Shimada Clan Castle.
Hanamura, Japan.
The tatami flooring was soft under Hanzo Shimada's feet as he walked over to the small basin of water in an empty, white room. A singular paper lantern overhead lazily moved in the breeze from the open door on the eastern wall which looked out to a small rock garden.
The man dipped his blood-soaked hands into the clear water and watched solemnly as the red mist drifted off his skin to dance and darken within the bowl. Outside, three bodies lay clumped together: The Shimada Castle Guard stood no chance against the warrior, and they never would.
Every year, on the same day, Hanzo would return from his travels to break into the castle grounds he once called home and dispatch the security so that he may make an incense offering to his father's sacred blade, and each year the guards seemed to never learn. The warrior carried his bow fastened across his back, and he also carried a pain that was much heavier than any man could hope to bare: fratricide.
The murder of his own dear brother Genji by his own hands so many years ago, all because the boy's heart was too pure and incorruptible. The wind coming from the outside carried the comforting scent of the cherry blossoms blooming across the grounds, and bittersweet memories followed soon after.
What would father say here, now? Hanzo massaged his hands in the cool water.
Hanzo, my son. You've made me proud. I know I left a lot for you to handle…but you've been doing your best, and that is all I have ever asked of you.
Would he say that, or would he hate Hanzo for also abandoning the Shimada Family?
Would he hate him for murdering more than twenty of his own men after the archer discovered they had been trafficking drugs through school neighborhoods?
Would he hate Hanzo for the way he drained the blood from the last remaining dealer who led a 13-year-old girl to end up in emergency care after an overdose?
Hanzo lead himself to the main room of the castle-grounds. A beautiful chamber where the high wooden walls seemed to have stood for millennia, and before him was the grandiose matted floor where the emptiness drew the eye to a simple yet decadent shrine sitting before a gorgeous but weathered tapestry which fell down to his father's great sword- the Kōhai. Surrounded by more than fifty candles all in varying states of decay from the wax spilling over the kanji engraved in them, the sword was softly illuminated and the markings across the blade seemed to glow in the dim light. Hanzo knelt down and reached for a stick which he lit quietly and brought it to one of the bare wicks before him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. His voice sounded foreign to him after going for so long as a man of few words. It sounded more rough and aged than it had been the last time he heard it. What a strange thing, he thought, to not recognize even the voice of one's self.
"I'm sorry dear brother. I'm sorry father. Please realize everything I did…I did for honor-"
A change in the wind disrupted him. The balance of the room shifted in such a hairpin fracture that a lesser warrior would never have even thought to sense it. Someone was there.
"You are not the first assassin sent to kill me," He spoke with his eyes still trained upon his father's sword, "And you will not be the last."
A soft drop on the tatami mat behind him near the room's entrance told Hanzo this figure was light. He did not carry any heavy weaponry, nor was he large in stature. The archer inhaled deeply, and let his lungs exhale through his thinly pursed lips.
"You of all people come to Shimada Castle. The den of your enemies." The voice was masked by cybernetics, and spoken in Hanzo's own native tongue.
"This was once my home-" The man's fingers graced the grip of his bow.
Hanzo clenched it tightly and spun on his knee to loosen an arrow as he bellowed:
"-Did your masters not tell you who I was?!"
The arrow flew true, cutting through the air with a loud whistle, but the target was quick to side-step it with ease. Hanzo finally got a look at the man, donned in a slim suit of chrome body-armor that covered him from head to foot. His helm was marked with a thin green visor which shone vibrantly in the darkness, and the same patterns of light kissed down the man's body.
"I know who you are, Hanzo!" The figure shouted as Hanzo let fly another arrow, this time he made sure to correct its trajectory- but still it fell short of the target. The mechanical attacker was toying with him.
"You come here every year, on the same day!" Another arrow. The man dove behind one of the larger standing lanterns by the entrance which Hanzo fired at tearing small holes in the paper.
"You risk so much to honor someone you murdered!" The cyborg flew from cover and send three shuriken spiraling towards Hanzo- he ducked in time as they sliced cleanly through the arrows in the quiver at his back before embedding themselves in the walls behind him.
"You know nothing about what happened!" Hanzo roared, sighting the attacker up. This time he met his mark, and the man was knocked back to the sub level moat just below. The man darted to the broken rail and grabbed for a scatter-arrow, sending it flying down to the ninja.
May these find you well, Hanzo smirked as the one thick arrow splintered and whistled into over a hundred smaller arrows, just as deadly but not as precise.
A disturbing blur in the air and a whirlwind of slice from the figure's blade told Hanzo that those too, had failed. This warrior was unlike any other.
Now standing at the stairs leading out to the wide balcony, the ninja waited. The green of his visor and his slender shape against the bright night sky outside were the only things reassuring Hanzo this was not some twisted vision.