Chapter 103 - 'After' Arc- 2

Yuji found himself surrounded by what he could only describe as druids. He carried Kuroko in the center of four of them. They all faced a different direction, circling continuously. The odd side-step movement they had to do continuously didn’t seem to slow them down at all.

“We’re sorry we’re so late. Is Ojousama well?”

Yuji looked down at Kuroko. It took him a minute to make the connection that Kuroko was the Ojousama they referred to.
“She’s fine. She got slapped around a bit. But the slap looked like it…”

“Burned, Lord Yuji?”

It seemed that this one…person had been designated to speak with Yuji. Yuji couldn’t see much of him, except that he was a bit older than the others and he was wearing glasses. He had a kind voice that Yuji found himself instantly warming to.

“Yes, burned is a good word. And please, call me ‘Yuji’.”

Gasps of shock came from the druid-ish group.

“I dare not, sir! You are as important to us as Ojousama! It does my heart good to see that you two have chosen each other!”

Yuji stopped moving. He noted that Kuroko was awake but seemingly very upset. Not that he blamed her. So he continued holding her without protest. But now a new question had been raised.

“What makes me so important to you?”

The older man glanced around nervously. “Please, Lord Yuji, keep moving. I’ll tell you everything when we reach a safer place.”
--

They kept traveling, packing tightly together with Yuji and Kuroko in the center. They descended an old stone staircase that led into a dark tunnel. Four of the silent guards escorting them took torches from brackets on the wall. Yuji used his Dragon’s Path Jutsu. He rarely used this in combat these days. The Jutsu had become outdated after he developed the Shoukyaku Jutsu and grew wings. But seeing as something seemed to be wrong with his Ten no Kishootsu abilities he brought out this relic. The Jutsu lined his feet with chakra, which he then used to create a low-intensity fire jutsu that would allow him to ‘skate’ across a path his chakra created, blazing fire all the way. Here he just walked, using the jutsu to light his path.

They eventually reached what appeared to be a shrine. There were paintings on the walls, lit by candles that were tended to regularly. The paintings all featured the same person. A handsome man wearing a hakama with jet-black hair drawn into a ponytail. Yuji tried to place him, feeling sure he knew him. It took a picture of the man growing wings of fire to place him.

“My predecessor?” Yuji intoned, craning his neck for a better look.

“I’ll answer your questions when we’re safe, Lord Yuji. For now, please keep moving. And please, whatever you do- don’t let go of Ojousama.”

Yuji shelved his questions for now, focusing on keeping Kuroko safe. She seemed to be in shock after Shiroko’s violent attack.

They walked for a while longer, occasionally turning down another passage. Yuji tried to keep track of where they were with respect to the entrance but had long since lost his bearings when they finally stopped.

They were in a room with four stairways leading out of it. It was empty save for a table in the center of the room. Yuji laid Kuroko on it. She was conscious, but apparently out of it. She didn’t seem in any pain to speak of.

Yuji stood next to Kuroko, keeping one eye on her. She hadn’t spoken or even made eye contact with him the entire time. He had seen her tears but said nothing. Instead, he slid closer to her so their bodies were touching. In this way, he let her know that he was with her without using words. Yuji felt her slide even closer, acknowledging how grateful she was.

The image of Kuroko being hurt fresh in his mind, Yuji decided to take charge and demand answers.
“I want to know what the hell caused her best friend to hit her like that. I want to know why I’m so damned popular. I want to know what gives that man the authority to act the way he does. That… Shiroko’s father. I want answers- now.”

The older man Yuji had been talking to bowed his head in deference to Yuji. “Lord Yuji, I will-”

“ ‘Lord’?”

The older man smiled wryly. “That’s part of the story, I’m afraid.”

Pacified, Yuji settled down next to Kuroko, cradling her close to him. He felt a few hot, wet tear drops land on his chest and lap, but he said nothing. Kuroko was a proud girl; if she didn’t look up then these weren’t tears he was supposed to see.
--


“Lord Masashi, please!”

Masashi, now in his forties, held the look of a much younger man. His long black hair was kept in a neat ponytail; his body was firm with muscle that showed through the tight clothes he wore.

Most distinctive were the wings of fire coming from his back.

“I have no time to hear complaints, Yoichi! This is the duty I am required to perform!”

Yoichi, Masashi’s servant, could only bow. Lord Masashi never erred in judgment. He was the youngest head of the Tsukishiro family in history. It was a pity he had no blood heir. Instead, only one adopted child, now in his twenties. And the child had children- two boys, twins. But the legend that the birth of twins should not be celebrated but mourned held true.

The Tsukishiro family was splitting.

Under Lord Masashi, they were united as one. But his son had damned them with his foolish insistence on inheriting his father’s power now, rather than at the appointed time. It came to pass that two factions formed.

The ‘Shiro’ faction- the side that allied itself with Lord Masashi.
The ‘Kuro’ faction- the side that allied itself with Masashi’s son, Kanichi

The Kuro had all but succeeded. Only Lord Masashi and a handful of followers had escaped the surprise assassination attempt. Now it was time for the leaders to meet in final, deadly combat.

No father should have to fight his son, thought Yoichi. Yoichi was the servant, so he should be the one to fight. He had plenty of ability. Not as great as Lord Masashi, but skilled enough to give his son a fight.

But the lord had insisted. He would fight.
--

In the enormous hall, father and son stood across from each other. Each one glowed with power and ability, their faces frozen in stares of malice and regret.

Lord Masashi’s son was not evil. Misguided, perhaps. Or perhaps not. He asserted that he knew what was best for the family, and that his father’s rule would destroy the family. Maybe it was true. It could have been.

But Lord Masashi had never been wrong.

The hall was enormous, it’s cavernous ceiling more than one hundred feet above. Enormous pillars ran along both sides of the hall. The only decorations were numerous candle holders made of iron, one long table and a single throne-like chair.

The supporters of both sides entered through the doors of their respective lords, armed for battle should their lord be defeated. There was no doubt that this would be the last stand for at least one of the two great men, if not both.

Some unspoken signal started both father and son. Masashi was armed with two swords; Kanichi with a halberd.

They rushed in, their weapons swinging and meeting with a resounding clang that shook the pillars surrounding them. They began a give and take battle, dancing in and out of attack range, with neither one gaining a particular advantage.

A younger servant came to Yoichi’s side.
“Why does Lord Masashi not use his ability? The one with the blazing fire? Surely he would win before his own blood is spilled, then!”

Yoichi had made the same appeal to Lord Masashi with no success.
“The master will not fight his own son with abilties granted from Heaven. This battle is unholy, he says. And an unholy battle is fought between men, not gods.”

The servant fell silent, and Yoichi’s focus returned to the match. Yoichi was the servant to his master for good reason. On the battlefield, he was a master tactician, crafting strategies that fooled enemies and bolstered his own troops. Lord Masashi relied on him for the large battles. When it became a smaller engagement, however, Masashi was in his element.

Masashi and Kanichi were still fighting to a stalemate. Kanichi was using some form of archaic chanting as a battle aid. As he chanted and then made a pushing gesture with one hand, an invisible force seemed to strike whatever was in the way. Sometimes it was Masashi himself; other times it was a pillar. The destructive power was evident, though it’s source was invisible. At least to Yoichi. Lord Masashi could often see more than Yoichi could.

Yoichi could remember the day when Lord Masashi was gifted with his abilities. A particularly hopeless battle was being fought. Even Masashi himself seemed doomed. But he continued to fight and fight, his two swords bloodstained and chipped from prolonged use. The two weapons broke finally, and Masashi fought empty-handed. How many opponents he defeated had long been forgotten by Yoichi, whose forces concentrated on at least slowing the continuous onslaught of enemies.

Then, from nowhere, a man that he had mistaken for a monk, wearing a white robe, rode up on a horse. He chanted a few words in varying languages. The Japanese stuck out to Yoichi. The monk had thrown a bottle into the fray. Out of it came fire, isolating Lord Masashi.

“Your fight has been deemed just by heaven. The temper of heaven is your sword now. Continue your righteous fight, Ten no Kishootsu.”

The fire from the bottle had shot towards Lord Masashi. Yoichi had abandoned his post, fearing the worst. He was ready to throw himself on top of his lord to put out the fire.

But the fire was out. Or, rather, it was in. Sucked in to Lord Masashi. After that, the lord’s hair turned a solid black, and his eyes darkened to match. Then the wings of fire burst forth and allowed Masashi a tremendous advantage over his enemies. The battle that had been so lost before was now a sure victory.
-

The lord and his son had been fighting now for twenty minutes. Both were tiring. Masashi attempted a double thrust with his swords. Kanichi countered by spinning his halberd just as the swords entered the right range. The centrifugal force stripped the swords from Masashi. But Masashi kicked upward, knocking the halberd away.

The shorter of Masashi’s swords fell back toward him. Without hesitation but plenty of regret, he thrust the sword into his son’s chest.

You are not authorized to comment here. Your must be registered and logged in to comment