Elfen Liner Notes : The Need
BREAKFRONT ISLAND, CIRCA 1300 CE
Lord Kakuzawa placed a hand of approval on his injured scout's head, and looked to all the assembled family.
"This brave one, who most resembles the hated Humans who hunt us, has lost much in his efforts to gain us an oversight of their plans against us. Stealthier than any of their shinobi, tougher than any of their metal mounted elite, he was finally spotted out and cornered in such a way as no living thing could escape unscathed. An eye, a leg, a hand, yet he swam back from the cursed mainland, from the lands once ours before we were forced to flee here, to the Breakfront. Yet by our ways and methods, he will be made somewhat whole again. Till that day comes, honor him and attend to his needs. For the next month, all captives are at his disposal and pleasure."
As he began a very sick tradition, Lord Kakuzawa departed with his chief physician.
"You claim that you can restore him?"
The physician nodded.
"It makes sense to send him back in. He has the experience. Plus, the enemy will think him dead or crippled, and either not recognize him or think he is invincible, and flee his presence."
Lord Kakuzawa shook his head.
"They merely bring in more brute force to compensate. Bad enough they have begun to blunt our sacred bloodline, taking from us the power that forged this large island in a chain of smaller ones. But they pile on like the savages they accuse the Northern Tribes as being?"
In fact, the story of how Breakfront came to be in the Izu Chain was far more bizarre than the legends of his family could account for, but the physician, steeped in the same legends, knew his basic point well.
"He will have to be a trifle less bold in his scouting. Let's be honest-he likes to be spotted, once in a while, to taunt the enemy. That can be no longer."
A fact the Lord of the Horns had no counter for.
"His brashness will give way to the hard lessons he has learned. We do not have time to properly train a replacement. They are perhaps a decade away from moving on this island, now that the harassing Mongol fleets are done with. How will you restore the eye of the one who is our eyes?"
The physician held up a round piece with protrusions on one side.
"Glass eyes are usually merely for show, of course. But through our work on the captives Your Grace has provided us with, we have discovered that, by simulating the eye's internal attachments, we can cause the blinded through pressure to sense light in a broad sense. His sight there obviously cannot be restored. But we can grant him back some balance in how he moves about. Plus, our foes will be searching about for a man with an eye covering, or an eye that wanders on its own."
Lord Kakuzawa recalled his scheduled talk with the captured Western Priest. He had to move to end this, but not before he knew more.
"His hand?"
The physician almost sensed the urging to go faster. This was likely why he was the Chief Physician.
"We've improved the standard vastly since the early days. Used to be when our folk lost a hand, we were no better than the enemy-forging a piece of steel or carving hard wood so an angry bitter fool could punch something. But now, not only do we have bamboo pieces covered by dyed rice-skin to give it the appearance of flesh, but our brave friend will, by clock-gear workings, be able to grasp and release small objects."
Kakuzawa's jaw dropped.
"Working fingers? Physician, you have earned your place here once again. Of course, we as a clan have suffered so many very grievous wounds while hunted, I suppose you have no choice. What of his leg?"
The physician was quicker in this.
"That was simplest. He cannot be seen to walk with a cane, so his new leg will be made of four canes, two top ones meeting two bottom ones, pivoting on a foot that is actually a reworked sandal we are shaping like his remaining foot. We suspect it will even place a bounce in his step."
The final question was not about the fallen, soon to be restored warrior scout.
"The Hidden Place? If we are forced to flee inside?"
The physician looked more doubtful than before.
"You were born there, yet all your other siblings died. That place is not cursed. It is poisoned. If we are forced in there, it will be as a winnowing. We will be stronger, to be proof against a poison no one else knows of. But we will be many fewer. The headstones will dot the grotto like blades of grass."
Kakuzawa nodded.
"The true people must endure. Those few will wait until the enemy thinks we are passed from all flesh, and then rise to be kings as the enemy kills themselves in endless battle. Now I must go."
Back in his chambers, he found the Priest waiting for him.
"Will I be given a chance to persuade your outcast clan to the word of the Mother Church in Rome? I was promised this."
Kakuzawa smiled. He was not like those hornless fools in Tokyo and Edo. All learning was treasure, even if it had to be sifted through for its relative worth. This would prove no different.
"You will be given that chance. But first, you must convert me. Priest-tell me all you know about the prophecies of the One Anointed by your God's Holy Oil. Speak to me of your-what was that word?"
The priest nodded.
"The Hebrews called him Immanuel, and also-Messiah. This prophecy was fulfilled over one thousand years ago, and will be once again when Humanity is judged for its sins. Some lost souls believe, though, that the Messiah is yet to come."
Kakuzawa felt he had the right track, and waited to hear more.
"This is a problem?"
The priest opened his holy book to near the end.
"Of course. The One True Messiah, Our Lord Jesus Christ, will raise you to Heaven. Most false messiahs will leave your own head lying at your feet."
CIRCA 2002
Bando could not believe what he was hearing.
"These guys can give me new eyes-and a new hand? Should I call the Super Sentai producers or Lee Majors?"
Kurama understood his disbelief.
"Yes. The Kakuzawa Zaibatsu has long specialized in artificial limbs and organs. Their public offerings are years ahead of anything its competition can dream of. Their more privately-kept and governmental works-may be as much as a century ahead of all others."
Bando's red flags went up.
"Okay. How does that work? They got aliens tied up somewhere?"
Kurama considered, not for the first time, that the technology he regularly encountered seemed to almost be magical, and how well-prepared his employers were to handle a threat that emerged so quickly.
"I can't say. Perhaps some quirk of their family lineage made them decide to pursue such knowledge."