue. No, my friend, you are the king of information these days. That stunt you pulled in the last council meeting proved that to me once and for all."

Lord Yuma tilted his head to the side. Hayato sealed the heavy door to his extravagant chamber and sat down. Yuma leaned close to his cousin.

"All right now. If this gets you out of my hair, then so be it...Number one of twenty-one is dead. Are you happy now?"

Hayato jumped out of his chair, hands still locked on Yuma's desk. "You have confirmation of this?"

Lord Yuma nodded, uncrossed his arms, and leaned back in his chair. He turned his gaze towards the book, which was still open. He reached for it and closed it and crossed his arms again. Hayato began walking up and down with his right hand over his chin.

Lord Yuma continued. "Each time he kills someone, he's supposed to send a stack of green smoke into the air in the woods as a signal. The first one already came through. I'm not saying more."

"And does the emperor know of this?" asked Hayato, who grabbed a seat, with his eyes locked on the secret book.

"I tried to notify him yesterday, but he's requested to be told any detail only once the mission is complete."

"Oh yes, plausible deniability and all. Smart move on his part. Should failure arise, he's got a clean slate and can flat out lie with both eyes open. But what can we do to secure our own safety if this horseshit hits too close to home?"

"This place is tighter than a hooker's grip, cousin. And the tunnel is already complete," said Yuma. Lord Hayato's eyes grew wide. He leaned forward. He whispered as if there were people in the room with them. "Why have you taken so long to notify me of such important developments? You don't trust me anymore?"

"I don't even trust myself anymore. Besides, I didn't know it was in my job description to be your personal scribe. If so, then I would have resigned a long time ago, my lord."

"As Commander of the Imperial Army and the de facto dictator of military concerns, you will be closely scrutinized by Yamamomo's most senior advisor whether you like it or not. I know it doesn't fare well with you that I happen to hold this post, but we all do what we must to serve the empire in a way befitting our station. And Kojima men stick together – never forget this."

Lord Hayato's eyes wandered to the golden Tathāgata statue standing three feet from Yuma's desk. It made him shift around in his seat. Yuma had never visited the temple in Osaka after the calamity. Instead, he'd decided to lock himself up in Palace Rose as most of the top bureaucrats and leaders of the empire vanished.

At least you didn't go into the countryside. A true Kojima, thought Hayato.

"It's so convenient to pull rank when you want information, isn't it, my lord?" he replied, still with his head turned away from Hayato.

"I'm not doing anything of the sort. Just exercising my due diligence as should you at times like this. We don't know who the enemy is working with. I strongly believe we have too many eyes in Palace Rose to get anything done, especially with the current state of Yamaguchi's people. Only the military is tight enough to get anything worth sharing with the emperor. You chose to suggest this man for a reason, but I'm still worried about the mission."

"That is why we use 'Gunfire' instead of his real name in the communique. If his identity were ever found out, we'd all be facing execution."

"You know, that's bothered me as well. Gunfire is a weird choice for a Samurai's secret name. How did you come about in selecting it?"

"It's meant to confuse anyone who intercepts our communique. When they hear 'Gunfire', they think weapons firing, not a person. He's had it for years, but we've used it with other operatives. It furthers the confusion."

"Brilliant, Lord Yuma, absolutely brilliant," said Hayato, patting Lord Yuma on the back. Yuma sat up, looked at him and then back at the book.

"So, he's officially passed a thousand kills. Congratulations are in order, huh?"

"It's nothing to celebrate," Yuma said with conviction.

"Don't be so damn shy all the time. Your little plan is doing well, I commend you."

"It's not your approval I seek, little cousin. It's that of the one man that counts for anything."

"So, are you going to retire him after this?"

"That would be a stupid move if you ask me."

"I'm just asking out of concern. They say that after a thousand heads, you go mad. I've never seen it, but I have my reputable sources."

"Who are these reputable sources that spread tales of bored wives? If you believe in the Greegarian, then I have a brand-new road to sell you."

"Forget it. You're such a killjoy sometimes. Have you sent out someone to investigate the sites that produce the Devil's Terrible Twin?"

"You'll get that in my report as well."

"And I have requested for security to be tripled at the Dutch legation."

Lord Yuma slammed his book on his desk. "The hatred of foreign interference can't be contained by placing men with arms at the foot of their doors. That will only incite a riot!"

Hayato got in Yuma's face. "And the blaming of foreign powers for the act is ridiculous. They're our trade partners, not our targets!"

"My men are going to be the targets if I place them in front of that island. I hope you find your best getup so you can go to their funeral and tell their family they were protecting foreigners when they perished."

"Terror makes even the weakest of men turn into evil monsters. But we must rise above them, lest we become the terrorists ourselves," said Hayato.

"Well then, it's getting rather late. You will have your extra security for your Dutch friends –

and I will officially note my dissent. But I must get back to these reports. They won't read themselves," said Yuma who sat up and opened the book. Hayato stood and leaned forward with both hands placed on Yuma's desk.

"I expect you to keep me abreast with any further details of the mission as you learn them. Please, keep our friendship a kind one. I like you, Lord Yuma, always have, despite what you may think about our unfortunate childhood escapades. You are a pragmatic man who doesn't go beyond your means. That means a lot to me, to our clan, to see a military man think and act as you do. And through this, you've earned my deepest respect, cousin."

"As Mikasa gets further out, it will take longer for our intelligence to arrive. You do understand that this is the nature of the work we do? So, don't expect to get a briefing every single day."

"Wait a minute. Does that mean we won't know if the mission is a success until it's finished?"

"It appears so," said Yuma with furrowed brows.

"I'll leave you to your work then. Have a great evening, my lord."

"You too, Lord Hayato."

When Hayato left, the guard standing outside Yuma's office sealed the door. Lord Yuma slammed the report on the wall opposite his desk. When it hit the ground, the pages turned and landed on one passage. It was labeled "91st Sentry Unit" and had a red line drawn through it. Beneath the red line was a short list of names, each circled and labeled as potential spies working against the Chrysanthemum Throne. Among the top ten, was Lord Hayato's name and family crest - a black duck surrounded by a circular formation of five-pointed stars.

THIRTY-FOUR

Outside the Pit

GUNFIRE THRASHED as the young samurai in black came down with his sword ready to tear through his chest. The sheer force of his descent led him to think gravity was on the man's side. There was no time left for him to escape his impending doom.

As his future slayer reached him through the sheer pull of gravity, he kicked himself back, throwing both his body and the two men holding him off to the side. The sword slammed into the earth. For a moment, it was as if the ground next to him rumbled. The three bodies mingled upon the muddy field. And Gunfire found himself trapped even tighter in their grip.

As the samurai in black tried to pull his stuck weapon from the ground, gunfire screamed. "Release me now you twits! I have an important mission. Sanctioned by gods. You want to risk their wrath?"

They ignored him. The patron gods of the south were cruel and aloof, not sweet lovely things the northerners worshiped to sleep well at night. The samurai in black recovered his sword. Gunfire was about to be swarmed by the remaining men. Oh, damn, here they come, he thought.

Gunfire reached for one of the boy's faces. He tucked two of his fingers between his left eye, squeezed and pulled in a violent tug of war with the socket. The boy began gnashing his teeth as he felt the pain from the pull. The eye squished its way out causing him to go into a vicious twitch of agony.

As his victim shrieked from the shocking pain, Gunfire kicked the other one holding him in the head, cracking his temple. He fell next to Gunfire, oozing blood on the ground and trembling like a rat caught in a trap. Gunfire dug into his pocket and put on the ring Adistaana had given him. Invigorated, he propped himself up, his cloak browned from the mud.

As soon as he stood, the one in black was upon him again. Gunfire retrieved Man-eater and lifted himself into the air as if he was a feather blown by the wind. When he came down, another poor chap was waiting with his spear pointed at him. Gunfire lowered his head towards the spear with Man-eater in his outstretched hand and split the spear in half, making a loud clicking sound as the spear snapped apart. He landed on one foot with the other stretched in the air. The boy stood for a second and then the front of his body divided in two, exploding with a gush of guts and sinews, raining down to the thick mud.

The one in black was next. Gunfire went straight for his jugular as he ducked under an attempted decapitation. A gush of blood hissed as it squirted out of his neck. The one-eyed samurai still moaned on the ground. Gunfire delivered a harsh smack to his head from the side of Man-eater, bang went the metal on the skull. He was out cold.

From that moment, he went on slicing and dicing nine more men like they were lettuce under a carving board. They fell as quickly as they'd drawn their swords. The clanking of swords and cracking of skulls continued. The young armored boy watched with wide eyes as his troop was demolished. Body parts littered the floor all around him. There were severed pieces of legs, spines, brain matter, and arms stacked up a foot or so high.

Some still held their swords with severed arms. The ground became red as a cherry. But Gunfire continued chopping through the remaining men, cutting through their swords first and then through their flesh. They had no chance to recover as he moved with a supernatural pace. And those that tried to run were met with no mercy.

When he'd finished them off, the armored one looked as if he'd been shot to pieces. Gunfire looked like a devil with all that blood on him. The armored one was quick to draw his gun, but his hand was in a violent tremble. Look at you, you'd have to fire many rounds to even land one, thought Gunfire.

Gunfire reacted fast. He threw his cloak atop the kid and in a split second, amputated the wrist holding the gun. When he removed the cloak to look for Gunfire, the armored one stared at his severed hand. He then screamed as the pain reached his brain. His cry was high-pitched and deafening. People started peeping out their window thinking they'd finished off Gunfire.

He screamed at the boy. "Today you thought yourself a man, and so I will treat you like one. But today, you die with no honor because you acted like someone with none."

Gunfire leaped behind the armored boy and slammed Man-eater through the young brute's back, sliding it through his chest cavity and rupturing him from within. Man-eater had gone through the armor as a needle through cloth. The short-lived final paces of the boy's pounding heart rippled through Man-eater, reaching Gunfire's hand. Gunfire could feel the poor kid's life slipping away.

He whispered in the dying young man's ear, "Don't send a mouse to kill a lion."

The armored one squirmed and rattled as blood gushed three feet into the air, coming back down on his face. So much of the cherry red stuff launched out his chest dousing Gunfire's face. His screams turned to a gurgle as blood pooled in his mouth and flowed out quicker than a flooding river. His bowls had loosened, and his pants were wet, and a few seconds later, his eyes went gray, and his body was limp. Had Gunfire released the final corpse?

THIRTY-FIVE

In the Name of the Emperor

THE VIEW of Mount Hiei was unobstructed from Hayato's vast estate. The moonlight bounced off the boots of the sixty men stationed at the front gate. Half were smoking and talking about random events they'd witnessed in town the night before. The conversation had ventured from the missing prime minister to the rumor of a traitor in Palace Rose. They became more alert when they heard something.

There was a sudden disturbance outside the front gate. Hayato had been in his study looking over different documents sent to him from Lord Yuma's office when the commotion began. Hayato's guards were arguing with someone who'd arrived with a considerable detail of troops. Over one hundred palace guards were demanding permission to enter the compound and were being denied by the Corporal of the Guards. With them, was a young man who'd hidden his face and refused to represent himself. When Hayato was called to deal with the matter, his messenger caught a bit of his fury.

"What do you mean he wants to speak only to me?"

"He's with a heavy guard troop sir, royal guards," said the old man, who held his head down as he stood before his master. Hayato put his documents down and looked at the frightened old man.

"Then why won't you idiots let him in?" he shouted.

"Your detail was issued the order not to allow visits past midnight, sir."

Hayato waved his left hand at the messenger. "That's a reasonable order, but if this person is from the palace, then..."

"Then we let him in, sir," he replied and turned towards the door.

"Good. You were given a greater muscle than the ones in your shoulders, legs, and back, please use it next time."

After being checked for weapons, the guest was permitted to enter the compound with only two personal guards, who were disarmed and accompanied by six musclebound guardsmen belonging to Hayato's detail. Hayato was anxious to see who'd broken imperial protocol to come see him at the devil's hour. The visitor wore a brown pair of pants with a brown shirt under a black cloak. When he saw the man's gait, he thought it was too familiar. When he dropped his hood, Hayato's jaw dropped. He walked up to the man and grabbed him by the arm and shoved him into his office.

Hayato tried to whisper but was loud instead. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to someone I trust," the stranger replied.

"At this hour? Are you insane? Couldn't this wait till the morning?"

Lord Hayato paced back and forth in his office, with his arms behind his back. He'd been wearing a long gray kimono bearing his family duck and five-pointed stars on the back.

"It couldn't, and you of all people should know there are too many eyes and ears in Palace Rose."

"The emperor forbade you from traveling outside the palace walls at night. You're putting the future of the Chrysanthemum Throne at risk of being empty should something happen to the emperor."

"You're not going to tell him, are you?"

"Of course, not. Please... grab a seat, your imperial highness."

"How have you convinced him to allow you to live outside the palace?"

"There's no other way to say this, Lord Ryota. I'm a diplomat, not a regular bureaucrat. I must create as public a life as possible if I'm to garner any results in my department. Sealing me up within the palace walls will only make it more difficult for me to deal with people – my bread and butter are people. Also, it's really a matter of coordination. And with most of the senior leaders, especially Prime Minister Goro gone, people need to see someone besides the emperor in public. After that fact was presented to him, it didn't take much more convincing for your cousin to permit me to stay here."

"I envy you sometimes," said Lord Ryota, who waved off his guards. After they left the office, Hayato lowered himself to one knee next to the young lord and whispered into his ear.

"You clearly don't envy living. I live under the constant threat of annihilation. And in a few days, I'm going to send my family into the countryside to live with people they don't even know."

"No, I don't envy living, my friend. Not in this condition. Everybody is scared. Even my cousin is shaken. He's just better at hiding it."

"He must show strength. If he falters, so does all of Japan. But you're not here for a philosophy lecture."

"I had to speak to you about Lord..." Hayato placed his index finger over his own lips and shushed at the young lord. Ryota stopped speaking and looked him in the eyes with concern over the gesture. He was sure he'd be in a place where they could talk freely.

"Speak to me in a way that only I can understand. Although I may openly contend with you on the High Council, this is not the place for casual speech, if you know what I mean."

Ryota nodded. "Understood," and continued with caution, "the bearded one."

"Are you talking about the tall one or the short one?"

"Short."

"Good, I got it. Go on, your highness."

Hayato rose and sat on the top of his desk facing Ryota.

"I think he's spying on the emperor and you as well."

"Your Highness, that is nothing new. That's his responsibility. And if you become emperor while he still lives, he'll have to spy on you as well."

"How can you condone such a disgraceful act?"

"From what I've learned, it's all tradecraft, and the emperor knows it's going on. If the internal administration can successfully spy on the emperor, then they can't seal up any leaks within Palace Rose. There are too many incompetent counteragents to name. They aren't doing a good enough job if you ask me. Your cousin gets a brief of each internal breach, and it's immediately sealed by my official recommendations."

"There are way too many eyes already inside that God forsaken building," said Ryota who interlocked his fingers and began rolling his thumbs.

"Those same eyes and ears you speak of most definitely saw your exit from the palace. You have one, maybe two hours before word of your whereabouts reaches any potential enemy. You can't stay here long. And when you leave, you must take a different route from the one you came."

"I trust you can guarantee my safety while I'm here."

"Well, that group of armed palace guards will help, but just in case something happens, I have a safety chamber only accessible by myself and my family."

"There's more. You see, I have been doing some of my own investigation of the substance found on the ground throughout Osaka."

"Have you found anything important? Like its source perhaps?"

"There's nothing like it in the south. It's a composite material pulled from many sources throughout the empire. And some of the elements aren't even native to Japan. Whoever conjured up such a dangerous thing has knowledge of more than just basic chemistry. And the logistical requirements to pull something like this off are basically monumental."

Hayato stumbled off his desk with both his hands on his head. "What do you mean?"

"It seems to be some sort of military grade weapon. I say military grade because there really is no other government organization capable of creating something so complex, aside from yours of course. But you're out of the question in my mind. Any fool would rule you out instantly."

"Please, your highness, do not tell a soul what you've learned."

Hayato had his hand over his mouth. He was not ready to hear what he'd just heard. It can't be someone in the military. The way they'd been inducted made sure of that. If it was military at all, it had to be someone high up in the chain, but who?

"I don't plan to. I just wanted you to know. You seem to be the only person left who still serves the best interests of the empire and my cousin."

"My loyalty to your cousin came at a price, your highness. And one day I will tell you what that was. But I will tell you that it is unconditional loyalty, and you will always have a friend in me, albeit a very forward and candid one," he replied with a wink. Lord Ryota nodded back with a smile.

"Where are the kids, by the way?"

"Mayako, Junzo, come here!" yelled Hayato.

Seconds later, a beautiful young woman came downstairs with two children behind her. She wore a green kimono. The girl, at least eight years old, had a pink pajama and the boy, who was twelve, had on a blue one. The boy was close to his mother's height. The girl had long black hair and blue eyes. She looked a mirror image of her father, while the boy shared more of his mother's traits.

"Oh, you've met my wife Mikuru," said Hayato. She bowed and continued towards the men.

"What brings your highness here at such a late hour? I hope all is well."

"Don't you worry, Mikuru, everything's just fine. Just here for some boy talk," said Lord Ryota with a flirting gaze which Hayato ignored.

"Then I'll leave you gentlemen to it. If you need anything at all, your highness, my house staff is at your disposal."

She bowed again and left with the children.

"That goes without saying," said Hayato.

"Your hospitality has no bounds," said Ryota.

"I know it's late, but I'm not letting you leave here without first having a drink and something to eat. You look rattled, your highness."

After a few rounds of sake and shared anecdotes, Lord Ryota stumbled out of the compound with his two men and disappeared into a sea of armed guards. He didn't touch his sushi or bread. Hayato was not convinced their meeting was only about concerns for Lord Yuma or the real source of Death's Terrible Twin. He was sure there was something else but couldn't get a full grasp on it. Hayato spent the rest of the night trying to put all the strings together, but he soon grew tired and fell asleep on his desk in his study.

THIRTY-SIX

A Meeting with Fate

INSIDE THE Pit, the usual suspects sat patiently waiting for the outcome of the battle. None of them had gone outside to even take a quick gander. Usually, when a fight erupted outside of the Pit, it would culminate with the winner coming in to purchase a victory drink. They'd expected the group of fifty-three to enter soon but got an eyeful when Gunfire stumbled inside not so alone, with something horrendous.

Gunfire dragged something behind him. It had a good weight to it. It was in a sack he'd made by tying the clothes of the dead men together. The makeshift sack was enormous. It reminded the patrons of rebel flags from the North, during the campaigns. When he dropped the bag, all fifty-three heads rolled to the floor, with one getting within a foot of a woman who squirmed. The bar went silent.

He held his side as he spoke up. "Fifty silver pieces to anyone who volunteers to return them to their next of kin."

Two days had passed since Mikasa had fed the Jungle Crows. "Don't worry about the bloody carcasses," he said to the bartender. "My friends will take care of them free of charge."

Outside the Pit, Gunfire's increasingly fickle Jungle Crows engorged themselves on fifty-three fresh remains to the disgust of Kagoshima citizens. The savagery of their feast wasn't left to the savory noises of human flesh being picked down to bone alone but the fights which would occasionally break out over pieces of the choicest morsels; the eyes, cheeks, and tongues.

He'd been drenched in blood from head to toe. Bits of flesh clung to his clothes. And his long hair, which hung over his face, looked like a bed of thorns. His beautiful cloak was beyond recognition - muddied and trampled upon. And he was drawing quick breaths which made him sound like a wounded animal about to die. He paced slowly to the bar area and lifted his dirty cloak.

"Clean this for me... now!" he shouted at the bartender, who looked at the cloak with disgust as he'd done with the bloody rag a few days ago.

"You got some nerve showing your face here. And after what you did here the last time, are you insane, outlander?"

Gunfire let out a soft grunt and grabbed his side again. He was about to keel over and slip into unconsciousness. But all he could think of was his cloak. He couldn't live or die with the knowledge of it being sullied by a group of misfits posing as Lords of Lands.

"What," asked one of the gentlemen sitting two seats away, "in the hot pits of hell's wrong with you, outlander?" The young blue-eyed, black-haired man had a muscular frame. He stood to step forward. Gunfire flashed him an evil stare and pulled out Man-eater and pointed it at him. He waved it around the bar and jabbed in the air a nothing. The stranger shook his head and took a squig of his brew. He sat.

"I work in the name of Akira Nagasaki. You all know who he is. So back down...you bunch of evil, mean-spirited men. And you, do as I instructed...clean my garment right now."

"That name carries little weight this far south. It's the Pelican Clan who rules these lands," replied the blue-eyed gentleman, who'd been scanning Gunfire's wounds.

Gunfire replied in a sloppy speech. "Their time to kneel will come soon enough. All the lives of men are just a blink of an eye through time."

"Your mouth is getting more reckless," replied the man with a strong tone, "it will soon make a shallow grave for you, outlander."

"Shut your mousetrap. This man just took down a bunch of well-armed men right outside this here bar. You think he's same as any regular man?" said the bartender, "you're lucky I like you, stranger. But I don't think is your cloak that is in need of tending to? Come out back to the kitchen and let me take a look at that wound you got there."

"No, you must take this first," said Gunfire, "I can't let it be stained for long. It's a family item, and it is very close to me."

"Oh my, you'd rather bleed to death here right there, for a piece a garment?"

Gunfire handed him the dirty, blood-soaked cloth. "Yes."

"It's your funeral, you hear me?"

The bartender took the cloak and placed it into a metal bucket. He whistled and a young girl came running in and took the bucket out back.

"Okay, now, that cloak will get the best treatment we offer. Now come back in the kitchen and let me look at the wounds, you hear!"

Gunfire stuck Man-eater back into its place and stumbled over to the kitchen. When he sat on a table and was told to lean back, he passed out. As he snored, the bartender lifted his shirt to look for signs of trauma. To his dismay, there was not a single wound on Gunfire. And the remaining scar which seemed to have been a tiny scratch began to heal itself right before his eyes. The bartender pushed himself back and knocked over a few pots, pans, and spoons. This woke Gunfire, who sat up to see the shockwaves of fear on the bartender's face.

"What's wrong? Is it really bad?"

"No. I don't know what's a happening to you...you look like you're sealing up, but that's not possible. I know is impossible. But it's what I see with my own two eyes. What in Buddha's name are you?"

"Healing? Three swords pierced me. Are you going insane, barkeeper?"

"Look at it yourself, then," he said, pointing to Gunfire's torso, "I have to go. This is too much."

The bartender left the kitchen at a fast pace as Gunfire inspected his ribs and part of his back. He couldn't believe what he'd seen. It was as fantastic as the bartender had said it was. But who or what had given him this gift? Adistaana mentioned nothing of the sort to him in the temple, he thought. But she was an enigmatic figure. Maybe she slipped something in my drink, he thought.

He spoke softly as he continued scanning his body. "What in the world is going on?"

He stood and walked back to the bar area. All eyes were back on him. Chattering continued as the silly music in the background played again.

"Those were good men you slaughtered out there," said the bartender, who folded a few cloth napkins. "They had large families and plenty of friends stalking this place. I think if you stick around too much on the long side, you will soon find out how big these friends and family are."

"I don't plan on staying longer than it takes to clean my garment. I have one last person to deal with. I saw him walk into your bar. I was following him when those street rats swarmed me."

"Oh, no, no, no. Not another one. Are you going to clean out all of my customers? A man has to eat and pay his debts, you know."

"Not all of them, just this last one. I promise."

The bartender slid him an ale. "My, my, my. Okay, what he look like?"

"He's got dark hair and a scar on the left side of his face."

"Oh yes, Toshiko. He long gone. Left a few seconds after your grand finale out on the side. Thank god too. You don't want to mess with him. He's a trickster. Doesn't fight fair. Never lost a battle. Not even a drinking competition. He's bad news."

Gunfire struck his hand on the counter. "He's a coward then!"

"Who," said a young gentleman who stood behind Gunfire, "is that Nagasaki bastard who gave you the authority to come here and start hacking people to bits? Who do you think you are, outlander?"

"Taketa," said the bartender, pouring drinks, "this is none of your concern. Please sit your sorry ass down."

Gunfire didn't turn around to see the young man, he only finished his brew and dug into his pocket for the second letter. As he looked at the message, the young man came closer. Man-eater didn't rattle much. Gunfire didn't bother.

"One of these days," said the young man, "I'll spit on your grave, mindless old man."

"Why," asked the bartender, "would you mess around with a stranger who just brought in a sack filled with the heads of the deadliest warriors in town?"

The boy was fixated on Gunfire, who turned to face him. "You've clearly had enough to drink, little man. Why don't you leave right now? I'll give you a pass. This time. That is of course if you still want to keep your limbs where you like them. If not, I'll be glad to add them to that pile over there."

The young boy had a katana at his side and palmed it. The bartender gave him an ugly twisted face. He let his weapon go and turned towards the front door. When he got to the door, he stopped short and looked back at Gunfire.

"Remember outlander, always tie the cord upon your head after a battle. For one day, you will find yourself in that same pile you made today."

"I will not forget. Now get to your mother. I'm sure she's worried," said Gunfire waving his hand as if to shoo the kid. While his head was down, the boy charged him with his katana in hand. Gunfire avoided his attacks. He grabbed the business end of the sword and quickly disarmed the boy. Then he caught him and dragged him by one hand outside. The bar erupted in pleas for the boy's life.

Once the door shut, eight female patrons stepped outside. They intended to appeal to Gunfire's sensibilities it seemed. To hopefully spare the young boy's life. There'd been no mistake that he'd lose his head behind the Pit.

When the first lot of women got outside, they heard the ear-splitting shrieks of a woman in labor. They ran to the other side of the bar to witness Gunfire spanking the boy's bare bottom with a bamboo stick. He had the young man on his lap as he struck his buttocks and held him in place with the other hand. When he was finished, he stood the boy up and sent him away. The women cheered and went back into the bar.

When he came back to the bar, it was silent. After a few moments glancing at Gunfire, shaking his head, the bartender was handed a clean white cloak which he gave to Gunfire.

"Thanks for not taking all my clients," said the bartender.

"I wouldn't have killed him, you know," said Gunfire to the bartender, "I just wanted to see how you'd react if I took him outside. I figured you'd have done like the women. Beg for his life and all. You're a colder man than I had anticipated."

"I don't entangle myself too much in the affairs of men. Now please go. I don't want to see you here again for a while, you hear me? I fear for your life and the life of my establishment."

"Thank you. How much do I owe you?"

"It's on the house. Godspeed."

Gunfire was about to get up when he saw the bartender staring at the right end of the bar. He turned his head. It was a beautiful young woman in a brown cloak. She sat alone on a table at the far end of the bar. Gunfire wanted to go speak to her, but he didn't.

Then an older man walked to the woman's table and sat next to her. He whispered something in her ear. She kicked him across the room. The old man was stretched on his back unconscious, but nobody came to his aid.

On the wall, next to his body, was a painting of a samurai on a tempest-tossed ship. Gunfire stared at it for a minute taking in his one fear in life. Then he shook his head and finished his drink.

He stood and walked out of the bar. Outside, thick fog in the distance was moving at a rapid pace towards the neighborhood. He'd never seen anything like it. The ominous monstrosity was dark gray and quiet. Villagers, who'd come out to take what they could from the dead samurai, were running to get away but were swallowed by the fog. Gunfire threw on his cloak and walked into the line of the approaching monster.

There was no wind with the tempest-like fog. There was an absence of real atmosphere, which unsettled him. No barking dogs or clucking chickens. No children at play or adults haggling over prices of goods and services. No more armorer's clanking of metal to repair weapons. No more looms being spun. Only a soft hissing sound.

Gunfire's feet felt lighter the deeper he walked into the foul weather. Then his feet lifted off the ground, and a strange crackle of lightning followed his ascent.

"What's going on here? What is the meaning of this insanity?"

A female voice boomed overhead. "Gunfire. You have angered the Greegarian Blood Omen."

"Who is this? Adistaana is that you?"

"Silence," she replied in a sweet melodic voice, "don't you ever speak that name in my presence. I am the Greegarian. I've come for you, Gunfire."

"What are you doing to me?"

"I'm going to stop you, you miserable, wretched, fool. Who gave you permission to wake me? They will fall alongside your corpse as well. When I'm finished with you, not even hell will want what's left. You will either serve me or fall where you are, mortal."

He heard another voice in the void. It sounded like a familiar old lady. "Gunfire, use one of the black balls I gave you now. Remember quick, remember how. It will stop the Greegarian from killing you. All will be well if your trust in me is true. Remember, if you die in her hands, you'll be lost to her forever. But if you escape, great things await. Buried in her midst is a great treasure. Your time is short to determine your fate. Hurry, act with haste, do it now before it's too late. Gunfire, now! Do it now."

"You can only use them when you're in mortal danger. When death is knocking at the door. It's a coward's tool," said Gunfire. "I shan't use it now."

"No, it's a wise man's instrument," said Adistaana. "One whom, according to his own candle – which now burns quite low – is on borrowed time."

"Adistaana...Adistaana...Adistaana, do you hear me?"

"You," said the Greegarian, "dare defy me, mortal. You've tested me. I warned you once. Now you'll be devoured in a single gulp. You don't deserve what I have to offer, petulant human."

An enormous snake's head appeared in the fog. Its fangs; seven feet in length. Its head; ninety feet wide. Its eyes; large as carriage wheels and red as a blood moon, glowed. Its tongue; black as night. Its body; hidden in the fog, was voluminous. It recoiled, with muscles tensing tight and struck at Gunfire ready to consume him.

Gunfire quickly reached for the sack with the talking balls and cracked one on his chest. The fog grew darker and eventually it was pitch black around him. He didn't know if he was up or down. Then he felt a heavy weight around him. His mouth filled with water and he could no longer inhale. Frigid water had surrounded him from all sides.

Gunfire looked up and saw a tiny light emerge on top of him. It seemed like the sun, but it was as small as a star in the night sky. He swam up through the water. His lungs were ready to burst. He felt a tingly form of pain. One which he'd only felt after taking that fatal dose of the milk. The more he swam, the farther the light seemed to get away from him. He began to think this was the end. The Greegarian had gotten him before he could crack the black crystal ball on his chest. That he was dead and only having a nightmarish dream in the afterlife.

THIRTY-SEVEN

The Liberator

THE MORNING shrieks of deserters served as Commander Sora's breakfast. The Shogun's taskmaster, he'd served for two decades as a brutal inquisitor, devouring the souls of unfaithful samurai, most who'd abandon their duties for many reasons, be it family or the ferocious nature of warfare that struck men with the sudden epiphany of the enormities they've faced during the heat of battle. They'd be brought back in chains. Those who didn't dare to commit hara-kiri, by severing their upper abdomen, as Mikasa had arranged back at the Jiro II, suffered a most horrendous death at the end the lengthy ordeal.

'Grow a spine in your final moments as men,' he'd implore them. 'Scary samurai makes for tough samurai...hard on my growing hound's digestive system..." he'd cackle before opening the adjoining chamber with the famished canines.

Commander Sora had maimed countless men who'd lost faith in their service to his luminous overseer, whom he'd have strapped to iron chairs in rooms which lined the halls of Edo Castle and tormented throughout the night. They irked him in a particular way no other human beings could. They were parasites in his mind, suckling off the teats of the empire while refusing to give back much return.

The Nephew of The Shogun with a troubled past. At sixteen, the Shogun had ordered a group of loyal samurai to execute his family. Then the ruling family, the Kojima, who'd lost the battle near Edo Castle, they were chased off the land and slaughtered one by one.

Sora Nagasaki found himself caught in the family estate. He ended up cornered and battled eight men and was pierced three times; Sora emerged victoriously.

Blood soaked his body; he'd been baptized in blood. He mourned for three days. On the fourth, he thought he heard the voice of Ansolis, but it was delirium and sought vengeance. No part of a human man emerged out of that battle. His eyes changed into darkness and despair; revenge had consumed him.

Sora was reborn a monster; and cleaned house, razed it to the ground quickly introducing house Nagasaki to his wrath, venturing from manor to village slaughtering samurai twice his size. His name grew in stature almost overnight. While he was consumed by the powers of darkness, his uncle watched from the tower and was impressed, he changed his mind, bringing the Dragon from Edo to the castle and into the fold. Sora trusted only Nagasaki, his savior.

A paradise amid a war zone, he thought as he strolled through the halls of his domain about to meet Akira Nagasaki, Son Supreme of the Motherland, Caretaker of the Imperial Throne of Japan, General at Arms under the One True God, Killer of Barbarians, Dictator de facto of Life and Death, and Dictator of the Laws of the Land. He shall be further addressed forever known as 'The Shogun.'

Dogs...hundreds of them roamed the halls of Edo Castle. They outnumbered the samurai and military troops stationed there by General Yuma, at the bequest of The Shogun, of course. The old days of the samurai were in decline with nearly half of them have retired or converted to the local militia. Commander Sora loved the ravenous and rambunctious canines. Dogs were loyal until they were hungry.

He'd heard of the liberator and desperately wanted to capture him. He wanted to know what made men like him tick. What powered him, made him wake up each morning to risk his life for peasants and people who aren't worth a silver coin? How could he have lived for so long through so much warfare? Through so many engagements with such fierce counterparts? He must have come from the warrior class, or at least have the art of ninjutsu at his side. Only a coward, a ninja at the least, could get in and out of a place such as Hirohito Manor in the Isles, kill all those infallible Dandy Destroyers, and live to tell about it.

The liberator's turn would come, and when it did, he'd sit in the same chair, witness the same desperation these men did when they realized they'd be devoured by famished hounds who had not been fed for weeks.

An honorable death? Pfft! That I only reserve for my favorite samurai... and only on a rainy day!

It wasn't as if this display of cruelty had been a public affair. Commander Sora had gone to great lengths to assure Nagasaki that the people wouldn't know a thing about what took place within the walls of Edo Castle. This was where the dogs come into play. The skeletons had their own special chamber where he'd have them dumped every evening at the far-right corner near the central outhouse.

This dumping ground was, to the irony of the kitchen staff, next to their bedding chambers, so they'd hear what sounded like crushing bones falling down a hole once every week or so.

Akira Nagasaki trusted nobody, therefore, his deputy had also been his most trusted bodyguard and advisor – Commander Sora. The commander picked up the pace when he heard chatter at the end of the hallway. The voice of his master made the blood flow in his lower member's pulse to a new level with each step.

Nagasaki's two brothers, charged with capturing the Liberator, had traveled from the Jade Isles and Kagoshima City and were back to report in person what they'd seen as Sora reached the large wooden door and busted into the room at the end of the hall.

"I thought I ordered inquires at Palace Rose and Osaka?" said Nagasaki, who tilted his head up as Commander Sora entered, stood at attention, waiting to be permitted to speak. The Shogun, a seemingly tall, green-eyed, blonde haired man, who'd just celebrated his forty-sixth birthday, sat with both feet crossed, his torso straight as a plank with his hands on his knees. By his right side were two large katanas and a small dagger at his left, both black. He had two short, dark-haired men sitting next to him. They were his brothers, Nika and Kaka, who'd been a decade his juniors and unarmed.

As a rule, only Nagasaki and Sora, his loyal bodyguard, would ever be allowed to carry weapons inside Edo Castle. Not even his own flesh and blood carried weapons in his presence. As he'd been known to say; Only by watching a man when he's alone can you gauge his heart and then you will see his true intentions. Sentimentality and yielding too much to one's own family can make quick sushi of foolish hearted men.

"We've let this liberator nonsense get way out of hand," said Nagasaki to Sora, signaling for his pride and joy to join the debate.

"That's right," said Sora with a tight grin. "The liberator's gone too far." He sat right before The Shogun, facing his master as did the rest of the men who'd been summoned. Next to him were the wards of the caste; six well-dressed samurai tasked with different administrative subdivisions The Shogun had determined to be significant, primarily barbarian incursion on the hinterlands.

"At first," Nika continued, "he was a cheap way to keep right-wing governors under control, but now...he's become a liability, killing good Dandies and Lords."

The Dandy Destroyers were meant to be a modernization attempt for The Shogun to implement. It would be tested in the North Jade Isles and was intended to keep the old way and merge it with the new, delaying the pressure for full modernization, which was felt hardest by his intransigent Lords of Lands, and there was a lack of funding for the project as well.

"The trials are over..." said Sora. "We must move on to phase two."

"If he wasn't so pomp with them," said Nika.

"That was the idea with the Dandies," said Sora, "Unconditional loyalty."

"To whom?" asked Kika."

"Their masters, Hirohito himself, of course," said Sora, "but ultimately, the Son Supreme."

The Dandy Destroyer creation process had a perverse and sometimes awe-inspiring repulsiveness to it to those who'd heard of it. Many men, both samurai, and civilian who'd even heard of the lore have chalked it up to hearsay, saying that no man had the voracity pointed out in the tale to even achieve such a feat as did Hirohito, but it's what was recounted in the story.

According to many eyewitnesses and concubines of his House Hirohito, the Dandy Destroyer creation process involved four stages. The selection and insemination of the most beautiful and youngest select women in all of the isles, the raising, the culling and the training of the Dandies, whom he so called because of their beauty and destructive capabilities. One was supposed to be wooed by their charm and be fallen by their prowess with the sword, therefore a paradox.

Once the greatest warrior to ever be born in the Jade Isles, Governor Hirohito was said to have taken sixteen men on to a death match when they held him near the edge of a cliff and defeated them in under a minute. Victorious, he then sought out and, over the course of 97 weeks, impregnated hundreds of ovulating young women who were said to be the most beautiful women in the isles, and with these young bastards, he raised and birthed his Dandies.

The men who were loyal to Hirohito after his great victory began following him around the villages and as his own personal tribe grew, The Shogun met with him to commend him on his work, and after he solidified his seat at Hirohito Manor, he began the third phase, the culling.

When they were just one year old, Hirohito ordered the Dandies who weren't suitable to be trained to be culled. The children were taken to a cliff and tossed over. The ones that were acceptable were taken to Hirohito manor, 444 in all, and trained for 12 years – they were breastfed until they reached the age of 8. When he caught one of them calling one of his men 'papa' he grew angry.

One night, without warning, Hirohito ordered 'The Second Culling' which occurred when he needed to clean house before his men realized treachery was afoot. He'd secretly ordered his new army of Dandy Destroyers to kill the men who raised them, arguing that he was their Papa.

For the past year, Hirohito had been training them to recognize secret commands that only he could give, and one of them happened to be the kill order. And on that morning, when they mustered for recitation, he gave the order and all four hundred and forty-four Dandy Destroyers killed their two hundred and twenty fathers and caretakers in under a minute.

"It's time the for the liberator to disappear," said Kika, "he must be sent away to kiss his forefathers!"

Sora added, "and so must his employer, whoever they may be. And I have my suspicions."

"I don't know about that," said Nagasaki.

"What do you mean, master?" asked Sora.

"What if his employer is sacred or special?" Nagasaki said implying it could be someone they'd have to wage spiritual war with. This in all course meant an individual residing in Kyoto.

"You mean?" said Sora, who looked at Nagasaki with stunned eyes as his master nodded to imply Emperor Yamamomo.

"He wouldn't dare," said Kika. "It would bring his end."

"He's young and ambitious," said Nagasaki.

"They're probably saying the same thing about Edo Castle," said Sora.

"Who do we have at Palace Rose?" asked Nika.

"Well, the Yamaguchi's are sure unreliable these days," said Sora.

"Forget Palace Rose for now," said Nagasaki. "We must deal with the Liberator."

"Yes, he's a bigger threat. A bounty," said Sora. "It's to be doubled every month. That will apply the necessary pressure on the bastard's head even he might want to turn himself in for the bounty in a few months."

"Excellent idea my young stallion," said Nagasaki. "But price it in rice, until he's delivered to me alive, in person, in chains, begging for his pathetic life!" he grabbed a wooden plank and slammed it on the concrete. His face turned red.

"It is done then, master," said Sora, who stood and exited the room with a smile which was a mile wide. "He needed no other authority. Sora wasted no time. He was second in command, and the lips of the one man who mattered had given him the one key he needed to open a Pandora's Box of shit on the Liberator.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Roasting a Spymaster

IT WAS midafternoon, and Lord Hayato had been running late. He rushed down the stairs leading to the palace basement. Armed guards lined every space along the way. In front of every entryway, there were always two of them stiff as the rifles they holstered around their shoulders. The young men allowed him to pass. No request for his credentials was needed at that point. Hayato heard them speak in a tongue he thought was peculiar and approached the two soldiers.

"What sort of language is that?" he asked the tallest one.

"It's German, my lord."

"It sounds like two pigs mating," said Hayato as he scanned the face of the second soldier.

The short one kept his eyes straight. The tall one looked down at Hayato and smiled.

"I for one think it's a beautiful language," he said.

Hayato returned the smile. "It sounds like a horse was kicked in the testicles."

The short soldier tried to hold in laughter from the ridicule. His face flushed, he maintained his composure but was unable to contain the smile on his face. The tall one quickly looked at him and then back at Lord Hayato.

"You are surely entitled to your opinion, my lord," he replied.

"Don't ever let the emperor hear you speak that foreign tripe, lest he has your tongue removed," said Hayato in a harsh tone.

"Yes, my lord," he replied and snapped back at attention as Hayato went on.

It was basic knowledge. Every guardsman had to permit higher-ups down the situation room without harassment. Sixteen different levels of scrutiny were required of anybody who made it this far into the bowels of the palace. Hayato had been concerned over the level of scrutiny but felt it was necessary – especially after seeing the behemoths that replaced the old guard at Palace Rose, placed there by Lord Yuma. Only a fool with a death wish would attempt to gain access to an area with such a heavy military presence, he thought.

The Security Council had convened with Lord Yuma at the helm. Hayato's presence, as a ranking member of the five-member council, would be required for the meeting to begin. Lord Yamaguchi, serving as the Imperial Spymaster, would be in the hot seat. Hayato laughed at the thought of having to grill the poor man over his mismanagement of the empire's intelligence apparatus. Everyone makes mistakes, but this was a blunder, he thought.

And it was not like the backup systems meant to detect perpetrators had worked either. Whoever was responsible for the breach would have to pay for it. And as of the end of the Emperor's meeting, that responsibility inevitably fell on Yamaguchi. Emperor Yamamomo had never attended those meetings before and figured it wouldn't be a good day to start. He and his children were out touring the gardens.

When Hayato opened the black chamber door, he saw the members were still waiting for him. The room was painted white. There was nothing of interest in it beside the large marble table where the council members sat. He grabbed a seat next to Lord Yuma and began the meeting with a biting statement:

"Your incompetence will no longer be ignored, Lord Yamaguchi," he said.

Lord Yuma grabbed his thick beard, signaling his approval. Yamaguchi was floored. Hayato had been a bystander in many of his past reproaches, but never the lead. And this was coming from a non-clan member. Yamaguchi swallowed spit stored in his throat and responded.

"Incompetence? How dare you insinuate..."

"At this point, it is no longer an insinuation," said Lord Yuma.

Hums of approval went all around the table. Lord Ryota kept his mouth shut, only looking to Hayato for guidance.

"You too Yuma? This is a sad day when even my closest friend throws me to the wolves."

"I'm not blaming your entire department, just you," said Hayato.

"You of all people should understand the complexities of running a spy network. Sometimes we get bad information. And sometimes we get good information, just not in time."

"The fact of the matter is the emperor is not so pleased with your department. What do you plan on doing to rectify this massive oversight?"

Lord Takoma joined the scolding. "You need to take things in another direction and soon."

"You're so quick to see a speck of dust in my eye when there's mud covering yours, Takoma."

Takoma shouted. "This is not about me."

Yamaguchi shouted back. "Oh, isn't it? It should be. I've heard about that mess you call an Army forming in the Northwood."

"Your system has large leaks in it. It's broken. It's time to reign them in. Or we will be forced to do it for you," said Yuma.

"Who the hell do you think you are," said Yamaguchi, who stood and tried to attack Yuma, but Hayato ran and stood between them.

"We will handle this like grown men or not at all," said Hayato.

Lord Ryota took Yamaguchi back to his seat. He was breathing like a pig in heat. Lord Yuma didn't break a sweat and sat as well.

Yuma stared at Yamaguchi. "You come at me like that again, and it will be your last time..."

"Enough, Yuma!" shouted Hayato.

"Give him time to explain himself," said Lord Ryota. "Lord Yamaguchi, please continue."

"Like I was saying. The problems my department is facing is a prevalent one. It's rippling throughout the empire and in all departments. I can only name one section where the network does not have holes. I've already set out a few things into motion to weed out the moles infesting my network."

"You mean a disinformation campaign?" asked Lord Taketa.

"Precisely! By the end of the month..."

"End of the month! Are you serious? We might not have a pot to piss in by the end of the month," Yuma bolted.

"Let him finish," said Hayato.

"By the end of the month, we'll have flushed all the traitors and bring them here for further questioning."

"It all sounds good when you say it, but if you don't produce any results sooner than that when the prime minister comes back, he'll be asking for your official resignation. And both Lord Ryota and I think this would be a big problem," said Hayato.

Yamaguchi turned to Hayato. "Do you dictate what the PM does now, Hayato?"

"No I don't, and while you take my admonishment as scorn, it's only meant to highlight the truth. To give you a chance to rectify this monumental failure. I'm on your side, Lord Yamaguchi. It's so sad that you don't see this."

"What else have your teams learned while in the field?" asked Lord Takoma.

"There seems to be an involvement of Saduats in the events leading up to the great fire in Osaka," replied Yamaguchi.

"That's insane. It can't be," said Lord Takumi.

"They're calling it the Saduat Crusade," said Yamaguchi.

"That can't be. The Saduats were wiped into extinction over a hundred years ago," added Lord Akagi.

"How did you even learn of such a campaign with your broken network," asked Yuma.

Yamaguchi gave him an evil grin. "I don't know, you tell me."

Yuma hit back. "We cannot accept anything from your department until your house is in order. The 'incompetence' issue as Lord Hayato stated must be addressed."

"Word on the street is that your man, your protégé, your supposed last hope for the empire, is making a damn fool of himself and you, Lord Yuma. He's going about hacking people to bits in the broad of the day. And you have the nerve to accuse me of being incompetent."

"Where did you get this information?" asked Hayato.

"From my supposedly broken spy network," Yamaguchi answered with crossed arms.

"And you can trust the source," asked Takoma.

"They're my best," said Yamaguchi.

"Percentage-wise?" asked Ryota.

"About 80 percent, my lord," said Yamaguchi.

Yuma grunted. "There you have it. We're going to stake the fate of the empire on 80 percent."

"We've done it for less before," said Hayato.

Yuma continued. "I'm not entirely satisfied. I still want answers, or we will have to dismantle your whole network from top to bottom. Starting with you."

Yamaguchi's face twisted. "That's a bit of a stretch, don't you think?"

"Well, it's either we do it now or wait for the PM to come back and formally kick you to the curb," replied Yuma.

"And that will ruin your entire career. You will have no honor left for generations to come," added Takoma.

Yamaguchi looked away from Takoma. "Oh please, you're just a puppet, Takoma. Everything Yuma says you just parrot it back in another form. If the guy vomited on this floor, I wouldn't' be surprised if you lapped it up."

Takoma fired back. "Keep on insulting me. You won't have much left to do around here."

"What is that supposed to be, a threat?" asked Yamaguchi.

"It's a promise. And as for my decision, it's already been made," Takoma replied.

"Whatever the vote, I think it is a little too early to dismantle the entire department. Maybe we give him a few weeks to sort things out," said Hayato.

Takoma balked. "He's had his chance, and he blew it. I say strip everything to the bone."

"I don't agree," said Ryota.

"Well, whether you agree or not, this is happening. I'll be taking over his network after this vote," said Yuma.

"Watch your tone. This is not the High Council, Yuma," replied Ryota.

"I'm starting to feel that you have an even bigger apparatus in place than Lord Yamaguchi, Yuma," said Hayato.

Yuma shook his head. "Well, it's not our main function, but military intelligence has been doing a good job so far."

Ryota was not pleased. "So, you're just going to swallow a civilian department and make it a part of the Army?"

Yuma's face went blank. "I don't understand. What is that supposed to mean, your highness?"

"What do you plan on doing with the civilian spy network?" asked Ryota.

Yuma was silent for a moment, then he answered. "I will integrate it into the Army, for a time and then give it back when it's been cleaned up."

"Well, then gentlemen. I will no longer be a part of this," said Hayato, who stood and headed towards the exit. Lord Ryota stood as well, ready to exit.

"Where are you going?" Yuma asked Lord Ryota. "We haven't even voted yet."

"This is no security council meeting. It is a witch-hunt. And it ends now. Lord Hayato."

Lord Hayato headed towards the door with Lord Ryota behind him. With less than five members in attendance, the meeting had to adjourn.

THIRTY-NINE

Welcome to Nobeoka City

SOMETHING AWFUL crept up Gunfire's legs. It then went away as fast as it came. Then it was back. He couldn't move much. He couldn't hear a thing. He kicked it back, but it was relentless, swallowing up to his knees and then letting go. It was as if the thing was making sweet love to his feet. It was wet and thick and delightful. What's going on? Thought Gunfire.

"Get off me, you foul creature!"

With the scent of seawater and a metallic hint on his tongue, Gunfire figured he was still close to a body of water. He envisioned a giant fish trying to gobble him up. It was hungry enough to leave the sea to hunt for prey. He wished the thing would die from lack of oxygen.

Gunfire struck his hands on his ears. Then it hit him. He was still in the water. He struggled to get up, but his body denied him the strength. He stared at the dark sky with its tiny stars and waited to be devoured. The thing came back again. This time it reached his thighs.

Oh, god this is happening, he though.

After retracting once again, something came to the front of Gunfire's mind. He was hallucinating it all. He was dead, and the Greegarian had placed him somewhere to eat later. Maybe he was in the beast's nest and was left with its offspring. That might explain a whole lot. But if they wanted to eat me, then why are they taking so long? He thought.

Maybe they were toying with their food like many younglings do? But still, it all bothered Gunfire, having to be consumed by something he'd probably be able to eliminate in a second. Just lying there waiting for the devils to make their mind. It disgusted him. He summoned up the strength to move his head to the side. His eyes fell on light brown sand; tons of sand, miles and miles of the thing.

Am I on a freaking beach?

"That explains it. Dear god, I thought I was in some treacherous trap. It's the beach ebbing, that's what is on my feet. But if I don't get up soon, I'll drown. Get up Mikasa, get up!"

An hour passed and the thing that was making love to his feet became an angry beach. Gunfire felt he had a more significant problem. Having escaped the Greegarian, or so he thought, he'd have to get up and soon. The ocean is no beast, but it doesn't discriminate in whom it drowns. Get up you bastard! he shouted in his head.

The water level was approaching his head. He was breathing a desperate intake of breath. His heart raced, and though it was cold, he felt heat racing throughout his body. Gunfire grunted and twisted until somehow, he loosened a kink in his legs that allowed him to move his body.

The ocean water continued to come and go. Each time higher than before. He had a face full of sand. He tried to blow the dust out of the way but that only compounded his problem. Tons of the stuff crowded his cheeks and eyes. Then came the water, to his chin. Shit. Damn it! You've only made things worse, he thought.

Gunfire had figured out that if he didn't shift back to his head before the water came, he'd have to hold his breath for a nasty length of time. He tried to kick his legs against the sand to roll onto his backside but couldn't. He felt the water coming back to snuff him out. Gunfire took a gulp of breath and held it tight. He closed his eyes tight as the salty water covered it.

He felt water entering his ear canal. It itched him something terrible, but he held his breath. The water continued to rise. He tried to use his legs to move his body away, but they were too weak.

I'm not going to die like this. No like this, thought Gunfire.

As the water slowly retracted, Gunfire tried to lift his head above it, but his troubles had only begun. Two days had passed since Mikasa had fed the crows and although it was established that crows hated water, they tried to eat him anyway in the ocean, looking ever so monstrous with the saltwater on their feathers.

Good, I'm regaining control. But I must move fast, the next round will surely drown me. It's either that or these faithless assholes will pluck me away.

A new strategy came to mind. Gunfire rolled his stomach as much as he could and then let it go. He continued, up and down. Then he could lift himself up. Finally, he sat up, with both arms immobile. He closed his eyes and concentrated.

Another hour passed. By then, his head was only inches away from being engulfed by the ocean. Gunfire had resolved all his disdain for the sea and set his heart to drowning peacefully in it when suddenly, he felt a pinch in his back.

Sensation! I have sensation. And you know what that means. But what if the Greegarian is just fooling around with me? Giving me hope before shattering it all in a blissful moment? he thought.

He was quick to shake that notion out of mind and focused more on moving his body. This was not the way he had planned to die, and no shit for brains ocean would change his destiny.

Gunfire brought up images of his childhood and then of his son, Endo. The boy was playing in a field with other children. He was fast and vigorous, just like his father. Gunfire was proud and blushing.

Then he felt a toe wiggle, then another and later, his back twitched again. They tried again and again, but the water was more persistent than the crows who fled off hoping the current would send his body to the side of the beach for them. They sat by the beach waiting.

That's it, you've got it.

The water had passed his nose. Gunfire let out an anger filled grunt as he slowly lifted himself out the water. When he looked down, it was up to his knees. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. The view was markedly higher than he'd expect; as if he was altered.

Something beautiful and frightening caught his eye. The water had shiny little prickly spots that peppered it as if reflecting an exact image of the stars. They were blue and red, bright, and magnificent. Gunfire glanced at the water, and with help from the moonlight, spotted his image, and fell back to the water on his hands and knees.

He cried out into the night. "No! No!"

Just then, he remembered rising out of the ocean breathless and swimming to the shore. He recalled his last moment of consciousness. It was filled with images of a tussle with a giant snake-like thing. It had him in its huge muscles. He was tightly wrapped and unrelentingly secured in its scaly grip. Then he bit the snake, with what appeared to be his own fangs, and it let him go. And that was it.

But he thought of this new and more significant problem. He was not able to recognize his face. It looked contorted. No, it was heavily deformed.

Monstrous.

As if the beast had shattered every bone in his skull in the oceanic battle. As if the creature had rearranged the broken bones. This is far beyond payment for releasing the Greegarian's wrath, he thought.

This was the start of a vendetta.

He screamed as hard as he could. "What am I? What have you done to me?"

He figured he was no vampire, nor was he a werewolf since he didn't feel beckoned to howl at the moon. Whatever he was, it was no longer human. He'd become something worse. Tears had never fallen from his eyes before, and he didn't dare to allow them to at this point in his mission. He looked away from the beast that was staring him back in the water. Then he stood and kicked the water. Gunfire felt his face. It was smoother than he'd figured it would have been. Maybe he was hallucinating again? Perhaps the giant snake had bitten him, and this was a part of the symptoms? He had to find out, but how?

FORTY

A Spy Among Them

ONCE OUT the meeting chamber and up the right slanting stairwell, Lords Hayato and Ryota headed up to Palace Rose's main hallway with its maroon, broad and lengthy thoroughfare. During its busy hours, the hall was usually crowded with administrators who made it the perfect place to meet and exchange dirty laundry.

The two men said nothing to each other. They kept a brisk pace which directed them towards the central kitchen. Hayato saw confusion in the young man's face. He'd never been so agitated before. Even when Hayato had scolded him at High Council meetings, he never expressed himself so furiously.

However, those were different affairs, this was an entirely different beast. The Security Council was set up to protect the one-person Ryota had left as close family. And that meant he'd have to rely on that same council when he entered that man's shoes. Hayato thought this might explain his disdain for the mind-numbing savagery with which Yuma ran the committee.

Still, Hayato felt the desire to say something to Ryota. If not to reassure him of a job well done, at least to open his eyes more to the viper-like politics of Palace Rose. Where a simple gesture could get the young lord killed or worse.

When he was sure they were far enough from earshot, Hayato asked Ryota to stop. He took the young lord to a corner pillar lined with gold. Only a steel door leading back to the basement was nearby. Ryota's eyes looked like they were about to fill with tears.

Hayato grabbed him by the shoulders. "Your Highness, you must learn to temper your tongue in the presence of dangerous men."

"Now you want to give me advice on how to talk to the council."

"My family is somewhere on a mountainside hiding with strangers. Do you think I never want to see them again? These are dangerous times. I'm just advising you to be more careful that's all. I will always be on your side when you make good judgments, such as the one you did in that witch hunt back there, but sometimes it's not what you do but the way you do it that counts."

"Who are these so-called dangerous men, Yuma or Taketa?" he replied while he laughed at the top of his throat. His royal blue and black Komodo was under his leather armor, and it inched its way up his neck. A group of soldiers turned to look at the young lord. Hayato gave them an evil stare, and they went back to their business.

"It's not all fun and games anymore. Next time you speak in any forum, keep your feelings to yourself. Especially feelings you have about Lord Yuma. He's no easy man to play with.

"He's your kin. And I'm not a man who's known to beat around the proverbial bush, Hayato. You of all people shouldn't be condemning me for standing up for what is right."

"You're only steps from the throne. You have to be more careful about who you arouse."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Lord Yuma, though he may be a loyal soldier, is in command of two-thirds of the armed forces in the empire. If he and his generals don't see you fit to rule, that could be problematic for you if something should, god forbid, happen to your cousin."

"It was going to be a bloodbath in there. I refuse to be a part of something as vile as that. They're only trying to save their own necks. And even though he messed up, Lord Yamaguchi is a great man. Nearly as great as your cousin, Yuma."

"Yamaguchi is not as strong an ally as Yuma. I know it was wrong, but when we go back to finish the business, let me do all the bad talking. Pretend to change your mind and agree with Yuma and then I will do something to give you a way out. I know my clan better than you do, your highness. Let me spin and weave them in your best interest."

Ryota's brows furloughed. "How will you do that? He's already angry at me, as is the rest of the council...all but Yamaguchi."

"Trust me. This is what I was born for. By the time the next meeting is over, they will think you are on Yuma's side. We will have them right where we want them."

A smile came over Ryota's face. "I see why my cousin kept you around. You, my friend, are a sly beast."

"Oh, your highness, I do protest. You raise me way too high. I do this as a token of loyalty. So, that when you ascend the throne, you won't take my head off my shoulders. It's for my own protection."

"That would be the last thing on my mind, should I ever become emperor."

"But still, I'd remain a truthful and most forward advisor. Just because you'd be emperor, doesn't mean that I wouldn't be looking out for your best interest, and that of the empire, at all times. No matter how dirty I'd have to get to make sure you know that."

"As always, I admire your frankness. I wish you'd told me about this at the High Council meeting. I was a little shocked how you dug into me that time."

"I had to make sure your response was authentic. People are more attentive to those nuances when the High Council meets. I think it's because of the halo effect of your cousin's presence. Now, let's share some tea, your highness."

The two men walked to the end of the grand hallway and disappeared into the next corridor. Less than a second later, Lord Yamaguchi popped his head around the corner from the steel door which led to the basement. He shook his head and threw sweat off his forehead. He'd heard the better parts of the conversation which would undoubtedly change the course of the future for all three men, but who knew maybe Hayato had another trick up his sleeves?

The Imperial Family

Emperor Yamamomo

Empress Minamoto-no-Tatsuo

Emperor's Son: Ryuu-no-miya

Emperor's Brother: Takahiro-no-miya

Emperor Yamamomo's Cousin: (Lord Ryota) Ryota-no-miya

The Shogunate

Nagasaki-no Akira as The Shogun: The de facto ruler of Japan (living in Edo Castle) but Nagasaki, the Emperor, and Prime Minister are currently sharing governmental, administrative, and military authority. He controls 32 Lords of Lands and they in turn control 436 Clans who hire 3,376,000 Samurai to keep barbarians in check.

Commander Sora: The Shogun's bodyguard and his Chief Inquisitor aka the Dragon from Edo. He's praised as the fiercest combatant in Japan after facing, and killing, a samurai, sent to execute his family when he was only a child. When that samurai didn't return to the Lord of Land to report, fifteen more were sent to assure its success. He killed them too. Sora's an individual so atrocious, so pitiless in his methods of torture that most enemies and bounty hunters will kill their targets, out of mercy, instead of sending them back alive to Commander Sora.

The Lords of Land: They are regional rulers who report to the Shogun. Lords of Lands live a Persephone lifestyle, spending six months at home and six months at Edo Castle as a requirement for retaining their lordships. Their official title on paper is Lord Governor.

Samurai: These brutal men are the warrior class. They report to the Lords of the Land where they are born, live, and die.

Farmers: Those who work for the lords of the land and are under the protection of the Samurai. Some farmers allow their children to move into the cities by purchasing a "Bokou" for their child, which is a permit for their child to go to a finishing school (something like a university) to learn a trade. This might take one or two generations of savings and is a very risky bet. It's also heavily frowned upon and often draws the ire of their lords, who may kidnap the child until a ransom is paid, usually the saved rice or funds intended to be used to send the child to the Bokou.

Fujita Clan

Prince Goro Fujita: The Prime Minister of Japan

Lord Ōtomo Fujita: Minister of Central Affairs

Lord Iesato Fujita: Ministry of Justice

Daijo Fujita: A Palace Rose administrator

Ōuchi Clan

Prince Satoru Ouchi: First Minister of State

Satake Ouchi: Minister of Civil Services

Lord Takumi Ouchi: Minister of the Treasury

Lord Taketa Ouchi: Imperial Accountant

Nagao Ouchi: An East Palace Rose administrator

Yamaguchi Ouchi: The Imperial Spymaster

Minamoto Clan

Prince Yoshiro Minamoto: Second Minister of the Right

Lord Yoshito Minamoto: Minister of Ceremonies

Lord Raiden Minamoto: Minister of the Imperial Household

Shingen Clan

Lord Imagawa Shingen: Minister of the Privy Seal

Lord Takeda Shingen: Minister of Popular Affairs

Kenji Shingen: traveled with prime minister North

Kojima Clan

Prince Nobu Kojima: Minister of the Military (Headquartered at Osaka Castle)

Lord Hayato Kojima: Emissary to the Shogun/Major Counselor to the Emperor

Lord Yuma Kojima: Commander of the Imperial Army

Lord Takoma Kojima: General in charge of the Secret Northwood Army

Lord Akagi Kojima: Admiral of the Fleet for the Imperial Navy

Lieutenant General Hinata Kojima: Adjutant General

First Lieutenant Wataru Kojima: Aide-de-camp

THE GOOD. THE BAD. AND THE UGLY

The Wandering Beast: A giant creature who wanders through the woods eating the fear of travelers who it encounters, and if it cannot eat their fear and they are wicked men, it consumes their flesh instead. If they're good men, they just had the luckiest day of their lives. It used to be human.

The Greegarian: A Remnant Realm Goddess who appears in one shape depending on the realm she's invading. The Greegarian provides both gifts and curses to those who 'wake' her. She has been called by many names; The Great Beast from the Beyond, The Green Snake, The Green Garian, The Greedy Garian, the Greedy Snake...

Greegarian Minions: All sorts of beasts created by the Greegarian to stop Champions from completing their labors and his mission, which can allow them to kill the Omen.

Marko: A seasoned assassin in his mid-thirties, Marko specializes in disinformation. He's got the gift of a thousand silver tongues, like his companion Anata K. He can weave stories into a thousand different relations. Some say he'll lie his way out of hades when he dies. Even a blatant lie seems truer than the well-established truth to Marko's target. It takes a keen ear to catch him in his web of lies. He is also an excellent combatant, and his weapon of choice is always the lance.

Anata K.: A seasoned assassin in her late twenties, Anata K. specializes in a quirky type of subterfuge. Anata K. is chaos incarnate. Whatever place she walks into, she'll leave it in upheaval within minutes – having people at each other's throats, swords in torso and daggers in necks. Sometimes she chooses to take out her target with raw muscle, and when she does, her weapon of choice for a physical altercation is her katana.

Onna-X-Donna – a powerful Wizaryan who Gunfire consults.

Relic of Death: The God of death and son of Adistaana.

Ansolis: The sun goddess worshipped by those who observe the old ways.

The White Horned Devil – a spirit that spreads chaos randomly to balance out the things that happen in the universe. It is believed that he has a more sinister twin called Death.

THE ARCHAIC GODS

Oracle of the Palace of the on High: A Goddess who sees the future.

The Queen of Solitude: A Goddess with the power to make all things tranquil and ease the fears of any who come into her midst.

Goddess of the Power of the Air: A mighty Goddess who once controlled the air and space traverses by all the other Gods and Goddesses.

The Emissary to the Universal Realms of Men: A God who can speak both for the realms of men and Godly beings.

The Chief Archer: A warring God who makes weapons that can defeat evil in any form.

The Last Daudane: Pronounced "Dah-oo-dane,"is the last of the archaic living gods. A creation that is so powerful that even though it's just a title, is passed on only in name, that title alone grants its bearer uncanny godly authority in the humanoid realms.

First Born to the Inferno: A fiery God so hot and old that this God's own creator cannot touch them for they're so brilliant and heated.

Adistaana the Great: A Primordial Realm Goddess. She appears to worthy men in a shape that is very unpleasant to them for an important reason. She appears to unworthy men as a glowing hot grain of table salt or in her true form. She appears to women in the shape of their deceased grandfathers to comfort them in times of grief.

Mysteri: The personification of adversity, terror, harmony, the battle, and Nekko State. Mysteri is the retinue of Adistaana the Great, birthed by the raging flames of an ancient dying sun God named Lux Hadau Canubae.

Lost City of the Daudanes: An ancient city where the God and Goddesses of another realm had marooned themselves to keep from fighting.

Lord Koa-Bol: The chief of the Daudanes and the one who built the city to keep the gods locked in one peaceful location.

THE MAJOR CLANS

Clan Virgo: Our hero, Mikasa Yamakazi, hails from this ancient and formerly princely clan. It's the flagship clan of the Osaka people.

Clan Aquarius: A pure warrior clan.

Clan Pisces: Clan Pisces used to be a fishing clan in Osaka. They moved to Edo.

Clan Pelican: An old clan which runs Kagoshima City.

Clan Sparrow: An old clan in Kagoshima City.

Clan Wolf: An old clan in Kagoshima City.

Clan Raven: An old clan in Kagoshima City.

Clan Owl: An old clan in Kagoshima City.

Clan Lion: An old clan in Kagoshima City.

The Brotherhood of the House of the True Religion: A fast-growing religion taking hold of Japan with beliefs in reincarnation and transfiguration after a short period of death. The Brotherhood primarily does administrative tasks for the "New" religion. They wear black to signify the darkness of death.

The Sages of the House of the Rising Sisterhood: The feminine arm of the Brotherhood. They perform the missionary tasks of recruiting new members into the "New" religion by performing miracles of reincarnation by shifting the ghost of the deceased to animals they drown in a special blessed water. They wear white to signify light of rebirth.

The Crimson Massacre: The Insane Pretender Emperor, named Asahi Itsuki, ordered a division of his most loyal men to slaughter the entire Village of Hyuga, a total of 30,000 perished by sundown. The village was near the mouth of the Oyodo River, where women and children of peasants had refused to accept him as God Almighty. His men had killed 20,000 on their way to Hyuga, many of them pagans, before being stopped by his own men (those who defected after being sickened by the sheer enormity of the carnage) and a regiment of Army troops led by then Colonel Yuma Kojima. At the end of the ordeal, over 50,000 peasants laid dead all over the Kagoshima Province during the Crimson Massacre. There were so many bodies, that the river water, which emptied near the village, turned to a crimson color for miles upstream frightening many residents in the area, for which it was called the Crimson Massacre.

The Great War Era: A time of great retribution when even families and friends turned against each other.

Teneba Lights: A source of magic that cancels light for as far as it's user can see.

Doire Roots – The root of a rare plant which contains extremely hallucinogenic toxins. It also makes you very strong by quadrupling oxygen delivery to the heart, brain, and muscles.

The Imperial Science Academy: A finishing school equivalent to a university that once taught the dark arts but also teaches science and medicine.

Nekko State: A state of pure anger and ecstasy which allows the accursed to use his/her abilities to their peak. But s/he must do it with care or s/he'll burn up too much energy and ignite his/her body and this fire cannot be put out by anyone but the Sun God, Ansolis.

Decatamaranian – A creature cursed to stalk the duo-realms neither living nor dead for a decade before falling into nothingness.

The Yamakazi Family

Mikasa Yamakazi – father. Son and grandson of rice farmers.

Oichi Yamakazi – wife

Endō Yamakazi – son

Nakano Yamakazi – daughter

Connect with Sean Bela

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Twitter: @SeanBelaAuthor or #GunfireSamurai

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Other Books by Sean Bela

The Swinger-Mercy Conspiracy Series

Doomsday is On Wednesday: Book 1 (2018)

The Nay Slayer: Book 2 (2018)

The Demolishers: Book 3 (2018)

Gunfire Samurai Series

The Mikasa Yamakazi Chronicles: Episode II (2018)

The Mikasa Yamakazi Chronicles: Episode III (2018)

FROM THE AUTHOR:

HOW I GOT GUNFIRE SAMURAI - AN INSANE NIGHTMARE

When writing, I always try to be inspired by a story that I can read and be like, "Oh, damn this is not only interesting but crazy as hell."

But that doesn't always turn out on paper since I write by the seat of my pants. I find myself writing and rewriting plots and themes and then the whole project becomes some other beast altogether. But with Gunfire Samurai, everything was different. And I mean from the beginning to end. It all started with a nightmare. Yes, roll those eyes, a nightmare. A nightmare of mostly undisclosed details. But I will tell you some fun facts.

One summer day, I popped out of my bed sweating like a witch at a stoning. I was drenched and thought it was because Brooklyn weather was unusually hot, and I had the air conditioner off. But that was ridiculous. It was on 65 degrees all night. And I was not covered as I usually do to fall asleep.

As I washed my face and brushed my teeth, a cold and terrible feeling crept to the front of my mind. I felt like I was being chased by someone with a deadly weapon. I shrugged it off since I suffer from bipolar disorder and know that sometimes, I can exaggerate emotionally when left to my own devices. An idle mind is no longer just the devil's playground, it's mine as well.

I couldn't go back to bed for some reason. And spent the next few hours watching the news and flipping channels. I still could not shake off the feeling. It was like some specter had begun to haunt me. I turned on all the lights in my apartment and even shut every room.

Then suddenly, as a commercial for Nyquil came up, I remembered why my heart was racing like a 37-year-old man-virgin unhooking a bra strap. It was the dream I woke up from. No, the nightmare - it was horrible!

I was walking through what looked like a rural area just outside of a city, and then I found myself smack dab in the middle of downtown Tokyo. I had been to Tokyo before, a very long time ago while in the service, so everything looked memorable. Except there was a big panic. Crowds, no hordes, of people came running past me screaming. Some of them had no heads, and they fell to the ground convulsing, leaking blood. There was a river of blood on the street that carried cars off like they were weightless. I didn't know what to do, where to go, or who was responsible for the terror. I merely headed into a coffee shop and told the people inside to lock the door and hunker down.

Then I saw him. He was the embodiment of what all nightmares were meant to serve as. But I was inside this world, so I didn't know it was just a dream. This seven-foot-tall samurai was carrying a giant silver gun and a golden katana cutting off people's heads and gunning down those who were too far from the reach of his blade. Some of his victims were incinerated by what looked like a torch setting from his weapon. He had red eyes that glowed, claw-like long fingers and pearl white hair. The Japanese and American military came after him, I sighed, and we cheered, but they failed miserably and met the same fate as the civilians. And when he was done massacring the hell out of the city, he came for us in the coffee shop.

He took the infant first, snatching her out of her crib and crushing her skull with his bare hand. Then her mother followed with an earsplitting sound and then the store clerk. I was paralyzed by fear, and my stomach hurt something awful. I tried praying, but the words couldn't come out - and it didn't help that I was not a religious guy. But if there was a god, I wanted him/her/it to hear me at that moment.

He'd finished everybody in the coffee shop and started walking out. I was behind the drink cooler when he looked back and caught me trying to run to the back room. He moved like the wind in a tornado. I was barely able to shut the door and bolt it, but it was for nigh \- he only kicked it three times before the steel door came tumbling down on top of me. Long story short, it was the first time I died and felt pain in a dream. But now, I had remembered how I woke up just as he plunged that cold and golden steel through my trachea.

I had spent the day before revved up on Red Bull, and chain smoked like a thief in an interrogation room filled with veteran sleuths. I had been researching for my writing group about the worst action movies of all time. So, you know this necessitated a visit to YouTube and long hours watching crappy foreign film trailers. But, as you all must already know, I ended up veering to the weird side of the net. And I must have watched a hundred gigabytes or more of what I can only label unadulterated mayhem.

This, compiled with my rabid insomnia, made it difficult to shut my brain off at night. So, I took a sip of Nyquil. When that didn't work, I took another sip. And then another and another, until I had consumed the entire bottle. When I fell asleep... I have no idea? But it somehow had a remarkable consequence on what I dreamt during my slumber. And to this day, I have not retaken the stuff and had never had those dreams since. Not blaming the medicine here, though.

If you're sick from a cold in the middle of summer and take way more Nyquil than is medically sound to fall asleep, be prepared for some trippy nightmarish stuff. It's not something I would recommend anyone to do.

And if you spend the entire night watching violent YouTube videos for your research project for your writing group, don't be surprised if you have offensive nightmares that leave you trembling and sweating in the morning.

It spooked me for days. How the hell was I going to deal with something that was not tangible? Something I couldn't kill or ignore? Worst still was the fact that I had invited this into my life by a stupid and dangerous action from my desperation to gain some restful sleep.  
Well, I had enough of its intrusion into my daily life. I turned it all on its head and decided that it was time to take back my dreamscape and turned the scariest parts of the narrative into a story. A nightmarish story where I could torture the characters just as the dream had tortured me and face my fears vicariously through them. And after three weeks of writing, the beast was hatched.

Now, is it a good enough tale or is it rubbish and who can decide? Why you the reader, of course. To be honest, your blunt input will only make me a better writer. My bet is that you will take something profound from this story no matter what you feel about it in the end. My team did the best we could to bring you something delicious, awkward and titillating.

And that, my friends, is how you all got Gunfire Samurai.

Enjoy,

Sean Bela

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright ©2016 Sean Bela

All rights reserved.

No parts of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by M.J.B. Publications, New York, NY

