Ninja Vs Samurai (Part 1) Read online

Musashi

  Miyamoto Musashi stood in the observation room of the House of Fire. He was in a state of total disbelief. Lord Sato Okinaga was a shaken man, but he still commanded respect. When he spoke, people listened.

  Ito Isamu delivered the message himself.

  Every rational bone in Musashi’s exhausted body knew it was ludicrous for Isamu to have delivered his own death note. So why did Lord Sato sound so believable?

  Musashi had so many questions. If Ito Isamu was dead, how did he deliver the message? Why did he come here? What the hell was going on?

  Musashi began to suspect Lord Sato had lost his mind.

  “Lord Sato, I mean no disrespect, but how is that possible? How did he deliver the message if he was already dead? And why would Isamu come here?”

  Okinaga was not listening. He had moved to an open window, his eyes moving back and forth surveying his surrounding property. The House of Fire was a fortress. The topography of the terrain made it impossible for any army, including the Shogun’s army to invade, giving the residence a security that was unmatched.

  To add to this, the massive stone wall that surrounded the entire property included four sentry towers, one at each corner. Tonight those towers were ablaze as the Sato Samurai stood guard, having lit up a multitude of torches. Their orders had been simple: create as much light as possible.

  The effect was brilliant. The flames had lit up the entire residence. The immaculate gardens within the walls were clearly visible. No one was getting in here tonight without Lord Sato knowing about it.

  Despite all these measures, Lord Sato was still visibly unnerved. Musashi could not comprehend what had scared such a powerful man.

  One of the Samurai walked over to Okinaga. “Please move away from the window Lord Sato. The Shogun has used snipers before. And the Immortals…”

  The guard trailed off, too afraid to voice his fears.

  Okinaga turned around and faced the room. “We must act now, before it’s too late,” he said addressing his loyal Samurai. “Musashi,” he said, “Is it true what they say? Were you once a Kensei?”

  Musashi bowed his head. “My Lord, I was very young. I am no longer worthy of that title. I broke the Kensei laws. I was exiled. I have not been part of that world ever since. And the Kensei order is no more.”

  Lord Sato laughed. “Once a Kensei, always a Kensei.”

  The walls of Musashi’s memory began to crumble as he remembered his time as a Kensei warrior and why it had to end. His eyes became distant as the memory returned to haunt his life once again.

  Musashi’s mind reeled back to that day he found himself standing in his father’s dojo. He was only fourteen.

  “What are you doing back here?”

  Musashi locked eyes with his father, Miyamoto Tessai. It had been almost a year since he had run away from home and met Ito Isamu. He was now a Kensei warrior, the youngest ever to obtain the legendary status. His knowledge of the martial arts far surpassed his father and yet he still cowered in his presence. It felt like a lifetime since he had seen his father. He did not know it was possible to hate someone this much, after all this time.

  “I want to see my mother,” Musashi said, his voice wavering.

  “She does not want to see you,” Tessai replied sternly. “And I don’t want you here.”

  Musashi never took his eyes off his father. He could sense the walls of the dojo closing in.

  “Where is she?” he tentatively demanded.

  “None of your damn business,” Tessai fired back. “We don’t want you here. Now leave before I raise my sword.”

  Musashi felt his pulse quicken. He knew his father wouldn’t hesitate to hurt his only son.

  He flirted with the idea of lashing out but since becoming a Kensei, Musashi had learnt to control his anger. The teachings of Ito Isamu echoed in Musashi’s head: use your powers for self defense only.

  Dejected and longing to see his mother, Musashi had given up hope. Just as he was about to leave, a scream of pain pierced through the walls of the dojo.

  “Mother!”

  Musashi pushed passed his father and ran in the direction of the scream. He ran outside the dojo and towards the house where he had grown up. He slid open the door and ran down the corridor to his parents room. What he saw inside would be forever burned into his memory.

  His mother was on her knees, semi-conscious. She was bruised and bleeding. Her hands were tied above her head with a rope hanging from the ceiling. Standing over her was a man he had never seen before.

  A rage erupted inside Musashi, giving him strength he did not know he possessed. He rushed towards the man pushing him into the wall.

  The man was not impressed. “Who the hell are you? Get out of here!”

  Musashi ignored him. A wooden stick that lay on the floor had seized his attention. It was covered in blood. He held the stick up and advanced towards the man.

  “Is this my mother’s blood?” Musashi asked his voice disturbingly calm.

  The man could see the rage in Musashi’s eyes. He backed up against the wall. “You... you don't understand.”

  Before the man could answer, Musashi whipped the wooden stick across his face, splattering blood on the wall. Musashi cried out, bringing the stick down multiple times, crushing the man’s face into a pulp.

  Somewhere in the distance he could hear his father’s giant footsteps pounding down the corridor, coming closer and closer. “Musashi!” he roared.

  Musashi was kneeling over the disfigured corpse of a man he did not know. Blood and sweat dripping from his face. He felt like an animal protecting its kill as he heard his father’s call.

  Normally he would’ve been scared. But at that moment, as he sat kneeling, covered in someone else’s blood, all he felt was anger. The voice of Ito Isamu repeated inside Musashi’s head urging him to be merciful. Everything he had learnt from the Kensei Masters pleaded for control. But it was too late. Hate had consumed him.

  “Father!” Musashi fired back, as equally ferocious. “What have you done?”

  The footsteps stopped.

  Musashi stood, and faced the entrance to the room, blood dripping from the wooden stick still in his grasp. His father was standing in the doorway, sword in hand.

  He could see his father’s eyes take in the crimson scene before him.

  “You shouldn’t have come back here, Musashi. Your mother deserved this. She was unfaithful.”

  “I know you’re scared father,” he replied ignoring his father’s explanation.

  “You do not understand, son.”

  Musashi looked at his father, taking pity on him. “You are unwell. A sickness has spread through your body. You cannot be cured.”

  “A sickness? What the hell are you talking about? Who do you think you are? You were warned about coming back here,” he threatened as he raised his sword. “Now, you will accept the consequences of your actions.”

  He charged forward, shouting as he did, slicing his sword down wildly.

  Musashi stepped to the side and watched the sword move harmlessly through the air before cutting deep into the wall. The sword was stuck.

  With blinding speed, Musashi brought the wooden stick down, smashing his father’s hand. Tessai let out a cry of pain and instantly released his grip on the sword. He tried to move away from his crazed son as he held his twisted and broken hand but it was too late. Musashi delivered a bone crunching strike to his knee.

  Tessai fell to the floor.

  Musashi stood over his father, adrenalin coursing through his veins. He could see the horror in his eyes, the realization that he was about to die. The moment had finally come.

  “Please, son. Spare my life,” Tessai pleaded as he tried to crawl away. “I do not want to die.”

  Musashi was not listening. He tightened his grip on the blood-covered stick and flogged it across his father’s face, splitting his cheek open, exposing his jawbone and teeth.

  Tessai had never been in so much pain. He di
d not believe his own son was capable of such punishment. He prayed for death.

  “In order to kill you father, I have to become you. I have to be every bit as evil,” Musashi said, as he dislodged his father’s sword from the wall.

  Moving over to his mother, he raised the sword above his head. With both hands he sliced downward. Using the skill and precision of a Kensei warrior he cut off his Mother’s head. Unlike her life, her death was painless.

  Musashi dropped the sword on the ground and moved over to his father. “Your death will not be so honorable.”

  The voice of Lord Sato Okinaga brought Musashi out of his waking dream, his heart beating loud in his head.

  “Musashi? Are you all right?” Lord Sato asked.

  For a second Musashi felt dizzy and faint. “I’m… I’m fine.”

  “You looked like you were in a different world.”

  Musashi took a few deep breaths in an attempt to regain his composure. He was only thirteen years old when he was inducted as a Kensei. The old Masters, including Ito Isamu knew that Musashi was unusually gifted. He possessed an understanding of the martial arts that was unparalleled. His skill with a sword was phenomenal.

  The most amazing thing about Musashi however, was not his flawless technique but rather his lack any formal training. It was all natural. Every ounce of his ability was derived from deep within himself. He had never been schooled in the way of the sword or any martial art. His father had refused to teach him.

  It was simply unheard of for someone as young as Musashi with no training or instruction from anyone to become a Kensei.

  But Musashi had given up that life long ago. He had been a Kensei for only a short time.

  He had been banished for killing his father and breaking the rules of self defense. Soon after Musashi had been banished, the Kensei order was outlawed by the Emperor. And there were rumors that the surviving Kensei were now being hunted and killed by the Dark Shogun. At any rate, as far as Musashi was concerned that part of his life was over.

  “I fail to see why this matters?” Musashi finally responded.

  A glimmer of hope flashed in Okinaga’s eyes. “We may have a chance with a Kensei among our ranks,” he said, confidence returning to his voice. “Will you protect us?”

  Musashi was surprised by the question. Lord Sato had an entire army of loyal Samurai at his disposal and he was safe from the Shogun’s elite as long as he stayed within the walls of his fortress. Why did he want the protection of one man? “You don’t need me,” he said.

  “I know the power of the Kensei,” Okinaga continued. “I have witnessed it firsthand. We need your help Lord Musashi.”

  Lord?

  There was that word again. Musashi had not been called Lord by someone of Sato Okinaga’s rank in such a long time. It almost felt wrong. Musashi weighed up his options. He didn’t seem to have a choice. If anyone attacked the residence he would fight. Like Kojiro had said, it was in his blood. “If you need my help,” he said reluctantly. “I will oblige.”

  Okinaga and his Samurai smiled.

  “But I have my price.”

  Lord Sato laughed out loud. “A Kensei mercenary! I never thought I’d see the day.”

  Musashi failed to see the humor.

  Okinaga could hardly contain his excitement. “Musashi, you will be compensated justly. You have my word.”

  “Compensation is not necessary. I just want to know what the hell is going on.”

  “Of course,” Okinaga said eager to please Musashi. “All your questions will be answered immediately.”

  The two men bowed to each other, sealing the agreement.

  “Now follow me,” Okinaga said. “Ito Isamu wishes to speak with you.”

  Musashi froze. “Excuse me?”

  Lord Sato locked eyes with Musashi. “Ito Isamu is waiting for you.”

  Musashi furrowed his brow in confusion. “I thought you said he was dead.”

  “He is,” Okinaga answered bluntly.

  “How is this possible?”

  “Like I said,” replied Lord Sato. “I have witnessed the power of the Kensei firsthand. And Ito Isamu was a powerful Kensei.”