For two days, the battle has raged: The Shadow behind Volturnum's ruined gates, and the armies of the Empire. Death soaks the fields of the ancient city, and Goju fight above ancient walls, struggling to give the Shadow time to destroy Rokugan.
And already, it has begun to work.
In the small camp outside the city's gates, men struggle to remember why they fight Already, entire cities have begun to slip from their memories, and the faces of their families seem empty and indistinct "I am...Matsu," one man whispers, reading the word on his spear. "I am a Lion."
It has no meaning to him.
Side by side, the Scorpion fought with the Crane, forgetting ancient rivalries in order to have the strength to defeat the Goju horde. "Is there another way into the city?" Kuwanan cried, his sword cleaving through one of the nighthaunts whose claws ran with Scorpion blood.
"Another way, yes," Aramoro hissed, considering. "But not for you. I will go."
"Why?" The champion of the Crane said. "Do you think the Crane are not willing to give their lives for the Empire?"
Aramoro looked at Kuwanan for a long moment before he spoke. "You have something to live for, Crane. Do not throw that away, simply because you can."
"And you?" the Doji asked.
"I have something to die for, Crane." The Scorpion snarled. 'That is all you need to know."
When the Scorpion appeared at the rear of the Goju lines, their attack was swift and unexpected. Tearing through bone and faceless flesh with crystal swords, and from the forward armies, Kuwanan saw them make a stand at Oblivion's Gate. The flames beyond the gate obscured his sight but when the shadow parted, he saw the daimyo of the Scorpion fall to his knees, then to the ground in a pool of blood. Then, Kuwanan could make out no more.
He saw his own Daidoji guard turn toward him, their swords raised and their faces as smooth as the shell of an egg. Silently, he killed them, praying to the fortunes for their souls. Terror struck the Champion's soul as he watched them fall, bloodied, before his clan's ancestral blade. These men had served with him for years, he had given them honor, seen their children born, felt each of their wounds as if it had been his own.
Now he could not even remember their faces.
Across the battlefield Shiba Tsukune was forced to destroy her own yojimbo, cutting him down before the shinobi possessing his soul could destroy her.
Shinjo Shono rode down a bushi, the iron hooves of his steed crushing the man's bones to paste. He tried to remember who wore the gold and green that decorated the faceless samurai's banners, but it was empty of meaning. Only that the man's face was bare and empty and his laughter sick and hollow - only this meant anything to Shono. It meant 'enemy.'
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Ling posted this Gencon flier on the message boards