"Good morning! I'm Chobu," the big man said, smiling as he set his chips and sixpack on the counter, "Do you love the Emperor?"

"I'm sorry?" the teenage clerk replied, laughing.

Chobu pulled a shotgun out of his thick coat, pointing it in the clerk's face. "Just answer the question," he said.

The clerk's eyes went wide and he quickly held up his hands in surrender.

"Hey!" Chobu said with mock anger, "I asked you a question." An old gentleman in a suit and topcoat rounded the corner with a box of cheesy nachos in his hand. He looked up at Chobu and froze.

"Good morning," Chobu said, nodding to the man, "I'll be done checking out in just a second here."

The old man screamed and fell to the floor with his hands over his head. Chips and cheese scattered all about him.

Chobu shrugged and turned back to the clerk. "Anyway," he said, "Do you love the Emperor? Kenji?" Chobu read the clerk's name directly off his name badge.

"Um-ah-um," the clerk stuttered nervously, his eyes frozen on the jagged barrel of the gun. It was close enough to his face that he could see that it had been recently and crudely sawn off.

"Maybe it's a difficult question," he said, gently poking Kenji in the chest with the barrel, "Yoritomo the Sixth. Son of Storms. The big guy with the goofy helmet and the lightning and all that crap. Do you love him, Kenji? I mean in a subject-emperor kind of way, not in a Crane sort of way."

The old man looked up, his face contorted in fear. "That's Ichiro Chobu!" he said to the clerk, "The one from the news!"

"That's right, I'm famous," Chobu grinned, nodding to the old man and smiling. The old man yelped and covered his head again. Chobu stroked his beard with his free hand and scowled at the clerk again. "So are you a patriot? That's what I'm asking, really. Here's a hint. The Imperial Guard is after me for complicity in an attempted regicide. Do you love the Emperor?"

"N-n-no," the clerk said.

"Good!" Chobu explained, banging a fist loudly on the counter so that the rack of breath mints rattled. "I don't like him either, Kenji! Now what do we do about it?"

"What's all the yelling and banging about up--" a plump little woman in a store uniform came around the end of the aisle and stopped dead when she saw the spectacle at the front of the store. She started shrieking at the top of her lungs.

"Hey!" Chobu shouted. He pointed the shotgun at her and fired, detonating the slush machine behind her left shoulder. Blue and red colored ice drink sprayed in a fountain about her and she fainted dead away.

"Thank you," Chobu said to her, resting the smoking gun across his shoulder, "I swear you can't hold a decent political conversation around some people."

Kenji the clerk was more frightened than he'd ever been in his life. He wondered vaguely if he could press the alarm switch under the counter while Chobu was talking to his unconscious manager.

"Where were we?" the big man said suddenly, turning and putting the shotgun back in the clerk's face.

"Th-the Emperor," Kenji mumbled.

Chobu snapped his fingers loudly. "Right! Thanks. You're a good clerk, you know that, Kenji? That's how you get repeat business, Kenji. It's just that sort of customer service."

Kenji smiled weakly.

"Anyway," Chobu went on, "I figured since the Emperor's such a nut and all, having declared war on the whole world and everything, it couldn't hurt much to declare war on him right back, right? Am I right?"

The clerk shrugged.

"Right, good," Chobu snatched a handful of rolls of breath mints from the rack next to the register. "Since you hate the Emperor and I hate the Emperor, I say we join forces. The New World Order. The Chobu World Order. I'm the President and you're the Treasurer. How's that." He pulled a mint off the end of one wrapped roll with his teeth and pocketed the rest.

Kenji hesitated, thinking of the secret alarm button near his foot. This man was such a maniac, he might not notice if he just slipped over and...

Instantly, Chobu's eyes became flint, he cocked the shotgun, and the barrel was buried against Kenji's throat. "Okay?" he repeated, his voice deadly serious.

"Okay," Kenji whispered.

"Hmmm... second thought, maybe you're not such a good treasurer," Chobu said thoughtfully, "You'd better empty out the treasury and hand it over to me for safekeeping." Chobu nodded to the cash register as he took a crumpled plastic bag from his pocket and tossed it on the table.

The clerk quickly obeyed, emptying the register into the bag. He reached for the stack of twenty hyakurai bills on the far left of the drawer, and Chobu suddenly bashed his hand with the barrel of the gun, cutting his fingers deeply.

"You can just keep those," he said, his eyes dark and unforgiving.

Kenji nodded rapidly, handing Chobu the bag of money with his uninjured hand. The extra stack of twenties had been a decoy, set to trip an alarm when taken from the drawer. How had the man known they were there? Chobu frowned and snatched the bag away from him.

"Oh yeah. How much for these?" he asked, nodding at the beer and chips on the counter.

"N-n-nine hyakurai," the clerk replied, glancing from the groceries to Chobu uncertainly.

The big man's jaw dropped. "For beer and chips?" He lowered the shotgun. "That's it. I'm not shopping here anymore." Chobu snapped a ten hyakurai bill from the bag of stolen cash and flipped it onto the counter. "Keep the change," he said.

In the distance, sirens began to approach, drawn by the gunfire and screaming. Chobu cocked his head, listening, a sly smile on his face.

"I guess I should go now," he said. He raised a hand palm out to the clerk and made a big fist. "Struggle on, Brother Kenji. The time of our deliverance is nigh. Down with the Man." The big man laughed as he calmly stuffed his beer and chips into the money bag and strolled outside, shotgun resting over his shoulder, boots crunching and squeaking on spilled chips and slush.

The automatic door swished shut and Kenji began hitting every alarm button he could find.

The Otosan Uchi Museum of Natural History was one of the great wonders of the modern world. After the terrible destructive forces of Oni Lord Akuma unleashed themselves upon Rokugan a century ago, few records and fewer artifacts remained of the Diamond Empire's once proud history. Most of those relics that did remain were placed here, in a wondrous five story pagoda-style building in the heart of the city.

The museum had not opened yet, but Doji Kamiko stood in the center of the third floor, calmly regarding a beautiful silver katana driven into an anvil of pure jade. The curator knew her well, knew her father's contributions to the arts even better, and allowed her to come by and browse the museum whenever she wished.

"Yashin," said a voice behind her.

Kamiko whirled around, unaware there was anyone else in the room. Daidoji Maseto stepped into the room and bowed low, balancing his daisho and holster as he did so. His shaven head gleamed in the room's track lighting as he held the bow for several moments.

"My apologies if I startled you, Kamiko-chan," he said tonelessly, "Your father was worried, and he thought I'd find you here." Maseto was her new yojimbo, a man of medium height, average build, and completely ordinary appearance. He seemed loyal and obedient enough, but there was something about the man. His eyes. Something wasn't quite right. Kamiko did not like him.

"Yashin, or Ambition," Maseto continued, striding forward and pointing up at the sword, "The mystical blade wielded by Doji Chomei during the final battles of the Shadow Wars." He stared at the blade for several moments, standing a respectful distance from Kamiko. "One of the finest Kakita blades ever forged, mistress. The name of the swordsmith, the artist that forged it has sadly been lost to the ages."

"Chomei," Kamiko repeated, "My grandfather's grandfather." She was well aware of the sword's origin. She always seemed somewhat drawn to it when she visited the museum, and at least passed by for a glance every time she came even if it was out of her way.

"Chomei was Emerald Champion, no?" Maseto asked, "Yes of course, all of your father's ancestors between himself and Chomei were Champion. And I suppose, with your skill in dueling that one day you will be--"

"No," Kamiko replied bitterly, "I won't be. Father has decided that is the destiny of my cousin, Kamoto."

"A shame to end a proud legacy, no?" Maseto said.

Kamiko stepped away, threw herself onto one of the overstuffed armchairs that faced the sword and straightened her skirt. It was true she was the Champion's only child, and that her overprotective father had no intention of grooming her for the position. But in his defense, the Crane were in a fragile state of affairs politically, out of the Emperor's favor. A Crane Empress would serve them better than a Crane Champion. Still, it irked her. She was no housewife. She didn't see what she could do to change it all, though.

Kamiko thought she heard an odd hum, felt a pulse of heat. She looked at the sword, and for a moment she thought she saw a face in its blade. It wasn't a face at all, she concluded finally, but something was there.

"It's flawed," she said, pointing at Yashin.

"Eh?" Maseto asked, turning from the ancient purple mempo he had been studying.

"Yashin, it's cracked," she said hauling herself out of the chair and stepping over for a closer look. Maseto stood beside her glancing over her shoulder at the blade curiously. "See? There's a crack along the blade, a fine white line," she traced the crack along the sword's glass case, "Almost as if the blade had been broken and then repaired."

"So there is!" Maseto said, impressed, "I have come to visit Yashin many times, and have never seen that. A masterful repair job, but I wonder why anyone would break such a fine weapon? If you will excuse me, Kamiko-chan, but we have much to do today. We should return to Dojicorp before your father grows worried. I shall be waiting out front with the car."

Kamiko was fixated, staring deep into the crack without even realizing it. She was absorbed by the beauty and the power of the sword. Again, she saw a face, a masked face, just for an instant and the shock of it brought her back to her senses. Kamiko headed for the stairs, shaking her head woozily. On impulse, she turned around in the doorway.

She had the eerie feeling that Yashin had been staring back at her.

Akodo Daniri threw himself flat. Barely a millisecond later a car hurtled through the space he had just occupied, flying off the end of the loading ramp. The car screeched on the slick pier and flew off the edge, dropping forty feet to the water below. Daniri rolled back to his feet and slapped the tail of his long trenchcoat back into place.

Four burly men stood in a half circle about him, holding a pipe, chain, butterfly knife, and wooden plank respectively. They kept their distance, eyeing Daniri with caution. The Lion had no weapons, but they'd heard rumors about this guy.

The one with the knife was the first to find his courage. He charged at Daniri with a yell, slashing the air. Daniri dipped to one knee and popped a life preserver into the air, neatly looping it over the man's knife arm. He stumbled, confused, and Daniri was behind him, tugging at the preserver's ropes and looping the ring over his head. The thug struggled blindly, trying to free himself and punch at Daniri at the same time. The Lion hopped backward onto a crate and leaped forward again, kicking the man in the chest with both feet. He grunted loudly and stumbled back into a crate of dead fish.

The other three charged Daniri while he was still getting up from the kick. He planted on one hand and spun, sweeping the first man's legs out from under him. He rolled under the arc of the second thug's wooden bludgeon, darting out with one fist and nailing him in the groin at full momentum. The last one swung his chain overhead, screaming in anger. Daniri grabbed the belt of the man groaning in front of him and pushed him into the chain's path, tangling the chain around both of them and catching the chain's original wielder in the face with the lead weight on the end of the links.

Daniri somersaulted backwards into a stance, knowing none of them would be down for long. The kick he received to his left hip confirmed this. He blocked the second kick with his shin and fell back. His back was getting closer to the end of the dock and the others were getting up. He jutted out with a chop, hacking his opponent along the side of the neck and putting him down again.

Now the other three were rushing him. He punched the first in the chest, but took a blow to the kidney himself and another to the stomach. He kicked out to the side, crunching the knee of the one who kidney punched him He narrowly ducked the pipe and stepped back some more, almost losing his balance at the edge of the pier.

The thugs looked at each other and laughed. They had him now. There was nowhere he could go. He'd been a lot of trouble for them, too much trouble, but this was it. Now he'd get it. Daniri glanced to the left and right. Fishing net on the left. Fourteen foot tall support pole on the right.

The four thugs charged him. Akodo Daniri ducked, snatched the fishing net, and leaped straight up. One foot caught a knob barely visible on the pole. His free hand grabbed a protruding hook and he pushed, jumping again.

The four thugs stared upward in amazement as Daniri landed nimbly on top of the fourteen foot pole. Then he threw the fishnet on them.

They immediately began to struggle and tear their way free, so Daniri discouraged them by jumping on top of them, landing heel first on two of the thugs' backs and backhanding another as they all fell in a pile. Daniri rolled free of the heap, braced his feet against a heavy crate, and pushed. The entire net, thugs and all, rolled off the pier into the sea. Shrieks of surprise and outrage quickly trailed away and ended with a soft splash of water. As an afterthought, Daniri picked up the life preserver and tossed it over after them. Daniri staggered over to a fishing stool and sat down heavily, holding his aching ribs. They'd been broken earlier when the criminal overlord had been torturing him, and his present activity didn't help things.

"Daniri!" shouted an attractive young woman, running to his side. She put her arm around his shoulders and looked down at the blood on his side with concern.

"I'm fine, Misa," he said, "but we have to find your father quick! Before it's too late."

"But that's what I have to tell you!" she wailed, "It's already too late! Look!" She pointed toward the distant skyline of Otosan Uchi.

There was nothing going on there, but they both looked very horrified and astonished.

"Can you stop it?" she asked.

"I must try," he said, gazing off into the distance. He stroked her hair, looked in her eyes, and charged off across the docks. Misa sighed and smiled fondly after him.

"CUT!" Kitsu Ayano shouted, "That's a wrap, everyone!" She stood up from her chair, unmistakable in her golden sunglasses and sequined jacket, embroidered in gold silk with the mon of the Lion on the back. She was a woman in late middle age, but she was still quite handsome, and radiated command and respect. "Daniri, Miki, good work." She lifted her megaphone. "You guys down in the bay were great, too! Good job. Everyone, be at the skyline set at dawn tomorrow. We've got a mecha fight scene next and you know what a pain those are to get right." Everyone groaned in agreement, but the cast and crew exchanged good natured smiles and congratulations with each other after a good day's work.

"Ayano, are you sure we're done?" Daniri asked, his face questioning as he trotted up to his director, "I think I stumbled a little jumping up on the post. I can do better."

"Daniri." Ayano smiled and shook her head. "You did fine. You always do fine. You're such a perfectionist!'

"Just let me try it one more time," he pleaded. Behind him, the utility crane cranked as it lowered to retrieve the car and actors floating in the bay.

"Daniri, the beauty of that scene was that it was all in one take. We don't have the time or the budget to drop another car into Golden Sun Bay. Trust me, it looked great."

Daniri sighed and looked off into the bay.

"Something bothering you, Danjuro?" Ayano asked quietly.

Daniri smiled. Ayano was the only one outside his family that used his real name. She was the only one who knew. "It's just my family," he said, "My brother's gotten himself into a little trouble."

"Anything I can do?" she asked.

Daniri shrugged. He knew it was no idle offer. Kitsu Ayano was one of the most powerful people in Otosan Uchi, and Daniri was her star performer. He shook his head in refusal anyway. He didn't want to get her wrapped up in his own private troubles. He owed her too much. She was as much a mother to him as Gemmei, more so in some ways.

Ayano watched him for a moment, staring at his troubled brown eyes. "I know that look, Danjuro," she said ruefully, "and I can guess what you're up to. I also know I can't stop you. But be careful. I can get a new superstar, but I'd prefer if I didn't have to."

"Yes ma'am," he said, grinning. She shook her head in exasperation and walked off to her trailer.

Daniri turned around, on impulse and startled the young girl walking up behind him. She was cute and petite, her black hair hung in braids and she wore blue jeans, a red t-shirt, and boots. The look was so incongruous on her that it took Daniri a moment to recognize the geisha who had accompanied him to Dojicorp eight days ago.

"Kochiyo!" he laughed happily, skipping the bow and embracing the girl. He pulled back and looked at her face. "What are you doing here? Why are you dressed like that?"

She pouted. "Don't laugh at me," she chided, lightly, "I'm on my own time, and this is how I like to dress. I bet you don't wear that stupid leather trenchcoat seven days a week."

"Yes, I do!" he said, "That's why it smells like this." Actually, Daniri thought, he'd been wearing it less and less lately. The places he'd been frequenting would give you nothing but a bullet in the head for wearing a full length leather trenchcoat.

Kochiyo pulled away and seated herself crosslegged on the ground, picking up the butterfly knife one of the actors had dropped on the pier. She stared around wide eyed at all the cameras, scaffolding, and lights, and at the huge crane lifting the dripping sportscar onto the dock. The other thug actors stood around, cheering at each other and at Daniri as they stood on the docks and dripped. Daniri smiled and waved back to them.

"This is an amazing place," she said, "I've never been on a movie set before."

"It's a television set, actually," he replied, sitting on the stool nearby, "Although Akodo War Machines has a higher budget per episode than most films I've been in. Especially the early ones. Ugh."

Kochiyo smiled and started flipping the knife in one hand, surprisingly nimble with it as she worked the blade in and out of the handle. Daniri noticed that she was markedly more tomboyish than she was at the Emperor's reception. He wasn't sure if he preferred this Kochiyo or the sweet, demure flower that the Scorpions had put on his arm at the party. Either way, he found himself strongly attracted to her, forgetting the problems of his family for a time.

"So why haven't you called me, Daniri?" she teased, turning suddenly to meet his stare.

Daniri coughed. "I never got your number!" he exclaimed. "I guess the assassination attempt and the bullet in my shoulder sort of put a damper on the evening."

"That'll happen," she said dryly, "but a determined man would have found the number." She giggled mischievously.

"Well, I have been busy," Daniri said sadly, thinking of his brother Jiro. "Anyway," he brightened, "I figured you'd come looking for me eventually so I needn't bother."

Her jaw dropped, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Is that so?" she asked, snapping the butterfly knife shut.

Daniri said nothing, just raised his eyebrows and held out a hand to indicate that Kochiyo had, indeed, come looking for him.

Kochiyo rolled her eyes and exhaled, blowing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Are all of you actors this arrogant?" she asked.

"Are all of you geisha this argumentative?" he retorted.

"Yes," she said, "And you'd better let me win this one, I'm armed." She flipped the blade out again and pointed it at Daniri with a grin, then flipped it shut.

"Good point," Daniri admitted with a wry smile. He tossed back his hair and looked out at the bay.

"So what are you doing now?" Kochiyo asked, snapping out the blade again and tracing it along the pier.

"Sitting on a stool and staring at the ocean," Daniri explained.

"No, you goof!" she shot back, flipping the blade closed and throwing it at him. He caught it one handed. "I meant after you leave the set."

"Personal business," Daniri replied vaguely.

Kochiyo's smile fell, just a little. "I understand," she said, the slightest quaver of disappointment in her voice. She stood and brushed off her jeans.

Daniri flipped the knife nimbly in one hand, having learned how to work it by watching Kochiyo. He grasped for something to say. He certainly didn't want her to think he was snubbing her. "Hey, listen," he said as she started to turn away. He stood. "I would like to do something this weekend maybe. Can I call you later?"

"Sure!" she said, smiling brightly again. She turned and quickly left.

Daniri grinned in self congratulation and flipped the knife shut, putting it back in his pocket. It took him a second to realize that once again she had not given him her phone number. Daniri felt bad, hiding the truth like that, but he couldn't tell Kochiyo about his family or Jiro. The secret wasn't his to give. One year ago, Ayano had discovered Daniri, then Genju Danjuro, working at Ujiaki's Super Sushi, a sushi bar in the shadow of the KTSU building. She said that she knew star quality when she saw it, and that Daniri would be the next big sensation or her instincts were shot. She had taken a big risk. He dyed his hair, changed his look, worked out harder then ever until no one but his mother would recognize Daniri from Danjuro. Which was a good thing.

Because Danjuro was not a samurai.

"So what did he do then?" Sachiko asked.

"He called me his treasurer or somethin', then he shot the slush machine," Kenji said with the remarkable calm of a teenager who was about to brag to all his friends that he had been shot at.

"No that was after," the old man argued, "I think he shot the machine first."

"No, he called me treasurer first!" Kenji shot back.

"He shot at me!" the fat manager wailed, still crying.

"Treasurer?" Sachiko asked curiously.

"Yeah," the clerk said, sitting down uncomfortably on the stool behind the counter. "He said he was at war with the Emperor."

Sachiko looked over at Hatsu. The detective was standing by the ruptured slush machine, looking intently at the hole Chobu had blasted in it and the syupy threads of liquid still dripping out. At the Emperor's mention, he looked over.

"Sounds like our man," Sachiko said, "We'd like all three of you to accompany one of our officers to Shinjo Tower so we can get a full description from you, make absolutely sure it was Chobu."

"He said he was Chobu," the old man said, "He said he was famous." The old man chuckled.

"Ichiro Chobu," Hatsu said, slowly advancing and being careful not to get any nacho cheese or slush on his coat, "Is at once the most dangerous and charismatic criminal Rokugan has seen in recent history. He's a prankster and a comedian and what most people don't realize is that he also happens to be a killer, not to mention suspected collaborator in the assassination attempt on Yoritomo the Sixth."

"You'll have to excuse him," Sachiko said teasingly, "He's jealous because Chobu's on the news more often than he is now."

Hatsu stuck his tongue out at Sachiko. He startled himself. He didn't used to do things like that. In the week since he'd picked up Sachiko as a partner he'd found himself doing more and more odd things he'd never done: sticking out his tongue, cracking one-liners, going out after work (even though he promised himself every night that he never would again). He was enjoying his job more and more. He'd always been a good detective, but now he really liked his work. Sachiko provided such a good contrast to work from, presented a charismatic face to suspects that Hatsu knew he didn't have, and was just a great person to talk to, witty and intelligent. He even caught himself beginning to enjoy riding her motorcycle.

A sudden chirping beep emanated from Sachiko's belt. She drew out her cellular phone and clicked it open. "Hello?"

She paused. "Oh? Oh, really. Yes, he's right here. Kitsuki?" She offered the phone to Hatsu.

Hatsu looked at the cellular phone in distaste, afraid he'd break it. He gingerly took it from her. "Who is it?" he whispered.

"Asako Jemonji," she replied, "At Phoenix Mercy Hospital. He said they've finished their analysis of that circuitry Kaiu Toshimo gave them and they were informed to call you immediately as soon as they did."

"Hatsu," the detective said into the phone. Then, helplessly to Sachiko, "How do I?"

"Just press 'Hold', Kitsuki," she laughed.

"Blasted things," he cursed, searching for the button and tapping it. "Hatsu."

"Yes, hello," replied Jemonji. He sounded nervous. "Kitsuki Hatsu? The one from the news?"

"Yes, that's me," he said.

"That circuitry. That - oh, dear, I can't believe this. Let me check the results again. Oh. Oh, Osano-wo..."

"Please, Doctor," Hatsu said reassuringly, "I'm listening."

"It's just that... It's just that I've never seen anything like this."

"Yes, Kaiu Toshimo and Doji Kamiko both said the circuits were very rare," Hatsu confirmed.

"No, no, it's not that," the doctor said, out of breath, "It's... you knew the circuits were tetsukami, right? Technology powered by magic?" There was a hiss of silence as the phone's reception wavered.

"No, but I suspected as much," Hatsu said.

"Well, they're not exactly tetsukami," the doctor paused, his voice crackling with static, "More like, well I guess you'd call them tetsukansen."

"Tetsukansen?" Hatsu replied, strolling toward the front of the store for better reception. It didn't help. Machines just didn't like him.

"Maho," the doctor said, "Black magic. As near as I tell, these circuits cause the person implanted to be possessed by a kansen, a dark spirit. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. The thing nearly got loose before I called you! It was all we could do to banish it back to Jigoku."

"Doctor," Hatsu said firmly, "Remain there. I'll be at the hospital immediately, all right?"

"All... all right," he replied, "This really is a relief, Detective Kitsuki. Maho usually implies cult activity of some sort and you never know what sort of people you're dealing with when... what?" Hatsu could hear some sort of thumping and muddled other voices. "Detective, please hold on." Hatsu got a bad feeling. He gestured for Sachiko. He could hear Jemonji's voice trailing away, shouting at something. Then someone screamed and the phone just went dead.

"Sachiko!" Hatsu shouted, "We have to get to Phoenix Mercy now!"

"Kitsuki," Sachiko replied, her voice full of fear, "You'd better come here and look at the television."

"I am Yoritomo the Sixth, the Diamond Emperor," Yoritomo said, his deep voice echoing like thunder in his insectoid helm. "I am now appearing on every television; my voice resounds on every radio station; my image appears now on every internet connection; and my words are transferred as I speak to every electronic mailing system in the world. Such is the power of Rokugan. You have ignored us. Now you will fear us.

"As the Diamond Empire stretches to all of the lands of Lady Sun, all who hear my voice have no choice but to bow to me as Emperor. I do not do this out of arrogance. I do not do this out of madness. I do not do this out of lust of power. I do this because it is the truth. All that lives owes me fealty as surely as they breathe the air and feel the earth beneath their feet.

"I am the earth. I am the fire. I am the water and the air and I am the void. I am Yoritomo the Sixth and I am your Emperor. In one month, the Bon Festival comes, the day when we honor our dead and salute the living. As a show of faith and testament to my power, you may take this time, a gift of my mercy, to celebrate the Bon Festival as is appropriate. This is all I ask, for the nonce. Celebrate this festival, as all Rokugani must, for your Emperor has ordered it so.

"The alternative is this: war. I am the Diamond Emperor, the Son of Storms, the Bringer of Justice and Death. You do not know our power; you cannot fathom our capabilities. I will break the earth. I will boil the seas. I will poison the air and wreak flames upon you. Bow down before me or bow down before the void.

"That is all."

Oroki stood on top of the ferris wheel, staring down at his world. The bright colors and flashing lights of Bayushi's Labyrinth swirled beneath him, darting through the eternal darkness of the cavern. His world was light and dark, no in-betweens. Justice and death. So dark. He seated himself on the edge of the car and kicked his feet against the metal. It felt good to be up here, almost at the ceiling of the cave itself. It gave him perspective. Maybe if he was lucky, he'd catch a glimpse of whatever had been killing his staff, four more in the last week. Maybe it would kill him too and just settle everything.

So. War. The Emperor had given them all one month to live. His father's response had been typical. Blind obeisance, then a scurrying rush to hoard supplies for the clan's survival. It should not be like that. It should never be like that. A Scorpion's first duty is to the Empire, not the Emperor. Ironically, Saigo's prophecies about the Last Days made a lot of sense now. Apparently Yoritomo was planning to carry out his threat of world war. For a week, everyone had been pretty much hoping he had forgotten. But such was not the case.

"White Scorpion," hissed a voice behind Oroki. The voice was cold and hollow, like icicles scraped across a chalkboard.

Oroki turned around, very slowly and very carefully. Behind him, the darkness churned, and an odd blue crackle formed into eyes.

"White Scorpion," the presence said again, "The White Scorpion rises."

Oroki drew his pistol. "You're it, aren't you? You're the thing that's been killing my people."

The presence chuckled. "Scorpion," it hissed, "Much fear in you, much doubt and hatred. The darkness gives such things power. The others were weak, and there was no use for them. But you.... you could be powerful, powerful indeed." The thing drew closer, became more solid. An insectoid face loomed in the cloud of blue-tinged shadow.

"Are you here to offer me a deal?" he asked.

"Yes," the creature hissed, "Deal, deal, deal..."

"I'm listening," Oroki said.

"We can give you power," it said, forming an arm out of the darkness, then another, "Power to do as you choose, as you desire."

"What would I want with that?" Oroki asked quietly.

"Power to seize the clan," the thing said, a shelled torso rising beneath the head, linking the arms.

"If I wanted the clan, I could have it. True power lies in the shadows, not the throne."

"Power to destroy your enemies," it cackled, two powerful legs weaving from shadow beneath it as it dropped into a squat.

"My enemies are more valuable alive," Oroki replied, "I know their weaknesses."

"Power to stop the war. Power to strike down the Emperor himself?" the beast crackled with blue lightning, its body fully formed as it hunched on the roof of the ferris wheel car. Its claws pinched and tore the metal where it sat.

"I'm listening," Oroki said.

"Yes," the creature said, "This can we offer. Such a little thing to ask..."

"What do you want?" Oroki stepped closer to the creature, grasping the car's supports with one hand.

"Your name..." it whispered, its face inches from Oroki's mask.

"Oh?" Oroki said brightly, "Is that all?"

The creature hunched back a bit, confused by Oroki's change of mood.

"The answer is no," Oroki said and shot it in the face.

The monster screamed as it rolled back across the surface of the car, its claws scrabbling for purchase on the roof. "FOOLISH MORTAL!" it roared, it's eyes blazing, "MERE WEAPONS CANNOT HURT THE TERROR THAT IS AK--"

Oroki didn't hear the rest because by this time he had disengaged the car's supports. Oroki hung from the top of the ferris wheel by one hand and watched as the car lazily plummeted eight hundred feet and pancaked on the ground with a crash of smoke and debris, swallowing the oni in destruction. He thanked Bayushi he'd closed the park early, or he'd have a lot of explaining to do to his customers. He put away his gun and drew a small remote control from his pocket, commanding the ferris wheel to carry him to the ground.

As the machine churned into life, he saw the oni shake free the debris of the wrecked car and scamper for the shadows of the funhouses. It glared up at Oroki hatefully before it vanished.

"Well, my friend," Oroki said, "You have just learned that you are in my world now. I hope you enjoy the ride."

"Hello there, they call me Mojo," he said with a smile, leaning over the counter. The girl had short cropped black hair with just a hint of purple to it, and she wore the tight yellow uniform of the Phoenix Mercy Hospital staff. "Shiba Mojo," he elucidated.

The nurse stopped typing and turned to the young man. "What are you, a peacock?" she asked.

Mojo was dressed in the sleek red plastic armor with twin plume of bright yellow and white feathers trailing down over each shoulder. "It's my new style," he explained, his eyes bright and full of mischief, "Mark my words, all the Shiba will be wearing this in two months. What's your name?"

The nurse smiled despite herself. "Kadiri," she said, turning back to the computer.

"Kadi," he repeated, "That's a pretty name. Have you been working here long, Kadi?"

"Kadiri," she repeated, typing away and trying to ignore him. Mojo kept leaning over the counter and watching her. She looked up at him again. He smirked. "Can I help you in some way, Mojo-san?"

"So formal," he teased, "I thought I'd come over and say hello. I've been spending so much time in the hospital lately, we're almost neighbors."

"Yes, I know," she said, "I've heard about you."

Mojo's eyes widened with mild astonishment. "Oh?" he asked, "What have you heard?"

She narrowed her eyes, catlike. "I heard that you can't keep your katana in it's sheath."

Mojo glanced down at the daisho on his belt and tilted his head with a grin. "Could be a rumor. Um, where did you hear that?" Probably Chie, the girl that worked in the gift shop, Mojo thought.

"I don't have to divulge my sources," Kadiri laughed lightly. She twisted her face in speculation. "You're the Master of Fire's yojimbo, right?"

"I was," he said, his face dropping its mask of cockiness as he turned his gaze to his hands. "He transferred my duties as guardian to his daughter a week before the accident."

"His daughter, Sumi? The young Isawa student?" she asked.

"That's her," Mojo said.

"Are you two dating or something?" Kadiri asked.

Mojo laughed a little. "Sumi? No. That would be improper. Besides, she's only sixteen."

"She seems much older," the nurse said.

"She's very mature for her age," Mojo replied, "She has to be, with what she's going through."

"This must be really hard for you," Kadiri said with sympathy, placing her hand over Mojo's. Her looked up and met her eyes with his own, clear blue and sad. Despite his reputation, Kadiri couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He was even kind of cute in a way, with his sharp little elven face and long black ponytail. He certainly looked good in that form fitting plastic armor.

"Let me know if I can do anything to help," she said.

Mojo nodded, quickly obtained her phone number, and strutted off to the coffee machine as he sung a little song inside. He folded the little scrap of paper and tucked it in his belt pocket with the four others he'd gotten today. The coffee pot blasted stagnant odor in his face as he lifted it, the smell of coffee that had been sitting out all morning. Mojo filled three paper cups, replaced the pot, and carefully balanced the cups in his hands.

When Mojo slipped into the examination room and waited quietly by the door. Sumi smiled at him from her perch on the counter, and he nodded back with a wink.

"Just put the coffee there on the counter and I'll get it," Nitobe said. The doctor turned and aimed the light pen into the Zin's eye again, frowning thoughtfully. He clicked off the light and put it back in the pocket of his long white coat, shaking his head in wonder. Zin sat up straighter in the examining chair, blinking to chase away the dots in her vision.

"So what's the final verdict?" Sumi asked putting one foot up on the counter next to her. Sumi was wearing the bright red silk skirt of an student of the Isawa, though the day's sudden cold had given her reason to add white cotton tights and a turtleneck underneath.

"She's normal," Nitobe said, folding his arms, "It just doesn't make sense. I can't find a thing wrong with her for a human besides her skin pigmentation. As loath as I am to dispute the Master of Earth's opinion, my verdict is that this young lady is no Naga."

Zin rolled her eyes and smiled brightly at the doctor. "You have all the brains of an overturned kappa," she said, in the language of the Naga.

"She speaks the language," Sumi said, fighting off a smile in the corner of her mouth. Zin had taught her a few Naga phrases in the past week and that had been one of them, a particularly demeaning insult.

Nitobe turned to the yojimbo, his eyes questioning, obviously missing the joke.

"Bah," Nitobe as he took his coffee from the counter and sipped. "Any charlatan can pretend to speak Naga. No one's seen a Naga in a century so who's to argue? She must be some kind of mutant." He paused, his face sour. "Hospital coffee. May I reside here another twenty years, I shall never grow accustomed to this swill."

Mojo picked up the remaining two cups and brought them to Sumi and Zin. Sumi thanked him politely and Zin just watched him with her odd silver eyes. She was a very pretty girl, Mojo thought, just a few years older than Sumi. She had a beautiful figure, long black hair tied back, and full red lips. She also happened to have emerald green skin, which had been bewildering the good doctor Asako Nitobe for the past seven days.

Zin had undergone a full battery of physical and psychological tests to determine whether she was truly a Naga, as Asako Ishikint had claimed. Though she spoke the language of the Akasha fluently and had deep green skin, she seemed to otherwise remain stubbornly human. She possessed no ability to shapeshift, no special skill at stealth or affinity with animals, and could absolutely not detect the other Naga or remember what had befallen her before she staggered into Otosan Uchi during a thunderstorm eight days ago.

"So what will I do now?" Zin asked, "Where will I go?"

"If Ishikint wishes to make you his problem then the Most High Rat can very well have you," Nitobe sneered, "As for me, I am sorry but my hospital's resources are strained as it is. The Phoenix can hardly afford to make room for every vagabond that staggers in. We have quite enough problems attending to our own." He gave Sumi a flat look, clearly meaning her father. Sumi's face paled. "Now if you'll excuse me," the doctor said, "I have more important work to attend."

Nitobe turned to leave, nearly falling on his face as he tripped over Mojo's foot, spilling coffee down the front of his coat.

"Clumsy!" Nitobe turned around, ready to swear.

"Sorry," Mojo said tonelessly, drawing himself to his full height and staring down at the doctor, hand resting on the hilt of his katana.

Nitobe turned and left without another word.

"You didn't have to do that," Sumi laughed, her green eyes sparkling. Mojo thought she probably had a crush on him, but then Mojo thought that everyone did.

"Yes he did," Zin said in Rokugani, her syllables clear but awkward, "I do not like that man."

"Nitobe's very overworked," Sumi said, "He's very judgmental, but he's a good doctor. He thinks my father's a drug addict and he has a lot of trouble believing your story."

"Hey. I believe you," Mojo said with a smile, pulling up a chair and sitting next to Zin.

"I don't," Zin said, her eyes cast on the floor. "I do not remember the Akasha, though I know it is there. I do not remember awakening. I do not remember coming here to Otosan Uchi. I did not even know that I was a Naga or that the Akasha existed until Master Ishikint suggested them to me. Now the memory is like a wound that will not heal." She sighed and hopped to her feet, her movements graceful and quick. She glared at Mojo, who had been staring at her legs, and moved to the bathroom, where she could change from the short paper hospital gown back to the clothes Master Ishikint had provided her with.

"Hey, Mojo," Sumi asked, "would it be all right if we visited dad before we left?"

"Of course, Sumi-chan," he said, "I'd be disappointed in you if we didn't." For his own part, Mojo preferred not to see his friend Asa in his current condition. To him, the Master of Fire was a vital, temperamental, lively man and Mojo preferred to remember him that way, not as a lump under a white sheet. Sumi was a more sympathetic person than he was, though, and he understood that. He would just wait in the hallway.

Zin stepped back out of the bathroom, dropping Mojo's jaw. She wore a powder blue kimono, open at the neck and low cut, with a string of small white pearls around her neck. Mojo sincerely hoped that she was indeed human. If she wasn't, he was still intrigued anyway.

But all lustful thoughts vanished as Mojo suddenly had a very bad feeling. From a lifetime of work as a bodyguard, he knew when things didn't quite seem right, so he calmly stepped between Sumi and the doorway just before an explosion rocked the hospital. He caught Sumi by the shoulders as she fell from the counter. Zin was quicker on her feet and managed to stay upright. Glasswares and beakers toppled from the shelves of the examination room, and the plastic skeleton fell to the floor, its skull shattering on the tile. Screams and the smell of smoke trailed from the northern end of the hospital, punctuated by the occasional rumble of collapsing rubble. Fire alarms went off everywhere.

"Daddy!" Sumi yelled, catching her balance and standing on her own.

Mojo cursed his luck. Asa's room was to the north, near the source of the chaos. Now there would be nothing for it but for him to investigate personally. While the yojimbo was coming to this conclusion, Sumi and Zin had already darted from the room in that direction and he had to run to keep up with them.

"Evacuate!" shouted a man in the center of the hallway. Mojo quickly recognized him as Nitobe. The little doctor was flailing his arms about and trying his best to bark orders at the terrified hospital employees and patients that were charging about everywhere. "Stairwells are at the end of this hallway!" he pointed, "Stay away from the elevators! Please, everyone, remain calm! Where do you think you are going?" he hurried after Mojo and the two girls, who were headed against the flow of the crowd and toward the flames.

"I'm going to find my father!" Sumi shouted back.

"Well, this is my hospital!" Nitobe retorted, "I demand to come along! Besides, it seems as if the fires are coming from the laboratory and I have some very sensitive experiments going on up there."

"Then hurry up!" Mojo replied, the three of them hardly slowing to allow Nitobe to join the group.

The smoke rapidly became very thick, and heat radiated on them from the ceiling. Sumi looked up fearfully, realizing the fire was near her father's room. Or in it. Mojo quickly took the point, and his hand flew to his katana as a man lurched from the smoking stairwell ahead of them. His clothes were blackened and smoking, and blood trickled down his face, but he still wore his familiar turban.

"Rashid!" Mojo exclaimed.

"Get back!" he said, gripping Mojo's arms as nearly collapsed in a fit of choking, "The fire is too intense! I could not get to Asa!"

Mojo looked past Rashid to the stairs. He pushed the older man aside and charged at the steps, almost immediately retreating with his arms across his face as a shower of flaming debris plummeted past.

"We can't get past, foolish boy!" Rashid choked, "The flames and smoke are too intense!"

"This is unbelievable!" Nitobe exclaimed, "What sort of maniac would do such a thing to a hospital?"

Sumi took a step away from the group, her eyes distant, her mouth a tight line of concentration. She stepped into the stairwell.

"No, Sumi, don't!" Mojo ordered, lunging forward and reaching for her with one hand. He fell back with a loud cry as the girl suddenly erupted in flames.

"By the gods!" Nitobe exclaimed.

"Sumi!" Mojo shouted. Immediately, his heart plummeted to his stomach. As a yojimbo and as a friend, he'd failed again. First Asa, now Sumi. He cursed his own worthless hide.

"I've never seen such a display of elemental affinity," Rashid said, squinting in the smoke and glare as he tried to get a better look at the girl.

Mojo looked up. Sumi stood in the stairwell still, a halo of flames about her, but her flesh and clothing did not burn. In fact, the fire all about her was drawn to her, into her, and burned away. The smoke and heat similarly was absorbed by her aura of power. She calmly took to the stairs, ascending, leaving her path cold and smoking with canceled flame.

"She's putting out the fire," Zin said, risking a glance deeper into the stairwell.

The flames roared at her approach, as if defying her attempt to contain them. Still, Sumi continued. She wasn't sure exactly how she was doing it, but she did it nonetheless. The fire kami had always seemed protective of her, but never quite to this degree. The protective spirits whirled and screamed around her, striking down the lesser man-made flames of the hospital and sending their spirits into slumber. Even the smoke and fumes of the fire were negated, as Sumi's magical flame burned away their poison and left only pure air. She continued up the steps and onto the next floor.

"Father!" she yelled. The hallway was completely consumed in flames. Behind her, the marble tiles sprang into flame once more, the heat too intense to keep them doused for long. Ahead, the walls were cracked and torn from the force of the explosion. Sumi could just barely see the moon, hanging low in the sky, through the shattered wall and smoke.

"Father!" she cried again, wading further into the hallway. The inferno roared in response, as a thing alive. She turned the corner toward her father's room. She could not even make out the door for the glare of the flames around it. The kami whirled faster and more wildly about her. She thought she could hear Zin and Mojo calling her name somewhere in the distance.

"Father!" she shouted, tears in her eyes as she strode toward the door. It hung partway from its hinges, the wood blackened and petrified by the heat. She turned and stood in the doorway of the room, the kami spinning white hot around her body. The fire roared again. Sumi took a step back as she realized it was not the fire that roared. A large shape, a mottled grey mound of flesh, covered her father's bed in the midst of the flames, tentacles swaying from its body.

"Father?" she whimpered, realizing that it was too late. The thing turned, yellow eyes glinting in the fire, its toothless mouth chewing. For a moment, she felt the heat, as if the kami themselves fell dead in shock at her father's fate. Tentacles writhed from the creature's mass and reached for Sumi.

"NO!" she screamed and the kami exploded all around her. Everything went white hot, then dark. She crawled back to her feet, not even realizing she had fallen, and saw that the inferno was gone. The floor of the hospital was twisted, black and smoking. The kami had hurled her twenty feet from her father's room without harm. Something grabbed her shoulder and she screamed.

"Sumi! It's me!" Mojo said, his face wide in surprise, "Did you do this?" He glanced around at the halls. Not a lick of fire remained.

"By the Seven Thunders!" Nitobe said, calmly striding down the hallway toward them, "I never imagined!"

"Beware," Zin said simply. Her eyes were on the door of Isawa Asa's room.

Four grey-green tentacles latched about the charred frame of the door and heaved. The creature slithered into the hallway, it's mass squeezing and bubbling as it flowed through the narrow door frame.

"This isn't one of your experiments, is it, Nitobe?" Mojo asked, drawing his katana and an odd-looking little pistol.

"I should say not!" the doctor gasped, staring at the monster in horror.

"Maho!" Rashid whispered. He quickly pulled a scroll from his pouch and began the workings of a spell.

"Garegosu no bakemono," Zin said, her silver eyes narrowing.

Faster than seemed possible, the monster lunged toward them, tentacles seeking each of the five. Mojo wrapped his gun arm about Sumi's waist and pulled her away, but at the cost of his own ankles becoming ensnared. He was thrown to the floor. Zin fell back behind a smoking couch and stared at the monster silently.

Nitobe turned and fled, but the creature snatched him by the waist and swatted him against the wall. Rashid leaped backward as he completed his spell and swung a scimitar of pure lighting and wind, severing two of the tentacles before Zin or he could be ensnared. Another tentacle caught the Master of Air across the face like a club, and he stumbled back into a half melted cart of medical supplies. Zin still stared, toying with her necklace with one hand, hoping the beast would not notice her before she was done.

Mojo sat up as the thing dragged him across the floor, firing his little pistol several times at the creature's eyes. It grunted in pain as the Phoenix tetsukami pistol peppered its face in bullets of pure void, tearing ugly scars in its grey flesh and collapsing one yellow eye. In retribution the bakemono whipped the tentacles holding Mojo's feet, cracking his body against the floor. Mojo cursed bitterly and passed out, his gun and sword clattering on the floor as the bakemono drew him toward its mouth.

"No!" Sumi screamed again, trying to summon the kami once more. But the spirits were exhausted, unable to raise more than a faint glow about her body. She pointed one finger and focused what little fire she could gather, sending a thin but bright white beam into the monster's face. It bellowed in anger as the fire took it in the empty eye socket, burning away the remaining flesh there and leaving an empty hole of bone. Another tentacle whipped Sumi across the back, knocking her to her knees.

Zin nodded, satisfied, and stepped forward. Her face was calm, seemingly oblivious of the carnage around her, as she plucked a single pearl from her necklace and held it in her outstretched palm. She whispered three words in a soft, sibilant tongue and the bakemono was suddenly silent, its eye focused on the Naga. All eight tentacles abandoned their current prey and streaked toward her in a last desperate attack, too late. The pearl burst into light, flew from Zin's hand and disappeared into the bakemono's gaping eye.

Another explosion rocked the hallway as the bakemono burst from the inside, splattering the walls, ceiling, and floor with bits of rubbery grey hide that quickly hissed and melted away. The stench of the dead monster hovered in the air, the only remnant of its existence. Zin still stood defiantly in the hallway, her hand held out.

"You killed it!" Nitobe exclaimed, struggling to his feet.

"Amazing!" Rashid added, shrugging off the wreckage of the cart, his hand over a bleeding wound on his right bicep.

Sumi rushed past them both to see to Mojo, who still lay still on the floor. "Mojo!" she said softly, "Are you all right?"

His eyes blinked open and he smirked. "Everything seems to be in order," he said, glancing down at his battered armor, "Though I don't know how I'll ever get this stench out of my clothes."

Sumi laughed lightly, but when she looked at the door to her father's hospital room, she began to cry again. Mojo wasn't sure quite what to do. He felt bad for her, but expressing sympathy wasn't one of his strong suits. Just then a team of firefighters in canvas suits trooped around the corner, looking around everywhere in bewilderment.

"Where is the fire?" one of them asked.

"Apparently extinguished," Nitobe said, "Here, at least. I am Doctor Asako Nitobe, the Chief of Staff at this hospital. If you men could accompany me to the laboratory, I think the explosion originated from there."

"Right away, Doctor Asako," they said.

"If you don't mind, Nitobe-san," Rashid said, his regular calm arrogance returning quickly, "I wound like to accompany you to the lab and see the extent of the damage, perhaps discover the reason for this catastrophe."

"As you will," Nitobe said blandly, walking past him.

Mojo was awkwardly patting Sumi's shoulder and steering her away from the empty hospital room. Zin glanced from the pair to the room and back a few times before understanding. "I am sorry about your father," she said, falling into step beside Sumi, "but I am sure that wherever he is, he is watching over you."

Sumi nodded and sniffed. She knew now where the extra power of the kami had come from, where her burst of energy had originated. Her father had been dead before she'd even started up the steps, and now the Master of Fire watched over his daughter. It was good to know that he was there, though she wished that she could have saved him. "Thank you, Zin," she said, "but how did this happen?"

The Naga was quiet for several moments as they walked back toward the stairs. "This was intentional," she said, "Garegosu no bakemono have never been native to Rokugan, not even in the Shadowlands. They must be summoned."

"How do you know that?" Mojo asked, "I thought your memories were gone."

"They are," she nodded, "They seem to return unexpectedly, without my realizing it. It is like my language. I cannot remember a word until I try to speak it without thinking, and then it is there."

"Who would have done such a thing?" Sumi asked vehemently, the hurt and confusion inside more than she could bear, "Why? In a hospital! Who is so evil?"

Mojo shook his head. "I hope we don't find out," he said.

"I have a feeling," Zin replied, "That we will." The Naga put on a brave show, but inside she was more terrified than Sumi. Her memory had been triggered, incompletely, but still. She knew the creature of fear and death was a sign. She knew she had been awakened and sent here so she would witness it.

The Burning of the Land was approaching.

As soon as was safely possible, the Phoenix snuck away from the questioning policemen, the busy firemen, and the others. The Phoenix grumbled over the turn of events, stepping into a nearby alley and dialing a pocket size cellular phone.

"The air is secured. Speak," said a voice on the other end, distorted to a ghostly whine by electronic scrambling.

"The situation at the Phoenix Mercy has concluded."

"Elucidate."

"The garegosu no bakemono was summoned into the intensive care ward to provide chaos and confusion while the bomb was detonated in the laboratory as planned. The disgraced Isawa Asa was among the first to be consumed, and now a worthy Master of Fire may be chosen. Might I suggest--"

"I have heard your suggestions. I wish you luck in the campaign." The voice chuckled.

The Phoenix did not laugh. "It is not so unreasonable, I think. But that is irrelevant now. All incriminating evidence is confirmed as destroyed. Now no one knows."

"The detective knows," said a voice, "He was called. Now anyone might know. You were sloppy."

"But the information is now third-hand at best, the detective cannot possibly threaten us."

"That is why you live. The detective will be taken care of. Distance yourself from this matter for the nonce."

The Phoenix was chilled at the implied threat, and the nonchalance in which it was delivered. It was not a threat, but a promise. This was a dangerous game to play, but there was no other way. "Another small problem arose which you should be made aware of," the Phoenix said, trying to conceal fear.

"Elucidate."

"The bakemono is dead."

"Just as well. It is of no further use," the voice replied, "but how did it die?"

Killed by the girl Zin, who claims to be a Naga. She wields their pearl magic, so she appears to be what she claims. If the Naga have awakened--"

"Then they are weak with disease and mutation. I doubt one hundred years of hibernation in the Shinomen Forest could have done much for their gene pool. Still, she could be a threat. See that she is killed."

"Consider it done!" the Phoenix said eagerly, "for the Blood of the Phoenix!"

The electronic voice chuckled darkly. "Among other things," it said. The phone went dead. The Phoenix chuckled and went back out into the street to speak with the gathering reporters.

"Greetings, brothers, sisters, and gentle folk. I am Hoshi Jack. I come to you in this time of crisis with a message of peace." The old monk smiled, sunlight beaming behind him over Togashi Mountain. "Consider the egg. Full of life, full of being not yet being. When kept warm and safe, this life blooms into life again and life eternal. Yet the smallest pressure, the smallest strife, can crack this egg and end all potential for growth.

"I pray you, consider the egg. In these times of troubles, please govern with mercy and wisdom." The monk was nearly in tears. "I am a simple man," the monk continued, "With a unique perspective. My mother, like all of you, was Rokugani, a daughter of the Diamond Empire. My father was from Amijdal," the monk smiled wryly, "the 'decadent lands of the west.' I must have spent half my life traveling. Here, there, everywhere. I was quite the hermit before I took up the Tao and made the mountain my home.

"And I tell you this: people are the same everywhere. Everyone deserves the same. Consider this before you act brashly. Consider the egg..."

"Turn that off, Kameru!" Orin cursed, "Religion and dinner don't mix.

"Sorry," Kameru replied, reaching over and snapping off the television at the end of the bar. He looked at his menu for the fifth time.

"Nervous?" Ishihn asked teasingly, taking a drink from his glass of soda.

"She's just a girl," Orin said.

Kameru shrugged.

"I don't see why this is bothering you so much," Orin said, digging into his steak with a vengeance. The waitress appeared nearby, surmised that Kameru was still not ready, and vanished again. Orin chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. "I mean, you weren't this nervous when you were supposed to meet her at Dojicorp last week. Before that deal with the Badger guy."

"That was before I had time to think," Kameru replied, "Marriage is a big commitment. I don't even know this girl. Really, who arranges marriages anymore?"

"Emperors," Ishihn replied, giggling. He took another load of rice on his chopsticks.

Kameru glared at the skinny little man. "Anyway," he continued, "What if I don't have anything in common with her?"

"Kameru, Kameru, Kameru," Orin chuckled, "You just don't know women." He took another piece of bread from the basket. "You're the son of the Emperor, so they has to suck up to you, usually. You don't get to see the way they really are."

"Stupid gaijin," Ishihn mumbled with a grin. Orin glared at him.

"Explain," Kameru demanded.

Orin glanced around to make sure the waitress wasn't nearby, then hunched over the table and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Girls love to test," he said, punctuating each word with a tip of his butter knife, "The more they want you, the more they test. Test, test, test."

"Why?" Kameru asked, sitting bolt upright in shock. What an odd thing for anyone to do! He could hardly imagine Ryosei or his mother doing such a thing.

Ishihn laughed. "I have to agree with Orin here," he said wryly, "But no one knows 'why.' If anyone knew that, it would ruin the whole mystery anyway. Orin, give me some of that bread."

"This is the last piece," Orin whined. Orin was a large Amijdal youth, a little older than Kameru. As a son of the Amijdal Ambassador and close friend to Kameru he was allowed to remain in Otosan Uchi despite Yoritomo's declaration of war, but the Imperial Guard had suddenly become very watchful of the young man.

Ishihn rolled his eyes. "So you meet her tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yeah, her father arranged it for us," Kameru replied, "We're supposed to meet at the Museum of Natural History."

"Why?" Ishihn asked curiously, "What an odd place to go."

"Cranes," Orin replied, "Who can say?"

They both had a good chuckle at that. Kameru was quiet. He didn't know what to do. Between his impending marriage to some girl he'd only heard of and his father's bizarre proclamations of war he didn't have any idea what to do. He pulled the weatherbeaten pamphlet out of his pocket and read it one more time.

"Consider the egg..."

The boy stood on the sidewalk, staring at the television screens in the window as the Emperor's image faded away. A group of other passersby had gathered about him, staring along with him and chattering among themselves in nervous excitement or outright fear. Jiro shouldered his way through the crowd, begged apologies to an old Unicorn merchant he'd shoved into, and jogged off down the street. He didn't know what the Emperor was talking about this time and frankly he didn't care. He stepped into a nearby alley to see what he'd gotten with the old Unicorn's wallet.

"Not bad," said a voice, "I'll bet he didn't even notice."

Jiro looked up, angry not frightened. A tall, whisper-thin man stepped from the shadows, his face concealed behind a black motorcycle helmet. A silver Locust decorated the right sleeve of his coat.

"Locust Clan," Jiro said, amazed.

"That's right," he replied, taking a soundless step forward. "All part of the world tour. Let me tell you, we're about to teach Yoritomo something about being a master of electronics. That stunt with the televisions was nice, but man that's nothing."

Jiro stared at the man. He didn't know quite what to think. The Locust Clan was the ruling gang in most parts of Otosan Uchi. Even outside of their territory, their ruthlessness and their access to tetsukami technology made them so formidable that even the police usually got out of their way. "You really a Locust?" Jiro asked.

The man tilted his head slightly and said nothing. Reaching into his coat, he drew a long, silver rod and pointed it at the traffic, as if it were a weapon. "Pick a car," he said.

"What?"

"A car. Pick one."

"That one," Jiro said, "The Senpet Jackal."

"Good choice," the man said, "I hate imports." The rod hummed.

Traffic screeched and horns blared, and the crash of colliding metal echoed through the alley. The Senpet car had suddenly veered out of control into the path of an oncoming bus. With the slow pace of downtown traffic, no one was seriously hurt but it would be hours before the mess was cleared away and traffic resumed.

"Wow!" Jiro said, amazed.

"Want one?" the man asked, holding up the rod.

Jiro's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are you talking about?"

The Locust chuckled. "That's exactly why I picked you, kid. You're smart. We've been watching you out here the last week. You can take care of yourself pretty well."

Jiro shrugged. "It's a talent," he said.

"Arrogance." He snorted. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"What's your name?"

"Genju Jiro. What's yours?"

"Inago Sekkou," he said, "I'm the Locust Clan talent recruiter."

Jiro laughed. "Well, then I'm the talent. What do we do next?"

"I take you to see Inago," he said, "and he decides whether to initiate you or kill you." Jiro could tell that Sekkou was not kidding.

Sekkou immediately walked off through the alley, away from the accident he had caused. Jiro jogged along after him, trying to keep up. He glanced up at the rooftop of the building as he passed. A man in white stood there, looking down at them. He waved to Jiro, and was gone.

Hatsu stormed into Hisojo's Herbs and Curiosities, the door jingling fiercely as it slammed behind him. His trenchcoat swirled behind him as he strode rapidly toward the stairs.

"Well, you're in a temper," Hisojo said, calmly looking up from his book as he sat behind the counter.

"Horrible day, terrible day," Hatsu said, stalking over to the counter and snatching a ginseng leaf from the bowl. He tossed a few coins back, the heat fading in his face as he chewed on the leaf. "Absolutely worst day," he said, "Chobu still at large. The Emperor's announcement. And to top it off, some maniac set of a bomb in Phoenix Mercy today. What the hell is wrong with people out there these days?"

"I do not know, my boy?" Hisojo said thoughtfully, closing his book on a ribbon and removing his spectacles, "but by the Fortunes I hope that the root of the problem is a lack of herbs and curiosities." He grinned.

Hatsu stared blankly for a moment, then laughed. "Entirely an altruistic wish, I'm sure," he laughed, leaning on the counter.

"Of course," Hisojo agreed instantly, "Ever I have only the welfare of the world at mind. But to change the subject, how is your pretty young Unicorn friend?"

"Who, Sachiko?" Hatsu replied lamely, his face flushing. "Um, she's fine. A fine partner. Very quick-witted and charismatic."

"Charismatic. Hm. I suppose you're such a good detective you must have noticed she is quite beautiful as well."

"Perhaps," Hatsu smiled slightly, fiddling with the coins on the counter.

"Yes. Well. Good luck to you then," Hisojo said.

"Thanks," Hatsu said.

"With catching Chobu, I mean," Hisojo said.

Hatsu's eyebrow rose. "If I didn't know you better, Hisojo-sama, I'd say you were making fun of me."

"Oh you know I'd never do that," Hisojo said flatly and stroked his moustache.

"Oh, never," Hatsu agreed in exaggerated tones. He pushed away from the counter. "I thank you, Hisojo-sama," he said with a bow, "As usual, you've done much to cheer me up. I think I'm going to go to bed early."

"Good night, lad," Hisojo said fondly, replacing his spectacles and turning back to his book.

Hatsu took the spiral staircase and climbed to his small apartment on the second floor. The spotlights of the used car dealership across the street flooded the windows, splaying the dark apartment with shadows as the passed. Akkan yipped and trotted toward him, wagging her stubby tail in happiness.

"Hello, pooka," he said, kneeling and scratching the dog behind her big ears. She cocked her head and stared adoringly with her gigantic brown eyes. "How was your day?" he asked, standing. The little dog danced in circles between Hatsu and her food dish.

Hatsu nodded. He reached over and flipped the light switch. The main light sparked and burned out.

"Seven Thunders!" he cursed. He could have quickly changed the bulb, but in defiance at the malfunctioning machine he turned to the small kitchenette in the corner to fill Akkan's bowl. He opened the cupboard and took out a can of food while the little dog sat and squirmed impatiently. He envied the fat little puppy for her lack of worries. Food. Sleep. Attention. Outside. All she needed, all there was to her world. No exploding hospitals full of monsters. No maniac cop-killers. No war.

As he stooped to fill the dogs dish, his temples throbbed intensely. Akkan whined lightly and turned her head toward the window, her floppy ears perked up.

"Shh, pup," Hatsu said, slowly grabbing the dog's stomach and collar and pulling her behind the cabinet, away from the window. The spotlights washed through the room again, and this time Hatsu saw it: the figure of a man, hunched outside the window. He had a rifle in his hand.

A pinpoint of red light began to track across the apartment. Infrared, piercing the darkness. Soon it would find Hatsu, even partially concealed as he was in the kitchen. Akkan growled and strained against Hatsu's grip, wanting to chase after the little red dot.

"No, pup," Hatsu whispered, "He's definitely not here to play, whoever he is." Sensing her master's sudden tension, Akkan looked up and licked his nose. Hatsu smiled despite the situation. "I apologize, Akkan," he said, "but there's no other way." He turned to the small sink cabinet, pulled out the cleansers and such, and put the dog inside, latching the door shut. He looked back and saw that the light was tracking near to him. He grabbed one of Akkan's tennis balls from the pile of toys near her bowl and rolled it across the floor, directly through the beams path.

The apartment erupted in gunfire, the shooter instinctively following the ball's path with a spray of bullets. Hatsu ran through the darkness, just behind the bullets, hoping the shooter wouldn't spray wildly just yet. He leaped over the couch and flattened himself against the wall next to the window. The bullets ceased and the room was deathly quiet for a moment, until Akkan started barking fearfully from the cupboard. The red light dipped, indicating that the shooter was reloading. Hatsu drew his katana and wakizashi, spinning and driving them both through the window.

He whipped the blades free with a spray of blood. The assassin slumped over in the broken window, his rifle clattering to the floor. Hatsu kneeled to look at his face, and found it concealed with a tight rubber ski mask and goggles, military issue. As he pulled at the man's mask, he heard a creak on the landing.

The door exploded with the fire of automatic weaponry as Hatsu leaped over the corpse and onto the fire escape. Shattered glass and wood tore at his coat and body, and the iron rails of the escape rammed his shoulder mercilessly, but he was not shot.

"Fan out!" shouted a gruff voice, "Find him!"

Hatsu huddled against the wall alongside the assassin's corpse, wondering who was in his apartment, how many, and why. He hoped Hisojo had gotten to safety. He prayed Akkan would be safe, and marveled that at a time like this he would think about his dog. He couldn't use his radio to call for backup. Not here, they would hear him. He had to block the window so he could use the fire escape without being followed.

Hatsu slowly moved his wakizashi so the short blade was straight out, parallel to the rails of the fire escape. He held the katana low and to his right. The corpse would rouse their curiosity. They would come to check it out. He waited four minutes, motionless and silent. He observed vaguely that the dead man next to him had very ugly boots. The reflection on the wakizashi became slightly muddled and twisted with movement in the window. Hatsu waited for a black shape to take form on it, then stabbed into the window with his katana, stabbing an assassin in the middle of the sternum.

The man's scream died in a gurgle of blood. Hatsu quickly stood and hooked the back of the man's collar on the window latch. With two corpses filling the window, he kicked the fire escape ladder free and rode it to the ground. He turned flattened himself against the shop's side door, listening for movement or voices inside. Perhaps a wiser decision would be to run and not look back, but Hatsu considered himself a policeman above all else. He wouldn't allow these men to invade his home and get away with it. And if they'd hurt Hisojo or Akkan, there would be Jigoku to pay.

Satisfied, Hatsu slid open the side entrance and darted into the shadows of Hisojo's storage room. Crates and boxes stood everywhere, wreathed in spider webs. A stink rose from somewhere. Hatsu remembered Hisojo telling him that the shop was one of the oldest buildings in the city, predating the Shadow Wars and even predating indoor plumbing. Hatsu noted the large sewer grate on the floor next to him as he crouched behind crates to use his radio.

"Detective Kitsuki Hatsu, officer in distress, corner of Daisho and Wick," he said. The radio simply squawked static in reply. He couldn't tell if there was interference or he just wasn't using the thing properly. He turned it off, kicked the sewer lid open, and threw it inside in frustration.

"Boy, Kitsuki, that was a silly thing to do," he said in his best impression of Sachiko, chiding his own foolish temper.

The fire escape rattled again outside, and Hatsu heard the stomp of someone landing in the alley.

"Koku here. All clear here," said a harsh, professional voice, "Echo, Tanto, how are your positions."

"Front is clear."

"Rear is clear. I'd have capped him if he showed his face."

"Copy that. Control, I'm at the side door. What are your orders?"

"..."

"Control?"

Hatsu readied his swords.

"Control. This is Koku. Over."

"FREEZE!" boomed a voice, amplified by megaphonic speakers, "IMPERIAL MAGISTRATES!"

The alley echoed with the ricochet of bullets. Hatsu could hear the thud as Koku's body fell to the ground.

"Cover the rooftops!" yelled the same voice, closer now and without amplification. More bullets. "Imen, deal with those damn snipers!"

The sporadic gunfire increased in volume as the side door opened. Tsuruchi Kyo and two other wasp guardsmen burst into the room with pistols drawn. Hatsu breathed a sigh of relief and started to rise, then stopped, returning to hiding. Something was wrong.

Kyo scanned the room calmly, then holstered his pistols, sitting on one of the crates very near Hatsu and kicking one boot up next to him. "Search the next room," he ordered, "Bring Hatsu or the shop owner if you find them."

The two men nodded and marched off into the next room.

Hatsu stood. "Kyo," he said quietly.

"Hatsu," Kyo replied, turning his head and blinking in surprise. He glanced at Hatsu's drawn swords. "Lucky we found you," he continued, "I was on the trail of the Emperor's killers. Chobu and his men came after you right as we caught up to them." He reached for his belt and drew his radio, resting the other hand on the handle of one pistol. "I'll radio headquarters and let them know you're all right."

"Not necessary, Kyo-san," Hatsu said amiably, "I already called for backup."

Kyo paused in confusion. Only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. There had been nothing wrong with Hatsu's radio. It wasn't supposed to be working and Kyo knew it. Hatsu knew then that Kyo had come to kill him. The detective went cold inside. As Kyo's hand tightened on the handle of his pistol, he suddenly found the point of Hatsu's katana at his throat. His hand fell free.

"I need to learn to lie better, I suppose," he said.

"It would not have helped," Hatsu said. He pointed at Kyo's hair with his wakizashi. "Your hair is still mussed from your stupid rubber masks." He pointed at his foot, resting on the crate. "And you're wearing the same ugly government issue boots as the other assassin, too. Too ugly and uncomfortable for it to be a coincidence that two men in two different organizations wore them on the same night."

Kyo smiled. "Well done, detective," he said, "You live up to your reputation every bit. I suppose you have also perceived that I am much calmer than most men with a sword to their throat should be. This is because I left my radio on."

Hatsu glanced at the door just as it burst open and the other two Wasps burst into the room. They stared coldly at Hatsu, reluctant to fire with their daimyo in the way.

"Kill me, Hatsu," he said, "and they'll surely kill you. Don't kill me, and you'll never escape. Oh by the way, if you kill me you'll never find out what this was all about. That must be almost a fate worse than death for a curious mind such as yours. I'm sorry, Hatsu, but you are out of options. The Stormbreaker has won."

Hatsu smiled.

Kyo's face paled.

Hatsu disappeared.

"What in?" Kyo exclaimed, leaping over the crates. An open sewer grate yawned in the floor next to where Hatsu had stood, and Kyo could hear the splash of the detective's footsteps receding into the distance.

Kyo cursed and spat and shot both his men before he managed to rein in his anger.

Yasu fidgeted awkwardly, shifting his large shoulders in the small, exquisitely designed chair. Toshimo frowned sternly, arms folded across his chest in the same posture he'd held for the last hour. Yasu smiled back contentedly.

"Turn off that radio," Toshimo said.

"What radio?" Yasu replied, his smile fading to surprise.

"The radio you have in your ear. The one you're using to listen to the game. It's rude to listen to baseball while you're waiting for the Emperor." Yasu opened his mouth, but Toshimo cut him off. "Don't even try to tell me you don't have one, Yasu," he said sharply, "I'm certain it's the exact same one I gave you for your birthday last year."

Yasu grumbled something and pulled the tiny device out of his ear. He started staring at the ceiling.

"Who's winning?" Toshimo asked after a moment.

"Berserkers," Yasu said.

Toshimo chuckled. "Otaku Kojiro bet me twenty hyakurai on the Steelboys."

"Unicorns should stick to betting on horse racing," Yasu said. He stared up at the Birth of Hida, one of the many frescoes that graced the ceiling of the audience chamber. A tall and graceful woman with a blaze of fire around her head held forth a large child wearing a kimono of steel grey and brick red, crushing snakes in his fists.

"He was big for a baby," Yasu observed.

"Kojiro?" Toshimo replied, distracted.

"No, Hida," Yasu said indicating the ceiling. "He looks like he's four or five, and his mother's in pretty good shape, too."

Toshimo looked up at the painting too, his grey brows knitting above his dark eyes. "What are you talking about, Yasu?"

"I've got four younger brothers and I delivered two of them myself," Yasu said, "And you know damn well mom wasn't smiling and wearing her best kimono when it happened. That painter is full of crap."

"Artistic license, Yasu," his uncle replied, "Now could you please be silent for a little while?"

Yasu folded his hands and stared at the floor for a while. The mon of the mantis was inlaid in jade and gold on the marble tiles.

"Why do you think someone would spend all this money on a mosaic, just to have people step on it?" Yasu asked.

Toshimo glared at him.

"Just seems like a waste of time is all," Yasu added, scuffing a steel toed boot on the floor.

"Yes, well the Emperor seems very fond of wasting time of late," Toshimo said irately, "Especially ours."

Yasu looked at his uncle. "You think he'll see us today?"

"I dearly hope so, nephew," he replied, "He needs to know what you've seen." Toshimo's gaze darted out at the window, toward the skyline of Otosan Uchi. Yasu could tell that his uncle was nervous, and a little angry. He felt the same way, though he wouldn't admit it. His uncle counted on him, so he had to pretend it didn't bother him.

Yasu got up and paced across the floor, hands folded behind his back. He was still wearing thick, chunky armor, but he felt naked. He had no weapons; he had been forced to surrender them to the Imperial Guard at the palace gates. No one but the Emperor's own guards were allowed to carry arms into the Imperial audience chamber, even when all you were doing there was being ignored by the Emperor. Yasu considering the Emperor's large desk, idly wondering if anyone would care if he tried out Yoritomo's chair, when the door finally opened behind them.

A tall, thin samurai in ancient-style emerald armor strode into the room, his pace quick and his head held high. "Daimyo Kaiu Toshimo?" he said stiffly.

"Champion Doji-sama," Toshimo replied, his deep voice bored and detached. He did not stand.

"Seeker Hida Yasu?" Meda continued, turning to the younger Crab without missing a beat.

Yasu nodded to the Emerald Champion.

"Will we be admitted to see the Emperor today, Meda?" Toshimo asked, a slight but noticeable impatient edge to his voice.

The tall warrior removed his helmet, letting his long white hair flow free. His face was grave, his blue eyes sad. "I am afraid he is still wrapped up in matters concerning the war," he said.

"The war can wait!" Toshimo exclaimed, "The other nations could care less if Rokugan's declared war on them! If anything they're waiting for us to strike so that they can have an excuse to plunder our magic and technology! Meanwhile, the capital's about to be torn apart from the inside and Yoritomo won't take five minutes out of his schedule to listen to me."

Meda looked at Toshimo directly, his face inscrutable as he digested the Crab's statements. "Your words are harsh," he said, "A loyal subject does not speak so of his Emperor."

Yasu took an angry step forward, but Toshimo rose quickly before him. He wore no armor, just the pristine blue-grey uniform of the Kaiu Engineer Corps, but his large frame and intimidating manner dwarfed the Emerald Champion. "No one is more loyal to the Emperor than me," Toshimo said quietly, "That is why I am not afraid to tell him when he is making a mistake. The portal to Jigoku swings open again."

Meda's emotionless mask cracked, his jaw falling open. "Jigoku? No, ridiculous. The Phoenix--"

"Have confirmed this," Toshimo said, "Their own prophet spews predictions of doom daily. They, too, have been spurned in their attempts to contact the Emperor."

"This is impossible," Meda said, glancing back and forth between the Crabs, trying to compose himself, "Have you any proof?"

"Tell him, Yasu," Toshimo said, "Tell him what you saw seven days ago."

"Jimen," Yasu said with a dark smile, "As in 'Oni no'."

"Oni no Jimen?!?" Meda exclaimed, "In the city? I must alert the Imperial Guard!"

"Don't bother," Yasu laughed, "I've got his head outside, mounted on the front of my new truck. It's a little beaten up, took some effort to put him down, but you can still tell it's him. The treads and mechanical parts were new but otherwise he was just like the Kuni Archives describe."

"Kuni Archives?" Meda asked.

"Required reading for Crab warriors," Toshimo said, "We don't remember much of what happened in human history before the Shadow Wars, but the Kuni held a death grip on everything they knew about the Shadowlands. That knowledge will serve us well in the days to come, but not unless we can get the Emperor's help."

"What do you require?" Meda asked.

"Jade and crystal," Toshimo said, "We used to use it to prevent the Taint and to harm invulnerable oni and other creatures. Neither of these were much of a problem after the Shadow Wars, so the Crab Clan sold much of its stockpile of crystal and jade to help Rokugan rebuild. In hindsight, it was probably a foolish thing to do but at the time it was a matter of survival for all of us."

"A sacrifice which I am sure is not unappreciated," Meda replied, his smooth facade rebuilt, "I will do what I can to bend the Emperor's ear to your request. Unfortunately, I am not sure if I will be able to reach him."

Toshimo and Yasu looked at each other.

Meda shook his head, seating himself heavily in one of the chairs. "He's become obsessed with this war, shutting himself away, speaking to almost no one but Tetsugi and the generals. Now that you bring me news of the Elemental Terror returning, I am certain now more than ever that this foolish war will be the death of us all."

Toshimo frowned thoughtfully. For anyone to question the Emperor's will so was treason, and for the Emerald Champion to do so... Perhaps Toshimo's earlier, similar outburst led Meda to open up like this. They had known each other for many years, though they had never been exactly close friends.

Yasu, in the meantime, just had a bad feeling. He had a bad feeling whenever a Crane asked him to do something and Meda had the look of someone who was about to do just that.

"Toshimo-sama," the Champion said, looking up at the Crab with hope in his eyes, "You are the official representative of the Crab Clan here in Otosan Uchi and a good friend of Hida Tengyu."

"The daimyo and I have known each other since we were children," Toshimo said.

Meda hesitated. "What I am about to say may seem treasonous," he said carefully.

"Continue," Toshimo said. Yasu walked over into the corner and tried to pretend he didn't hear any of it.

"The Emperor is behaving most unreasonably. He is becoming a danger to all of us, especially in sight of what you have just told me. Perhaps we should be prepared..."

"Prepared for what?" Toshimo asked, his eyes wary.

"Just prepared," Meda said, "Prepared to protect the Empire. That is the Crab's duty, is it not? As it is the Crane's, if in a different fashion."

Toshimo sighed. "It pains me to admit it, but what you say makes sense. If what the Phoenix have said is true, the threat to the Empire will only increase."

"One part of history that Rokugan shall never forget," Meda said, "Is that the last time the evil came, it came in the form of the Emperor. Every time I see Yoritomo know I think of this. And that speech he gave earlier," Meda rubbed his eyes, suddenly looking very tired. "Please forgive me, Toshimo. I am overly emotional and have worked too long. Of course everything I have said here is hearsay, a worst case scenario. I hope it shall not come to this. Now I bid you good day, I have other matters to attend."

Toshimo and Yasu bowed to the Emerald Champion. He returned their bows, and the Crabs left the audience chamber. Meda seated himself in one of the chairs again, a look of excitement spreading across his face. It was possible. It was actually possible. He had hardly believed Munashi at first, but everything was falling into place. Yoritomo would not destroy Rokugan, Meda would now allow it. Now he had not only Munashi's wisdom, the Crane Clan's finances, and Tetsugi's advisement, now he had the Crabs as allies as well.

Now he had an army.

Daniri pulled over to the side of the street and got out of the car. He didn't bother locking the door. Not here. If someone wanted to steal the stereo the lock wouldn't stop him and Daniri didn't want to have to replace the window too. As for the car itself, there wasn't much chance of it being stolen. He'd left his eight-cylinder 2001 Otaku Turbo Vehement at home, in favor of a 1987 Hiruma Kappa supercompact stationwagon he'd bought from a used car salesman yesterday.

Daniri's blonde hair was tied back and covered by a black handkerchief. His black sunglasses were gone, and his leather trenchcoat exchanged for a black turtleneck and jeans. His face was covered with stubble, a trick he learned from Ayano's makeup artists. A cigarette hung from his lips, though he didn't smoke. He looked about as much as Akodo Daniri as Akodo Daniri looked like the waiter at Ujiaki's Super Sushi.

The street shook with the rhythm of music, very loud and very near. It was coming from a scrubby little bar across the street. This was as good a place to keep looking as any, so Daniri strode up to the door limping a little for effect, and pushed his way in. The wooden door creaked in disrepair and Daniri wiped whatever was on his hand from the door handle on the door jamb as he entered. He looked around the bar. He'd been in dives before, but this one was an absolute submarine. The music washed over him, assailing his ears with the noise of four teenagers, screaming and jumping up and down on the tiny stage as they banged away on their instruments. The plaster was cracked and flaking, pasted over with beer posters and ancient concert flyers. The lights were dim and hazy from cigarettes smoke. The smell was somewhere between sweat, alcohol, and rotting fish.

Daniri walked up to the bar, glancing over the other huddled figures sitting and drinking or nodding along with the beat of the band. The big guy on the end in the leather jacket was exactly who he was looking for. The bartender was a buxom woman in her thirties. She might have been pretty once, but time, experience, and cheap makeup gave her a slightly weathered look. She took her time getting to Daniri, turning her back and finishing her telephone conversation first. Daniri wondered how she could talk on the phone with the band playing.

"May I help you?" she asked, chewing.

Daniri twisted a straw between his fingers. "I'll have a whiskey sour," he said after some thought, "The Hida stuff if you have it. That Ikoma crap doesn't do a thing for me."

Daniri noticed a small color television flickering at one end of the bar, surrounded by old men. The sound was drowned out by cranking guitar but Daniri could tell what they were watching in a second. His own face filled the screen. He sighed. He hated the way he looked on television. He hardly recognized himself. Too skinny.

"Whatcha think of that Akodo Daniri?" the waitress asked, noticing he was staring at the television.

"He's okay I guess," Daniri replied, "I bet he doesn't really do his own stunts."

"I don't care 'bout that!" she said, slapping the bar with a bawdy laugh, "I just think the boy's hot!" She finally got around to pouring Daniri's drink and set the murky glass in front of him.

"Heh," he replied, "I'll bet he wouldn't last two minutes in this neighborhood."

"Not without his War Machine," she laughed.

Daniri shook his head. "Wouldn't do him no good," he said, "Those damn Locust would just strip it for spare parts. You'd see a bunch of cruddy Shinjo Windstars driving around town with little pieces of it for hood ornaments." Daniri laughed loudly.

The bartender quickly moved away down the bar. Daniri felt a big hand on his shoulder. "Hey man," said a voice.

"What's up?" Daniri said amiably, looking up at the big man in the leather jacket. Just as he suspected, there was a silver locust on the sleeve.

"I hear you mention the Locust Clan just now?" the man asked, drinking down his beer and tossing the bottle on the floor. The other customers started to shuffle away.

"Just making a joke," Daniri said, trying to sway and look drunk as he looked up at the man.

The man squeezed his shoulder roughly. "Well, I don't get it," he said, "What's so funny about the Locust?"

"Nothin', I guess," Daniri said snidely, shaking the man's hand off his shoulder, "Sorry."

The man smiled dangerously. "Tha's right, nothin'," he said. He pointed in Daniri's face. "You just remember that. Now get out."

"Remember nothing. Got it." Daniri rolled his eyes, nodded and turned around to leave. He counted to three.

"HEY!" the man shouted. The music stopped.

Daniri turned, smiling. He'd seen so many movies like this, been in so many like this before he was discovered (mostly in the role of the Locust) that he knew the punk wouldn't resist the bait. He just prayed that the kid would try to fight him instead of just shooting him. Just in case, he was wearing a kevlar vest under his turtleneck that he'd borrowed from the props department.

The Locust stomped over toward Daniri.

"Don't touch me," Daniri said clearly as he approached.

"Listen, punk-ass," the man said, digging one finger into Daniri's chest, "You just--"

Daniri became a sudden blur, pummeling the Locust with punches, kicks, and chops faster than the eye could see. Two seconds later, his fury suddenly stopped. No longer supported by the force of Daniri's blows, the Locust sat on the floor and spat out a tooth.

"I warned him not to touch me," Daniri explained to the stunned onlookers.

The music started again.

Daniri squatted on the ground and reached into the man's coat, taking out his pistol and dumping out the bullets, then tossing it over his shoulder. "Hi there, Kenko," he said.

The man stared back blearily, blood trickling down his forehead. "How-- how do you know my name?"

"Because I'm the devil, Kenko," Daniri replied seriously, his voice full of menace though his posture was relaxed. He had inconspicuously activated the remote switch in his palm, which in turn activated the voice distorting mechanism under the collar of his turtleneck, making his voice demonic and twisted.

Kenko's eyes widened. "Amaterasu!"

"Wrong. Devil," Daniri said, tapping his chest with two fingers, "And I've come for the souls of the Locust clan. Where do I find them?"

Kenko stuttered and glanced around desperate.

"Kenko!" Daniri spat, grabbing the Locust by the throat, "Let's get it together here. I'm the devil. The Locust Clan can just kill you. What can I do? And keep in mind that I'm here right now." He twisted the dial in his palm a bit, adding an echoing accent to the end of the last sentence.

"Seventeenth and Kyono!" Kenko said desperately, "They hang out in an abandoned parking garage there! Don't kill me!"

"This is your last chance, Kenko," Daniri said, grinning fiendishly, "Turn your back on them. Don't go back. You don't want to be there when I come for them. And make sure you're not lying or I'll be back for you."

"No! NO!" Kenko shouted, "I'm not lying! I swear! Please."

"Okay, Kenko," Daniri said, twisting the dial so his voice returned to normal, "We'll see. Now go help the bartender sweep up."

Kenko nodded enthusiastically and scrambled away to help. Daniri stood as well, slapping five hyakurai on the bar and leaving. He smirked at his reflection in the glass across the street. That had, without a doubt, been one of his best performances ever. A shame his audience wouldn't ever appreciate it.

Five days ago, Daniri's mother called him. He'd given her his new number after his spontaneous visit, and was glad to hear from her again. His brother Jiro still hadn't come home. She'd heard he'd been hanging out with the wrong crowd, and knew he'd gotten into some kind of trouble. The police would hardly ever come to the neighborhood anymore, so she begged Daniri to help. He promised immediately.

The first two days had been useless, questioning Jiro's friends and classmates. The most he'd been able to find out was that Jiro had been asking a lot of questions about the Locust Clan street gang, as if he wanted to join up with them. Daniri thought this was pretty unlikely. Jiro was always a rebel but he was a good kid. He couldn't see him falling in with a bunch of killers like the Locusts. Still, all the information seemed to point to the Locusts.

Drawing from his detective experience, which mostly amounted to action movies he'd either seen or been in which had detectives in them, he decided the best way to find Jiro was to take out the Locusts himself, then shuffle through the pieces for his brother. It was a long shot, but the Locusts were a vile bunch anyway. He could at least try to make a difference.

Suddenly, a whiff of air shot past Daniri's face. He ducked back and saw a sliver of metal glinting in the wall behind him. Looking closer, he could see it was a throwing star. He flew into motion, trying to make a difficult target, as he looked for the source. A flash of white disappeared into the alley across the street and he was after it.

He skidded to a halt as he saw the man was waiting for him. He was of medium height and wore a skin-tight white suit that defined his rigid musculature. He wore a white mask over his face, revealing only his eyes.

"What are you supposed to be, a ninja?" Daniri laughed, sizing up the debris in the alley and it's potential as makeshift weaponry.

"A question I could ask you," he said, "What are you supposed to be?"

Daniri shrugged. "I asked you first."

"Fair enough," he said, "I am called Hiroru. I come to deliver you a warning. Abandon the trail of the Locust."

"Is that a threat?" Daniri snarled.

"Take it as you will," Hiroru replied, his hands on his hips.

Daniri lunged for a trash can lid to throw at the man.

But when he looked up, Hiroru was gone.

Hatsu gasped for breath, leaning up against the wall of the sewer for support. The water was icy cold with the onset of winter. Hatsu was tired and hadn't eaten since early that morning due to the chaos of the day. Soon, he knew, he would collapse. And if he didn't find a safe place to do so, he would die. He couldn't call Sachiko. His radio was gone (after throwing it away like a fool!) and he had no loose change to make a phone call. Trying to ask someone to use a phone in his condition, dripping with mud and sewer muck, would just notify the police. And he knew Kyo was waiting for him to surface again.

The only thing Hatsu had going for him was that he wasn't lost. He still kept a good idea of where he was at underneath the city, and knew that he was now several miles from his apartment and Hisojo's shop. But where could he go now? Where would he be safe? There was only one place he could think of that was even remotely possible. It was most likely suicide, but so was the alternative.

He turned right down the next junction, toward the Scorpion quarter.

Four minutes later, another man walked down the same tunnel as Hatsu. His gait was unhurried, and his long hooded coat was marked by no water or slime though he waded in the water to his waist. A pair of swords was belted at his waist, and a glint of green armor was visible through his hood. He reached into his pocket and drew out a glowing crystal.

"Awaken," he said to the crystal, and the tiny dragon inside twisted into life, glowing.

"Report, Rojo," a voice said through the crystal.

"Hisojo-sama's instincts were correct," Rojo said, "Thunder has fled. The sewers were indeed his destination."

"Have you confronted him yet?" replied the voice.

"I would prefer us to remain anonymous as long as possible," Rojo replied, "We did not survive all this time by taking foolish chances. Neither the Kitsuki or the Imperial Guard know I am here."

"Agreed," said the voice, "A wise undertaking."

"I will continue to track him to see whether he finds safety. If the situation demands, I may be forced to intervene. If it is not, then I will return to my life. I will now discard this Dragon Sphere so that it will not be found in event of my capture."

"Naturally," replied the voice, "Carry the Fortunes, Mirumoto Rojo."

"Carry the Fortunes, Hoshi-san," he replied.

The man dropped the crystal into the stagnant waters of the sewer and stalked off down the tunnel.

TO BE CONTINUED