AUTHOR'S NOTE: There is a brutal and disgusting death scene in this chapter. Viewer discretion is advised.


-four hours prior to the end of the last chapter-

I haven't told you yet. I haven't made things clear. But I will. I will tell you all of it. Kais know if I have enough time.

My name is Daniel Parroda. I am the reigning world-class lightweight boxing champion. My mansions, my popularity, my servants, my fame, they are all behind me now. Here I am; at the edge of the Orange Star City, in my father's winery, where I should be safe. The two samurai factions have, up to this point, remained calm and civil. To this point, but not now. Not anymore. On my phone, I just got a message from Makare. He wishes to talk to me alone. I fear he knows I killed those monks so many chapters ago. I fear he's come to kill me. There is little I can do about it.

Mark, my little brother is here. I look over to see what he's doing only to find him fast asleep. I can't help but smile, even as my heart beats with fear. He's still got that half-eaten steak next to him. That's just a perk of my success. He gets all the best things he wants. But that won't last. He'll have to earn it himself once I'm gone. He'll have to become a champion too if he wants more prime meat. But Mark's been training so hard, and mostly for me. I couldn't do anything he's done when I was his age. He's going to be stronger than me. He's going to be stronger than anybody realizes. I know he will. I walk over to him, waking him up as gently as I can.

Running my fingers through his curly black hair, I speak softly, "Hey bud, we have to go," and he stirs awake. "Come on little devil, wake up."

He is sluggish to get up. In the meantime, I go back to my desk and pull out a small TACPAD. This is my golden ticket, so to speak. The explosives I put in Makare's cave headquarters will go off with just a single push of one of these buttons. But I can't press them yet. The armies could be outside. Makare surely is.

We have a contingency plan for this. The master of the Samurai school is supposed to send me a message. He has to know Makare's coming. He has to know when I should press the button and kill them all. He has to! I really should have bought a telescope and lived on a mountain. I really don't know what to do. I'm in a goddamn state of weltschmerz, a word which here means I'm depressed.

"Where are we going, Danny?" I hear Mark say behind. Good, he's up.

"You're going to head back to the city, okay?"

"We were just there..."

I nod, "I know. But there's no time for questions. Grab your bag, and I'll meet you in a few hours."

"But why can't you come now?"

"I have business, kiddo," I smile. "It'll be easier for me to finish if you take a head start."

His face remains un-assured. I want to tell him. I want to. But I can't. If he knew what was about to happen, he would never leave. I can't let him die too, if that's what it will come to. I can't risk it.

There's a knock at the back door. I'm out of time.

"Go now," I breathe, "before you speak again. And here, take this," I reach over onto my bed and hand and grab something before throwing it into his chest. "Don't forget this."

It's my championship belt. The entire buckle is pure gold. I can see the wonder in his eyes, the curiosity, but I can't tell him why. I can't. There's another knock at the door, this time more forceful. Makare's getting impatient.

"Take good care of it, Mark. You'll be a world-champion one day. Just keep training like I've taught you."

He opens his mouth to retort, but the door beats again. This time it's nearly off its hinges. The megalomaniac is going to break through.

"Go! Mark!" I say just as the door flies forward off its frame, hitting the table behind me. "Mark, run!"

He tucks the belt close to his chest before turning and bolting. Opening the front door, he runs out, and soon I cannot even see him through the windows. I feel a creeping shadow on my back. He's right here.

"My most important accountant. Daniel Parroda."

The voice is none other than Makare's; that dour wolf.

"Mister Makare," I say, turning to face him cordially. "This is… unexpected."

"I hope not," he sneers.

I feign surprise, but that's more formality than self-protection. "Oh, why?"

"There's something that hasn't been adding up. I was just thinking about it. The Red Ribbon Army… how did they find the monks? And why bother killing them? What threat were they? It didn't make sense. The army doesn't work like that. They are far too big to get that petty. Far too professional. But then I remembered you, Daniel. Of the few people I had told about the monks, you were the only one with a pocketbook big enough to finance an army."

Makare holds his arm akimbo, grasping onto the hilt of his katana. Oh no, no, no. He's going to grab it. I don't have a weapon.

"I do have money, if that's what you want to know," I reply.

"You killed them. You ordered and now Naigo has to learn all by himself, and it's so slow!" the man yells. "Ki control is not so easy to free-ball, you know. Well, that's it. That's it. I already have your money, and we have enough men now to take out Elijah's school."

"That's great…"

Makare shakes his head, squinting his eyes. I see him grip the hilt of his sword more firmly. "You are no longer needed."

He draws his blade in a single flick, slicing toward me. I am nimble enough to jump out of the way, but there is a glaring problem to my strategy (or lack thereof). I simply don't have a way to get close to him. He'll cleave me before I can.

I mean, Makare could have brought a sword for me if he was an honorable man.

"Makare, we can talk this over. I ha-"

"No talk. You are no longer needed."

He comes closer, now twirling his blade around like some dandy. Tearing through my fine wood tables, and all my papers and trophies and pictures, he really is making a mess of things. I run backward, looking for a weapon as he continues to carve a path. I turn around for a second, but Makare is on me at once, and a last minute duck is all that saves my head. He hits the nearby power cord, ripping it open; and it sparks and hisses, cutting out the lights. I can't do anything about that.

With the lights out, I slowly move away from the scene of destruction. Hopefully his hearing isn't that great. And then, I feel the cold steel whip across my chest. The gush of blood comes next. No… I can… I can still… fight…

I don't feel the pain. It feels like a soft hair running back and forth over my chest. I feel the stickiness of the blood. The cold air on my gaping wound. Yet I don't feel the pain. Behind Makare, there is a small fire brewing. I can see his silhouette now. In pure adrenaline, I break forward, hitting the katana away, and connecting my fist with his face. He howls out and drops the sword. I've got him. I'm not the reigning lightweight champion for nothing.

Stumbling back, Makare can't defend against these world-class punches I'm throwing at him. I barrage him in the face and chin with punch after punch until he trips over himself and falls over. The fire is getting bigger. I see the katana glinting back light from it, and grab it. Running to Makare, I jump on top of him, pinning him to the floor boards. He is just barely recovering from my assault when he looks up to my face. I have the katana and I'm bringing it down.

And then, I feel it. The pain; all of what had cut into me before finally rushing to me, my pain receptors on overload, I can't even see. I drop the katana, screaming at the top of my lungs. This hurts. This hurts more than anything I have ever felt. I've been beaten bloody, pummeled mercilessly, but never cut open. The wounds on my chest have to pretty deep. I can't breathe… I can't breathe…

I blink my eyes until I see some semblance of color again. As my vision comes back from the pain overload, I still have Makare pinned. I go to strangle him. As I do, he raises his hand and pulls something out of his shoulder strap.

A knife.

No! I reach for it, but it's too late.

No, wait! Wait!

I've given all I can, but it's not enough. My arms are too lethargic from the pain. He brings the small dagger up to my throat and sticks it in. Blood rushes into my throat, down to my lungs, out my mouth. I truly cannot breathe now. I can't find the TACPAD. I can't even activate the explosives. It's too late. No! I don't want absolution. I don't want forgiveness! I just want to kill them all… kill them all…

It all goes blurry. My body's responses have kicked in. I've grabbed the knife, tried to pull it out, but I'm not there. That is not me doing that. I'm just here. I'm just in my mind. I can't feel anything. I can't see anything. I can't hear anything.

Makare pushes the blade deeper and deeper into my throat. My body fights him every inch of the way, but it's no use. I can't win. I'm running on fumes. I'll choke to death on my own blood before he can move me. I feel my body swelling up to pyknic proportions as my insides scream and flutter. I'm already gone. I'm gone.

I try think of my little brother, Mark. I can't. My mind's gone laconic. I can't think. I just see him. He's got my belt. He's standing right there. It looks so good on him.

It looks so good on him.


-after the end of the last chapter-

The muscae volitantes in his eyes were having a proper party. That was his best guess. Dang buggers were moving around with more vigor than he had ever seen. Yajirobe stirred awake on a barren, cold slab of rock, smoothed out and flat. On the back edge, it dropped sharply down into a crevice. The left and right sides were guarded by natural rock, and ahead was a single, barred door. He was in prison, or at least a really, really bad hotel and he was alone. Brian and his master were nowhere around.

Yajirobe groaned and grunted. He had suffered a terrible loss at the hands of Naigo, if he remembered correctly. That was all he had remembered. Now here he was, in who-knows- where, aching and hurting and bleeding and writhing. He had been nothing but flouted, being left here. Yajirobe didn't know why he was still alive. If they had lost – which they must have if he was in such a wretched place – then why had he not died? Both Naigo and Makare had been eager to eliminate him. He did not know; Yajirobe had never had an affinity toward the analytic aspects of life. He only wanted some pork in his belly, and nice sun to warm him. That's all.

A loud clamour then rose up to equal echo on the left of Yajirobe. He looked over, curiously, for before he had seen naught but dark rock. Now looking closer, he saw the rock had many holes in it, enough to see through onto the other side. He approached, peering in, seeing a mirror prison chamber on the other side. Only, instead of Yajirobe staring back at him, it was the gaunt and grime-eyed Brian. He had in his hands the small, glimmering orange ball.

"You're alive!" Brian exclaimed, with a brief smile.

"Yeah, where are we?" Yajirobe asked.

"That other samurai… Makare, I think? Well, he brought us up here. We're inside the mountain."

Yajirobe squinted. "Why'd he take us alive? He could've just killed us earlier."

"Master told them we knew what happened to the shogun, where he's buried and stuff. You know, the supreme samurai that even taught our master."

"No, I don't…"

"Well, that's why Makare's kept us alive," Brian explained, "but I think they're going to question us soon. You should, um, be prepared. I think it will hurt."

Yajirobe growled, "Grr… I don't even know where that old guy's buried. I'll just tell him that."

"They won't believe you, Yajirobe."

Yajirobe wasn't listening. He was more concerned with how to get out of this dank place. He spoke again, "We need a plan to get out of here."

"I've already tried getting through the doors. Besides, there are a bunch of guards outside," Brian shrugged. "And our swords were left back at the Academy."

"Hmph, it's no use sitting here-"

There was a creaking of the door then, and both boys turned to see what it was. Though Yajirobe could only see spotted pieces of the other jail cell, he could glimpse at the door. Brian's, it was, and it was opening. In strode the man in black, Naigo, though he wore his crescent helmet. Along with two guards, they grabbed Brian, who pocketed the small orange ball just before they pulled him back. He fought against them, but being that the three were full-grown men, it was a short stint of rebellion. The group pulled Brian out, and as they walked away, down the rock halls, Yajirobe could hear their footsteps and Brian's pleading echoing back. They must've gone several hundred feet before he could no longer hear their walking.

His skin still burned from that weird attack Naigo had used on him. Yajirobe had no idea what that was. It was almost like the Lord of Hunger had been able to create fire and then use that as a weapon. Yajirobe shook his head. He'd joined the wrong club. Samurai were cool and all, but being able to throw fire, that would be really cool. Then, Yajirobe thought more and more of this, and he came to realize how much work that would be. That would be awful, trying to make fire come out of your hands. And that didn't even take into account if he would be burned. Yeah, that was too much work to worry about. He wouldn't worry about it.

Yajirobe stayed there for what seemed like a few minutes, dangling his feet off the edge of the enclosure and thinking about how many plates of salted pork he could eat. Fifteen was his current record, but on his stomach today? He could probably beat that. Yajirobe guessed maybe eighteen plates. No, no, no. It wouldn't work. He felt in his pockets, and sure enough, those three dastardly zeni were still there. With but this triumvirate of simple coins, he could not buy himself any goods whatsoever. He was extenuating himself so much that Yajirobe had forgotten where he was.

Brian screamed.

Yajirobe stood up.

"No way I'm getting tortured," he whispered to himself.

Brian was now screaming in quick succession, relentlessly. Yajirobe couldn't take it. He hunkered down, shifting his mass forward, then ran to the door. He slammed into the cold, prison bars; to which end, he lost his balance and was flung away. Deprived of food for too long, he could barely muster the energy to hit that pole. Were he at full energy, the fledging samurai would surely have beaten it down. Yet, even under the noise of Brian's cries of agony beyond, the ringing reverberations from what Yajirobe had done had garnered enough attention to make a guard run over.

"Stopeet! Quiet yerself," drolled the guard. He walked into view with a torch in hand, only to find Yajirobe keeled over on the slab. "Lookee here, it's just a prisoner."

Yajirobe looked up, and felt a wave of paroxysm at seeing this man. For who could it be other than that melancholic assassin of yore; the man who's life had been spared by Yajirobe. When the man saw exactly who he was, he recoiled equally, but did not run. His cover was blown; he had nowhere to go. Yajirobe stared him down in cold disfavor.

"You!" Yajirobe exhaled.

"I… uh… I don't…" he stammered.

"You're still here, after I saved you!" Yajirobe shook his head in tepid anger. "You shoulda just left, man."

"I, uh, ya don't know what I havta do…"

Yajirobe stood up, walking straight to the barred door, "Look, there's not much time. Just let me out."

"I can't do that…" the man said, uncomfortably.

"Hey, I saved your life, I coulda killed you if I wanted," Yajirobe continued. He punched the wall in anger.

"So what?"

"Now pay me back. Let me go and I won't bother your master anymore."

"I…"

"I saved you!"

The man could hardly refuse. His tactless words were convincing no one. What Yajirobe had, indeed, was true. "All right, all right," he whispered. "Go fast."

Yajirobe nodded. Gripping the ansate of the door, the man quietly pulled it open, even as it creaked on its rusted bolts. Hopefully nobody heard. The man watched Yajirobe wearily before the latter turned and ran out. As he went, they could hear Brian's cries rising.


The greater man, with a helmet painted with a red skull and robes of black had taken the small boy to the centerfold room, where he and his fellow master in evil, Makare, had taken up repose. Therein, he had come to the boy, Brian, and sat him on an incline chair. Many taciturn soldiers were milling about, and none were suicidal enough to stay too close. For Naigo was in rare form. His gormandizing tendencies had been replaced by purpose. He did not bother strapping Brian down. Drawing his sword and placing it to the helpless boy's neck was enough to tell Brian he was not going anywhere.

"Tell me what I want to know," Naigo began.

"I… don't know what you want…" Brian responded, anxiety driving him.

"There was a great samurai whom your Daimyo killed. He was buried somewhere. You know where."

Brian's eyes were saucers to the blade digging into his forehead, "B-but, I don't! I hadn't even heard of this guy!"

Naigo responded by digging the blade deeper into the flesh. Brian screamed in agony, and blood spurted out, coating the interrogator's dark coat.

"He taught your Daimyo how to be a samurai. Elijah has nothing but contempt for those he doesn't agree with. He killed his old master, just as one of you will kill Elijah."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" the boy cried.

It was no use. Naigo removed the blade, ripping it back, and pulling more flesh with it. Brian gasped and slumped forward, spilling a stream of blood down his shirt and front side. Breathing heavily, covered in blood, and crying in pain, he looked up to the man. The steely-eyed samurai flouted Brian, and gave him no rest. Bringing up his boot, Naigo pinned Brian against the chair. He pressed harder and harder, crushing the student's chest. Slowly, but surely, his bones began cracking, and Brian had to stop screaming, for the air was being sucked out of his lungs.

"It's not a question of if you know where he is buried, but how many bones I have to break before you tell me."

He let go. Brian hacked and coughed up blood, wheezing so much he was shredding the inside of his throat. Barely able to breathe, he could not much less tell Naigo the information, had he known it. In anger for wounding Brian too severely, Naigo compounded the misuse of his hostage by slicing Brian twice across the face with his blade. The boy shuddered – that was all he could do. But he could not talk.

"Prepare the other one. This kid's no use to us anymore," he said, solemnly.

Naigo stepped forward. He began to create a ball of energy, much as he had on the battlefield hours before. This one shined deeply indigo. He grunted in excess, as the energy molded into a ball. He had nothing to fear. The kid was just sitting there, spitting up blood, not moving his broken bones. So Naigo pulled his wrists up, flipping the blast over, and prepared to dunk the ball onto Brian's head, which would incinerate the useless boy.

Naigo went through the motions, but Brian had looked up at the last second. In doing so, he had also grabbed the orange ball out of his pocket and thrown it right into Naigo's face. The man had not expected this, and the shock alone caused him to stagger back, and as he did so, he lost grip on his energy, dropping it. The blast curved downward, hitting Naigo in the leg, and burning through his robes. He growled a low growl, and fell over. Before the few mercenaries around could see what had happened, Brian had jumped up, and limped off.

Brian could only get so far with a cracked ribcage and a sliced face. He could barely see out of his blood-filled eyes, even constantly wiping it all away. So, Brian did not see a small table in his way when he rounded a corner. He fell into it, crying out again. He could hear Naigo behind him furious as a bull in a rodeo. He would be here any second. Brian tried to get up, but he found he couldn't. He was too weak, too tired. He fell back into the rubble that he just tripped over.

There was a hard-pack just under his lower back which Brian pulled out. It was Harotu's backpack. Brian had been carrying it when Makare had captured him. Here it was… and all the fireworks were still inside. Brian's heart jolted. He had a plan. Looking up, there was a torch hooked to the nearest wall. He crawled over and pulled down on the wooden holder, causing the torch to fall directly into his lap. He screamed again as the fire burnt his chest good. Pulling it off of him, Brian pulled out a particularly large firework and lit the fuse with his trembling hands. Then, he collapsed.

The footsteps of Naigo and his men were not hard to hear, and as Brian listened attentively, he timed it perfectly. Right when the group came around the corner, he threw the backpack, desperately and hopelessly to the troops. The fuse itself, still burning, couldn't detonate on impact. Naigo, at its helm, caught the bag between his hands, and seeing the burning fuse coming from within it, yelled out before throwing it to the ceiling. A moment later, the firework exploded, causing a chain-reaction of explosions from the others still within. But they had blown for no use. The smoldering bag fell, from over ten feet above their heads, and had done no damage to them.

Still, at that moment, a piece of something buried in the ceiling, beneath a thin layer of dust, hummed awake, being triggered by that last explosion.. A circular-shaped contraption it was, and the tip of it turned red. When it did, many others, like a sea of red eyes, like a host of evil insects in the night, turned red too. And oh, did they hum.

Naigo could not see or hear this. His focus was only on Brian. He swiftly moved forward, with impressive speed considering one of his legs was burnt black by his own energy blast. He dropped to his knees, grabbing Brian around the neck, and pulling him to his chest. Naigo raised his hand, telling his men to stay back. Brian fought him, but Naigo was too strong. He was just too strong.

The man took out one of his wakizashis and lifted Brian's shirt. The boy was pleading with him now, pleading for his life. It fell on deaf ears. For Naigo drew his wakizashi into Brian's flesh, just below the belly button. His thirst couldn't be slaked. He sliced deep and delicately, sure as to not rip the skin. Brian fell into shock, his screams dying down, and his body began convulsing. Naigo grinned, openly.

The samurai of the south ripped open Brian's stomach with his black fingernails, scraping out the organs from within. As he did so, pulling out the intestines and liver, he lowered his face and took a generous bite with his yellow teeth.

At that moment, the explosives on the roof, the ones Daniel had planted so many days earlier, went off; and they coated the cave with fire and shrapnel. Neither the men, nor Naigo could move in time as the sweeping walls of fire descended upon them; and it consumed not only the bodies of every man within, but also that of the rock itself. Then did the once infallible stone walls collapse and crumble and everyone within was wrought by vivisepulture. And the samurai from the south, last purveyor of the art of Ki (for many years) was taken from this earth.