A Mantis' Destiny
Credit shared with Daniel Briscoe for the first section
Volturnum, somewhere deep in the Shadowlands…
The skies had grown dark over the past several hours - an ominous portent. It was not normally so, for a storm on the open seas could be considered a blessing from the heavens for the Mantis. But in the Shadowlands, it was much the opposite.
The fight had been dire. Rather it was hundreds or thousands meant very little. Mifune, for all the things he did in life, never turned a blind eye when called upon to assist the Empire, even if he did so in his own, sometimes less honorable ways. And when the goblin horde had overrun the city, he stood, wakizashi in hand, ready to defend Isawa Ume from anything that came near while she continued meditation. It was the reason they had come to this forsaken place to begin with - and Mifune would not yield until every last samurai was dead, or they had turned the tide. The sight of samurai, of the people who had fallen at Oblivion’s Gate ten years prior, was bone-chilling and unsettling. For the briefest of moments, Yoritomo Mifune thought of what it must feel like as a sailor to die on the open sea, embraced by Suitengu, but to lose the chance to ever return home. On that day, many samurai had fallen in Volturnum, and never returned home. But they were here. He saw the tattered banners of the Great Clans behind a horde of Shadowlands monsters, and for perhaps the first time knew what it meant to be truly lost.
When the gate had opened, when the Fortune himself Hida Kisada had called for Mifune and the samurai who had come here with him to stand, and fight the darkness - he scared believed his eyes at first. Doji Hoturi and Isawa Tadaka, were not just heroes of the Empire. They were legends. To see them take the battlefield and defend the small group from the overwhelming forces of the Shadowlands was like watching the epic tales and histories he had heard all of his life play out before him. This was a moment of myth.
But that too, mattered little. Though legends stood in Ningen-do and the earth trembled at their presence - there was never a doubt in Mifune’s mind that not one, but two Thunders could withstand the lost samurai and goblin horde. Even that mattered little.
It did not matter because, as the Demon Bride of Fu Leng slowly crushed his throat with the elegant, blackened claws that extended from her porcelain white arm, Mifune knew that his time in Ningen-do had come to an end. It would be a fine death. While many may call him foolish, Mifune knew otherwise. It took a brave man to stand against a horror such as this. Stand he had, shouting his family’s name, echoing off the stone and rubble of ancient Volturnum, and thrust his masakari, blade dripping in Jade oil, upon the creature with all his might. He knew it would do very little, and as his vision began to narrow he looked the creature in the eyes with all of the courage and willpower he possessed. In his final act of defiance, he grabbed her blackened wrist with both hands as his feet dangled above the ground, and levied a simple dictate.
“You’d better finish the job!” he choked in defiance and pain. To the tune of bone and skin being crushed together at the speed of a Tsuruchi’s arrow, and still his eyes bore into the monster’s. For just a moment, the span of a heartbeat, he saw comprehension in the Bride’s eyes, a fear of what human will meant to those like her. Then, Mifune heard nothing, saw nothing, as the world became silent, his now lifeless body dropping to the cold stone inside the city of Volturnum, deep in the Shadowlands…
He could not see anything but a dull, bright sensation against his eyes. His skin felt warm, like when he took a nap near the ocean on the Isles of Silk and Spice. The sensation was nice, a reminder of a home so far away. He slowly realized that he was not blind, but that his eyes were simply not open. Squinting to allow his eyes to slowly adjust, he opened them, and had the sudden realization that he was both incredibly familiar with where he was, and at the same time, the entire place felt alien somehow. The dull sounds of waves crashing against rocks and the musical calls of birds indigenous to the Isles of Silk and Spice could be heard, and as he looked around, dragging himself to his feet, the sight of what many Mantis samurai called home came into view. Beautiful, tropical plants and animals. Crystal clear ocean water, and bright, crisp sandy beaches surround him. Yet it was all so beautiful, so serene, that it had a sense of unfamiliarity. It was like being inside of a painting or a Doji’s poem of the beauty of the islands. Mifune’s mind, finally taking in the breathtaking beauty around him, was interrupted by a soft, rhythmic sound in the distance that he hadn’t heard before, until now. It sounded like a small boom, and the crack of wood could be heard. He looked towards a small hill, and saw a small pillar of smoke rising up from beyond it, and the rhythmic sound continued in the distance.
Mifune, curious now, began to climb up the small hill, seeking the source of both the smoke and the sound, and when he reached it’s peak, looked down to see a small hut, nestled between some trees. Smoke billowed out from a small fire nearby, with fish skewered through, cooking slowly. And there was a man, wearing nothing but hakama pants, placing logs on a tree stump, and splitting them with a mighty swing of a masakari. He set the two pieces next to each other in a pile, and then placed another log on the stump before repeating the process. The man had a familiar, powerful aura around him, and Mifune began to walk down the hill, fascinated if nothing else by what must be the strangest dream he had ever had in his life.
Mifune felt a sense of familiarity to the muscular, powerful form that continued to split logs as he approached, and it was at the same time that the man turned his head in Mifune’s direction, a broad and roguish grin on his face, that Mifune recognized why the man felt so familiar. The thought had barely processed in his mind, before his forehead slammed on the ground, a miscalculation in distance as Mifune immediately moved to prostrate himself before the hero of the Mantis Clan and his greatest inspiration, the man known only as Yoritomo.
“Stand, Mifune-san. There’s no need for all that now,” called out the Son of Storms. Yoritomo Mifune stood, slowly, and descended the hill. Yoritomo set another log, and his masakari fell heavily again, splitting it in two. Mifune scooped up the pieces without thinking.
“I - That is to say… I don’t know what to say.” Mifune stammered. Yoritomo’s laugh boomed out.
“That’s a first! You finally make it all the way here and you have nothing to say?” Yoritomo reached out, and roughed Mifune’s hair. “Cousin, what will you do when you meet Yotasu?”
“He’s here? Then… if he’s here, and you’re here…” Mifune’s mind raced. “Then… I’m dead? I died at Volturnum?” Yoritomo’s smile faded, and he nodded. The shock of it made Mifune drop the lumber he was holding. “I promised that I wouldn’t fail…”
“Failure? What does a Mantis care for failure?” Yoritomo turned and set his masakari down. “I told you once, long ago. Do you remember what I said?” he said as he stood and faced Mifune.
“I-” Mifune began, but his eyes were soon downcast in shame. He failed to protect Isawa Ume, and his death had no meaning.
“I said, cousin, that one day you would hold the future of the Mantis in your hands. That day is yet to come, and all of your failures will only prepare you for it. Now, look,” Yoritomo pointed across the hill, to a swirling portal hanging on it. “It is time to go back, cousin. Your day is coming, and I will be watching for it.” Mifune felt the Mantis lord’s words wash over him. “Go! Persistence will not wait for you, and nor will destiny. Go back, and take the future with your own hands!” Yoritomo gently pushed Mifune. “GO!” Yoritomo’s voice echoed, and Mifune began walking. His strides took him up the hill, through the forest, and he broke into a run. “For the Mantis, fight on!”
Yoritomo Mifune ran through the portal, through Oblivion’s Gate, and back into the world of heroes.
Then…
The sky was black, pierced with cracks of white lightning. Thunder boomed out and rain poured down. The deck of the Fortune’s Fortunes was slick as samurai and peasant moved. Some rowed, some held signal flags that whipped in the wind. At the ship’s wheel, glad for the rain that could hide his tears, stood the tattooed figure of Yoritomo Mifune. His vest, Mantis green, whorled in the wind as he yoked the wheel.
Behind the Fortune’s Fortunes, three other kobune burned. Ahead of it, shadowed in black even against the flash of lightning, was a ship no Mantis had ever seen before. Three masts black as night sky billowed against the storm winds. There was a flash of orange from its side, a burst of fire and black smoke. Strange orbs whistled through the storm, water cascading off of black iron as they pierced the driving rain.
Around the Fortune’s Fortunes, sea water rose in angry plooms. Behind him, Mifune could hear the sick sound of wood cracking and breaking, exploding out in a shower of splinters and death. He closed his eyes, whispering a short prayer for all the men he’d lost and failed today. His crew cheered as the volley missed. Ahead of them the rain shifted, from a downpour to a sheet of water. Mifune looked to the prow of his ship, where Moshi Arashi stood, her arms wide to the oncoming storm. The kami obeyed the shugenja’s whims, but the enormous black ship in front of them seemed unaffected.
The strange ship boomed out again, and the Mantis crew ducked. Mifune planted his feet and turned the ship’s wheel with all his strength. The sea bucked, and the kobune rolled with it. The Fortune’s Fortunes ploughed ahead, through storm and fire. Arrows loosed into the enemy ship fazed it not at all. There was only one solution.
“Prepare to board!” bellowed Mifune. Around him, his crew gathered ropes and hooks, effortlessly picking up kama, swords, knives. Thunder boomed in the clouds ahead as the kobune pulled alongside. The crew, veterans of the sea and victors of countless battles, threw ropes hooks up the side of the huge, black ship. Yoritomo Mifune raced forward, drawing his strange gaijin sword. Checking the rope was secure, he spared a glance behind him. He saw his crew, samurai and peasant alike, look to him expectantly. He nodded to them, and a banzai shout chased him as he climbed up the rope. He could not speak for he dared not betray the sense of dread he felt.
Kandah in one hand, Yoritomo Mifune made his way up the side of the strange, black ship. A figure loomed above him as he neared its deck, and without hesitation he ran his sword into the thing’s chest. There was no sound as the man fell off, and Mifune did not spare him another glance. With both hands, he scaled the rope and vaulted onto the deck. He pulled his masakari, the axe’s weight familiar in his hands. Thunder flashed overhead, illuminating the other figures on deck.
They were men… and less. They were monsters… and more. He did not recognize the clothing they wore, or the strange curved swords they brandished at him. Their deck stank of death, of the grave and the sea. In that moment, Mifune saw in them the same he had seen at Volturnum, men who were lost so far from home. Members of his crew followed him on deck, and Mifune knew he could not fail them.
“YORITOMO!” he cried, charging in with his axe. All was chaos and storm and war. Mantis green fought undead monsters, the sea shifting and the deck rolling. Neither side would give quarter. Neither side would leave the other alive.
Mifune’s axe was a blur, severing heads and limbs. He felt the sting of steel on his side, but paid it no mind. His vest tore, and he stumbled back. The monsters that looked like men surged forward, bolstered by others that swarmed up from below deck. Around him, Mifune could hear his crew get hacked down. The Mantis were driven back, slowly, paying the price for their advance in blood. The creatures shouted, their voices sick and wet, but Mifune could not recognize their words. They parted as one of them strode forward.
He was dressed in tatters, his coat made of blackened skin. He wore a black hat, cornered in three places. The sky cracked and broke again, a flash of light, and for the first time Mifune could see him clearly. Flesh dark and purple, one eye glowing in undead hatred.
“No..” whispered the captain of the Mantis. In that flash of light he saw the end. There were stories, of black ship and a black captain, for centuries. A cursed, inhuman ship with a revenant at its helm. All who saw it died. The story had only one name for the ship, and its captain. Death.
He whipped his axe forward in a desperate strike. Death cleaved it in half, the wooden pole shattering. Mifune was driven off his feet, landing roughly on the slick ship’s deck. The creature levelled its sword, a thing Mifune had never seen in all of his long travels, and spoke in a voice that seemed to carry all the weight of all the sea’s dead.
“What is my name, boy?” The words Mifune could understand, but they were slurred and spoken through broken teeth. “I have killed your kind for hundreds of years. You will die with my name on your lips!”
“You are D-” Mifune began to speak. The creature, a nightmare of old tavern stories brought horrifyingly real, drew a strange metal tube from the folds of its coat. It pointed the thing at the Mantis, and smiled.
“NO!” There was no time to react. Mifune heard a click, and saw a flash of orange fire. There was another body suddenly in front of him, one that recoiled and shuddered. The man pitched back, and Death cursed. The man’s body landed roughly next to Mifune and lay unmoving. Mifune looked down, and stared into the lifeless eyes of a peasant.
“Oseki?” Mifune asked. The man had a hole the size of a fist blown in his chest. Blood flowed freely from it. In the eyes of his dead crew, Mifune found his anchor. He saw in Oseki’s face, chiseled there like an artisan’s gift, all that he needed.
He stood, and reached to his belt. Around him he heard fighting, but it wasn’t chaos or cacophony. Arrows whizzed by him, missing him by impossible distances as they found their marks in the monsters they faced. His wakizashi, his honor, his Truth, was in his hands.
“We’ve made it out of worse than this, Captain!” shouted Tsuruchi Jinrui. The Tsuruchi's arrows flew unerringly despite the storm and rain, Death snarled, and Mifune stared down.
“He is too energetic for my tastes, Mifune-sama, but he is right.” the calm voice of Moshi Arashi said next him. The priestess called down fire, and a wave of it pushed the monsters back. Death stood alone in front of him, and Mifune knew one thing.
He would die today. None of his plans mattered. None of his allies could save him.Yet in Oseki’s face, in the voices of his crew around him, he knew that he would die a Mantis, surrounded by other Mantis, and that would be enough. The last thing he could do is die with courage in his heart.
The world was shattered by light and sound. Mifune’s ear drums ruptured, blood flowing down the sides of his neck. There was a roar unlike any storm’s wind, a light like nothing he had ever seen.
Fight
On!
The voice was loud over the sound, and in a flash it was gone. He realized his crew was standing back from him, and as he looked forward he saw why. His sword, named Shinjitsu for the truth it carried, was awash in thunder and light. He realized, suddenly, and with a clarity that he'd never before felt a truth. The Yoritomo could not stand alone, just as he could not win without his crew. The Mantis Clan was more than him, or his family, or even Yoritomo himself. The Mantis were the Moshi and the Tsuruchi, alongside the Yoritomo. The Mantis were the peasants that labored along with and for the samurai. The Mantis were a whole that was far stronger than any individual part. The next words came unbidden from his mouth.
“FOR THE MANTIS!” Yoritomo Mifune cried, plunging his sword into the cursed ship’s deck. Death cried out in a language Mifune could not understand. The thunder in his sword crashed into the ship. There was a high pitched whine, and then an inhuman keening. Floorboards cracked and warped as the ship itself attempted to stop Mifune’s attack, but even as it did arcs of lightning broke through. With a rumbling creek, and then an explosion of fury, Death’s ship was rent asunder. Mifune stood back laughing, as the section of deck peeled away.
“NO!” This time, it was Death that shouted. “Damn you to all the seven hells! I will find your children, and I will drink their blood! I will persist! I will conquer! I WILL SEE THE MANTIS DEAD!”
“AND WE WILL ALWAYS STOP YOU!” shouted back Mifune, laughing to the storm. The ancient ship, a monster in its own, turned and the damaged sections peeled off. Parts of its hull, like broken bones, jutted into the night sky. The deck fell into the sea, and Yoritomo Mifune with it.
Now…
“Is he awake yet? You know how he gets when other people pilot the ship Arashi. The only one he let do it was Oseki.”
“He will be, Jinrui-san.”
“I will be what?” Yoritomo Mifune asked. His eyes hurt as he opened them, and he beheld two samurai he trusted more than any other. Tsuruchi Jinrui smiled excitedly down at him, while Moshi Arashi’s passive face appraised him calmly.
“You will be fine, Mifune-sama,” said the shugenja. Mifune squinted, and smiled at her. “The ship is damaged. Our supporting fleet has been lost, though we have recovered some survivors. The men are exhausted. What shall we do next Captain?”
“Yeah, what’s next Mifune?” Jinrui, himself bearing a number of small cuts and bruises, could not help but let his energy shine out.
“We have beaten Death,” Mifune said with a smile. “Next? Well the only thing left is to save the Empire. What do you say to that?”
