Negotiating the remainder of the palace proved to be fairly easy for Ryoma. His frayed nerves had been soothed slightly by his meeting with Empress Haru, and in place of fear, his heart had been filled with renewed determination to serve and protect the imperial family. His life as a samurai dictated such earnest obedience, after all. His honor was truly on the line in this situation.
But more so than simply honor, Ryoma found that he actually desired to save the emperor. It didn’t initially occur to him due to his preoccupation with practices such as bushido, the samurai code, but his own feelings were also partially responsible for his actions. In truth, Ryoma had never felt at home in his own village. Aside from the affection doted upon him by his mother and father, there wasn’t much love to be found from his neighbors and peers. Not that they resented him, to be fair, but they simply stayed to themselves most times. And that was how Ryoma began to perceive others outside his lineage.
Emperor Hiro, however, proved to be an exception. Right from the beginning, he welcomed Ryoma with open arms. Even before Ryoma was accepted into the imperial guard, in fact, Hiro wished him luck with the sincerest smile he’d seen since his mother praised his kendo, wooden sword, practice. And when he had passed the test of skill, by besting Goro of all people, the emperor went as far as to hug him against his advisor’s suggestions. Ryoma knew then that he’d found a new place to call home as well as a purpose in life.
Now, Ryoma’s home had been invaded, and his purpose was to dispatch the intruders. After some time, he arrived at the royal bedchamber. He felt hesitant to enter without permission as he had always needed in the past, but the situation was dire enough to warrant his hasty entrance. Opening the door, he immediately laid eyes upon the imp that Empress Haru had run from. It was wallowing about in the royal bed, making a mockery of it in the process. Ryoma became incensed, marched straight to the demon, and lopped the head from its scrawny neck.
“Emperor!” Ryoma yelled. “Where are you, Your Highness?” Receiving only silence as an answer, he figured that Hiro must be elsewhere. “I’ll check the throne room.” He said to no one. Then, he retraced his steps out to the hall and began his trek yet again. This time, it only lasted for about a minute or so as the emperor made sure the throne room wasn’t all that far a walk for him.
Ryoma soon reached the mighty door leading to the throne room. On it was carved a beautiful kiku, a chrysanthemum, the symbol of the imperial family. He had always admired the intricate nature of the piece which quite nicely mirrored the refined dignity of the emperor and his wife. But now wasn’t the time to appreciate the fine craftsmanship or symbolism, Ryoma realized. There was still work to be done. With a gallant push, he opened the door.
Across the rather large room and up a small flight of stairs, the emperor sat upon his throne. “Emperor Hiro!” Ryoma yelled. “I’m so glad I found you, your Highness! Are you alright?” Ryoma noticed two guards standing beneath the throne and his worries lessened knowing that the proper protection for Hiro was at hand.
“I’m quite alright.” Hiro said. “In fact, I’ve never felt better. What seems to be the problem, Ryoma?” Ryoma seemed a tad perplexed by the question, as though his trials and tribulations of the past hour or so hadn’t even happened. “Your Highness,” he began, “I’m afraid demons have crossed over into our world and are attacking those within the palace.” Hiro nodded and said, “Ah, yes. I’m well aware of the onslaught, my dear Ryoma. Worry, not, however; rest assured that I have not been harmed.”
Ryoma smiled, relieved to hear such words. However, the threat level of the situation was still too steep, and action needed to be taken. “I’m overjoyed to hear that you’re not hurt, your Highness, but now, I must ask that you follow me. Together, we will exit the palace and make way for the shogunate for protection until the issue is resolved.” He figured that the shogunate would be a few days’ journey on horseback, but he felt certain in his ability to defend the emperor until they made it there. Even better would be if a convoy met them halfway.
“You wish for me to leave?” Hiro asked. “Why would I want to do that?” Ryoma again questioned the reasoning behind his ruler, but supposed that in a time of crisis, the natural assumption was that the imperial home would provide an adequate level of protection against intruders. However, he knew that not to be the case and so continued, “Your Highness, I understand your presumptions, but you must know that the palace has been compromised; the oni have outmaneuvered the countermeasures in place and worked their way through the entirety of the route here. Your beloved, Empress Haru, has already encountered an imp within your bedchambers. Thankfully, however, she escaped and is en route to leaving the palace.”
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Emperor Hiro stayed silent for a time longer than Ryoma had anticipated. The samurai assumed that his ruler would be thrilled to hear of his wife’s safety, yet an eerie quiet emanated in the throne room. Eventually, Hiro asked, “She’s escaped, has she? We’ll have to deal with that later.” Ryoma cocked his head and asked, “You’re going to deal with her?” Once more, he felt a queer uneasiness about the situation and lowered his head; surely, the threat he experienced meant that the need for a response from the emperor was paramount. However, his ruler seemed so nonchalant and out of touch with reality. Could it have been that Ryoma himself was the one not in tune with his surroundings? Perhaps he was still dreaming, and the idea of the emperor’s danger was merely the machinations of a nightmare.
“No,” Ryoma whispered, “this is real.” He lifted his head again and noticed Emperor Hiro smiling. “Your Highness?” he asked. Yet there was no response. The guards began moving toward the samurai with a slow, rather intimidating gait. Ryoma instinctively backed away, looked to Hiro, and repeated, “Your Highness?” The emperor’s grin grew wider, and he said, “But before that whore Haru is dealt with, I suppose we’ll need to deal with you first.” Ryoma gasped as the smile intensified, and he could swear he saw elongating fangs forming in that mouth.
The guards began laughing themselves and raised their spears. Ryoma instinctively unsheathed his sword and readied himself for a fight. “Emperor Hiro,” Ryoma said, “I’ll protect you from these traitors!” He wasn’t sure what was going on and still clung to an idea that the emperor would snap back to his old self at any moment; at this point, devoid of lucidity, he didn’t really have much capacity for rational thought compared to his emotional and instinctual drives.
“Oh, dear Ryoma,” Hiro said, “I don’t need your protection. In fact, I might just need you dead.” The laughter strengthened from the guards. One lashed out, but Ryoma swiftly deflected the blow and retaliated. He cut through the arm wielding the spear to horrid cries of pain. Next, without missing a beat, he stabbed his katana into the heart of the second guard, and he went down with a shocked gasp.
Ryoma returned his attention to the emperor, and it finally dawned on him. “You’re not Emperor Hiro, are you?” He asked. “I mean, you’ve taken over him, haven’t you?” Hiro clasped his hands together and exclaimed, “You’ve finally figured it out! Indeed, I have possessed this poor fool and plan on ruling in his stead. And by ruling, I mean that I intend to rule over the demons who have conquered this land. As for names, you may refer to me as Orochi.”
“Orochi?” Ryoma asked. “You’re Orochi, the demon snake king?!” He had, of course, heard the legend several times as a young boy; the god Susanoo came down from the heavens and encountered an eight-headed snake, Yamata-no-Orochi. He was able to slay him, but now, it seemed that the beast had clawed its way back from the depths of Yomi, the dark world, to wreak havoc once more in the land of the living.
Small giggles broke into laughter at Ryoma’s feet. He looked down and noticed the guards sitting up. He knew for certain that the second guard should be dead, and figured that the first would be in shock and therefore unable to move, yet there they were, rising back to their feet. The second guard removed his torso armor to reveal that the wound had completely healed over, and the first reattached his arm, moving the fingers on his once dispatched appendage as if to mock the samurai.
“You’re all demons now.” Ryoma said weakly. Orochi bellowed with his fang-filled mouth and said, “And you’re just a lowly samurai. Well, now that you have no lord to serve, I suppose that makes you a ronin; a lowly, wandering warrior with no purpose in life. How pathetic! What filth could be further from respectable than a worthless ronin?”
Ryoma wanted to rebuke Orochi’s claims, but he could hardly find his own footing as his head spun round and round. Everything he had built toward in his life, all the training and strife he endured, was crashing down around him. His emperor, whom he swore to lay his life down for, had been lost to a demonic presence which now openly mocked the Imperial throne and, more importantly, the man Ryoma loved like his own father. The laughter continued, but he could no longer hear it. His mind was through trying to make sense of his senses.
That was until Orochi spoke once more. “I suppose it’s time for you to die.” It said. Ryoma noticed that Hiro’s voice had dissipated, replaced with something more… well, inhuman. As it spoke, Orochi began scratching at Hiro’s skin. It scratched and scratched until the layer finally ripped underneath his Highness’ former fingernails. In place of the skin lay a gray, scaly physique. Orochi took a hold of the opened skin and tore it asunder from the emperor’s throat, moving around the nape of the neck and back again as though it were molting.
Finally, Orochi’s neck began growing. Hiro’s head launched toward the ceiling in a serpentine fashion, the demon laughing all the while. At once, it darted down toward Ryoma. He felt defenseless, still reeling from his entire world’s upheaval. Before his body regained the constitution to respond, Orochi finished its lunge and sunk its fangs directly into Ryoma’s neck.