Catacombs, Cameron Highlands, Malaysia
Not long ago....
Deep inside the winding crypts of forgotten kings, passageways of black earth and stone bear inscriptions in lost tongues upon the walls, ancient knowledge revealing far more ancient secrets. It is here, a looming specter haunts its sacred halls, bright red eyes pierce the dark as it travels from end to end. He searched for the mystical treasures of bygone kingdoms; those that worshipped the serpent before the sun. To no avail. Whether ransacked by tomb raiders or destroyed by a rival religious sect, all which he sought was gone...
Save for a single prize. A seed.
The damp and rancid smell of mildew and rot filled the catacombs. Skulls, strung together, rattled from wind with origins unknown above its entrance. A array of alabaster candles spewed wax down notches in the walls. The fires casting horrid shapes in a dance of blood orange and onyx. Hovering over a cobweb ridden desk in the empty makeshift study, the sinister shinobi known as Tenjin reviewed clay tablets from the ruins of Babylon. His hermetic habits grew in more lengthy intervals, a short time to be forgotten. Succumbing to the addiction of wisdom and knowledge. Thought dead, yet he is the Deathless One. The oceans of time were of little fear. A metallic finger traced over the cuneiform, strange impressions forming stranger thoughts. In his other hand, a hammered golden bowl bore a thick liquid, crimson in color, black in the dim light. In it a seedling sprouted, of violet hue and small pentagonal leaves. The Fatal Phantom whispered an eerie chant, the language long since dead.
"<Beyond the farthest stars, below the lowest Hells, from the place where the Black Lotus blooms...>"*
Tenjin's voice was dismal, disembodied, spoken from behind a mechanical mandible. It carried itself throughout that twisted place of death and into the ears of a man clad in traditional ninja garb, bearing a torch in one hand while the other was placed over his heart. A coldest spread throughout his chest as he approached his master. Creeping in the dark, out of both peril and cautiousness holding his torch out at arm's length. It had been sometime since he had seen the sun, sickness evident, even only seen from in and around his eyes. He was just outside the Living Shadow's chambers as he purposely kicked the wall, as to not irritate his master, even as Katsuro had felt his presence long ago.
"My lord." Spoke the acolyte coupled with an honorary bow.
Without turning to face his serf, that disenchanted voice rung softly but with a terribly low pitch. "Speak as you will."
However, the torchbearer did not speak in haste. He gazed upon Tenjin ,clad in a ebon cloak, his face not visible due to the woven hood but beneath his mantle those artificial muscles of nanotubes still were well represented. A techno-organic monstrosity. A beast of steel and sinew. Like an obsidian idol, born of foul science and a life of pain and hatred. In awe he stood for some time, until the Ruthless Resurrectionist set the golden bowl upon the desk and pivoted to face the speaker, eyes seem to brighten until near white, a cruel luster.
"What ails you boy? Why do you tremble so?" His hand lifted to shoulder height, fingers spread wide as an orb of swirling plasma emerged near the center of his palm. Yet, just before the blast was fired, the acolyte spoke quickly, sweat beading down his face as he realized what was to come of him; a cinder-pile.
"Master! I...I was just concerned. Since your defeat at Tokyo... I fear, you have lost your path. Your vision, our collective. The Blood Spider Clan is all but nonexistent. Yet, your following...it grows. Like a plague. I hear the locals talking." He shook his head not in disbelief, but in stress before continuing. "You have become almost a Folk Saint...hidden shrines dedicated to you in sewers and back alleys. They are waiting for the return of the Warlord. The Warlord of the East." He paused. "Is this your mission, my lord?"
Tenjin lowered his arm and made his way towards the ninja, his wide shoulders shifted in his predatory gait. His ethereal voice sounded into a monologue.
"My defeat, as you put it, was not a total loss. Though the metropolis of Tokyo is not mine to command I however gained much more than lordship taken through violence and ruin. I gained favor. The poor and hopeless seen my return, they speak of my deathlessness as something celestial. Something God-sent. I am seen as manifestation of wrath upon the decadent. Something to be worshipped. Yet, in response to your question..." He stood chest to chest with the Blood Spider acolyte, hydrogen steam bellowed from his mandible as his head tilted back in confidence and intent on intimidation. The latter most successful. "I do not embrace such things. This title, is meaningless. I have no need for such pleasantries and distractions. However, it may be of some later use. I am most concerned of my reputation, you see." His pressed the first knuckle of his index finger against his peer's chin, lifting his features up to stare eye to eye. "I was too kind in my actions with my enemies as of late. I offered them honor and manner befitting warriors of old. This was my sole mistake. One which I will not make again...Your lord, will perform unspeakable brutalities against them. By night, while they sleep. While they let their guards down, I will strike at what they love the most."
Suddenly, a black flash struck forth like translucent lightning in a storm. Suspended by Tenjin's right arm, the acolyte hung limply with Katsuro's forearm protruding from his back. The Red Eyed Fiend clutched his victim's heart in his blood spattered fist, crushed in his grasp. With a low, menacing chuckle, Tenjin extended his face closer to that of the deceased. The torch had now been extinguished from the Savage Specimen's rapid movement. Gloom consumed. He spoke in a tone quite low, more whispers in the dark. "In my quest for vengeance, I will expend all resources available to me. Nothing is of value. Not wealth, not this Clan...." Pulling his arm from the gaping wound, allowing the man to fall limp in the dark. The body crashing on the floor the only sound which mingled with his hollow voice. "...and certainly not life."
In that cold, damp and rancid space, all that remained in that pitch black unknown, where twin scarlet optics, the chattering of those skulls in ghostly wind, the chanting of some eldritch tongue and a flower in a bowl of blood.
Fin.
*Modern English Translation
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