Hello, everyone! Hope all's well here! :)

Again, back with another update... This was sitting on my PC for a while, and I decided to cut some ideas down, leaving them to be explored later because frankly this update was just running a little too long..

So here, we see lots of Hanzo :P In all honesty, he's having the hardest time of 'em all. There's his feelings for Takeda, his memory for Jubei, his promise and regard for Kenshi, and Scorpion just simmering underneath the surface , ready to muck it all up .. Wait - why am I telling you all this?! :O :P

But he's still a pleasure to write - I think this current arc might just expand by a chapter or two, because of Mister Hasashi :P

Anyhow, before I launch into the update - here's a quick reply to my fantabulous reviewers :') *EATS ALL THE COOKIES AND HANDS OUT CHOCOLATES AND NACHOS*

BrutusSilentium - Get sick of you all? NEVER! Hopefully you'll all stick around till the end of this :'D

PunkRoseBlitz - Why, thank you my friend! I'm glad to see you feel the Cappo's developed - she's gonna play a central role in my MKX rewrite fic (IF I EVER GET TO WRITING THAT LOL!) - but nice to see she's at least not annoying... And just to give you a hint, Kenshi's gonna get a reprieve for the next few chapters.. He's through the worst :')

.Li1y - An interesting notion.. I believe he would have become affected by the Blood Kode - but only after becoming Daegon's own little whipping boy first. More on that soon, I hope :P

Hell-On-Training-Wheels - You're honestly embarrassing me, I'm sure you'll do Hanzo justice perfectly, and my little interpretation will look like a plastic doll in front of your rendition, Helly.. I'm glad to see the Captain being received well here (especially since you and PD are the true OC queens here :'D) Thanks SO much for the amazing review - it truly, truly made my day! :'D

Westcoast_Witchdoctor - Wowie, man! You have some serious stamina - I sometimes have to reread this to catch-up, or clarify something, and trust me I haaaaate it xD I love Jakeda, and they'll definitely get their due share in time! And about the Captain/Kenshi pairing - oddly enough, when I was writing her, it actually felt like that. Maybe it's my rusty, 1D writing X_X Anyhow, the Captain and Kenshi are reluctant allies/friends - wary of each other because of how similar they are at times, and because for hardened soldiers, it's just easier that way too. I'm not gonna pair them as a couple, though.. But interesting food for thought xD Hope you enjoy this update :'D

iceangelmkx - Thank you, my friend! :D Included in this update's an expanded version of how things REALLY went down.. and you're right, that Kenshi-Goro alliance idea is just so perfect, even Kittelsen seemed to be up for it :P (I mean, at least he didn't deny it xD).. and I did think about the Mavado part.. He is dead at this point, but Kenshi just doesn't know it yet... I think I'll get back to that later .. Hope you enjoy this! :)

the-06 - It's so great to see your feedback, my buddy! xD You're literally too kind - and I'm glad I don't come across as boring.. I just think it's one way to make a story more authentic.. I still try, though.. Hopefully you'll like this update too :)

So just a quick note before I begin - the Japanese childhood rhyme featured in this chapter is called "Teru Teru Bozu". It's a traditional Japanese rhyme about children making paper dolls (to look like a monk) and wishing him for sunny weather and not rainy days. It was featured in MK Legacy, Episode 7 (I think), when Jubei stands to sing that song, and Hanzo and Kana discuss his future as a Shirai Ryu warrior (... and thus ignoring his singing :P)

And finally, I'm sticking with Kana and Jubei. I grew up with Kana and Jubei - I have no idea why they changed it to Harumi and Satoshi in MKX right out of the blue.

DISCLAIMER: Spare me, I own nothing. Except for Jehan. And Michiko :P

THE TAKAHASHI FAMILY SAGA

OF A FATHER'S FOLLY

II

Shirai Ryu Temple,

Classified Location,

Japan.

They said roots can live without branches, but branches become lifeless, without roots.

Upon his return to his original homeland, Hanzo Hasashi contemplated whether he was the root, or the branch.

Despite the endless green hills that surrounded him, and the river that coursed powerfully, Hanzo remained critically aware that despite being in Japan, this was somehow, not home.

He inhaled deeply, feeling the crisp, clean air cool his lungs and calm him – making him more thoughtful, rational of his own internal musings.

There had been a time when he had not cared whether he was cold, or alone – or what the scenery looked like. Burning with anger, hatred – rotting in the Netherrealm, it's unforgiving dark, crimson skies; lava, acid and pus seeping from the grounds, every inch of the realm screaming, haunted by its black demons, cursed indefinitely by the elder gods.

And then, there had been the countless missions in Outworld; with its purple skies and shadow of death looming every corner. He had been serving Quan Chi then, never questioning, only obeying, like a mindless dog.

That memory brought with it a piercing pang in his heart, and a shame that was wholly his own.

No. Earthrealm's cool blue skies, and lush green grounds were a balm to his ailing mind, and soul. The spectre exhaled slowly, as if exorcising the ghosts of his past along with a vapour of breath.

A bare hint of a smile touched his lips, eyes crinkling at the corners, in a quizzical realisation that persisted despite his thankfulness to be back in Earthrealm. There had been something distinctly majestic, untamed and warrior-like about the Himalayan mountains of his previous abode.

The very essence of that plateau had reflected the indomitable spirit of the Shirai Ryu.

In comparison to that unnamed place in an unnamed part of the world, this new location, with its neat hills and a picture-perfect river - seemed, dare he admit, downright docile.

With hazel eyes turning stern, he frowned disapprovingly.

'At least no one can bother us…'

Nevertheless, nothing could be done now. This hilly plateau would have to simply have to do.

And maybe, for the better. The Shirai Ryu, at the end, did not prove to be indomitable at all.

'A fall too many.'

Hanzo was used to losing all he had held dear.

Crossing his forearms over the windowsill, Hanzo leaned forward, and glanced at the temporary canvas awnings below. The building of the main temple and living quarters had been completed – but the construction of the dojo was still unfinished – and weighing heavily on them. Dark clouds had gathered already, dimming the brilliant rays of the sun as it began its descent from the zenith.

The rainy season was due upon them any time, now.

But at least, unlike before, Hanzo was not alone in the founding of yet another abode, a place to call home.

He saw Takeda on the steps of the main temple, accompanied by a young child, General Morimoto's … daughter, or granddaughter – Hanzo did not remember which, and he neither cared much for it.

The local unit in the Japanese Self Defence Forces were aiding with the resettlement of the Shirai Ryu – and the ever-friendly Takeda had found unlikely company in the small, shy seven-year old with pigtails and an intent stare, that followed him all around, like a hapless puppy.

Presently, both were giggling like little conspirators, the girl hiding her laugh behind a tiny palm. Hanzo kept staring at them from above, not announcing his audience, but observing in silence.

Takeda. What did the boy mean to him? His most prized student. With lightning fast movements, a keen sense of handling swords – no doubt inherited from his father. Juvenile, undoubtedly – prone to carelessness. At times trusting too readily, and at others, not yielding at all. Misreading the enemy.

But strangely – curious. Almost in a child-like manner; despite being witness to gore and grit, various tragedies in his life, he had retained his curiosity, innocence, and sincere benevolence.

His father was nothing like it, Hanzo ruminated with a frown. Takahashi Kenshi was all wit and aplomb, though it carefully concealed a thoughtful, poignant man. But even he was hesitant in exhibiting any curiosity – at least, openly. Perhaps, he did not harbour such a sentiment at all, not delving into matters that did not concern him.

Takeda, on the other hand, had a capacity for simple goodness; for being kind, generous – a trait that flowed out from him in gushing torrents, outside even his own imagining.

The girl had presently handed him a bag, rustling with paper. Takeda had raised an eyebrow, frowning with feigned suspicion, eliciting a small whine from the child. He then put a hand in, fishing out the bag's contents.

Hanzo shook his head, thoughtfully. Had he taught him to be kind? Had he taught him to place others before him? To open himself to strangers as he did so, become vulnerable - share his food even if all he'd gotten was a measly scrap to begin with?

Ever since the incident with the blood demon, he did not speak much now. But his clear eyes spoke in place of his voice. In his confused silences, in his tempest quietness – Takeda's eyes spoke. About reverence of Hanzo himself, the pain of losing his mother, his struggles with training and the prospect of being forsaken.

The yearning of a father…

As it stood, Takeda hated his biological father. Detested him, and would not hear a single word in his favour.

But Hanzo had his suspicions. He questioned the hate that flowed as strongly, as passionately as love did, but in an opposite current. The styling of a uselessly long bandanna across his forehead, so that the tails fluttered behind him, like Kenshi's blindfold. Or his lone sessions practicing with an old katana as if mirroring the Sento; one he usually undertook only after a tiff with Hanzo.

The boy had spirit – no questions about that. But one did not need to be a telepath to realise that Takeda craved for a father's attention, and presence. His authority, and guidance. Counsel, and protection.

But those eyes sought that father in Hanzo.

And caught in between his promise to the blind swordsman, and his own developing feelings for the child, the ninja found himself at odds – one that tested the limits of his own patience.

Though he had turned the boy away at every opportunity, little did he know that Takeda, with his own small ways, his unwavering devotion, loyalty and nobility in the face of adversary, had crept into the ninja's heart, and melted the walls he had built so selfishly around it.

Every command now, was softer. Every order now, issued with the ease of his student in mind. Every burden that needed carrying, Hanzo tried to take it all onto his own shoulders, to spare Takeda, though the young fighter hardly let him.

The eagerness and curiosity of a child, with the ruthless agility and brutal skills. Compounded by a conscience that was firmly rooted in right and wrong…

For all that had befallen him, the boy did not hold a single malignant thought – his heart was clear, like a luminous, cloudless sky.

For some unknown reason, Hanzo's chest swelled with pride. He stood straighter, taller – beaming at his student, silently commending his bravery, nobility and humility – the fruition of his efforts, an almost perfect warrior. As if it was his own flesh and blood, blooming into a stellar young man after painful trials, despite Takeda's own flighty sense of self.

If only Kenshi could see his son, now...

And in that moment, Hanzo's chest deflated – and a revelation, previously gnawing for recognition – like a haunting premonition, now dawned fully like the very sun he beheld a moment ago.

Takeda belonged to the blind swordsman. His flesh and blood, his progeny.

'His son.'

Hanzo had been nothing but a temporary caretaker…

This boy, would never be his own.

And so, just when Takeda had started singing a children's rhyme with the child, Hanzo had reacted viciously. A breach had occurred, and Scorpion's all-consuming anger bubbled and boiled just beneath the surface – an enraged, tormented face threatening to pierce all that he had stood for, and turn it to ashes, once more.

Jubei's memory - his face, young, trusting, but with details forgotten – swam into view. Like holding the edges of a frayed photograph, knowing the memory exists, but still unable to make out the picture; a glaring blank space at the edge of remembrance.

He could not remember, but he felt he may have given in to the demon for a few moments.

After decades of burying it deep inside, his frustration at being unable to recall Jubei tore through his defences.

No. Like Jubei, this unlikely son of his, too would be snatched away from him.

The gods mocked him now, once more.

Takeda was never his own. And never will be, either.

"Teru teru bozu, teru bozu… Ashita-" Takeda laughed jovially as the words spilled for the first time from his mouth, the children's rhyme as innocent as the purpose that it was meant for. It sounded silly, and meaningless – yet the little girl in front of him regarded him with a wide-eyed, serious glare; as if his laughing at the poem would undermine its phenomenal, weather-altering powers.

"Takeda-san!" Young Michiko admonished, hands on her hips - all of her seven years shrouded behind the overly mature manner in which she spoke. The bobbing pigtails elicited another giggle – as Michiko scolded:

"You can't finish building if the rains come soon! Say it right!"

"All right, Michiko-chan! I'll start again-" he teased back with an easy laugh, dimples bracketing his mouth, blue eyes glittering with a childish mischief as he grabbed another paper doll from the girl's outstretched hands, and secured it in the corner-pillar to the massive doorway he and Hanzo had laid down for the new Shirai Ryu temple.

"Teru-"

"TAKEDA!"

The booming roar nearly had the young Shirai Ryu toss the knife-blade he carried at his waist at the enemy, his hairs raised at the back of his neck, tendons wrought with tension. Swirling behind, he saw nothing at first. The voice continued to echo around his ears, like a mangled chant.

With the knife raised in a hand, and the young child shielding herself behind him, Takeda looked about warily, his senses tingling…

A whisper, a cry of terror, a groan of anger… Pain flashed in a temple like a bolt of lightning, before disappearing almost instantly.

Takeda swore he almost saw the sudden glow of a fire at the corner of his eye. He immediately turned at the direction, but saw nothing there but the empty hallway. Only did he return his gaze to his front, did he see Master Hasashi looming in front of him, appearing out of nowhere - seething with naked rage, arms crossed over his muscular chest, eyes narrowed to slits.

Takeda hastily bowed, and sheathed the blade.

"Grandmaster, you startled me-"

"Get the child out. NOW!"

The Chujin-in-training nearly flinched, his eyes wide with shock – struggling to maintain his composure. He had rarely seen Hanzo in such anger. There was no shadow of doubt – the hazel eyes fixed fiercely on him were the ninja's eyes, not the demon Scorpion's.

He felt something quiver beside his leg – as a gasp escaped little Michiko. Before he could comfort her, or guide her home, she took off in a sprint herself. The receding sounds of her terrified wailing and crying filled the awkward silence that fell in between the master and the student.

With clenched fists and jaw, Takeda breathed through his nose, staring at the stone step Hanzo stood on – struggling to keep a lid on his own anger at the senseless reaction from his teacher.

"That – was uncalled for, Master," he spat coldly.

As if in reply, Takeda felt two strong hands grab his shoulder, and pull him – so that he stood nose-to-nose with the Grandmaster, in a ghost of an embrace that stopped midway, and never fully materialised.

He then felt the grip falter, as Hanzo's hand trembled. He looked up at the Grandmaster – only to see a face etched with silenced agony, one that glittered in his hazel eyes – a window to the guarded, tortured soul that now nursed reopened wounds.

'Teru teru bozu….'

A haunting crescendo of voices surrounded Takeda. A male child's broken voice sang the same song as he was singing moments ago. This was followed by a soft woman's tone; wavering in volume, the words hazed, unintelligible - but somehow familiar.

'My Jubei… Jubei's song… How dare you…' Hanzo seemed to speak in his head, but his eyes witnessed the stony lips not move at all.

The voices faded, and Takeda's migraine set in again, burning white-hot behind his eyelids.

Hanzo continued to stare, and it was as if one was staring at the sun. Though the student was no stranger to his grandmaster's stern glare, he felt this particular gaze bore into him with a ferocity that burned like fire itself. As though Takeda had earned the grandmaster's scorn, trespassed deeply in some way…

For a moment, Takeda felt the fierceness vanish, replaced by a longing – was if Hanzo was searching beseechingly in fighter's face for someone; to recognise someone that simply wasn't there.

A flash of pain hit young Takahashi again, followed by a cutting chill, as if the air around them had dropped suddenly to arctic temperatures. In his mind's eye, an eerily nostalgic picture was engraved:

Of a Shirai Ryu fighter, his yellow robe tattered and bloodied from battle, kneeling in stained snow - before the frozen remains of -

Hanzo unhanded him that very second, taking a step back. Takeda felt his surroundings swim back into focus, the sound of his heart thundering in his ears drowning out his premonitions, warming his against the cold, an oft-occurring headache setting in.

He let out a breath he had no idea he had been holding all throughout.

Takeda was not entirely sure if he heard the spectre whisper these words to him, or if this was another voice in his mind – he had been having such bizarre episodes much more frequently now.

Despite Hanzo's still face and unreadable expression, the voice grew louder, more coherent, but the tonal volume wavering – as if someone deliberately tampered with the volume control on a radio:

'I see my Jubei in you, Takeda… But you can never be my own…'

The moment passed as suddenly as it had appeared. The Grandmaster breathed heavily, as if exhaling out the strange possession that had taken hold of him – and blinked several times, tearing his eyes away from Takeda, to the back of the running child, who was now nothing but a mere spot near the horizon.

The mask was back in place – but Takeda undoubtedly, had glimpsed the face of the man who had undergone unspeakable shame, pain and loss – before he had honed it into flames from the deepest pits of Hell itself.

Hanzo turned, facing the pillar, regarding the paper dolls that hung by the doorway with a peculiar hatred, one that had replaced his vulnerable lapse from moments ago.

"Get-rid-of-those," he ordered curtly, his deep growl dripping heavily with unfounded spite.

Takeda leveled his eyes at him, jaw tight with tension. The flashing pain had receded now to a dull throb in his temples.

"They are not mine, I'll return them to-" Takeda began, his voice taking an edge against the Grandmaster's unreasonable request.

"Do whatever you wish, but I do not want to see them again! Is that clear?"

"Crystal," came a sullen, icy reply.

Hanzo folded his hands behind his back, and turned to him with a raised eyebrow, noting the defiant tone. But he knew, that for all his qualities, Takeda was but a teenager, and one who was easily provoked. He decided to forgo the transgression, in a fashion that was much more paternal than the grandmaster would ever openly admit.

Thus, he said nothing, and began to walk back into the hallway.

After a brief pause of hesitation, Takeda called out quietly:

"Master Hasashi?" his voice was subdued, but laced with an unusual authority; as if Hanzo owed him a response, an explanation. As if he had an unspoken control over the hell-wraith, despite being at the lower end of their hierarchy.

Hasashi stopped short, his footfalls echoing all around the empty corridor – though he did not turn back to look at his student.

"Are… you… all right?"

Evidently, the student knew his boundaries. Perhaps, a little too much.

Hanzo let out a dark chuckle at the irony of the situation, one that rumbled ominously around him, sounded like boulders rolling off mountains; before he slowly enunciated, drawing out each syllable slowly, and in a deep timbre -

"Right as rain, boy."

Unknown Location,

Near Mount Godwin-Austin, Western Himalayas,

Sino-Pakistan border.

Midnight -

Never would a woman take pleasure in the sight of a man kneeling before his son's supposed grave – but for Ara, it brought a sense of quiet elation.

After weeks of gruelling search, fruitless bargaining and haggling with other organisation members over use of bases and technology, the despondent, dejected Captain had been on the verge of abandoning her mission, and returning back to her work.

There had been intense activity in various remote locations in Outworld, supposed Red Dragon activity. And following the Reiko Accords, Earthrealm was to rally Kotal's support, and issue a communique about a joint force targeting the criminal cells. The initial diplomatic attache had to be arranged – and there seemed no reason to keep pursuing a lone swordsman, who was given to laying low, and for most part, seemed to have the trust of the OIA behind him.

Then again, she was not targeting Kenshi because she personally saw him as a threat. Unfortunately, organisational mistrust still prevailed across the world – even though the founding of the regional organisation SHAHEEN was seen as a confidence-building exercise. Thus, when Ara was told to bring him in for questioning, she had no choice but to oblige. And in the face of imminent failure, she was quite close to aborting the mission, and her superiors had stopped pursuing it almost entirely.

Until – a tip, from the OIA leader, Lt. General Blade herself, suggested that Kenshi may be within her jurisdiction – visiting the old Shirai Ryu site, to meet his son.

Ara had chanced the journey - and serendipitously, hit jackpot.

There he was, nearly prostrating in front of the mass burial, hands placed at the hilt of his sword as it glowed, whilst lodged in the ground. Though she noted the changed attire, a new, but simultaneously old-looking armour – but the signature red bandanna fluttered behind him – as snow accumulated on the swordsman's back and neck, and ravens gathered near his knees.

Evidently, he had been petrified in this position for a long while now; the very picture of a tragic, defeated hero. Jehan folded her arms, and shook her head in pity.

'He's back to square one too now, isn't he?'

The answer did not matter. Silently loading her 9mm, she walked towards her target – knowing that he was too submerged in his own thoughts to notice her at all.

A few moments later, she stood directly behind him – while he did not move an inch. Inhaling deeply, the Captain raised her gun, planting it directly behind Takahashi's skull, unlocking the safety.

The metallic 'click' almost echoed around him; but again, if the swordsman of her presence, he did not make a show of it, yet.

"It's over, Takahashi."

A small silence fell over them. The ravens cawed, and fluttered away in a flurry of black wings, mixed with snow.

"You're named after the noble falcon, but you sneak up onto me like a snake," Kenshi remarked lowly, but without any malice. He finally raised his head from his bowed position, but only to fix his sightless gaze on the view of the burial ahead.

The Captain was bored at the reply, and tired of the conversation already.

"If I wanted to kill you, swordsman, you wouldn't be talking now," she replied deadpan, her weapon unmoving from its position.

"You should have done it when you had the chance, Captain."

Unlike before, there was no challenge in his tone, no skepticism at her behaviour, no underlying lesson to impart that only he had knowledge of.

Takahashi Kenshi was a defeated man, tonight. On various fronts, as it was.

"I have orders to arrest you, for suspicion of clandestine activities against civilians. Given your chequered history with the Red Dragon, we have doubts about your true allegiance, therefore–"

Jehan was cut off by a deep, dark snicker of laughter – as mocking as it was incredulous. Disbelieving; as if her entire act was staged, insincere. It continued for a few seconds, causing the female soldier to doubt the man's very sanity.

Kenshi threw his head back, and let out another cackle, and it was then that Jehan noticed the tears rolling from the sides of his eyes towards his temples, staining his blindfold wet.

Despite claiming not being able to read her, Jehan feared he may have found another way; either that, or he had called her bluff.

"You," he began with a humorless, disgusted grin after his mirth subsided; "You are just like the rest of them."

"Nothing personal, Takahashi-"

"What was all that then?!" he snarled angrily, turning his face toward his shoulder, "That day! About saving what others consider collateral damage, about guilt, Jehan?!"

In a flash, he was up, a single fist grabbing the woman by her collar and bringing her near his face.

"You-allowed-this-to-happen! You were on guard, here – you said you would protect my son!"

He telekinetically beckoned the Sento to his free hand, twirling it from the wrist behind him, so that the cold edge of the blade was pointed right at her face. A second later, it started telekinetically boring into her face.

Despite having the loaded gun in her hand, the Captain made no move to resist. She hardly ever did when she realised her end may be up so close.

This incision by the Sento, under her right eye, and the sting of the metal that was both hot and cold at the same time – was undoubtedly promising.

Maybe the legendary blade of the Sento could overcome what normal guns and knives had faltered against – take her worthless life. She never took offence at the notion of a cheap death.

Until, her damned conscience, or perhaps pity, took the place of her wretched desire for a final closure.

"He's safe, Kenshi."

She saw the creases of his blindfold straighten out, eyebrows raise – and it was then that she realised the hollowed out cheeks, unkempt hair and beard on the once immaculately clean, healthy swordsman.

The grip on her throat became lax, and once Kenshi let go, Jehan fell straight on her back with a grunt; the entirety of her view filling with endless stars, like blue velvet strewn across the boundless sky, snowflakes falling on her face in a soft, white lullaby.

The cracked Sento, glowing an angry crimson, drew back, and eventually sheathed itself in the scabbard at the back.

"Start talking," Kenshi growled with authority, he said, as he loomed darkly above her.

The Captain fished out a Marlboro from her pocket, lit the cigarette, and blew the smoke it into night-time sky, it's faint orange-glow the only source of light, apart from the bright starlight and moon that shone radiantly, and brilliantly in front of her.

"You're coming with me, irrespective, Kenshi. So might just hear this, before I take you into custody," Jehan said calmly, before launching into a summary of what transpired in the past few months – from Fox's possession, to the Shirai Ryu massacre, the showdown in Outworld, and Takeda's unwavering bravery in the face of adversity.

At some point, Kenshi had taken a seat beside her, arms looping over his knees, listening intently. Now, with her monologue finished, he sat deep in thought, while the Captain puffed away the remainder of her cigarette.

"And I thought by living with Hanzo, he'd be spared such a fate," Kenshi remarked, his face practically skeletal under the dim, orange glow.

"You did what you thought best, Takahashi…"

There was a moment of hesitation, painted visibly on Kenshi's face – but he took the plunge, and asked in a curious, but concerned tone: "Did you visit him often? How… is he, now?"

Jehan smiled wanly at the silenced eagerness of the man before her.

"Once every few months. He'd grow taller, lankier every time I saw him. Smart kid – with a smart mouth too. They said he's very fast in kombat, but a little on the careless side." She turned to face the estranged father, with a skeptical raise of a brow: "Your literal doppelganger. Minus the wild caveman look. You look awful, by the way."

Kenshi's mouth lifted in a wistful, lopsided grin, as he pictured his son in his mind's eye – brimming with a youthful glow at the prime age of sixteen, handling a sword as expertly as the telepath himself did, in his age.

"The Red Dragon did not exactly provide grooming services when I was in their captivity."

Sand coloured eyes widened a fraction, as Jehan sat up straighter at hearing his words.

"That where you'd been all this time?" she asked cautiously.

The swordsman nodded.

"Go on."

"Is that an order?" He ventured a guess.

"What do you think? The gun's loaded; and unlike you, I have no qualms pulling the trigger."

The swordsman inhaled deeply, nodding to himself, a private smile playing at the corner of his mouth, despite his situation.

"Feed the desperate what he wants, and let him pave the way for you." He paused, not in a dramatic fashion, but a serious one – as if mulling over what to reveal, and what to conceal.

Jehan, though skeptical of the cryptic words, kept silent – and waited for him to continue.

"I'd heard of an arms build-up near Outworld's border with Chaos Realm, near the Krimson Forest – supposed Red Dragon activity. It warranted investigation, and unlike you, I don't wait around for orders. I moved in immediately, and found an unlikely ally – in an armless Shokan. We worked out a deal – I'd feign capture by Goro, and he would hand me over to Daegon, in exchange for his missing limbs. After that, I would seize my chance, and kill him for good."

"So what went wrong?"

"Nearly everything. Daegon demanded more – he sent Goro on a wild chase across the realms, for what, I don't know – except that his reward would come after he had completed his task. I remained in captivity, during all that time…"

He paused, taking a swig of water from a small container, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand.

"Did they starve you?"

Jehan voiced her estimation, noticing his loose clothing and sunken features – but Kenshi's act of slowly turning away from her, was the only answer. Whatever kept him from confessing it, honour or ego, was utterly futile. His pitiful, haggard look spoke for itself.

Kenshi's voice turned sombre, as he continued:

"I had threatened Goro, and meant every word of it. If he dared even thinking about walking away from our bargain, I would hunt him down, and I would slice apart every limb of his, and feed it to the vultures on his Gorbak's grave, with the whole Shokan as my witness. And when I thought he had betrayed me – and I fantasized about that day so bad, I nearly tasted his blood."

"But Goro – Goro truly is a prince, after all," Kenshi boasted, slightly triumphant. "He had travelled the realms, and did Daegon's bidding. And after he'd restored his arms, Goro and the Shokan queen Sheeva, ambushed the Red Dragon stronghold, destroying everything in sight. But it worked out well enough… By the time they were through, the Red Dragon's sole base of operations was up in flames, along with the bodies of those that worshipped the bastard. It was a completely merciless onslaught – I heard Sheeva claim vengeance for Kintaro as well…"

Jehan nodded – as the supposed alias seemed to fall into place; no viable reason of doubt presenting itself to her, yet.

"That makes sense - Kintaro was killed when the Shokan, Shirai Ryu and Kotal Kahn's forces launched a combined attack against the blood demon, and Havik, who was backed up by the Red Dragon."

"I see…" Kenshi said as he ruminated that piece of information.

"What about Daegon?"

The swordsman's face immediately turned grim, as if on the edge of a raging storm.

"He escaped, by the very skin of his teeth," Kenshi's voice trembled under the weight of his barely concealed rage. "But – I believe I have done definite damage to him…"

"How so?"

Kenshi turned his blindfolded face directly Ara's way, before unsheathing the Sento again, angling it diagonally against the ground, so that the entire length of the sharp steel was exposed for the soldier's viewing.

Jehan noted the glowing red cracks, brimming with sorcery or magik that she had no knowledge of. But faintly smeared toward the lower tip of the blade, was faded blood, now almost black – alongside many threads of a white, milky substance that had once flowed along with the blood, but had now congealed in dirty, transparent globs along the blade.

"An eye for an eye – though I'd say he got off easy…"

The realisation hit her with the force of being hit by a canon - and maintaining composure suddenly became an arduous task in itself.

"So, you blinded him…" she said, her voice unsteady.

He nodded, putting away the Sento again, instead of wiping it clean as warriors of his ilk were trained to do. Jehan, in turn, grimaced disgustingly and turned away from the swordsman, the proof of his mindless brutality engraved within her mind.

"A mere pittance, compared to what he deserved," he paused, fixing his eerie, blindfolded gaze towards her.

"At least now he'll finally see the world through my eyes."

Kenshi turned away, and a long moment of silence fell in between the duo. Seated across from each other, much the same way as they had eight years ago, in a dingy train rendered sweltering by the infamous Karachi heat, to meeting in between the marriage of the Himalayas and the Karakorams, surrounded by the highest peaks in the realm as their witness, unconquerable in their wintry glory.

A wolf cried periodically in distance, filling the air with its melancholic song, as crickets chirped away heedless in the dead of night. The scent of conifers, snow and smoke hung thickly in the air – as if shrouding the duo in an invisible mantle, each absorbed in their own universe.

Then, the wind started again. Howling and daring, it commanded the spirit deep within, inspiring it to battle, to overcome all that stood in one's way, with an unparalleled fervour. A call to go beyond the confines of the mind and soul – to shatter through one's fears…

She listened intently, and felt this moment – of unspoken, shared confessions of solitude, loss and the fruitless quest for revenge - crystallise into a clear message. One that emphasised this vague sense of companionship, communion – similar to the bond she shared with his son.

It was as if the writing was in front of her, all along.

In the madness of that moment, Jehan made a decision, one that was entirely baffling to her own sense of rationality.

"Shingo Village, Aomori Prefecture. Your native country, Japan."

She got up on her knees, fished out two packs of rations, meant to last an entire day each, and tossed them towards the swordsman, who sat alert now, regarding the soldier warily.

The Captain locked on the safety and holstered her weapon, before standing up to walk away.

"Eat well. And give Takeda my regards."

Unbeknownst to the retreating female soldier, Takahashi Kenshi had voiced his thanks quietly – borne witness only by the lone mountains, and the robust, incessant wind.

Shirai Ryu Temple,

Classified Location,

Japan.

Evening -

"Master Hasashi… About earlier today… If I came across as rude, then I apologise..."

Hanzo glanced up from his dinner, and regarded the student beside him with a quizzical look. His hands were folded beneath the table, eyes downcast, food untouched. There it was again, the crisp formality. Not the kind shared in between a master and a student, but one of absolute strangers.

No such transgression came to Hanzo's mind, none that needed apologising for, at least. There has to be more than just that-

"But… I have to talk to you about a few things…"

Hanzo nearly smiled. He had no idea if the boy was becoming predictable, or if Hanzo himself had internalised his mannerisms so well as to read him to perfection.

"Is it about your headaches again?"

Takeda bit his lip, and finally looked at Hasashi.

"Yes. They've started coming with visions and voices now."

Hanzo's expressionless face betrayed the surprise he felt inside. The symptoms were becoming manifest – the grandmaster's usefulness seemed to come at an end. Much to the ninja's utter despair.

He neatly placed his chopsticks beside his plate, and looked fully towards the Chujin-in-training.

"Takeda-"

"It's because of him, isn't it?!" Futile anger laced his tone.

Hanzo sighed heavily. He never looked forward to such conversations, one that involved the mention of Kenshi; it revealed parts of him he had no wish to see again. And brought with it a sense of betrayal that was too much to bear.

But the spectre steeled himself for battle, as he had done many a times before, and for less nobler causes.

"You and I need to discuss a few things, and its best we do them now," he reasoned, his tone steady like the earth itself.

Takeda leaned back and crossed his arms, enraged, though he said nothing.

"I am not fully aware of the extent of your father's powers. He guards his secrets well, as should you. But I truly hope this is nothing but your ancestral powers manifesting – hearing voices and seeing visions in itself, is not a good sign, especially in our world."

"But I know nothing about this – how do I treat it? Or at least control them? The words, the images – sometimes, they just won't get out of my head, Master…"

Hanzo frowned thoughtfully. "Apart from your father, I don't think anyone can answer your-"

"Are you actually expecting him to jump right in and teach me how to take care of this?!" Takeda shot furiously. "He left me, he abandoned me right after my mother died! I mean nothing to him, Master – can't you see?! He's never coming back!"

Hanzo recalled the last time he had seen the swordsman, eight years ago, when he had left the child under his care.

'I can never be a father to him, only a taskmaster…'

How wrong had he been all those years ago. Hanzo realised now how much he ached to agree with Takeda, fuel his hatred for Kenshi and ultimately have him all to himself, the son he never had. What unusually fine line was he treading – where his promise to an ally collided with his own selfish desire.

Of raising the son he never had.

"I promised your father I would keep you safe, until he returned," answered Hanzo, his head bent, and eyes turned away from the young man before him. "And I intend to keep that promise, Takeda."

"You're fooling yourself then, Grandmaster," the teenager returned, sullen. "This may be a lesson for you, not me."

"That remains to be seen," answered Hanzo, his steely voice toneless, and hollow. "But know this: if you have an ounce of respect for me, you'll eventually respect him too – once you see Kenshi for what he truly is."

"He's nothing but a regular deadbeat, Master."

"On the contrary, we have much in common," Hanzo said, his heart brimming with a private gratitude for the swordsman, who had rescued him from his own depths what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"But what brought him to my doorstep all those years ago, is not my story to tell. You will learn, when your time comes… And it is then, that you and I, Takeda, would become equals; travellers on the same path – not a master, and a student."

Quietly picking up his chopsticks, Hanzo began to eat his dinner, and a silence fell in between them. Takeda remained transfixed on his teacher, his cryptic words, and mannerisms strangely compelling him to recall a long-forgotten day, in Japan – where he and Kenshi had shared a meal of ramen, with an old woman complimenting them.

Except Kenshi had come clean to him, then. About his work, his life… The memory brought a buried demon of the past – of the love he'd once felt for his blind father, and the need to gain his acceptance.

To think he holds the answers…

Instantly, Hanzo's voice rang in his head, followed by a young boy's singing – and the image of the kneeling, weeping Shirai Ryu warrior. From the haze of conflictual emotions, the sharpness of a renewed migraine and the shiver that went down his spine, a word formed in Takeda's head – as personal, as familiar as a family member's name would perhaps be.

Takeda knew this would buy him more trouble than what he'd bargained for – but he could not wait for Kenshi to come and answer all of his questions.

And so, in a hushed, quiet tone, and a wary glance, he asked the former hell-wraith about a wound, that ran too deep for words.

"Grandmaster… who was Jubei?"

Please don't kill me? :P Although in all honesty, I thought it was a pretty 'meh' update :/

References:

MKX comics/Kittelsen/iceangelmkx/TRMK forums - for pitching the idea of a Kenshi-Goro alliance, that is just too epic to not include :'D

Teru Teru Bozu - here is a small translation for the actual song -

Sunny, sunny monk boy, sunny monk boy,

Tomorrow, make the weather nice for me

Like a heavenly dream once upon a time

If it clears, I'll give you a gold bell. (... etc.)

'Oraganisational haggling'/politics within regional bodies: Mentioned as a sidenote when showing how Jehan had to strive hard to get hold of resources, leads and technology to complete her mission. More often than not, conducting military missions is often confusing, with overlapping chains of command and very actor-specific bargaining positions undertaken by those involved. I read about this in detail in a paper by Graham T. Allison as he analysed the essence of decision-making during the Cuban Missile Crisis.. A very mundane read, but it is how it is :P

That's all I got for now! :)

Please do let me know what went wrong, what I should improve upon, or what was done good (if any), in this update.. Looking forward to hearing from you all.. Until then, enjoy and have a great day! :)