The Distortion

“Hope I’m not too late.”

He carried half the weapons with him; the other half was carried by Râad. Laith was glad there were still some members missing from their forces, which meant some time remained before the assault began. The allied samurais were relieved that Laith carried out his part which was crucial to the success of the overall mission, proving their skepticism was all for naught. Daisuke promptly joined him, inconspicuously beaming with satisfaction like a father whose son just made him proud. Understandably, there was a lot of pressure on him, and had Laith failed, Daisuke would have borne as much of the blame for having trusted him.

Akira came to assist Daisuke in managing the weapons, barely sparing Laith a side glance. There were subtle hints of content on his face, but his pride prevented him from admitting it or showing any sign of gratitude…Haru looked almost regretful that Laith had succeeded in his task. However, even he was at a point where he deemed it inappropriate to make misplaced comments considering the timing.

Either way, Laith was not the type of man to look for recognition whenever he accomplished something. He never thought of it as a favor, just his responsibility to assume. He left Daisuke and Akira to their task, glancing around the changing room, searching for his brother. Laith spotted Adam sitting on a wooden crate, resting his chin on his hands, staring pensively through his glasses.

“Something on your mind?” Laith asked as he approached him.

“I don’t even know where to start…”

“Still no news from Yuuna?”

“That’s what’s bothering me the most…”

“What is she doing anyway?”

“She said we’re being watched and that she had to deal with it.”

Laith didn’t reply right away.

“I’m fine, so that means whoever was watching couldn’t intervene. She must have dealt with it somehow.”

“You’re not wrong…” Adam muttered. “Bloody hell, I forgot to ask how it went with you.” He was almost disgusted with himself.

“I’m here now, and I brought the weapons. That should tell you everything you need to know. We can bother with the details once we’re completely out of this.” Laith figured there was no need to bring up the incident with Satoshi to his brother, not when his mind was tied in knots.

All the while, each samurai in the room was changing to their battle outfits, getting rid of their makeup, rearranging their haircut, readying their weapons, not uttering a single word in the process. They wouldn’t know what topic they would converse about anyway; the only thing on their mind was the upcoming battle which was one act away.

“Figure out something to mend Yuuna’s absence? In regards to the fragment I mean.”

“I have an idea…well, calling it an idea is overselling it to be honest.”

Laith sighed. “Just be careful, okay? I leave you in Râad’s care for now.”

Adam let out a soft chuckle. “That’s comforting…”

Râad curled up in a ball quietly beside Adam who, for the first time, didn’t see him as threatening; he was nothing but a peaceful beast. For a heartbeat, Adam thought about patting the tiger’s head…but opted against it—their relationship wasn’t at that stage yet.

Laith suspected his brother was probably up to no good, but chose to let it go. Sometimes, it was better to leave a troubled person to his own thoughts rather than to try comforting him. Adam definitely seemed like he would be better off on his own for a few moments. Besides, Laith could probably benefit from someone who wasn’t on edge like everybody else in the room. And the answer was fairly obvious: Genjiro. The callous samurai was the perfect escape from this suffocating tension; his nonchalance was perfect for this downtime.

Even though Laith had fulfilled his purpose, unlike the rest of his allies, the raid itself wasn’t over, it had barely just begun. Yuuna’s whereabouts were still a mystery, Adam was about to get himself into trouble, the recovery of the fragment was still hanging in the air, the outcome of the battle had yet to be decided…too many uncertainties and Laith had no control over any of them. It was entirely up to his allies to decide the outcome of these dilemmas while he was simply asked to watch from afar—he’d come back to the rear gate to secure the exit. An instance where his fate was not in his hands…that made him even more frustrated.

“Yo, large sword. You look like you wanna take a shit.”

I probably do look like that, “I wish it was that...” Laith sat on the floor next to him, legs crossed. “I really do envy you for being able to keep your cool in this situation…”

“It’s the alcohol, you should try it,”

“Believe it or not, I never tried it. And I don’t think now is a good time to start,”

“Hai hai, suit yourself. You just need to relax large-sword.”

Laith rubbed his chin. “Do you even recall my real name?”

“Of course I do, large-sword.”

Laith shook his head as he giggled. “You know what, that’s exactly what I needed.”

Genjiro’s aura was somehow contagious. Just sitting beside the sleepy samurai made it easier to care less about the situation. Laith laid back against the wall crossing his hands behind his head, staring aimlessly at the roof. Many random thoughts flitted through his mind to pass the time, like what other Incarnations he would like to meet, where did the stars or the moon go, what names he would pick for his future children, how many attempts it would take the ant he was watching to reach the climb the wall…

Luckily, the second-to-last performing group showed up before his thoughts grew way too silly.

The moment had come. They were to launch the assault during the last performance, adding to the element of surprise. Silence reigned. There were no commands issued by anyone, no motivational speech or encouraging words either. They’ve done enough speaking; it was time to act. Steadfast, the samurais grabbed their personal weapons and set out, each knowing exactly what role and position he must assume. They spread out quietly across both compounds in different covert spots, a maneuver made easier by the captivated crowd—the spectators were quite hooked to the performance.

Everyone held their breath, awaiting the signal: lady Tokugawa’s arrow.

Yuka had to climb to the roof of a moderately high building, barely an inconvenience considering her impressive agility. She chose the spot painstakingly, accounting for the distance, visibility of the target and her own visibility—the curvature of the roof helped with the last one. Yuka finally settled in a stable position, waiting for the exact timing which had been agreed upon. She waited, patiently, silently, calmly.

It was almost time.

She fetched an arrow from her quiver and positioned it perfectly on the bow before applying tension on the string. Eying her prey from above like a predatory bird, she took aim. Her form was perfect. The target was clear, one of Nakamura Kensei’s bodyguards. As her husband predicted, Atsuo would never let his lord exposed, not tonight, not ever. Yuka Tokugawa had to simultaneously keep track of the ongoing play. A certain character died.

It was time.

She released with no hesitation. The shot was flawless. It would not miss. It did not miss. The trajectory was ideal.

It did not miss…but it did not hit either.

It was intercepted, stopped mid-trajectory. It wasn’t a bodyguard, it wasn’t someone they accounted for, it wasn’t someone they even knew about. Both Daisuke and Akira had closely worked with Kensei in the past, but this man hadn’t made his presence known at the time.

Gin.

He caught the flying arrow with his bare hand. The raiding samurais—including Yuka—froze when they should have started flooding the scene by now. No one could blame them. It was not unusual for someone to dodge or block an arrow, or even a bullet. Catching a similar projectile mid-air, with no prior knowledge of where it was shot from, was a different ball game. It was even worse than that. This individual had no prior knowledge that an arrow was being shot in the first place and he somehow managed to react in time to grab hold of it. The only “rational” aspect of Gin’s breakneck intervention was him positioning not very far from the Daimyo’s. However, it was hardly comforting for Daisuke or his allies.

Nakamura Kensei and his subordinates also froze, albeit for a different reason. An arrow headed in the Daimyo’s direction—even if it wasn’t meant for him—could only mean one thing: they were under attack. The implications of such transgression were too severe to process all at once. Alas, the one fact that could easily and rapidly be construed from this act was: the festivities were over. The joyful night was about to turn into a hellish one.

Yuka was quick to recover from the unexpected failure and shot the following arrow at another man, standing some good distance from the Daimyo’s surroundings. Considering Gin’s previous display, she wasn’t sure this arrow would connect either, but it was more of a reminder than anything else. The assault must go on. The samurai was shot right in the eye and fell down immediately, which thankfully served its purpose. The shot revived her allies’ spirits and reawakened their senses as they instantly swarmed the battlefield with a war cry that left the Daimyo’s subordinates in utter distress. Only his closest bodyguards reacted instantly and surrounded their lord to escort him to the safest place, his tower.

The plan was finally in motion.

After some disorganized and scattered instructions issued by whoever maintained some measure of levelheadedness—regardless of their rank—the warriors under the command of Nakamura slowly came to, overcoming their dismay. The few and already armed ones confronted the opposing forces resulting in the beginning of the bloodbath. The unarmed warriors scrambled away in different directions, looking to grab hold of their weapons stored somewhere in the castle. Some were fortunate enough to escape the blades of their opponents, others not so much, suffering a gruesome fate.

The methods of killing varied from ripping stomachs open—exposed organs spilling—to getting stabbed in the eyes, ears, nose and mouth—blades jutting from the other side—to being dismembered to having one’s head severed from its body. The only thing all the victims had in common was the maimed corpse sinking to the ground, flesh drowning in a pond of crimson blood. Battles after the Distortion grew even more grisly, with some of the more horrid methods becoming the most effective ways to kill an enemy warrior. Nonetheless, this particular battlefield bore witness to excessive violence, and much intended at that.

The raiding samurais showed no mercy, their long pent-up frustration finally bursting out like a feral beast that had been caged for too long. Toyotomi Shinji’s subordinates were once regarded with the utmost respect and deference, some even dreaded their encounter. They had garnered an acclaim worthy of the retainers of the potential future Shogun…before it all burned to ashes alongside their lord’s body. Their reputation soared higher and higher, almost splitting the heavens themselves, except they remained mere mortals, still tied to the earth. The higher you climb, the harder you fall. As if their might had been nothing more than a misty illusion, the entire country would suddenly come to look down on them, barely sparing a thought to the retainers of Toyotomi Shinji.

As such, they wouldn’t spare a shred of clemency to their opponents tonight, for the raiding samurais would have them taste, if even a smidge, the chagrin they had been burying inside. Nakamura, and the entirety of Shin-Taiyo, would remember what Toyotomi Shinji’s subordinates were capable of. The turncoat and traitor known as Kensei had sown the sparks, and now he shall reap a wrathful and ravaging wildfire, erupted by lady Tokugawa.

Her flying arrows were like the fuel that kept feeding that fire to grow larger and larger, racking up the highest kill-count. Being an archer who occupied a strategic position with a wide view of the battlefield granted her an undeniable superiority over the melee fighters on the ground. She shot one arrow after the other with nearly perfect accuracy, playing a major role in keeping the momentum in her allies’ favor, despite her enemies’ continuous attempts of recovery. She covered for her comrades’ blind spots, she intercepted the enemies seeking to grab hold of their weapons, she disposed of anyone who thought of targeting her as well. She let no one out of her sight.

And then there was a somber thick cloud of smoke cast upon the area as a result of the fire. One samurai who, as soon as he joined the fray, obscured most of his allies’ exploits becoming the undisputed highlight of the battle. He was very different from the man he usually was; you could hardly identify him as the same person. From afar, he took on the form of a demon unleashed upon the battlefield, swiftly running through anyone and anything that had the misfortune to stand in his way with uncontested skill and mastery. By the time one mustered the audacity to stand up to him, it was often too late. His victims couldn’t even get a proper look at him, their eyes glimpsing nothing but a darkened silhouette and the glint of his katana.

It was a rare instance of pure clarity, a tranquil serenity for him, his body freed from the usual hassles of life, his mind unburdened by the complicated thoughts that accompanied those hassles. When faced with obstacles too hard to grasp, he often chose to run away, not bothering to find the proper answer. However, and unlike the crisscrossing intricacies of a daily life, a battlefield was simple. It was him, his blade and whoever was at the other end of his blade. The obstacle was clear, the enemy in front of him; the answer was simple, kill or be killed. A straightforward view of reality. This was the only window where he could thrive, his shadow consuming the world around him.

Many considered him a reject, doing the courtesy of reminding him of it at every given opportunity. Not even his “comrades” showed any sign of compassion towards him, incessantly treating him as the butt of a joke.

A failure in every way.

However, no one, friend and foe alike, dared to deride his other persona whenever it surfaced from the depths of his being. It was dreadful, so much so that it would be bestowed with a proper moniker by the very same people who would otherwise mock him him.

A failure in every way…except for the Way of the Sword.

That was “Black Blade” Genjiro.