A Mantis' End
None of it made any sense, Yoritomo Mifune thought. He could hear, just barely, the sobbing of the Oracle of Air somewhere above him. Behind him, the Isawa Ishiken barely stood, holding scrolls in shaking hands. The thing that called itself Kakita Kaiten had nearly killed the shugenja, before the monk and the samurai engaged him. Above him, the impossible forms of dragons battled, air and shadow twisting and writhing. The whistle of a sword brought his attention back to a more pressing concern. A thing that once was the hero Toku attacked him with wild abandon, his shadowy form a mockery of the man Mifune knew. The Mantis ducked but not quite fast enough as a small gash opened on his side. It joined a half-dozen such wounds. The creature laughed as it flicked blood from its katana. Mifune refused to be slowed, refused to listen to all the voices that told him to run and hide. His wakizashi flashed, a sliver streak against the shadow, and he smiled as it bit into the monster. “You aren’t even a samurai!” it cried in shock. “You shouldn’t use a sword!” “You have clearly never met a Mantis,” Yoritomo Mifune replied. He slashed again, but a twinge of pain from his arm slowed his attack. The creature knocked his sword aside easily. Its face changed, becoming almost egg smooth. A mouth split its countenance horrifyingly. “What did I say?” it whispered above the sounds of battle and booming thunder. “Why don’t you quit, man of the Mantis?” Mifune stood back. His thoughts were foggy, his legs like weights. His hakama and obi were stained deep red, his vest in tatters. His headband, cut from an earlier strike, finally fell to the ground. Still, Yoritomo Mifune gripped his wakizashi, his honor, in both hands. His face lit in a shark’s smile. “I never learned how!” he launched into an attack, the name of Yoritomo on his lips.
Mifune felt like he was falling. He could see a gray realm above him, a figure in armor looking down. He felt pain in his chest, a burning sensation that sent fire down to the tips of his fingers. He screamed in pain as the armored figure grew distant, then vanished from sight entirely.
He landed with a thud. He turned slowly, his back aching, his limbs slow and heavy. He could feel rough, wet grass between his fingers. Somewhere, he heard the lapping of waves against the shore. His nose filled with the smell of the sea, and of home.
“Yoritomo Mifune,” a woman’s voice said. Mifune shook his head, his mind still clouded. The voice was familiar…
“Naomi-chan?” he said to the ground. Slowly he rose, carefully he stood. He felt the world spin and he reached out, only to be caught in the slender arms of a woman.
“If you want me to be,” the voice said again. More familiar this time. Rougher, with just a bit of the street dialect of Otosan Uchi. “Is that who you want me to be, husband?” Mifune looked up, and saw her face. He smiled, and around him was home. From their bedroom came his daughter’s crying.
“Oh Naomi,” he said, a smile lighting his face. He hugged her deeply, passionately embracing her. His arms ran down her sides, his lips locked with hers. He was home, he was safe, he was where he was meant to be.
He felt a burning in his chest, and a fire in his lungs. Outside, thunder boomed and storm clouds gathered.
“No…” Mifune whispered. “I’m not here. I’m in a castle made of air.” The room shifted, home melting away into ephemeral air. The sun blazed down, but its color was shadowed and dim. Above him, dragons twisted and turned. He could hear the sounds of battle, but they were distant. He gripped his sword, his Shinjitsu, tightly.
“Is this what you want me to be?” the woman’s voice said. He wheeled and saw that next to him was the Oracle of Air, her beauty strange and alien, her eyes terrifying. “Is this your destiny? This place and this time is all you are?”
“No…. not here.” His own voice was strange to him now. This surreal journey scraped at his mind.
“Yet this is where you died,” she said. She frowned, lightly. “For all that you thought you were, your destiny meant nothing. You died against an implacable foe, a death that served no purpose. Your daughter will never know her father. Your students will not learn your lessons. Your ronin wife is a widow. Your destiny...”
“My… destiny…?” He closed his eyes. the ground shook as the Air Dragon was thrown down. He heard his friends, his companions cry out as they were cut down. He opened his eyes. The Oracle of Air’s beauty was replaced by something else as shadowed figures flanked her. “This is not my destiny,” Mifune said. “It never was.”
“That is abundantly clear, Yoritomo Mifune-san.” another voice said. It was male, an adult, and it spoke with a serenity Mifune had only heard once before. “Yet here you are.”
“Oh! You always spoil my fun, Sezaru-chan,” the woman said as her face scrunched in frustration. The castle of air, the shadowed forms, the dragons and his friends alike all vanished. Mifune found himself looking down into a valley. To his right, the Oracle of Air shifted and changed. Her hair became white, her features more human, though her eyes were as black as night. To his left, a man with white hair and wolf’s eyes.
“Sezaru,” Mifune whispered. “The son of Kaede and Toturi.”
“And the Maven!,” the woman said playfully. “Though guests only seem excited about him. Would that I was an Emperor’s son.” Her smile would have been mischievous, but it unnerved Mifune. He turned, and saw a familiar sight. A valley stretched below him, and in it he could see thousands, tens of thousands of samurai. Their wails of anguish, cries of anger and betrayal, created a deafening cacophony that reached the cliff Mifune stood upon. “Oh Mifune-san, don’t be distracted by them,” the Maven plead. “Not when I’m so close,” her voice was sweet, inviting.
“You know why I am here,” Sezaru said, but Mifune could barely hear him over the wailing of the damned below him. “The Realm is changing, and I do not understand why. I need someone to-”
“Shut up,” Yoritomo Mifune said abruptly. His eyes flicked to the Maven, mouth frozen in response. “Both of you.” The cries of the lost echoed up, past the trio. “I know what this place is. I know who both of you are. I remember, finally, who I am. I remember… what happened to me.” Mfiune’s mouth was tight, but it was the only emotion he allowed himself. “If I am here, I have no destiny. It has been stolen from me.”
“Not… exactly, Yoritomo-san,” Sezaru said. “You are… I do not know if there is another being like you here.”
“What?” Mifune replied, arching an eyebrow. “There are surely thousands of dead men down there with no future and no past.”
“Sezaru is always so cryptic. Personally, I blame his parents. His mother especially,” the Maven cut in. “What he means to say is…” Mifune held up a hand, eyes staring hard at the woman. She frowned, and feigned injury.”Oh fine, to the point then.”
“You still have a destiny, Yoritomo Mifune.” Sezaru again, his face impassive but curiosity alight in his eyes. “In a realm that consumes the future, you have one.”
It was then that Yoritomo Mifune, Sensei of Dojo Raiden, master of the courts of the Mantis, broke out in laughter. His laugh seemed to drown out all the cries of the damned. The Maven and Sezaru both took steps back. Was it insanity? Had his mind finally broken in death?
“You two could never understand!” Mifune forced in between wracking bouts of laughter. After long moments, he composed himself, but a smile tugged at his lips. “Destiny isn’t something given. It can’t be,” he smirked. “Destiny, great and foul, is only for those who can take it.” Mifune turned away from the spirits, and walked to the precipice. Below him stretched dead beyond counting, samurai caught between this world and the next. In a moment of clarity, he knew what he must do. “If I am here, and what you say is true, then there can be only one reason. I am here,” Mifune proclaimed, “to see those samurai freed.”
“You can’t!” the Maven cried. “They are lost and you cannot know what they need. You can’t succeed, man of the Mantis! Stay here, with me, in a place where I can be everyone and everything you ever wanted.”
“You must not throw your future away, not here. We have need of a man like you. You cannot comprehend how useful you would be.” Sezaru moved to pull Mifune back from the brink. As he reached out, he stopped. His arm hung and he could not move. Mifune looked over his shoulder at the Dead Prince and the Maven.
“I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul. My future, my death, are my own.” The Mantis’ words stopped the spirits, and they could only watch as he leapt off the cliff, laughing.
