For as long as the samurai of Rokugan have despised the Shadowlands, the Nezumi people have hated the denizens of that dark region even longer. Once, the Nezumi people thrived, masters of a vast empire that spanned the lands south of Rokugan. The fall of a dark god, the fallen Kami Fu Leng, crushed their greatest city beneath his heavenly form as he plummeted from Tengoku, tearing open a wound in the earth that has never healed. Since that day, the Nezumi people have been scattered to the four winds, constantly battling the specters of starvation and plague.

D'gr'n-ki is a warrior with a passion for vengeance. His people, the Stained Paw tribe, were deceived by the wicked Tsuno into serving Daigotsu. It was only through the sacrifice of other tribes, standing shoulder to shoulder as the One Tribe, that the Stained Paw were freed from their delusions and servitude. D’gr’n-ki feels a burning shame at the role his people played in the Shadowlands’ attempt to destroy the One Tribe, and he will not rest there is punishment. Other Nezumi look to him with pity, for it is a terrible thing for a Nezumi warrior to be so consumed with bloodlust.

Daigotsu Fumiaki is a pious man. In another life, perhaps he could have been a priest or a monk. Instead, he stands among the Lost, and his devotion is only to Fu Leng. In his zeal, he finds the Nezumi an abomination. Their invulnerability to his lord’s touch is anathema to this fallen samurai, and he will see them hunted to extinction before he endures the insult of it all for one more moment.

The bushes did not move even slightly as the warrior moved through them. He was like a spirit, a dream that disappeared as you first came awake. He moved ever so slowly, approaching his foe from downwind. He could see movement in the clearing ahead, but was not yet close enough for a good look at his prey. There was fur and blood on the stone, that much he could make out, and so he continued to draw closer, ever closer, until he was within range of his target.

D'gr'n-ki exploded from the twisted shrubbery like a demon, teeth, claws, and a knife of bone bared against his target. The human looked up in surprise, bringing its bloodied blade to bear, but not fast enough. D'gr'n-ki crashed into his prey with a malevolent fury, tearing at his face and throat with his blade and claws and sinking his teeth deep into the meat of his sword arm.

Daigotsu Fumiaki screamed in pain and surprise. Blood splashed wetly across the sun-scorched stone, and his blade fell away from his ruined right hand. One of the beast’s claws tore out his left eye, eliciting another shriek, although this one was filled with rage more so than pain. Fumiaki threw himself onto the ground, rolling to keep the Nezumi’s blade from his throat. The creature grunted in pain as it was smashed against the rocks repeatedly, but it did not release its death grip. It tore at Fumiaki’s flesh again and again, causing blood to stain the stone and the Nezumi corpse that the Lost samurai had been skinning when D'gr'n-ki attacked.

“Die!” D'gr'n-ki hissed in broken Rokugani.

“What manner of demon are you?” Fumiaki spat in return. Surely this was no simple Nezumi. He had killed countless specimens, and never experienced such ferocity. If he could not dislodge the beast, he would surely die in a matter of moments.

With strength borne of desperation, Fumiaki broke free from his opponent, snarling in pain as yet more of his flesh was torn away. He circled the beast, watching its eyes and whiskers as it sought the perfect moment to pounce and end his life. The second seemed to stretch into hours, and the red haze around Fumiaki’s vision threatened to overwhelm him. Finally, sensing his unsteadiness, D'gr'n-ki leaped at him, mouth open for the killing blow.

The samurai gave in to his unsteadiness and fell backwards kicking up feebly with all the strength he had remaining. It was little more than a glancing blow against the Nezumi, but it was sufficient. The creature was diverted from its intended path and crashed into a boulder, stunning it. Fumiaki rushed forward with all the speed he could muster, dropping his shoulder and hurling his entire weight into the furred form. Both warriors staggered and fell, but Fumiaki was ready. He grabbed the boulder and clung desperately to it, while D'gr'n-ki had no such purchase. With a growl of thwarted rage, the creature disappeared over the cliff into the empty air below.

Fumiaki had only the briefest moment to exult in his victory, then he staggered and dropped to one knee. He grimace as the sheer volume of blackened blood seeping from his wounds, knowing that their magnitude would lead to further corruption of his flesh and, as a result, a gradual loss of self-control. He would be more powerful, yes, but less himself. It was a fate Fumiaki was willing to embrace in Fu Leng’s name. He staggered to his feet, pushing aside the pain and dizziness, and walked to the cliff’s edge. Peering over, he saw the shattered form of his enemy far below. He had known what he would see, but felt a strange compulsion to make certain. The Nezumi had proven more resilient than he had imagined.

“Godless creature,” Fumiaki spat over the edge. “For all your rage and your physical prowess, you believe in nothing. And that is why you will fall, just as will all your kind, and the demons that plague my lord Daigotsu.” He turned and retrieved his fallen weapon and began limping back toward the City of the Lost.

It would be some time before he hunted again, he thought.