Across the centuries, many legendary rivalries have arisen between Japan's famous samurai and their clans, particularly in the oft-romanticised Sengoku period. From Takeda Shingen and Uesugi Kenshin's five battles at Kawanakajima, to the ever-fluctuating relationship between the Toyotomi and Tokugawa clans, to the infamous duel between Miyamoto Musashi and Sasaki Kojiro - there is no shortage of such tales that continue to inspire historians and storytellers to this day. But there was one rivalry that was no less spectacular in its day, despite having long since fallen into obscurity: the tale of the Hasashi Clan and the Takao Clan.
The Hasashi Clan traced its origins back to Japan's third Mongol invasion by Shao Khan. The clan's crest bore the image of a scorpion, as tribute to the clan's founder, Hasashi Takeda, and his famous rout of an enemy force three times larger than his own band of farmers and peasants. Said rout was performed with two divisions attacking the enemy force from opposite sides in a narrow valley, while the third force led by Takeda himself struck from the side and cut down the enemy commander; akin to a scorpion gripping its prey with both pincers before delivering the finishing blow with its stinger.
The Takao Clan, meanwhile, was a slightly older clan, dating back to the Kamakura Period. A samurai serving under Mori no Yūrei distinguished himself as the mightiest warrior in his lord's service, earning him his own domain and clan. In the four hundred years since, the clan had outlived its progenitor clan and become a feared military force in its own right. The clan's crest, resembling a shuriken bisecting a triangle, reflected the clan's use of highly-trained ninja to assassinate the heads of three rival clans in a single night to secure its position as the mightiest clan in its region. The current clan head, Takao Yukiharu, was born ninety-two minutes after his older sister, Yukihime. The two were born the same year as their Hasashi counterpart, Hasashi Hanzō - he on a scorching August afternoon, and they on a frigid December evening. A clash between Hanzō and Yukiharu thus seemed inevitable, fated.
In October 1600, Hanzō led the Hasashi Clan into battle under the banner of Ishida Mitsunari's Western Army in the decisive Battle of Sekigahara against the Eastern Army of Tokugawa Ieyasu. The battle ended with the Western Army defeated and the daimyo that made up this alliance dead or forced to flee. Hanzō fled with what remained of his men. The Hasashi army had suffered heavily losses against the turncoat Kobayakawa forces, and Hanzō was lucky to escape with his life.
Worse, he was denied his destined duel with Yukiharu, who had joined Ieyasu's side, but was assisting the Date and Mogami forces against the Western-aligned Uesugi Clan in Honshū. This left the Takao forces much closer to the Hasashi lands than its daimyo was as he made a hasty retreat home.
Between the skirmishes on the way to the battlefield and those with enemy attackers on the way home, Hanzō's forces had been reduced from seven thousand to a mere few hundred. Some of these latter skirmishes involved the Takao Clan, but Yukiharu was conspicuously absent each time. Hanzō prayed that this meant the clan head had been slain in battle with the Uesugi, but he knew better than to put faith in the gods to provide him such luck.
He dispatched a messenger to declare the Hasashi Clan's surrender to the Tokugawa. Knowing they would still be targeted until Ieyasu himself sent word to his forces of Hanzō's decision, he pushed his forces onwards, even as their numbers dwindled and the strength of those that remained faltered. Encountering Takao forces this close to the border could mean only one thing, and Hanzō refused to allow that reality to come to pass.
Passing through a wooded area that he knew to be quicker proved a fatal error on Hanzō's part, as a downpour of arrows riddled many of his men from behind the trees. An enemy force sprung up in front of him and he recognise the ice-blue colours of the Takao Clan armour before he saw their banners. Dismounting, Hanzō rushed into battle with the ambushers.
Hanzō had long ago earned a reputation for his ferocity in battle as 'the Demon Hanzō'. He was famed for not only his skills with twin blades, but also with a rope dart, which he used to dispatch enemies at range, regularly thinning the enemy numbers enough that he could finish the remnants in close quarters with his impeccably-crafted swords. And when he was sufficiently motivated, such as now, determined to finish this quickly and ensure the safety of his family and his people, Hanzō was a truly terrifying sight to behold.
His legend had been set in stone seventeen years prior when he had burned down the hideout of a band of pirates the Hasashi had been dispatched by the Taiko himself to eliminate. Those that survived had told tales far and wide of how the Demon Hanzō had disembowelled the one-eyed pirate leader, Kano, known by his nickname of 'Hitotsume-kozō', before putting him to the fires that ravaged his home. Even now, Hanzō could see the fear in the eyes of his enemies - fear that only grew stronger in its hold over them as more and more of their comrades were felled by his hypnotic sword dance.
Hanzō made short work of his foes, even slaying their red-clad commander, a sign that he was one of the top retainers of the Takao Clan. As the famously-armoured Sekimoto Toranosuke's head struck the ground and dislodged from the helmet that had provided it no defence against Hanzō's devilish onslaught, the remaining blue forces fled, leaving Hanzō to regain his senses and take stock of what remained of his own forces. With only around four hundred men remaining by now, Hanzō reluctantly allowed his men time to rest, knowing that every moment spent resting was a moment his clan was in danger. His men evidently understand this conflict as well, as they were soon back on the road, reaching the Hasashi lands unmolested.
The same could not be said of the clan's territory, however. Smoke rose high into the sky, visible even from across the border. Hanzō rushed to reach the nearest village, finding only blackened ruins and barely recognisable human remains to greet them. This very village had provided Hanzō's forces with as much rice as they could afford to give as the army passed through on its way to Sekigahara. While the flames that had reduced this kind and peaceful village to nothing had long since burned out, they burned fresh inside Hanzō's soul, and those of his men.
They pushed on, riding harder and faster than at any other point in their long journey home. They arrived at the clan's castle town of Sasorijimen, whose streets were dominated by an unearthly stillness. Not a soul came out to greet them, nor warn them of danger. Although an alternative was possible, Hanzō knew in his gut what this deafening silence meant.
He didn't have to wait long for confirmation, however, as blue-clad soldiers poured out of the nearby buildings and began hacking away at what remained of the once proud Hasashi army, like a flood to clean the white stone streets of every solitary peck of deviant yellow. With little choice but to accept the collapse of his clan, Hanzō rode off from his soldiers, no doubt leaving them to die as his horse carried him swiftly to the manor of his retainer, Takahashi Kenshi. Kenshi had been left in charge of the defences, and his home had been chosen as the place where Kana would take Jūbei if the town ever came under attack. If they were alive, they would be there, defended by the master swordsman to his last breath.
Kenshi's home was among the larger of the town's gloriously modern buildings. It had been commissioned personally by Hanzō as reward for the swordsman's years of loyalty, including a time he had ridden alone to slaughter a group of bandits that had been abducting women and children from across the territory to sell off to foreign slavers. Together, the two had designed the house as a place for those incapable of fighting to retreat to, many hidden passageways and underground tunnels to be utilised to aid in their retreats while the warriors fought off the invaders. After all, the main Hasashi castle would be the place any enemy would expect them to retreat to, not the home of a retainer.
Some of these warriors now lay dead at the front entrance, surrounded by scores more blue soldiers. Each yellow-clad man lay in a position that indicated he had not turned his back to his opponents, dying nobly to defend this important location. One man had even run himself through with a blade to take a dishonourable rear attacker with him across the Sanzu River.
All of these observations passed through Hanzō's mind in an instant as he sprinted past their bodies, silently thanking them for their services and vowing to honour and avenge their sacrifices, making his way inside and down the blood-soaked hallways.
A courtyard at the centre of the estate awaited Hanzō, a place he had watched his son and Kenshi's play and spar together many a time. A small stone well rested in the far corner - an antiquated and unusual inclusion to any but the two warriors, who recognised its potential as one of many accessways into the underground tunnels. With any luck, his loyal retainer had thought to bring their families that way.
The closer he came to the spot, the more and more enemy kombatants he encountered. First, it was one or two men searching rooms. Then, a trio comparing their plunder. A few desecrating corpses of servants here and there. Eventually, he fought his way through a group of five men who grew incrementally more afraid as Hanzō sliced and impaled and decapitated them, the last man staining the wooden floor with urine before he stained it with blood.
Hanzō finally reached the central courtyard, right as a samurai in a lighter blue than the rest came into view. He stood at the back of the courtyard, near the well, the sole living defender Hanzō had yet come across lying bloodied and beaten at the invader's feet. This defender was undeniably Takahashi Kenshi. And his attacker...
"YUKIHARU!" Hanzō roared, shocking the two nearest enemy soldiers that had not yet realised he was stood mere feet behind them, allowing him to dispatch them easily with a single sword stroke.
The blue-clad warrior turned slowly, his helmet held by another man, so confident he was in his victory. He met Hanzō's blazing gaze with a cool grin. "Hanzō. Welcome home."
The words he would be greeted with by his wife now coming from his mortal enemy send Hanzō into a deeper rage. Another man was already dead before Hanzō registered that he had moved closer and swung his sword. What brought him back to his senses was Yukiharu holding his bluesteel blade to Kenshi's throat.
"M-My lord..." Kenshi sputtered through the blood leaking out of his mouth. "R-Run!" Hanzō took note of the long trail of blood leading from Kenshi to one of the nearby rooms. Actually, it went the other way too. Into the well.
"How did a man such as you earn such loyalty?" Yukiharu queried. "The short-sighted, hot-headed failure of a samurai. You picked the wrong side, Hanzō. Ieyasu-sama has given me full authority to purge your wretched clan from the face of the Earth."
"I sent a messenger to declare our surrender! You should have received orders-"
"Add simple-minded to that list," Yukiharu chortled. "Do you honestly believe your messenger made it to his destination? My spies intercepted and eliminated him mere hours after his dispatch. No one will ever know that you planned to surrender. All of Japan will remember your clan as enemies of the Shogun that met their long-deserved end at the hand of Takao Yukiharu."
"You SCUM!" Yukiharu's men were anticipating Hanzō's outburst this time, but that did little to prepare them for his ferocity. He cut them down with ease. He must have cut down almost a dozen men in this courtyard alone, leaving but two enemy kombatants alive.
The first, of course, was Yukiharu. The other, Hanzō only now noticed as he caught his breath and wiped the blood from his now helmetless brow. The other man was clad in black armour with yellow accents - again, a symbol of his significant skill and rank. His armour was not the only part of him that was black, however. Clearly, this man was the infamous African man that had entered Yukiharu's service some years ago.
The story went that Portuguese traders brought slaves from the so-called 'dark continent' with them to assist them in carrying out their duties. Yukiharu had seen something in this large, dark-skinned man and made a deal to take him off their hands. The man had been trained to fight like a samurai and to accompany his lord as a bodyguard and samurai under the name Saitō Susumu.
To say this act was controversial would be an understatement. While hardly the first foreigner to be granted the rank of samurai - nor the first African to be taken into a samurai's service - the act was still seen as taboo, particularly with the prior African being a servant of the Demon King Oda Nobunaga, and prior foreign samurai coming from the war with Korea. This bucking of tradition on Yukiharu's part was seen in much the same light as Nobunaga's was.
The reasons for this decision remained a mystery to this day, but those in Yukiharu's good graces tended to believe he saw the heart of a samurai in the black man's eyes; while those with less positive views of the daimyo viewed it as a method of riling up his enemies or otherwise throwing them off by intimidation.
But Hasashi Hanzō was neither riled up, nor intimidated by this man's presence. He was simply another invader that would be put to the sword.
Or, he would have been, had the man not produced a small spherical object and declared - through a thick foreign accent that was somewhere in the range of the Portuguese's accents - that the 'preparations' were complete.
Yukiharu grinned wickedly. "Very good, Susumu. Do it now, so that Hanzō can fully appreciate the end of his pathetic clan."
Saitō nodded, lighting the fuse sticking out of the orb on a nearby torch, before tossing it into another nearby room. The explosion was far larger than a container of that size could produce, suggesting a stockpile of gunpowder had been waiting to be detonated. Flames quickly spread from the room, and much of the area surrounding the courtyard was soon engulfed in a sea of flames.
"The Christians believe a fiery eternity awaits the vile and wicked after death, Hanzō," Yukiharu taunted with unrestrained glee. "Yours will simply begin a little sooner than expected. Saitō."
"Yes, Yukiharu-sama." The black man stepped forward, drawing his own blade. There was an allowance of respect for the man, stepping forward to serve and defend his lord, as any good samurai should. But he was a servant of that bastard Yukiharu, so he would be going down either way.
There was a quick exchange of blows, steel striking steel, sharp clangs ringing out above the now roaring flames. The foreigner was skilled, certainly, but Hanzō had been trained in the ways of the blade since childhood, and he was famous for his prowess. The only man who could truly match him with a sword was Kenshi, who had taken the name of the sword saint after his skills were recognised by the Taiko. Even Yukiharu was not up to snuff as a swordsman, having to resort to dirty tactics and trickery to keep up, not unlike that bandit Kano.
Hanzō had little difficulty dealing with his opponent's strikes. Blocking was a problem, admittedly, thanks to the larger man's physical strength giving his strikes more power than Hanzō was used to from Japanese fighters. Deflection was his strongest defence here. Before too long, Hanzō saw his opening when he deflected Saitō's strike with his tantō, leaving him open to a two-handed swing at full force, putting his late father's masterwork to good use as he sliced clean through his opponent's arm, severing it just below the elbow.
The black man was soon on his knees, howling in agony, clutching the bloody stump with his remaining hand. Hanzō's eyes were already on his next prey, not even looking at Saitō's arm as he kicked it away from the bleeding man to keep him away from the next fight.
Yukiharu held out his arms to emphasise the raging inferno that once was the Takahashi estate. "This is the end, Hanzō. No use resisting fate. Give up now and I'll make it quick. Just like I did to your wife and son."
The world around Hanzō melted away. The estate, the flames, the other kombatants, all of it ceased to exist. All that existed now were Hanzō, the fury that burned hotter than the paltry flames that had surrounded them, and the man claiming to have already unceremoniously done away with Kana and Jūbei.
Hanzō charged at his nemesis, only for the blue-clad samurai to whirl around and swing his blade low, slicing across Kenshi's face and splattering yet more Hasashi Clan blood across the ground. Much like Saitō, Kenshi let out a torrent of agonised screams, so his throat had not been cut, at least. Hanzō lunged at Yukiharu, who dodged to the side, bringing up his blade to protect his chest with a vertical guard, Hanzō's katana sliding ineffectually across the blue blade.
Despite his desire for revenge, Hanzō felt compelled to stay by his retainer's side and check on his wound, Yukiharu taking the chance to do the same for Saitō. The bastard's blade had struck Kenshi across the eyes. Despite Kenshi's hands leaving little room for Hanzō to see the full extent of damage, it was still evidently quite extreme, completely inoperable. He would be blinded for life, however long that life might yet be with this immense blood loss.
Hanzō's gaze snapped up to Yukiharu and his own wounded retainer, the severed arm now recovered as Yukiharu shuffled through one of the other man's numerous pouches, producing another bomb from one of them. Hanzō hauled Kenshi to his feet and began the arduous process of dragging him closer to the well. He'd throw the other man down there if he needed. Better to risk the fall than to stay and die to a combination of immolation, asphyxiation and explosive force.
"You'll DIE for this!" Hanzō spat, his gaze threatening to burn Yukiharu alive.
"You first," his nemesis retorted, lighting the bomb and winding his arm back to pitch it at the two Hasashi samurai.
With no other choice, Hanzō leapt for the well with his compatriot, only for the bomb to hit the ground between them and their destination, exploding on impact and blasting the two back into one of the now burning rooms - the same one from which the blood trail led. The entrance to the room collapsed soon after, cutting them off from the retreating Takao rats.
Hanzō rolled onto his side to check on his compatriot, but it was not his face that he found beside him. Staring back at him with dull, glossy eyes - once beautiful and deep, now open wide as part of the expression of sheer terror, forever frozen across her face - was Hasashi Kana, Hanzō's wife of twelve years. Her skin was already growing pale, further accentuating the crimson wound decorating her slender throat like a necklace.
Dreading what he might find when he looked at what the last thing his beloved wife ever saw was, but knowing he must, Hanzō turned to his other side, finding the body of the ten-year-old Jūbei in his mother's direct line of sight, a large puncture in his jugular. Kana had faced death staring into the lifeless eyes of her only child, unable to do anything to save him, no doubt wondering where her husband was and why he had not been there to protect them.
He had failed them. He had failed all of them. The inferno within him petered out as he realised all he could do now was lie here and join them, dying in dishonour and failure. His screams of unimaginable anguish could still be heard long after the roof collapsed down on top of him.
Yukihime looked up from her writing. While she was the older sibling, her brother had inherited the Takao Clan's leadership from their late father. He had always excelled in military affairs, but she far outpaced him in diplomacy. She acted as a ghost, composing letters and treaties under her brother's name, her intellect and wit only being recognised as her own in her poetry. Such was the life of the daughter of a samurai family, though.
She was currently writing a letter to the lord of a neighbouring domain to ask for his co-operation. She predicted that a restructuring of lands and titles was on the horizon, now that the war was over. She could not predict how these restructurings would go, so she was requesting the other daimyo's aid in looking out for each other's interests to keep both regions strong under the Tokugawa regime.
This was the fourth of such letters that she had written this night. Each recipient was a lord that had, like the Takao, sided with Ieyasu. Now that she had received word of the Eastern army's total victory at Sekigahara, she was at work securing the Takao's future, for both the clan and its people.
Rereading the letter from start to finish for the third time, she found no issues with what she was proposing. It seemed fair, and she was open to negotiation to maintain civility. She stamped and sealed the last of the four letters that would help her to protect her people.
"Tomohiro," she said quietly, as her mother had always taught her.
The grey-haired ninja assigned as her bodyguard made his presence known. "My lady?"
"Take these letters to their respective recipients in neighbouring domains. I want their responses in short order."
"My lady, I-"
She held up a hand to silence the man. "I know what you are going to say. I am already surrounded by our clan's top warriors. Even if an attacker does penetrate this deeply into our home, I have them. And I have my own kombat prowess."
"I do not doubt that. However-"
"Enough." She fixed her retainer with an icy glare, her body as motionless as an ice sculpture. "Only you can get these letters to their destinations before my brother returns. I want results by then, Tomohiro. I wish to utilise your unique abilities to their fullest, rather than having you squat here doing what anyone else could do."
Tomohiro knew Yukihime trusted him implicitly and valued his shinobi skills. And she, in turn, knew that he knew that. Tomohiro had been brought into the Takaos' service from a young age, his father having likewise served Yukihime's father to his dying day. Tomohiro had been Yukihime's lifelong companion and confidant, her equivalent to her brother's Toranosuke. Despite their difference in gender, she felt more comfortable being candid with him than any of her ladies-in-waiting, or even her own brother.
She knew he was fast, invisible when he wished it, and entirely reliable. Many times had she dispatched him to watch over her brother and keep him safe from the shadows, or to deliver messages back and forth between home and the battlefield. Truth be told, she would sooner have been out there herself, fighting for their clan's future on the field, despite her limited access to sword training. But she had her field of expertise, and she knew she could do more for her clan this way than any other. And her deep friendship with Tomohiro aided in that.
"I will do as you ask, Yukihime-sama," he finally acquiesced. In a sense, his closeness to her could be an obstacle as well, leaving him reluctant to leave her side when Yukiharu was not home. But he was devoted to carrying out her will, and it rarely took much prodding for him to obey. He placed the letters in his satchel and bowed before pushing his faceguard into place and departing in a cloud of smoke - his preferred method of departing.
Yukihime looked out the window, over the castle town of Morishūchō. Word had reached the townsfolk of the Takao Clan's part in aiding in the Date Clan's victory against the Uesugi and were planning a festival to celebrate their lord's triumphant return. The love their people had for her brother truly warmed her heart.
But she could not escape this ominous sense that something unholy was on its way to destroy their happiness. Her intuition was rarely wrong, and her brother had heeded her warnings to escape devastation many times in the past. But this time, she felt as though this impending doom were unavoidable. If only she could identify what it was that worried her so...
The morning air was still in Sasorijimen, save for the occasional spout of smoke rising from the ashes and the opportunistic wildlife that had come to feast on the unresisting dead. One such bird was pecking at the exposed arm of a warrior, buried beneath the cindered remains of a collapsed building. That hand suddenly grabbed the bird by the throat and snapped its neck like a twig.
He had been prepared to die with his wife and child by his side, ready to meet them again and cross the Sanzu together. But, against all odds, Hasashi Hanzō had survived the inferno that had, by now, died out. He emerged from the rubble to find that Kenshi had also survived the night, somehow. He first dragged his barely-alive compatriot out of the rubble, then the bodies of Kana and Jūbei, laying them side-by-side in the open air. A few daring scavengers made their move to peck at the trio, but Hanzō's blades were fast and precise, slicing down enough of them to deter the rest and provide him with some meat to cook for himself and Kenshi.
As he began cooking the birds, he threw caution to the wind and called out for any other survivors. If any Takao were still around and came to investigate, they would become the birds' next meal. By the time he and Kenshi were fed, none had come forward to answer his call. It seemed that the two were truly the last of the Hasashi Clan, save for any that might have escaped and gone into hiding.
When he was strong enough to speak, Kenshi explained that he had already sent his own wife and son away as soon as the attack came, only then rushing through the streets to find his lord's family to escort them to the escape point. He begged forgiveness for not prioritising his lord's family, but Hanzō told him there was nothing to forgive. He looked over the bodies of his wife and son, fortunately not desecrated like so many others he had seen, and knew that he would have done exactly the same, were he in Kenshi's position.
"We will find them, Kenshi," his lord stated firmly, placing a hand on his comrade's shoulder. We will find them and we will rebuild. And we will have vengeance. I will inflict a thousand times worse suffering upon Takao Yukiharu. This, I swear."
Hanzō spent a day making preparations to leave Sasorijimen with Kenshi. He had much to do, but ensuring the continued survival of the only other survivor of the attack was the most important thing he could do right now. He gathered up weapons and supplies, and buried Kana and Jūbei. He would give them a proper funeral later. For now, he simply wanted, needed to keep them from being disrespected any further by nature or bandits.
The day after they emerged from the wreckage, Hanzō tracked down a horse that had evidently fled during the chaos and now made its way home. He helped Kenshi up onto the horse's back and walked it to a neighbouring village that had been left unmolested by the Takai forces. Hanzō had had dealings with this village a few times in the past, and the people there were friendly enough.
Hanzō led the horse into the village. From the reactions of the townsfolk, it seemed word of the Hasashi annihilation had spread fast. Good. That would help Hanzō in his task. He asked around about a man he had heard rumours about before - a blind man who had lived in this town for three decades with that disability. He was soon pointed in the old man's direction and brought Kenshi to him.
"Kenshi-dono is the greatest swordsman in all of Japan," he assured the man and his family. "He was awarded the name of the sword saint by the the Taiko himself in recognition of his abilities. Teach him the ways of the blind man and he will see to it that your village is kept safe from any and all threats." This offer seemed to appeal to the old man's family, and they agreed to take care of the survivor for a time.
"Hanzō-sama," Kenshi croaked as the lord in question made preparations to return home. "What are you planning?"
"I will retrieve and give proper funeral rites to each and every one of our people who died in the attack. Then, I will prepare to take Takao Yukiharu's head, and look for any survivors along the way. Offer the villagers a reward for any information about survivors. I will bring the reward money in a few days, once my preparations are complete."
"And when you return, you are to go alone?"
Hanzō sighed. "You know I would take you with me. But in your current condition, you would only reduce our numbers from two to one. Should I fall in this quest, it will fall upon your shoulders to keep the Hasashi Clan alive. And you can only do that if you can learn to live with your condition."
Although reluctant, Kenshi nodded and accepted his lord's logic.
"Here." Hanzō untied his yellow headband and tied it around Kenshi's eyes.
"Your headband..."
"Keep it safe for me. It is the spirit of our clan."
"You are not carrying that spirit with you, then?"
Hanzō gave him no answer. In truth, even he didn't know what the answer was. The question stayed on his mind as he returned home and sifted through the wreckage over the next week. When he was finally sure he had managed to bury all of the bodies, he held a funeral for the dead, who numbered in the hundreds. They were warriors, peacekeepers, shopkeepers, blacksmiths, hunters, maids, housewives, children... And they were all murdered by those savages in blue.
Following this, Hanzō travelled to the one building the invaders had left untouched: the shrine dedicated to the five elemental gods - Raijin, Fūjin, Suijin, Kōjin and Dojin. Even those barbarians were not so foolhardy as to directly offend the gods. The Hasashi had long worshiped these five deities in particular, praying for their blessings as they embodied their attributes: swift as lightning, immutable as wind, fluid as water, fierce as fire, immovable as earth. Hanzō made his customary offerings to the quintet, and spent a lengthy period in silent prayer, begging for the five deities' blessing as he sought righteous retribution against his nemesis.
He then visited the forge, which remained in good enough condition for him to sharpen his blades there. He sharpened Kenshi's ancestral blade, as well, knowing he would need it to defend himself when the time came. He also swapped out the rope on his rope dart for a steel chain. It would be harder to break, and more effective for strangling his enemies.
With his arsenal prepared, he packed what he needed - weapons, food, money - and returned to the nearby village to deliver the reward money and Kenshi's sword. Little progress had been made in the search, but a few leads had been brought to Kenshi's attention, and they all lay in the direction of Morishūchō, at the heart of Takao territory.
Hanzō loaded up his horse with only what he needed and departed one last time to begin his quest. The people of the village could be relied upon to keep his and Kenshi's survival under wraps while they continued to help locate survivors. Having now heard of the other village's fate, they were determined to help see justice done, however small a part they could play.
As far as the world was concerned, Hasashi Hanzō had died with the rest of his clan, buried beneath the rubble of the Takahashi estate. It was not he who rose from the ashes of the destroyed Hasashi domain, but a spectre - a spirit of vengeance given life to seek revenge for the atrocities committed by Takao Yukiharu. He was the spirit of the Hasashi Clan, their legacy, the embodiment of their wrath. He was the clan's emblem given life. He was the Scorpion.
This has been a long time coming. The idea came to me while reading The Witcher: Ronin, a comic that reimagines the Witcher setting as feudal Japan, with Geralt hunting youkai as he hunts a yuki-onna. This gave me the idea to do something similar with MK. I may also have unconsciously drawn on 5 Ronin, a similar feudal Japanese reimagining of a selection of Marvel characters.
The plan was to have it as a single out-of-continuity chapter of Mortal Kombat Khronicles, but the story was clearly too large for one chapter and would take too long to write that way, and I'm not sure about the idea of doing multiple dedicated chapters for this AU in MKK. But I think it's a solid enough concept.
I'm expecting it to be around three or four chapters, with the overarching narrative already planned out.