Dear Father,

I was so close.

There it was. In all its majesty. In all its villainy. That twisted, pulsating, black and white spiral pool of death and salvation. At the end of the dry sands, within my grasp; that gateway through time that I had quested for all this time. At long last, my quest had come to an end.

But it was not to be.

The rain clogged my vision. The sound of my sword slicing through these machines again and again drowned out the sound of the ominous thunder chasing my every movement, haunting my every thought.

I was too late.

One of them was there. One of those things.

If only Aku was brave enough to send real people to do his bidding, real flesh and blood. Perhaps this would not be.

I could show them the way. I could enlighten them, and free them from the lies they were fed and forced to believe.

But these machines…

They have no feeling. No remorse. No thought. They accept 'death' just as willingly as we breathe. They are nothing.

One of them just… took it from me. It just sliced through it with its scythe. If only that had been my body at the end of that scythe. If only I had bled and not the portal. If only my blood drenched the sands and on the fiery freedom of that portal.

I ran to it. I knew it was futile. But I had too. Perhaps I could jump a few years back in time. Perhaps I could make some form of progress.

It is Impossible.

The droid burst into flames soon after and exploded. Its parts littered the field along with its comrades. It flung me back from whence I came on the plain.

I am still lost in time.

When I awoke, the rain had ceased. The heat of the sun inspired my revival. I wished I was dreaming. But I do not dream anymore.

I was ready father. I want to go home.

I lifted my sword. I was going to do it. I swear I was. I would finally bring honor to our name. I would finally be rejoined with you. Seppuku.

…But then who would stop Aku.

And so I planted my sword into the sand. A tombstone for my conundrum.

It is Impossible.

I tossed my sword away only to reclaim it after a brief meditation to calm myself. It was futile. The wind blew my hat away, the straw hat mother taught me to craft. One of the last remaining relics of my past… your present. It angered me. It angered more than it should have. I felt some semblance of hatred, some desire for pain. Even though I should not. After all, it is just a hat. I could lose it any other day. But not today. I chased after it. Frankly, I struggled to reclaim it. Until an old man caught it. An old man, surrounded by two other men who looked and dressed just like him in maroon robes. The man who caught my hat wore slightly lighter robes, closer to red than maroon. Clearly they are an order of some kind, and this man is there leader. They each had long greybeards, and light blue eyes. Their beards dangled at my chin, forcing me to look vertically at them. They looked… hollow. But now I know that they were full of purpose.

'That is my hat'. I said awkwardly.

'Yes.' The man said definitely, albeit monotonously.

I very slowly, calculatedly, and gently reclaimed my hat. All the while I kept looking at them. Analyzing them. These men were not normal.

Once that hat was in my possession, all three departed in a synchronized fashion, like your bodyguard did whenever they would parade at the palace, though their march was more desperate while ours is more jubilant. We always did have more to celebrate.

They left before I could thank them (though I did out of courtesy, regardless of how confused I was). Once they left I could see they were heading towards a mountain. A mountain with no path in sight. Surely they do not intend to climb it? I had to know.

I raced ran towards them and asked them where they were headed. Their leader calmly pointed to the summit of the mountain.

I looked up and all I could see was more rocks, more climbing, more cliffs, and piles of snow that certainly had accumulated for decades, if not centuries. It seemed abandoned. The summit was beyond sight. What kind of mad man would want to climb such an impossibly difficult mountain? What could possibly lie at the summit? And how does anyone truly know what is there?

By the time these questions crossed my mind, the monks had surpassed my step and were well down the path we tread. I raced back to them and asked:

'What is at the peak of this mountain?'

In the same, monotonous voice he said 'Truth.'

This time, however, he stopped.

Just then, a flame lit within me. I could see it in my own eyes. There is something here. I can feel it. Though I did not know it, the winds that took my hat were winds of fortune. Our ancestors guided me here.

'Truth?!' I asked in surprise. How can truth be present on a mountain? Unless… a wish. The wish I was denied at the wishing well. The wish I was denied by that accursed droid.

In a far more passionate voice, the leader spoke once more and said:

'Legend has it, there lies a great power at the summit of Fatoom. We three have trained for a lifetime to climb this mountain and achieve its power. That is of course, if it exists. You see, no one has ever reached the summit of Fatoom.'

The flame that flickered now engulfed my heart. From beneath the straw of my hat, I looked up at him, right into his soulless eyes and boldly said 'Not yet.'

In my heart I wished them luck, but within myself I knew that I must be the one to climb this mountain. It is my destiny.

The journey began rather slowly. It was actually very scenic. The mists and clouds filled our lungs and nostrils as we gently walked up the mountain. It was rather silly. All this build up for some legendary mountain, and it begins with frivolous walking. My opinion changed significantly once the climbing began. I found myself struggling to climb certain obstacles that the monks seemed to glide over, as if they walked on air and the air hovered over the obstacles. I began jumping from obstacle to obstacle to avoid climbing, all the while I was gaining ground on them, though I did not know where to go to reach the summit. I did not know how to climb this mountain, nor the techniques that these monks are most certainly familiar with. I think they knew why I kept gaining ground on them. They know why I must reach the summit first. I hoped that they would not seek to confront me on my quest. I would not know what to do if an innocent attempted to deny me what is rightfully mine.

As the mountain became steeper, water became rarer. I had not drank in a day and a half, and my throat began to chaff. I had to find water soon, and luckily I found a small puddle. To my delight, it still had not frozen. I proceeded to cup my hands and drink from it as I always did. I thought to invite my friends to drink with me, surely they too must be weary from this climbing, but I found them performing the oddest of tasks. They were… collecting rocks into some form of blanket. I did not know if this would be useful later on, and so I proceeded to drink to build my strength, which sure enough was to be tested now.

I heard a twig snap. I knew it was not natural. I leaped up to the cliff and looked over to investigate—and there it was. A mythical creature the likes of which I have never seen, and perhaps shall never see again. A beast with two hind legs of a goat, and the body of a well-built man. Its face was large and round, yet protruded outward. It has a long main that just tickled its chest, and a sharp, long goatee growing from its cleft. Its eyes, though, were as blue as the monks.

'You go on and collect your rocks—I will handle this.' I said to the monks

I then spoke to the beast and said 'Goat-Man! Please let us pass.'

At first, I thought I had convinced it as it scoffed at me and returned into the cave from whence it came.

'Good.' I said in triumph. 'It is all clear.' I declared to my companions, that is, until my attention was kidnapped from them and directed towards the sound of hoofs. Their clanging on the rocks grew less infrequent. I knew what was to be done. I opened my eyes in annoyance and saw the beast charge at me with the speed of a hurled spear. I waited until it was just the right distance from me to jump up, draw my sword, and meet it in midair. I saw a small rock-column behind the beast, and made that my destination for my jump. Without losing balance, or my hat again, I jumped up to meet the beast and took its horns, landing in my intended place. The beast let out a tormented bleat, and I began to feel some form of remorse. But it was necessary, I thought. That feeling evaporated when I realized that that was not a cry of pain, but rather a cry for help. Just then twelve hoofs surrounded me from the slopes of the mountain, and let out the same cry in reciprocation. It was an ambush. But not matter. They did not learn from their fallen comrade. I simply waited for them to attack, and used their elevation against them, causing them to fall through my blade. I had twelve horns by the end of it, and they all routed back up the mountain, never to bother us again. I turned to my friends once again, informing them of the clarity of the path, but before I knew it I saw them climbing the slopes the goat-men were on just moments ago. My lead was lost, and I had to find a way to reclaim it.

This was the hard part. The incline approached 90 degrees. No more was it a simple tread or leap to the next the ledge, but constant upwards crawling. I grew weary quickly, but I knew I had to push myself to reclaim what is rightfully mine. How can I give up when I am still this close? I climbed for hours on end, but I never truly felt secure. Even when I overtook the monks, I constantly looked down, only to see them steadfastly and earnestly climb with the youth and determination of men half my age. Their training was truly formidable. I had to climb faster. I had to reach the summit. I climbed and climbed without rest until nightfall. I looked around and saw strange creatures everywhere. Owls, giant spiders, even a goat-man who knew not to attack me! I earnestly grabbed a sharp rock that lent itself to my weight, only to find that I had lent it mine! The mountain began to shake violently. I looked at the monks for assurance, and all I could find was the same bleak look I always saw. 'Volcano?' I thought until I saw two red eyes appear between the rocks. 'No!' I disbelieved, but indeed. A rock golem had camouflaged itself in the mountain, and I had taken it by the hand, and from a quarter of the way to the summit, it released mine.

I was hurled towards a painful demise, but I would not allow it. I had to think quickly. My sword! I thought as I stuck it into the side of the mountain. If I can bend it just the right amount, I can reclaim my distance, grapple the golem, save the monks, and maintain my lead, and so I did. The rocks flew into my face, cutting me a little bit, but it was a small price to pay. With a small tinkle of blood trailing me, I passed the golem and kicked it off the ledge victoriously. Now all I have to do is secure myself to the ledge using my sash, and reclaim my sword, and easily climb back up. Or so I thought. The golem grabbed me by the ankle, causing me to bruise my chin on the way down- it is at this point, I presume, that I lost my hat. Now, it was me against it and time, my oldest adversary. I must defeat it before I fall past my sword, then there will be no hope of holding onto my lead.

I kicked it and it punched me. So I punched and it punched me again. It was painful, but I could endure it, but not as painful as what it was about to do. It grabbed me by the skull and shoved my face into the side of the mountain, carving my face into its ledges. My face will never be the same. I could feel my clothes soak with my blood, but somehow my bones remained intact. It was only when I tried to stop it by pushing myself away did I fracture my right palm (not to mention lose even more blood). I did not, however feel the agony such physical injuries normally entail. My focus is on stopping this golem from derailing what could be a turning point in my quest. I managed to free myself from its hold by pushing it off with my back, but the velocity of our fall, and my distance from the mountain caused my sword to be just beyond my reach. That was the most painful maneuvered it pulled. That was when I felt the extent of my injuries, when I saw that my face had been scarred, and my kimono had been soiled with the color of death. I had to dispose of this creature. I let it punch my face and belly to get myself above it, allowing me glide on the side of the very same mountain I had decorated. I then leapt from the mountain onto the beast, and used it to break my fall onto a ledge. I thought that might destroy the beast, but it yet lived. It did not matter. As it broke my fall, I used its body to jump up, tie my sash to my sheath and grapple onto an old, shriveled tree. An anecdote crossed my mind; there would be no water henceforth. I saw the beast fall to its end, but alas, I saw no end to Fatoom. I looked to the distance between the black dot that was my sword on the side of the mountain and the smooth pattern my face created when it destroyed all the ledges. It was at least half a day's climb. My progress and my lead was lost.

I climbed a different route to reach my sword. The snow did not make it any better. When I finally reached by sword, dawn had come and passed. Surely the monks had made camp and left already. I had lagged too far behind to hope to achieve the power of this mountain. But perhaps the power can be shared? Perhaps I can convince them of the nobility of my quest?

As I climbed, the air grew thinner. I struggled to breathe as one breath took two or three deep gasps. The snow of years long passed sapped the heat from my body. I was not as well prepared as they were. Their robes were made of wool while all I wore was a tattered kimono, stained by my own blood, and geta splintered by overuse. My back had to be curved inward just to be level with the mountain. The ledges became weaker and more fragile. The added weight of the snow made them too encumbered to support my weight. To worsen my predicament, the ledges became scarcer and more sporadic as I climbed higher, each ledge causing me to exert myself further, draining what little energy I had left. I knew if I rested for a moment, it would be a final rest. The snow itself melted in my hands, making the climb far more treacherous. If I were to slip on the melted snow, or if the ledge were to give in, I do not know if I would have survived. Could I survive days here? With no food or water? Could I climb to safety? Would I have the mental capacity to think to use my sash as a rope? These things all fall prey to the mightiest of assassins. The earth itself. It is ironic, do you not think father? Of all places, death surrounded me here, in the remotest of places, the farthest of places from Aku's watchful gaze, more than it had anywhere else.

All I could see was white. Bright white east, west, north, and south in all directions. The whiteness of the freezing sun. The whiteness of the snow, and the whiteness of death. Though what kept me going, what forced me to persevere, was the sight of the whiteness of our home in each clump of snow. The whiteness of the time portal I could find atop this mountain, or at least some guarantee of one. My quest was, is, and shall forever be the fire upon which this snow will melt.

The snow I pushed down on to get to the next base camp, however did not melt. But I did notice something peculiar. It was shallower than the others. It was remotely warmer. As if it had been touched before. They are here! I found them! I thought gleefully. As I brought my body up to its surface, indeed there were footprints that led to the three monks, who were well into their meal of what seemed to look like some form of raw egg. Perhaps it keeps them warm. Clearly they were not suffering as I was. I was so cold, that I have lost feeling in eight of my toes, and six of my fingers. I rubbed my body once, twice, thrice, all in vain. I was simply too ill equipped. I sat there, alone, basking in what little heat I could salvage from the protecting rays of the sun. My blood had dried not from clotting, but from the cold. As I sat in my small hole of everlasting cold, I could only think of one thing: home. This cold, this hell, it will lead me to the springs of Kyoto. A necessary chore for everlasting peace. I must endure. That egg, though now I think of it as some bitter meal, looked quite appetizing then. It had been my third day without a proper meal. The day before I had eaten a roasted rat. Its warmth that night was all that kept my body from becoming one with the snow. Just then, my heat was eclipsed. The mountain darkened. I looked to where the monks were, but I could see nothing through the darkness and the blowing snow. I looked left and right, but there were no clearly discernable footprints. As I walked forward a couple of paces I could make out a humanoid silhouette. Ah! They are there! I realized gleefully. 'Wait!' I pursued them 'Wait for me!' I ran as fast as I could through the heaps of snow that slowed me down to melancholy jog of a three legged malnourished horse, but I did not care. Our chances of reaching the summit of this mountain increase when we work together, and if I know where they are, I know that I am in the lead. My selfishness blinded me. Once I got close enough, I found no monks, but rather a great furry beast. Its dark violet feet alone were taller than me. They were thick and wide, and furry. Ideal for violence and heat insulation. Clearly it is a native to this mountain. Its black arms were long and slender, and its hands stretched down to its knees which were capped with some form of exoskeleton, and further protected my ten claws that were equal to ten swords. It had slender, skinny thighs. Perhaps I can exploit them to my advantage. Its forearms were muscular and menacing, capable of tearing a man into two. Its chest was broad and built, though not as disproportionately large as its limbs. Its face however, was truly a frightening sight. It gave the look of a hungry ape, and its teeth gave the indication that I would be its next meal. My assessment was concluded. I am no match for this beast, not in my current state. I must flee. Perhaps it will not provoke me if I flee. Of course, I was mistaken.

The beast gave a quick, dismissing exhale from its nostrils and struck me away as if I was some sort of insect. I landed halfway down the path I sluggishly jogged, and saw that my wounds had reopened passionately. Already my kimono grew redder, and my head throbbed with pain despite the snow cushioning my fall—it was the cold. The strike was painful yes, but flying through the freezing temperatures with such little resistance, that was deathly. I sat up, and saw the beast prepare to lunge at me. It did not care if I was peaceful, as far it was concerned it was the predator and I was the prey. I must escape, I thought. I have no desire to fight. Perhaps if I run back through the snowy marshes I came, it will give up. Such naiveté.

The beast came for me, and I waited until its attack to gain time. It tried to pin me down, clearly to devour me, but I rolled out of the way, gaining enough time to leap down and gain further ground on the beast. Due to a lack of warmth, however, my poor conditioning and imbalance betrayed me as I landed. My body curled into a ball and tumbled down the snow, flattening me onto the snow. I looked back to see of the beast had come for me, but before I could examine the situation, five of its swords slashed at my back bringing me back down into the snow. When I opened my eyes, I saw my own hair loosened, and coming undone. I finally realized it. There is no escape… for it.

I drew my sword in the midst of the storm of snow and battle and proceeded to parry its attacks. Each attack drew more out of me than the last, until the fifth blow came and tore at my chest. Now my blood began to pour at an alarming rate. I must act quickly. I must improvise. The beast seized its chance and grabbed me towards its mouth. But just as it wet its lips, I buried my sword into its feeding hand forcing my freedom. As it cried in agony, I found a mountain slope and thought this could end the battle. Indeed, perhaps I need not kill a savage, mindless beast. After all, it is not its fault that it sees me as food. Perhaps both it and I have not eaten in days at least that could be a commonality between us.

Before I managed to climb even a quarter of the way up, the beast came for me again. I clung to the mountain with all my strength, but the beast's appetite for destruction- and me- overpowered both my strength and the mountain's stones, sending us both into the snow. I knew the beast would try to grab me from underneath the snow and try to eat me again, and so I burrowed beneath the snow, rubbing my wounds in them to slow the bleeding. I came out on the other side, ready to strike the beast, but the wind stopped me from getting to my feet. In my dizziness and confusion, the beast knew it would have to beat the life out of me before it could eat me, and so it swatted me away again, this time into the mountain stones, causing droplets of blood to hurl from my mouth. I wiped away what little of it I could as I sat up again. I had to damage it before I could escape. I had to cause it to be as dazed as I am before I could climb that slope to freedom, otherwise I would be thrown back down again, and again. I leapt up to its face and kicked twice. It was futile. The beast mocked my attacks, and pummeled me back into the snow. To it, my attacks were massages, and my defenses were feathers. I heard a cracking noise. I tried to reach for my sword again after I sheathed it to climb up the mountain, but I found the pain to be unsurmountable. It was the pain one feels when falling onto a solid boulder, but the numbness of debilitating illness. The importance of that injury faded when the beast descended upon me with both its fists, and then I heard four or six, or seven cracks, as if a man had just kindled a fire and my ribs were the firewood. I could not breathe. The beast then threw me back to the mountain, and my right shoulder took the brunt of the impact. I sat for a moment in the snow. I savored it. I knew I would not be able to face the beast. It ran to me. I embraced it. I felt the end coming. Both my shoulders had been displaced, a number of my ribs were either fractured or broken, I am fairly certain my collar bone had been dislodged, and now, now came the beast charging at me with a vengeance. It grabbed me again, but this time it did not try to eat me. It wanted to beat the air from my lungs. It squeezed me. My ribs, I was certain, gave into the pressure and snapped, and those that did not snap like twigs, cracked like bread. It smacked me into the mountain, threw me into the ice, punched me, once twice and thrice, it pounded on my neck at the connector between it and my spine, perhaps trying to paralyze and end my resistance. I could not allow it, but I could not prevent it. It punched me a fourth time with its colossal hands, and clawed again with its swords at my back. Again my back hit the wall, and this time something broke. I still do not know what. I had begun to lose vision and sight. Before I could fall, it slammed me into the snow one final time and then I felt a sweet, delightful, sugary feeling on the tip of my lounge as my mouth began to over salivate in what should have been agony. I felt death. An end to this miserable, unending existence of a time-displaced man in a wretched, abysmal future as he longs for his present to return from the past. I truly thought that the blackness that eclipsed the snow from my vision was death. Unfortunately, it was just my hair. It had come completely undone without my knowledge. As I lay there, helpless, the beast stepped on me with all its might, such that the snow from the level above, which I thought the monks had abandoned me to had fallen around us. But… there were no monks to be found. Come to think of it… there are no footprints of the monks. No! Could it be? I thought. It cannot! Impossible! I realized it finally. The monks… they prepared a lifetime to reach the summit of Fatoom. But this... this... beast... this monster showed them no empathy! No mercy! It showed them only the inside of its belly. I was filled with anger, rage, vengeance, second wind! I had to do something, but what could a broken man like myself do in such a situation? Then, father, then our ancestors smiled on me. They knew the fire in me still drew flame. I saw a sharp icicle on top of the beast, and I did the only thing I could. I yelled. I yelled, father. I yelled so loudly I know you heard it! You felt my screams. You felt my honor. You felt my courage. But most importantly, that beast felt that icicle fall into it, and end its insufferable grip on me, and its immoral grip on the monks. I can only hope, that if they had not died, but were being digested, tormented, and agonized by dilution and dissolving in that monster's belly, my screams were a song of hope to them, and that icicle a bell of liberation. Forgive me, Mountain Monks. Your deaths will forever haunt me, as I was about to truly find out.

After I rolled away from the impact, the displaced snow quickly buried me. I struggled to the surface swallowing heaps of snow on the way out, throwing me into a fit of coughing and gasping like a drowned man escaping the depths of the sea.

As I fought myself and the weather and all logic to get back up to my feet all I could think of was the truth that awaited me at the summit of this forsaken mountain. I must be courageous enough to defy the death whose stench haunts me. I must be righteous enough to maintain sight of my goal. I must have the compassion to ensure that the monk's fate is not this barbaric end. It is my duty to return to the past and destroy Aku to undo this madness, to prevent this mass injustice from occurring, to undo this horror that is Aku! But, my body did not agree with my soul. I clung onto the mountain, I reached for the next ledge, and the next, but my arm simply would not stretch to reach out to the fourth. The pain was too great. The blood that poor from my nose seeped onto my neck and chest. The blood that flowed from my cheeks reddened the snow beneath me. My broken geta could withstand my weight no longer. I fell from the mountain. I fell what seemed like the entirety of Fatoom, but I now realize it was only twice my height. After a moment of pondering and recollection, reflecting and the comfort of this dishonorable state of defat, this sin for our kind, I looked up at the mountain, and tried to look at my body. My neck refused to budge. I shamefully, regrettably uttered those words to the appeasement of every villainous dishonorable spirit that pulled me back.

'It… is… impossible.'

Forgive me father. In that moment. I failed you.

My soul, my warrior's spirit was too weak for Fatoom. It left my body. Just then the pain left. The guilt left. Everything stopped. I felt… weightless. I saw my own body, and what a sorry sight it was, father. You would have been so displeased. There I lay, abandoned and dishonored on an accursed mountain covered in blood and snow. Dishonoring the Bushido code, dishonoring the Samurai, dishonoring you. The Odachi lay beside me, stained with the blood of a dishonorable fool. His Kimono could no longer be called a Kimono. That which represents the highest regality of the Samurai, was wrapped around a boy who called himself such, but did not embody the code. It was disrespected, tattered, and torn, stained, and soiled, unfit for a boy let alone a Samurai. His hair, meant to be tied in a noble knot, disgraced his face and shoulders and made him more like a woman than a man. Father… I could not recognize myself. Please, you must forgive me, for indeed it was you who inspired me to do what I did next.

In my state of death I saw things. Things I cannot explain. I should not have been able to see them. Father… I saw you. I saw you as you are today. You… enslaved by Aku. I saw mother, mining minerals for that demon! All the while, I was haunted by what I had failed to accomplish. I was haunted by the monks. They reminded me of your desperation, your fear, your hope. I awoke feeling no pain, no wounds. I felt feeling reinvigorated on the same snow I had brought shame to our clan, surrounded by the same blood I should have found to be royal, but was disgusted by its spillage and unworthiness. I answered the monk's final question as I saw my childhood. The childhood Aku stole from me. The past I deserve. The life I deserve.

'No. I have not forgotten.'

I leapt onto the mountain, and father, if you had seen me. If you had seen me father. It was truly a moment to be called your son. Your blood flowed through my veins. I kept our honor. I climbed ledge after ledge, I ignored the pain and the blood, and I crawled past the snow, past the rocks, past the obstacles, past everything until… it was done. I looked in shock as I climbed the last level and found no more levels. It… was done. I had done it.

I looked around to be sure… It was the summit. Fatoom had been conquered. I have done it. But there was no portal. But I did feel an energy. A presence. I know you were there, father. I know you heard me. I walked to edge of that condemned mountain and saw honor return to my kimono as I bowed down to the spirit of the mountain monks, who through me reached this summit. Without them, you would never be able to read this letter. I thanked them for their sacrifice and then took a deep breath. With the power of Fatoom coursing through my veins I yelled so loudly. I yelled so loudly the village south of here heard me. I yelled it across all space and time, for Aku himself to hear.

'Aku! I will never give up! I will return to the past, and destroy you!'

And there it was, the truth that shall come true. I do not know where, I do not know when, but once I return to the past I will give you this letter, father, and you will see the man you raised. I swear it.

-Yours for all time,

Samurai Jack.