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The clash lasted forever, and only a moment. Bone on steel, ceramic on flesh, and a sound like teeth scraping over piano wire. A roar of blood. Such violent music. Between the staccato of our blows and the screeching of our claws, one could be forgiven for an electric guitar and drums coming to mind.
We separated, spacing ourselves apart, just out of immediate striking distance, as we took measure of one another. My arm was damaged, though I felt no pain. I felt nothing at all. Physically, anyway.
As I beheld the figure in front of me, steam exhaled from my cold lips as if to mimic the rising of my blood. If I still possessed a heart, it would be racing with anticipation. Maybe it was, in a vat somewhere, while scum in lab coats took hurried notes. But not even such thoughts could quell the rush I felt. Such a satisfying foe.
The wolf loomed, as if out of legend. His attire was base, but his strength was anything but. Tattered denim, black leather vest, studded gloves, wild yellow eyes, ready to tear me apart.
I shivered with anticipation. How glorious.
The first rule of assassination is to know the target. As such, I made use of the wretched thing they'd wired into my mind, and asked of it who this man was.
A name came back.
I paused, flashes of memory cascading in. I was, in this form, imperfect, and the recollections around my final days among the living sometimes… fractured. He stood before me now, clothed in black and belts, but back then… he couldn’t have been more than a teen, in cutoff jeans and a teeshirt, raining down righteous indignation with his fists at the injustices we were perpetrating. It made me once more aware of the cruel passage of time. Of what I had become.
My hesitation did not go unnoticed.
"Getting cold feet?" He said, cocking a grisly grin. I imagined those canine jaws cracking through someone’s bone.
Lowering my stance half an inch, I coiled myself, tensing for battle. The servos and gears within me went taut, ready to snap back. My whole being screamed out for battle, as the cold voice behind my brain commanded my soul to destroy this obstacle, and bring what remained in for processing. And yet, I held. I could draw this out, if only briefly.
I spoke, voice choked, cold, and mechanical, the veritable ghost in the machine.
"You… are Yugo Ogami."
His grin spread, feral, threatening to take off his entire head.
"So you've heard of me!" he roared, laughing.
I paused again. Contemplating the animal before me, looking at him anew. Appraising him.
"Of course. You are the man who has taken in my son."
***
I was once the head of the Kato school of martial arts. A veritable ninja clan, a relic of the days gone by when foxes and tanuki were said to take human form and skulk in the shadows.
So much nonsense.
So much truth.
“Ninja” as a title was, of course, a bit of a misnomer. The history of the profession was said to date back to the 2nd century, and was written of in the Kojiki and other texts of antiquity. It wasn’t until the 1400s, though, that the word “ninja” was first circulated, a shortened reading of the proper title “shinobi,” and the modern stereotypes about running around in black pajamas were due to kabuki theater and how the kuroko stagehands dressed so as not to draw attention against the dark backdrop of the back curtain. However you wanted to call us though, we were a clan that undertook espionage, assassination, and whatever wetworks our clients wanted to pay for.
Despite being largely done away with by the 1700s, some such schools still exist in the present day, if one knows where to find them, and we were one such establishment. Secreted away, still training, still taking on work for those who would pay to be our masters. And as in the olden days, many of our number were shifters, yokai, zoanthropes; those who could take on the aspect of a beast, and make use of its abilities to aid our purpose.
I was the third in what seems to have become a dynastic line of clan leaders, Kato Ryuzo, the Third Dragon. After my father, and his mother before him. We believed power proved the way forward, and belittling women was foolhardy when any could wield the strength and skill needed to get the job done as well as anyone else.
Some had looked down on me for being a “dragon of the earth,” a common Japanese mole, but none could deny my might when I proved myself worthy to succeed the clan. Powerful arms, powerful claws, with the speed and compact frame to strike hard and fade away, as a certain rat once said. I was Bakuryu. And I was proud of it.
I was told, in my youth, that we had once been the branch clan of a temple that housed actual dragons at its head, feared and respected by all who knew of them. I do not know the truth of such stories, but either way they had disappeared during the Meiji Restoration, another victim of the changing times and the need to bury skeletons lurking in the closet. It was because of this lineage that our heads of house must be “dragons,” and it was with that in mind that I had been considering what to do about an heir.
***
As fate would have it, the first time I laid eyes on the one who would be my successor was when he was an infant, being carried into the dojo grounds by an apprentice who had found him outside the gate. There was a commotion, and I came out from my chambers to see what the fuss was about. The Kato school was known to take in strays and foundlings, providing them with roof and meal in exchange for hard work and dedication to the family, so it was not such an uncommon occurrence for a newborn to be left on our doorstep if circumstances drove the birth family to have need to do so.
Most, however, were unaware that we also kept a lookout for children of a certain special persuasion. My kind were little understood in those days, not that they’re known much better now, but it was understandable that when the newborn let cry a wail and changed into a little burrower of the earth himself, all eyes turned to me.
Of course, that wasn't how things worked. A zoan's true nature had little to do with their parents'. My own father being a “kirin”, or Hoofed Dragon (in truth, an okapi), and my grandmother had claimed to be a “shishi”, or Lion Dragon, the kind that used to guard the emperor (in reality “just” an asiatic lion, but one must embellish a little to strike fear into the hearts of one’s enemies). And even if that was how things worked, I hadn't given rise to any situations that would result in a child, legitimate or otherwise. I had been quite fastidious.
Still, I could not stem the assumptions people were already making. I could see it in their gazes. They were already making calculations about how this child would fit into the hierarchy of the clan. Resigned, I bade them hand me the babe. As I took him in my arms and observed, his wailing ceased, and he looked up into my eyes, staring at me unafraid as I glowered at him with a visage that would normally make my students break out in a cold sweat.
After a pregnant moment, I turned my back on the apprentices and returned indoors, carrying him inside.
"So be it."
The next dragon had descended.
***
“So you’re his old man! I thought your style was familiar! But wow, I coulda sworn you were done in! Melted or something, right?”
I chuckled. “I was. My death was quite agonizing. And yet, Tylon have no respect for the dead. I awoke as you see me, a metal monster forged out of what was left of my corpse. It seems that damnable contract bound even my soul, and death itself was not enough to escape my masters.”
Ogami furled his brow as his feral grin lost some of its mirth, slightly lowering his ready fists.
“But Tylon was destroyed. Gado blew up the building himself, and made sure all of those bastards inside got sent to prison.”
Keeping my right knuckles pointed straight, I brought up my left hand to tap the side of my head.
“Is that so? Because even now, the control program is attempting to force me to stop stalling and deliver your broken corpse for processing and experimentation.”
This seemed to trouble Ogami. As well it should. Many a clan fell because their foes had successfully fooled them into thinking they had been done away with while they regrouped and readied for the second assault.
But if he didn’t know enough to have thought of that, I wasn’t about to do him any favors. My tutelage was harsh, but efficient.
I grinned. Or as much as one could with a mask for a face wrought of ceramic and steel.
“But perhaps, like me, it is just a phantom, unable to fully disobey its masters’ final orders.”
***
It was undoubtedly an archaic practice held over from the days of low life expectancy, but the dojo and associated village of the Kato clan were nothing if not archaic; and as such the boy wasn’t to receive a proper name until he came of age. Until then he was just “the boy”, officially, though some had taken to calling him the tatsuko, “child of the dragon.” And to others, he was known by less flattering nicknames. Though, these were never spoken in his presence or mine.
By age five, I had begun his training.
It was around that time that I was approached by several men in dark suits accompanying the most untrustworthy man I have ever laid eyes on. They had come up to the village after an introduction from one of our usual contacts associated with those in power in the country, meaning they had friends in high places. Which was odd, because the man who seemed to be in charge certainly didn’t look the part.
This lanky excuse for a man wore an ill-fitting tobacco-stained labcoat over scrubs and sandals, and fished out a crumpled business card that he passed along which identified him as one Busuzima Hajime. Another, more respectable fellow accompanied him. He was American, and introduced himself as one Mister Steven Goldberg. The two were scientists for a corporation called Tylon that was purportedly interested in researching Zoanthropes in order to understand them and better tailor pharmaceuticals to their particular needs. It soon became clear that while Mr. Goldberg was outwardly the more put together of the pair, and was far more passionate and bright-eyed than his associate, Busuzima-san often had to calm him down and get him back on topic. The two complemented each other well, and I could see why they were successful together.
In the end, it was the talk of putting together a legacy to leave to the boy that won me over. Not just within the clan, but also something more public facing, with government backing, connections, and assets as well. A sense of legitimacy and respectability.
In retrospect, I should never have signed that damnable contract they handed over.
***
When the boy turned nine, I started taking him on missions to shadow me. He took to things effortlessly, making use of the beast within to slip in or out unnoticed where none should be able to tread. I only had him coming with me on lower profile targets. People higher up the chain in drug rings, corrupt politicians’ toadies, the like. Nobody too important; assignments that could still be completed satisfactorily if something went wrong. And he was willing and eager to mete out justice to such lowlifes.
Over the course of the year I brought him with me on half a dozen such outings, a higher than usual number for the head of the clan to partake in personally, but it was for his training. These doubled in purpose as well, as I took the opportunity to start introducing him to other denizens of the dark and making it known to other clans and families that he would be the next in charge after me.
It was also during this time that I allowed Tylon to start “enhancing” me. I’ll admit there was a certain amount of hubris involved in that. As a parent and a mentor, I wanted to stay at my peak for as long as possible. I had come into fatherhood later in life than most, and I did not want age to start dulling my movements before the boy was ready to be out from under my wing.
It was during the excursions that Tylon had sent me on to test out their zoanthropic drugs that I met an… individual… known only as Fox. It was hard to discern their gender, but I gather that was part of the point, for they were as ruthless as they were beautiful, in their androgynous way. I might have even considered partaking in some indulgence of a more personal nature with them, had they been less bloodthirsty. As it was, they delighted far too much in the act of killing, and I’m sure the drugs weren’t helping. I decided they were less than ideal as a partner, in business or otherwise. I myself had noticed feeling a bit more ruthless of late, but I had a strong enough will to hold back such impulses.
On one such assignment, the assassination of a businessman attempting to bring down Tylon due to his racism against my kind, the boy was brought along for training, but Fox had also been assigned. Busuzima-san seemed to have picked up on my interest and had apparently decided that we made a good pair, the meddlesome fool. I made a mental note to chide him about it the next time he and Mr. Goldberg came around to visit the village.
We infiltrated the man’s residence, a grand estate, after staking out the habits and paths that the security and help frequented, making note of cameras, corners, shadows and light, anything to give us an edge. Choosing a window of time where none would be nearby, I slipped into the unfortunate soul’s bedchambers to do the deed, leaving Fox and the boy to guard the halls in order to ensure we would not be disturbed. I gave the man a peaceful enough end; to anyone ducking in he would appear to only be asleep. As I verified my work, I heard a disturbance outside the room. I swiftly exited and came across my heir shielding an unconscious and bleeding maid from Fox, who was flipping a still-wet knife as they turned to me, a cold smile on their face that didn’t reach their eyes.
“Your boy got in the way of me taking care of a witness.”
The boy in question rebutted, the anger in his voice evident despite his hushed tone.
“There wouldn’t have been a witness if you hadn’t lured her this way in the first place, you fool!”
I silenced them both, and we quickly extricated ourselves from the premises, leaving the maid where she’d fallen after applying some basic first aid and slipping her a pill to muddy her recent memories.
After reporting completion and parting ways with Fox inside the Tylon compound, I finally turned to the boy, who had been silent ever since we’d left the target’s home.
“Tell me why you stopped him.”
His eyes stared back at me, as unafraid now as they had been when he was first left at our gates.
With confidence, he declared “It was a deviation from the mission. She was a bystander, and had nothing to do with our objective. We must have standards, or else we’re nothing but thugs and killers.”
I nodded, pleased. With these actions and this sense of what his purpose should be, he had demonstrated that he was clearly ready to start taking on his own assignments.
Before I could give a response, I sensed someone approaching, and turned to face down the hall as Mr. Goldberg rounded the corner. He had come to inform us that some violent zoanthrope intruders had broken into the research lab, and I was being requested to go handle things. Patting the boy’s shoulder, I left him in Mr. Goldberg’s care and went to fend off the insurgents, not knowing it would be the last time I would lay eyes upon my heir. As a member of the living, at least. I should have said more.
***
“How did he take my passing? I had left him with someone within Tylon who seemed trustworthy, with instructions on what to do in the event of the unfortunate.”
For the first time in our exchange, the man before me dropped the look of amusement from his face.
“I don’t know who you left him with, but those Tylon bastards had fucked with his mind. He was so drugged up he couldn’t even remember his own name. Just knew his orders. His targets. I was furious when I realized I was fighting a child.”
Listening to this, I was furious myself.
I wish I had lived, so that I might have torn them asunder with my own hands.
How dare they.
How dare they.
“Couldn’t agree more.”
I gave a start.
I hadn’t realized that, in my anger, I had been speaking aloud.
Foolishness.
Their pain would come soon enough. One of us would make sure of it.
***
My body audibly groaned as I strained to keep my programming at bay. I saw the wolf’s ear twitch at the sound. It hadn’t escaped his attention. But I wasn’t yet finished with this chat. There were many things I still wanted to ask, but I appeared to be running out of time.
“Tell me, does he eat well?”
The young man grinned again, but this time jovially, while still not letting down his guard.
“Of course! Just packs the food away haha! Honestly, I don’t know where he puts it all.”
I nodded.
“Is he strong?”
The grin turned sharper, and prouder.
“He trains with me every day, of course he’s strong. Best sparring partner a guy could ask for. Still sticks to your style, too.”
I nodded again, proud myself.
“Anyone special in his life?”
Ogami was momentarily shocked at this question. Though his bafflement soon turned back into another grin, softer this time.
“Yeah… he and Uriko, that girl your lot kidnapped for Tylon, are a bit sweet on each other. They’re still young though, so I don’t know if they’ve quite figured it out yet.”
At that I let out a sharp, throaty laugh.
“Good! Good… A strong body, a strong mind, a strong partner… I could ask for nothing more for him. I am proud to hand off the name Bakuryu to him. And with it… I never had chance to say this before my demise, but I am comfortable formally passing responsibilities to him as the new head of the Kato school. If the clan even still exists, and gods are especially cruel, that authority might actually mean something, somewhere, someday.”
A look of amused annoyance crossed Yugo’s face.
He thumbed his nose at me and declared, “Hey now old man, he’s an Ogami now! And he’s got his big brother here looking out for him if he gets into any trouble.”
I chuckled softly at that.
“Nonsense… he’ll be a dragon till the day he dies…”
But it was time. I tightened my limbs.
“And now… I think I’ve delayed the inevitable long enough”
Yugo’s expression grew grim.
“Do we really have to do this? No matter who wins this fight, Kenji’s going to be sad about it.”
I laughed again, deep this time, from my belly. I sounded like a broken doll with a malfunctioning voicebox as I let the amusement seep out of me. Ogami waited patiently for me to finish, tensing himself back into a ready stance.
"All my killing you would mean… is that you were not worthy of raising my boy. And as for you destroying me... well… I'm already dead."
With that, I pulled the trigger, and we lunged towards one another.
And again the bloody music roared.