Chapter 27
The roof of the hospital exploded with a terrible force, sending a shockwave that reverberated throughout the building, terrifying the people within. Keitaro, holding Naru in his arms at the bottom of the stairwell, looked up with worry. He could see flames engulfing the ceiling, filling the building with acrid smoke. It couldn't be coincidence he thought. The murders, Shinobu, his sister, they were all connected, and he was at the center somehow. Suddenly, he felt a chill run up the length of his spine. He feared for the life of his wife and baby. "Motoko," he cried out, dreading the thought of her being hurt. Naru, trembling from the shock, felt her chest tightened as she heard him speak that person's name.
"I've got to find her," said Keitaro as he stood up. Naru, standing beside him, could only look away, her pain apparent. Keitaro, seeing this, embraced her, his right hand cradling the back of her neck. "I'm sorry Naru, I love you, but my wife needs me," he whispered into her ear, "please understand, I must protect the ones I love."
And then he was gone, dashing up the stairs towards the fire and smoke. Clenching her fist tight, Naru wept, knowing that she had lost the love of her life. But she did not cry for long. "I have to protect the ones I love too Keitaro, you taught me that," said Naru as she left to find Shinobu.
Up on the rooftop, Kanako was running for her life. She was afraid. Since the age of five, she had trained in the Urashima style of martial arts, a prodigy that had impressed Granny Hina, the headmaster of the discipline. The Urashima clan was legendary in the shadowy world of combat for their stealth, speed, and uncanny perception. It was said that no Urashima had ever fallen prey to an ambush or trap for they were too clever for such things. For an Urashima to have their backs to an enemy and not even know it was unheard of – but then again, none had to face an enraged Seta Noriyasu. She hadn't sensed him until it was almost too late. She managed to dodge Seta's first attack, a hammer fist so powerful that it exploded the concrete after it impacted the floor. She countered with a flurry of punches, but Seta effortlessly blocked each attack.
Jumping to a safe a distance, Kanako lobbed her patented Momolian grenades at him, engulfing him in fire and smoke. Standing in triumph, Kanako howled, reveling in the demise of her enemy. But her joy was short-lived. With demon speed, he leapt through the smoke and into the air, showing no evidence of damage. He landed mere inches from her, and with a deft smile, asked, "Why did you kill my little girl, Kanako? You can tell me, I won't tell anyone." His behavior was – to say the least, off. Kanako, hoping to fog his mind with anger, answered, "Because the little bitch was in the way."
There was no change in Seta's expression, his glib smile ever present. Pushing his glasses back with his finger, he sighed, "Is that so?" Kanako was unnerved by his creepy smile. Shaking off her fear, she lunged at him, a metal claw springing from underneath her sleeve.
Seta, standing nonchalantly, flexed his arm. Instantly, Kanako's blade snapped in two. "Impossible," she screamed, unable to fathom a human being capable of such speeds. Seta then appeared next to her, whispering into her ear, "It's called the God-like speed technique, been in the family for generations."
Kanko swung her elbow around, hoping to break his nose, but she missed wide. Seta, ducking the attack, sent a crushing palm strike into her side, breaking her ribs. The force of the blow rocketed her across the rooftop. Kanako landed hard against the unforgiving concrete. The crushing sensation in her chest told Kanako that her lung had collapsed when her broken rib punctured the soft pink tissue. "Damn," she cursed the gods, "I cannot die now."
Seta, perking up, responded, "What's that now little mouse? Speak up, I couldn't here you." Slowly, Kanako rose to her feet, her left arm cradling her chest, forcing her diaphragm to contract her lungs. Wiping the blood from her lips, her eyes swung up, staring straight into his visage. Her lips cracked a smile, a canine tooth exposed. She roared, "I SAID YOU"RE DEAD YOU BASTARD!" Drawing her kodachi, Kanako charged the still smiling Seta.
"So the little mouse can roar," he yawned, stretching his arms above his shoulders.
Somewhere in the hospital, Motoko awoke from the sound of explosions. Immediately, she leapt from her bed into her ready stance, her mind automatically banishing the pain she felt emanating from her womb. She spied Sakura near the doorway, her attention focused on the door.
With lightening speed, Motoko was across the room, holding Sakura by the throat, peering into her fearful eyes. "Where's my baby?" Motoko demanded. Sakura, her airway nearly collapsed, could only lift her arm to point to the plastic container that held the premature baby.
Seeing her boy, Motoko released Sakura, causing her to crumble to the floor. Motoko rushed to her child, tears in her eyes. She desperately wanted to hold him, her maternal instincts demanding satisfaction. "Don't Motoko," Sakura wheezed out, feeling the young mother's desire, "he needs to stay in there if he's to survive."
Motoko clenched her fist and pounded the floor, the force shaking the ground beneath them. She knew Sakura was right. Suddenly, she remembered the blow to her head. Motoko stood up and turned to face the frightened young woman.
Sakura had expected her to attack in retaliation for knocking her unconscious. She only hoped that she could explain in time before she lost the ability to speak, walk, or reproduce. But Motoko did not attack. Instead, she bowed. "Thank you for saving my child Sakura. I know that you only did what you did to prevent me from doing something rash. Thank you again," she said, her voice even and firm.
As she rose from her bow, Motoko looked straight into Sakura's eyes, and said "I must ask you for one more favor. Please protect my child, while I go find my husband." Sakura, seeing the strength behind Motoko's eyes could not deny her anything. She bowed her head and replied, "Of course."
Motoko then went to her baby and tapped on the glass. "I want you to know little one how much your father and mother love you. I promise you that we'll be together again," she wept out, allowing herself one last cry before battle.
Wiping away the tears, Motoko made her way to the door before Sakura called out her name. As she turned to respond, Sakura placed a large black object into her hand. The weight seemed so familiar, its contours almost welcoming.
She looked down and in her hand was a sword. The black scabbard was decorated with Chinese calligraphy and floral patterns of unparallel beauty. Its lacquer finish gave it a glimmering appearance. The hilt proudly displayed the crest of the Urashima clan. Sakura, seeing Motoko's confusion, answered, "It is the birthright of the Urashima Clan. It was cursed for seven generations, but Haruka had it purified by your sister. She told me that if ever it was needed that I should take it to you. She also told me to tell you this. Motoko, in your hands is the sword forged in battle, damned by hate, and now saved by love. I know that you vowed never again to hold a sword, but I ask you to wield this blade and fight once more. Not for honor, not for forgiveness, but to protect those you love so that they may never know suffering that we had to endure."
Motoko stood in silence. She did not know what had moved her more, Haruka's final words to her or the ancestral blade that she held. She had heard of the Cursed Blade of Hina as a child, but never believed she would hold it in her hands. It had nearly destroyed Kyoto, and with it her clan. But now, she felt only good emanating from the sword – the need to protect its family.
Motoko drew the sword from the sheath and for a moment, it seemed as if the room filled with an incredible light. Motoko had never seen such a blade before. There was no scratch or mark on its finish. She saw no impurities or blemish. The weight was perfectly balance. The curvature of the blade revealed no flaw.
It was impossible for a hand crafted blade to be so symmetrical, and yet, the Hina blade was before her, in all its impossible perfection. Motoko was also surprised that she felt no weakness in her right arm, only strength returning to her, as if her injury had never been. "How can this be," the rational part of her mind demanded to know. "Love you fool," her soul responded. "Thank you Haruka," she prayed, hoping that her mentor could hear her.
"Thank you for this gift," Motoko beamed, taking Sakura into a warm embrace. "For you and Haruka, I'll protect them all," she declared. "I know you will Motoko," said Haruka, moved by Motoko's conviction. And with that, Motoko dashed off into the hallway, towards the sound of battle.
Kanako felt her life ebbing away. Her ribs were crushed, making every breath an excruciating exercise in pain. Her left eye had swollen shut, and the other was tearing up blood. Her right arm had been nearly severed in half, only skin and few patches of muscles kept it attached.
Kanako had tried to distance herself from Seta after he had wretched the kodachi from her hand. She pulled out her firearm and shot at him, but Seta kept closing the gap faster than she could fire. Once she ran out of bullets and grenades, Kanako tried close quarter combat, hoping her smaller size would give her an advantage in agility, but Seta simply adapted to her techniques.
After a few minutes, Kanako was exhausted though relatively uninjured. Seta, seeing her pitiful state, frowned. "Is that all you got little mouse," he snorted, the anger manifesting. Kanako, infuriated by his smugness, charged again, this time recklessly. Seta, side stepping the attack, sent a devastating punch into Kanako's right elbow, nearly ripping it off. Kanako howled in pain, but it was cut short when Seta rammed his knee into her midsection.
"Pace yourself," Seta spoke to himself, "you don't want to kill the little mouse just yet. She hasn't suffered enough." Kanako collapsed onto the floor, the pain resonating throughout her broken body. Desperation gripped her fevered mind. "I don't want to die," she whimpered. She began to crawl away from him, weeping, begging for forgiveness.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, her swollen tongue and missing teeth garbling her words. Seta responded by stomping his foot on her ankle, pulverizing the bone. "Begging already," Seta scowled, sickened by her display, "Don't beg, it'll ruined the moment."
Seta then raised his foot for another stomp when he sensed a familiar presence behind him. He leapt into the air, narrowly avoiding the slash of Motoko's blade. Surprised by the speed and force of her attack, Seta landed in his ready position, arms raised in defense. Motoko, her blade already back in its sheath, stood between Seta and Kanako, her gaze never leaving her opponent. "You will not touch my sister-in-law again," she declared, her voice booming with conviction. Seta could only chuckle, "Why it's Motoko, what are you doing up on the roof? Didn't you just have a baby?" Motoko furrowed her brow in response to his heckling. Her pride demanded action, but logic had won out. She knew that even if he was weaponless, Seta was not a man you attacked head on, not if you wanted to live. "I'll guess I'll have to kill you to," he shrugged.
As Keitaro burst through the door to the roof, he was shocked to see Motoko standing on the rooftop – alone. He ran to her, tears in his eyes. Motoko, sensing a familiar presence, spun around and saw Keitaro running towards her. She leapt into his arms, embracing him with all her might. Their lips met, engulfing one another in a passionate kiss.
"Oh God, I thought you were hurt," Keitaro wept out, relieved that his wife was okay. Motoko could only reply, "I'm fine, and so is our son." Keitaro responded by strengthening his embrace, wanting to feel more of his wife's wondrous body. They stood there, enmeshed. Motoko wanted time to stop so that she could be with him like this forever. He felt so warm, his arms so strong. She had suffered this night, much of it due to his infidelity, but being with him again cast all anger from her. She had him back – as if blessed for a second time – she had him back.
But there wasn't time for such things. He had to know about Kanako and Haruka. Steeling herself for the inevitable backlash, still in his arm, she whispered into his ear the tragic news of his aunt's passing.
Keitaro, his eyes quivering in pain, wheeled back from the news.
"It can't be," he stammered, trying to keep his composure, "tell me you're joking." Motoko could only look at him with sorrowful eyes as she continued, "We think Su is also dead, murdered by the same person who killed Haruka." Keitaro's body froze, paralyzed by fury. Someone had dared hurt the ones he loved.
"Who," Keitaro shouted, grabbing Motoko by the shoulders. When Motoko grew hesitant, Keitaro shook her violently. "Dammit Motoko, tell me who," he shouted. Motoko, looking away from his sweltering gaze, whispered, "Kanako."
Motoko could hear his heart breaking. "You're lying!" he shrieked, boring claw marks into her shoulders. Motoko's winced at first, but quickly her expression turned hard as she peered into the maelstrom of his eyes. "I saw you with her," she flatly replied, breaking his resolve like shattered glass.
Keitaro felt his gut wrench. Motoko stepped forward, her shoulders squared. "Kanako had you and Naru filmed so that I could watch. She intended me to commit suicide afterwards. I would have if it weren't for Sakura," she stated calmly. After a moment had passed, Keitaro doubled over and began to dry heave. He hadn't eaten anything in nearly a day, so there was nothing left but stomach fluid to vomit, which he did.
Motoko bent down and placed a gentle hand on his neck. Suddenly, Keitaro felt an indescribable pain shoot out from where Motoko's hand was. His body went rigid, the agony traveling the length of his body. Somewhere in the back of his mind, still unaffected by the pain, he remembered a moment from his days as manager of the Hinata Springs.
"So Motoko, do you know any of those cool pressure points, like you see in those kung fu movies," he gingerly asked, holding out a cup of tea for her. Motoko, her eyes closed, replied with a snide comment, "Such things are unworthy of a true warrior like myself, Urashima." Keitaro, disappointed that he wasn't making any headway with the obstinate samurai girl, failed to notice the tea tipping over, splashing its contents over Motoko's once immaculate gi. Motoko's left eye began to twitch, as the hot liquid bled into her clothes. With lightening speed, her hand gripped the back of Keitaro's neck. Confused by her action, Keitaro could only reply, "huh," before he was interrupted. "We call this the path to truth technique; it is used by my clansmen for purposes of interrogation," Motoko said coolly, before applying pressure to two points along his vertebra. The pain exploded in his brain for a second, before Motoko released him. "Christ, what was that," Keitaro wheezed, rubbing the back of his neck. "A warning Urashima," Motoko replied.
A minute later, the pain subsided, replaced with the warmth of his wife's embrace. "I'm so sorry Motoko," he coughed out, still wheeling from the pain. Motoko, her head buried in his chest, the tears bleeding through his shirt, replied, "You came back to me, that's all I care about." Lifting her head so that she could see his eyes, she added, "but if you ever put me through that again, I'll end you." Keitaro, somewhat relieved, could only kiss his wife in response.
A shrill, high pitch shriek rampaged through their ears. "Kanako," Keitaro gasped, trying to fight off the panic gripping his soul. Motoko, seeing the dread in her husband's expression, stood and reached for her blade. Keitaro was already gone, racing towards his sister. Motoko gave chase, dashing over the rooftops of the various buildings adjoining the hospital.
Her keen eyes spied a tall figure in the distance. It was Seta. "What is he doing here?" she wondered, not knowing of Sarah's terrible fate. As they drew closer to their quarry, husband and wife saw a terrible sight. The people, whom they loved both deeply, were engaged in combat. No, more aptly put, their friend and mentor was savagely beating a member of their family. Keitaro yelled Seta to stop, but his voice was unheard or unheeded. Motoko, the faster of the two, ran ahead, charging Seta's position.
The years of inactivity felt like weights on her limbs, but the sword gave her strength. The old memories of form and technique slowly came back to her muscles, propelled by the energy flowing through her from the Hina blade. She launched her attack, using her left leg to boost her speed, drawing her sword, using the sheath as a counterforce to propel the blade forward. The end result was a quick draw of such blazing swiftness that the human eye could not track its movements.
Seta dodged it with relative ease.
"Damn," Motoko cursed, hoping that her first attack would end the potential for bloodshed. Keitaro rushed to his sister. What he saw almost devastated him. Her body laid broken, blood spilling onto the floor. Her limbs were misshapen, discolored; he saw bone protruding from her right arm. She was mangled, her cheeks, swollen, pale, spotted with blood. "Kanako," he cried out, hoping that she was still alive. "Get her out of here," Motoko shouted. Keitaro looked up and saw his wife. She stood with her back towards him, facing down Seta, but he was no longer the man that he knew.
He reeked with hate. So potent was his desire to kill that it caused the air to distort around him. Seta was festering with terrible intent. Keitaro yelled, "Why do this Seta?" Motoko interjected, "It's too late for reason Keitaro. He's too far gone. Take Kanako to safety, I'll hold him off as long as I can."
Keitaro felt his insides shred to pieces. He wanted to rescue his sister, but he did not want to leave his wife. Why was this happening? Why was he forced to make such a decision? Had they not suffered enough? "Why God?" he desperately pleaded, hoping for some miracle.
"Please Keitaro, let me protect you and the ones you cherish," Motoko pleaded, cutting through to him. He read her emotions, the yearning in her soul. The bond their shared ran deep, deep enough that he could feel her intent. "I cherish you most of all," Keitaro replied, picking up his sister.
He ran, leaving Motoko, but never in her heart. The lone tear that trickled down her cheek spoke of a commitment that defied their odds. "I love you Keitaro," she whispered, gripping her sword tighter.
"How touching? What a magnificent display of matrimonial bliss and fortitude, but it's wasted on that girl," Seta called out, pulling up his sleeves. Motoko yelled back, "Why Seta, Why do this to Kanako? Are you taking revenge for Haruka?" Seta looked puzzled at her response. "Haruka?" he replied, "Don't tell me she killed her too, my, she was a busy little beaver."
Motoko felt a terrible cramp in her belly. What did he meant by "too?" Did he care enough about Su to wage such a terrible battle? No, the only person who could elicit such vengeance, other than Haruka would be…
The realization hit her with force of a hurricane. "No," she uttered. Seta caught this, and laughed. "So you just figured it out," he chuckled, "well, no matter, she still dies and so will you if you get in my way."
Preparing for his attack, Motoko drew her blade and held it in a defensive posture. She yelled out, "Kanako will face justice but not by your hands Seta. Please withdraw." He only smiled and then disappeared.
"What?" Motoko gasped. "A bit slow aren't we?" Seta breathed into her ear. "How could he be so fast," she thought, slashing towards the direction of his speech. A second later, her eyes caught up to her blade and saw nothing. "I'm over here," Seta whispered again, this time from the other direction. Motoko, without hesitation, took her sheathe and thrust it behind her, at right angle to the source of the sound. From the resistance, she knew that she had made contact.
Seta's eyes widened in surprise as he was hurled through the air, propelled by the force of her attack. He landed hard, skidding a few feet, before coming to rest against a ventilation shaft. Analyzing her attack, he figured out that Motoko had decreased her response time, thus catching him off guard, by using the twist of her body to fuel the attack, rather than the long arc of a sword swing. What amazed him was the precision of the attack. Only a truly gifted warrior would be able to make the calculations needed in guessing the movements of an opponent who possessed superior speed in the heat of battle.
Getting up, Seta dusted off his pants and wiped the blood seeping from the cut above his right eye. "Nice one Part-timer's wife, but that just mean I won't go easy on you next time around," he said, before disappearing again. Motoko was hit before she could react. She held her blade forward, parallel to the ground. It afforded the swordsman maximum defensive positioning at the cost of reducing their offensive capability. It did little to stop Seta. Motoko flew back, crashing into a glass arboretum that the nursing staff had built for their afternoon breaks.
Keitaro could hear the battle ensue after he left, but he fought to pay attention to the life slipping away before his eyes. He ran towards the door that led to the staircase, when Sakura popped out.
At first, she was overjoyed that she had found Keitaro. It was only by chance that she found Naru, who was in search of Shinobu. Dragging the resistant Naru by the hand, Sakura brought Naru to the room where she had kept Motoko's baby. "Please Naru, I know that Keitaro and Motoko are in danger now, but I can't leave the baby unprotected. Please watch over him, while I go help them," she pleaded.
Naru could only stare at the fragile life that lay before her. In the artificial womb was the life that Keitaro and Motoko had created, a life she was denied to share with the man she loved. For a moment, Naru felt conflicted. She wanted so much to hate the child, but seeing it there, so helpless and vulnerable, Naru had no other recourse. "Of course, I'll look after him, please save Keitaro," she replied, her eyes never leaving the baby.
"Thank you," said Sakura as she bowed and then was gone.
On the rooftop, Keitaro had laid his sister on the floor, hoping that Sakura could help her. "Please help her" he pleaded. Sakura cringed at the sight of Kanako's broken body. Before she could approach, Kanako awoke, her one good eye fixated on her brother.
"Is that you Keitaro?" she asked weakly, not believing the fantasy. "Yes," he replied, cradling her in his arms, "it's your big brother." Kanako's face was filled with joy, but it was soon replaced with regret. "Please don't look at me like this," she begged, turning away. Keitaro held her closer until his cheek lay next to hers, he replied, "I will never look away from my beautiful sister."
She began to weep, wishing that she could live just a little longer for him, but she felt death lingering, bidding his time. "I'm sorry Keitaro for the things that I've done," she wheezed, her breathing more labored, "I've done terrible, unforgivable things."
Kanako wanted to say more, but was cut short. She felt something pressing against her lips. It was warm, a bit salty, but there was something else that she felt – something wondrous. She opened her eyes and saw that her brother was kissing her.
Happiness is a word that could not begin to describe her feelings, but that was soon eclipsed by the horrendous guilt that began to consume her. She didn't deserve to be so happy. She had murdered her friends, tricked her brother into infidelity, and countless other sins.
She broke off the kiss and struggled to find the words to convey her contrition, but Keitaro just placed a finger on her lips. "Whatever you did, it doesn't matter. I forgive you. I forgive you because you're my sister and I love you. There's nothing that you could do to turn me against you. Nothing, please believe in that my lovely sister," he wept, desperately trying to comfort her restive soul.
She smiled, before fading to black. "Kanako," Keitaro screamed, begging God not to take her. Sakura, rushing to his side, ordered, "Place her on the ground so I can treat her." Trying to fight his own pain, Keitaro did what he was told. Sakura hovered above Kanako, feeling her vitals, and dressing the wounds as best she could without supplies.
She hadn't notice Keitaro moving away, walking towards the distant sound of battle. "Please take care of her," he called out, forcing Sakura to turn around. What she saw drove fear straight into her heart.
She saw the dragon stirring in Keitaro – the bloodlust of the Urashima Clan emerging. "Oh god no," Sakura shrieked, "Come back Keitaro!" But it was too late. He was gone. Sakura felt a hand on her knee. She looked down and saw the anxiety in her eye. "Is it too late to save him," she stuttered, fearing that Sakura had indeed seen the dragon. "I don't know," Sakura replied, praying that she was wrong.
Motoko felt the sword pulsating with power. She was weak, her body not responding to her commands. She was sure her left arm was broken, along with two of her ribs. She could stand, but hardly. Her breathing was nothing more than short gasps of breath. The blood loss was beginning to affect her mind. Everything seemed to blur together, but the sword was hungry for more. To her astonishment, it began to change color, reacting the presence of power.
Seta took notice of this and commented, "So he's awakening the dragon is he." Motoko was confused at first, but her confusion was soon replaced with terror. She felt something powerful drawing near, a swirling mass of energy that flared with such intensity that it nearly overpowered her.
And yet it felt familiar, as if it could be…
"Keitaro!" she gasped, looking away from Seta to the source of the disturbance, and before her stood the dragon. Its wings blotted out the stars. Its eyes set ablaze the earth. Its breath brought with it death.
Motoko stood terrified at what she saw. She could feel the air, thick with its presence, condensing around her, smothering her. She wanted to run away and hide in the deep places of the earth, far from the gaze of the monster.
But there was Keitaro, in the middle of the maelstrom of the dragon. "I don't understand," Motoko cried out. Walking past her, Seta replied, "A long time ago, a fierce dragon wreaked havoc on Japan. The Urashima Clan rose up and fought the monster until only one was left. He slayed the beast, but not before it could taint his blood with its mark. Since that day, the Urashima bloodline carried with it the dragon's spirit. Every once in awhile, it would awaken, killing and rampaging before another Urashima could bring it down. We always thought it was Haruka who had the dragon, not Keitaro, but I guess we were wrong."
Motoko could not believe what she was being told. Dragons were mythical creatures, they weren't real, but then again, she was raised to be a demon slayer. Though she had never seen one, it was a matter of law in her clan. The dark things that walked in daylight was real and to be exterminated. That was the way of her clan.
"What do we do?" Motoko called out, hoping that Seta had an answer. He paused for a moment and turned towards the distraught wife. "We die Motoko," he quipped, before proceeding in the direction of the dragon.
The two men walked towards each other. The dragon, his power manifesting in a swirls of blue lightening, ripped asunder the concrete as he walked. Seta, pouring forth his formidable chi energy, ignited the air, causing brilliant red flame to encompass him.
Motoko could see the two energies collide, creating a vortex of indescribable power, threatening to flatten the landscape. She sough shelter behind a concrete box that housed the ventilation shaft for the hospital. Peering around the side, she saw them stop with only a few feet separating the two.
"She killed Sarah," said Seta, calmly removing his glasses and placing them into his shirt pocket. Keitaro made no response. "So I see, that's how it will be," Seta sighed. Keitaro growled in response, affirming his former mentor. Seta cried out as he began his attack.
A deafening roar that pierced the heavens erupted from Keitaro's mouth, striking Seta with a force beyond reckoning. He was flung back, his clothes left in tatters, blood oozing from the dozens of cuts and burns scattered throughout his exposed body.
"Damn," he cursed, "that hurt." Motoko could not believe that Keitaro, the kindest man she knew, could be capable of such ferocity. She screamed, "Stop Keitaro, you're going to kill him!" But her words had no affect. The dragon would not be denied his prey.
The dragon was awake and it hungered for blood.
The dragon leapt into the air, spreading its monstrous wings, blanketing the earth with its shadow. It felt the fear in his prey and was pleased by it. It climbed further into the heavens, until it reached the apex of its ascent. It the turned its monstrous body towards the earth, and came streaking down.
The dragon was soon to pounce. Faster it went, dive bombing towards its target. Seta recognized that Keitaro was coming in too fast to dodge the attack. The force, he reckoned, would be enough to vaporize him, the hospital, and perhaps the surrounding community.
"I'm sorry Sarah, Poppa couldn't get you justice," he lamented, closing his eyes to the inevitable. Motoko wanted to run and stop Keitaro, but he was too fast. She didn't have the time to react. All she could do was scream, "STOP KEITARO!"
Too late for the dragon had struck. A blinding light encompassed the rooftop, the blast destroying much of the roof.
A death shriek filled the air, causing Motoko to cover her ears in pain. It was the second sound that opened her eyes, someone was wailing. She could feel the pain in his tortured cries. "Keitaro?" she stuttered as she looked towards the spot where Seta had been.
There, a few feet from Seta, was Keitaro cradling Kanako in his arms. Just before Keitaro could strike, Kanako appeared, placing herself in front of Seta. Before Seta realized what was happening, Kanako turned her head so that her one good eye could see him. She whispered, "I'm sorry," before plunging her broken kodachi into her chest.
As the pain erupted from her wound, Kanako was brought back to the time she learned of this technique. "Remember Kanako, this technique is only to be used when there are no other options left," Granny Hina commanded her young disciple. "Hai," Kanako replied.
Pleased with her grand-daughter's commitment and discipline, the matriarch of the clan made the decision to teach her the most powerful and forbidden technique of the Urashima School of Martial Arts – the blossoming chrysanthemum strike. "As you know Kanako, we draw our power from our ki, but there is also the possibility of drawing even greater power from nature. Unfortunately, the only way of drawing this power is to sacrifice your life in the process. Only death can unlock the body's ultimate limit. By doing so, the warrior may be able to harness the sudden release of his or her life energy and merge it with the natural energy that surrounds us, creating a devastating force that could destroy entire cities," Hina professed. She continued, "This technique must only be used when fighting the dragon, for only the dragon can absorb the amount of energy released from the blast, otherwise, everything around you will perish for miles on end. Do you understand?"
"Hai," Kanako replied.
The dragon did not know why this girl stood in his way, nor did it care. She would die as well. But fear gripped the dragon's heart as it recognized her stance. It had seen it dozens of times before, the technique wielded by past members of the Urashima Clan. "Impossible," it roared. Kanako smiled, "I'm going to save you big brother." With the last of her strength, she chanted the words that released the Blossoming Chrysanthemum technique.
The dragon was pierced by the energy bolt emanating from Kanako's own beating heart – the last gesture of love from the dying girl. It howled in rage at its demise. Keitaro awoke, only to see his sister, lying on the ground with a sword stuck in her chest. "Oh god," he cried, crawling towards her. "Please Kanako, wake up," he shouted, jostling her smoldering body.
Kanako's eye fluttered open. She smiled at him with a calm expression, the blood still present. "It's okay," she wheezed, fighting to live just a little longer to assuage his guilt. "I didn't do this for you Keitaro, I did it for me. You keep saving me, even after all the terrible things I've done, so just this once, I wanted to be the one who saves you." Bitter tears began to rain down on her. Knowing that his sister was dying, Keitaro gripped her hand and pressed it against his lips before placing it next to his cheek. "You did save me Kanako. Thank you," he cried, praying for a little more time.
"I love you big brother," uttered Kanako, as the last of her breath left her. She was gone. Keitaro, feeling overwhelmed with sadness, sobbed, "I love you too Kanako," and then raising his voice to the heavens, shouted, "But why did you have to die?"
"Keitaro," uttered Motoko, gripping her chest. She could feel his pain as he screamed into the night, his voice carrying to the far reaches of the city. Seta could only watch on as he saw his former pupil weep over the body of his daughter's murder.
He wanted to keep his rage, but he felt it dissolving, leaving behind the intense despair and loss he felt in his soul. He wanted to lose himself to the fury that had nearly killed Kanako – to end the hurt. But Keitaro's suffering had reawakened the compassion that had made him a beloved father.
"I'm sorry Sarah," he sobbed, allowing himself to weep for the loss of his daughter. Motoko saw this and felt relieved. "Is it over?" she wondered, finding it difficult to believe that the nightmare had ended.
Kanako, the source of all their recent pain, was dead. Seta's rage had been contained and subdued. Motoko could see no enemies or threats in the horizon. She walked over to the still weeping Keitaro, and gently wrapped her arms around him.
Kanako had murdered her mentor and friends, but because of Keitaro's heart, she would hold nothing back. She embraced them both, shedding tears of loss and pain. She whispered into his ears soothing words and promised him that she would never leave him. Keitaro, taking one of his hands, intertwined his fingers with his wife's, his other hand, still holding his departed sister.
Time had passed, but neither knew by how much. Motoko was the first to rise. She walked over to Seta to tend his wounds. The dragon's power had left its mark. He was bleeding from several large gashes; patches of his skin were burned to char. "I'll be fine Motoko," Seta sighed, trying to abate the worried mother's expression. "Nonsense," Motoko replied, her maternal instincts coming to force, "you are in need of immediate medical attention."
After gently laying her sister's body on the floor, crossing her arms across her chest, Keitaro rose to his feet. He looked over the ruined rooftop and was amazed at the destruction that had been caused by their battle. Calm was washing over him, as the last of his tears was shed. His eyes settled on the visage of his wife, tending the wounds of his friend. Feeling an urge rise in him, he called out, "I love you my wife."
Motoko turned around and smiled at her husband. She yelled back, "I love you my husband." The dark clouds were lifting. Keitaro knew that they would need time to heal from the day's events, but there was so much love amongst them that he had no doubt that they would find happiness again.
Keitaro was happy. He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the heavens, thanking God for his wife and child. Motoko was about to walk over to him, when she heard the gun shot. She had never heard such a terrible sound, as it shattered the peace that had settled in the aftermath of their battle with Seta.
Keitaro felt his breath stolen. There was a sharp pain in his chest, followed by the sensation of falling. Instinctively, his hand gripped the place where the sharp pain had been, which was now replaced by a dull ache. He could feel something warm and slick covering his fingers – a familiar sensation. Keitaro looked down and saw the blood gushing from a hole in his chest.
Motoko screamed, her heart nearly breaking as her husband looked up. Their eyes locked. She could see the shock in his face, the wretched pallor returning to his cheeks. With blinding speed, she ran to him, catching him as he fell.
"Why God?" Motoko screamed, demanding to know what terrible sin that they had committed to deserve so much pain. Keitaro trembled; his breathing was labored, short, and ragged. The blood began bubbling through his mouth, lacing his teeth and lips in crimson. Motoko placed her hand over his wound, trying to stem the bleeding. Her motions became erratic, her voice strained by emotions.
"Don't leave me Keitaro," she cried out. Seta watched from afar, still in shock from what had just transpired. But his warrior instinct kicked in and his eyes began darting to and fro, looking for the culprit. It took him a moment to find the source of the gun fire.
She had made no effort to hide her crime. She stood there in the open, holding the gun in her hand, still smoking from the barrel. "Kitsune," Seta roared as he struggled to get up. The silver haired woman remained unresponsive, continuing to watch the desperate prayers of a woman losing her love.
Sakura was not endowed with natural ability or gifted in the martial arts like Keitaro and Motoko. She could not leap tens of feet in a single jump. She was forced to climb down the stairs, exit one building to get to another building, before climbing back up the stairs of where the battle was taking place.
By the time she had reached them, it was already over. Kanako was dead, and Motoko and Keitaro were seemingly all right. The battle had ended. She was relieved. "I guess it's over," she sighed with relief. It was then she noticed Kitsune climbing onto the roof through the fire escape.
"Huh, what is she doing here," Sakura wondered. She was about to call out to her friend, when something peculiar happened. Kitsune had taken out a gun that she had hidden in her shirt. "What is she doing?" Sakura asked herself, not realizing until it was too late. Kitsune had fired her gun, hitting Keitaro in the chest.
Sakura felt her throat dry up, her body shaking. What had she done? Why would she want to kill him? Questions began racing through her mind, but her training took hold. Sakura pulled out her pistol the same way that Haruka had taught her. "Line up the sights, breathe in, hold your breath, then squeeze the trigger," said Haruka as she stood behind her pupil. Sakura, lining up her sights, holding her breath, and squeezing the trigger, felt the force of the discharge as the bullet rifled through the air and into the center target 20 yards away. "Good job," the Urashima tigress declared, pleasing Sakura greatly.
She had trained in the use of firearms for the past two years. In that time, Haruka's lessons had become a reflex action. The moment she spied Kitsune raising her gun again, Sakura pulled the trigger.
Kitsune felt the bullet impacting the side of her neck, lodging itself into the vertebra. The jugular had been severed, causing the blood to spurt from the wound. In seconds, Kitsune was on the ground, her body twitching.
Sakura rushed to her, kicking away the gun as she had been trained to, her weapon still fixed on Kitsune. "Why?" she asked. Kitsune, her jaw reflexively contracting, trying to force air down the obliterated windpipe, looked up in response. There would be no answer from her, only the sight of pupils dilating.
Sakura dropped her gun, struggling to process what had just happened. It was the sound of someone crying that had snapped her back into reality. Sakura broke into sobbing fits when she saw Motoko, cradling the head of her husband, his eyes casting no doubt that he was gone. The sound of absolute misery echoed throughout the city as Motoko wailed on, long into the night.
To be continued….
The ending is going to be SHOCKING!!!