“Chasing shadows?”
The Demon peers to the floor to find a long shadow cast from behind him. He follows it as it recedes back to the figure that cast it, but looks over his shoulder instead so as to maintain his upright and ready position. Even as the figure stood in the corner of his periphery, he recognized who it was. He turns to see that the door to the headman’s balcony had been opened wider, allowing a wide beam of bluish moonlight to enter
along with a great evil.
Even as a silhouette, he recognizes the armor’s figure to be the one worn by his attacker a few nights ago; the scar on his shoulder healed completely by now, but the memory remains as fresh as dew drops on blades of grass at dawn. But more than that, the beak of his menpō cast aside all doubt.
Yasu. He thought as he moved away from the door in a slow fashion and toward the end of the room closest to him. The Demon meticulously shuffles his feet sideward, keeping the enemy in his sights while maintaining a balanced torso and a steady resolve on his way to where the moonlight meets the shadow, remaining in the latter and standing mere inches away from the former.
Like a shadow, Yasu mirrors him in this movement, carrying his naginata and moving opposite of him in unison. Rather than stopping in the shadows, he freely enters the realm of the light. It is there where he situated himself. Receiving the moon’s full blessing, the details of his suit came into full view. The armor he wore was much older, evidenced by its box-like shape. More than that, his had a wider shoulder guard that catered to the samurai’s defense against arrows at a time when horseback combat was more prominent, compared to the newer kind of armor that clung onto the figure of the arm to serve them better as they battled on foot. His helmet was designed with a profound fukigaeshi and had a gold ornament on top that resembled a crescent moon. Unlike the warriors that sat below him in rank, he bears no emblem on his cuirass. Instead, his menpō was designed to have a crow’s beak in lieu of the usual scowl. The Demon’s gaze traced the decorated warrior’s figure loyally like a tear trickling down a cheek. Though he may be situated in the shadows, enlightenment was not out of his reach.
“Flowers prosper under a yellow sun. Murderers prosper under a blue moon,” The Demon lifts his sword to point its tip at his opponent, “Lord Homura.”
Such a show of wit had, if but for a moment, cracked his stern resolve. From behind his beak, his lips curl into a smile. Tremors sent his shoulders to quake, the cracks growing far worse when the deafening silence was replaced by his chuckle.
“The sun’s absence did not deter you from rising when your liege lord called to slay those voyagers.” Homura lifted his head, setting his sights across the room and toward the thorn on his side. “And as I recall, it did not deter you from taking your liege lord’s head either.”
“He was no liege lord of mine.”
“Masahiko was Ataru’s heir.” Homura corrected, allowing his polearm to tip and point towards the window. “Blue moon beams passed through the windows of the castle that night, they even reflected off the blade of your sword.”
The Demon’s katana, as if privy to Homura’s remark, shied away from the moonlight that seemed to creep closer toward them.
“The blood I shed are that of my enemies,” Homura continues, thrusting his index finger across the room, “your blade bathes in dishonor.”
“Your talent in weaving tall tales is unmatched.”
“My memory serves me right. Can you say you have done the same for your liege lord?”
“Blind judgment can cast no chains.”
Homura shook his head, “The moon sees all, especially that which we wish to hide from daylight, Miyahira Hisashi.”
Hisashi’s grits his teeth from behind closed lips.
Moon beams push further into his position, vanquishing the shadows within which he stood. However, before it could, he made sure to return his katana into the scabbard, cradling it closely at his side. Hisashi lifts his head just enough for his hat to clear away. The light reveals his eyes, just as they reveal his opponent’s, rendering their masks as moot. Yielding to the moon’s presence, Hisashi steps forth and allows himself to bathe in its illuminating light. The Demon of Kumitsukawa comes into full view, and he approaches with the same mastery of his own balance, just as he did moments ago. The Blue Moon follows suit, mirroring the other’s movements to close the gap between them. Both warriors reach their marks, just one step short of the room’s center. Hisashi widens his stance, bringing his sword’s handle closer to allow his right hand to rest upon it; his left thumb pushes the handguard to eject the sword slightly forward. Lord Homura lifts his naginata from the ground at long last; he tips the bladed end to the ground with his left hand and slides his right to the butt of the polearm, activating a low guard achievable through the gedan-no-kamae stance.
“I suppose I should thank you,” says Yasu, “for ridding my fief of filth in preparation for my return. Ataru and his son were vermin. All that is left is you. Then, I can finally do as I see fit with what is mine.”
“My word shall be kept: Your blood is mine to consume, your head is forfeit.” Growled Hisashi.
“To the true victor go the spoils.” Chirped Homura.
Hisashi lifting his heel from the ground was enough to spring Homura’s naginata upward, but more so as a defensive response to an attack than an attack itself. With the naginata on its way up as a result of a successful feint, Homura’s mid section was exposed. Hisashi draws his katana swiftly, aiming at his opponent’s belt to horizontally cut Homura’s stomach open in one swing.
But the latter’s defense rises into action.
The butt of the naginata blocks the sword on its way to his belt, and in half the time, the offense returns with a vengeance; the bladed end comes back down alongside his stomp to further increase the weight of the attack. Though having missed his opponent, his right hand pushes the polearm through his left to stab at him. Left with no other choice, Hisashi evades these attacks before leaping backward to outside the limit of the blade’s reach.
I need to get closer. Thought Hisashi, recognizing that Homura will want to maximize the polearm and keep him at bay.
However, to bypass its length, he will need to be faster.
He lifts his heel from the ground and erupts into a sprint. Under the guise of swinging his hands, he throws a trio of kunai to close the distance with haste. Late to realize the presence of projectiles, Homura turns to bare his shoulder instead, collecting all three on his wide shoulder guard. But, having utilized this particular defense, the Blue Moon was blind to the Demon’s approach. Raising his katana to guard against a potential swing of the naginata, Hisashi’s blade kick meets Homura’s exposed side. The momentum of the kick, charged by his sprint, sent the lord rolling back; he stands idle, observing this most fruitful outcome.\. Having been placed at a safe distance, Homura takes the moment to rise. On his way up, he saw to place his hand on the epicenter of the pain, finding his palm smeared with a red substance.
Lord Homura could not help but crack a smile beneath his beak, amused by the Demon’s cunning, even in battle. “Wise of you to come searching for old wounds.” He struggled to straighten his stance after Hisashi reopened the puncture wound he gave him nights ago. “I will give you new ones.”
The first bite is always sweetest, leading Homura to believe that another was imminent. The ground quakes with the Demon’s fast approach, an approach he quells by whirling his polearm in his hand. The quickness in its spin deters both his opponent’s projectiles and his plan to step forward, and Homura uses this hesitation to affirm his grip and use the spin’s momentum to swing at Hisashi. The naginata’s reach proves difficult to outdo, leaving Hisashi no choice but to block the incoming blade and every succeeding swipe thereafter. Noticing the constant collision they ended up with, Homura takes the lead and winds Hisashi’s katana in a circle. Each wind brought him closer to his opponent, lifting Hisashi’s hands into the air by sneaking the naginata’s blade below his forearms and administering a cut as he pulls the polearm back to him. He allows the sting of his laceration to stun his enemy while he takes a step back to wind up for another attack with a flourish. Lord Homura’s blade shines under the moonlight, and he throws this shine in the shape of a crescent moon hurling across the room; the crescent only becomes visible once it enters the shadows, leaving Hisashi’s chest defenseless. Upon impact, the Demon is sent flying across the room; his flight is hindered by the wooden post that meets his back. And even then, a moment to breathe was not allowed.
He shifts to the side to avoid Homura as he meteors down at him to plant the bladed end into the ground. Hisashi quickly wraps his left arm around the polearm, bringing himself back up when Homura sees fit to retrieve his weapon. A swift kick to the cuirass pushes Homura away, but not without nicking Hisashi’s side as he stumbles back. The Blue Moon twirls his polearm proudly, having revealed his strongest hand effectively — judging by the state the Demon was in, a heaving pile of tattered fabrics. He looks past it though, to pride himself on the look in Hisashi’s eyes.
“The fall of petals, the fade of pigmentation, beauty is fleeting.” Said the lord. “I have seen that look countless times before, and I have savored every moment — every opportunity — before I wipe it from existence. ”
“The Lunar Technique of the Homura Clan.”
Yasu smirks, “Ours is a tale unknown to most. It saddens me that a worthy heir has not surfaced to continue the clan’s legacy. It might as well die with me.”
“I will make sure of it.” Hisashi retorted.
Yasu huffs in amusement. “The lunar light tends to vanquish the dark and leave no such trace in its wake.” He assumes his stance, tucking his weapon behind him. “Nature wills your defeat.”
Standing before an enigmatic enemy has never stopped him before. But the stakes were far too high for him to allow an initial loss. Besides, with his own hand revealed, a death here would mean certain imprisonment and endless torture — something he would not want to repeat. It has to end here. Just as before, the world gathers to witness the Demon’s battle — the light against the dark. Whilst the moon had already taken its seat in the sky, clouds sneak in front of the celestial body, peeking in through the open doors and momentarily shrouding the room in darkness. The winds blew harder, carrying the orchestra of violence that continued below to complete their spectacle. But gunfire would soon be ultimately replaced by the rumbling of actual thunder; divine drums pounding from within the clouds. Even a lone bird joins the audience, perching itself on the wooden balustrade, revealed by a sudden flash of lightning. Its sudden intrusion caught Hisashi’s eye, the beat of its wings rang with familiarity. It was now that he had come to realize that the bird he had been hearing in the night was a crow; perhaps it came to watch, or perhaps it came to take shelter from the coming storm.
Hisashi quickly turns his attention back to Yasu, realizing his attention to detail drew him away for too long. But then he wondered, Why did he not attack while I was distracted?
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
The clouds pushed each other in succession, eager to witness the fight, cycling the light and dark in the room alternatively. As soon as moonlight comes upon him, Lord Homura weaves yet another hand seal, one that pulls the shadow he cast on the wall to stand alongside him. It mimics his shape to perfection, from the tip of his toes to the ornament on his helmet. After having completed his arsenal, Homura sends his Dark Side of the Moon forth into battle whilst quickly flinging a barrage of Waning Crescents with his naginata, some dragging and scarring across the tatami mats on their way to shred Hisashi. But the latter’s swiftness proves its worth, allowing him to evade these attacks and close the distance between him and this dark side. A quick maneuver allows Hisashi to bypass him, setting his sights on the caster rather than busy himself with the spell cast. He saw fit to engage Yasu in combat, but his dark side proved loyal, joining the battle at Hisashi’s disadvantage. Bobbing and weaving against two polearms simultaneously proved difficult, leading Hisashi to embark on a quest to divide and conquer. He ducks behind a swing and manages to deliver a blade kick to Yasu’s chest, sending him stumbling back. With the dark side alone, Hisashi engages him, but the opponent vanishes before he could drive his tip through his face. With him gone, he quickly looked to Lord Homura who he had seemingly kicked out of the moonlight.
It dawned upon Hisashi in an instant; his dark side was tethered to his feet. He cannot cast a shadow in the dark. I need to keep him there.
He rushes the Blue Moon while he still stands in the umbrage, and maintains as close a distance as possible, navigating around the polearm’s defenses to prohibit Yasu from keeping him at a distance and from marching back into the light. Aiming straight for the body, Hisashi continues his assault through a mixture of slashes, kicks, and the occasional unforeseen kunai that he throws. But the lord’s armor proves useful, catching each and every attack. Hence, Hisashi orchestrates yet another ploy. Using his iron hat, he blocks the naginata from advancing on his side while he takes a step inward to drive his right elbow across Yasu’s cheek. While both men were sent into a spin, Hisashi was much quicker, allowing him to perform an upward slash that severs the intricate rope system on the lord’s back and strikes his helmet off. With the ropes freed from their knots, his armor swung wildly with each movement, granting Hisashi a variety of weaknesses to exploit.
Lightning struck once more, and rain came falling thereafter. Along with it is the realization that his armor has been compromised. Lord Homura, recognizing the disadvantage, could not allow himself to be pushed into a corner. He initiates the battle, going on the offensive in a vicious game of catch.
As time went on, he realized that the growing presence of storm clouds minimized the amount of moonlight that seeped into the room. As such, he had to time his use of it. His naginata searched for Hisashi with every swing, knowing well that completely dodging an opponent was an impossibility that will cost him the duel; a continued effort will tucker out the Demon in time, and his use of the Lunar Technique would only hasten this effect. He made sure to chase every moon beam he could find, hurling it toward Hisashi in as quick a succession as he could before the clouds came upon them. Similarly, he plants his foot in the fragments of light he finds scattered about to bring his dark side to life if for but a moment; to advance an attack, to grant him a moment to breathe, to deflect or catch the Demon’s advances that would have otherwise reduced him to a corpse. Soon enough, Yasu would be able to catch Hisashi’s hat with a crescent, forcefully stripping him of his only bit of armor and leaving him with but no other choice than to cross blades with him — a taste of his vengeance for his own helmet lost.
This was a fact that Hisashi could not escape.
Alas, at the risk of damaging his blade, the Demon employs brute strength in lieu of swiftness as he meets the Blue Moon’s polearm with every swing. He comes to find this to be advantageous, as it allows him to push the obstruction out of the way long enough to take a swipe at the other’s body. Yasu realizes that this was a mistake, finding his polearm to be less effective as Hisashi began to control the fight by purposefully meeting his weapon in a clash. Soon enough, Hisashi had more successful strikes on the polearm’s handle than its wielder; the abundance of cuts made it incredibly painful for Yasu to slide his hands up and down the handle, severely limiting the moves in his playbook.
On his next swing, Lord Homura finds his naginata’s bladed end in a collision course with Hisashi’s katana yet again. The Demon replicates his enemies move and winds the polearm before pushing it away to grant himself an opening; he leaps forward to impart a powerful strike aimed at Homura’s exposed head. However, it would be Lord Homra who finds the opening with Hisashi’s arms raised above for an attack. Holding the naginata horizontally, he swings the polearm to cut at Hisashi’s exposed side while Hisashi aims to bring his sword down upon him. Success was within arm’s reach, most especially as the bladed end was to pass through a sliver of moonlight on its way to digging into the Demon’s flesh — obliteration was moments away.
If only the Demon had truly been aiming for his head.
The slightest turn on his axis shifts Hisashi’s target to the naginata instead. Their blades meet, but the stronger force of the katana deflects the naginata to the floor and away from the moon beam. Planting his hind foot firmly, Hisashi swings his sword to strike at Homura’s visage, sending his menpō and his neck guard flying in the process. And from the swing, Hisashi brings his sword above his head once more to bring it down upon Homura, channeling the force of the torrential rain that fell outside. The blade lusts for the exposed neck in sight and wedges itself deep into the lord’s flesh. Hisashi drags the blade out, unleashing a waterfall of crimson to paint Homura’s armor in defeat.
The Demon of Kumitsukawa rises above the kneeling Blue Moon as the victor, watching closely as the latter drops his weapon to feel at the incision the former made on his jugular. Yasu realizes that there was not much time, but as he opens his mouth to exhale his poem, he finds his throat clogged with blood. Their eyes meet, just as their blades did moments ago. And even then, it would be Hisashi who controls the exchange.
Hisashi circles his opponent, situating himself to his side. “Flowers will perish, the light will dim soon enough,” a great cloud had come upon them robbing the room of illumination, lightning strikes to reveal the Demon one last time before shrouding them in total darkness, “I am eternal.”
Following the crescent moon’s arch, Hisashi brings his sword down upon Lord Homura’s nape. Much to his surprise, the crow had not left. More than that, it flew inside the room to perch on his shoulder. Their eyes meet, and somehow, Hisashi understands; his simple nod sends the crow down onto the severed head to feast on what remains.
Though the rain had not ceased, the clouds did part once more if but to cast a spotlight on one of the eaves of the castle. The soldiers of Somukawa were dumbfounded to see that the forces of Homura had come to a stop. But the answer to their query was not far. They follow the spectacle that the samurai gazed upon with deep sorrow; a silhouette stood upon the eaves of the castle. A single crow circled him, calling out to all below to send their eyes skyward. The Demon of Kumitsukawa pulls his hand up, clenching the hair of Lord Homura between his fingers. And as the victor, he lets out a demonic roar that brings Homura’s remaining forces onto their knees.
The long night comes to an end
and the sun rises on a town free of oppression.
Mounted on Hayato, the Baker trots along the streets of Tachikawa. He finds himself struck with a feeling of nostalgia, setting his sights upon a town days into its efforts to rebuild and rise from the ruins it was left in. As he passes by, Hiroshi sees that a vast number of them would look upon him and smile briefly before bowing in his direction. It was only for a moment, but he could see that the difficulty they had smiling was a shared one. His own heavy heart made it difficult for him to return the silent pleasantry, but his work in Somukawa brought him confidence — this sorrow shall come to pass.
“Hiroshi-sama!” A lone man called, waving his hand to be spotted before running back into his store.
His holler would not go unnoticed, leading Hiroshi to stop before the open door. Waiting outside, the Baker took notice that this building, along with those that neighbored it, were all still decorated with black and gold banners; orange lilies had become so common in the province all of a sudden, and he had a feeling they would stay in bloom for quite a while. His wait would not be long as the man returns with a present tightly wrapped in a cloth. Its shape revealed to Hiroshi that the man was in possession of a sword.
He bows, “It took me a few days, but it is done. I would like to give it to him personally,” pleaded the man, “as a token of thanks.”
“My apologies.” Hiroshi’s words were immediately understood, and thankfully well received. As such, the man rests the item on both his hands and lifts them up. Hiroshi accepts, bowing in its reception, and places it onto the saddle. “Know that you have done him a great service with this.”
The man nods and turns on his heel.
“Excuse me,” Hiroshi called again, just as the man was to cross the threshold of the smithy. “There is something I would like to borrow.”
Onward Hiroshi rides, past the town square and the various residences that sprawled thereafter. He makes his way to the farthest home, slowing their pace as the small house came into view. To his surprise, he was already standing outside, with a gaze that lingered at the barely open doorway. With their destination at hand, a tug on the rein pulls Hayato into a stop.
“Hisashi.” Greeted the Baker, receiving his attention and a silent nod in return. Though he wanted to say more, he thought it best to apply a gentle approach; he starts by gently alighting from the horse to stand beside the swordsman.
“The vote was final?” Hisashi asks.
“It was,” Hiroshi nods, “but a part of me still refuses to believe it.”
“Then I suppose I should call you Lord Hiroshi now.” Hisashi peeks from beneath his hat, watching the older gentleman shiver at the thought. “The town has your banners on display, with your own emblem too.”
“Mine?” The Baker’s intonation rose to the same height as his disbelief. “I am flattered that you think so, but it is yours.”
Hisashi shot him a look, which Hiroshi expected.
“Those are your colors, and the people of Somukawa chose that emblem for you. Many have forgotten, but all the legends still refer to you as a vengeful samurai, and samurai must have an emblem.”
Hisashi turns away, steering away from this with but another topic at hand. “What of Makoto?”
“I saw fit to keep him as the town’s headman.” He nodded, “It is a big province, and I will need all the help I can get.” The thought lingers, and to his surprise, he finds Hisashi glaring at him.
“Your silence is deafening.” He remarked. “Do you doubt me?”
Hisashi turns away.
“I fought side by side with Makoto when all of Kaga came under siege. At the time, I was still young.” Hiroshi vividly recalls how Makoto picked up his weapon for him, and with his left hand open, offered it to him before running with him into battle. “I could barely hold my weapon, but he held his with such mastery I have never seen before. We were both just foot soldiers then, but Lord Homura saw something in him. And so did Lord Ataru.”
Hisashi allowed this drizzle to slide down the tiles of his roof, keeping his eye trained on the slightly open door to the Aikawa Home.
Hiroshi continues nonetheless, “Sometimes, a rising tide swallows us more than it raises us. But,” Hiroshi lifts the item up with both hands to Hisashi, “everyone deserves a second chance.”
Finally, his gaze is pulled away to trace the figure beheld by the fabric used for wrapping. Hisashi takes the sword from him and unravels his katana. The cloud handguard shined anew, and the scabbard was made spotless. He carefully curls his fingers around the handle and draws the blade to listen to its song — solid, sound, and sharp. Upon inspecting the cutting edge, he finds his own reflection instead — in the same condition as the blade. Both men had their eyes shifting to the door when it slid open to reveal Seijun stepping out.
“Your name was the first thing she uttered when we found her — the poor thing.” Said the Baker. “How is she?”
“She finishes her meals now.” Replied Hisashi, his shoulders lowering as a heavy breath leaves his lungs.
“When did she start doing that?”
“Today.”
Hiroshi looked to Hisashi. “She is under your care now, Hisashi. Look after her. You owe them.”
The Baker hushes upon her approach, bending his knees to meet her gaze. In the presence of sealed lips, he opens his arms instead. Seijun walks into them, wrapping her little arms around the old man in return. Her initiative was refreshing, granting Hiroshi the same feeling of relief that Hisashi felt. Parting, he clenches her chin, affirming it with a soft pinch and a smile, one she could barely return.
“Time to go.” Hisashi’s words pull her away from the Old Baker.
The swordsman and the little girl approach the steed who huffs a pleasantry toward her. He takes her by the waist and hoists her up onto the saddle to sit. He follows suit, looking over his shoulder one last time to find Hiroshi holding a rock and a piece of metal that he grazes against one another to shower them from behind with a few sparks. At his command, his loyal steed walks them out through the gates, past the fields of orange lilies that bloomed in his wake. Hisashi held onto the reins to lead Hayato onto the right path, readying to sprint, but Seijun only had him to hold onto. He looks down to find her small hands gripping at the fabric of his clothes. They barely reached around him, but even then, the tightness at which she held onto him spoke in volumes. Hisashi loosens his grip on the reins, opting for a light trot instead.