Legions, Part V

Legions - Destinies
Isawa Norikazu

The mists swirled all about him, as they always did. He had prayed for his curse to be lifted, and when he had accepted the Fire Dragon's embrace he had actually dared to dream it might finally come to an end. But that, apparently, was not meant to be. When sleep came, the mists came again, as they always had.

The mists were a terrible burden. When he slept, they came. Most often, Norikazu found himself wandering aimlessly through them, drifting amid an endless sea of nothingness. Sometimes, however, there were others there with him. Others who could not see him or interact with him in any way. He saw other people, other places… other times. The Phoenix histories and theologies often spoke of the gift of prophecy with great reverence and respect. Norikazu could have assured them that it was not a burden one would wish for.

Through the mists, Norikazu could see the form of a broad-shouldered man, frame shaking with laughter. Norikazu smiled. It was his brother, Mitori. Mitori had always been the stronger one, and they had been very close as children. Even as they grew older, and Norikazu's “gift” became more and more of a burden, his brother never looked at him strangely or treated him any differently. He was a truly good and honorable soul, and it gave Norikazu great pride to call him brother.

The prophet's smile quickly faded as he watched Mitori change. Time passed, and Mitori changed. He fell to the ground, writhing with a sickness that Norikazu recognized even through the mists. It was the same illness that had brought him low as a child. The mists had first come when he had been lost to that fever, and when he came back, he was never the same. They mists had taken something from him, something he had never been able to reclaim. Norikazu's horror grew as he watched his brother sicken and die, unable to defeat the illness as the prophet had so many years ago.

For the first time since becoming the Oracle of Fire, Norikazu felt true fear. He surely would not have survived if not for his brother's constant support and friendship. And what reward was Mitori to receive for this? Death. Pointless, ignominious death.

There was only one means by which Mitori could be saved, but it would mean the ultimate sacrifice for Norikazu. Not death, of course. He had long ago accepted such a possibility. It was inevitable, and perhaps even welcome. He had suffered long enough. No, the price was to change destiny itself, a feat no mortal man, even one with the power of a dragon, should dare undertake lightly. What would become of his soul if he did this?

He did not care.

Norikazu awoke with a start. The mists were still present, but different. For once, he had viewed not the present but the past. And for once, his visions brought him great relief, not regret. He was in the Realm of Thwarted Destiny once more, but now that he had returned the landscape seemed somehow more solid, more real.

The prophet rose and wandered into the mists, seeking his comrades.

Legions – Destinies
Hida Sukune

He knew this place.

This was Beiden Pass.

“No,” Hida Sukune said, shaking his head as he tried to clear his vision. “This has already happened. I have already been here… I have already died here…”

He was roughly shoved aside as a band of large Crab samurai charged past him, bearing a wounded kinsman. The sounds of Unicorn battle horns drew nearer by the moment, as well as the wild cries of Toturi's ronin soldiers. Sukune knew that he must act swiftly or the battle would be lost.

What must he do?

He struggled to gain the attention of his lieutenants, but they were ignoring him now, speaking rapidly among themselves. They bore little personal loyalty to him. They served his brother, and shared Yakamo's disdainful opinion of Kisada's youngest son. He could see a weakness, a flaw in Toturi's plan, but they did not care. He was young, inexperienced… This battle had never truly been his to fight.

“But this battle has already been lost,” Sukune whispered. Something tugged at the edge of memory, something wrong. He stared blankly into the surging tides of combat, Crab facing Unicorn, Dragon, and Ronin as he struggled to remember the truth.

“The battle goes poorly, Sukune-san,” said an oily voice. “Your father will not be pleased.”

Sukune turned to face the one who spoke. He was a small, thin man, face painted in garish white. For a moment, his visage flickered, replaced with a hideous mask of stitched flesh and exposed bone. For a brief instant everything around Sukune seemed transparent and surreal again. “You can no longer succeed here, Sukune, but I can,” Kuni Yori said. “I will require your help. What are you prepared to sacrifice for the Crab?”

Sukune looked into the shugenja's eyes and drew back at the madness he saw reflected there. This was the man who had brokered his clan's alliance to the Shadowlands, the only man other than the Great Bear that Sukune truly feared. Yet his father trusted Yori above all others. How could Sukune deny him?

Sukune felt a sharp pain in his arm. He looked down and thought he saw light shining through a savage wound in his wrist. Then the wound was gone.

“You must decide quickly, Sukune,” Yori said.

“What do you want?” Sukune asked.

“Your life,” Yori said, “Your sacrifice will strengthen our alliance with the darkness, and secure the future of the Crab. Is that not what you desire?”

Sukune's eyes moved past Yori, to the wounded men who had marched past him before. One lay back as his fellows lashed a splint to his shattered arm. His eyes were focused on the battle from which he had retreated, ready to charge in again when his wounds were treated. He held a dai tsuchi in one hand. There was no fear.

“We will fight, Yori,” Sukune said, turning his back to the shugenja, “but we do not need the sort of help you offer.”

“So be it,” the shugenja said in a bitter voice.

This time Sukune did not flinch when he heard Yori's dagger come free of its sheath. He did not scream when the blade drove into his back. He only accepted his fate; once again he had not failed his duty. His soul had not gone willingly to the darkness.

Yori would ultimately fail.

And then he stood on the plains of Thwarted Destiny again. The world became more real as he watched, formed by the souls of those who had been called here. He saw a few of his comrades had also escaped their visions, and when they saw him they lifted their swords in salute.

“What will happen here, Sukune-sama?” one asked. “Will we find victory in this strange place?”

“The only true victory is to meet one's fate with honor and courage,” the Shadow Samurai replied. “In such a conflict, how can we be defeated?”

Legions – Destinies
Hida Kuroda

The Mortal Realm…

On the Plains Above Evil, a lone figure sat upon what might have been a horse. It no natural creature, woven from dead matter and seething darkness, as was the massive warrior that sat astride its saddle. Behind him stretched a vast camp, a gathering of samurai under the banner of the Dark Lord. The warrior's dead eyes fixed upon the distant south, toward the lands of the Crab.

“Kyofu,” said a hollow voice within his mind.

“That is not my name,” the warrior replied.

“It is what they call you,” the voice answered. “Of late it is how you have come to think of yourself, is it not? I have watched you. I have seen how you relish the terror of your enemies, how you feed upon it, let it give you strength. I have given you your freedom, yet you choose to be the Onisu of Fear, Kyofu.”

“Do not mock me, Fortune of Death!” the warrior snarled, glancing around sharply to insure none of his soldiers could see his outburst. “I am Hida Kuroda, and one day I will be free of this demonic body.”

“Only if you serve me,” Emma-O replied.

“You already have my promise,” Kuroda said in a low voice. “What more do you want from me?”

“I ask only that you continue on this path,” Emma-O said. “Keep the Dark Lord Daigotsu alive, so that he may suffer the weakness and humiliation of his uncorrupted body. Destroy this upstart Iuchiban who seeks to usurp the balance between the Realms.”

“And what awaits me when I have done all that you desire?” Kuroda asked. “Will I return to life? Or will I wander your grey realm?”

“I may leave that choice to you,” Emma-O said in a toneless voice. “I wonder if you would wish to live again, if given the choice, after all the failures that have been heaped upon your name.”

Kuroda sneered. “Why do you mock me, Fortune?”

“I do not mock,” the Fortune said, “I only wish you to realize the reality of your situation… and I bring a warning. Many Fortunes and ancestors recently vanished from the Spirit Realms, including the Fortune of Heroes. These souls had been assembling a Legion of the Dead. It was their intent to battle Iuchiban in the realms beyond. He has done something to silence them… or perhaps destroy them.”

“The Bloodspeakers have been more active around Volturnum of late,” Kuroda said. “If Iuchiban is extending his influence to other Spirit Realms… that can be no coincidence.”

“Bah,” the Fortune said. “There is no more power in Oblivion's Gate.”

Kuroda frowned thoughtfully. “There is one among Daigotsu's followers who is not so certain.”

“Then deal with it,” Emma-O said sharply.

The fallen Crab Champion only bowed his head in acknowledgment. He sensed the Fortune's presence vanish as swiftly as it had come.

Turning his demon steed back toward the demon's camp, he began to search for the poet.

Legions - Destinies
Matsu Imura

Imura's little sister ran ahead through the grass, her laughter bright and clear in the open plains. The only other sound that could be heard was the whispering of the long, soft grass as it danced in the wind. As Imura watched, his sister cast aside the stick she carried and turned a sudden cartwheel through the grass, shrieking in delight as the long stalks tickled her face. Imura grinned broadly. He was only a few years past his gempukku, and he could still remember the simple joys he had once felt in such simple pursuits. One sidelong glance at his elder brother, however, and his smile faded somewhat.

Matsu Kisaru had always been stern, even when he and Imura had been children. He had always longed to be older, to accept the full responsibilities of a samurai. Now that he had served in the Lion armies for many years, he was even more somber in Imura's opinion. There were times when it seemed he might finally relax, but they never bore fruit. “Sakura,” Kisaru said sharply. “Stop that nonsense. Your noise can be heard for miles. You are a Lion.”

“It matters little,” Imura heard himself say. “There is no one about for miles. We are far from any enemy border.” He could not recall ever speaking so to his elder brother, and was somewhat taken aback by his words. Sakura glanced at him as well, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Now, now, grandchildren,” the venerable Kitsu Sashiro offered. “Let us not be disagreeable on this most fine day.” Their grandfather was an old samurai, respected by all in his family and clan for his sensible, practical wisdom. “Kisaru, you cannot expect young Sakura to hold the same severe outlook that you do. She is yet a child.” He turned to Imura. “And you must not hold Kisaru's severity against him. He is, after all, incapable of turning cartwheels in his armor.”

All three siblings were quiet for a moment, then Sakura burst into laughter and fell backwards into the grass, flapping her arms and giggling. Impossibly, Kisaru's mouth curled up in a slight smile. “Is that so, grandfather?” he said to Imura, “A Lion samurai never turns down such a challenge…”

Imura smiled, but as he laughed at the sight of his brother and sister playing in the tall grass, he sensed something was terribly wrong. Imura could sense the tension from his grandfather first. His little sister's fearful cry was like a physical blow. Imura did not know what drove him to move between his family and the huge cat lurking in the bushes, or what he would do to save his family from the predator. He only did what he knew what he must do.

As the cat regarded Imura warily, something warred deep within the young samurai's soul. His instincts cried out for him to approach, to connect with the thing that was part of him. His training, however, screamed at him to defend his family with his life, if necessary. Imura weighed his blade in his hand, attempting to decide what course to embrace. He wished to reach out to the creature, welcome it in peace, but his warrior training screamed against it. To do such a thing was foolhardy… it was not what his brother would have done.

Matsu Imura drew his blade, shouted, and charged the lion that lurked before him. As he struck the creature with his blade, he knew that he had done something terribly wrong. His brother, sister, and grandfather shattered like glass and were carried away on the wind. A pool of black blood expanded from the slaughtered lion, causing the grass around him to blacken, wither, and die. Imura saw armies of the dead appear from the mountains and march across the plains, destroying his family home. He could do nothing to stop them… there were too few…

Something had gone horribly wrong. This was not his destiny.

Imura awoke suddenly. He found himself lying amid the grey grasses that populated the vast, empty plains of this place, this blossoming realm of both death and creation. The mists swirled faster about him, and he felt strangely weak, as if they were feeding upon strength. Imura felt as if part of his soul had been torn away. His sword lay in the grass nearby.

Imura looked up and saw his fellow Lion, the samurai who had called himself Ijiasu, standing nearby. The grave look in his comrade's eyes said that he knew exactly what had happened.

“That was not the way things happened,” Imura said. “The pride… they became my friends. My father's castle still stands…”

“This place judges each of us, Imura-san,” Ijiasu said. “Do not let its visions defeat you. We must fight on.”

“But I have failed, Ijiasu,” Imura said.

“Only if you cease to fight,” Ijiasu said, taking Imura's sword from the grass and offering it to his fellow Lion.

Imura bowed his head, nearly overcome with sorrow. He looked up slowly and took the sword in one hand. He felt stronger as he accepted it. Rising to his feet, he followed Ijiasu into the mists and rejoined the Legion of the Dead.

Legions – Destinies
Asahina Dorai

The libraries were dark and empty tonight. Only a single lantern burned in a forgotten corner of the cavernous chambers. A shugenja of perhaps fifteen years hunched over a low table covered with dusty scrolls, poring over the mysteries locked within. His brow furrowed as he studied the ancient writings of his Asahina ancestors.

“What are you reading, Dorai?” asked a deep voice from the shadows.
He looked up, surprised to be disturbed in his studies. A small, old man in a pale brown kimono stood at the edge of the lantern's light, long white hair hanging loose about his shoulders. He smiled faintly at Dorai, though his eyes remained cold and distant.

“I am reading an obscure recounting of Isawa Asahina's life,” Dorai said.

“Oh?” the old man replied. “Perhaps you could tell me his tale.”

“Of course,” Dorai answered, “Asahina was a warrior-shugenja of the Phoenix Clan. He fought the Lion, but when the Crane forged a treaty between the Lion and Phoenix, he was furious. He went on a rampage through the peasant villages of Crane territory, until a Crane samurai-ko rode out to face him. She lifted no weapon against him and made no move to fight him as he tore her apart with his magic. At the brink of death, he was so touched by her refusal to fight, so filled with shame at how he would have destroyed this honorable, innocent woman, that he stayed his hand. He forswore violence and abandoned his clan, joining the Crane and founding the Asahina family. The samurai-ko became his wife.”

“What a curious story,” the old man said.

“Too curious,” Dorai said with a frown. “If this man hated the Lion so, why did he attack the Crane? Why not ignore their treaty if he despised it so and continue his crusade? If he truly destroyed so many Crane villages why did the sacrifice of one Crane samurai stay his hand? Surely he must have murdered many innocents before with no shred of remorse. Further, why abandon the Phoenix? Even in those times they embraced the way of peace more than any other clan. Surely he could have found many monasteries in their lands that would have accepted him. And finally, why would the Crane have taken him in, much less granted him a family name, after murdering so many of them in such a dishonorable fashion?”

“History moves in strange ways,” the old man said. “I would be surprised if the tale was untrue, though I would wager there is more to the story.”

“That is not good enough,” Dorai said. “I come here seeking every version of the story I can, seeking the truth… as you said, there must be more… The others, they are content to believe that which they are told.”

“And you are not,” the old man answered with a chuckle. “You question that which is unquestionable. That makes you wiser than the rest.”

“Wiser?” Dorai asked. “I am wise because I question? I would think a wise man would know the answers already.”

“You would be wrong,” the old man said, “but perhaps I could help you find some of the answers you seek.”

Dorai looked up at the old man in sudden interest.

“Do you know who I am, Dorai?” the man asked.

Dorai knew that the old man was a guest in the temple. He was a visitor from Lion lands - Akodo Kage, the revered sensei. But even as Dorai opened his mouth to answer, he paused. No. That was not the truth.

“You are no one,” Dorai said, and a shudder seemed to pass through the very fiber of the world.

The old man scowled. “Show some respect, boy,” he said. “I am Akodo Kage.”

“No,” Dorai said. “Kage is dead. This happened long ago. You are not my Master.” The young shugenja stood, looking at the library around him with wide eyes. The scroll fell from his hand, evaporating into dust before it struck the floor. Suddenly the many shelves of thick scrolls seemed somehow transparent, less real, with each moment.

“This is not what was intended, Dorai,” Kage said, voice shrill and angry. “You were to choose. Choose your destiny, or choose the path you denied in life. There is no other way.”

“I do not know what you are, ghost, but you are not Akodo Kage,” Dorai said in a low voice. “Haunt me no more. Cobble your reality from the destinies and memories of the others if you will, but a Kolat will not be your pawn, for good or ill.”

“You have made a grave mistake, Crane,” the vision that was Kage replied as he faded away.

As Asahina Dorai found himself alone on the Plains of Thwarted Destiny, he wondered if the vision had spoken the truth.

Legions – Destinies
Matsu Daoquan

Darkness was everywhere. This deep within the Shadowlands; it was as if a shroud had been cast over the sun. Here, it was never brighter than dusk on a summer evening, with long shadows cast in every direction. Here, the shadows came alive with murderous, horrifying intent. Daoquan marched at the head of a Lion squadron in service to the Oni Lord Akuma. The misery in this place was as a symphony to their master, and in turn they reveled in it as well.

Daoquan cut down another enemy. Once, he had kept count of the foes he killed, but he had lost count days ago. It mattered little, for there were always more to take the place of the fallen. There was no end to death. Daoquan pulled his blade free of his most recent enemy, but then stopped as a strange sensation blossomed within him.

It was Goemon. His brother.

Daoquan shook his head and ripped the blade free. No, it was not Goemon. How could it be? This was another Crane, a Kakita by the look of him. How could it have been Goemon? More importantly, why would he care if his cursed brother was finally dead? Had he not wished for that very thing many times?

Daoquan slowed to a stop as the others marched past him into the battle. He continued to stare at the dead Crane. In that second of confusion, he had felt regret and despair. Regret at the idea of killing his own flesh and blood, and despair that the one person in the world who truly loved and respected him was now dead. Was all his hatred, all the inner fire that had driven his actions over the past year… a lie?

There was a great roaring sound from behind the corrupted Lion line. Daoquan fell into a defensive stance in less than a second, scanning all around him for an enemy. Instead, he saw Akuma, the most powerful and fearsome being he had ever encountered, roaring in pain as it was attacked. To his horror, Daoquan recognized its attacker: Okura, the beast born of Akuma and Kitsu Okura's magic. The two creatures roared at one another in the primal language of all oni, and Daoquan could comprehend just enough to know that Okura was turning against her father not simply for betrayal, but for the sake of honor.

Daoquan stood dumbfounded. Okura stood to inherit incredible power and influence if she but stood beside her father. Together, they would be an almost unstoppable force that the Great Clans could not hope to stand against. Yet she was throwing it all away for honor, for something so strangely… human.

Indecision raged in Daoquan's heart. He could aid Akuma. If he did so, he would almost certainly die, but his survival would mean great reward in Jigoku. Or… he could admit his error, and let Okura destroy his demonic master. His hatred of his brother was sham… a misplaced lie that he had constructed to explain his personal failures. He had become a dishonorable beast, a thing beyond redemption. Now, perhaps, he could find some measure of redemption… all that he need do was nothing at all. He clenched the hilt of his blade tighter and ground his teeth against the warring impulses in his heart.

The shadows sprang to life all around Okura and moved against her, uniting with Akuma to destroy the upstart oni. Perhaps things were not so simple as he believed. Daoquan's decision was made. He held his blade aloft and screamed for the other Lion to follow him. Then he charged the darkness, ignoring the pain as the flesh was torn from his body, drawing on all the supernatural strength the Shadowlands had given him to lay his demonic masters low...

“Awaken, brother.”

Daoquan suddenly came to his senses. He was wandering the lost paths near the foothills of a vast mountain range. He had no memory of coming to this place, and beside him stood his brother, Goemon. He looked down at Daoquan with an expression he had never seen his brother look upon him with before – pride.

“What is this place?” Daoquan asked.

“This is a place where destinies are decided, true or false,” Goemon replied. He gestured to the other figures standing behind him. “Join us, my brother. You have triumphed here, but there is much yet to do if we are to put things right once more.”

Daoquan nodded and picked up his blade.

 

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