Tokyo
A.D. 2005
The city that had once been one a hub of technological wonder had become an open and festering wound. The stories-tall scrapers that covered the ancient skyline were now topped with the spherical techno-organic…vessels. Spiraling from the bottom of each black as midnight vessel were tentacles of some sort that had burrowed through the street below. No one knew what the functions of those tentacles were. Some theorized they were simply support anchors. But most feared they were designed for something much more dire. They were probably right. It seemed that they were literally sucking the life out of Japan. These black engines of death now plagued four cities. Since their arrival last year, Tokyo had been the hardest hit.
Daniel Macintyre cursed himself for not being there on what had come to be known as the Day of Death. Hundreds of thousands were dead, and the surviving population had been enslaved. He was certain he could have prevented all of this if he had arrived a few months earlier.
It had been four years since he'd been here, or one hundred thirty years depending on your point of view. Jason unsheathed his katana. He took a few practice swings and tapped the silver gauntlet he wore over his wrist. A faint blue glow surrounded his arm and sword.
"Shishou, I pray you taught me well."
He took a deep breath and sheathed his sword. He removed the white cape he wore around his shoulders, folded it and placed it in the seat of his transport. He replaced the cape with a dark leather overcoat before activating the transport's cloak and sprinting into the city
* * *
It is said that in times of peace, the masters of certain arts of kenjitsu wore heavy capes to temper their abilities. In times of war, these capes were shed so that these masters could fight unencumbered.
A.D. 2005
The city that had once been one a hub of technological wonder had become an open and festering wound. The stories-tall scrapers that covered the ancient skyline were now topped with the spherical techno-organic…vessels. Spiraling from the bottom of each black as midnight vessel were tentacles of some sort that had burrowed through the street below. No one knew what the functions of those tentacles were. Some theorized they were simply support anchors. But most feared they were designed for something much more dire. They were probably right. It seemed that they were literally sucking the life out of Japan. These black engines of death now plagued four cities. Since their arrival last year, Tokyo had been the hardest hit.
Daniel Macintyre cursed himself for not being there on what had come to be known as the Day of Death. Hundreds of thousands were dead, and the surviving population had been enslaved. He was certain he could have prevented all of this if he had arrived a few months earlier.
It had been four years since he'd been here, or one hundred thirty years depending on your point of view. Jason unsheathed his katana. He took a few practice swings and tapped the silver gauntlet he wore over his wrist. A faint blue glow surrounded his arm and sword.
"Shishou, I pray you taught me well."
He took a deep breath and sheathed his sword. He removed the white cape he wore around his shoulders, folded it and placed it in the seat of his transport. He replaced the cape with a dark leather overcoat before activating the transport's cloak and sprinting into the city
* * *
It is said that in times of peace, the masters of certain arts of kenjitsu wore heavy capes to temper their abilities. In times of war, these capes were shed so that these masters could fight unencumbered.