(Yes, I've decided that this little chapter is going to be a 'trilogy'. T= his particular chapter has developped a life of its own, and I'm bored, so I'= m helping it grow. By the way, these events take place before Ozzie leaves Shinkyo (yes, all the way back then) and I do hope you will enjoy.)

Justice Of War / Justice In War by Vian Davlin.

In war there are always two facets to Justice...

.. the Justice you wield around yourself... and the one you extract from your enemy's corpse...

End.

***********

"Two death for the Atreides," Idaho husked. "The second for no better reason than the first."

Duncan Idaho, as written in 'Children of Dune', by Frank Herbert.

***********

Against all hopes to the contrary, Hojo Matsuhida lived. Yes, the wounds were severe, more severe than any sword cut he had received during his younger years and yet... he lived. Or perhaps Hachiman had claimed his so= ul after all, as well as those of the Outsider and Nogiri, to accompany him during the long voyage into heaven, where lived spirits and gods alike... but as sharp, lancing bouts of pain wracked his mortal body, he immediate= ly knew that assumption as wrongful.

Focus came slowly to him, with long, almost unbearable periods of agony = in between... No longer was he within the miserable hovel he had called his own, yet he could recognize the two who sat besides him. One was asleep, shoulders rising gently with each breath he took, head dropped forward...= A battered, stained armor of Samurai dressed him. Nogiri Tatsumen, or so hi= s brain told him.

The other he also knew, though again he found himself cursing the Karma, which had brought him into his life. Great silvery wings were draped over his shoulders, obscuring chest and the hands, which were folded within. H= e did not sleep, however, much to Hojo's dismay. Vian Davlin was very much awake, gazing calmly into Hojo's eyes, nodding slowly and silently.

"How... how long?" were the first words that came from Hojo's mouth, although they came in a voice that he could no longer tell as his own. Th= e words were a mere croak. Licking his dried lips, he tried to rise, only t= o find Vian placing a strong hand against his chest, restraining him to the wooden board they had been using as a stretcher.

-"Do not move, Matsuhida-san. You have many, many wounds... We found you nearly dead, having been attacked by assassins in the employ of the... th= e 'Emperor'."

Anger flared in Hojo Matsuhida's bloodshot eyes. Such was not a way to d= ie! Killed by assassins who worked for material rewards!

-"I know, stupid Outsider! Answer my question!" He wanted to know. Not because he was worried about his health, but because he wanted to know if= ...

-"No, Matsuhida-san, we have not yet moved against the Imperial palace. = We will be moving swiftly, of course... But your chance to die will come soo= n. Very soon." Vian answered, his voice filling with scorn. Rising without another word, he turned, left.

Long moments went by during which Hojo Matsuhida recollected his thought= s, thinking back upon times that were now... obsolete. The Shogun was now de= ad, of this he was certain. His lord and master, the very man who had gifted = him with the Katana and Wakizashi, the daisho that defined who and what he wa= s. Most of his comrade-in-arms were now dead as well or, as shame consumed them, had committed seppuku, ritual suicide of the Shinbian warrior. Some had become Ronin, though, and Hojo was quite sure he had seen a few of hi= s men in the employ of the merchants, though they had not recognized him. H= ow could they? He was, after all, an old, and therefore inconsequential peasant...

Yes, I am old, suddenly thought Hojo. The world is changing, and I am ol= d, much too old to understand it.

A sigh. Turning his head to face Nogiri, he spoke.

-"You can wake up now, Nogiri... the Outsider has left."

A dry chuckle was his answer as Nogiri opened his eyes, casting away the disguise of false-sleep like one tossed away dirty rags. His eyes shone w= ith amusement, and the hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

-"You knew I was awake, Matsuhida-san? I never was quite able to fool you..."

Nogiri rose, twisted his neck around. Sitting in this position for hours was quite tiring, even for one who had been trained to stand patiently in rain and mud, awaiting the signal to attack... a signal that could someti= mes be hours in coming.

-"You forget who taught you that trick, old friend..." Hojo answered, trying to push himself into a sitting position. Nogiri, as he always did, moved to help his friend, and together they sat in the silence, their min= ds far away...

Hours passed. People occasionally entered the small room, bearing news o= f the upcoming gathering of soldiers and Nogiri always answered with a nod, his brain assimilating the information for later use.

The sun fell, and still the warriors did not speak.

Finally, only when the moon, full and brilliant in the dark of night, ro= se from beyond the land did Hojo speak again.

"Will you be my kaishaku, old friend? Will you permit me to die as it wa= s meant to be?"

No look of surprise came over Nogiri as he heard the words. To be the kaishaku, the one who's blade would send the soul of a warrior to the heavens, was an incredible honor. That Hojo Matsuhida, one of the great warriors of a dying age, wanted Nogiri to assist him in his seppuku was m= ore than an honor. It was the last gift a friend could give to another.

But Nogiri could not accept. And so he only smiled again, his hand tightening around Hojo's shoulder.

-"We have one more battle to wage, old friend. Let us go through the fir= e one last time together, and then... we'll see."

***********

The violence of the argument was both sudden and terrible, threatening t= o split apart the fragile alliance of Ronins, former Samurais and Merchant Lord mercenaries who had gathered together to hear out Nogiri Tatsumen an= d to know of his plans. At first, there had been only mild disagreements. T= he plan had, after all, been hastily thought of, and assaulting the Imperial Palace clearly wasn't going to be an easy task for men who lacked the sev= ere discipline which had been drilled mercilessly in the Imperial troops.

Matters degenerated further, however, when it was learned that Hojo Matsuhida would not lead the fight against the monstrosity sitting on the Imperial Throne and that the Outsider, the Oni-winged 'barbarian' would l= ead them instead. They wanted one of 'them', a member of their group, a Samur= ai.

Vian Davlin obviously wasn't one of 'them'.

"We will not allow a gaijin to lead us, Tatsumen-sama! Hojo Matsuhida, w= ho you so calleously allowed to live with his shame until this is all over, = was the one chosen to carry us into battle!" was arguing a particularly young warrior, his hands rising and falling as he accentuated each and every wo= rd. His features were twisted into a mask of anger, and as he settled down to listen to Nogiri's answer, he fixed Vian with a glare that fully brought across the outrage and contempt that he felt. Outrage because the Outside= r was even -allowed -to accompany them, contempt because this supposed-warrior, who had never before proven himself in combat, deigned consider himself an equal to all those present in their new hideout, an ancient mansion which had once belonged to one of the former Emperor's enemy.

Narasima Sakade was the name of young warrior, Nogiri suddenly recalled.= A promising man, charming and astute with both the tongue and the blade, Sakade had, as all within the mansion, failed the Shogun at one point or another. It was also told that Sakade's failure had been rather spectacul= ar, and that he had fled to Shinkyo before his execution could be ordered. Needing all the good blades he could use, Hojo had allowed the young man = to remain in the capital... Interesting.

Matters, however, were quickly turning against Nogiri Tatsumen. Narimasa Sakade was inexorably eroding Nogiri's support, adding to his already considerable power base. And if Shinkyo was to be liberated, they needed utter and complete unity.

Unity that Sakade, in his foolish bid for power, was destroying beyond hope. The discussion was reaching a boiling point that Nogiri Tatsumen co= uld no longer stop.

One other man, however, had also witnessed the agonizing degeneration of their plans without word, absorbing every insult with growing anger. In o= nly a few days, Vian had seen his self-control slowly being ripped apart by these people, who continuously bickered over inconsequential details and = who now attacked his personal core as a warrior, a dealer of death like every= one else in this very room. His temper was about to erupt, a fact that Nogiri could not help but notice. And so he rose, trying to keep their final meeting from turning into an anger-inspired bloodbath.

-"Yes, and you will note that Hojo Matsuhida, as the chosen one, left th= e details of this battle to me while he heals from his wounds." answered Nogiri, his voice crystal-clear, cold as ice. Steel filled his narrowed eyes, as some of the old pride which had once animated his spirit showed through for all to see. Standing fully erect, Nogiri Tatsumen was no long= er the old, calm warrior everyone took him to be; He was their equal, a man worthy of standing in battle with all of them.

Things were now at a standoff, with Narimasa and Nogiri each trying to fathom the other's next move. Suddenly, Narimasa smiled, a quiet, amused, derisive smile, and stepped closer to the table where Nogiri and Vian wer= e sitting.

-"Oh? By all accounts, Tatsumen-sama, you are supposed to be long dead. Does this give you the right to decide in his place?" he asked, a hand settling upon the hilt of his Katana.

Nogiri's eyes went wide-open with shock. Red rage, however, rapidly replaced the stillness induced by the grave insult, and he jumped forward over the table, landing a fist straight upon Narimasa's jaw.

Anarchy erupted a few seconds later. Men grabbed men, as both sides polarized against the other. Blade were drawn halfway from their scabbard= s, both leaders were pulled to the rear where they could be safe. The tensio= n, however, had skyrocketed, each side awaiting only a faint flicker of an eyebrow to attack. Both groups were fully and completely intent upon the other, ignoring Vian as one ignored an ant scurrying about.

It was the only the harsh, strident hiss of wings being fully opened and the sound of a wooden chair crashing to the floor that pulled both groups from their torpor. Blade drawn, Vian kicked the small table out of his wa= y, stepped between both groups. Full of venom, he eyed both leaders, focused his eyes upon Nogiri.

-"Sensei, it is their right to question the wisdom of your leadership wh= en you force them to accept a leader that never proved himself in their eyes and hearts." Nogiri remained silent, only nodded. Vian's wrath was obviou= sly not meant for him, and without a word he pulled the warriors surrounding = him away from the Outsider.

Narimasa Sakade was then obviously the target of Vian's wrath, and as he turned to face Narimasa, he spit upon the floor, pointing at the young Samurai with the point of his blade.

"You, however, insult Tatsumen-sama's honor by sowing disgrace upon his actions. He did what a true warrior would've done, thus making this opportunity to rid your land of this false-Emperor possible. By insulting him you insult me, and this I will not forgive. Prepare yourself to back your words, child, or I will kill anyone who stands in my path to get to you."

Such was the power in Vian's voice that every warrior shielding Narimasa backed away and to the side to join the others, leaving the two to face e= ach other in a circle of half-drawn blades. A smirk upon his features, Narima= sa drew his Katana and Wakizashi, reversing his grip upon the smaller blade. Both arms held to his side, he spat at Vian's feet, beckoned him forward with a jerk of his head.

-"Avenge yourself, worm."

In a flash, Vian crouched low and sprung forward, his boots digging into the floor to propel him towards Narimasa like a dragon launching himself into the sky. Barely a breath had been drawn and Vian was already upon hi= m, as fierce and deadly as the terrible beast he had been made into on Yland= ia.

Vian brought his blade down in a downwards-diagonal cut, and Narimasa snapped both weapons up to block and push the Outsider's Katana high into the air, steel ringing upon steel with the intensity of clapping thunder.

The Samurai, however, was much too slow in his attempt to block Vian's n= ext strike. Instead of backing away from Narimasa, the Outsider used his momentum to continue into an outwards spin, both wrists rotating to bring the edge up and level with the back of Narimasa's unprotected neck.

Steel sliced through skin, flesh and bone, and in an instant Vian had proved to all that he, unlike Nogiri Tatsumen, was not their equal but their -superior-. It was at this instant that all warriors present here realized that, all these years, they had not awaited a mortal savior in t= he guise of the Shogun, but a beast-warrior from afar, Hachiman reborn in dragon-form. The eternal destroyer from above, their own Ragnarok.

It was also at this instant that, to Nogiri=92s eyes, Vian changed into = the beast that was to destroy them. For he was not done with Narimasa. Recovering from his roll, Vian came again at the newly decapitated corpse= , striking it from behind, his blade skewering what was once Narimasa Sakad= e between the shoulder blades. Yelling a rageful, heinous war cry, he sudde= nly trust up his arms, hoisting the corpse over his head, his single, remaini= ng eye blazing with fury, a fury that, Nogiri knew, would consume not only Shinkyo, but also the entire land that was Shinbi.

Vian Davlin, Vian Dragonlord, had become the demon his former master had taken him to be. Lord Askariel, the dark priest who had served both Emper= or and Shogun, had prophesied Vian Davlin=92s arrival onto Nas Unara, the be= ing who would sow destruction and death in both their lands and lives.

In the following nights before the fateful battle, Nogiri would remember crying silently in his room, crying for his lost children. First Kagero t= o the law of the sword, a warrior lost in battle defending his own beliefs. And dear, dear Mio, lost to the sorrow of her soul, drowned in her own te= ars over an Outsider that forever forsook her love because of war.

And he cried for Vian. The son he never truly had, the single child into which he had emptied his wisdom. He had been teacher, mentor, father to t= his man, and he had been forced to see him threaten the very fabric of his so= ul.

Vian Davlin had to die. A single soul again exchanged, as it has been on Ylandia, for the souls and lives of many.

***********

Over the next few days, men moved in preparation for a battle they all f= elt would be decisive in the war their leader had carried them into. The Shog= un, however, was no longer the one carrying them forward. The men had a new leader, an Oni-winged warlord who would drown all of their enemies in blo= od.

Above it all was Vian himself. By day he rested on the small cot he had scrounged from an old part of the mansion, blade in his lap, staring into nothing as he wrestled with thoughts no one but Nogiri could fathom. But Nogiri Tatsumen was no longer with him, having left with Hojo Matsuhida t= he night the Outsider had brutally murdered Narimasa Sakade. No goodbyes had been said; all Vian had found of his mentor was the armor Nogiri had worn when they had first met, and fought, these two long years ago.

Vian Davlin, however, no longer truly cared. He never slept, spent his nights defying the Emperor=92s martial law edict by running along streets= and rooftops, roaring undulating war cries that froze the blood of any foolis= h enough to cross his erratic path across the city. Pure chaos could be see= n in his single eye as he returned from his hunt, in his soft, whispered commands that he did not wish to be disturbed each time he retreated to h= is room, on the blood-spattered Katana he held aloof, nonetheless as much a part of him as the great silver wings that reflected the moonlight night after night.

Vian=92s only command had been to leave Narimasa Sakade=92s corpse impal= ed upon the Imperial Palace=92s gates, the severed head hanging by it=92s long ha= ir besides the body, eyes cut off and thrown to the wind. It was a clear warning of Vian=92s intentions; Blind vengeance was coming to Shinkyo, an= d it would leave in its path nothing but mangled, unrecognizable corpses.

It was these thoughts, and Vian=92s intentions, that Nogiri mulled over = as he carefully lifted a small cup of sake to Hojo=92s lips. Their flight from = the old mansion had not been a very long one; Lord Askariel had gladly accept= ed Nogiri back into his household and given him the privacy of his garden, f= or the man understood what was going to happen there tonight. Two warriors w= ere to die, their tasks on this world accomplished, the need for them and the= ir ilk gone.

Hojo Matsuhida was kneeling on this night, his burning pride overcoming = the pain of his wounds at such a demanding posture. A tatami rested upon the grass, and on it could be found a small, lacquered table =96 little more = than a tray =96 upon which had been left various objects; A sake bottle and cu= p, a piece of white rice paper, many inks and brushes=85 and a long, razor-sha= rp tanto knife.

=93I never thought that I would be writing my last haiku during such turbulent times, old friend=85=94 was he saying as he took the cup from N= ogiri=92s hand. A tired sigh escaped his lips; although events were moving at a pac= e he found suitable, even exemplary, it was also very clear that Life itsel= f had taken twists and turns he had never thought it would take.

And yet, all feelings of remorse left him=85 He had so much wanted to gu= ide this life into a new age, he could now, with his death so close at hand, think back upon his life with no regrets. His life had been a grand, glorious one, and unlike Nogiri, his path had finally carried him to the last judgment.

He was to die, and he actually looked forward to the afterlife.

Nogiri, however, in this great unfolding drama played the part of the tortured puppet, torn between the desire to go to war one last time and t= he relentless peace death would offer him at last. Kneeling slightly behind Hojo, he harbored a naked Katana upon his knees, and was fully prepared t= o end his friend=92s life without sadness, without grief.

Yet, something held him back.

-=93Hojo=85 I=85 I am the one responsible for this=85 and I do not know = what to do.=94 he finally admitted, head sinking into trembling, pale hands. All attempts at rest had been futile ones; Nogiri Tatsumen was now bordering = on the edge of acute distress and paranoia.

Hojo, however, did not answer. There was no doubt that he had heard his friend=92s words, nor was there any doubt that he knew of Nogiri=92s grie= f. Too many lives had been taken since the Outsider had appeared in their lives, too many souls had been caught up in the maelstrom of Vian Davlin=92s plu= nge into insanity.

Kagero Nichino: Dead, slain by the Outsider=92s blade.

Mio Nichino: Her heart shattered, her wings broken when the Outsider lef= t her for his fickle mistress, war.

And now Nogiri Tatsumen was ready to sink underneath the waves as well. Vian Davlin had to be stopped, finally decided Hojo. But he would need he= lp, Nogiri=92s help, for he was an old warrior who had not yet recuperated fr= om his wounds.

-=93Nogiri, my old, dear friend, I have also realized that this haiku, m= y last poem to this world, is not necessarily the end for me. We have mista= kes to atone for, my friend=85 let this be our eulogy.=94 he said, not bother= ing to look up as he wrote the first lines upon the rice paper, having selected = the finest brush and ink as he spoke=85

=93In lights of spring;

A warrior wrote;

Lines of glory;

For lights of summer=85=94

-=93Our eulogy?=94 Nogiri asked in return, lifting his head to focus red= -rimmed eyes upon Hojo. Lacking rest and sleep, Hojo=92s words had barely penetra= ted the inconsistent fog that was his mind. Yet in the words, he also detecte= d an inkling of the old spirit that had once lived inside them all. Of the most powerful, and also oldest, noble houses of Shinbi both, Hojo and Nog= iri =92s ancestors had lived in an age intimately linked with the mystic powe= r of the gods. Noble and proud warriors had rode upon the land, there, and the= se beliefs had formed an integral part of the two men=92s upbringing.

They knew they were the last. One last time, they would see the land rid= of an abomination, a beast that had unfortunately claimed Vian Davlin as its own.

And then they would fade away, and rest=85

***********

In tomes maintained by monks traveling the land of Shinbi, it would be written that, on the eve of the final battle of the long rebellion agains= t the Imperial Rule, a great storm rose, and the gods once again had appear= ed in heaven.

In the heavens, however, all could see and hear the heralds of battle chanting their savage song, announcing their grim news upon the world. An= d with them came the avatar of war, Hachiman himself, riding upon his proud steed.

Many of the land=92s mystics, however, also saw the great beast the fell= upon the god, in an attack that shook the deepest parts of the island, a monst= er from the deepest parts of hell, here to challenge the mightiest of the heavens for supremacy.

Shinbi was shattered before their eyes, the island disintegrating into d= ust to be blown away by the wind=85

Many saw their doom in these visions, for the lord of hell was a beast t= hat changed into many forms, each more deadly than the other, for his powers came from the endless depths of immortal sin.

Yet others saw hope. Hope, because the heavens were answering Hachiman=92= s call to battle. Many mystical warriors rose and fought at Hachiman=92s si= de. Amongst them were the greatest Samurais of old, yet there were also men a= nd women that came from other lands, from other cultures, and from beyond th= e heavens...

Amongst them was a dragon-winged warrior, features obscured by blood, by death itself, that fewer yet could see. His strikes were erratic, for all that the mystics could see from his face were two orbs of milky white. Th= e warrior was blind.

Fewer more would ever remember what end befell the warrior in this great war. And none would ever speak about it.

***********

The night before the battle was surprisingly peaceful after days upon da= ys of horrible, unspoken of carnage perpetuated by an unknown horror that obviously was not of their land. Yet the tension could still be felt, bringing whispered hints of the battle to come.

All night long did Vian stay in his tiny, sterile room, seated at the on= ly piece of furniture he had allowed his lieutenants to bring him: A wooden desk, upon which a small, leather-bound book had been left. On the pages Vian wrote words after words, emptying his heart and thoughts like an automaton, his features serene and peaceful. Pots of ink were occasionall= y brought and depleted ones removed, until the sun rose, and the last page adorned with Vian=92s flowing script.

The horde gathered with the sun at their backs, surrounding their bodies= in sinister halos, the Oni-winged warlord at their head. They filed through = the streets silently, their armor and weapons strangely muted, a heavy stilln= ess palpable in the air, numerous columns filled with warriors ready to fight and die for a cause that was no longer noble and glorious, nor their own anymore.

High upon the rooftops Vian climbed, a great bow of supple wood strappe= d to his back, until his remaining eye could look upon the far-away Imperia= l palace unimpeded by the scenery, features grim and impassive. A leather b= ag hung at his belt, heavy and cumbersome, yet Vian had carried the weight without complaint or struggle.

In it was a statue of a golden dragon, symbol of the Emperor since immemorial times, that Vian raised high above his head, letting the sun shine upon it=92s mirrored surface, a beacon that all could see.

And then, with a mighty swing, he threw it high in the air, watching it = arc lazily over the city as he drew his bow, readied an arrow.. and fired.

The missile flew true and straight, guided by an invisible hand, to shat= ter the statue into thousand of sparkling pieces that rained down into the ci= ty, illuminating the cloudless sky with a thousand rainbows.

A shard came to rest at Vian=92s feet, and he picked it up, tracing his = thumb against the sharp edges, piercing the flesh, a trickle of blood running d= own onto his palm.

And with a great, blood-curling battle cry, he threw himself from his perch, and the battle began.

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