The name Mitsurugi Heishiro is property of Namco. The design is property of Falcon Zero. Both the name and design are used without permission. The story is the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.
The "wazikashi blade" is the second of the two traditional weapons carried by a samurai, the first being the katana. It is significantly smaller, and traditionally used for stabbing or slicing opponents at close range.
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Mitsurugi stood tall behind his men, shouting orders as they rushed into combat. He frantically tried to pull his men back together—organize them—in an attempt to reform his ranks and re-establish their superiority on the battlefield. There was a new menace to deal with in this struggle; nature. The invaders had brought with them, techniques completely alien to the samurai of the Land of Waves. They used the elements—fire, wind, water, earth, lightning—to inflict heavy damage on Mitsurugi’s ranks, and drive his men into a chaotic scramble.
Swords and knives clashed with intense ringing. At some points on the field, men burned alive while still trying to defend their land. Other areas saw men being submerged in earth that was once sturdy, or drowned in lakes not previously there. Still others were blown away by hurricane winds, or sucked into tornados that had exploded on scene from seemingly nowhere. And yet, through the undeniable wall of struggle that lay before him, Mitsurugi could see that his men were making quite a stand. Despite all of the demolition these invaders were causing, their severed bodies were littered liberally across the landscape. He knew they couldn’t win, but he also knew they could inflict some serious damage.
A dot in the sky raced toward Mitsurugi. He pulled out his wazikashi blade and swung it upwards, to stand vertically in front of him. The object deflected off of the blade with a deafening clang, and splintered the wood of the wall behind him, which was sturdy enough to hold it in place. Mitsurugi turned back to see what it was that had come at him so quickly. As he turned, he heard the crackling; the distinct sound of something burning. He turned just in time to see the explosion. It sent him flying from his post, soaring helplessly over the ground, bouncing and tumbling along the field, finally coming to rest nearly 100 yards from where he previously stood. He slowly pulled himself up and examined his being: it appeared that he had not sustained any severe damage, as the armor had absorbed most of the shrapnel from the explosion. He had only minor lacerations on his arms and legs, as a result of being thrown such a distance.
As he finished examining himself he heard yet another unmistakable sound. He quickly unsheathed his katana, and ferociously swung it behind him. The flat of the blade connected with something, as the blade vibrated in Mitsurugi’s hands. He spun quickly, and discovered a young man lying on the ground behind him. Blood trickled from just above his ear; Mitsurugi suspected that he had hit the boy so hard it had broken the skin on his head. Acting quickly, Mitsurugi removed a length of rope from his satchel, bound and gagged the boy, plucked him from the ground, and sprinted back to his original position where his mount waited.
“Retreat men, full retreat!” Mitsurugi’s voice erupted, and rippled through the crowd of men. Those who heard him turned to run. When they ran, those around them saw this and followed suit. Soon the samurai were rippling out of combat, layer by layer. Each man proceeded to ascend to the top of a horse, and quickly make their escape. As they ran, the invaders pressed farther and farther into their territory until, eventually, the samurai had crossed the border into uncharted land. Mitsurugi turned to look as his home faded into the distance. As the horizon slowly consumed the Land of Waves, a menacing scowl began to crawl across Mitsurugi’s face.
“Unnn…” The young boy groaned as he gradually regained consciousness. Mitsurugi removed his wazikashi blade from its resting place, and slammed its hilt into the young man’s temple. He would not have this enemy crying out for help, nor would he have the men feeling unrest at having one of the invaders in their possession. No one knew Mitsurugi had captured this boy, and he planned to keep it that way. He had plans for this young man. This captive would be a means to an end. This boy would be a way to ascertain his revenge.
As night rose to overcome the day, the men and their horses slowed to a stop. A small stream offered an opportunity for the horses and men to get water, as well as to wash weapons, count the living, and say a prayer for the dead.
“Here. We will make our new home here. It is a cruel place, but has the necessary amenities. There is water close by, and the brush up ahead will contain food and supplies.” Mitsurugi pointed toward what appeared to be a forest, far off in the distance.
“Rest well tonight, men. We lost today, but the training for our revenge begins tomorrow.”
With that, Mitsurugi left his men alone. He walked his horse, which carried his captive, over to the far side of the plateau. Once out of sight of his men, he violently removed the young man from his perch. The fall to the ground jarred the young man back to consciousness. Unable to move, the sword at his neck shook him to his core.
“Well hello there,” Mitsurugi growled. He placed a foot firmly on the chest of the young man, holding his blade in place. “Now then, let us start at the beginning. Tell me all of your secrets. Tell me how to harness the elements.”
Mitsurugi fixed his gaze on the boy, who began to speak. When he came to the portion of his tale dealing with his techniques, Mitsurugi’s eyes began to glow brightly.
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