Chapter 64 Nanking Revisited
Inevitably, Sesshoumaru located the epicenter the supernatural hate permeating Nanking, a city whose every stone, brick and tree, whose very essence, seemed to wish him a slow death. It was almost anti-climatic, discovering that the root of such deranged and murderous desire was in fact a tree located in the Zhan Yuan Garden. Unsurprisingly, the death tree didn't fit any type Sesshoumaru could identify and in fact seemed to only be imitating something natural. The bark appeared grey and lifeless in the dim lunar light; its bare branches reached upwards like a skeletal hand grasping at the moon and its roots, unwilling to be confined underground spiraled out like a spider's web to catch any prey that ventured close enough.
Sesshoumaru was not certain, but he had the distinct impression the tree knew who he was and why he was there and was waiting for him to come closer, to enmesh himself in that web of roots.
He was considering unfurling his whip and striking from afar as the tree swayed gently in the wind until he realized there was no wind and the tree was subtly probing his mind. It's searching for a way in...
As that realization hit, Sesshoumaru felt a psychic lance of white hot intensity pierce its way into his mind and was granted a vision of the one instant frozen in time that would poison this place for eternity.
Sesshoumaru sits on the earthen floor of the garden, wondering when the captain would give the order kill him...wait I never...Sesshoumaru knew the Japanese would take the time to entertain themselves with his suffering before allowing him the welcome release of death. Memories from the 30 years of his life replayed in his mind...who am I...what is this...his father rapping him smartly on the head for failing to show proper filial piety, his mother crooning nursery rhymes to him, his brother arguing with him over doing chores, his parents trying to resist falling into despair as the Japanese invasion reaches them and the crushing end of the Chinese Sovereignty finally becomes real to them...
He hears the sound of steps approaching and lifts his head to see the old but familiar colors of Japanese imperial army uniforms of World War II march into view. Sesshoumaru tries to speak, to ask where he is but instead his mouth acts on its own.
"So, decide on a way to kill me yet?"
One of the soldiers, a sergeant perhaps, nods and answers, "Yes, but such arrogant flippancy towards his imperial majesty's soldiers is ill advised. You and the Chinese people would be wiser to simply accept your place in submission to us. But since you don't, what we do to you and everyone in Nanking will serve as a warning to all Chinese about what such futile defiance brings."
Amazingly, Sesshoumaru feels his face contort into a grim parody of a smile at the ludicrous nature of what was just said. For roughly three months, the Chinese Nationalist army, the Koumitang, had held out against relentless Japanese attacks in the region and were only now withdrawing from Nanking, the capital. He felt pride in knowing that the Japanese were having to choke on their taunts about conquering China in three months. That was the true reason behind his impending murder. Executing him, a man who had never held a weapon, was just another act of perverse malice against the Chinese for their refusal to kneel to Japan. Sesshoumaru found himself putting steel into his voice, "We will never kowtow to you and Japan will pay for its arrogance"
One of the guards lifts his rifle butt to strike him, but then lowers it again at the barked command of his lieutenant.
"You'll be dead soon enough, no need to rush it," the lieutenant assures him in an indifferent voice.
The other soldier, smiling obscenely and seemingly in ecstasy over the impending murder, grabs his shirt and hauls him onto his feet. Binding his hands behind him and then gagging him, Sesshoumaru is dragged to a tree whose bark has been bleached by moonlight and whose form some arboreal disease has apparently warped.
Shoving him roughly against the gnarled trunk of the tree, Sesshoumaru feels its scaly bark rip through parts of his clothes and cut into his skin as though it was only an appetizer to set the tone for the feast of agony that would soon be offered.
Coils of rope then begin twining around his waist and shoulders, pinning him tightly against the tree. Hate, pure and unadulterated, blossoms in Sesshoumaru's soul, as the captain of the Japanese troops then appears from his peripheral vision on the right. The swagger in his step is the sort that only conquest and holding the lives of others in hand could bring. A man who revels in power and all the potential for abuse it could offer. From the way the other Japanese soldiers begin smiling obsequiously and lowering their eyes, it is clear he is also a man that demands his underlings treat him as a God.
Sesshoumaru notices that the Captain stands several centimeters shorter than he does, somewhere near 5'8. His face is long and sallow, his skin leathery and his eyes hungry for adoration and fear. To Sesshoumaru he perfectly epitomizes the power hungry, militaristic sadists that inhabit the Japanese isles. Anything that would not bow before him would be tortured and killed. Anything that did bow before him might well meet the same fate, simply for amusement. The debauched values of the Japanese disgusted him.
Looking steadfastly into his eyes, Sesshoumaru refuses to give the satisfaction of anything except disdain and hostility. The idea that these barbaric dwarves deserved anything approaching respect was absurd.
Sesshoumaru's thoughts and contempt for the Japanese show in his face and the captain's response is inevitable. The captain raised a riding crop he had been holding in his right hand and slashes across Sesshoumaru's face with it, opening a red line across his cheek.
"Don't look so superior you worthless dog," the captain sneers.
He orders one of his troops, a tanned farm boy by the looks of him, to affix a bayonet on his rifle, which he does with practiced ease.
Then, using his riding crop to gesture at Sesshoumaru's heart he says, "A quick death is not valuable as a lesson. For this reason, you," he looks at the soldier with the affixed bayonet, "are to avoid his heart. If he dies too quickly, you will be punished."
The soldier in question looks like a puppy eager to please its master with an idiot grin plastered across his adolescent face. The soldier lunges forward and drives the bayonet into Sesshoumaru's right side.
The universe explodes in red shards of agony; Sesshoumaru's vision slips into blackness for a moment as the blade is twisted. His pride wars against the weakness of his body as a cry tries to escape his throat.
NO!
Before he can inhale, the bayonet rips into his left side and his conscious mind seems to be sucked down into a maelstrom of agony as the tip was pressed downward and his skin ripped apart under the soldier's sawing motion.
"Good," he dimly hears the captain say from what seems a world away. "Now show us his intestines."
Sesshoumaru thought he had experienced pain before but that had all been nothing. True pain now revealed itself as the bayonet plunges into him once more. The soft and tender flesh of his abdomen screams at him as the wickedly sharp blade bites into him and his mind collapses under the intensity of the searing pain. Tears wells in his eyes and his blurred vision showed bloody pink snakes coming out of him.
From outside the darkness gently enveloping his faltering consciousness, he picks up the sound of laughter and cheering from the Japanese soldiers. A red line of revulsion and hate pierces the black veil as he struggles against the inevitable. Sesshoumaru feels the city dying, feels its people crying out for mercy, feels its hopes crushed. He hears unanswered pleas of victims, hears them screaming against the violations they are forced to suffer, hears them pray to Heaven for salvation. His vision, once as black as death, suddenly explodes into a violent kaleidoscope of images as all of Nanking presses in on all sides, drowning him in waves of agony, sorrow, despair, bitterness and rancor.
The city's murdered populace becomes as one in its unimaginable anguish and undying craving for revenge. The singular self ceases to exist as the animosity of the dead fuses into a loathing for the Japanese so deep, so powerful, it carves a wound between the worlds and engraves itself into every drop of blood being absorbed into the ground.
"So do you understand why you have to die?" A soft and deadly voice asked.
