Hellooo everyone! Welcome back! :'D

Tons of things going on in my life - finals, exams, and a sudden internship opportunity! (O_O) Anyhow, I hope to have a few weeks off from the studying at least, and a loong 13-14 hour train journey ahead.. so hopefully I'll start typing out more TFS :'D

Before I begin, I'd like to thank RoseScytheElysium, Fantasysword92375, BrutusSilentium, Hell-On-Training-Wheels, Poe's Daughter, PunkRoseBlitz and iceangelmkx for writing out their lovely reviews to me! Thanks so much guys, I honestly cannot go on without you all! :')

Additional thanks to Rosalietje, Freakygumdrop and Poe's Granddaughter (xD) for favouriting and following this story! Cheers!

Now another house-keeping aspect: this chapter marks the end of the second arc of the story! (You made it so far, I'm sooo happy! xD) Which is great because now I can finally start to write about my original idea on how Kenshi broke the Sento - which I think should not take more than three chapters, tops (obviously, I've to write it all out first, before I can make a true guess ;D). After that, I'm planning to getting back to the comics storyline for a wee bit to develop Takeda and Hanzo more.. I'll see where this takes me from there later ;)

And lastly - I would like to thank iceangelmkx for lending me her Kenshi-expertise in ensuring if the dialogue was in-character for Kenshi *hugs*

Also, the-06 (from Tumblr), my buddy - the entire Hsu Hao bit is just for you - I could not not write it out after that headcanoning with eulerami! :'D I hope you enjoy it! :'D

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for the emotional suffering I like to dish out to my fave characters. Sowwy :P

Additional Note: Just a reminder - thoughts/flashbacks are all in italics! :)

The Takahashi Family Saga

Of Trials and Tribulations

V

Unknown Location

Near Mount Godwin-Austen,

Sino-Pakistan border, Western Himalayas.

March, 1999

'...If you see me fall, then run.'

Panting and stumbling, the boy ran through the wilderness, with no direction to follow. His father had carried him for most of his trek, even before Takeda had voiced out how tired he was. It now dawned on the boy how inhumanely herculean Kenshi's act had been - merely a few minutes had passed since the boy took off, sprinting at top speed, but his legs already screamed from the pain to stop.

The woods were deathly silent, one that were a precursor of a bad omen. The sound of Takeda's own heavy breathing filled his ears – yet, before he knew it, another foreign, vile sound arose, almost surrounding his form.

The gut-wrenching smacking of fists meeting flesh, followed by his father's pained cries; as he was being pummeled mercilessly by the Red Dragon commander.

Takeda paused in his tracks as soon as he heard them, and gasped as he realised what was happening to Kenshi.

'Don't look back, and don't even think about coming for me. Just run; as far as you can, and then some more…'

Takeda had already defied him. His father was a sore point for him, but even then the boy was aware that despite his failures, his absence and the child's own confused feelings for him, the swordsman had never deserted him, and had always stood up-front, no holds barred to protect him. Even in the heat of battle, even at the cost of other lives…

'That's an order, Takeda!'

'Heed him, son – for my sake! He will always protect you…'

"Mother…" Takeda whispered. His parents' words echoed in Takeda's ears, and with adrenaline pumping in his veins, the boy somehow found the will to block out the cries, and continue running.

Takeda turned his head whilst still moving, looking toward the clearing he'd left behind, one last time, until he banged right into a solid figure. The impact sent the boy stumbling back, until he landed on his behind, his forehead and back aching with the pain of forgotten bruises.

"Kenshi's little bastard…"

Takeda sharply looked up at the man before him. He was dressed as the other Red Dragon were, when Takeda finally got a glimpse of them when his father fell. Masked, armed, and wearing grey-green fatigues – the only defining feature of this man from the other goons, was a long, painful cut running from between the eyebrows, down the length of the nose and slanted sideways to the jaw – angry red muscle and scar tissue barely held together by the many stitches it took to seemingly fix the cut.

Undoubtedly, the wound was fresh. Not more than a week or so old. Takeda felt his stomach turn over – from the horrid sight, or the nervousness of being captured, the boy simply didn't know.

Takeda didn't even realise when the Red Dragon mercenary pulled him up, but he became uncomfortably aware of the knife at his throat, his jugular pumping ferociously underneath the cold steel-blade.

"L-let me go!" it was a whimper. Takeda fought back tears, furious at himself for sounding so weak.

The mercenary leaned over, reeking of a foreign incest mixed with sweat – an unpleasant odour which made the boy dizzy. "See this scar?" He trailed the blade down the length of his own wound, sneering. "Your dad gave me this scar, boy. And…" the knife was back on Takeda, except it trailed a similar path down his face, poking uncomfortably but not tearing the skin.

"…I ain't too happy 'bout it…"

A particularly pained yell echoed in the woods, followed by a loud, wet, racking cough. Takeda felt a cold chill run down his spine, his mind diverting from his current ordeal, to fearing for Kenshi's life.

The Red Dragon mercenary heard it as well. He sniggered with amusement, showing off a set of perfect yellow teeth, causing Takeda to cringe with disgust.

He had to do this. Across half the world, his father – his blind father, one who had never even seen him in real life, had stood rigid, and protected him from dangers to both their lives. He knew Kenshi was a warrior, a man of a few words – and in their not-so-ideal circumstances, he did exactly what his mother said he would.

Takeda was no fighter, and he never lied - but this was necessary. Maybe they will leave Kenshi alone if he denounced him.

It was the only way the eight year old could protect his father.

"I-I don't have a dad," Takeda returned, finding some defiance, some steel in his voice.

The man looked through his lie with an incredulous snort of laughter. The blade was back at Takeda's neck, and the boy's cerulean eyes widened with fear.

"Gutsy, are we? Seems like treachery does not run alone in the Takahashi blood," the Red Dragon mercenary stared at him with an evil grin. "Hmm… Slave owners in Outworld pay premium for young boys with backbone…" mused the cultist.

Takeda did not know what he was talking about, but the man didn't live long enough to finish his thoughts.

All he heard was a sickening splat that sent blood and sinew flying everywhere, landing on the boy's clothes and face. He looked at the sight before him with frightened eyes: the end of a spear jutted painfully out from the mercenary's throat, who now made disgusting sounds from his throat as he drowned in his own blood – his knees crashing to the ground as his fingers twitched nervously.

He slowly bled to death, choking and wheezing pathetically in front of Takeda, who felt like he was watching a train wreck – and couldn't tear his eyes away from him.

"You are trespassing, child," boomed a deep voice, sending shivers down the boy's spine. He looked up to see a wall of muscle, a tall, evidently strong man, holding the end of a chain like spear that had killed the mercenary. His face was hooded, but his robes were coloured with hints of yellow, and black – something like ninjas on those martial arts films wore.

Takeda simply stared up, speechless, at the fighter before him – thinking whether he could trust him or not.

"Who are you accompanying? And why did you bring the Red Dragon here?" growled the man. His forehead creased with annoyance, and his tone took a dangerous edge. Takeda stood up to his full height, and stared deeply into the man's eyes, feeling courageous all of a sudden.

He shook his head slowly, but strongly – letting the older man know that he won't talk just like that.

"You will regret following me, Hsu Hao!"

Kenshi's agonised voice rang out loudly enough, followed by a series of muffled groans and grunts, as Hao laughed maniacally; breaking the silence in the woods. The masked ninja's eyebrows shot up in slight surprise, as if he recognised the owner of the voice, or perhaps the laugh. He slowly shifted his gaze from the boy to the path that led to the clearing instead.

"Fox!"

Immediately, a young, dark-skinned man – dressed in similar garb, ran up from behind, and bowed deeply to the ninja.

"Yes, Grandmaster?"

"Take him to the temple – treat his wounds, give him something to eat. This will not take long."

"I'm not going anywhere!" cried Takeda, resisting the older boy's advances, as the grandmaster moved toward the path.

The ninja looked gravely at the clearing, from where he'd heard Kenshi's voice, letting his bloody kunai dangle from his hand, as if a reply to silence young Takeda.

As he jogged up the path to rescue the older Takahashi, it was only then that Takeda realised that the 'Grandmaster' was not alone. He had in fact, come with a small army of his soldiers – most of them armed, all bearing similar clan colours, who now followed him to the clearing.

He was as good as captured.

'Real smooth, Takeda - couldn't survive ten minutes on your own.'

The youth named Fox took a step toward Takeda, and gripped his shoulder gently, but with a firmness relaying his compliance to the Grandmaster's order. Takeda struggled at first, hoping to break free of the captor - but then, he glanced into the kind, hazel stare from the veiled face.

Takeda reluctantly acquiesced.

'Hao, did you secure the contact in Beijing this time?' the swordsman's voice was cold, apathetic and tired – as if Hao's mere existence bored him to death.

'I did,' the Mongolian ground out, a muscle twitching in his temple in anger. 'The deliveries will not be delayed, Kenshi-san."

'Good.' Kenshi waved him off, lip curled in arrogant disdain, and began to walk away, without as much as a glance back, his tone alone condescending to the point of humiliation. 'Daegon knows I have much better things to do than tie up loose ends after termites like you.'

"How does it feel, Kenshi-san?" Hsu Hao mocked, his voice a guttural growl, as he held up Kenshi by the collar. The voices, the insulting words of the swordsman from weeks ago echoed incessantly in his mind, as he beat up the swordsman with unprecedented glee. Blood flowed in streams from his nose, the swordsman's barely suppressed groans providing a grotesque, sadistic pleasure to the Red Dragon.

"To become my little loose end now," Without waiting for a response, he continued to punch Kenshi's battered face. "You and your little fuck-up-"

"Your-war-is-with-me-Hao," Kenshi grunted with effort. Crimson began to flow from his mouth, bracketing into the sides of his face before pouring down his chin. "Leave-him-alone."

Hao guffawed, incredulous at the beaten man's words. Was this the same cocky, callous swordsman who had conducted the affairs of the Red Dragon without the slightest of remorse, or care? This man, now, grovelling helplessly for his boy – this spineless fool masquerading as the pride of Daegon?

"Weakling! To think Daegon thought you worthy of our cause!" Hao shook him hard from his collar.

"That-wretched-son-uva-bitch!" Kenshi snarled breathlessly, his lips curled in a sneer even in his injured position. "Couldn't face me, so went after my Such-"

"You mean your whore, eh Ken-"

Kenshi head-butted him with all his remaining might, nearly knocking himself out from the blow. He'd heard a satisfying 'crunch' – and even before Hsu Hao reeled back howling, he knew he'd broken the Mongolian's nose.

"You worth-less, runt…" the swordsman hissed from between his clenched jaw. "You're nothing to me… Tell-your-master-to-come-stop-me himself… I don't deal-with scum like-"

Hao got up on his feet with an angry roar, blood dripping from his nose down his chin, and kicked Kenshi swiftly, harshly in the ribs – eliciting a cry of pain from the swordsman.

The Sento lay barely a few feet away, brazenly exposed on the grass. Kenshi had tried to launch the katana at his cybernetic heart, but Daegon's warding protecting the Mongolian, had overpowered his already depleted telekinesis. Kenshi now, tried to inch his way towards the sword – his fingers quivering. Hao backed off for a second – leaning back, folding his arms, as watched the scene unfold in from of him with perverse delight as the searing pain in his nose eased.

Kenshi took the reprieve with all he had. From the meager strength he had left in his limbs, he commanded himself to move toward the Sento at all costs. Propping himself on his forearm, he heaved his body up from the ground, feeling the effort tax his mindfulness, bile rising up to his throat. Covered in sweat, dirt and blood – he managed to put one hand in front of the other, dragging his injured leg behind him as he pathetically commando-crawled toward the ancestral sword.

The entirety of the Red Dragon mercenaries surrounding them laughed heartlessly at the piteous sight. Yet it was a fall from grace the swordsman was too distracted to register. With his head spinning, his consciousness on the brink of slipping away, all he could think about was whether his son had made it or not.

Just as he was within its reach, Hao bent down and grabbed the swordsman by the hair, flipping him like one would a sack, so that the injured man was on his back once more.

"Says the man who's having the shit beat out of him!" Hao sneered, as the mirth began to subside from the Red Dragon mercenaries. Becoming serious once again, their commander stood over with Kenshi under him, and brought a booted foot down his outstretched hand as it reached for the sword.

The fallen swordsman gasped in pain – once which was cut off with the same foot now crushing his throat, cutting off his breathing.

"I expected a better fight, Kenshi. Figured you might even kill a few of us," Hao haughtily proclaimed. "Instead you hid in the wilderness, like a coward-"

"Not-hiding…" Kenshi managed, his voice strained to the point of incoherency.

He felt their presence before he heard the vibration on the ground alert him of their arrival. If his oxygen supply was not being cut off, he would have heaved a sigh of relief.

"T-Trespassing…"

Barely a second passed, before the Red Dragon found himself in excruciating pain, his face a mask of horror and agony, his limbs turning limp. He did not register the kunai lodged deeply in his cybernetic heart, for he had seen the glimmer of the flames, the shadow of the spectre as he crossed his peripheral vision.

The last thing the Mongolian felt, before the masked Shirai Ryu rushed to take his life, was a permanent, frozen fear.

"GET OUT OF HERE!"

Hao was the first one to fall in the ambush.

Hasashi Hanzo had seen the mercenary's treatment of his friend; and had launched a single fist, powered by the flames of the Netherrealm. Hsu Hao's face: skin, muscles, bone and brains – all began to melt upon impact, allowing the former wraith's hand to push through his skull as if it was mere mush.

Kenshi barely registered what transpired for the next few minutes – except that he knew the Shirai Ryu had finally arrived. His lungs burned as his chest heaved, desperately inhaling the cool mountain air to ease the fire within, but it did little to keep his head from spinning and the ache of the beating, the exhaustion to set in.

He beckoned enough energy to sit up, and he stayed in the position – blocking out every sound, every emotion, every sensory from around and within him; focusing on simply breathing; becoming an island of calm in the midst of a storm, clearing his mind.

The pain in his midsection indicated at least a cracked rib, in addition to his broken shin bone from the arrow. The damage to his face and chest would cause superficial, but painful bruising, though he did feel as if he had perhaps torn a bit of muscle in the hamstring from all the running.

And then, there was the exhaustion: Kenshi felt like his shoulders could not bear his weight anymore; as if he merely supporting his own frame was like holding the entire weight of the world, like Atlas.

He did not know how many minutes passed, but he did feel the reflections of life energy fill his vision, with some diminishing – as the Shirai Ryu fighters cornered and killed the Red Dragon assassins.

"Takahashi Kenshi…" a deep voice spoke eventually.

The telepath recognised its owner immediately – managing a small smile to himself.

"This, belongs to you…" the ninja grasped Kenshi's arm gently, and placed the Sento in his gloved fingers.

A surge of power shot up from the sword, charging his body and freshening his mind, though it did little to ease the pain. And it was only then, that he felt wisps of his telekinesis and telepathy begin to return.

The swordsman sheathed the weapon at his back, raising his arm to indicate the other man aid him. The ninja immediately grabbed it, hauling the swordsman up, placing his arm over his shoulders while holding him up by the waist with the other.

"Goddamnit, Hanzo," Kenshi rasped, before a small coughing fit hit him. "What in the hell took you so long?"

Hanzo was narrowed his eyes at the complaint, and the connotations of Netherrealm the swordsman so carelessly joked about. Evidently, Kenshi had trouble conveying gratitude.

"You should stop spending so much time with the actor," Hanzo replied, thoroughly annoyed. "And a prior word would have saved us trouble."

"I was a tad pressed for time – being chased all over the continent… the usual," Kenshi returned sarcastically. He felt some semblance of strength return back, and was truly grateful for Hanzo's help. "There-there should be a young boy around…"

"I've sent him up to the temple with one of my students," Hanzo answered, quirking an eyebrow at the swordsman's unusual comment. "Yet you, my friend, have a lot of explaining to do."

Kenshi barely suppressed a wry, lop-sided grin. "Now where have I heard that before…"

Special Forces Base

Classified Location

"Major, urgent call from the Colonel – Line 4."

Sonya looked up from her file, narrowing her eyes at the sergeant with suspicion. "That's impossible, Sgt. Hunter. He's on a leave."

"No Ma'am – this is Colonel Akram, from Islamabad."

Sonya's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she picked up the receiver from the intercom at her desk. This, was definitely no social call, and the Major breathed in deeply, bracing herself for whatever that was to come next.

"Major Sonya Blade speaking. Apologies for keeping you waiting, Colonel - I trust all is well?" her tone was a tad too eager and Sonya mentally cursed herself.

"Major Blade – be at ease," a deep voice resounded from the device. "There is no emergency, but there are some questions, regarding your… recent operations, which have affected us."

A small wave of heat rushed rose to the Major's neck. "In that case, sir, standard protocol suggests you speak with my superior first," she answered cautiously.

"I have many demands of my time, madam. I do not believe this can wait," the colonel was not too pleased, although his tone remained civil.

'They'd have my ass if I messed this up.'

"As you wish, Colonel. Please continue," she responded, immediately signalling the sergeant to begin recording the call.

"Four of my men were killed in Skardu yesterday, following an attack from the Red Dragon. What would you know about that?"

Sonya shifted slightly uncomfortably in her seat. "I am sorry to hear that – we have been working against the organisation for a while now, Colonel," she paused briefly, then decided to take a risk and continue with her own thoughts on the matter. "It is concerning however, to hear that they have begun to expand their sphere of influence to your territory."

The Colonel, expecting this, chuckled humourlessly from his end. "Do not concern yourself too much, Major. We have but one talented captain, who was more than capable of handling them herself, alone." The tone was slightly mocking, and Sonya immediately recognised whom they were talking about.

She jotted down a note on her file, but said nothing.

"Nevertheless, allow me to remind you, that it would be much wiser to arrange a joint-operation beforehand with us if you want to transport your assets across our country, rather than undertaking such course of action."

Sonya hiked an eyebrow at the response, frowning. "I'm not sure what you mean, exactly, Col. Akram."

"Takahashi Kenshi is here, with his son. An SF special consultant, yes?"

'Kenshi?! Dang it, you blind moron!'

"He is indeed," Sonya answered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Though he has been out of our commission for a while, now."

"Well, I'm not interested in his current employment status for the SF. But should he ever decide to take another family vacation across the length of our country all the way to the Shirai Ryu compound, then we'd appreciate an official word from his agency about this. You do understand, do you not, Major?"

Sonya frowned at the words.

Kenshi travelling across the South Asia, with his son in tow, to reach… The Shirai Ryu? Evading attacks by the Red Dragon, pulling favours by using his SF contacts… Was he – giving up himself to Hasashi?

Sonya dropped the pen she was holding, her eyes widening as realisation began to dawn.

'His son! He's giving him up to that wraith! But… why- God! … Oh hell, no…'

"Allow me to assure you, Colonel, that Kenshi's work against the Red Dragon has not only been valuable to the SF, but to everyone afflicted by the cult," she began, awkwardly realising how diplomacy was truly nother forte – and that such verbal parlaying and mind games did nothing but exhaust her.

"They have ruthlessly hunted him throughout the continent – hindering our presence in Japan, and Thailand. He'd been laying low recently, especially since after the child's mother was murdered in cold blood, in retaliation to his activities." Sonya sighed bitterly. "While not authorised by the SF - he's doing all this… just to save his son's life, Colonel. Nothing more."

"How can you be so sure, Major?" the Colonel pressed, nonchalant. "How am I to believe all this?"

Sonya gritted her jaw, in an attempt to ease the sudden wave of fury at the condescending question.

"Because, with all due respect, sir," she began, trying her utmost to keep her voice steady. "I would have done a lot more than just trek across your country if my daughter's life was ever in danger. I assure you of that."

Her hand automatically went up to the framed picture of Johnny and Cassie on her desk – from a beach trip that was apparently, way too long ago. As she said the words, she stroked a thumb affectionately over her Cassie's wide smile.

Unbeknownst to the major, Col. Akram nodded with satisfaction at the response, from his office thousands of miles away. The cross-checking of facts added up with the story his captain had reported, and while the Pakistani colonel felt remorse at the death of four young soldiers from his company, he sympathised with Takahashi Kenshi. He too, was a father – and he understood what motivated such reckless behaviour – as Sonya Blade so eloquently stated just now.

"Major Blade, my father once told me something," the colonel began after a long pause, sighing deeply. "Wealth, and progeny, are 'fitnah': Sources of perpetual trials and tribulations – compelling us to do inexplicable things… things you and I could never imagine, and against which we are totally powerless…"

The blind swordsman was a guest to them, and he had done no wrong. It was not him, but the Red Dragon had extended their vile activities to his land. They would most graciously return the favour by wiping them out.

"Though he did not request a pick-up, I've sent the Captain to aid him, regardless. There should be no issue from our end."

Sonya's hand trembled slightly, the words from the Colonel and Kenshi's decision hitting her much harder than she'd have imagined, or ever acknowledged.

"We appreciate all your help, sir," she replied back, her voice strained. "I, on behalf of the SF and Kenshi, thank you."

The colonel spoke again, this time, more with the kindness of a learned mentor, rather than a foreign counterpart: "God-willing, we will do everything we can to help the swordsman and his son. You have my word."

The Shirai Ryu Temple

Later at night

"You think we're safe with him here?"

Takeda looked about as he got into the bed – for the first time in days. Their current room was scant – the blankets were threadbare, and there was no electricity. Irrespective, the room was well-lit from candles, and the moon and stars shone exceptionally bright, lending their light – and the covers would do their job.

Kenshi scowled, as he read the questions, and bitterness in his son's mind. It all had come to this moment, and he realised he would have to be exceptionally careful with his son, now.

"The Grandmaster is a warrior of unmatched ability. This is as safe as we can be."

"That is exactly why I asked you this!" Takeda shot, his eyes narrowed. His heart tore when he saw the black and purple bruises on his father's face – but he was mad, and furious at him at the same time.

He had not thought his father would deceive him like this.

"Didn't you see what he did to those men? He's a wraith, from HELL! My mother told me about such beings and-"

"A soulless hell-spawn would never give refuge to us," Kenshi answered, his lips pursed in annoyance. He knew there was no way of explaining such concepts to as young a child, but he said it anyway. "Everyone struggles with demons, Takeda. Hanzo conquered Scorpion years ago."

"Well, I don't care. I don't trust him…." The boy exclaimed, furious, before he turned a hurtful gaze toward Kenshi. "And I don't trust you."

Kenshi sat on the bed beside him, his head bowed, and sighed deeply. "Takeda, listen to me. I-"

"You said mother would be here... You LIED to me!" Takeda bit his lip, as futile tears flooded his eyes. He pushed his knees up to his chest, and tore his gaze away from his father.

"My mom…" Takeda began, his voice breaking and faltering. He didn't want to say the words, but it meant nothing to him now. He'd been kept in the dark for so long, when the answer was right there in front of him all this time.

He should have known. From the moment his mother mentioned his father to him by name, for the first time in his life. From the moment the blinded warrior appeared at Kun-Yaai's doorstep, soaked to the bone, quiet as was his way. From the way he had taken up his guardianship, and promised they would now be together – the picture of a happy family Takeda had dared to dream, dared to imagine for the first time.

Takahashi Kenshi was a liar. Something must have happened to Mama. He had no business coming back for him, if it hadn't. Takeda meant nothing to him, he never had.

"… she's never coming back, is she?"

The swordsman closed his eyes beneath the blindfold, feeling the hair raise at the back of his head, his neck become strained, wrought from nerves and tension.

'It all boils down to this. He must know now. He won't stay a minute if you don't tell him…'

For a second, he was back in Dara's living room, his mind swirling with thoughts and emotions – words and logic escaping him before he could say them.

'Do it, Kenshi. You've run away from this long enough.'

"No."

The heavy silence was only filled with his son's uneven breathing, and his own heartbeat, as it thundered and pounded in his head, his throat constricting.

And then, he heard his son sob – the pitiful sound replacing the words Takeda was too distressed, too stunned to voice himself.

"Something… something happened at the factory…" but he knew the boy was not listening. Takeda had buried his face in the crook of his forearms, as they lay crossed over his knees - trembling to the extent that the lightweight headboard too started shaking. Tears rolled across his face of their own accord, as he felt a balloon being inflated in the center of his chest, leaving him breathless, and broken.

For the sake of his own sanity, Kenshi exited from his mind – as Takeda's sorrowful sobs morphed into soul-crushing, bitter weeping.

It utterly shattered the swordsman. Never had he felt as helpless, as useless in the great scheme of things as he did now.

"C-come here, son-"

"DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH ME!" Takeda screamed at his father, glaring at him with red-rimmed eyes and a blinding, senseless rage.

Kenshi's face twisted with pain, his mouth slightly agape, as he felt too embarrassed to even meet his son's gaze.

He knew this would happen. He knew it every time he thought of Suchin, her bleeding body – and concluded Takeda would not take it easily – what child could?

Yet every syllable still stabbed through his miserable heart with a ferocity that left him almost at the verge of tears himself.

With his arms slightly held open, Kenshi paused in his advances for a second, and thought of retreating. But such a thought, as misguided and awry as it was, itself inflamed him. Ignoring his son's words, he softly took him from his shoulders, and quickly enclosed him within a tight embrace.

"Takeda… don't… I am so sorry…"

Takeda struggled and cried, his voice muffled, as Kenshi only continued to hold him closer. He punched his father on the chest again and again, crying out for his mother in Thai – in words that held no meaning for him, not anymore.

'Yes, go ahead. Let it out. Beat me, hurt me… It is my fault. I could not save her. But do not cry – you will kill me right now, son. Before I get to those bastards who did this to us…'

A moment later, Kenshi softly grabbed his feeble fists in one hand, and pressed a long kiss to the boy's forehead. Takeda let out a wail of anguish that ran too deep for words – tears rolling down the sides of his face. Kenshi quickly wiped them away, as the boy threw his arms around his father's neck and cried hysterically into his shoulder.

"My boy, my son… No… They say it hurts the dead…. Don't cry…" he whispered into Takeda's ear, his own voice quivering, as he rocked the grieving child.

"Bring her back! I promise, I'll never be bad again – she's the only one who loves me!" the boy grabbed Kenshi's collar and jerked it roughly. "Please… she's all I have…" he ended defeatedly.

His heart twisted in pain at his son's words. And it was true – Takeda was mocked and pushed around by the world in Lampang, and his time with his father had exposed him to the worst of humankind possible; boy had not known love from anyone else but his mother.

"She was all I had, too.. Then I met you, son…"

Love. Kenshi had never uttered such grandiose terms – not even for Suchin, at least not in so many words. What he felt for her was more of a fire, a blaze that burned through all logic, all logos that could be used to describe his sentiments; that went deeper than meek shows of affection.

It was the same for his son – but perhaps, multi-focal. Bound by ties of blood, legacy, duty…

Yet his son needed to hear them. Far more than he needed to say them; what he felt for Takeda was sealed with permanency in his heart. But the boy was extremely vulnerably - even if he didn't register them at the moment, he needed to know, he needed the comfort of knowing that despite how pathetically weak the words were...

"You are still loved, my son… I am not dead, yet…"

The swordsman, with trembling hands, stroked his head, and back – giving as tight a hug as he could muster – despite the sharp pain in his ribs from his earlier beating. Takeda's head was nuzzled in between his collar bone and neck, even now as he cried and muttered intelligibly – in a fetal position in his father's lap. Kenshi cooed and comforted him, while excruciatingly aware of the torment he had held inside his own chest for so long.

He did not know if it was minutes, hours, or even days – but eventually, the child's exhaustion overwhelmed his grief. At some point, from when the candles drowned themselves out in their own waxy tears, to the earliest break of dawn, the boy fell asleep in the same position – curled up against him.

Kenshi leaned his back on the headboard, tilting his head back until it touched the wall. Down the length of his own bruised face, a solitary tear rolled from underneath his blindfold.

"You will never know, my son…" he whispered tonelessly into the boy's hair – his voice too soft to be heard by the sleeping child. "How I wish I could undo - all this…" Kenshi bit the inside of his cheek, frustrated at himself.

"Your tears, your cries will haunt me…" he continued, unperturbed. "Along with your mother... She was a very brave woman, son… Just like you are… I am so proud of you- Both of you…. I always will be…"

Not a wink of sleep graced the swordsman's body – he knew that the coming morning would be much darker than this single, darkest night of his life.

"It'll hurt," he drew in a shaky breath. "It will hurt a lot at first… but- you'll make friends. You are young, you'll forget me, and move on… You'll like it here, I know it, son…"

Time stopped, and ceased to exist for him in its entirety – just as it did when he'd first met the child. Yet he felt the early dawn's rays kiss his face – much, much earlier than he would have liked it to.

"But what you will never know is how much it hurt me, to do this…"

This little boy he held, had in merely a week, become his whole universe. He was a reflection of his mother: the same kind heart, the same innocent curiosity… even the same streak of defiance. Yet he was brave, as much as a child could be. He would become strong…

And Kenshi would not be a witness of any of it.

It was then that the gravity of the decision he had taken, finally hit him; in the early hours of the fateful day he'd willingly remove himself from his son's life.

"For you. For your safety. For your life; I have no choice, my son…" Kenshi said slightly loudly this time, to remind himself, to beat some sense back into his head – knowing that allowing his heart to rule his mind for once would now have consequences far beyond that of his own measly life.

Kenshi bit the insides of his cheek until he tasted blood; wishing his physical pain would drown out the one ripping him apart on the inside.

"For you. Your safety. Your life, Takeda!" He repeated the same words aloud a second time to himself, a tad more forcefully - compelling himself to believe in the voice that came back to his ears; all in a bid to convince his flighty heart of the desperation of his circumstances.

With a painstaking effort, he gently peeled the boy off from his chest, and laid his sleeping son, back first on the bed.

This would be the last time he'd hold him, the last time he'd lay him to sleep…

'For God's sake, Kenshi! Don't you dare go down that line-'

Yet his hand lingered, a moment too long, on Takeda's frail chest – right over his young heart. The boy breathed deeply – his heartbeat steady, strong, rhythmic…

'He's your father, he will recognise you – he will feel it in here, and that's how he'll know…'

Suchin's soft voice played like a melancholic melody – the words he'd heard in the boy's mind back when he first met him in Dara's house.

Kenshi practically crashed on his knees on the floor, as he crouched beside Takeda, guilt, and insurmountable grief arresting his heart and soul in an unrelenting grip. How right had his love been – indeed, he'd felt things, unimaginable before, for this little sleeping child. How simply he had chosen to listen to and abide by his mother's words…

And suddenly, even before he had walked a step on it, Kenshi was already weary of the black path that lay ahead of him – feeling the task ahead, the time separated from his son more like a self-imposed exile.

Inhaling deeply, shakily, Kenshi took off the gloves of from his hands, and for the last time – he tenderly traced the boy's facial features with his fingertips – his touch feather-light, affectionate – committing every curve, every plane to indelibly engrave itself in the corners of his mind.

'I take after mama, she's very beautiful, you know…'

A light, breathless chuckled escaped the swordsman's lips, as he shook his head at the memory from Japan – almost a lifetime ago.

'He'll grow up to look like me… Except for the mouth… No, he has Suchin's sweet smile…'

With a soft, sad smile of his own, Kenshi bent over his head, and placed a final, silent kiss to his temple. Takeda lightly stirred, but did not wake from his exhausted sleep.

"Maybe in time… perhaps you'll forgive your Papa-san…" he whispered his appeal, trying to keep his own tears at bay. He stroked his son's silky hair lovingly for a few moments, knowing he had stalled long enough now. Then, he finally compelled himself to get up from the bed, and still facing the child, he took a few steps back – retrieving the Sento from beside his bed and gripping it in his hand, for comfort and solace that simply evaded him.

'Tearing a limb from your body, would have been easier, Kenshi,' an ancestral voice whispered in his mind. 'But that would achieve nothing. There are yet things… to be done…'

Kenshi nodded darkly in response.

The swordsman ended his mournful monologue in a louder tone – letting the silence of the chamber bear witness to his words, his sentiments; knowing their echoing back in his mind would become the basis of his existence for the coming years.

That if he were to die, at least he would not rue the fact that his thoughts would die with him, unspoken.

"My Takeda," he began, his voice steady and clear – as if he was addressing an assembly of soldiers, like he'd done so for countless SF missions. "Just as he did your mother, your father will love you, as well – with all his nothingness, and with all his wretchedness, forevermore and beyond."

He paused briefly, taking the finality of the moment.

"But know this, son; know… that all this… that you, have already killed me, this night… And I cannot be more grateful for this death of me…"

His grip on the Sento tightened, and as he took another step back, he found himself in the familiar territory – a swordsman blinded by revenge; this time, not for his dead ancestors, but for the death of his happiness, his love and his fatherhood, that came by the hand of that vile Daegon.

A strange sense of clarity ensued, that belied a rage that threatened to possess his entire being.

'You will have your due: blood for blood.'

Having uttered these words, Kenshi silently stalked out of the room – lest his own heart turned against him, and cloud his judgement – or his grit and determination falter in the wake of his parenthood's demise.

As he softly closed the door, he realised Hanzo had been waiting outside for him, all this time.

"The child?" began Hasashi, his tone deliberately low.

"Sleeping," Kenshi answered, almost robotically. The anguish had been replaced by a hollow numbness. He was a father no more – he left his fatherhood sleeping with the child; dormant - to be woken up only when he had avenged Suchin's murder.

Now he was but a mere warrior. A nameless kenshi. As he has had always been.

"So what's your next move?" Hanzo asked, cautiously.

"Finish what I started," Kenshi growled. "Find Daegon. Find out how he and the Red Dragon knew about Suchin and Takeda. And then… make him pay."

"And the boy?" Hanzo quizzically raised an eyebrow at his friend, as they began to walk down the hallway.

"He stays here, Hanzo, by your leave." Kenshi turned toward the Grandmaster, his voice grave.

"You will always be welcome here, swordsman," Hanzo answered, placing a reassuring hand on the other's shoulder. "Yet have you told him of your intent?"

Kenshi shook his head. "If he knew Suchin was murdered, he'd run away looking for revenge, and find death…" he answered, dispirited. "He thinks his mother's death was a work-place accident for now-"

"I expected better from you," Hanzo scolded, frowning at his counterpart's words. "Lying to him won't make him trust you, Kenshi," Hanzo frowned at his counterpart's words.

"I'm not the most trustworthy man these days, Hanzo; and there's nothing I've done to convince him otherwise," Kenshi returned, raising his chin defiantly, his voice steady. "But it will protect him… You of all people know what happens when you dedicate your life to vengeance…"

"…without discipline," completed Hanzo for the swordsman. The Grandmaster understood what was to be done, and nodded to himself as he roughly planned out the role of his newest pupil for the clan.

A short silence fell in between them, as the two warriors reached the archway of the temple. As Kenshi had sensed, dawn had merely just broken through the darkness. Dew glittered like crystals from the bright green grass, and deep into the woods, a koel cooed her own rueful song – breaking the silence at the temple.

Kenshi took in his surroundings at the gateway to the temple, before he turned around to speak with his friend.

"Takeda, he… he is everything I have, Hanzo," the swordsman declared, morose. "I will never forget this favour."

"Kenshi, you are aware that I can never be a father to him, only a taskmaster, an instructor," answered the Grandmaster, keeping his tone deliberately neutral. "Yet his protection is something I am more than capable of managing, and ultimately, teaching."

"I ask for nothing more."

Hanzo nodded slowly, as he observed the swordsman. He looked visibly tired, even haggard - and the bruises and injuries made him look far worse. But there was something else - from the the grim set of his mouth, the clenched jaw and the distant words. A fire - whose flames had burned Hanzo long enough.

Kenshi was teetering at the lip of the same abyss. For the Shirai Ryu, it was like staring into the reflection of one's younger self - and seeing where he went wrong all those years ago...

"Kenshi, you do remember what you told me, do you not?" Hanzo began, needing to make sure the swordsman was going to be fine.

Kenshi turned to him with a wistful expression. "I am not Scorpion, Hanzo. Though what I am..." Kenshi was taken aback slightly at the thought.

What was he, indeed? Neither bright like the day, nor of darkness of the night, or pleasant like the early morning breeze... Here he was; standing embroiled in his dilemmas, turning away from the very door of his heaven...

'You have a job to do, Kenshi...'

"I guess I'll have to find out once more, now..."

Kenshi began to walk out from the archway, in the direction of the woods.

"Godspeed, Kenshi!" Hanzo called out.

The swordsman merely turned, and held up an arm in farewell, before walking away from the temple.

So there we have it! The conclusion to this second arc of the story! :'D

Some references I must mention before finally concluding (there weren't that many in this update :p):

'...an island of calm in the storm...' : I believe it was Nixon who spoke such words about Pre-Islamic Revolution Iran in the mid-1970s, which was allied with the US at that time. Three years later, well, not so much... */IR nerdiness*

'Tearing a limb would have been easier...' : This bit frankly just wrote itself, but I was inspired by the DC comics' one-shot (later adapted into the Justice League animated show) - "For the Man Who Has Everything." Just an elseworld kind of a story where Superman was affected by the hypnotic parasite 'the Black Mercy' that gave delusions of one achieving their heart's greatest desire. To snap out of the illusion was supposedly like ripping an arm or a leg - and I just thought it fit in the context.

"Fitnah" : an Arabic word that has a range of meanings, from trials, tribulations to temptations, curses, etc. This leads to...

"Wealth and progeny are 'fitnah'": Now I'll be honest, I knew nothing about this at first. But just to make sure I was on track, I had a Pakistani friend go over the convo in between Col Akram and Sonya (after explaining to her the context of the story).. and this is what she suggested I write. Apparently, it's a popular saying in the country, although the exact context is rooted in Islamic principles - something along the lines that one must stay true, knowing that wealth and the love of your children can make one do heinous things, or so. (I have Wikipedia to thank for this). According to her, it's almost used as a curse for those who really test someone's patience, strength too..

(Thanks sooo much, bud! :3)

Don't know about you guys, but the 'fitnah' reference really spoke to me, especially as I ended this particular arc. It just made sense to include in how Kenshi's trials were self-induced, and that it was true that the love of one's children can push them to unimaginable limits. I guess I've been exploring this theme all along.. So yeah :'D

I really hope you all enjoyed this update.. Please do review, and let me know what you thought of the dialogue, the expansion of the comics - what you liked, what could be better - anything, please feel free to let me know how it went! It truly means the world to me! Thanks and enjoy! :)