Blackblade 0.05 - The Devil's Gensui

“Rrrrgh!” The two men’s blades flashed through the air, slicing every which way. “Just like that! No warning, no explanation, no ‘Oh, just so you know, Mako, I’m appointing your brother’!” The man whose angry exclamations rang out over the clashing of blades attacked relentlessly, weaving and flailing in a flurry of deadly blows. It was all the other could do to defend, dodging and blocking with his ominous black sword, losing ground with every strike of his opponent’s blade. “I’M the better swordsman. I’M the better tactician. I’m just as good with numbers and balances and treaties and I’M the one who’s been training his whole LIFE, not him!” His sword emphasized the anger in his words.
“Maybe if your temperament didn't leave something to be desired,” Osamu threw in, straining to hold back Mako’s assault. At this, Mako’s eyes narrowed and he increased the speed of his attacks. He yelled in fury as he hammered away; with a series of deft slices, he broke through Osamu’s defense, leaving deep crimson gashes across his chest and arms. He drew blood again and again, no reservation in his form; Osamu could not recover, but did not call a halt. With an emphatic yell, Mako lunged forward, and his blade sunk deep into Osamu’s shoulder, drawing a cry from him at last.
Mako pulled back, his rage evaporating as Osamu held his wound. “Geeze, I’m sorry. I didn’t…” Osamu shook his head with a grimace, cutting him off.
“It’s…fine. It‘s what I have clerics for,” he said through gritted teeth. He sheathed his sword, taking care to keep it from the blood.
Mako slumped to the floor, half-heartedly wiping at his sword: an exotic, oddly-balanced weapon. “Now what? Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve trained for, gone.” His motions were short, angry strokes. “I’m not serving him. I won’t serve him. Stupid, self-absorbed, immature twit…” he muttered the insults under his breath.
Osamu sat down beside him, “You’ll still be the gensui. Neither of them would dare make you any less,” he said, trying to keep his breaths measured. He staunched his cuts with pieces of his robe, as it was already destroyed. 
“What does it matter?! I’m not a shogun. As of now, I will never be a shogun.” Saying it out loud seemed to deflate him, and he got a far off look as he contemplated his own words. 
Osamu let the silence be for a moment, before he said, “Well, if you won’t serve your brother, you can come serve me,” his words were strong, but the pain made his voice skip and his breath irregular. Mako gave a derisive laugh. Osamu raised his eyebrows, “You said it yourself: your lordship is lost. Unless you feel like slaying your brother, and we both know the peasantry won’t like that one bit, him being the little suck-up that he is. To say nothing of your mother. The best you’re going to get without problems is gensui. So you can serve your weak, bratty little brother, or you can serve me.”
Mako looked at him sardonically, “You’d make me your gensui, just like that?”
Osamu gave a half-grin and gestured towards his shoulder, “I haven’t met anyone else who has your qualifications.”
Mako laughed half-heartedly and looked off into the distance again. “If you can give me a reason…” he began quietly, then again with more conviction, “If you can give me a reason why working for a dying, unfavored house is better than serving my own family, then I will.” He looked at Osamu dead in the eyes for a few long seconds, before he grinned and shook his head.
Osamu returned the smile, “I would think that the list of reasons outlining my superiority to your brother would be apparent.”
They both chuckled, causing Osamu to wince and clutch his wound. “Alright, you’re getting pale. I’d better go find your cleric before you bleed out,” Mako stood up and sheathed his sword. “Or worse yet, I take too long and you scar, and your dad will be after me with an executioner’s axe for marring his only child.”
As Mako reached the door, Osamu called his name, causing him to stop and turn.
“Yeah?”
“I will give you that reason,” he said, humour gone from his eyes.
Mako smiled, but his gaze denoted his seriousness. “Then you’ll have your gensui,” he replied with a tip of his head. 
----------
“What do you mean, I can’t go in?!” Mako yelled.
“I’m sorry, Lord Murakami, but my orders are…”
“I don’t care what your…you know what, fine.” Mako drew his blade, a look of bored contempt on his face. “You can keep everyone else out, that’s fine, I don’t care. But the Miros have never kept me out, I haven’t heard from them to keep out, and you’re not a Miro. So you will let me by, and only me," he added lightly, "I’ll play nice, or," his tone darkened again, "I will cut you apart and apologize to the lords for reducing their staff.”
The blood drained from the gate guard’s face. “I…I…” he stammered, then with a defeated bow of his head, moved to the side.
“Alright, you all stay here! Apparently, you can’t go in!” Mako called sarcastically to his attendants who had accompanied him on the trip. With a swift motion, he sheathed his sword and brushed past the terrified guard onto the grounds, his strides and direction that of someone who had been there many times. Edgy from the strange greeting, his eyes flicked about and he kept up his guard; he’d never been refused before. He entered the buildings and rooms with familiarity, his purpose growing stronger with each empty room he found. Osamu wasn’t around any of his usual haunts, which was strange enough, but the quiet was equally discomforting. Castle Miyagi was usually quiet, as long as he had known it, but there seemed to be even fewer people, and a silent, urgent fear seemed to haunt the few he did cross paths with. None seemed to know where their prince was, though they glanced around like a specter was watching them. His nerves piqued, he scoured the castle to no avail. His hunt eventually led him across a room, sealed shut with a chain and lock. As far as his memory served, this was a room for the harem; strange it should be so closed. With a shrug of abandon, he drew his sword, laid aim, and sliced through the metal links in a single stroke. “Let’s see what’s going on, hmm?” he mumbled to himself, secretly hoping that he wasn’t going to catch some sort of exotic ailment.
The room was dark, forcing him to stumble around looking for a lantern, though no noises reached his ears through the dimness. Finally acquiring a light, he turned it on, and was greeted with a macabre sight. He let out a low whistle, as the entire harem lay dead before him. Walking over to the nearest corpse without fear or reserve, he toed it a few times. The body was stiff, dry even; it lay like a desiccated mummy, its flesh and fluid drained, leaving a bony husk. “Now, what in God’s creation did this…?” he asked, his tone almost conversational as he looked closer at the bodies. No signs of struggle, no signs of damage. The expressions on their faces were…odd, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.
“You are terrible at taking a hint,” another voice said from the doorway.
Mako straightened up and turned around. “Yeah, that’s never been a strong suit of mine,” he said, still devoid of any shame from his intrusion. “I was looking for you, and no one here seemed to know where you’d gotten to, so I figured I’d find you around.” He walked back towards the door. “And that’s to say nothing of your doorman. Tried to tell me I wasn’t wanted. Pfft,” he rolled his eyes. “You’d tell me if you didn’t want me around, right?”
Osamu looked pointedly down at the broken chain on the floor, “You know, I’m fairly certain that you wouldn’t listen even if I told you personally.”
Mako frowned sarcastically, “Are you going to tell me to leave?” The other prince didn’t reply, but moved his dispassionate gaze over Mako’s shoulder. “Yeah, I knew you wouldn’t,” Mako mumbled. He stood next to Osamu in the doorway and turned around, holding up the light. “So, what happened here? Do I need to go get blessed for something?”
Osamu replied without looking, “This door was closed for a reason.”
“Aww, shit, really?” Mako looked perturbed for the first time.
“No, idiot,” he replied, his eyebrow slightly shifting up.
“Seriously? Don’t mess with me, I don’t want to die from some fucked up mummy disease.”
“It’s not a disease,” Osamu said shortly, and turned to leave.
“Alright. So what is it then?” Mako took one last look and closed the door behind him. He extinguished the lamp and set it down on the floor before following after Osamu.
“…An indiscretion,” he replied, and continued walking in silence.
Mako followed, the seriousness creeping back into his expression. They walked down a few corridors before he asked, “So what’s going on here?” He got no reply, so continued, “You’re keeping people out, including lords, your house is nearly empty, you have a room full of dead women, and something’s wrong with you.”
At the last statement, Osamu paused. “What’s wrong with me?” he asked quietly over his shoulder.
Mako’s eyes narrowed, “You’re…off. I don’t know. You tell me. I’m the one who doesn’t know what’s going on.” Osamu stood quietly for a moment, and moved into a nearby room. It was a small annex, not particularly good for anything except filling space. He sat down and looked thoughtful, but still said nothing. Not waiting for an invitation, Mako followed him. He stood regarding the other for a moment before sitting down across from him; his hand hovered around his hilt, and he sat in a position that he could spring up from in an instant. There was still something going on that he didn’t understand, and it was making him uneasy. They sat quietly, until Mako realized something. “Your eyes are wrong,” he said flatly. Osamu looked a bit surprised, which turned to concern. He mumbled something unintelligible and turned his head away. Mako didn’t break his gaze, but slowly drew his sword. He kept it down, a show of caution more than offense. “Tell me what’s going on,” he said, to which he got no response. He held his position.
“Eyes…are very hard to get correct. Too many colours, I guess,” Osamu finally offered, his tone cryptic.
Mako did not move his body or his gaze. “Magic?”
“Yes.”
After a moment of nothing else, Mako asked, “So are you Osamu hiding something, or someone else pretending to be him?”
Osamu sighed slightly, resting his chin on the back of his hand, “The former, I suppose,” before returning to silence.
Mako shook his head, “I’m going to be really pissed off if you make me sit here guessing all afternoon, whether it’s you or not.”
With another sigh, Osamu raised his head and made eye contact with Mako for the first time that afternoon. Mako thought idly that he was definitely right: the colour was all wrong. Good catch on my part.
With no trace of humour, Osamu said plainly, “I went to Hell.” Mako didn’t seem to find this either believable or funny, so held his tongue. “A bit of an anticlimactic place, really,” he added dryly. He didn’t seem to know where to go from there, and fiddled with his nails.
“So…” Mako dragged out the word. “Any particular reason you decided to take a trip there? One too many people tell you to visit?” There was no response to his jab, so he continued, “I’d ask ‘how’ but, if you’re lying, I don’t care, and if it’s true,” he shrugged slightly, his guard still up, “it’s probably technical, so I still wouldn’t care.”
“Undoubtedly,” Osamu replied. With another pause, he stood up, looking formal. “I will give you that reason now. The reason to be my gensui." He took a breath, "I went to Hell to get the power I need to finally unite this country once and for all. I will excise the powers that keep it back, and finally free Yeto to prosper as it should. There will be peace, and prosperity, not the pointless war and stagnant bickering that is all this country has known for generations.”
“…You know that that will cause war in and of itself, right?” Mako asked. He did not get up, but maintained his stance.
“I never said that I was going to take a peaceful route,” Osamu stated. “The sickness is too entrenched. Unity will be bloody and hard-won, but I will do it.”
“I suppose if you went to Hell,” Mako’s reply was tinted with sarcasm, “then you probably weren’t planning on trying this the friendly way. Why Hell, if you don’t mind me asking? You’re talking about peace and love and happiness, why didn’t you ask Heaven? Seems like more their job.”
Osamu dropped his gaze slightly, though not his formality, “My power isn’t in justice, or virtue. My strength is my desire, and desire is the purview of Hell. It's what I've been trained for, what my destiny's always been. I will see my plans through, and I will not suffer less.”
“Well, this all sounds like you, all right. Whiny and abstruse,” Mako conceded, standing up. “I still need you to prove that you’re you, and not some crazy ass wizard or something telling me a story.”
Osamu regarded him and drew his sword. Its black, unearthly sheen was visible in the dim lighting. With no hesitation, he flipped it around and clutched the blade in his hand, offering the hilt. Mako’s expression was bemused as he lightly grasped the grip. His expression shifted wildly as he twitched, his arms seeming to fight against motion. Osamu stood calmly, though his grip on the blade was tight. Drops of blood fell from his hand where the blade cut into it. After a moment, Mako dropped his hand and composed himself. He looked strained, as though he had just fought someone off. “Well,” he said, still bemused, as Osamu put away his sword, “He’s as pleasant as ever. Can’t imagine anyone else working with him, so I’ll assume it’s still you.” He caught his breath as Osamu stood quietly. “So, what’s your plan then?” Mako's tone shifted suddenly back from cautious suspicion to unguarded interest.
Osamu's expression mollified slightly, "You believe me?"
"Didn't say that. Kind of irrelevant really: it's the war I'm interested in. Screw the 'destiny' junk and everything to do with magic, and stick to the important details." 
“I suppose if I'm doing that, then the details boil down to 'overwhelming, unstoppable offense',” Osamu replied, to which Mako grinned. “None of them are truly prepared for war," he said matter-of-factly. He looked at Mako again, “But I will need a gensui.”
“Doesn’t your father have one you can borrow?” Mako asked in jest.
“Not one who has the strengths I need. Not one who will serve me over my family.”
Mako looked at him seriously for a moment. “You’re abandoning your family?”
“I believe I did that the moment I entered Hell.” His gaze drifted away, and he added in a lower voice, "Certainly, when I sent my father to finally see his wife again." 
Mako looked at him thoughtfully for a minute, then nodded as though that was an acceptable answer. “Well,” he said brightly, “Guess we had better start planning.”
“So you accept my offer?” Osamu asked.
“Pftt, come on, you know you had me back at ‘reason’,” he said lightly. “My father embarrassed me, I’d sooner fall on my own sword than serve Haru, and if you’re really going to unify the country, I’d rather be helping you than sucking up to my father as he sucks up to you so that his pretty little countryside doesn't get dirty with soldiers all over it. You know he'll bow to you in a heartbeat; I wouldn't get to do anything at all. And besides,” he added with enthusiasm, hopping up lightly from the floor to stand, “how am I, a destined gensui rikugun taisho, supposed to resist the offer of leading an ‘overwhelming, unstoppable offense’? That’s practically my name! If it wasn’t such a pain to sign.”
Osamu, for the first time, smiled. “I’m glad.”
Mako waved him off, “Don’t get sappy. I’m in this for the conquering.”
“Of course,” he said, still smiling.
“Oh!” Mako exclaimed, as though he had forgotten. “But I am going to have to see what you’re hiding. ‘Cause, you know, if I’m your gensui and all, I deserve to know.”
Osamu rolled his eyes, “I suppose,” and he allowed the spell he had woven about him to melt off, revealing him how he now was. Though his face was nearly the same, all colour had drained from him, and black wings, horns and a tail marked him quite clearly as a devil of lore. Mako looked him up and down, and started laughing. Osamu gritted his teeth, the tip of his tail twitching like an angry cat’s. “Fuck!” Mako exclaimed, and stepped closer, “You always hear about making deals with devils, but I didn’t think I’d literally get to do it.” He poked at Osamu’s wing, “Do these work?”
Osamu's wing flinched, flicking Mako’s hand back, “I would appreciate you not doing that.”
“Then don’t fucking grow wings,” he said, still chuckling. “So, do you have devil powers? Fire and brimstone and…shit, did you kill all those women?” he asked. Osamu didn’t reply, but looked uncomfortable. “Fuck, you did, didn’t you? What did they do, catch you in a bad mood or something?”
Osamu muttered, “I was hungry.”
“Damn…” Mako replied, stressing the word for exaggeration’s sake. “Remind me not to go near you around dinner.”
“I can’t say I have any inclination towards you or your body, thank you.”
“Oooh, I get it, women only. You’re that kind of devil. Funny, wouldn’t have called that about you,” he said with mock thoughtfulness. “Well!” he clapped his hands together. “Let’s go talk resources! If I’m going to ransack a country for you, I need to know what I’m working with.”
“Your lack of revulsion or concern is distressing,” Osamu said, reverting back into his human form.
Mako snorted, “Whatever. Nothing worth getting upset over. I’d be more pissed if you had kicked me out.” He looked at Osamu critically, then shook his head in disapproval. “Nah, it’s just not working. Don’t bother.”
“What?”
“The eyes, you just aren’t doing them right. They don’t look like that. Just stop.”
“What, stop having eyes?”
“No, idiot,” he cuffed him in the back of the head. “Stop trying to hide the colour. Just go with it. Give them something to fear, put them off-guard. Let them all know something is wrong, and it’s nothing they can explain, predict or stop.” 
Osamu changed his appearance, this time keeping his eyes their now-natural flat, light grey. “You think that’s better?”
Mako smiled, “Yeah.” He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Now, let’s go unify a country.” He turned to leave, "We should probably just get Tottori out of the way first, it's the easiest, and honestly I'm not too worried about the Okabes. The southwest coalition is going to be the sticking point, so we should..."
"Wait," Osamu stopped him and closed the gap between them.
"What?"
Osamu looked at Mako a bit oddly. He tried unsuccessfully to start a sentence a few times before finally spitting out, with a slight frown and head shake, "I'm going to try something. Just, don't move." He held out his hand and placed his index finger on Mako's forehead. He closed his eyes with a look of concentration but did nothing else, his finger firmly pressed against Mako's head.
"Uhhmmm...little...ya, little bit awkward," Mako said.
"Well, I could hug you for a minute, would you prefer that?" the sarcasm was clear in his voice, though he kept his concentration.
Mako seemed to give that thought, "Yeah, that probably would be more awkward, but not necessarily, because really, you standing and poking my head is pretty weird, while at least hugging is considered normal. What are you doing?"
"Something that unfortunately requires me to touch you for a minute, but does not require you to shut up."
"Aww, are you all grumpy now? Are you sad you didn't get the hug?"
"60 seconds. I only need 60 seconds. 35, by now."
"You doing magic? Hugging magic?"
"Don't push me."
"Poor Osamu went to Hell and got hugging magic and no one to hug..." At that, Osamu, taking care to keep contact, pressed forward quickly, putting Mako into a tight hug. Mako was thrown off-guard, "Wagh, dude..." 
"There. Is this better?" Osamu asked directly into Mako's ear, voice dripping with sarcasm. 
"No, no, not really."
"Well, then, maybe you shouldn't have brought this on yourself." Mako made an uncomfortable face as Osamu, still sarcastic, continued, "And now you get a 20 second hug, aren't you pleased? How was your trip here?"
Mako rolled his eyes slightly; he'd lost the round. With a short, resigned sigh, he added chipperly, "Not bad, weather was a bit off."
"Yes, it's been stormy around here too." The pair had a short, sarcastic conversation about the roads and weather, all while Osamu held Mako in a tight embrace. Mako's arms remained by his side for the duration. The minute passed and Osamu pulled back. "There. Do you feel...huh." Osamu cut himself off. "I didn't know that would happen."
"What?" Mako asked concernedly, then started patting himself all over. "What, what did you do?"
"It's nothing. Focus for a second. Do you feel any different?"
"Tell me what..."
"Shut up. Focus. Different."
Mako glared at him, then stood thoughtfully. He flexed his limbs about a bit, considering the motion. "...Yeah. Yeah, a bit. Like putting on my belt. Weaker than that, but still, yeah."
"Good. It worked then," Osamu looked pleased. "Would have been unfortunate if that were for nothing. Should last until someone dispels it, though I doubt anyone will."
"Great, thanks, totally worth you being in my personal space," Mako said, still sarcastic. "Now, back to the important part: what did you not know would happen?"
"I assume you'll think it's not a big deal. Go find a mirror," Osamu prepared to leave.
Mako's hands flew to his face, "Oh geeze, did you fuck up my face?"
"Ooh nooo," Mako's sarcasm could not stand to Osamu's. "It's almost like being concerned about marks on your face is legitimate."
"Oh, fuck off, you fixate and you know it."
"Come on, there are better rooms to discuss the inadequacies of your face," Osamu said, opening the door.
"Bitch," Mako mumbled, following after him.
Osamu gave a small chuckle. He looked over at Mako, "Thank you."
"For what?"
"You know full well."
Mako grinned, "Of course I do." 
Category:Banishment of the Blackblades