Leaving Country Mugen Train: Fool’s Gold Rigmarole

[Okada Kaji]

Continued from: And So Will We Yet

It only took one look around the metropolis of Raiden’s Eye for the rumors to seem all too true: the age of the shinobi was coming to an end in the Land of Lightning. So far from the misty peaks of the Hidden Cloud, speculation and rumor were dominating the truth in lieu of confusing narratives. The very first rumors came with the sudden departure of Lord Ayumu Kogami, who was as much of a hero as a Raikage could be; a legend cemented through his tenure. While a true shinobi might understand that the value of a village is not judged solely by its leader, it seemed as though too much of a claim to greatness by the successor spread too far and too fast, imposing an effect opposite to the desired. The heralded coming of a new Raikage came without substantial change; empty proclamations and no action. And as the Ruler in Red began their tenure the shinobi of the hidden cloud lessened their presence in the capital, all called away to fantastic schemes of infrastructural advancements in a newly touted Golden Age. A Fool’s Gold Rigmorale was more like. In the years to come, the sages will say that the nuisance of the Tenouza’s heresy was the beginning of it all— doubts cast as the common man was finding their own path. But the Tenouza were merely the weight that finally shifted the scales in a full tilt. Without a doubt to be had, the age of the shinobi was on a collision course, like the Raikage in their speeding carriage trembling on a fast break, engine pumping hard, and faulty brakes about to deliver them into a humble bakery in Susukino.

We have entered an age where the hungry and reckless humans, tired of resembling stock in a world where the ninja have benign power, have set down their swords and pikes in favor of lead-spitting iron. The gun has evolved, and it aims for the heart of the shinobi way with bullets that do not discriminate. If the idea frightens you, don’t be alarmed; change is the way of our world. Soon, the shinobi of old will be obsolete, but it will be the shinobi of new who’ve adapted and take us all by surprise.

Mugen Train
Part One: Raiden's Eye​

Dreams of the Capital known as Raiden’s Eye were commonplace in the homes of the common folk who hung their laundry from the tall spires of the Hidden Cloud. It was often referred to as the new land of opportunity, where one’s own destiny was limited by their desire. The City was thick with life, swarming with folk about their own business in busy city streets. When spectated from one of the many palaces that overlooked the city, the Shogun or their many constituents could see a living, breathing atmosphere with countless moving parts. There was a cacophony of sound in a raucous of horns, yelling, laughing, and work in an unending supply.

To the likes of a shinobi, you might imagine the busy streets to be an aid considering the ease one might find in moving about unnoticed. But for Kaji Okada, the sea of sight and sound was practically disorienting, even nauseating. It was evident that he did not enjoy the sights despite his apparent love for travel. It had been a day-long hike since breakfast and he had hardly glanced about at the streetside vendors, and instead drudged along in a dedicated march. An hour without any meaningful conversation must have passed between Kaji and Rei, at least not with any help on Kaji’s part, who seemed flummoxed at every intersection. Indeed, there were now all of these strange signs that dictated when and where travelers could venture in concordance with the Shogun’s Law. There were now contraptions roaming the paths through town, speeding with thrumming engines and plumes of smoke billowing behind them. Kaji entered a coughing fit after a vehicle came a bit too close, and it took him so by surprise that he felt Eelspine calling during his choking episode. “Let me help you, Kaji— we can put a stop to all the noise” the promising voice in his mind crooned, this time lightly and sweetly, soft and frail. The wicked sword was just as quickly muted again, about as easy as one might turn down the radio.

“I don’t like what’s become of the city” Kaji whined, turning to Rei in a sudden bid for conversation. “It used to be beautiful, now it’s covered with these stupid signs…” He pointed with his whole hand at a metal post sticking up from a curb with an octagonal sign that read STOP in white letters over a cautionary red backdrop. At that very moment, there was some gas-guzzling behemoth rolling to a stop just ahead of the shinobi pair. It was a truck with a round-edged frame painted some unimpressive shade of green like grass. The cabin was full of passengers with the radio screeching at max volume. A wooden frame on the truck’s bed hosted several more hooligans who were partying and day drinking. One finished a beer and tossed the crinkled can. It clanged and bounced, landing just short of Kaji, who let out a tired sigh. “Yep... I hate it here. “How far off is the station?”

- Kaji Okada has entered the thread.
- Requesting @Saitou Rei

 

[Saitou Rei]

Revolution, it seemed, was no longer a concept exclusive to man. The birth pangs of technological advancements sent a tremble up the mountains, and the cry of new life rang out from the cities. Musings of what the child would be like as it grew were mixed with the dismissive naivety of a traditional generation and the alarming excitement of a more innovative one. Then, of course, there were always going to people who simply disliked children. Rei gave a sideways glance and a grin as Kaji broke the 'silence' between them, clearly frazzled. She hadn't expected to ever see this side of the fabled former Sennin, and much less so this early on in their journey. "Yeah, I know what you mean. We shouldn't be far now." Glancing at a pocket map to ensure her memory hadn't been failed by the introduction of so many new elements, Rei motioned for them to turn left at the next intersection, at which point they would only need to walk about three more blocks before the station would finally come into view.

As the sputtering of another vehicle sounded behind them, Rei felt her heart jump in her throat as a child chased a pigeon into the street ahead. Metal on metal screeched out as the motorcar jolted to a halt while a frantic mother grabbed the girl up to safety. "The last time I was here, I only saw one of these automobiles. You should have seen how people gawked; shop owners left their stalls just to watch from the curb. Everyone thought it was the coolest thing... at least they did, until it hit a pile of horse manure left behind by a carriage. Just spewed it," Her face contorted as if the scent still lingered in her nostrils, hand waving in the motion that the excrement had rained down on the most unfortunate bypassers. "Everywhere. Wasn't all that surprising, then, when I heard the vehicle had broken down in the street not too far from there. No way they should have been able to move that fast, not the way the roads had been then." At this Raiden's sense of humor was made abundantly clear, as the words would no sooner leave her mouth than the duo would round the corner to find their path blocked by road construction: the price of 'progress.'

Thankfully they would eventually make it to their destination, though not with as much time to spare as they might have hoped. The station in Raiden's Eye was truly something, its glass-walled footbridge and sturdy metal overhangs were a far cry from the wooden shacks the train would pass further into the country. By the time they arrived the Mugen Train was already in the station, passengers disembarking and adding the clack of their heels and drag of their luggage to the dissonance of the city ambiance. Overhead, the sound of a young man's voice would ring out over a loudspeaker, startling some of the newer patrons. Boarding would begin soon, and conductors would assist passengers in finding their appropriate boarding section.

Near each door was a young attendant, each clad in a cream-colored uniform and conductors cap - with the most curious addition of a firearm at their sides. Instinctively taking note of the number of armed attendants, Rei approached the car nearest to the back. After waiting in line a few moments, an athletic-looking man perhaps in his early twenties whose red hair peeked out from under his cap greeted her. After receiving her ticket, he smiled apologetically. "Looks like you've got a spot in the sleeper car; that'll be located toward the front, just behind the baggage car. If you make your way there we should be ready to board momentarily."

The steel behemoth groaned as its new travelers embarked, the engine noise clearer now at the front. Good; should be restful. Following the guidance of yet another attendant, Rei tracked the numbers on the rooms before finally finding her ticketed room. Setting her pack down, she called to Kaji, "I've never ridden in such luxury, you'll really have to thank your friend..." Trailing off as she observed the two bench-beds opposite each other in the confined space, Rei turned to look at the older shinobi and then his ticket, but it was obscured by the hand that held it. So accustomed had she been to traveling with a set group that the idea of appearances had never occurred to her, and only did now out of the deep-seated fear of God that Rei held for the man's wife. "...you'll have to thank them for their generosity."


-Topic entered.

 

[Okada Kaji]

Are you still a voyeur at the world’s end if you’re standing in a grass field as it burns? A vehicle swerves to avoid a child; consider whether a spectator would have been as helpless as the victim should their roles reverse. It is my understanding that we are all in peril at this moment, standing in the same field ablaze; If we do nothing, we might as well reveal the matchbooks in our pockets. To the posed conundrum I say— even if we are not active participants, the witnesses stand accused like co-conspirators if they have the power to act and do not. If the world burns it is because we allowed it. If the age of the shinobi does end sallowly, crushed between the gears of the tech revolution, let the last shuriken become like shrapnel— so that the futurists know we went out fighting, full of spite if not might. Digest our remains like fuel, so we might tear through the engines of progress like jet fuel. If that doesn’t work, then our successors will clog their tailpipes with more horse manure so the futurist might discover that they’re full of shit.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
​

Boarding the Mugen train was humbling for anyone who doubted the quality of the passenger experience. As the pair of Rei and Kaji meandered onto the train amongst a line of patrons, the latter shinobi was quietly judging every facet of the experience. With so much of his life spent seeking adventure under cloudy skies and star-filled nights on hills and trails, Kaji knew the intrinsic value of time spent deep within the lands not claimed by man. Yet, he could not easily deny the thrill of crossing a hundred miles in a day from the comfort of plush leather seating with a book in hand, and a cocktail on ice, glistening with the only sweat felt all day.

The sight of sidearms holstered on the attendants was a peculiar sight that didn’t escape Kaji’s attention either— though he wondered just how effective the staff might prove to be if complications should occur. He imagined the likelihood of potential trouble, what with the train riding overnight and remnants of the Tenouza efforts not entirely disbanded in the region.

Kaji was busy imagining the timing required to deflect a single gunshot when he and Rei were shown to their placements in the sleeping car. Stepping into the frame of the space last, Kaji wasn’t exactly surprised at how cramped it was, rather, the awkwardness presented by the scenario. The tickets were bought as a pair, so when Rei made an incredulous glance at Kaji, her nervousness didn’t hide from his insightful emerald orbs. The thankful words did not mask the anxiety induced by their cramped quarters either. “I really doubt my friend thought we’d end up in the same room like this” countered Kaji. He was still standing in the hallway as he spoke, and only entered long enough to drop his belongings on the bed. His face flushed red as he ruminated his first train ride years ago, back when he and that friend were still in a secret affair.

Picture an au pair in the heat of new passion; two shinobi on an S-rank mission entrusted by the great Lord Ayumu. They were in their prime. Kaji was only thirty-three, and still a leaf shinobi wearing a pin denoting his role as a diplomat entrusted by the Hokage. He was making googly eyes at Yuii, who was twenty-eight, and embracing her wild side whenever she was out of view from the posh and respectability required of her as a Sennin. The duo was on some high priority mission investigating the silence of a monastery known as Roaring Thunder, but in their insatiable phase of dating, found every possible moment to explore their intimacy. Flashing back to the present— the idea of any wishing well or send-off by his wife to such a familiar lodging, deliberately, was so suggestive that it made his stomach turn from the implications at hand. Were that the case, Kaji might as well had started checking every compartment and inside the mattresses for the inevitable bomb that was hidden. No, this was purely a coincidence.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
​

As foretold, the Mugen Train began to egress out of the train station in short order. The sound of the steam engine gaining strength and speed was uncanny with the windows cracked. Before long the golden hour of dusk waned and the night was upon the Mugen Train on its journey. The scent of coal smoke invited the hunger that was so absent from Kaji in the day, and his stomach flipped back into working order, pained. He settled into his bunk across from Rei. Awkwardly, he fought off the visions from the past brought on from every position he tried to sit or lay in on the bed.
“I overheard someone earlier saying that they are serving bentos in the dining car” he recalled, stirring from his seat and rising into the doorway. “I’ll go have a look around, ‘see if I can snag us a few.” The young attendants were coming and going but seemed much less busy once the day became night and many passengers turned in early. As Kaji slipped out of their room it might have seemed odd how eagerly he was to move alone, even leaving Eelspine behind on the bed.

With so much as a moment in Kaji’s absence, if Rei hadn’t hurried along with him, a faint glow emanated from Eelspine, shyly and tepid as if to not cause concern and raise alarm. The sword would subtly attempt to call for her attention with the power of mental suggestion, faintly asking for her curiosity. Still in its scabbard, the saber known by many names but famously as Eelspine was beyond the typical tool of war. It was highly enchanted, smithed deep within the earth by the mortal son of a god, and showed a lifelike essence; sentience, with a will and wishes of its own. Familiar with the ways and loyalties of shinobi, the sword was too careful to blatantly attempt to possess a talent like Rei… So it began the play carefully with that subtle whisper as if simply saying “notice me; powerful, beautiful, the tool with which you could carve your destiny.”

 

[Saitou Rei]

Their journey began rather unremarkably; anticipating cramped quarters and tight muscles, Rei had taken advantage of the daylight to familiarize herself with the order of the train cars and the faces dispersed throughout them. The crew was uniquely diverse in both age and nationality, though if she had to peg a majority she would say there were more Wind Country accents than otherwise. Having boarded at the train's northernmost stop, it was unsurprising that a handful of cars remained empty and more still sparse in their passenger count. The calm was nice - a rarity in public travel - yet she prepared herself that this would likely change upon their arrival at the station in Port Cirrus, and more so as they traversed the length of Hi no Kuni.

She'd found herself back in their shared room as darkness descended, she and Kaji both settled into their opposing bunks. As her senior tossed on his bed, Rei sought to occupy herself in the book she'd brought. The worn paper cover would reveal through its tears and scuffs some rather dated artwork of coyotes and a red desert sun, with the words A Desert Bestiary: Folklore, Literature and Ecological Thought from the World's Dry Places printed in white across the front. She'd long read into all of the official documentation she could get her hands on of Kaze no Kuni's flora and fauna, which was indeed limited in the mountains of her home. This paperback had been a serendipitous find in a used goods storefront in Port Kimikita on return from an assignment in the area. Despite its age and lack of exactitude, the Nanjirou had long been a believer in the value of knowledge that could be gained from stories and legends that were often absent in official reports and legal bestiaries; nuggets of truth that might prove too speculative or too incredible to prove valuable to anyone whose life wasn't on the line.

Her reading light was designed to be unobtrusive, yet Rei repeatedly found herself turning and repositioning so as not to bother her company that seemed to struggle to find peace in his bed. Thus her paranoia heightened as Kaji suddenly jumped from his place, though his mention of food eased her worry that she'd been the bother. Before she could protest that she wasn't hungry, he was gone. With a shake of her head, Rei returned to her reading. In the midst of an intriguing tale about the opportune behavior of the bat in the midst of an ancient war between beasts and birds, Eelspine would dare to interrupt her focus.

"Yes, I see you." Muttered under calm breath, slate eyes would glance over the top of the page to take in the weapon's glow. This was not the first time the kunoichi had taken note of Eelspine's musings, muted though they were to her as consequence of not being its wielder. It would not come in direct words as they would to Okada-san, but one would have to question the true heritage of a Nanjirou who failed to get the sense of a spiritual weapon's aura. Rei was admittedly at a disadvantage compared to her kin in this field, having been excommunicated from her clan upon leaving Konohagakure and not being raised in their complex, but the aura put off by Eelspine was not dissimilar to that of Daenerisu's grandfather's weapon, and with that type of bloodlust she was plenty familiar. "And yes, you are beautiful..." the words followed a swing of her legs over the side of her bed to face the sword head-on. Placing a hand to her mouth, she took in the beauty of its white arcadianite hilt and how it expertly housed the mithril saber adorned with foreign glyphs. Such a far cry this masterpiece was from her own ancestral weapon that she couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship, but the emeraldine glow of the gem in its hilt penetrated her thoughts with the strength of its owner's same colored gaze. "...and terrifying." She whispered as her hand hung in the empty space between them.


It would be no surprise, had Kaji been unable to get out of his own head and the images of the past that fought for his attention, if he missed a familiar figure at the bar top in the next one over from the dining car. At the room, should he return there, he'd be greeted with an empty space and the presence of Eelspine haphazardly covered with Rei's traveler's cloak. The book sat abandoned on the bed, set spine-up and open to the legend of the double-dealing bats.

 

[Okada Kaji]

Just like that, the peace and security of the quaint, cubby-like sleeping car were put to waste. It is my observation that the shinobi just don’t like peace and quiet. Must the warrior seek out an inhibitor, be that chaos, a busy room, or maybe the bottle of a bottle— anything to interrupt the quiet? Eelspine might have driven Rei out of that stifling little room, but what about the village she left behind? As for Kaji, a lifetime spent behind masks taught him how to hide his burdens well enough. The ANBU lived on a perpetual Halloween, so to speak… strolling in the dark with their tricks.

The constant thrum of vibration from tons of heavy metal careening down the railway made the Mugen Train feel as if it were a living creature. Within the sleeping cars, aptly named as they were, there was a sense of stillness and perfect silence. Privacy curtains in a deep shade of maroon waved softly, provoked by the gentle breezes from cracked windows and the cool night air. The dimmed overhead lights glowed in a tint of the setting sun and showed the way to a heavy iron door at the car’s end.

The iron portal was as much a barricade from the lasting bite of Momento Deo. The door’s heavy latch was frigid to the touch, and when it gave way, challenged the shinobi’s desires— just how badly did they want those bland in-service meals? With so much as a sliver of the door’s leeway into the night, the travelers were buffeted with wind, snow, and the thrill of darkness at high speed. The platform and guardrails between the cars felt meager at best and swayed softly as the great train moved through the night. Besides the adjacent iron door leading to the dining car was a sturdy-looking ladder leading to the roof of the cars. Caked with hard snow and ice, it invited the troubles of the mountain in a place where luxury and safety were found in every other direction.

Kaji was the first to crack open the door of what felt like another world. It was a fall into the lap of luxury, or some clandestine party as the dining car was especially lively that night. The old shinobi recognized that he had wandered in and found a blind tiger, local vernacular for an illicit type of bar that would have gone unapproved by the shogunate. The air was thick with cigar smoke, and patrons gathered at round tables with cards in hand and their bets stacked tall. But before Kaji could pass through that doorway and feel the warmth, a mountain of a man in a white suit and sharply squared shoulders formed a blockade. His sleeves were rolled into that ready-for-action look, and the taco meat was showing from his barreled chest through the low button of his red shirt. Working one’s attention upwards, they’d note his chin, square like a brick and likely just as hard, perpetually scowling with a jutting bottom lip. His nose was rigid and rectangular, likely flattened from a thousand fistfights, yet it managed to support the round sunglasses that he wore despite it being nighttime. His head craned down to look at Kaji and he hung there for a long moment before shuffling to his left just a step.
“George?” Kaji asked, looking the guard up and down as he stepped around him. It was probably in everyone’s best interest that the guard didn’t get the reference, comparing him to the white gorilla protagonist from Rampage.

The staff in that particular car were not like the crew seen previously in the day, in fact they weren’t even in proper uniforms befitting their stations. This was the meal car, Kaji had to remind himself, as he distinctly remembered it as such during their onboarding hours ago. If only to indulge in his former expectation, Kaji continued to the bar, which was as limited in space as expected onboard a train, but there were two seats available, so he indulged.
“Hey bartender, two Bentos, please” he called to the bartender, who notably wasn’t busy, just hanging back against the counter with a bottle labeled “Wodka” nestled between her black-tipped fingers. She was dressed in a dapper theme much like the doorman, with a collared red button-up under a black vestment and slacks that fit her frame well, showing off her curves.
“We’re out of bentos until the next stop” she answered sharply.
Looking at Kaji revealed her face in the car’s dim overhead lighting, pale-skinned in a light, sunless alabaster. The bags under her red eyes looked painfully puffy as if she never slept, and the beauty in the shape of her lips was ruined by dryness and cracking. A single lip ring on the right side did nothing to steal the attention aware from her lack of self-care and she knew it, so she too kept a perpetual scowl. Her hair was alabaster and unkept with wild flairs down to just above shoulder length. Two small horns protruded from her head in a polished black, prompting Kaji to briefly wonder about her heritage—the land of wind did produce some unique folk, after all.
“Oh too late for dinner, I see” lamented the shinobi, albeit insincerely. “I’m feeling a bit jittery from the cold, maybe a coffee to warm me up then?”
The bartender shifted her spiteful gaze at him again and squinted as if Kaji were working her last nerve. She said “we’re out of coffee too” and started twisting the loose cap off her bottle of wodka.
“Then what do you have?” The question accompanied Kaji’s sweep of the apparent bar’s shelf… aside from the assortment of booze, which was notably diverse with labels in languages from every corner of the land and some, even more, foreign… he noticed mechanisms for stowing the entire cabinet away beneath the bar with a sliding track.
The bartender didn’t answer with words and instead stared at him a moment. She set down the wodka, and instead turned around to take up a bottom of rum and round glass tumbler about four inches tall. She became meticulous suddenly and fished approximately four small ice cubes out of a cooler beneath the bar. Into a copper shaker went a heavy dose of black rum curated from crater city in the land of fire, the vigorous squeeze of two lemon wedges, and a helping of maple simple syrup. Watching her work, Kaji was certain that this creature was an example of some unproven universal law that all people were born with a purpose, and her’s was to craft cocktails.
By the time the drink was flowing into the tumbler Kaji was curious to have a taste and yet had to jest.
“What makes you think I wanted a drink drink?” He eyed her curiously and his lip creased a telling smile as he brought a hand onto the bar.
“Didn’t” the sable bartender answered crassly. But then those fire-red eyes shifted towards the door as Rei arrived, and there the orbs stayed focused until she finally blinked. “This temptation isn’t for you, buddy. it’s for your friend… it just so happens I always make extra.” Then the tumblers became a pair for the duo taking the midnight train to Suna.

“Hey Rei” Kaji called to her welcomingly. “The room got too quiet for your taste? Little did we know there was a whole speakeasy hidden on the train. How do we keep finding bars? It’s gotta be a curse.”

 

[Saitou Rei]

---

The Young Conductor's Cynosure

She had been the one thing that made his recent circumstances bearable. The porcelain-skinned beauty carried herself with such grace and poise that it left him wondering how they could possibly have come to share a profession that was so clearly beneath them both - though he was not so bold as to dare place himself in the same category as her. His name only carried him as far as the Wind's border, and it had been the only thing he'd known to ride until boarding this Mugen train clad in the beige uniform he despised. It reminded him of the desert and of the streets of Soons Haven where he belonged. It wasn't until the day their crew picked up the Lightning Country recruits from Raiden's Eye before the train's first test run and he saw her wearing it, raven hair flowing out from beneath the brim of the cap to keep her pale form from becoming completely swallowed up in the fabric's folds, that it became tolerable to his sight. Several weeks since that first test run had passed and though the foreign woman had proven to be quite reserved in that time, his affection had only grown; fostered by quiet moments in the crewmate's quarters when the passengers were asleep and they could let their guard down. Moments when the moonlight loaned a plum hue to her hair and the corners of her eyes pulled up with a hint of a smile as they talked, mostly consisting of her listening to his dreams of grandeur after completing his commitment to seeing to the success of the steam engine's maiden journey. Despite his attempts and inquiries, he'd learned admittedly little of his companion, but the mystery only served to draw him in all the more toward the hope of that pink-lipped smile breaking open to him one day.

So it came to pass on this particular evening that the young conductor - apprentice to the more experienced man currently at the engine's helm - made the last of his rounds and prepared to turn in, entrusting the night crew with their responsibilities until sunrise. He'd been delayed by the discovery that the dining car had run out of meals that evening, sending him on an anxiety-inducing goose chase to see if they had enough reserves to get them through before restocking in Port Cirrus. As such, it was strange to find himself alone in the crew's quarters when he finally made it there. It was long past time for his attendants to have clocked out and turned in, setting the already anxious conductor on edge. What had gone wrong now, he wondered. His first hint was directly in front of him across the car, a slight crack in the door that produced an ominous hissing sound from the rush of outside air. Cautiously, the red-headed young man made his way across the car and then across the platform that led to the luggage compartment. Meticulously stacked and organized rows of luggage sat largely undisturbed, save one row near the opposite door. The ropes used to tie them down had been broken and the contents spilled across the aisle, serving as evidence of little more than a faulty tie or a particularly rough turn on the track. At least, until he was met with the answer to the question of the disappearance of his crew there behind the belongings of strangers. Along the back wall of the car where they had once been hidden by the mountain of luggage were sat his attendants, bound and gagged and shaking their heads at him with muffled grunts.

Rushing to his staff, the man's head spun as he pulled the cloth free from his companion's mouth.

"Fukui-san, the conductor, he's been-"

The captive teenager's quivering sentence was drowned out by the familiar roar of wind and creak of metal as the door coming from the coal car careened open. Its closure made room for the feminine clack of uniformed flats preceding the arrival of his raven-haired crewmate. Thank goodness she's alright, Fukui Tenjin breathed internally. His relief was cut short by the immediate sight of two unfamiliar and threatening figures appearing behind the object of his one-sided love affair, inciting a moment of uncharacteristic protectiveness which led his hand toward the gun on his hip that he'd never cared for or thought much of other than in a pragmatic fear of an accident. Yet, before he could even remove the safety clasp, he found his amber gaze meeting the barrel of another's pistol - atop which sat the stoic glare of his porcelain queen.

"Naomi-chan..." His voice mirrored the tremble in his hand that had come to a full stop on the brushed metal grip of his holstered weapon.

Naomi's pink-lipped grimace betrayed the frost in her tone. "I'm sorry, Tenjin."

---

"A curse, eh? You know, you might be onto something there." Back in the bar, Rei made the admission with a thumb to her chin. A curious look at the bartender and the two ready drinks was short-lived as the kunoichi took a seat next to her travel companion. She had taken note of the discrepancies between the car as it was now and how she had observed it to be earlier that day, and also of the different uniform this portion of the night crew was wearing. She supposed it was late enough that it was to be expected that the time for dining had passed and settled on lifting the tumbler in cheers to the ivory-haired bartender and then to Kaji. A curse it may have been but with time she had found that, like gods, not all demons were created equal.

Surprise filled her face as the liquid reached her palate, both at the fact that Kaji must have taken note of her liquor of choice as well as by the rich flavors of the sweetened drink. Another look at the dour bar attendant would call into question for a moment to the uninitiated if this impeccable creation could come from such a sullen person, yet Rei supposed that was exactly the cost to perfect such a craft. "Well, that could be dangerous, having you so close by. Who would've thought you'd stumble across such talent on a train; my compliments." Truthfully she'd do better business in any of the ports than here in this hideaway train car, but Rei was in no position to complain. "Though I suppose my wallet ought to do a fine enough job of enforcing some self-discipline," she grinned at her self-deprecation as she retrieved enough coin to cover the drinks and then some.

Though seemingly unimpressed, Rei could feel the bartender's crimson gaze weighing heavy on her, not unlike the way she was sometimes stalked by her kaibutsu targets. Turning her attention to Kaji, Rei couldn't help but leave one eye and ear on the woman across the counter to see how she might proceed. "Sorry you didn't get your dinner; I've got some dried mango and banana in my bag back in the room if you want." She fiddled with her glass a moment before continuing. "Maybe in exchange you could tell me how you came across that sword of yours. It's quite the work of art, you don't see much like it nowadays."


As life would have it, Kaji would only have a few moments to respond how he saw fit and Rei to enjoy her vices before the evening that they had likely planned to put to bed sooner than later would throw them a curveball. A sound like a crack of lightning rang out from ahead of them, succeeded by the scattered shrieking of groggy passengers. Though the noise of the engine moving along the tracks and the barrier of steel doors dulled the clarity of the sound, those who were familiar with it would recognize it as gunfire coming from the train's helm. Rei was already at the door before the words left her mouth, anticipating her company would be similarly minded. "Never a day off, is there?"

 

[Okada Kaji]

Kaji eyed the contents of the low-ball tumbler. Those wise, tired eyes sussed the syrupy concoction. Rei’s easy-going aplomb encouraged Kaji to take the moment in stride and take up the glass. After all, they had each other to rely upon in the event there was some diabolical plot waiting beneath the slow melt of their ice cubes. The mere taste of the elixir sent his memory spiraling back to the crunch of hard ice under his boots. He was barely five feet high and working his way towards a tall tree with an ax in hand. Memories of a childhood working the hard lumber of Akatsuchi Hills, and the taste of fresh maple syrup on his gloves; bountiful tree’s blood. It was so good he wanted to pull the tender over the bar and plant a fat kiss on her cheek... but that was assault, so he settled with pink hearts flashing in his pupils for the span of a few racing thumps.
“How can this be… so good?” He hated that he loved it; sweet like nectar with a twist of sour citrus to carry it home.

The bartender softened her scowl only slightly, long enough for a smile to break through in lieu of two satisfied customers. But when she turned to feast her eyes upon her friend the doorman, he was distracted. In fact, something peculiar must have caught his attention as it challenged him to lurk out towards the unforgiving cold between the cars.

At the proposition of a healthier snack than the empty calories and liver disease promised by the bar, Kaji set down his drink and gave Rei a nod. “My sword?” His cheerful demeanor was dialed down instantly… The sword had been acting out, clearly upset with Kaji since their close call in Raiden’s throne room. Fighting with his fussy, egotistical, bloodthirsty sword was nothing new—but Eelspine knew better to provoke Kaji to the point of harassing his friends. Eelspine, the sentient weapon that was forged in a prophetic haze by a demigod following a divine command… While it was a saber for Kaji Okada, Eelspine, with a bit of honest difficulty, could take any sword design to suit its partner. The blade devoured souls like fuel to empower incredible work, and yet, at the end of the story… the last footnote in the legend of Eelspine would be: the living weapon with the spite of a vengeful ex-lover.

“Originally, it was a gift from my master when I completed my ANBU training” hinted Kaji as he leaned back from the bar. He fished a couple of yen out of a leather coin pouch on his belt just to the left of the harness that normally housed his sword’s scabbard. “All of the trainees in my Division got them though— accursed weapons called Kagestuchi’s instruments.” He watched Rei carefully as he spoke, wondering whether the idea of more Eelspine intrigued her or not, with the hope that the wicked blade could not persuade her. “There’s nine of them, but they’re not all swords… or even weapons in the traditional sense. “The worst one in my opinion was a bomb— or rather, turned you into one... over and over.” His mind reeled back to a distant day almost lost to time, and the sight of a shinobi who rapidly regenerated their arm after losing it from their own explosive jutsu. Needless to say, their sparring partner did not survive. “They said you could feel it every time you came back together again. “Excruciating pain.” Grimacing, Kaji pantomimed the instance of a hand regenerating, writhing his left and wiggling the fingers.

But then came that awful sound, the gun’s round, a clap like lightning— and the vengeful Raiden’s approving applause. Rei’s instincts were sharp, duty-minded. She moved several paces ahead of Kaji, who met the rush of passengers swept aside. The wily veteran was only near the middle of the car still. A stiff shoulder from some boorish man in a pin-striped triple-breasted suit in stone gray sent Kaji reeling. A sharp pain shot up through his thigh; the reminder of a greenstick fracture to his femoral shaft courtesy of the Rankiryu, the Primordial Storm. “... And never a dull moment” he answered Rei’s call to action with his own, but through gritted teeth.

Two shinobi, one bartender hiding behind her bar, and seven passengers became the focus of an attack that was sweeping through the Mugen Train. It commenced with the smash of a window. A metal canister was flung into the car through the made portal by a shadow in the dark. The round projectile spun through the room, the first of three, and commenced to fill it with a rapidly dispersing gas. Instinctually Kaji reported the “gas” and took a deep breath. He fiddled at his backside in a second-nature attempt to grab his lost Horn of Bataak… without it, the toxic gas would take them soon if Rei didn’t reveal some clever solution.

The door at the front of the car opened to Rei’s mere touch, and a pair of armed opponents were revealed through the haze, masked, with haunting green-eyed lenses. The assailants dared to accost Rei with martial prowess, revealing dense metal batons that pulsed with bright electric currents. Just a tap from their weapons would have floored any normal humans, but these were shinobi, and they came prepared. Every facet of their weaponry, battle dress, combat styles, and even the cyphered language they spoke since entering the dining car seemed to combat the shinobi. Two on two though, the pair of assailants would have met their match regardless in Rei and Kaji, but wisely, they chose to split the room…

The back door was not opened gently, rather it was beaten inward by the force of a man used as a battering ram. The once square-shouldered doorman in the clean white suit was stained red and thrown to the floor in a heap. His opponent had to bend forward to step into the car. The display of brutal strength would have riled screams out of the passengers if they weren’t all knocked unconscious by the gas. The massive specimen closed in towards Kaji, so eager to dominate his next opponent that you could see the clouds of gas being moved about by his respirator. Behind the brawler came a fourth assailant; this one moved passively, observing, scheming. Feeling noticed, he addressed the room, namely the two humans they had effectively isolated.
“Behold! Brothers and sisters… This locomotive has been chosen to take part in divine purpose.” The slim creature, a male, middle-aged by Kaji’s estimate, moved gently towards a woman who laid slumped on the floor. He bent low and stroked her cheek when taking a good look with those glowing green eyes. “But first it must be cleansed… We are but mere servants; hands to separate the wheat from the chaff. To feed the domain of our patron, Saint Moto Isamu, we, his holy knights, shall commit any indecency needed.”

There was no command as there was no need. The three knights were fast at work, joining in to assault the shinobi from the hidden cloud: targets they dedicated their lives to fighting. The largest combatant focused on Kaji to the rear of the car. He was fast; incredibly for his size, and came with hammer-like blows.

“Our intel was valuable… Two high-value targets were ripe for the taking, crossing the border. "Saitou Rei, the godslayer, was it?” His voice crooned through the smokescreen, taunting, and tinged with that mechanical effect of his respirator. His chuckle, sickly. “It appears you’ll meet your match just yet, godslayer.”

Amongst the broken fray, Kaji was fighting stubbornly without his fated sword. He dared to flash a kunai in the interim, but his foe had too much armor, let alone meat for anything short of Eelspine to cut down. He was taking a pummeling. “And Okada Kaji…” The shrouded, lean figure continued to taunt. “Former commander of the ansatu butai. It is your men, your ANBU who inspired this effective new strategy. Knights no longer wear suits of armor to combat the shinobi… you have the shadows, so do we… the elements? We’ve harnessed lightning… and weapons?” from the darkness of the haze flashed a muzzle and then came the bang as he took a shot at the unarmed Kaji. “Man has mastered the gun.”

 

[Saitou Rei]

​

This would only be one of several thousand combat scenarios the shinobi would experience in their tenure, and yet time would slow just as it always did. You know the kind; the consciousness-warping effect that allows the setter in your favorite sports anime to calculate a hundred angles and past experiences in the time that it takes the ball to leave the receiver's hands and land in his own. It'd be easy to clamor on about the artistic expression and dramatic effect making it unbelievable, but those who have really played understand: time simply works differently on the court. A fraction of a second can stretch on and become all the time he needs to find the perfect position, timing, and angle to score the point. In the same way, a shinobi familiar with the throes of the fight can attest to how their familiarity with the setting and type of decisions that need to be made allows them to see things more clearly at the moment. While the players rotate and tactics change, the truth is that the game is very much the same from one engagement to the next, boiling down to a series of rallies until match point.

They say the average rally lasts about seven seconds.


Receive.
Their opponent had started off strong, likely hoping to end this first rally with a powerful service ace. Even as Rei put her clan's famed Kensei-ryu stance to use in continually evading electrified blows from a twin pair of assailants, around her the cacophony that had erupted out of what had moments ago been peaceful bar banter began to separate itself out into individual targets.

Bang. The door to their rear being ram-rodded.

Shlunk. One of eight civilians crumpling into a panicked heap in a booth by a window.

Whoosh. Air tearing through the shattered windows as the train continued to press forward, unbothered.

Crack. An electrified baton making contact with her padded forearm. Possible fracture.

Hiss. Toxic gas filling the room despite the open doors and windows: the foremost threat.

The Nanjirou had yet to draw her blade. Before her stood the dilemma of how to disperse the gas while also being battered on all sides. For years she'd kept a gas mask in her deployment bag; yet in her moment of need, it would be resting quietly in her carry-on back in the room along with Eelspine. Not that it would have been a truly complete solution even if she'd had access to it; the fact remained that there were civilians in the way. There were too many canisters to contain it in one spot, and they were too spread out for her to separate civilians from cultists in a barrier defense. Kaji was scrambling against his own mountain of an opponent, absent of his weapon. The crooning of a deluded cult member who approached her partner began to oppress the clarity she'd had before. Her head began to feel like it might pop the longer she held that first hastily drawn breath. The ball was falling into their side of the court. She wasn't going to reach it.

.
.
.

Amidst the chaos, an idea in the form of a torrent of wind exploded where she stood. Wind Style: Cyclone Movement. At the moment that Kaji's attacker pulled the trigger he would find himself rocked by the dynamic pressure introduced to the room, his aim thrown completely off by that and the debris that began to fly past him and toward the cyclone. Rei's attackers and their instruments would be deflected, and perhaps on the surface that's all it would seem to do. "Running away again?" One of the Tenouzan might sneer. Yet there at the center of the vortex, what the kunoichi had created was a science lesson in the making. In the eye of the hurricane is not only quiet but also a low-pressure region just short of that of a vacuum. As the intensity of the winds outside strengthened, inversely the pressure where Rei stood plummeted. And as glass and other debris came flying in, so too did the gas throughout the cabin flood toward the two-square-foot region at the epicenter and away from the other passengers.

Of course, such a concentrated dose of what was likely something akin to Phosgene was undoubtedly lethal, and with no follow up this would serve as nothing more than a dramatic suicide play. "Oh, absolutely not." A voice from somewhere inside her boiled. A smirk crossed her face before finally drawing a deep, new breath. Instantly her windpipe burned and her lungs ached, her eyes watered and her nostrils were filled with the most unpleasant smell they'd ever encountered. For a moment, everything threatened to go black.


Set.
As the cyclone began to diminish, the Tenouzans who had targeted Rei approached. Yet before they could reach the Godslayer, they would be blown back by a direct shot of a powerful gust of wind toward the open door of the car. Wind Style: Wind Release. A few hand signs had infused the toxic breath in her lungs with chakra and expelled the mixture out of her mouth in a densely concentrated blast as if she had become some sort of poison-breathing dragon. One attacker was flung straight through the open door, along with the remains of the toxic fumes. Approaching the disoriented second, whose frame and build was not dissimilar to Rei's but their gender obscured by the mask, she finally drew her sword - but not for them.

Kaji's predicament had not escaped her attention, and the absence of gas did not mean there was no longer a threat to the passengers. "Behind the bar!" Rei hoarsely called to those who could still move. She felt the Tenouzan approach and turned to defend. Sparks flew as the electrified baton connected with the carbon steel blade, sending shockwaves up her arms. Even as the two continued to trade blows, the thunderous pummeling of the mountain man engaged with Kaji rallied for her attention. Eventually, her opening came and she feigned a block before leaning in to grab the cultist's elbow and spinning to throw them toward the man with the gun.

The sound of steel clattering on the floor preceded Rei's appearance beside Kaji, though the hand that reached out in front of them to catch the next blow would seem unfamiliar to the ANBU. It was hers, yet mutated and crystalized, and notably larger than before. "I don't think they gave us a fair match-up; wanna trade?" Another look would reveal the kunoichi having undergone a partial transformation, her eyes bloodshot from the gas and jawline encased in some sort of bone-like mask that spread up from her collar bone and down her arms. It was spectacularly monstrous. Of course, there was no time for questions.

Whether out of guilt for what had transpired earlier with Eelspine, who could say. But whatever the case, whatever condition Kaji presently found himself in, he would find at his feet Sofu Ken - Rei's ancestral weapon, pulsing with energy.

A toss to the ace.

An opportunity for them to take the momentum of the rally back with a Spike.

 

[Okada Kaji]

A more steady hand didn’t exist in all the Lowlands of Kaminari when Prelate Motoyasu leveled his pistol at a target. Among the Holy Knights of Tenouza, his marksmanship held renown beyond his station. His chest bore dozens of four-pointed kunai pins denoting his kills, and in faraway drinking halls, there were stories for each one. So, as the proud Motoyasu set his barrel pointing dead center between the eyes of Kaji Okada, a hungry snarl spread cheek to cheek as he pulled the trigger. He dared to dream lucidly of fame and glory in the fraction of a second that his bullet passed through the rail car. His puckered lips graced the golden rings and shriveled fingers of the Pope, paying no heed to the parched skin and long crusty nails yellowed by jaundice. It was a ceremony honoring his service in their campaign, where his body of work would finally be recognized. Perhaps more lofty was his desire to have the attention of Madame Nikkia, to whom he lusted after as an unabashed simp.

Alas, the veteran knight had yet to encounter foes as deadly as that wandering pair… and the bullet destined to mark a fine point in his legacy sailed wide right in a powerful gale. There was no glory to be found in clipping a shock of hair from a man’s head. Of course, the marksman would find another chance, but before Motoyasu could make the attempt he was swept into the cyclone that had the car quaking. “The shinobi are using their evil magic to oppress the divine will of Moto Isamu.” It was a strange, zealous warcry from Motoyasu as the cyclone buffetted him. His slender form coasted to one side as he was knocked off balance into a closed cabinet. “Seige Engineer Hogai…” He shouted in an exaggerated call that caused the hulking knight to pause in his assault— “Burūto.”
​

B L O O D​

So much has been done to the undeserving sympathizer in the name of a cause. It is from oppressed people that the truest heroes, and monsters, arise. Just as Motoyasu had said prior, the holy knights would commit any indecency needed. But these indecent means lead to atrocious ends. The truth has its way of poking through the veils of deception. In service to the holy knight’s mission, a young altar boy was made a soldier, and from there, molded into a monster.

On command— a simple word translated to mean blood, the appointed Seige Engineer began to show the truth of the Tenouza’s atrocities through his very veins. There was indeed a young man within the flexing mountain of pulsing muscle that was Hogai. His complexion was a sunless pale, peeking out with bulging blue veins wherever his uniform ripped, failing to contain his bulging physique. A grey, fox fur ushanka covered his head with a gas mask hiding the saliva and tears trailing from his warcry. How can a man driven by the tenants of faith use it to justify sin? To falter on one’s own principles, those learned through devout worship, in the persecution of another... when judgment is not their own to give, but God’s. Hogai was in fact a tender-hearted man at his core— one who answered the call of the common man’s plight against the domination of the men given the gift of chakra. Sending crushing blows against an old man like Kaji or the doorman did not resonate with Hogai. His green lenses were foggy with condensation as he became the monster punching down… But then came Rei, who spun the violence of nature about to toss his comrades like ragdolls. It was then that he knew he was right to crush the shinobi, as only that act would bring him redemption in the eyes of Saint Moto Isamu. He would have to eliminate Rei Saito or sacrifice himself in the attempt as penance.

It appeared as if the latter was much more likely though if the fate of the twin Men-At-Arms was an indicator. A tornado of phosgene smog gathered to a dagger point and drove the first of the two baton-men backward in a fast sweep. His name was Sojuro, the first Tenouzan casualty in their fast-foiling train raid. He was taken airborne and slammed against the forward car, blacking out on impact before slumping to the ground in a heap. The second twin felt her boots turn heavy with the weight of shattering resolve. She even had a chance to strike the kunoichi over her back as she retreated across the dancefloor of battle, but fear pulled the baton back like a tangible force. “Soji—” gasped the twin sister. She was Yumeji; the older by twin by fifteen minutes, but always it was always Sojuro who had to lead their charges into a fray. Now it was Sojuro who likely died first, or would soon enough if their mission failed. The mere idea of trying to fight those monsters without her twin left her frozen at the foothills of a mountain impossible to climb.

“Do not let your brother’s demise go in vain, Yumeji,” Came that hungry voice of Motoyasu as he moved around the conflict with a wide birth. Reloading that pistol of his, appeared that he’d try to use the distance from the shinobi to make clean shots. Seeing him had Yumeji ready to flee by his side— she had thoughts of collecting her brother and making a break for the ladders. “Attack!” Motoyasu screamed at her to ignite some guttural instinct in Yumeji reinforced by grunt training. She screamed in turn and charged at Rei. Her baton swings became wild, poorly aimed and desperate until a well-timed parry left her off balance and taken in a grapple. The throw sent Yumeji plummeting back towards Motoyasu, who reached with an open hand— not to catch her but to deflect her with a sudden burst of vibrating force. The Mugen train groaned from the sudden warping of gravity around the Holy Knight Prelate. Perhaps the only artifact resembling a true knight on Prelate Motoyasu was this glove, which resembled a metal gauntlet from the fingers to the elbow. It appeared heavy and cumbersome for the frail man, yet it boasted a power rare amongst even the most powerful shinobi. With ease, he threw Yumeji down, and something sharp caught her in the forehead on the fall, resulting in a flash of red on the floor. Reeling back a step, Motoyasu tore the mask off his face with that same devious hand. He let out a sharp sigh, unleashing misty vapor. “So it goes… The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.”

Meanwhile, the swelling had Kaji fighting through one emeraldine eye as he continued squaring off with the monstrous Hogai. There was some fortune to be found in a familiarity with Hogai’s combat style, one with roots in the land of earth, grounded and strong. However, the bulking power of that strange technique, the Burūto, left Hogai encumbered and slower than his base form. Attempting to counter the heaving blows from Hogai left Kaji cutting beneath the solar plexus, gradually widening what cuts his kunai could manage against that metal-dense flesh. With another slice, Kaji stabbed the kunai but it snagged, leaving him exposed. Striking down, the impact of Hogai’s Ikkotsu (Single Bone), a hook with the fist taking the density of a battering ram, physically pressed Kaji Okada back and down to a knee. Kaji spat up blood to clear his airway as he dropped down, narrowly missing Sofu-ken; it was then that he felt an unfamiliar aura.

Winding back, Hogai drew both brightened hands for the Sōkotsu (Double Bone), but Rei intervened in her crystalline transformation to challenge the strength of Hogai, catching both blows to a stop.

The carbon steel katana known as Sofu-ken was almost awkward in the hand of Kaji when he collected it from the floor. As beautiful as it was, the Saitou heirloom posed a challenge in his grasp, and the sensation of a spirit that was not the bound souls of Eelspine brought a profound warmth to his bosom. Lacking the necessary ancestry to easily connect to the spirit of Hayate Nanjirou, Kaji merely felt the presence— the honor of being welcomed by the blade.

“You would sacrifice your comrades— your dignity— for what... to commandeer a train?” Kaji’s voice brought pause to Motoyasu, leaving him with his gun pointed squarely, and Kaji slowly taking the stone’s throw, a low-postured drawing stance. “No... to capture or maybe kill us? Is it really within the tenants of your faith to hate us for having the gift of chakra?”
“The shinobi still think this is about chakra?” The vitriol in Motoyasu’s voice was so potent his spit became like venom. “The chakraless exist as chattel in this land. Faceless servants to fill the backgrounds of the shinobi’s grand narrative, so stunted of basic rights and opportunity. “While killing you will be memorable… this locomotive is full of wealthy ex-patriots looking to flee from the judgment falling upon their capitals… bellies and pockets fat. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” It was more than a taunt when Motoyasu lifted his gauntlet-covered hand then, as it was more like a promise. If his team could not take the train, he would use that gloved weapon like a gravitational bomb to derail it. And the shinobi were the monsters to the Tenouza.

wc 1570​

 

[Saitou Rei]

So this was the power of the so-called Blood Church. Even with the aide of the Kaibutsu transformation, Rei's forearms tremored under the force of the Sōkotsu; the earlier blow to her ulna could prove troublesome if this engagement stretched on for too long. Hogai's hatred and determination flowed visibly threw his veins as his strength threatened to crumple the kunoichi. She trusted she could best him easily with a more complete transformation, but doing so in such cramped quarters proved too high a risk to the others in the car. As she wrestled with her next steps, in the reflection of her opponent's green lenses Rei could see the crimson pool of Yumeji's life begin to spread across the cabin floor, given a soundtrack by Motoyasu's continual crazed crooning. An eager subordinate tossed down so easily by the man they'd followed into battle, and for what? And yet Hogai's pressing continued.

"Hey… your boss… he just killed your friend… for no good reason." Rei's voice was rough, throat scarred by the intake of poison. But there was vitriol that dripped off each word that escaped her curled lip. "Don't you care?!" The hoarse scream was brought within inches of the knight's masked face, spittle spreading across his goggles and obscuring its reflection. Hogai responded with one step back; torn? Conflicted? No sooner did he give relief to the kunoichi's arms than he charged forward with another Ikkotsu to the head, sending Rei reeling backward and landing flat on her back on the train floor.

Meanwhile, as Kaji fidgeted with the grip on the Nanjirou's ancestral weapon, the warm presence the veteran ANBU had keenly sensed began to grow. Though they shared no lineage and Kaji's techniques would need to be his own, the truth was that the shinobi was not alone. Though the samurai clan is famed for their ability to tune into the past lives of the souls bound to their blade to make its wielder a formidable foe with the knowledge and skill of a multitude of generations, what could it make of a man who had that on his own? A man that didn't need to be used by the blade, but proved an equal partner to it? For the first time as Kaji held Sofu Ken the violet-purple hue that was usually reserved for Saitou Rei's eyes as she channeled her Nanjirou spirit instead enveloped the blade itself, pulsing with life energy and ready to defend its wielder to the end.

---

---

Back in the luggage car, a similar scene had unfolded as blood bathed the floor. Fukui Tenjin was being held by the crewmate who'd tried to warn him, a torn piece of his beige uniform wrapped tightly around Tenjin's forearm to stop the bleeding from where his love had shot him.

"You getting soft, 'Naomi-chan'?" Mocked the voice of one of the Tenouzan infiltrators. He was a tall man, his bald head covered with a fur-lined cap that failed to cover several scars that traveled from eyebrows to temple. "I wonder if Nikkia would be pleased to hear--"

"That's Madame Nikkia. Know your place, Takeru. And there's nothing to worry about, he's been dealt with. Focus on getting the mission done and not on the small fries, shall we? It sounds like Motoyasu-san has the shinobi occupied for now. Let's not squander the opportunity he's made for us." The woman's tone was absolute, and the ice in it sent chills down both men under her command. They muttered a simple yes-ma'am before moving to the opposite side of the car. She tapped with her flat-clad toe around certain sections of the wood flooring before eventually being greeted with an echo. "Kenjiro, here." At that, the second man stepped forward, a hairy beast of a specimen whose beard was braided down to his stomach. He wound his arms back in a familiar formation, his veins pulsing with the same energy as Hogai before slamming down to open a hole in the floor. The captive crew sat in shock, certain that this would be the end of them. Yet the expected gush of air did not follow, and instead 'Naomi' gently lowered herself into the hole her companion had made while pulling a key out of her hair bun.

Down in the darkness of the lower compartment, the smell of sweat and urine mingled in an ungodly perfume that clung to the wooden frame. It's a wonder the passenger's bags didn't reek already. As the woman's eyes adjusted as she half-crawled in the cramped space, she could see a single stream of light pouring in from a small hole in the wall. On closer inspection, there was blood and skin to serve as evidence that it had been scratched out by a desperate hand. Beneath its gaze was the figure of a man with greasy black hair that framed either side of his pale, clammy face. Between them, a cage of steel bars kept the man captive. Sitting on the bare floor, the prisoner looked up at his visitor knowingly.

"Well hello, gorgeous. Sorry, I'm not quite prepared for visitors - have we made it to the desert already?"

"Terushima Ittetsu. You're wanted for questioning on orders of His Holiness Pope Iano."

A nasty grin spread across the prisoner's face. "Tsk, that's cold. I really hoped for something more like, 'Oh Tetsu-kun, how could they do this to you? I've missed you, I'm here to save you!' Anyway, kind as the offer is I'm not big on religious figures you see. Afraid I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request, Shuu-chan."

"It wasn't a request." The Tenouzan woman replied flatly as she used the key she'd taken from the conductor and unlocked the prison door. As a scheming look entered the prisoner's eyes and his lips poised for a witty retort, he would find no time to form it as Shuu quickly connected an electrified baton with his neck. "It'll make this much easier for both of us if you're unconscious, Tetsu-kun."

"Time to go," Takeru's voice sounded from above. "We haven't gotten the signal from Motoyasu-san. They should be done by now, and if they're not, that means…"

"That it's time to go, you're right." The raven-haired woman agreed as she handed off their unconscious target to Kenjiro. "The success of our mission is not dependent on theirs. What happens to the shinobi is up to them."

---

---

The blood of her academy friends painting the grass of Konoha red.
Kenshin and the rest of the Ishi clan fighting on the day of the attack.
Masks of the ANBU, murderers, staring down with empty eyes.
A Hokage thrusting his blade through the heart of a child - his own kin.

Memories of that day came in a blurry array as Rei lay in the warmth of Yumeji's spilt blood. She turned to look at her fallen foe, the smell and taste of iron making her mad. Why now? No, much as she rather not think of it, the connection was obvious. They were all the same. Shinobi villages, zealous cults, political parties. Disgusting. As she rose to her feet, Hogai approached to complete the Sōkotsu he'd failed before. As she stared down the young mountain of a man, she felt it - the rage that had been swallowed by grief back then, further suppressed by a naïve refusal to let go of hope. She felt it in all of its agonizing glory.

As Hogai swung wide, so too did Rei - putting on a beautiful show until the very last moment before ducking under his wide arm and sneaking up to grapple him around his neck and arm, locking her leg with his and throwing it back to utilize the larger man's momentum to her advantage, sending both monsters to the ground. There on the floor, splattered in crimson, they could have an even battle. They went back and forth for some time, fighting for dominance. Then finally, as Hogai managed to position himself over her and when the momentum of the rally seemed decidedly in his favor as he raised his colossal fists over her head, Rei threw her legs upward and around his neck and shoulder - trapping him in a triangle choke. Without hesitation, she began to squeeze as hard as she could, pulling his trapped arm down to crush his jaw against his shoulder or cut off his air supply - whichever came first.

​

Under the tremendous pressure of the grappling monsters, Hogai's gas mask gave against the pressure and broke away, revealing gritted teeth and drool. 'Almost…' With all she had, Rei threw her full force into the choke. And as Hogai squirmed and struggled to slip out of her grip, his jaw twisted and moved unnaturally sideways, he moved enough to get most of his head out before she tightened her hold - finally cracking those green-lensed goggles. And there atop agonized grit teeth were a pair of distraught, conflicted, and tearful eyes. Tear-stained cheeks transformed a monster into a man, even a child. The story of regret, pain, and conflict shone brightly in his eyes. In shock, Rei dropped her hold and as Hogai fell backward scrambling for breath it was all she could do to stare at the pitiful knight.

They were all the same, their systems of power.
They were all the same, the people manipulated by them.

She had never understood the new Tenouzan ideology. They scorned shinobi as the children of the Youngest Son who used the Father's blood to control the elements, the sinful son who sought power. Yet all the while they were secretly cultivating the blood technique of the Eldest Daughter whose curiosity had led to humanity's downfall. The Daughter and Son were the same after all and both beloved creations of the Father. How could either be seen as evil by the other? Hadn't that been humanity's only virtue even in their sin, that they protected their kin? How had they sunk so low?

"You must become a warrior to protect the lives of those under you…" The words from the creation story told in the Tenouzan's Holy Fukuin started as a whisper in the chaos of the train, but Hogai would hear them. What would he make of a heretic and a foreigner quoting his Scripture? "…and lead them against the many threats of this world…" As tears flowed down her own face to match her opponent's, her crystalline jawline and arm casing receded back into the singular point on her chest. She had left herself entirely vulnerable before her enemy. It would be an easy thing for Hogai to complete his mission here and now. She entirely expected him to. But before he could, he would see Rei's tearful grey eyes shift to look at Yumeji at Motoyasu's feet. "…even if those threats were once your kin."