It was hot.

The heat. It infiltrated everything. Even through the shade of the barracks where he waited, away from the direct sunlight of the open stadium. And the lack of a breeze made the air so stifling. Almost unbearably so. And it smelled. It smelled of hot dust. And earth. And blood. And death. And the stench of too many men who had gone too long without proper bathing. And the faceless mask of bleached clay that shrouded his identity did little to smother these noxious odors.

But the smell?

It reminded him of where he had once come from.

And.

Strangely.

It brought comfort to him now, when the sounds of the mob just outside in the stands threatened to disturb his calm.

He took a breath in, the hot putrid air drawn through his nose to burn his lungs.

And he waited.

Waited, for men to die in glorious battle before he was afforded the right to do the same.

The only right he possessed now, as a slave.

"You."

This voice came booming in harsh command as hollow, empty eyes continued to stare at the earthen ground below.

"The one in the mask."

The voice came again, closer this time as the one who spoke brazenly dared to approached.

"No Face. You fight next."

A small nod was the only wordless response to this announcement as he slowly rose to his feet.

It was time.

'What is the meaning of this?!' A tenor of male adolescence exclaimed in baffled indignation.

Fingertips lightly grasped the brightly colored mask, a warrior's face cover meant to intimidate the enemy, as it came roughly pushed up to reveal youthful features when it came to rest atop of the boy's head.

'Motoshi!' This name came shouted in harsh accusation to summon the man in question as he approached and stood face to face with his child-commander. 'Why have the troops not yet mobilized?! Did I not give the order myself?'

'You did.' The man retorted coldly as others began to come around him, outnumbering their superior officer.

'Then why do you and your men still remain in camp? This unit should have been ready to dishpan long ago.' This came a stern rebuke to such gross dereliction of duty.

'Because,' The man uttered with such a horrific look of defiance as he gained courage from the men around him. 'this unit of men will not move on the orders of a boy.' This statement fell condescendingly from the man's lips as he continued. 'A child who has barely seen his fifteenth year.'

'These were orders given to me, your commanding officer, from the Emperor himself! And you defy them?!'

But just as this mutinous insurrection began to dangerously brew, it came strangely quelled in a single, tense moment. The men seemed momentarily disarmed. Their blatant disobedience halted as expressions waned from courage into fear. And a dark, formidable presence descended upon them all as a deeper voice manifested directly behind the adolescent leader of men.

'...Commander..?' The voice uttered from over his shoulder as he watched the men visibly cower in submission. 'Explain this.' And the child dare not look over his shoulder towards the one who had spoken to him.

He did not need to look upon the face, to recognize the familiar voice of his master.

'My Lord.' This came dutiful in cool, monotonous response. 'This one refuses to follow my orders to march.' The culprit and center of this uprising within the ranks was quickly singled out. 'And his insubordination has taken foothold among the men.' This came uttered coldly with heavy accusation. 'Others follow his example.'

'And as commanding officer...' The voice from behind the child quietly whispered. '…you allow such willful disobedience from your men?'

There came a pregnant pause upon the moment. Silence to this harsh question. And everyone waited on bated breath for what might happen next.

'No, my Lord.' His jaw came firmly set in anger as this came a curt retort from taut lips, dark amethyst eyes coldly regarding the dissenter before him. 'I do not.'

'And what will be done about this seed of rebellion within your men, commander?'

'I will irradiate it.' He gave quick reply to this burden of responsibility. 'I will make an example of this wayward dog in front of my men.'

'Then do it. And quickly.' With this hissed command, the fearsome battle mask came slid down into position over his face.

'Yes, my Lord.'

There had been so many battles before this. So many more were sure to come. He stooped to the ground. Rough calloused fingertips caressing the earth as he gathered some up in the palm of his hand, symbolically washing them with it to prepare his mind for the battle ahead. To center and ground himself. Connect himself to the earth he stood on as he finally rose, brushing his hands as he stared at his latest opponent through the faceless mask he wore.

Removing the blade that had been anchored to his back, he armed himself as he witnessed his foe do likewise. Lowering himself to a crouched position as he grasped the hilt of his sword with both hands, the katana came poised in a Ko Gasumi no Kamae sword stance. The blade pointed towards his enemy and held parallel to his gaze as he stared his adversary down the length of his weapon. And in that moment, everything else melted away, save the face of his enemy.

With a horrifying battle cry, he swiftly threw himself forward into the fray with calculated purpose and single minded intent. To win. Or die fighting. And thus the battle began. Blade to blade. Metal against metal in a dance of calamity he was all too well versed in. A dance of violence and destruction his body had been finely crafted for. A slender body possessing such elegance and grace that it truly brought the beauty of art to war as he turned and pivoted on his feet. Negotiating and renegotiating his own stance and position as he savagely challenged the stance of his opponent until the opening he had been searching for had presented itself.

The man thrust his blade recklessly upward with a single hand, the angle weakening the blow as it aimed towards his face. And in an instant, his own blade shot up to claim it. Capturing it in the twist of the katana, he angled the point of his own blade directly downward, forcing the sword of his opponent down with all his might. In the same fluid motion, he turned and wielded the end of the hilt to violently strike his foe in the throat, causing the man to stumble backwards.

As the dust quickly settled, he witnessed his enemy become enraged by this slight as they charged forward, their moves obvious and reckless. And he led them along, backing away as he quickly struck their blade down and away. Deflecting the blows of his enemy again, and again. And again. Aggravating his opponent while he reserved his own energy and the enemy exhausted themselves. And he felt each blow become weaker. Lesser in strength as it struck the solid defense of his blade. Until he took it upon himself to fight back, tagging his enemy's weapon with a dizzying display of alternating high and low strikes. His foe stumbled back, exposing themselves. He moved in to exploit a critical weak point as he hit low and struck the man's leg, and they sank to the ground with a loud anguished cry.

Blood decorated the dirt beneath them as the earth greedily partook of her crimson libation. And he lorded his weapon poised over the man's vulnerable position in the dirt as he held a threatening Jodan no Kamae sword stance. The blade held above his head and pointed downward, at the ready to run his enemy through.

And there was but a moment's pause in the delivery of this death blow as the faceless figure looked away from his vanquished enemy.

'My Lord!' This came a breathless exhalation of victory as the child lifted up his war mask.

He sat atop the toxic mutineer, dagger poised at the man's throat. The man flat on his back, winded and gasping for air in deep, ragged breaths.

'He has been bested in battle against a boy.' This came publicly declared to announce the man's shame and humiliation. 'Is this not punishment enough for his crimes?' And cold, dark eyes of black obsidian regarded this man's defeat.

'To refuse an order in times of war is to directly disobey the Emperor.' This came spoken in a deep, stern tone of warning. 'And to disobey the Emperor at any time is tantamount to treason.' Lips formed in a taut line with the severity of this chilling statement.

'Commander.' The boy heard himself addressed as he dutifully listened, staring at the man subdued beneath him.

'Yes, my Lord?' The child responded to this call as his youthful features remained stoic and composed.

'Do you know the punishment for treason?'

'I do.' He answered without hesitation.

'Good.' This cam coldly uttered in that familiar voice. 'Then teach them.'

The mask came slid down from the top of his head to cover his face once more. A child's face turned fearsome warrior and now, public executioner for crimes against the throne. And he did not hesitate in this.

'May your maker show you mercy,' he whispered through his mask to the traitor beneath him. 'for your King does not.'

A curt nod of the head was given from the place of honor, demanding that he properly claim this victory and dispatch his opponent.

Permanently.

And without a word, that faceless mask turned to the wounded fighter before him as, with the swift swing and twist of the blade, he angled the katana down and quickly embedded it deep within the man's chest. Ending him to the sound of ravenous applause.

Through the thunderous sound of the stadium, cold onyx eyes slowly drifted away from the aftermath of gratuitous violence.

"Shigure..?" This name came uttered lowly to the man who stood directly being the seat of honor.

"His Imperial Majesty needs something of me?" The man purred lightly, inclining himself to better hear his master's request.

"Who is that fighter..?" This question came equal parts vexed curiosity as those eyes drifted towards the stadium ring once more.

"Well," Shigure hummed lightly. "as a respectable member of the Cabinet, I assure you I do not know."

"Find out." This command came a low, bitter hiss towards the man's humorless antics.

"If it is what His Imperial Majesty wishes." The man conceded through a lithe tone. "Then I shall discover what I can of this fighter."

A/N: So, there are really two themes I find quite challenging. The first, would be fluff and romance. The second, would be action scenes. Action scenes, as a rule, are extremely difficult to do well. But, if done well, they can be visually stunning and add intrigue to a story.

I only hope that I have accomplished some semblance of that in this chapter.

I hope.

Also, I hope that the slow burn and building up of the story is not too cumbersome or confusing! But then, I worry about those kind of things!