The Way of the Warrior

*Disclaimer: Read first page. Some het and rape mentioned, not too graphic and it's only in this chapter.. no more het in the next chapter.. i swear! but there might be a little romance between a boy and a girl... i dunno yet. There will be plenty of blood and gore, so if you're squimish then prepare youself for this. But still read it please? I aim to please my readers! The slash will be coming in the next chapter (which will be the final chapter) Hope you enjoy and please review! Also, i know that Harry isn't Orlando's biological father, but i don't know the name of his real biological father, so Harry was just put in.*

~Kobe~


Blood. There was blood everywhere. It spider-webbed across the polished oak flooring in copious amounts. The young man dropped to his knees; eye’s widening in terror and disbelief.

The sight of his father’s decapitated body sent a howl of anguish through the afternoon air. A few Japanese cranes burst into flight; letting loose cries of alarm.

Sobs broke the silence in the dojo as the young man watched blood’s crimson fingertips bury themselves in between the cracks of the hard wood floor; seeking solace.


~Kyoto~


A demonic smile twisted into flawless features as Tomori Harry’s head was thrust before her. “Did you have any difficulty with the assignment?” a soft, melodious voice drifted through the air.

“A few of the Tonohishi spotted me, but it was nothing that I couldn’t handle. I managed to escape,” a gruff tone answered. The blood red gaze fed aed angrily onto the cold green-blue. “You were seen?” a rebuking hiss was thrown into the air.

The man clutching Tomori Harry’s head by the hair in an iron grip dropped down on one knee; his head bent low. “Forgive me Harumi, I did not think-,” the man began to apologize. “You did not think wisely, Viggo,” Harumi interrupted him, her tone clipped with rage.

Viggo slowly raised his head and watched with slight trepidation as Harumi approached him from the shadows.

Obisuki Harumi was a tall, intimidating woman. Her beauty was flawless yet looking upon her struck fear into many hearts. She was the type of woman who demanded power; domination over all. If any opposed, they were instantly killed without mercy. She was the head of the Obisuki Clan, a clan of which she founded on her own. She held a tragic past that few knew of. And even then, fragments of that information remained clouded.

Viggo noticed that she held her Tokagawa Longsword in a clenched, trembling fist. It was unsheathed, which immediately sent warning bells off in Viggo’s head. He once again lowered his head in shame, glancing to his left where his Tachi Katana lay.

Silence fell heavily around the room. Only Harumi’s calm breathing contrasted against Viggo’s shaky breaths. She dropped to her knees, her sword raised high above her head. Viggo closed his eyes and waited for death to grace him with its presence. He had disappointed Harumi by being seen, and now she would give him the ultimate punishment.

The sound of rushing wind as Harumi’s blade was brought down sharply resounded across the room. Viggo’s eyes flew open as his body was slightly jolted forward. He glanced up at the hand that had been clutching Tomori Harry’s head, only to find a few tufts of hair dangling in his grip.

Viggo slowly lowered his gaze upon cool, blood red eyes. Blood had splattered across her features, marring her terrible beauty. Between them, Tomori Harry’s head was skewered upon Harumi’s powerful blade. Blood pooled all around them, soaking their knees with its cool touch.

Harumi leant forward, her face inches away from his. Viggo tensed as her pink tongue snaked out, and ran itself along his cheek bone; wiping the splattered blood of her enemy that had gathered there. Harumi sighed in contended bliss. The taste of Tomori Harry’s blood was sweet upon her tongue.

“I want you to return to Kobe, and kill all who may have seen you. I believe that Tomori Orlando has now become the new leader, kill him as well. Spare no mercy to anyone. You are the best assassin throughout all of Japan, Viggo. Don’t let me down again. If you do, expect to come back to your death,” Harumi whispered hotly into his ear.

Viggo dipped his head in understanding. He stood up and swiftly turned to leave. “Viggo,” Harumi called after him. Viggo turned his head slightly, showing that he was listening. “Bring the Shinjo with you; they could use the exercise.”


~Ko

Kihota slowed her mount to a trot as she neared the graveyard. Her eyes scanned the yard in an almost desperate manner. Snow continued to drift ceaselessly over the town; it wasn’t safe for Orlando to be out here.

It had been four days since Tomori Harry’s funeral, and his ever loyal son refused to leave the side of his father’s grave. The residents of the town and the Tomori dojo were worried sick over their fearless leader. Well… their newly appointed fearless leader.

Kihota’s coal black gaze alighted upon a lone figure kneeling before an elaborately designed head-stone. She saw that Orlando was shivering noticeably and let loose an exaggerated sigh. His silk robe would aide in nothing against the frigid cold. With the stealth and skills of the renowned ninja she was, Kihota quietly slipped from the saddle and made her way towards Orlando; wool blanket clutched in one fist.

“We’re worried about you,” Orlando refused to acknowledge her presence even when the wool blanket was draped across his shoulders.

With no response from him, Kihota unceremoniously dropped down to her knees beside him; ignoring the biting cold that was seeping in through her kimono. “Orlando, you can’t continue to do this. You have a clan that needs you, the whole town needs you,” Kihota reprimanded him.

Kihota watched as she worried her bottom lip; hoping for some kind of expression to brush itself across Orlando’s handsome features. Nothing.

“You’re acting like a 12-year old brat,” Kihota bit out, her frustration getting the better of her.

That got something out of Orlando. “Wouldn’t you act the same if you found you’re father’s decapitated body five days ago? How would you feel if you were suddenly thrust into this world feeling alone because you’ve recently lost you’re only living relative? Where can you turn to? What can you do? The town and the dojo may depend on you, but are you willing to override the fear and the anxiety that comes along with that dependence?” Orlando demanded harshly.

Kihota was at a loss for words. It was true. She had grown up in a loving family. She had known security and felt the protection that was given to her. But ever since she had left her family to pursue something she knew the future held for her, Kihota was the one who now had to defend for herself. And as her job title, she had to defend the Tomori Clan. It was frightening at first, but she grew to accept it all the same.

“Why do you despair? I am here, Orlando! I will be the one to be your backbone, the one you must turn to in times of need. Don’t forget that you have others who live for you, who need your guidance. It may be a big task, but everyone of us has big tasks of our own. You are not alone Orlando, don’t ever isolate yourself. Isolation will only lead to failure. Embrace your title, make your father proud. I’m proud, for I am able to serve under you, that gives me pride. Don’t let me loose my pride,” Kihota preached fiercely.

Orlando went back to remaining silent. But not in the stubborn way. On the contrary, he seemed to be contemplating over Kihota’s words.

Kihota observed him for a few moments longer. Finally she stood up in defeat. The cold was getting to her, and if Orlando wanted to stay out here until his death, then so be it. It just showed what a coward he was.

“I’m going back to the dojo,” she muttered.

Orlando listened as her footsteps receded in the snow. Waited as the leather squeaked in protest as Kihota effortlessly swung into the saddle.

“I’ve always waited for this moment,” he said out loud into the bitter cold. Kihota sat calmly in the saddle, patiently awaiting her best friend’s next words.

“My father had many enemies, you know,” Orlando stated as he rose to his feet and winced in pain. His legs were frozen, but one must consider the fact that he had been kneeling by his father’s grave for hours each day.

“It wasn’t because he was an evil man, and many wanted to stop him,” Kihota offered, needing to break the tension in the crisp air.

Orlando turned to face her, a small rueful smile gracing his features. “No, it was because he was a good man and many still wanted to stop him,” he said fiercely.

“There will be no evil if there is no good. And there is no good if evil shall reign. We live in a harsh world, under Harumi’s control the light has been blocked from our eyes. It was your father, Orlando, who brought that light back. That’s why I left my family, to help aid the light. That’s why you’re so desperately needed. To fight for it,” Kihota knew she was walking on a thin line, but she knew Orlando could never refuse the notion of anything beneficial for the people of Japan.

Orlando dropped his gaze onto the snow-laden ground. Kihota held her breath. After a few long moments, Orlando brought back his chocolate gaze up to meet her hopeful ice-blue.

“Let’s go back to the dojo, together,” he finally spoke out in a firm, confident voice.

Kihota couldn’t stoe sme smile that stretched wide across her beautiful face, and she held out her hand towards Orlando. He walked forwards and took it without hesitation.


~On a lone, deserted road leading towards Kobe~


“We need a break,” one of the Shinjo wailed out for the thousandth time. Viggo had to use all his will-power to not pull his Tachi Katana from its safe sheath at his side and effortlessly hack off the Shinjo’s head.

He and his company had been traveling for a week now. He would have gotten to Kobe within the week if he hadn’t brought the Shinjo along with him. They only slowed his pace by a couple of more days.

“Did you not hear me, oh great leader? We need a break,” the annoying Shinjo hissed in disrespect. Viggo halted his horse, and the small company behind him held their breaths.

“Speak to me like that again Yoro and you’ll find out just what yonsidnsides taste like,” Viggo growled menacingly. The statement shut Yoro up effectively, for he did not say another word for the next couple of hours.

Finally, with the dying light, Viggo decided that they all deserved a good long break. The men tossed down their swords unceremoniously and gratefully dropped to the ground. Their clothing, made of thick animal fur and thick hyde, protected them proficiently against the biting cold.

“Renji, go get some wood and start a fire,” Viggo commanded, slowly dismounting from his horse. Renji quickly stood to his feet and saluted his leader. Viggo watched as he disappeared into the growing darkness.

Viggo tore off his cloak and draped it over his black mount. The stallion turned his head towards Viggo and nickered in appreciation. Making sure none of his men were watching, Viggo gave the stallion a small smile along with a few firm pats.

He could hear his men conversing in low, angry tones behind him. He turned his head towards them and immediately their conversation died down. He raised a suspicious eyebrow and wasn’t surprised to find Yoro looking at him with defiance clear in his eyes.

Viggo didn’t like Yoro, in fact he wanted to kill him the moment he met him. Yoro gave off a bad aura. Viggo felt it in the way he spoke, the way he moved, and the way he breathed. But Viggo had restrained himself him resorting to murder. Sure he was an assassin, and killing should be as natural as breathing, but Viggo knew talent when he saw it. Yoro was the top student in his class. His strength was almost to the level where it could match Viggo’s.

He also knew that Yoro reciprocated his feelings, as well did the other men. Viggo had a bad history. The toughest assassin in all of Japan. Viggo managed to maintain the cold riorrior that he developed over the years; causing many to fear him. However, there was also a fair amount that wanted to be just like him.

Harumi thought it a good idea to form a small band; the Shinjo as they were soon known as. The Shinjo would follow Viggo’s teachings and fighting style. Soon as the days turned into months, and they into years, the Shinjo were renowned and feared, just as much as their leader.

Viggo regretted ever agreeing with Harumi to form the Shinjo. He regretted everything that had to do with Harumi.

He only served her because he owed Harumi his life.

When he was a young boy, Viggo’s parents were murdered by bandits. They were a small, happy family, living on a farm on the outskirts of Kyoto just enjoying life and getting by in it as well.

It was late at night when he awoke to his mother’s horrible screams. He quickly jumped out of bed and ran towards his parent’s bedroom. He peeked in through the crack of the door and suppressed an audible gasp.

His mother was on the bed, pushing at the man who was lying on top of her. The man who was thrusting brutally, repeatedly into her. Viggo tore his tear filled eyes away from the horrific scene and searched the room for his father. He noticed at least four other bandits watching his mother’s rape with lustful eyes.

Finally Viggo’s gaze alighted upon his father who was being held by a fifth bandit. The bandit held a knife to his father’s throat and was gleefully laughing in his ear. It was the first, and the only time, Viggo had ever seen his father cry openly.

The man on top of his mother threw his head back and cried out in pleasure, while beneath him, Viggo’s mother let loose a weak whimper. It was more than Viggo could take. Screwing his face up in anger and disgust, Viggo threw himself into the room, snarling viciously.

The bandits jumped in surprise, but soon their shock faded away into amusement. Here was this ten year old boy, no higher then their waists, rushing at them ferociously. It was like throwing a Chihuahua into a dog fighting ring with six Rottweilers.

Viggo didn’t know who to attack first. He blindly ran towards the one est est to him, the one who happened to be holding his father captive. The man laughed cruelly and beckoned to the boy invitingly.

Viggo immediately took advantage of the invitation, grabbed a hold of the man’s free arm; and brutally bit down. Blood filled his mouth accompanied by the vociferous scream the man let loose.

The man pushed Viggo’s father away to free his other arm. He used it to smash it cruelly upon Viggo’s skull.

Viggo staggered back and fell to the floor; blinking owlishly. The man’s breathing was labored with pain. He examined his arm critically. The skin was ripped off and a few tendons torn. He brought his gaze back down upon Viggo and growled. In two long strides he reached Viggo and grasped the boy around the neck in an iron grip and easily lifted him up.

Viggo gagged and kicked out ineffectively. “Watch boy, watch as we rape your mother and kill your father. Watch and remember because we’re going to do this especially for you,” the man rasped out. He then unceremoniously dumped Viggo onto the floor and kicked him brutally in the sides. Viggo cried out in pain and curled up into a fetal position.

The man laughed cruelly and turned towards Viggo’s mother. He then assumed position over her and began the cruel act of rape. Viggo couldn’t shut his eyes from the scene or cover his ears from his mother’s heart-wrenching screams. He did what the man told him to do; because he didn’t know what TO do.

Soon all six men had their way with his mother, who lay weak and listless on the bed; tears streaming down her beautiful face. The man who Viggo had bitten strode over to his prone figure and picked him up. Viggo struggled weakly, too afraid to do anything else. “This one’s for you boy,” he whispered, almost seductively, into Viggo’s ear.

Viggo watched, horrified as one of the men pulled his sword from its sheath and approached Viggo’s mother stealthily. The man raised the sword high above his head, the metal glinting maliciously against the light of the lanterns situated around the room. Viggo’s mother watched, as if in a drug induced stupor. Suddenly, realizing that her death was to come, she let loose a shrill scream. Which was shortly cut off as the blade was sharply brought down; effectively cutting off her head.

“Natoya!” Viggo’s father screamed in anguish followed by Viggo’s tiny wail. “Now, Hirozoi, kill the father,” the man holding Viggo back grunted. Hirozoi looked reluctant to do the deed, but he knew that the job had to be done. Hirozoi wiped his blade clean of his mother’s blood and strode towards Viggo’s father. Hirozoi tried to shut out the frightened whimper the man let loose; he tried to ignore the pleading that Viggo was now letting fall from his lips.

Hirozoi hated being a murderer, hated it with a passion. But Genjo was watching, and he needed to please his leader. Hirozoi held the blade close to his cheek; his hand subtlety shaking with nerves. The tip of the blade was aligned perfectly with Viggo’s father’s throat. Hirozoi closed his eyes and rushed forward.

Viggo closed his eyes and flinched at the sound of a well crafted blade accurately digging itself into human flesh. Viggo clasped his hands around his ears, trying to shut out the gagging and the retching coming from his father. However, despite trying to avoid hearing and seeing both his parent’s murder; Viggo managed to pick up the feeble apology that Hirozoi directed towards his father.

Soon after that, the bandits continued to raid the house, taking everything from family heirlooms to pots and pans. They left Viggo in the same room where they had killed his parents. They allowed the blood to redecorate the sheets, the flooring, and the walls. So much blood; copious amounts. And Viggo just sat there, staring at the gaping wound on his father’s throat. He sat there, never moving, until Harumi had walked in two days later and took him under her wing.

It was the roaring fire that caused Viggo to snap out of reminiscing his painful past. Renji had managed to kill a boar and was busily cutting it up and passing hunks of it around. A piece was offered to Viggo who refused it. He watched over his men for a few moments before leaving them to think in solitude.