Flesh of the Demon

A tale of the Crab from the front lines of the war with the Destroyers.

Flesh of the Demon

By Shawn Carman

Edited by Fred Wan

The Imperial City was unusually cool for this time of year, but such was the state of the Empire that only the most oblivious or self-absorbed denizens of the city seemed to take note of it. Unfortunately, Miya Nishio noted to herself, that seemed to be a tremendous number of citizens. She did not wish ill upon those who were blessed to reside in the presence of the Divine Empress, but she looked at all those who strode through the streets, completely unaware of the dire state in which the Empire currently existed, and she resented them. Were they not so consumed with trivialities, what could they contribute to the effort against the Child of Heaven’s enemies?

“Forgive me, mistress,” the Seppun guardsman who walked at her side said quietly, “but I know the look you bear. It is best not to consider such matters. Take it from one who spends a great deal of time within the city.” He glanced at her slightly, his eyes a strange mixture of sorrow and anger. “No good comes of it.”

Nishio looked at the guardsman and smiled slightly. “Thank you, Tanizaki. I will try to keep that in mind.” The two lapsed back into silence as they wound through the intricate series of streets and buildings, the Seppun unerringly leading them toward their destination. Toshi Ranbo lacked the chaotic layout of its predecessor, Otosan Uchi, but the city’s rapid expansion over the past few years was such that it could not be considered well-organized in any sense of the word. Fortunately, Tanizaki seemed to know the way, and in only a short time, they arrived at the object of their search.”

“The tertiary office of the minister of military affairs,” Tanizaki said, keeping the disdain from his voice through some ritualized practice that Nishio was certain Seppun began learning while still in infancy. “Do you wish me to wait with you while you file your report, lady Miya?”

Nishio hesitated for a moment. The layout of the streets through which they had arrived had been flawlessly committed to her memory, as was the custom for the far-traveling heralds. Still, she was not eager to give her report, and despite that she had conveyed hundreds if not thousands of equally important missives in her years of service, she found herself slightly anxious. “If it would not interfere with your duties…”

“Certainly not,” Tanizaki said. “It would be an honor.”

“Thank you,” Nishio said with a smile. Tanizaki was more forthright than any Seppun she could readily remember working alongside, and vastly more talkative. She enjoyed his company. “I would appreciate that very much.”

The interior of the office was indistinguishable from any of a dozen others in as many cities throughout the Empire. It was relatively empty, with only a lone scribe, who looked quite tired and malnourished, working feverishly at a desk. He looked up and explained that they would be summoned when his lord had time, and promptly resumed working on whatever it was that he was consumed with. The two Imperials waited patiently for a short time before there was a sharp rap against wood from somewhere farther inside the office, and the scribe looked up. “My lord will see you now,” he said, his voice heavy with fatigue.

Nishio and Tanizaki entered the rear portion of the building. It was vastly better appointed than the front, and the bureaucrat working within seemed to have all that he could possibly require for any manner of paperwork. “You are the herald with the report from the southern front?” he asked without looking up.

“Yes, Otomo-sama,” she replied with a bow.

“I am Ishihama,” the bureaucrat answered, finally looking up. He glanced once at Tanizaki in surprise, then turned back to Nishio. “May I have the report please?”

Nishio handed over a series of scrolls. “As given to me by the lords of the southern armies, Ishihama-sama.”

The bureaucrat bounced the scrolls slightly as if weighing them. “Summarize it for me, if you please.”

Nishio blinked in surprise. “As you wish. The cost of the battle with the god-beast has been documented and presented by my lord Miya Shoin. The aftermath of that battle, however, was the breach in the southern front that has permitted the Destroyers to make significant gains along the Scorpion’s southern border. The line is holding but there have been numerous incursions, incursions that have been extremely expensive in terms of destruction of holdings and loss of life.”

“I see,” Ishihama said, his voice completely devoid of any concern or emotion. “How would you characterize the losses?” He waited a moment, then looked up at Nishio. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes,” she said flatly. “I have no idea how to characterize the losses.”

“You are unfamiliar with them?”

“I am intimately familiar with them,” Nishio said. “The problem is that, after all these months, the words have failed to have meaning. What does catastrophic mean now? Disastrous? Apocalyptic? I have no idea how to describe them.”

“That is hardly helpful,” Ishihama said, his tone reproving.

“She means that thousands of men died,” Tanizaki broke in. “Thousands of men who should have served the Empress for years or decades more. Thousands of men who should have had children who served the Empress. Thousands of lives consumed by a war that should not, by rights, be taking place, against an enemy that should not be allowed to exist.” He paused and looked at Nishio. “Am I out of place, my lady?”

“No,” Nishio said. “That sounds more or less accurate.”

* * * * *

Hida Iseki threw herself to the side at the last moment, releasing the handle of the tetsubo that was stuck so firmly in the metal hide of the last Destroyer she had slain. Her new opponent’s attack was almost faster than she could see, and despite that she had thrown herself away, the tip of its blade ripped through her sleeve and the flesh beneath it. It was a painful but superficial wound, although the scream that slipped past her lips was more of rage than pain. The battle had progressed to the point that the Destroyers had given way to the animalistic monstrosities that served as the second rank of the gaijin horde. They were vastly less numerous than the ironclad creatures she was accustomed to fighting, but still their ranks seemed endless.

The serpentine creature darted forward, undulating from side to side with amazing speed, its hooded eyes bright with hunger for the kill. Its four arms glistened with jet black talons, each one twitching in anticipation. Iseki reached to the ground and grabbed the first thing she could reach. It was the broken haft of a yari, one whose tip, she hoped, was deep in the heart of an enemy somewhere. She lifted the broken wood and pointed it at the demon. “Do you want me?” she bellowed. “How much are you willing to pay for it? I swear it will cost you much, filth!”

The serpent hissed strangely, pulling back on its enormous serpentine coils. Iseki had never seen a Naga, but this was more or less what she imagined one would look like. She shifted her weight back and forth from the balls of her feet, ready for the killing strike, hoping that she could take the damnable creature with her to the next world. Perhaps if she was valorous enough, her reward would be to kill it over and over again for eternity.

The thing lunged forward like the snake it resembled, striking with its fangs, but pulled back long before it struck her. She thought at first it was toying with her, feinting to lower her defenses, but then she saw the arrow jutting from its face. Then there was another, and then another. It thrashed and spasmed, its massive coils cracking the earth in the throes of death. And then it was still.

Iseki looked about in surprise, trying to determine what had happened, from what direction her salvation had come. And then she saw him.

A massive column of samurai smashed the Destroyer line, shattering it and sending ironclad infantry in all directions. Iseki caught sight of the Lion Champion, his new eye-patch apparently not impeding his skill in battle. A dozen Mantis archers accompanied the command unit, killing everything within line of sight in a slow, steady progression. Lion soldiers and Unicorn cavalry worked side-by-side in the business of death, but it was none of that that captured Iseki’s attention.

Like a figure sprung from the legends of her childhood, Hida Benjiro exploded through the ranks of the Destroyers, casting their damaged and broken bodies aside with every movement. He bellowed, an inarticulate sound of rage and hatred, and killed another. They came at him in waves, and Iseki remembered how many had fallen to their blades when they first appeared, how many the gaijin demons had killed before the samurai of Rokugan had learned how to fight them properly. They were still deadly, perhaps even deadlier than the oni that the Crab had fought for so many hundreds of years (not that Iseki or any other Crab would ever admit such a thing), but those who had survived the first weeks and months of the war had become very good at killing them. And none was better than Hida Benjiro.

It was said that the Crab general had killed more of the beasts than anyone else in the whole of the three-clan army. Seeing him now, moving across the field of battle like a storm that could not be contained, Iseki certainly believed it. Her many cuts and bruises seemed less important, her pain seemed embarrassing. She glanced around the ground, looking for anything more effective that she could use as a weapon, but there seemed nothing available. With a grimace, she hefted the spear pole above her head, shouted “Hida!” at the top of her lungs, and raced for the chance to fight alongside Benjiro.

* * * * *

Agasha Kusadao pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders to avoid the bracing wind. She shuddered and rubbed the flesh of her arms. She left her chambers and crossed the courtyard to the small temple. She stepped in and shivered. “Takino-san,” she called. “Are you here?”

“Of course,” a smooth voice answered. “When have I ever slept later than you?”

“I cannot recall a time,” Kusadao admitted. “I also cannot recall a time when it was this cold in the Month of the Monkey,” she added.

“Cold?” Takino raised an eyebrow. “Is it cold? I rarely feel the cold.”

“Oh yes,” she said, rolling her eyes. “So powerful is your magic that the elements themselves long since stopped affecting you.” She reached out and playfully slapped at his shoulder. “Be serious. Have you ever felt it this cold this early?”

Takino turned and looked out the doorway to the courtyard. “No,” he admitted. “Never before.”

Kusadao peered up as if staring at the air itself. “The spirits are agitated. They move with purpose that I have never seen. It is… disturbing.”

“I do not know if I would say disturbing,” Takino said, rubbing his chin. “That the spirits are moving in such a manner, so different from their normal activities… no, I take it back. You are correct, it is disturbing.”

She turned back to him. “Do you think it means something?”

The priest said nothing for a short while. “Yes,” he finally answered. “Yes, I do.”

* * * * *

Iseki stood, resolved to return to her quarters as she had wished to do more than an hour ago, and steadied herself slightly. She had not drunk much, not compared to the others, but the minimal amount of sake she had consumed over the past few months appeared to have reduced her tolerance somewhat. Experience told her that she would have a headache the following day, but hopefully nothing more than that. Not like the others, and especially…

“Hida Elite Guard!” Hida Haruo bellowed, the words slurred very slightly. “All hail Hida Iseki of the Hida Elite Guard!”

The other Crab present shouted dutifully and downed their drinks, but Iseki waved hers away. “There may be battle tomorrow,” she reminded them. “Do not commission your own writ of death by drinking yourself incapable of fighting.”

“Incapable of fighting” Haruo roared with laughter. “An elite position for only a few hours and already you have lost your mind!”

There was some good natured laughter among the others, and Iseki could not suppress her own grin, but she declined the second offer of sake and made her way to the door of the tent that had come to serve as the Crab’s unofficial sake house during this particular entrenchment. “Remember tomorrow,” she reminded them one last time before stepping out into the cool night air.

The fresh air did much to clear away the lingering fog from Iseki’s mind, and she thought perhaps she would feel no ill effects the following day. Which was a good thing, really; she had been foolish to accept Haruo’s offer to drink. The two had been friends for a very long time and Iseki though perhaps Haruo was happier for Iseki’s promotion than anything else that had happened in a very long time. It was an excuse, likely, but if that was what her friend required for an evening of blissful forgetfulness, then she was pleased to have been able to provide it.

As she walked back toward her tent, Iseki paused for a moment to regard one of the few actual buildings within the camp. It had been a Scorpion shrine of some sort, probably to the Fortune of Lying or Preposterous Masks or something ridiculous, but had been seconded by the camp as a sort of temple of all purposes. Few people used it, unfortunately. There were no monks to maintain it and the shugenja attached to the armies had their own duties that kept them away. Most preferred to simply offer their prayers in their few private moments, but the temple was there for those who felt they needed it. There was a dim light from within, most likely some candles burning, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, Iseki felt the pull to enter and offer her prayers. She should have died today, and instead she had been promoted to a rank far higher than anyone in her family had ever held. It was only proper that she offer her thanks.

The area around the temple was deathly silent, with the soldiers either sleeping or engaging in revelry that was stationed well away from the temple by thoughtful design of those who made arrangements for the vast, miles-long camp that made up the army’s front line. As she approached, Iseki paused slightly, for she could hear voices. Not chants or prayers, however, but what appeared to be a conversation of some sort. She frowned slightly, as she was not in the mood for company, and likewise did not wish to intrude upon another conversation if it was a matter of a private nature. She stepped lightly toward the entrance, hoping for an indication of what the matter being discussed was.

“Tell me of it once more,” a dark voice said. “How would you describe what the creature said?”

“I could not even call it something it ‘said,’” a familiar voice responded. “It was simply… inarticulate noise. But it went on for so long, and it seemed to have genuine purpose to it. I am haunted by the experience.”

Iseki frowned. Was that Benjiro’s voice?

“Ogres possess an intelligence, of sorts,” the other voice went on. “If you feel that there was some purpose or weight behind its words, then it is possible it was attempting to communicate. Communication with such creatures is theoretically possible.”

“I do not want to communicate with an ogre!” Benjiro said irritably. “I simply want to understand what happened! And why it returns in my dreams! Can you help me or not?”

Iseki placed a hand over her mouth. What was taking place? Was Benjiro haunted by some evil spirit? She needed to know if the leadership of the Crab was compromised. She crept carefully closer and stepped very slightly inside the doorway of the temple.

It was all Iseki could do to stifle a gasp of shock. Benjiro sat in a meditation position, his eyes closed. The interior of the temple was thick with the scent of some strange incense that hung heavily in the air. “Of course I can help you,” the priest replied. Iseki could only see the side of his face, and it was obscured by the kabuki make-up that the Kuni so often wore, but there was no mistaking his face. She would have known it anywhere.

Kuni Okichi.

Whenever the subject of the Kuni family arose, the discussion would, if it continued long enough, turn to the subject of their controversial practices and beliefs. There were many outside the Crab, and more than a few within it, who believed that the Kuni took too many risks, that they looked too closely into the darkness until it became part of them as well. And whenever such a discussion came up, it was men like Kuni Okichi who inevitably were used as an example of the dangers the Kuni faced. He was legendary for the depths to which he had gone to fight the Shadowlands, and some claimed that he had become as much a threat to the clan as those he destroyed. Whether this was true or not, Iseki could not say for certain. The one instance she recalled most clearly was an instance in Kyuden Hida when she had been little more than a child. Okichi had been there, one of his rare appearances in public, and her own father had taken her aside and warned her of his madness. Given her father’s own peculiarities, she had taken the warning even more seriously.

The priest, whose back remained to Iseki, suddenly sat up straighter, then slowly turned to face her. He was unsurprised, as if he had somehow sensed her presence. “I know you,” he said, his voice low and ominous. “Hio’s daughter.”

Iseki felt something cold in her chest. How could he remember her? She was suddenly very aware of the absence on her hip where her weapon’s weight normally tugged. It was only seconds away, in her tent, but that was an entire lifetime. “I…”

Benjiro opened his eyes, and Iseki was struck with how haunted he seemed, now that he was away from the battle, away from command. “Be still, Okichi,” he commanded. “This is Iseki, one of my elite guard.” He turned toward her. “Is there something that requires my attention?”

“No,” she answered at once. “I did not mean to intrude.”

“Then this is private matter, Iseki,” Benjiro said. “I would appreciate your understanding.”

“Of… of course,” she said. She bowed sharply. “I will go.”

“She has seen too much,” Iseki heard as she turned to leave. “She should not be permitted to speak of this to others.”

“Iseki is not a danger,” she heard Benjiro answer. “The only threat here is your reputation. You are here at my command, and any who find that reason to question my leadership are not true Crab to begin with.”

The two spoke more, but Iseki could not hear it as the temple was left behind in the background. She did not doubt Benjiro, not for one moment, but still… why would he consort with a man as dangerous as Okichi? Was the situation truly that dire?

And what had they been speaking of?

* * * * *

The battle went poorly.

As part of her first assignment with the Hida Elite Guard, Iseki had been assigned to protect Kaiu Kyoka, Benjiro-sama’s personal siege master and tactical advisor. The terse Kaiu had overseen the construction of several new siege engines which had, at the first conflict of the morning, been used to devastating effect against the Destroyers. Iseki estimated that at least a hundred of the ironclad infantry had been utterly ruined by their heavy fire, if such a number could be said to mean anything given the seemingly endless ranks of the foul creatures. After only an hour of heavy firing, however, it seemed that whatever passed for leadership among the Destroyers had grown weary of the toll being exerted on the front line, and a major offensive push had taken shape against their position.

Iseki struck with the reinforced haft of her ono, smashing one of the ironclads in the face and pushing it back slightly. This gave her sufficient room to bring the weapon down in an overhead strike that tore the thing’s metal flesh open from the crown nearly to collar. She could tell from the vibration in the handle that such a blow took a terrible toll on the axe’s blade, but that did not matter. The dying ironclad shuddered and released the once-horrifying but now unremarkable cloud of energy that spewed from the things when they died, and of course the strange whispering noise. Iseki scarcely noticed the latter anymore. Veterans of the front lines had to put such things behind them in order to emerge from the conflict with sanity intact.

Iseki wrenched the weapon free and estimated its relative remaining life before it would have to be discarded for something else. She had seen Lion soldiers fighting valiantly but reduced to near-tears when their grandfather’s blade was ruined by the death of an enemy. Such individuals never survived. It was but one of the differences between the clans, differences that the war had highlighted to Iseki. The Lion lived for war. The Phoenix lived for peace. The Unicorn lived for freedom, and the Scorpion lived only to lie. But the Crab?

A Crab lived for death.

It seemed counter to all common sense, but Iseki understood it now. A Crab did not care about war, only the death of his enemies. It was in death that the Crab purchased life. Life for himself, life for his family, life for the other clans that had no appreciation of the struggle. Iseki was a Crab, and she wished to live, but even more than that, she wished for her enemies to die. Her mother had understood. Even as a child, she had commented that there was death in Iseki’s heart, and that she would share it with many, many foes before she died. In another clan, perhaps, such a statement would have elicited horror. Iseki’s mother had only been proud.

The tide of ironclads gave way, and once again the animal-demons were upon Iseki and those around her. These were far larger than those she had seen before, and many of them were the sort that her Unicorn brothers-in-arms had identified as “elephant-men,” whatever that meant. All Iseki cared to know was that they were larger and more difficult to kill, but that they could and would die if wounded grievously enough.

Iseki and the other Elite Guard concentrated on the largest of the demons, and it was due to this that she did not notice the arrival of something else altogether. Her first indication that something was different was when one of the ballista she had spent the battle protecting exploded suddenly, showering her and her comrades with large, pointed shards of wood. One of her colleagues collapsed with a gurgle, an inches-thick wooden splinter jutting out from his throat. Even one of the demons collapsed, its entire left side covered in bleeding wounds from wooden projectiles. Iseki pulled a small one from her shoulder where it had slipped between the armor plates, but the wound was not severe.

“Why do you continue to resist?” a hate-filled roar tore across the field. “Submit and be spared a torturous death!”

Iseki wiped blood from he eyes and spied a new enemy. It was man-sized, although only in terms of the very largest man she could imagine. Its form was bulky, rippling with muscle and power, but its head was something out of a nightmare. At the moment it was a serpent’s head, but as she watched it rippled like the surface of a pond after a stone was thrown into it, and after a moment of blurriness, it was a tiger’s head. “I will punish all humans for this outrageous temerity!” it roared. Its voice was thick with genuine outrage.

The ranks of samurai against demon parted, and once again, the form of Hida Benjiro emerged, flanked by the most senior members of the Hida Elite Guard. “Rakshasa!” Benjiro shouted. “I know you, and I name you rakshasa!”

The flowing thing stopped and peered at Benjiro with a sneer. “So one among you is not entirely without intellect. Do you wish an accolade for this?”

Benjiro drew his weapons and held them at the ready. “I desire something altogether different.”

“Your stench is familiar to me!” the beast roared. “We have not faced one another before, or you would be dead. I must have slain your family!”

“You faced my brother,” Benjiro said, and even from the distance she stood away from him, Iseki could sense the growing anger within him. “You were responsible for his death, although you were not warrior enough to take his life yourself.”

“The former Champion!” the rakshasa roared. “That he escaped my vengeance is an insult that shall not be borne! Now you will suffer in his place!” The thing laughed, and the noise made Iseki want to wound her own ears so that she could not hear it. “You came here to die, samurai!”

“No,” Benjiro said. “I came here to show my men that you can bleed and die.”

“Fool!” the rakshasa roared, and flowed across the field faster than Iseki had ever seen a living thing move.

Somehow, Benjiro was ready. He parried the things attacks and made his own, tearing through the beast’s flesh over and over again. Every wound seemed to heal itself almost as fast as it was inflicted, however, and while the demon chipped away at Benjiro’s armor, it seemed not to suffer from its wounds at all. In her heart, Iseki felt fear. Benjiro could not prevail against such an opponent. What man could?

The combat lasted only seconds, but it seemed hours to Iseki’s perspective. Benjiro suffered wound after wound, but did not relent, did not halt in his relentless attack. The rakshasa laughed at him, only increasing the Crab general’s rage. Finally, the beast tore a terrible wound in Benjiro’s side, and Iseki saw the pain in his face. Tears streamed down her face and she readied her weapon to charge. She would not live to see Hida Benjiro die, she decided.

“Ridiculous human,” the rakshasa said, leaning in close. “What did you hope to accomplish? You cannot defeat me!”

“Perhaps not today,” Benjiro said, “but you can die. And you will die.”

“Your audacity knows no bounds!” the demon roared.

Benjiro’s hand suddenly flashed beneath his armor plate and emerged with a small knife. Iseki could not see from where she stood, but the weapon seemed of the same color and general appearance of the tusks of the elephant-men that she had faced only a few moments go. (Had it only been moments? Fortunes, it seemed like decades!) Benjiro’s hand darted to the rakshasa’s torso, and the blade penetrated deep into its flesh.

The demon cast Benjiro aside and screamed.

Iseki staggered under the noise, her weapon forgotten, her hands going to her bleeding ears. The ironclads and animal demons nearby all staggered and fell to their knees, devastated by the sound. Something black and smoldering fell to the ground where the rakshasa stood. Was it the demon’s blood? The beast howled inarticulately in agony, and if flowed away as fast as it had arrived, leaving its smoldering trail behind it.

Impossibly, Benjiro was on his feet. His entire side was drenched in blood, but his eyes burned like a bonfire. “Come back!” he roared with such force that Iseki was frightened. “I am not finished with you! Come back and face me!”

Kaiu Kyoka was at Iseki’s elbow. “The demons rise again!” he shouted over the ringing in her ears. “Lord Benjiro’s wounds are severe! He must be taken from the battlefield!”

Iseki nodded and joined with the other Elite Guard pulling at their lord, struggling to bring him back behind the front lines. Benjiro struggled against them but seemed not to see them or truly even notice their presence. “FACE ME!” he roared, his voice louder even that the demon’s scream. “I will watch you die in agony!” he continued. “Hear me, demon! I will be there when you die!”

In that moment, Iseki knew that it must be true. How could it not be?