Author's Note (07/20/2016): Hey guys, Cobalt here at long last. If you're only just now checking up on this fic after several months away from it, I highly recommend you reread this chapter because I've decided I'll be meshing the old Chapter 2 and what I originally planned to have as Chapter 3 into one big long Chapter. So, yeah, lots of stuff is new in this version, compared to the one from January 4th.
I hope you like where I'm going with this. ;)
~Cobalt
Warnings for this chapter: Mild blasphemy and gore mention.
This Chapter was first published October 7th, 2015 and last updated July 20th, 2016.
The next morning dawned with dazzling brightness and a cloudless sapphire sky. Dew glistened brilliantly upon spidery tree limbs, each cluster of droplets a unique constellation of fire. Shafts of golden-white sunlight filtered through the patchy late-fall canopy to cast irregular shadows upon the forest floor, and not far from where Jack lay sleeping, a little creature— a squirrel, perhaps— rummaged through the piles of discarded foliage which littered the forest floor. In the distance, the snow-capped peaks of nearby mountains carried their sentiments to the Heavens, each grappling with varying degrees of success to rejoin the sky.
Jack blinked awake slowly to the harsh cawing of a stray crow as it joined its southbound brethren, and he tilted his head back lazily to watch its graceless ascent as it climbed higher in the morning sky. Jack yawned, stretched, and cast his serene gaze upon his surroundings with feigned indifference. After a moment's pause he was satisfied that he was alone, and allowed himself to relax.
Places this calm are hard to come by, he thought not without a sudden twinge of bitterness and frowned as he reclined against the tree. For the past several months, such negative thoughts had proven themselves rather persistent, and he was dismayed with the reminder that his sense of optimism had long since begun to decay. However, his newfound sense of pessimism was to be expected after such an extended length of seemingly never-ending failure. Reclining easily beneath his tree's inconsistent shadow, Jack found himself lingering on this troubling realization perhaps longer than he had dared to in quite a long time.
It had been seven, prolonged years since he had first defied Aku's young tyranny those many millennia ago, and much had been taken from him in that time. He had lost friends and acquaintances through the combined efforts of Aku's forces and the Hands of Time. He had lost his family. And now, Jack could feel it, it was only a matter of time before he would begin to lose his youth. The Hell never seemed to end, yet it was a burden that he had long grown accustomed to. A rogue breeze sliced through the air like an icy projectile, bringing with it the hopeful smells and sounds of nearby civilization, and Jack hoped that the distance to his next destination would not stretch for much longer. He reached for his sandals and katana.
He withdrew his pitiable rations— a meager assortment of dried fruits— and frowned upon the refuse with weary distaste. He found himself briefly remembering a time that seemed so long ago when he'd last eaten a warm meal, and just as quickly dispelled the rising surge of pessimism which accompanied that train of thought. Instead, he allowed himself the luxury of a smile as he again revisited his hopes for the village. Surely there he could buy more food— maybe even something hot, like a breakfast platter?— and, better still, he might even find the priest about whom he'd heard so much and had traveled for so long to find.
And so, with goal in sight, the samurai resumed his journey with renewed vigor, the wisps of his smoky breath curling gently behind him as he picked at his breakfast.
Many hundreds of miles away, Aku reclined lazily in his throne, his feet propped upon a grotesque (yet functional) stool of antlers. In his claws he cradled his favorite cup, an enormous, white ceramic tankard with the phrase "World's Best Emperor" scrawled across it in obnoxious, yet ornately-flourished and masterfully hand-painted, red block letters. Delicate tendrils of the drink's pleasant, honey-scented steam curled up and around his horns like a crown as he brought the cup to his lips. He inhaled deeply with relish. Tea had always been one of his favorite drinks. Moreover, the writing on the cup did not lie: he was the best emperor the world had ever known, and then some!
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he savored this day's first private victory in what was sure to be the first in his longest streak of private victories to date. He sipped again from his tea in a smug, self-satisfied sort of way, and sighed with simple pleasure. Although he had spent much of the previous night working out the finer details for this newest scheme, he felt it was more than worth it. He was prepared for anything; he had taken all variables into account and even felt he could stand to have a late start this morning. Although arrogance and underestimation had cost him in the past, he just did not care this morning so great was his confidence in this newest plan. He had more than earned this morning's late start after all the work he had put in last night, and so he promised himself an extra few hours to relax before he'd set the wheels of this newest scheme in motion.
The plan was so very simple; Aku was astonished at himself for not having thought of it sooner. This plan, quite like the so-called "Ikra Undertaking" as he'd come to think of it, was foolproof and deliciously treacherous. The key elements were there: the brilliant disguise, the pulling-of-wool over the Fool's eyes, and the coup de grâce victory stomp on the heart that had been plucked right from his chest. Aku smirked widely to himself at this pleasing thought. Never mind merely slowing the Samurai's progress as Ikra had only served to do, for this newest undertaking would not only be the Samurai's very undoing but could also very well break his spirit; and that was the only piece he was missing to secure this, his greatest triumph yet.
The plan could not, would not fail. Of this, he was for once entirely certain, and this warranted only the utmost care in the plan's execution. Nothing could go wrong, and there could be neither variables nor unforeseen complications.
But still, he was not at all worried. Ah, the wonders that a murder and a good night's rest could do for one's morale!
Aku sipped again from his tankard. Before him, as always, the flames parted obediently with a dismissive wave of his hand to reveal the subject of his concentrated ire, and Aku leaned forward unconsciously as though watching a particularly engaging cartoon. He sipped lazily from his tea, and his half-lidded gaze lingered upon his enemy's image with distant amusement at the frailty of mortal life.
"How different things will seem when there is no one left to defy me..." he murmured aloud before suddenly taking another noisy slurp from his tankard as though to save face. He grimaced momentarily at the realization that he had almost expressed regret, for such disgusting human sentiments were quite beneath him. At once he was grateful to be alone in the throne room, lest someone had heard such an uncharacteristic sentiment. Moreover, hadn't he just relished the thought of the samurai's destruction? He asked himself. What place did regret have in the face of what would surely be the single, crowning triumph of his existence?
Perhaps, living among humanity for so long had made him soft. Aku shuddered at the idea and fervently hoped not.
Shaking himself from his thoughts lest he forget his brilliant plan at all, Aku leaned forward and dialed his secretary. Although he would not be leaving the citadel for several more hours, he figured he might as well take care of this call now before he left, seeing as he did not plan on returning for an indeterminate length of time.
"Yes, Hello, Ardelia.." he began carefully, his tone of voice uncharacteristically pleasant, "I need you to do something for me.."
Thoroughly unaware of the trials which awaited him later that day, Jack arrived at the village without any complications. Glancing around curiously as he walked, he took in the bustling people in the marketplace (some human and others not from this world) as they went about their business. Here, a family of colorful alien visitors selected loaves of bread and there, across the market, a charlatan yelled about his fraudulent "magic" talismans. The air was abuzz with talks of business. As politely as he could, the samurai threaded his way through the surging crowd, stopping once or twice to purchase nonperishable foods that he could bring with him on his journey.
Withdrawing a folded piece of parchment from the folds of his gi, he looked over the hastily scribbled directions he had received only a few days prior, and frowned. Looking up again, Jack carefully surveyed his surroundings and was surprised to see that the building he had been looking for was waiting expectantly right across the street. How had he not noticed it?
The building in itself didn't look overly conspicuous as churches go, he observed as he approached. Sure, it was dilapidated and appeared quite neglected and unused, but don't most churches look that way in this day and age? He quickly dispelled such thoughts as he drew closer, for he could tell there was much more than extreme dilapidation that set this church apart from others. There was something very wrong with the whole establishment, and Jack could feel the hairs on the back of his neck bristling instinctively as he stepped up to the entrance.
Jack looked over his shoulder, somehow feeling the slightest bit self-conscious as he stood before the worm-eaten oak doors of the church. He nudged the door gently, and the door creaked open weakly to admit him as though he had been expected. He removed his hat and held it under his arm before taking a few tentative steps inside, the chill crawling up his spine not entirely due to the late fall breeze which had sliced its way through the ruins.
His eyes widened considerably as he took in the desolation which had awaited him. To begin with, the pews were in varying states of disarray; some were as defaced as the outside walls of the church, literally covered with graffiti, while others were in complete shambles, their pieces strewn about the floor haphazardly like jigsaw puzzles that had been dumped out of their boxes. The tapestries and rugs throughout the room were all threadbare from years of neglect and, more recently, the repeated visits of moths. The walls and floor were covered with grime, and dust lay thick and undisturbed upon almost every surface.
Although it was mid-morning, the inside of the church was dim, and the little light afforded by the holes in the roof and walls could hardly illuminate the greater extent of the wreckage. Of course, that was just fine with Jack, who didn't want to witness any more of it than he had to.
"Hello.." Jack breathed into the silence, the sound coming out as little more than a whisper. A noise of rustling fabric drew the samurai's attention to the shadows at his right, and he looked up sharply at the robed man who approached. The priest was gaunt, exceptionally pale, and had wispy grey-blonde hair that appeared highly unusual, perhaps almost spectral, for one who was surely not much older than 40. As the man stepped closer, and the lines of hypocrisy on his face were etched deeply in shadow, Jack suspected strongly that he was part of the reason the church had declined in the first place.
Standing before Jack now, the priest looked up at him with distrust in his eyes. "Yes?" He asked softly, his voice rasping from disuse and- like so much else about him- quite uncharacteristic for one of his profession.
"I'm looking for Father Madison," Jack answered politely, suddenly ill at ease in his presence although he daren't show it, "is he here?"
"Oh, you're one of his," the man sneered, every bit of his largely insubstantial façade of politeness crumbling away, much to Jack's surprise. "He moved his practice to the dark wood east of the village," here the priest hesitated, but continued after a moment's pause. "If you follow the path running through town, it will take you where you need to go," he offered.
Further conversation from the priest trailed away as some glimmer of recognition began to register itself, and he narrowed his eyes at the traveler. For some reason, the priest couldn't help but feel he had seen this man somewhere else before. He turned away from the samurai, effectively (and rudely) putting an end to their conversation; walked back to the pew, and sat. There, he was immediately lost in thought— racking his brain for something that just would not come, no matter how it had been coaxed.
A faded wanted poster upon the wall billowed in the wind but the priest did not look up. He was vaguely aware of the samurai excusing himself, but did not think to stop him.
Jack left the little church feeling almost as though he had just stepped out of Hell and back into the light of day. He had no doubt that something momentous had happened within its pitiful walls— something big enough that the former Father should have to move out of town, afterward— and he felt sorry that the little church had been left in the care of such a heinous replacement, whose horrible claws surely bumbled through the lines of the ancient texts with an obvious distaste and lack of conviction.
He continued on his way down the street, his head bowed and face hidden once again beneath his hat.
Deep within the forbidden darkness of the Black Forest, standing tall and proud above its peers like a fortress, there was a tree quite unlike any other. Towering into the sky, reaching so high it effortlessly crests the first layer of cloud cover on an overcast day, so high its impressive, unmistakable mass of foliage could be seen without binoculars when one was well away from the forest, the "Tree of the Clearing" (as it has come to be known by longtime residents of the village) was truly an unsettling sight to behold amidst the wreckage of what was once a place so full of life.
Or, at least, that's what most people seemed to think of it. But, for one demon, the place was as close to home as he'd ever get.
Within the Tree the lone resident of the Black Forest stood in his bedroom and looked out his favorite window, whose position numerous stories above the Forest's floor afforded quite the expansive, if not rather depressing, view. His inhuman yellow eyes quietly surveyed the bleak decimation which radiated outward from the great Tree's clearing for miles in every direction and contemplated the wreckage with less detachment than he would have liked. Every time his eyes sought the charred husks of the former trees— which would have rotted long ago had he not magically preserved them in an effort to forewarn travelers of his powers and ill repute— he felt bitter and angry at himself all over again.
There was a time that the forest had meant sanctuary. It had been green, vibrant, and full of life. There had been wildflowers like bright splashes of paint and berry bushes so loaded with fruit that were having trouble holding their branches off the ground; there had even been wildlife, which was more than could be said for the Forest at present. Everything had been just fine as it was, for a time. The place had been perfectly ordinary as forests go, for even the Tree of the Clearing (although it had still been rather large compared to its peers) had not yet been touched by the dark magic which had augmented its monstrous proportions.
Of course, this was many years ago, when the Forest had been called Wildcat Thicket, after the dense population of bobcats and mountain lions which had long ago frequented the area, and Leonard Madison had still been a village variety pastor, not yet capable of dark magic.
The demon's train of thought was broken as he realized he could see his reflection, and he found himself glaring at it with more than a fair degree of hatred.
Just look at yourself, he sneered hatefully at it, his eyes tracing the monstrous tusks which jutted like spears from the beast's upper lip. His deep red skin reflected pink light onto his shirt. Look at what your failure cost you, you bastard. He glowered at this image for a moment longer, fixing himself stubbornly on the shreds of old indignity which had followed him from his past life, before he exhaled softly, his breath misting the cold glass as he habitually rested his forehead against it in one of his many well-practiced gestures of defeat. His eyes darted reflexively to his right after this and found the picture frame on his nightstand out of habit. His daughter, then a young girl wearing a flowery sundress and a straw hat, smiled at him out of the sunny little photograph.
He closed his eyes and found himself wondering, distantly, just how it had all come to this.
Every morning it was the same old thing. He would rise from bed, stare longingly at the death outside his window, and hate himself viciously all over again. It never really seemed to change. Except.. today, something seemed different, and he couldn't quite put his claw on it. Perhaps it was just an intuition, but today he felt certain that something to break the monotony was going to happen…
Or maybe not. He was just basing this assumption off gut feelings, and lately it seemed those were about as reliable as reading tea leaves.
Less than thirty minutes had passed before the first of the lifeless trees extended their gnarled branches towards Jack in welcome, and still the samurai remained uneasy from his encounter with the priest as he stepped into the desolate hush of the black forest; never mind this new circumstance with which he had to contend. Around him, hundreds of obliterated trees stood decaying, their trunks fire-blackened and wind-ravaged. Their husks whispered ominously amongst themselves in the wind as Jack passed them by, as though yearning to retell the tale of their demise. The samurai rested one hand tensely upon the handle of his katana as he attempted to negotiate the unfamiliar path which twisted its way through the heart of the forest.
As he walked, Jack looked upon the scorched trees with interest. Some were burned far worse than others, but all of the trees appeared to be long dead, regardless, as though evil had remotely tainted the very livelihood of the forest long before the fire. The air thrummed more and more palpably with magic the deeper he trekked into the wood, and Jack followed it as one would follow a string tied at the entrance of a labyrinth. He knew that what lay at the end of this link could not be from this world.
The palpable thrum of black magic that Jack had first experienced at the edge of the forest had gradually increased in potency to the point of becoming almost unbearable the deeper he ventured into the woods. This uncomfortable sensation had become so very insistent that several minutes after he had begun the journey into the woods, as Jack found himself at the edge of a sizeable clearing, and before him— towering proudly into the late afternoon sky like a fortress—stood the largest tree that Jack had ever seen, he felt mildly nauseated. The many scorch marks around the base suggested that it too had fallen victim to the blaze that claimed its peers; but, as a whole, the tree appeared to be healthy and quite alive. Its emerald leaves crested the sky as though defying the laws of nature, and the whole thing just looked unnatural; never mind the windows and doors that appeared to have grown into the tree on their own.
As he looked, the tree as a whole appeared to waver gently in the mid-afternoon light, and Jack had to squint to bring it into focus. The sinister tide of black magic which coursed its way through the forest seemed intent on permeating the tree's enchanted bark, as though a great secret resided just beneath, but its every effort was violently rejected and waves of this thwarted energy seemed to emanate from the tree in all directions. Looking up at this strange spectacle now, Jack found the whole display something beyond dizzying to look at and he pondered briefly over the few immediate, if unlikely reasons that might have prompted the strange man who lived there to willingly subject himself to such an uncomfortably intense atmosphere for only a moment, let alone venture to live in it for any length of time.
He approached the massive tree cautiously, his hand on the handle of the sword all the while. As he approached the ancient wooden door, Jack noticed there were no tool marks that he could see in the intricate carvings which adorned it, nor were there the signs of weathering that otherwise would have been characteristic of wood that had been left outside. With a deep breath to steel himself, he knocked, and the door reverberated magically with the force as though it did not take kindly to strangers. Jack wondered what kind of enchantments had been placed upon it as the faint sounds of movement coming from just within gave away his host. A few moments passed before the door was opened, and Jack tried not to betray his obvious surprise at what awaited him on the other side.
In the doorway there now stood a creature whose origin Jack could not identify, its back straight as a ramrod with an air of respectability and hospitality about its person. The creature was heavy-set, with orange-red skin and a pig's face. Impressive grey-black horns jutted from the back of its head from beneath a graying (and outdated) hairstyle. It wore a starched white button-up shirt, and dark brown khakis. Hooves peeked out from beneath its pant legs. "May I help you?" The creature asked politely, its voice pleasantly deep and rumbling forth.
"I apologize for bothering you, but I am looking for Father Madison," Jack answered.
The creature smiled, exposing prominent tusks in its mouth, "You're talkin' to him! But please, go easy on that 'Father' stuff, and just call me Leonard, if that's not too much trouble. I don't identify with the church anymore."
There was a pause as the demon crossed his arms across his sizeable chest and gut, and Jack was struck with the altogether alien sensation of being the one to judge. The way the demon had averted his eyes, the way his sentence had trailed off to uneasy silence, it had almost seemed to Jack as though there was much that had remained unsaid. The gesture's likeness to regret was openly human.
Were demons even capable of such emotion? Looking at his host now, whose lines in his face were etched deep, Jack did not doubt it.
Leonard was quick to break the silence. "So what is it you're after, stranger?" There was subtle emphasis on the word stranger, and Jack shook himself back to the present with the realization that he had been rude.
"Forgive me, I neglected to properly introduce myself," the samurai apologized, "I am called 'Jack', and I have traveled here from a faraway land in the hopes that I could speak with you. I was told you could help me in my quest."
When the demon fell silent once again, Jack found himself strangely appreciative. Not for the first time in recent weeks Jack somehow felt that, by standing in the presence of such critical judgement and remaining unflinching in the face of its intensity, he was undergoing a test in its own right. In a world as swamped with corruption as this future, it was almost reassuring to see that there were those who did not believe the tales of strangers quite so easily.
"Now, listen," the demon spoke finally, after his moment of consideration, "I don't usually like helping every random stranger that shows up at my door, uh, for reasons I'm sure you can gather," He gestured pointedly at the scorch marks with one grizzled thumbnail, "but maybe you could tell me your story, and I'll feel more inclined to help you. I will admit, I have heard some things about you, Jack, but quite frankly I just don't know what to believe anymore." He shook his head mournfully for emphasis.
Jack was not surprised. "Of course. I understand that certain details may be mistaken or difficult to believe. I would be glad to clarify—"
"Well good, because I have many questions that need your answering," the demon interrupted without missing a beat, slung an arm around the samurai's shoulders, and ushered him into the foreboding darkness which yawned behind him before he could protest.
Parting Words (06/21/2016): Fun fact, y'all, "Wildcat Thicket" is an actual place! I went on this name generator thing and it gave me a list of 50 real life forests that I could take inspiration/names from, and one of them was Wildcat Thicket. So I put it in Google search, and apparently Wildcat Thicket borders a town in Texas called "Leonard"! So naturally, after learning about that, I just had to use the name. ;) It was an intervention of fate.
Leonard will be making regular appearances as we go, btw. c: He is not going to be a side character, and later on y'all will learn why he became a demon, what happened to the forest he lives in, who his daughter is and bits of her story, and so on. He only seems flat right now because I didn't want to go into a lot of detail with him right off the bat. We're just about to start the main action of the story. B)
Also, I don't really like how this chapter came out so I might well end up rewriting it in the near future. But for now I'm going to push onward and work on Chapter 3, because I've been procrastinating and procrastinating for months now.
Questions, Comments, Ideas, or Concerns about the story? Let me know in the comments! :3
EDIT (07/20/2016): I think I finally figured out what I dislike about this chapter. As of right now I fixed the problem, but chances are I'll end up rewriting this again later (or at least tweaking some stuff) as I'm prone to doing.
