The air hung heavy with unease, thick as incense smoke curling through the imperial chambers. Though none dared speak aloud, their fears whispered silently in the rigid set of shoulders, the fleeting glances exchanged beneath lowered brows.
A retainer knelt before the Emperor, his resplendent armor gleaming faintly under the soft glow of paper lanterns. His forehead nearly touched the tatami mats, but even in his submission, there was no mistaking the tension coiled within him like a drawn bowstring.
"Your Majesty," he began, his voice steady yet strained, "the Western border stirs with ill omens. The sky fractures like cracked porcelain, and the earth trembles beneath an unseen weight."
The court murmured softly, the sound barely audible over the rustling silk of ceremonial robes. The bakufu—the military government that truly held sway behind the throne—had already issued its decree: an army must be mobilised. No time could be spared for hesitation or doubt.
The Emperor sat motionless on his dais, the golden crest of his clan shimmering dimly in the flickering light. Beside him, his son—the prince, the warrior, the exile who had once faced the future itself—watched with a grim expression etched into his features. Samurai Jack's hand rested lightly on the hilt of his ancestral katana, though his eyes betrayed nothing but resolve.
"Prepare the men," the Emperor commanded, his voice cutting through the chamber like steel. "We will march at dawn."
A lower-ranking samurai hesitated, his gaze flicking uncertainly between the Emperor and the polished wooden floor. "Your Majesty, do you wish to travel via norimono?" he asked cautiously. The palanquin—a symbol of divine authority—would shield the ruler from both the elements and the prying eyes of commoners.
The Emperor rose slowly, adjusting the flowing folds of his sokutai, the ceremonial robe cascading around him like water spilling over stone. At his side, Jack mirrored the movement, his presence grounding yet foreboding. His sword, sheathed at his hip, seemed to hum faintly with anticipation.
"No," the Emperor said firmly. "We will walk."
And so they walked.
Through the capital city, where rows of bowed heads lined the streets. Peasants paused mid-labor, merchants halted their trade, and children clung to their mothers' sleeves as whispers rippled through the crowd like wind through rice paddies. All eyes turned skyward, drawn inexorably to the heavens… which were shifting.
At first, it was subtle—a ripple, like ink bleeding across silk. Then came the fracture.
Abyssal blackness clawed its way across the sky, jagged edges shimmering like obsidian shards. A great rift yawned open, wide enough to swallow the sun whole. A wind that did not belong to this world howled through the streets, carrying whispers in a language long forgotten by mortal tongues.
Jack and the Emperor did not falter. Behind them followed four thousand warriors of the Shogunate, their armor clinking rhythmically with each step, the only sound breaking the oppressive silence. Beyond the city's outskirts, past verdant fields where the rice paddies swayed gently in the unnatural breeze, they found the source of the corruption.
A tear in reality. A gateway into something wrong.
And from it stepped *him*.
This was not the monstrous shade Jack had slain 2 years ago, nor the grotesque abomination that had haunted his nightmares. This Aku was smaller, more contained—but no less terrible. His six horns crowned his head like twisted thorns, and his once-fiery red eyebrows now burned with a cold, spectral blue. His hands, humanoid yet uncanny, flexed idly, as if rediscovering sensation after centuries of dormancy.
The night itself seemed to bow before him, the stars dimming in deference to his presence.
Aku smiled.
"So…" His voice was smooth, almost pleasant, dripping with mockery that masked deeper malice. He extended his arms wide, as if welcoming old friends into an embrace. "How long has it been? How many lifetimes have passed since we last met?"
Silence stretched taut, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves caught in the unnatural wind.
Then, the Emperor stepped forward, his voice unwavering despite the weight pressing down upon the moment.
"Aku."
The demon's grin widened, sharp teeth glinting faintly in the fractured light.
"Ah… I see my name still carries weight here." He tilted his head slightly, his tone shifting from amusement to something colder, darker. "But you'll find the world has changed, Emperor."
His blue flames flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced unnaturally against the warped reality behind him. The air shimmered, whispering secrets too ancient for human ears to comprehend.
"I am not simply the Shogun of Sorrow anymore," Aku declared, spreading his arms wider as if embracing the encroaching darkness.
"I am the Bringer of Benevolence."
The air above the imperial capital shuddered violently, splitting open like torn silk. An abyssal vortex yawned wide, its edges writhing with black flames that consumed light itself. The sky darkened unnaturally, casting long shadows over the once-vibrant, bustling kingdom. Birds scattered in panic, their cries swallowed by the oppressive silence that followed. Aku surveyed the land with detached curiosity, rolling his shoulders as though stretching after centuries of slumber. He inhaled deeply, his lips curling into a smug grin. "Ahh… this wretched air," he murmured, his voice smooth yet laced with disdain. "It has changed. I have changed." The imperial guards flinched instinctively, gripping their spears tighter. Their armor gleamed faintly in the fading light, each piece meticulously crafted—lacquered plates adorned with intricate designs of dragons and phoenixes, symbols of strength and rebirth. Yet none of these warriors moved forward. Fear rooted them to the spot.
"Aku," The emperor said, his voice steady despite the tremor beneath it. Aku tilted his head slightly, feigning surprise. "Ah, the esteemed ruler of this pitiful realm. How quaint." His grin widened, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. "I trust you remember me?" The Emperor did not respond. His gaze shifted briefly to the army behind him—thousands of samurai ready to defend their homeland. But even he could sense the storm brewing in Aku's calm demeanor.
Aku stood there, motionless.
"What are you waiting for, old man?" The demon guffawed, adjusting one of the crooked horns on his head, as if priming himself for business as usual.
And it was at that moment, that the emperor had made his decision. —- "TROOPS, ATTACK!" the Emperor bellowed, raising his sword high. His voice cut through the stillness like thunder, rallying his battalions. Four thousand warriors surged forward as one, banners snapping in the wind, battle horns blaring defiantly. Their armor clinked softly with every step, lacquered plates catching what little sunlight remained. Each soldier carried centuries of tradition on their backs—their loyalty to the empire unshakable, their resolve unwavering. At the forefront stood Jack, his katana gleaming with righteous fury. His stance was firm, his breathing measured. This was not just a battle; it was a reckoning. For years, he had trained, fought, and sacrificed everything to protect this land. And now, here was the source of all suffering—standing tall and unafraid. But Aku? He didn't even flinch. Instead, he crossed his arms casually, his clawed fingers tapping rhythmically against his elbow. His grin was infuriatingly calm, almost bored. "Oh, how predictable," he drawled. "Humans always resort to violence when faced with inevitability." Jack narrowed his eyes. There was something different about Aku this time—something darker, more primal. Gone was the flamboyant trickster who relied on illusions and tricks. In his place stood a creature of pure malice, confident in his dominance. - The first wave of samurai reached Aku, their blades flashing silver as they swung with precision. Steel met flesh—or so they thought. Aku caught their weapons effortlessly, his bare hands gripping the precise, sharpened blades with ease. The samurai froze, stunned by his casual display of strength. Then— CRACK. Their swords shattered like brittle twigs, shards scattering across the ground. Panic rippled through the ranks as Aku smiled wider, savoring their fear. He grabbed one warrior by the face, lifting him off the ground as though he weighed nothing. With a single motion, he slammed the man into the earth so hard it cratered, sending shockwaves rippling outward. Dust and debris clouded the battlefield, choking the air. Another samurai lunged, aiming for Aku's side. Aku sidestepped fluidly, his movements deceptively graceful. His clawed hand tore through the warrior's armour as if it were paper, leaving deep gashes in the flesh beneath. Blood splattered across the ground, painting the battlefield red. And yet, Aku did not rely on magic or transformations. No beams of energy erupted from his palms, no tendrils of darkness snaked around his victims. Instead, he fought with brutal efficiency, tearing through the army with sheer physical prowess. Every punch landed with devastating force, every strike calculated to break both body and spirit.
"Huh… this is…" the demon's eyes widen, his lips upturned in a moment of pure irritation, the blue flames of his eyebrows crackling with ferocity, as wave upon wave of samurai crashed down upon him, intent on making sure Aku was dead once and for all.
"This is what you call resistance?"
Swing upon feint upon parry of swords rained down upon the demon, a torrent of metal rushing toward Aku. However, with one or two swipes of his clawed hands, coupled with the sheer brute power he wielded, blades fell one by one like twigs snapping off the corpse of a gnarled tree. He twisted some blades, bending them, then stomping on the bodies of the samurai, leaving them bloodied, bruised and battered, writhing in the blackened soil of the ground.
In spite of their numbers, the samurai began to falter. Some turned to flee only to find themselves ensnared by Aku's relentless pursuit. Others chose to fall silent to Aku's gnarled fists and sweeping kicks, honouring their oath to fight for the side of good, even if it meant the possibility of death.
He grabbed one retreating warrior by the throat, lifting him high above the ground. "Leaving so soon?" Aku sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. Without hesitation, he hurled the man into another fleeing soldier, their helmets denting inward with a sickening crunch.
Jack stood there, shocked. The demon, his rival, the ultimate evil… was here nonchalantly kicking and punching troops left, right and centre. Without a single weapon on his body.
"We… have to get Aku!" He thought, leaping to his feet away from the group of daimyos, towed closely in hand by his father, the Emperor.
"Yes my son," The emperor solemnly replied, wielding his own katana, unsheathing it from his robes. "We have to offer our troops assistance."
"Akuuuuuuu!" The emperor shouted, leaping off his feet and catching an apparent moment of weakness.
Aku didn't flinch. His unamused gaze met the emperor's infuriated, bloodthirsty snarl.
"Hah." A single chuckle escaped Aku's green lips, the tone almost rancid and venomous in nature, threatening to corrupt the already musty iron-tanged air around it.
Jack and the remaining warriors momentarily stood silent, their mouths agape at the horrific sight
The emperor, their figurehead, the king of the nation on the ground, limbs splayed outward in a distorted, mangled manner, his normally stoic, solemn face contorted grotesquely, his front teeth knocked out. His blade had been snapped and bent, lying at his side in pieces, the dampness of his crimson staining his sokutai in a sickening display of morbidity.
Aku grinned.
"Try it again."
Jack's gaze softened for a moment and lowered. His father, the emperor of his kingdom, the one to originally stifle Aku… suddenly now on the ground, wounded, mutilated and brutalised by the demon that had haunted them across space and time.
Aku smoothed his suit, straightening his blue tie and his collar. Behind him, the abyssal rift hummed, as the all-encompassing darkness seemed to almost guffaw at the laughable display of a pathetic attempt to defend their kingdom by the puny humans that Aku had so effortlessly dismantled.
"Aku… AAAAAAAKUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!"
The shrill cry of a son grieving for his father, who lay unconscious on the ground, barely breathing, rang through the air like a torrent of blades piercing through a fog denser than a black hole's singularity. Jack and the rest of the remaining men charged at Aku, seeing red, his geta and their boots digging into the charred ground in an effort to take the demon out once and for all.
They needed to take him out. NOW.
But then… Aku grinned. The prince faltered as Aku seemed to do a quick 180, spinning on one foot with the graceful motions of a swan, and without hesitation, he swiped past Jack and the troops, and sped on foot, away to the main centre of the imperial capital, intent on causing as much suffering as he could.
Jack quickly motioned for some troops to stay there with his father on the ground, and without hesitation chased after the demon, running down the side of the hill at breakneck speed back to the city centre.
And then he stopped momentarily.
From afar, he saw the sky seemingly turn black across the palace, his childhood home, as the stone walls crumbled, sending the once majestic palace with it's striking red, curved roofs and it's pristine white, wooden walls suddenly crumble into flaming dust, with the debris raining down upon the earth, sending ashes and embers fluttering down into the city below, with the cries of children, the screams of mothers, and the anguished yells of men seeming to peak in intensity and volume. The din was overwhelming.
Jack had seen this before. And yet, he had NEVER seen anything like it either.
"He… he… came back… How…"
Jack sped through the charred ruins of his kingdom, in places where there used to be a bustling marketplace, wooden houses, neatly trimmed gardens… was now only blackened ash and gray, thick dust. Toxic smoke filled the air, burning Jack's eyes, causing him to cough and gag as he placed his arm over his hand, using the fabric of his trusty gi to block the noxious, malignant fumes from damaging his respiratory system even further. —-
Jack pushed forward, carving a path through the chaos. His blade flashed with determination, slicing through any obstacle in his way. But no matter how fast he moved, Aku remained ahead of him, a looming figure of destruction. The remaining samurai formed a desperate last stand, encircling their prince in a protective ring. Spears bristled outward, shields overlapping in a makeshift barricade. They shouted war cries, trying to bolster their courage. But Aku simply walked forward, step by deliberate step. His grin never wavered, his confidence unshaken. He let them charge at him, knowing full well the futility of their efforts.
Finally, Jack broke through the crowd, his katana raised high. Their eyes met—man and demon, hero and villain. Time seemed to slow as Jack struck, his blade aimed true. And yet.. it did not cut. Aku tilted his head, his expression one of mild amusement. "This again?" he asked, his tone dripping with condescension as he wrenched the blade in his right fist away from the grip of the venerable samurai. Jack stared at his katana, disbelief etched onto his face. The legendary weapon—the same blade that had vanquished countless foes—was useless against Aku's newfound resilience. Before he could react, Aku's fist slammed into his gut with bone-crushing force. Jack flew backward, crashing into the ruins of the castle wall. Pain exploded across his ribs as he collapsed, coughing blood onto the cracked stone.
The Empress, cowering in a corner, watched in horror as the royal palace began to crumble, its foundations shaking under the weight of Aku's wrath. The once-mighty structures toppled like dominoes, burying centuries of history beneath rubble and ash. Jack struggled to rise, his vision blurred. Through the haze, he saw Aku standing victorious amidst the carnage. Thousands lay defeated at his feet, their bodies strewn across the battlefield like discarded toys.
The ruins of the once-proud kingdom stretched out behind Aku like the carcass of some long-dead beast. Twisted spires of burnt, charred wood and stone jutted into the sky, their surfaces scorched and fractured as though they had been clawed apart by an unseen force. What had once been a place of order, tradition, and divine rule now lay in shambles—its streets choked with ash, its banners torn and trampled, its people reduced to wailing shadows beneath collapsing walls.
Even the air itself felt tainted, heavy with the stench of sulfur and decay. It clung to the lungs, suffocating any who dared breathe too deeply. The light of the sun struggled to pierce through the haze, casting everything in shades of gray and black—a world stripped of color, drained of hope.
And standing amidst this desolation, framed by the shattered remnants of torii gates that bent unnaturally around him like charred skeletal fingers, was Aku. His presence warped reality itself—the echoes of his footsteps delayed, distorted, as if time recoiled from his very existence. He moved with deliberate slowness, savoring every moment of fear and despair radiating from those who remained.
The ever-so-graceful and regal empress Empress, silhouetted against the crumbling remains of the imperial palace, was defiant even in defeat, refusing to kneel despite the overwhelming odds stacked against them. the Empress clasped her hands tightly, her knuckles white with strain yet unwavering in purpose. Her eyes burned with quiet fury, reflecting decades of sacrifice and loss endured for the sake of their people.
She was the last bastion of resistance—not because they believed victory was possible, but because surrender was unthinkable.
Aku's lips curled into a cruel grin as he took in the sight before him. "Hmmm… the old man and his wife… still lives." His voice was low, dripping with mockery, each syllable slicing through the oppressive silence like a blade. He stepped closer, his movements languid, almost casual, yet brimming with menace.
"Look at you," he sneered, tilting his head as though studying insects pinned to a board. "My, my… what a pitiful sight."
A group of four samurai arrive back, huffing and puffing, their armour heaving up and down with their erratic movements. with the emperor on top of a bamboo stretcher. Motionless, his face remained bandaged with traditional reeds and cloth, as if to hide the world of the embarrassment of being dealt a cosmically devastating blow to his face and spirit by the demon himself, Aku.
"Let's try this." Aku smiles softly, watching the ant-like display of puniness as the soldiers tried their best to
With a lazy wave of his hand, the kanmuri atop the Emperor's head—the ceremonial cap symbolizing divine authority and wisdom—began to blacken. Its intricate gold embellishments melted away, leaving behind only brittle ash that crumbled and scattered on the wind. The Emperor did not flinch, though Aku saw it—the flicker of horror in his battered eyes, brief but unmistakable.
Jack could only watch in horror, his feet frozen to the ground as the untouchable demon before him seemed to ravage the remaining parts of his honour and his family's efforts to protect and serve his people.
"That look…" Aku murmured, momentarily glancing at Jack, then returning his gaze to the emperor, his grin widening predatorily.
"I remember it well. The day you all, the descendants of this bewitched lineage, begged the gods for salvation, pitifully asked for a 'holy' weapon that would smite me…"
" Do you still believe they will answer this time around?"
The Emperor clenched his jaw in resigned disbelief, still lying on his stretcher, his silence speaking volumes. Behind them, the cries of the suffering echoed louder—the city ablaze, its people fleeing in terror, their screams mingling with the crackle of flames and the groan of collapsing buildings.
But Aku did not strike. Not yet. He savored this moment—the quiet, the anticipation, the weight of despair pressing down on everyone present.
"Aaaaakuuuuuuuuu!"
It was a cry born of pure fury, raw emotion tearing through the suffocating stillness like a thunderclap. Jack burst forward, his katana gleaming faintly in the dim, tainted light. This weapon—the legendary blade forged by the gods themselves, imbued with the power to vanquish evil—was his ultimate trump card. It had never failed him before. Never faltered. Never broken.
Aku did not turn. He did not react. He did not flinch.
Jack swung with everything he had, pouring all his strength, all his rage, all his desperation into the blow. The blade struck true, colliding with a cube of opaque black glass that materialized inches from Aku's head.
And stopped.
For a single, agonizing heartbeat, there was nothing but silence.
Jack's eyes widened, his breath hitching audibly as he stared at the blade lodged against the impenetrable surface. The sword—the sacred instrument of justice, the very embodiment of hope—did not cut. It did not crack. It did not pierce. Not even a scratch marred the flawless obsidian barrier.
"Not.. again…!"
For the SECOND time in his life. For the SECOND time in his entire existence. Jack's sword had failed him.
The realization hit him like a physical blow, sinking into his bones with the weight of inevitability. His grip tightened reflexively on the hilt, his knuckles turning white as his arms began to tremble—not from exertion, but from sheer, unrelenting fear.
Why? Why wasn't the sword cutting? Why?
WHY?
The Emperor and Empress watched in stunned silence, their faces pale, their hearts sinking alongside their son's. Their greatest warrior, their last hope, stood frozen in disbelief, his weapon rendered useless. The symbolism was crushing—a divine relic failing in the face of overwhelming corruption.
Aku finally turned his head, his expression eerily calm. There was no smugness, no gloating, no triumphant laughter. Just indifference. Pure, cold detachment, as if the outcome had always been inevitable.
"This accursed dynasty," he said softly, his voice carrying none of its usual bombast. Instead, it was flat, dismissive—a verdict delivered without passion or hesitation.
Jack staggered back, his trembling hands lowering the katana slightly. Fear gripped him tighter than ever before, coiling around his chest like chains. Something was wrong. Something deeper, darker, more insidious than mere physical resistance. The sickness seeped into his soul, gnawing at the edges of his resolve.
And then, he felt it. A shift. A fracture. A deep, dreadful sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Everything had indeed changed.
"You can't touch me." Aku sneered, hands crossed on his immaculately ironed black suit, straightening his tie once again. "Not with that irrelevant blunted artifact, at least."
Jack's eyes widen once again as Aku snapped his fingers, and in an instant, the portal rift from before at the outskirts of the once-pristine kingdom seemed to manifest into thin air in front of him, the hum of the void now warping everything in it's immediate radius, seeming to suck in all hope, positivity and radiance the world had to offer.
"It seems my time is up here.. Well that's good. It lasted for 20 minutes. Good enough I suppose… I'll have to close the rift above.."
Aku turns his attention to the gigantic abyssal crack, above, now shrinking at an alarming speed, and then at a curiously pocket-sized watch, it's green display glowing eerily amidst the death, destruction and discord that he'd caused.
"...and get out of here."
He takes one last long panoramic look, rubbing his hands with glee at the destruction of the kingdom, as more structures burn, more anguished wails, screams and groans fade away into silence, and as the remains of the imperial palace continue to fall around them, the fading embers shimmering and fading away just before they made contact with the despotic surface around them.
Jack watched, mouth agape, beside him his weeping mother and his bloodied father, along with five other troop members who had just sat down on the scorched, singed ground to collect their senses and understand the scope of the destruction.
Only one question remained in Jack's mind, as he almost let his cherished katana drop from his hands.
"Why?"
Aku grinned, a toothy, malevolent grin, rubbing his right fist with his left palm.
"You thought I was dead. That's why."
And with that, as the abyssal crack remained open in front of him, Aku's cackles trailed behind him as he faded into the darkness of the space, with the remaining survivors watching in consternation, dejection and trepidation at the sequence of events that had just happened earlier.