Prelude to Darkness, Part 6
by
Rich
Wulf
The year 1150 by the Isawa Calendar, Nine
Years Ago, Volturnum...
In the center of a blasted plain stood the ruins of a once mighty city, and in the center of that city stood a large arena. The true purpose of that arena had been lost to the ages, but in the center of it a great gate there once stood a large circular portal carved in the shape of a dragon swallowing its own tail. Now a section of the portal had been blasted away.
In
the rubble beside the portal sat a stranger in robes of shimmering gold. Long
white hair hung down his back. He sat calmly, smoking a long pipe and watching
the gates of the arena in anticipation.
In
over fifteen years, no man had stepped through the gates of the arena. The Phoenix
had visited for a while, carting away bits of the broken portal. After some
time, when it was clear that there was no more magic here, they stopped coming.
Still, this solitary figure remained, waiting.
As
if on cue, a quartet of exhausted travelers stepped through the gates of the
arena. The first was a tall, muscular man with a shaven head and skin that
swirled with dark, shifting patterns. The second was a gangly figure with long,
greasy hair and a somewhat predatory expression. The third was massive,
concealed head to toe behind armor of jet-black steel. The fourth, however, was
the most interesting. He was a handsome man in simple grey robes. His hair,
like the one who waited, was a pure white. Not the unnatural bleached white
many Crane favored, but a ghostly color like the inside of an eggshell. Such
was often the mark of a powerful shugenja. Though he walked behind the others,
it was clear that this one was their leader. The others fanned out instantly,
eyes scanning the arena for any signs of a threat. When the black-armored
samurai saw the man waiting for them, he instantly drew his sword.
“Stay
your blade, Kyoden,” the stranger said in an even voice. “I do not mean you
harm.”
“How
do you know my name?” the dark samurai whispered. His voice was hoarse, as if
unused to speaking.
“It
is my purpose to know,” the stranger said. “It is my destiny, my curse.”
“Careful
with this one,” the tattooed man said in a strangely eager voice. “I smell his
power from here. We should avoid him. Or perhaps attack him!”
“You
are an Oracle,” the leader said, stepping forward without fear. It was not a
question, simply a statement of fact.
The
stranger nodded.
“Sheathe
your blade, Kyoden,” the man said. “If we instigate no violence, he cannot harm
us. Should we threaten him, he could destroy us all with a thought.”
The
samurai sheathed his blade immediately, not out of fear, but out of thoughtless
loyalty for his comrade.
“It
is true,” the stranger said. “I am Tonbo Toryu, Oracle of Thunder.”
“What
is he doing in the middle of the Shadowlands?” the gangly man asked, eyeing the
Oracle suspiciously.
“It
is my duty to watch over these ruins, now and forever, Omoni,” Toryu asked.
“Unlikely, perhaps, but no more surprising than the presence of an escaped
Bloodspeaker experiment, a renegade ise zumi, the forgotten son of a wandering
ronin, or...” his eyes rested on the group's leader, “or you, Lord Daigotsu.”
“I
am Lord of nothing, Oracle,” the man said with a snarl.
“No,
but you might have been,” Toryu replied, “and you may yet be again.”
“The
Oracle of Thunder is the patron of heroes,” the tattooed man said in an amused
voice. “How strange that he should choose to speak to us.”
“Is
it so strange?” the Oracle said with a faint grin. “The difference between a
villain and a hero is one of choice and opportunity. Surely you, who have known
what it is like to be both a champion of right and a slave of darkness, know
that better than anyone. Is that not correct, Togashi Kokujin?”
The
tattooed man's amused expression vanished, replaced by a scowl of hatred. “Not
Togashi,” he said, reaching for the swords at his hip. “Not Hitomi. Only
Kokujin.”
“Kokujin,”
Daigotsu said in a warning tone. “If you draw your blade on the Oracle I will
be forced to stand aside and watch him destroy you.”
The
ise zumi blinked, then nodded soberly, folding his arms behind his back.
“If
you know our names, and you know our past, surely you must know why we have
come here,” Omoni said slowly, as if piecing together the conclusion in his
head.
“I
do,” Toryu said. “In truth I had hoped to convince you not to go through with
this. You do not realize what you are about to do.”
“Speak
all you like, Oracle,” Daigotsu said. “If your words are reasonable, I may yet
listen. However, know in advance that I would not have made this journey if I
had not been certain.”
Tonbo
Toryu nodded sadly.
“Now,
while you are here, I believe that you are bound by the Elemental Dragon you
serve to answer one question for any mortal who asks you to do so. We are
mortals.” Again, the words were not a question, but a statement of fact.
“This
is so,” Toryu said.
“An
interesting opportunity,” Kokujin said with a smile.
Daigotsu
nodded, his eye suddenly widening with inspiration. Touching Kyoden's shoulder,
he stepped aside to confer with the dark samurai.
While
they spoke, Omoni stepped forward. The shabby little man's face was torn with
pain and madness. “Am I man, or am I beast?” he asked, clutching at the air
with his fists. “Which side of me is the true one?”
“I
am sorry, Omoni,” Toryu said. “You wasted your question when you asked me what
I was doing here.”
Omoni's
jaw opened in shock. He fell to his knees and gave a short, anguished scream.
“Wasted,”
Kokujin said with a laugh. “Much like your life, eh, goblin-man?”
“And
what is your question, Kokujin?” the Oracle asked.
“Me?”
the tattooed man laughed. “I cannot ask you a question. I am not mortal!” The
ise zumi walked away and sat cross-legged on the ground. He drew his wakizashi
and began to polish it with a silken cloth.
“I
am ready with my question,” Kyoden said, returning to stand before the Oracle.
“Yes?”
Toryu asked.
“If
we cannot learn what we seek from the remains of the Gate, who has the wisdom
we require?” he said.
“He
who can have whatever he wishes yet asks for more wisdom is truly wise,” Toryu
said, though his eyes flicked to Daigotsu as if he knew the true source of
Kyoden's question.
“So
answer,” Kyoden said gruffly.
“You
must seek the Order of Tsuno,” Toryu said, “They are malicious creatures that
prowl the plains of Toshigoku, the Realm of Slaughter.”
“How
do we find them?” Kyoden asked.
The
Oracle said nothing.
“It
is no matter,” Daigotsu said. “There were some Kitsu among the Lost. The
shugenja of the Lion know the Realm of Slaughter like none other. Perhaps one
among them can help us find these Tsuno.”
“You
could ask me, Daigotsu,” the Oracle said. “I would tell you.”
“No,”
Daigotsu said. “I will ask you my question another time.”
The
future Lord of the Shadowlands walked swiftly past the Oracle, toward the broken
ruins of Oblivion's Gate. Almost immediately he fell into a deep trance,
summoning the powerful kansen that would help him analyze the rubble. Omoni and
Kyoden quickly joined him, hauling some of the larger pieces closer so that
Daigotsu could study on them more easily.
Daigotsu
looked up once, his dark eyes fixing upon the Oracle's with no trace of fear.
There was a deep madness in those eyes. Not the sort of rage-filled madness
that consumed Omoni, but the clear, focused sort of madness that infected
others and drove them to new heights of mania. Toryu could sense Daigotsu's
great magical power, but that was not what made Daigotsu dangerous.
He
was a leader.
The
Oracle looked away, not willing to look into those eyes for longer than was
necessary.
•
Seven Years Later, the City of the Lost...
“Answer the question, Tsuno,” Daigotsu said impatiently.
“Only
ignorance comes swiftly, Dark Lord,” Tsuno Nintai replied with a disapproving
frown. “Knowledge takes time.”
“You
have had time,” Daigotsu replied, pacing the halls of the Temple of the Ninth
Kami. “Your kind have wandered the Spirit Realms for thousands of years. Surely
you must know how to travel from one to the other. You must know the answer to
what I seek.”
“Traveling is simple, yes,” the Tsuno said,
reclining on one elbow as he gnawed thoughtfully upon a jagged bone. “Traveling
safely is another matter. I assumed that wherever you will be going, you wish
to return safely.”
Daigotsu
seated himself across from the Tsuno and sighed impatiently. “Tell me what you
can, then,” Daigotsu said.
“Different
realms are accessed in different manners,” the Tsuno replied. “The Realm of
Slaughter grants access in sites that have seen much needless bloodshed.
Tengoku, the Celestial Heavens, has a passage in the heart of the Imperial
City, and wherever the Oracles of Light work their magic. The depths of Jigoku
can be found in the heart of the Festering Pit, and anywhere else Taint is
rampant. The grey realm of Meido, where the dead who have not fulfilled their
kharma languish, can be most easily entered by dying.” The Tsuno laughed. “Or
perhaps by going to the site where one died, if the soul was powerful enough.
In any case, passages cannot be traversed without powerful magic.”
“This
much I know,” Daigotsu said, “ I have power to spare. What I require is
knowledge.”
The Tsuno shrugged. “What you
seek is quite complex. It may well be impossible. A passage where so many
realms connect in one place is very rare.”
“Thousands
of deceased souls passed through Oblivion's Gate with no difficulty, descending
from three different Spirit Realms,” Daigotsu said, “but now you tell me that
with all of my power, you tell me what I seek is impossible?”
“Oblivion's
Gate was hardly simple,” the Tsuno said. “The trolls knew their craft well. The
Gate was their second greatest accomplishment. The foolish Darkness spawn that
reopened it did not know what they were doing. The gate tore open a portal to
Toshigoku, Meido, and Yomi. Not to mention the fact that it created and
provided corporeal bodies for all who passed through it, as well. Such a
passage was never meant to exist. The Phoenix believe that they destroyed
Oblivion's Gate, but I do not think such a thing could be within the power of mortal
human shugenja. It is my belief that the portal destroyed itself through the
sheer power of the energies it unleashed.”
“I
care little for the consequences, Tsuno. If this gambit is successful, it is
worth any risk,” Daigotsu said. “Did you learn anything from the remains of the
Gate?”
“Not
much,” Nintai said. “The Oracle was correct. There is no magic there, save the
magic the Kuni used to purify the city. Perhaps we could learn more from the
libraries of the Kitsu.”
“Your
obsession with the Lion can wait until the Horde is prepared,” Daigotsu said.
“When we attack it will be as one, and not without reason. I will not throw
away the lives of my troops and reveal our true strength without good purpose.
That is my decision, and so long as you wish to maintain our alliance you will
abide by it.”
“Fair
enough,” the Tsuno said with a disinterested shrug. “Some of the Lost speak of
a shugenja named Kitsu Okura. They say that he made great breakthroughs in the
study of the Spirit Realms. They say that he was able to plant the noble heart
of a shiryo within an oni, and redeem its dark spirit. That oni now guards the
gates of Tengoku. Such a feat bespeaks a true mastery of the Spirit Realms. If
we could seize Okura's journals, I may be able to better answer your questions.
And if it gives me and my brethren a chance to strike at the Lion, well, all
the better, yes?”
“Perhaps
you are right,” Daigotsu said. “I will take your suggestion into
consideration.”
“While
you think it over, think on this as well,” the Tsuno continued. “As powerful as
you are, there is always another more powerful than yourself. These are
dangerous roads you tread, Dark Lord. You must be prepared for what you will
face in the days ahead.”
“My
mortality is my strength,” Daigotsu said.
“Perhaps,” Nintai said
uncertainly. “In any case, you will need an anchor, something that once
belonged to the one you seek. Otherwise you may never find him.”
“I
know,” Daigotsu said. He drew a white porcelain mask from his kimono and set it
upon the table before the Tsuno.
The
Tsuno gasped, red-gold eyes widening as he laid eyes upon the artifact. “I have
seldom sensed such power,” he whispered, caressing the mask's chin with one
taloned finger. “This could not have been created by human hands.”
“It
was not,” Daigotsu said, taking the mask back and looking into its empty eyes
thoughtfully. “The one who made me what I am created it. With luck, it will
serve as my anchor, my compass, and my sword. It bestows much power upon its
wearer.”
“Power
comes with a price,” the Tsuno said. “I think that even some gods would
eventually be destroyed by daring to use that mask.”
“As
I said, I care little for the consequences,” Daigotsu said, “So long as I
succeed.”
•
Daigotsu
fell deeper into his trance, his chanting now echoing through the halls of the
Imperial Palace. Outside, he could hear the sounds of battle drawing nearer. He
could smell the smoke of the fires as the Legions burned away the debris that
blocked the roads. He could hear the screams as the demons and Lost samurai who
served him died on the swords of the servants of the Emperor.
Otosan
Uchi, capitol of the Empire, was perhaps the most poorly defended city in the
Empire. The outer walls were in disrepair. Its location was nearly
indefensible. There were few resources in the area that one could draw upon to
withstand a prolonged siege other than the bay, which was so polluted that few
fish lived there. This vulnerability worked to the Empire's advantage in most
cases. The Great Clans were unified in their loyalty to the Emperor. If any threat rose up to threaten the
Imperial City, the Clans could easily hammer through Otosan Uchi's defenses and
take their vengeance. Even the Horde could not hold the city forever.
Daigotsu
did not need forever... only another hour.
The
Dark Lord's fingers tightened about the edges of the porcelain mask. He
continued chanting as the Tsuno had instructed, drawing upon their ancient
rituals as well as the newer techniques they had pillaged from the Kitsu Tombs.
As the ritual drew on, Daigotsu's vision became cloudier. Images flashed before
his eyes, images of all the death and pain that the throne room had seen.
He
saw the Steel Chrysanthemum watching in glee as his Hida Tsuneo crushed his
mother's skull in his hands.
He
saw the Black Lion duel with Bayushi Shoju, and heard the Scorpion's scream of
torment as his sword shattered the Jade Throne.
He
saw the looks of terror on the faces of the gaijin ambassadors during the
Battle of White Stag when the Mantis Champion ordered their execution.
He
watched as Hantei Yugozohime's soldiers invaded the throne room, brutally
slaughtering any Gozoku who resisted the young would-be Empress' rise to power.
He
saw the pain on Bayushi's face as he watched Shosuro leave to save the Empire
from Fu Leng, and the resigned look in Togashi's eyes.
He
watched as Toturi, driven mad by the power of the Lying Darkness, ordered the
slaughter of the Imperial Court.
He
watched as Fu Leng stood against the Seven Thunders, possessing the mortal form
of Hantei XXXVIII. He watched as Doji Hoturi and Toturi slew the god's mortal
flesh.
Daigotsu
closed his eyes. When he opened them again, all around him was grey. It looked as
if the throne room was filled with smoke. The room was filled with huddled
figures, all dressed in drab colors. They watched the Dark Lord with sullen
faces. Some of them, he recognized as the courtiers he and Kyoden had
slaughtered only hours before when they had first invaded the city. Daigotsu
paid them no mind. The one he sought was not among them. Rising, he tucked the
porcelain mask back into his robes. Daigotsu exited the throne room and strode
purposefully through the halls of the Imperial Palace.
When
he stepped into the courtyard, the world shifted around him. Suddenly he stood
in a barren field, featureless as far as the eye could see. A few paces away, a
lone samurai stood, leaning on a long spear. His helmet was empty, as if there
were no one inside, though Daigotsu could sense a powerful presence there.
“What
business have you in the Realm of Waiting?” the figure asked in a sepulchral
voice. “You do not belong here. You are not dead. Yet.”
“You
are Emma-O,” Daigotsu said, stepping forward with a fascinated expression. “You
are the one the Phoenix call the Fortune of Death. You guard the mortal souls
that dwell in Meido.”
“You
have thrown the realms into disharmony with your Tsuno magic, Dark Lord,” the
Fortune said. “You would do well to leave now and reverse your spell. The
punishment the Great Clans have reserved for you is nothing compared to what
will occur if you draw my wrath.”
“Then
why bother to warn me?” Daigotsu asked, stepping toward the Fortune of Death.
“Why not attack, if you have the power? Why do you warn me? Why do you
hesitate?”
“Because
I am curious,” Emma-O said, leveling his spear at Daigotsu's chest and halting
his movement. “What do you want here?”
“Do
you not know?” Daigotsu asked with a small smile. “Are you not a god?”
Emma-O
said nothing.
“No,”
Daigotsu said. “You are not a god.
You are a minor Fortune, a slave to some abstract aspect invented by mortals.
You possess no true power. You are a shadow, nothing more. I come here seeking
a mortal soul. I intend to remove him from Meido, and you will not bar my
path.”
“The
one you seek is well protected in the heart of my realm,” Emma-O said. “You
will not find him.”
“Then
bring him to me,” Daigotsu said in a calm voice. “I am more than happy to wait
here.”
“Leave
now, whelp,” Emma-O said, his voice taking an angry edge. “I do not care who
you are among mortals, or what magic the Bloodspeakers taught you after they
stole you. You nothing of the power of Death.”
“And
you underestimate me because I am mortal,” Daigotsu said.
With
that, the Dark Lord impaled himself on Emma-O's spear.
The
Fortune of Death laughed, surprised at the Dark Lord's foolishness. It was not
until the Dark Lord pulled himself down the length of the spear that he realized
how close Daigotsu was. Smiling as blood streamed from his mouth, Daigotsu drew
out the Porcelain Mask of Fu Leng and pressed it into the Fortune of Death's
empty helm.
The
scream that echoed through Meido was like none other heard in the history of
creation. The Fortune of Death threw his spear aside, causing Daigotsu to fall
limply on the ground. Clawing at his face, Emma-O staggered backwards. Black
fire erupted from the empty eyes and mouth, and shone through the chinks in the
Fortune's armor. With all his power, Emma-O could not remove the mask.
“What
have you done?” Emma-O roared. “Do
you realize what you have done?”
“I
have given a god more power than he can handle,” Daigotsu said weakly, leaning
on one arm. “Now summon the one I seek. He is the only one who can remove it.”
“Never!”
Emma-O cried, falling to his knees.
“Fine,”
Daigotsu said, lying back on the ground. “Once you are gone, he will escape
regardless. Your sacrifice is for nothing, though it will be amusing to see if
Death can die. It will be a pleasant final memory.”
Emma-O
screamed in pain and frustration. Finally, the Fortune of Death relented. He
gestured with one hand, and a gaping black hole opened in the air.
A
tall, handsome figure stepped out. He wore robes of green and gold. The symbol
of the Hantei family was emblazoned upon his robes. He looked around himself
with a curious, strangely innocent expression then looked down at the flailing
form of Emma-O.
“Hello,
Emma-O,” the man said. “I believe this is mine.”
The
man pulled the mask easily from the Fortune's face and placed it on his own.
“You
will pay for this affront,” Emma-O roared.
“I
think not,” the man said. “I am a lion and you are a flea. You bound my spirit
because I was weak and disoriented. Now I am whole once more. Flee, little
Fortune, before I take this realm for my own.”
“You
may be beyond my power, Fu Leng,” Emma-O snarled, “but the one who saved you is
not. One day you will be mine, Daigotsu. You will know no peace in death.” The
Fortune of death stepped backward and vanished into the mists of Meido.
Daigotsu
ignored the pain of his mortal wound and struggled into a kneeling position,
head bent low. “Dark Kami,” he whispered through bloody lips. “I live only to
serve.”
Fu
Leng smiled at Daigotsu and rested one hand upon his head. “I wondered when you
would arrive, little brother. If any of those who called themselves the Lord of
the Shadowlands during my absence have earned that title, none have been as
worthy as you.” Reaching out with his other hand, Fu Leng seized the end of
Emma-O's spear and drew it out of Daigotsu's body. Daigotsu looked down at his
chest as the wound healed instantly at the Dark Kami's command.
“Few
could do what you have done,” Fu Leng continued, tucking the Fortune's spear
under one arm. “You have stolen your way into Meido, defeated a Fortune, and
freed my spirit. But I wonder to what purpose. My mortal form is dead, and
without one I cannot return to Rokugan for a thousand years.”
“Why
be a mortal,” Daigotsu asked, “When you can be a god?”
“Explain,”
Fu Leng said, suddenly interested.
“The
Tsuno taught me how to open passages between the Realms using items of great
power,” Daigotsu said. “I used your mask to find you, but it is not the only
item I carry.”
Daigotsu
drew a second mask from his robes. The forehead was marked by the symbol of the
rising sun.
“What
is that?” Fu Leng asked.
“It
is the mask of Toturi Sezaru. It was crafted by the most powerful shugenja of
the Isawa family, including Empress Kaede. Kaede is the Oracle of the Void, and
this mask bears a hint of her power. Using this, I can open a passage to the
Celestial Heavens.”
“I
can return?” Fu Leng asked. “I can return to Tengoku? I can return to my home?”
Daigotsu
nodded, holding the mask out in both hands. “The spell is complete. Once you
touch the mask, you will be transported to the gates. It then falls to you to
fight your way inside.”
Fu
Leng's eyes shone blood red. “I have waited a thousand years for this moment.
Onnotangu himself will not bar my path.”
“Onnotangu
is dead, my lord,” Daigotsu said. “The Dragon Thunder has taken his place.”
“The
harlot who opened the Twelfth Black Scroll?” Fu Leng hissed.
Daigotsu
nodded.
“All
the better,” Fu Leng said. As Fu Leng reached for the mask, a cloud of darkness
billowed around him. Forms hovered in the darkness. Daigotsu recognized them -
Akuma, the Maw, and the Oni Lord that took the Sun's name.
“Come
with me, Daigotsu,” Fu Leng hissed. “Together we will slaughter the Fortunes
and the Dragons and build a castle from the bones of the Kami.”
“I
cannot,” Daigotsu said. “I must return to Rokugan so that I might protect your
temple in the City of the Lost. So long as the Tainted worship you there, you
should have power enough to wage your war against Tengoku.”
“Be
strong, little brother,” Fu Leng replied. “For what you have given me, know
that you will always have my blessings.”
Then
Fu Leng's fingers touched Sezaru's mask, and the Dark Kami and his minions were
gone. Two black fingerprints were left upon the mask, marring the perfect
circle the rising sun formed.
Tucking
the mask back into his kimono, Daigotsu prepared for the ritual that would draw
him home. He felt elated by his success, but his joy was numbed by thoughts of
the battle that lay ahead.
Once
he returned, he still had to lead his armies free of Otosan Uchi.