Path Of The Kingslayer, Act 1, Scene 1 [one-shot]

[Takaki Saeko]

Cloud Council Presents...


In Association with Yojimbo/Enishi, The Society of Men Without Hats, and The Republic of Letters...


A Takaki Masao Production...


Path Of The Kingslayer</I></B>​

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On the top deck of the MCNS People’s Glory II
3 km off the coast of The People’s Republic of Marsh Country
One month before the defeat of Hayata Makoro at the Torre Celeste
…1700 hours


Vibrant swirls of color undulated against the backdrop of the setting sun as fifty women dancers clad in the traditional choson-ot dress of Marsh Country’s dominant ethnic group swirled and danced elegantly, their footwork and arm sways perfectly choreographed and in unison to within a millimeter. All of them, unfailingly lithe and beautiful, had been selected to perform on this special occasion because they were the best, and that was what their Dear Leader demanded of his people. Behind the women, an iconographic sun slowly rose, hoisted by unseen stagehands, to symbolize the dawning of the nation’s new glory under its master. Overhead, speakers blasted out rousing strains of heavy brass and drums with a chorus accompaniment:

<I>Arirang, Arirang, Arariyo...
Arirang gogaero neomeoganda.
Nareul beorigo gasineun nimeun
Simnido motgaseo balbbyeongnanda…​

As the music died down and the dancers all bowed in unison, a small group of figures arrayed around a utilitarian-looking but unmistakable throne clapped and grinned. All of them stood, save for the one man who sat in the throne, looking slightly disinterested as he clapped.

“Miyanhe-o, Dear Leader. That song always makes my chest hurt a bit,” said a uniformed woman next to the enthroned man. She was General Sumihara Kaede, commander of Marsh Country’s Special Operations Command, and one of the fabled “inner circle” of power that always seemed to rise whenever a dictator instituted a personality cult.

“Anieyo,” said the man on the throne, smiling sardonically as the dancers filed off the stage and down below decks. “I just don’t like these old love songs, no matter how patriotic they are,” he said, adjusting the collar on his heavy bearskin overcoat festooned with medals and other military honors. He was Generalissimo Choe Il-Jong, and at age forty he was the supreme, exalted, “Dear Leader” of Marsh Country’s two million inhabitants with complete and utter control over whether they lived or died. He had taken power years ago in the aftermath of the catastrophic Bear-Marsh Conflict which had seen Marsh Country effectively lose half its population and land holdings and almost all of its wealth. Under his rule, the country had turned itself from a broken shell of a nation full of starving refugees to an industrialized modern-day military power with a manifest destiny of world conquest. All under the guiding philosophy of juche, or "self-reliance" in the common tongue. International critics labeled him an autocrat, to which he scoffed that his neighboring heads of state, the Shogun of Lightning and the King of Bear, were no different, save that he had the total love and devotion of his people, unlike the other two sovereigns.

“Dear Leader, isn’t it time to find you a wife? After all, this is a celebration of your birthday, and you aren’t getting any younger,” teased Kaede, to which Il-Jong laughed.

“I know that, but I have so much work to do. Finding a proper wife can wait until we’ve crushed the Southern Imperialists,” he said, sighing.

“As always, Dear Leader is wise and puts the nation’s welfare above his own,” said Kaede, without a trace of irony. “But what about the Kagetsu Treaty?”

“Kagetsu Kiyo is dead. Disgracefully killed by her own bodyguard, of all things. Her treaty, which humiliated and impoverished us all, is no longer valid. I say it’s time to act,” said Il-Jong, clenching his right hand into a mailed fist.

“Dear Leader, I one day hope to be as decisive and courageous as you are,” said Kaede, eyes wide with anticipation. Her earpiece radio suddenly erupted in a burst of chatter and static. “Ah, I’m so sorry, Dear Leader, I am being called away by my subordinates. It’s nothing to worry about, I’ll be back in an hour,” she said, bowing deeply. “Guard him with your life, shinobi,” she said to a man in a chuunin’s flak-vest who sat behind Il-Jong and wore a forehead protector emblazoned with the unmistakable symbol of Neo-Konoha. The chuunin merely grunted and rolled his eyes, and Il-Jong smiled and waved her off.

The next act was beginning – this one more to the Generalissimo’s taste, as it involved a display match between two fighters. Burly, ugly men, they nevertheless swung at and grappled each other with surprising grace and fluidity, causing Il-Jong to hoot and applaud at each successful hit. The chuunin behind him merely yawned, seeming to return to his half-slumber.

Kaede and a small group of soldiers filed into a nearby dinghy hanging off the side of the massive pleasure yacht that Choe Il-Jong’s birthday party was being held on, and with a signal to the deckhand, the small boat began to lower to the calm waters a few meters below. She took one last look at the Generalissimo before he disappeared from her view, and a sudden trepidation filled her gut. She repressed this, however, focusing on the coming task that would require her attention. Apparently, an assassin had been caught in the Capital trying to kill the Dear Leader’s body double. Now, whoever this unfortunate soul was would have Kaede as his personal interrogator, and there were few things she enjoyed or devoted more attention to than torturing others.

<B>A Few Minutes Later...​

A waterlogged figure pulled himself over the waist-high retaining wall encircling the top deck and quickly rolled out of sight behind a pile of boxes and rope. He ran a hand through his unnaturally dyed-blond and already-dried hair before blowing his nose into his hands, expelling gouts of seawater onto the wooden planking below. As saltwater continued to drip from his form, he reached into a satchel on his waist and withdrew a delicate-looking canister of metal and glass, within which a glowing blue fluid sloshed around in seeming defiance of the laws of physics. Smirking, he twisted one of the ends of the canister, and the liquid within began to bubble and froth. One of his hands formed seals, and thin blue trails of fiery essence started to wisp around him. He took a brief peek over the top of his makeshift concealment, and heaved the churning canister into the air.

A glint of sunlight reflected off the canister hit the sleepy chuunin’s face and his eyes immediately flew open, just in time to see the canister hurtling in the direction of the Generalissimo. Reflexively, the shinobi flew to his feet and his hands started to form seals...

With an unexpectedly loud crash, the canister ruptured, spewing its contents. As the unstable fluid hit the air, it instantaneously exploded into enormous billows of ice-blue frost that enveloped the entire craft in the blink of an eye.

The chuunin’s hand shot forward, forming a fiery, dome-like barrier around himself, the Generalissimo, and three nearby guards just as the hellish wave of frost hit their location. The impact was ferocious, and battered against the fiery shield, but the front soon passed by, exploding outward from the yacht a hundred meters in every direction before losing strength and dissipating into nothingness. With a wave of his hand, the chuunin dissolved the barrier, his body shaking. Choe Il-Jong immediately stood, his expression more confused than anything else, and his guards immediately jumped in front of him, swords and bolsters drawn and sweeping the deck.

The wrestlers, stagehands, and sailors who had been working on the deck were literally frozen in place in the exact poses they had been in when the canister had exploded. Even their facial expressions were frozen solid, as if they were incredibly life-like statues. Every surface, including the entire yacht itself, glistened with an icy blue sheen that periodically gave off a crinkling noise as it reacted to the heat of the sun.

For a few tense moments, no one spoke – it was surreal, and none knew how to react… Until a deep rumbling from within the boat started to sound, and suddenly, the wooden planking started to crack and split. The icy sheen around the mainmast exploded into thousands of shards, and underneath, the wood itself cracked and started to split. It did not take long to realize that the entire ship was starting to rend itself apart!

”In Temeria” from the Witcher 2 OST​

The blond man from before now smiled and leapt over the top of the small pile of boxes he had hidden behind, charging forward as the mainmast toppled like felled timber and fell into the weakened deck. Two of the guards in front of Choe Il-Jong fired their bolters at him. One shot went stray and pierced a frozen wrestler, shattering his upper half into bloody, frozen shards. The other seemed about to hit the blond when he suddenly twisted out of the way, only letting the quarrel graze his back slightly. Within another blink of an eye, he was on the guards. Twin vortices of raw white energy formed in both his hands as he slammed his palms into their chests. Gore erupted from their backs, felling them instantly. The chuunin guard completed another series of handseals, sending flaming burst of energy toward the blond, who grabbed the remaining guard with ease to use as a human shield. The guard’s body erupted in a fiery crimson mist as the jutsu connected, and the blond was on the chuunin instantly, trapping the man in a chokehold. The chuunin’s eyes widened in recognition.

“You…you’re Tanaka… Tanaka Daishi!” he gasped, to which the blond grinned in return.

“The one and only, baby! I’m the best there was, the best there is, and the best there ever will be, and don’t you ever forget that! Will of Fire, homeboy!” said the blond, before sending another vortex of energy into the chuunin’s chest. The unfortunate’s body fell to the icy planks with a squishing noise, spilling blood across the splintering, heaving boards. The ship was already half-sunken, and water was starting to lap at Daishi’s feet.

Choe Il-Jong’s expression was a combination of amazement and utter disbelief. Somewhat comically, he looked around, seeing no guards or helpers left, and only Daishi, who walked toward him while drawing a wickedly curved blade from his scabbard, as if to say you don’t get a Rasengan. The Generalissimo turned as if to try to run, only to be forced to his knees with a sharp kick to the back of his legs. Daishi now grasped the Dear Leader’s hair in one hand and yanked his head back to expose the neck.

“You…you can’t…” blubbered Il-Jong, right before Diashi swung with his blade, silencing him with the dull thump of metal digging into flesh and stopping against bone. Somewhat disappointedly, Daishi sighed and swung again, this time actually severing the head from the Generalissimo’s body, which slumped lifelessly to the side. Carrying the head of the formerly-41-year-old Dear Leader of Marsh Country, Daishi started to climb to the top portion of the yacht that still stuck out above water, surveying his work. Throwing his head back, the blond missing nin of Neo-Konoha roared with laughter.

“DATTEBAYO!!!” he shouted in triumph before diving into the water.

A minute later, the last remains of the People’s Glory II disappeared under the waves.