The Last Samurai vs. Tenjin: Infiltration

"The measure of man is what he does with power."- Plato

Prelude:

-In the dead of night, in the market region of Ronin's Rest, a desolate building became the headquarters of the rogue ninja faction infamously known as the Blood Spider Clan. Their leader, a vicious shinobi known as Tenjin had only permitted his followers the worship of one god, a malevolent Spider Goddess without a name. The Blood Spider Clan its legend spread across Southeastern Asia in hushed tones and candle-lit conversation. They came to uncontested in the land of the rising sun. That was until, the last bastion of Bushido, Kenshin Yoshida saw fit to lead an organization known as Champions of Peace in the homeland of Katsuro Yamamoto. While Tenjin was primarily nomadic in present days, his clan was spread throughout Japan yet never once occupied Ronin's Rest. Not until this day. Nonetheless, he believed this was a coup on his criminal stronghold in the making but this was only the fabrication of psychotic paranoia. While, it could have been said this conflict was inevitable based on the Human Hayabusa's disposition for confronting other martial artists, to him, it was a dire matter in need of addressing. He had sent his vassals to carry a message to The Last Samurai as to the location of their meeting and to immediately begin slaughtering citizens to antagonize Kenshin. Katsuro was certain this act of needless violence would be sufficient in luring the noble warrior out. Though, Tenjin had only the intentions of slaying his foe in cold blood if they would meet face to face. Honor, no matter how twisted, was sacred to them both and the Daimyo must retaliate against the diabolical ninja master or else the killing would never cease.-

Ronin's Rest

Blood Spider Clan Safe Haven

12:30 A.M JST

Stepping into the window, pallid moon beams highlighting his obsidian hued kevlar armor and ninja visage, Katsuro peered out of the window, taking in the carnal scenery his acolytes had dispersed on his command. Desensitized from the countless tragedies he had endured, he felt no sympathy for the soulless subjects of his enemy. In his mind, the city was better off in ruins. "Incompetence." The Death Poet sounded. His hand placed behind his back while the other pressed against the wall, bracing his weight as he examined the streets. His voice was low and menacing, like some unhallowed spirit "The Daimyo preaches the Way yet his city is the most ignoble I have ever witnessed. There is no honor here...only damnation." His eyes were like flaming spheres yet would seem to be deathly cold to the touch, he traced them up the buildings and into the starry sky; half hidden by rolling clouds of deepest gray. He eventually grew tired of the scenery and turned on his toes taking a single step before gazing up to face a large band of ninja awaiting his orders. They were uniformly spaced in rows militantly. Again he sounded "Join your brothers in the slaughter. Leave no survivors." Without a word they scrambled into the shadows, out of windows and doorways and bring death to those unfortunate enough to be out in the dark. A multitude of candles burned solemnly, dancing wickedly to absent winds as Tenjin methodically began harnessing his weaponry to himself. It was a ritual to him, battle. Before he began his mission he rested on his knees as if in prayer before a golden sacrificial bowl laying on the floor. Its contents where rather disturbing, a dark offering place to his idol goddess. Inside the bowl was several liters of blood, almost black in hue. Tenjin removed his gauntlet, a with his right hand withdrew the tanto knife buckled to his lower back. He lightly slide the blade across his left palm and murmured "Kenshin Yoshida..." His left hand curled into a tight fist and blood began to trickle down through the folds in his palm. Though, as the light of the moon emerged through the clouds, the room brightened some and revealed in the center of the bowl, riding on the minute waves of blood, was a lotus flower darker than any hue one could imagine. It was the Ebon Lotus, the sacred flower of his assassin clan. The blood tickled onto the petals, drop by drop until he sheathed his blade and replaced the gauntlet. Lastly he spoke, in continuation of his former sentence. "...Prepare to die." Without warning, the candles extinguished but with a flashing uproar and a wild ghostly howl of wind echoed through the room. Those crimson eyes were all that penetrated the gloom.

Several Minutes Later.....

In a open clearing, deep emerald knee high grass spread out in all directions, a small patch of paradise in the midst of towering buildings which surrounded it. The powerful sea wind blew, sending Katsuro's mid-length sable hair into a craze. His muscles flexed taking in a heap of oxygen through his shinobi mask before he slowly walked towards the clearing's center. As he approached, he could see a shadow moving closer, the silhouette of a warrior was unmistakable. Tenjin's clan knew better to interfere with their master's quarry, though, in the darkness of the buildings strange shadow moved. Waiting for a trial of combat to commence, perhaps or it was merely the haunting nature of Ronin's Rest. The Ethereal Assassin's heart remained steady, calm, a tell sign of a man who has killed before, no less a man who has killed thousands in his time. He was well aware of the Daimyo's position but was unaware of his capabilities. He would be weary in this engagement of sword and fist, at least in the beginning. As his opponent closed just beyond distinction Katsuro spoke with great bravado but without lacking his ghostly tone "You are not a coward. That I find a quality lacking among the inhabitants of your dear city. It would be commonplace for me to introduce myself but I can scarcely contain my revelry at this moment. You see, i will forgo my usual pleasantries on the grounds that I assume you would like nothing more than to watch me expire. Well, Kenshin, Daimyo of the Damned..." Beneath his veil a grim smile appeared all the while he grasped the hilt of his sword upon his back, strangling it with a white knuckle grip. The other hand raised up and gestured his opponent to attack first, beckoning for battle. His feet pivoted into attack position, legs slightly bent and shoulder's width apart preparing himself for whatever his foe may muster."...Try your hand." Aside for his provoking manner, the Lord of the Ebon Lotus' cybernetic neural implant was already processing the situation, speed, range, heart rate, his opponent was being assessed by the microsecond while his inhuman strength began digging his heels in the dirt, awaiting his foe.

“Hmm...” Kenshin sighed, cracking his knuckles in slight irritation as the vassals left his homestead and retreated to wherever they had come from. The Daimyo hadn’t been a stranger to violence nor senseless criminality and murder to lure him out; it had been done a thousand times, and would most likely be done another thousand times during his lifetime. Nevertheless, the lone samurai would engage in whatever games this individual was seeking to play, allowing civilians to die, no matter how morally corrupt; was not something a “hero” was supposed to allow.

A few minutes later the Daimyo of the Damned had donned his ancient attire, his ivory suit covering his body as a his mask veiled his iconic features, two deadly blades, both adamantium, clasped to his back as an assortment of shuriken and other items stored within his belt, a third sword, a tiny Wakizashi short sword attacked to his belt as a contingency. Cracking his neck, Kenshin stylishly threw his white hood over his head as he simply strolled outside and vanished into the night.

For what seemed an eternity later to those who had been slain by the Tenjin's atrocious clan whilst they slept and roamed the dark, gloomy streets of the Ronin’s Rest, Kenshin appeared before the battle just a few minutes later. Having forsaken the need of stealth, after all, the man had already known he was coming and such an act would be pointless. No man sent a vassal then assassinated their opponent on the march to battle.

The Daimyo’s feet silently trampled upon the grass like a slithering snake closing into battle, his footsteps uncannily quiet for a man of his stature, having been bred and trained in the art of stealth for longer than most had been alive; the Last Bastion of Bushido slowly withdrew both of his katana’s from his back, both of them absently hanging by his side as his gloved palms gripped the white hilts with a determined resolve.

“Daimyo of the Damned...” Through the veiling of his mask one would have seen his brow crease in curiosity. “You would have made a good poet, but instead…You choose murder,” The samurai shook his head, “what a waste” And without a second more, the Daimyo of the Rest rocketed forwards like a living bullet as his dual katana’s impatiently awaited usage, his white hood was flung off of his head and hit his back as his masked, emotionless visage was revealed to the man, with a zig-zagging motion, left and right in quick repetition, the samurai burst into an assault with an initial slash, aiming for the man’s chest, prior to disappearing via teleportation and in his wake, an ancient shinobi weapon had been discarded towards the man’s eyes in a puff of smoke, a concoction mixed with ground glass and laced with pepper spray, aiming to lay ruin to his foes senses, almost instantly Kenshin reappeared without warning, to the left flank of his opponent, swinging his swords in a scissor like motion, aiming to slice his left arm off with brutal, passionate force.