There was still no trace of Deadstride or Aiden.

The soldiers aimed their rifles on the mysterious figure above.

His arm retreated inside the sleeve of his robe and emerged through the V shaped opening baring half his chest.

There was something subtly threatening about this move.

“Sorry to disturb your nap time, pal.” Commanding officer Dillard grinned sardonically. “I guess you weren’t properly informed. This part of town is supposed to be shut down due to unforeseen circumstances.

By any chance, do you think you could tell us what happened to those two vagrants that came crashing in here?”

The warrior answered with silence.

Hanzo stood beside the soldier, gazing at the foreign man, trying to make out the details of his outfit.

“What the hell is he wearing?” A soldier commented.

”Looks like a fruit basket.”

The platoon started chuckling amongst themselves, cracking more jokes at the warrior’s expense.

“I think that’s a lady. Or a dude wearing his grandma’s wedding gown.”

The man remained still, ever immune to their useless jesting.

“Sir, I don’t wanna have to blow your hat off but we’re in the middle of a volatile situation. I’m going to ask you one more time…where are the rogues?”

The warrior started reaching for his sword.

Hanzo aimed his pistol and fired. The weapon jerked back.

Whether the man drew or not was irrelevant.

The bullet split in half in the blink of an eye and he vanished.

Blood and limbs went spraying across the lobby. Hanzo heard a fierce whipping sound following cries of agony as soldiers started dropping like flies all around him.

Officer Dillard was on his knees breathing heavily, watching blood spurt through his lacerated flesh by the gallons.

Hanzo was speechless. He tried to find the source of death but wherever he looked, he only saw more death.

And suddenly, the warrior was standing amid piles of dead soldiers near the young lad as if he’d been there all along.

Hanzo watched him bask in subdued victory, holding the edge of his straw hat.

His sword was already sheathed, his elegant attire free of blood.

It was like love at first sight and the silence was entrancing to say the least.

All at once, the old dingy textbooks of Hanzo’s past described the silent killer with great accuracy.

He was of an elite class of swordsmen formally known as samurai.

His nationality, Hanzo could not remember and little else was provided on their existence but that they were from a forgotten land.

“You’re one of them…” Hanzo croaked.

The foreigner tipped his hat in greeting and started walking away.

“H—Hey!!!” Hanzo shouted.

The man stopped and gazed sidelong.

Hanzo was suddenly at a loss for words but the samurai remained patient.

“What happened to the two other guys?”

“They are not here anymore.” He answered. His speech was smooth with a faint accent.

“You killed them?”

“Maybe…” he replied.

“Did one of them carry a book?”

The swordsman reached into his sash and revealed a severed leather case with a book tucked inside. “You mean this?”

“I—think so…” Hanzo said. “The House of Swords.”

“Yes.” The warrior said. “And for what reason do you need this artifact?”

“Look, man,” Hanzo cried in frustration. “I was just sent here to get the damn thing, alright?”

The warrior watched him silently.

“This book itself is a very dangerous weapon. I will not allow it to fall in the hands of the unworthy.”

Hanzo tried to protest but he came up short of words.

“I suppose there is one exception…” the man added. “If you can land just one blow on me, I will gladly hand the book over to you.”

Hanzo blinked.

“Huh?” He cried. “Me??”

“Yes.” The warrior remarked. Hanzo tried to search his face to see if he was joking but it was too dark to read his expression.

“If this book is truly valuable to you and your employer, you will most certainly obtain it by any and all means. Am I not correct?”

Hanzo looked at the blood soaked corpse ridden lobby.

“Yeah, right.” He said, “I would rather put in a resignation letter than die over a damn book.”

The samurai half smiled. “Rest assured, I have no intentions of killing you.”

He let the statement hang in the air for intended effect. Hanzo realized that the man was giving him a chance.

Not that it would make a difference.

This was a lose—lose situation no matter how he looked at it.

A flashback of his last powerful adversary, Jirako The Hunter, sliced through his subconscious.

His chest ignited from the memory of battle, the fierce union of adrenaline and spirit pressure boosting his will to fight and survive despite all odds.

Even so, Jirako may have been fast and powerful as all hell but this guy was on another level of fast.

His quiet confidence and incredible skill betrayed his humble persona making him far deadlier.

Yet, if he said he wasn’t going to kill him, where was the harm in taking on the challenge?

Hanzo started grinning, as if another part of himself had taken over.

The old Daredevil of Blackleaf.

The samurai put the book up and started walking away.

Hanzo sprinted forward and his boots squeaked against the bloody floor.

He lifted his blade and brought it down, spawning an emerald surge racing towards the retreating figure.

The samurai turned and vanished.

The hilt of his sword plunged into Hanzo’s solar plexus like a fifty caliber and he folded like an umbrella.

Next thing he knew he was out the door tumbling violently across the street.

His momentum died as he collapsed, gripping his chest and gasping for oxygen.

He tried to get off of the hard, unforgiving concrete but he could not stand.

The suffering was unbearable.

He writhed alone on the empty street and endured the worst of it in silence.

Machridian Broadway was left in shambles.

The street was once neat, now cluttered with shattered stone and brick, bodies of soldiers and officers bruised and lacerated. Blood was splayed across the broken canvas of concrete like the calligraphy of a blind man. Deadstride’s slow burning flames were glued to the walls and the earth.

A bit of life was restored to the dreary scene as backup finally arrived to assess the destruction.

Officers swept the streets looking for survivors and they were fortunate to have found a few including Wisconsin who was still sprawled on the ground unconscious, Chief Reynolds who sat on the stairway to the library ruminating over his failures and last but not least, Captain Bradley.

The hulking mass of a man, hauled himself out of the dark cavernous opening, stumbling onto the sidewalk soaked in blood.

“Captain Bradley!” Dobbs cried pointing him out to the others

The man fell to his knees, ready to die a second time and the medics rushed to his aid.

“Where is that bastard..?” He gurgled.

The men took his beefy arms just as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell unconscious again.

They set his heavy body on a stretcher and carried him off along with the other casualties.

Dobbs gave a report of the event to his fellow soldiers who’d pulled up in humvees and wore grisly expressions.

When they asked him why he was one of the only men in his platoon in such good shape, he explained that Officer Dillard ordered him to fall back and wait for reinforcements.

It was a lie but it worked well.

As it turned out, he was grateful that he didn’t get caught up in the final confrontation because nobody survived except for Hanzo.

He had passed out after the crippling blow to his chest.

Naomi stood over him chewing bubble gum, grasping his sword along her shoulder.

The dull street lamp flickered above her, swarming with stubborn flies.

She bent over and examined a leather case lodged under his armpit.

She took it from him and unfastened the buttons and pulled out a thick book in leather bindings with a blue lapis stone embedded in the middle.

Above it stood the title embossed in dark letters.

The House of Swords.

Naomi grasped it in both hands and tried to open the book as one normally would but it refused to open.

She pulled and pried at it with her fingers but only succeeded in exhausting her strength.

What is this??!

She breathed in frustration. There was nothing tangible sealing it shut as far as she could tell but nevertheless, it wouldn’t open.

It was clear now that this book was worth more than imposed.

Old Man Uzai had dispatched Naomi to clock Hanzo’s progress on his mission and she followed those instructions loosely.

She was only interested in the artifact but it was useless to her if she couldn’t undo the seal.

Of course Uzai would be more than happy to undo it but he certainly wouldn’t let her keep the book, let alone read the contents.

As she studied the lapis stone on the cover she began to wonder if all these recent events were correlated.

She heard growling engines down the street and glanced over her shoulder.

Several pairs of headlights were fast approaching, humvees packed with soldiers armed to the teeth.

Naomi took off, leaving Hanzo behind to face the scrutiny of soldiers whenever he woke up.

She travelled through the alleys with steady quickness and remained alert of her surroundings just in case the soldiers came looking for her.

She heard a dog barking in the distance, an ambient bang from the factory several miles yonder. Rats came crawling out of crumbled brick and trash cans went livid as they rummaged for food.

After some time, Naomi sprung back into the populated parts of town.

A grizzled beggar crawled out of oblivion and stretched his hands toward her in supplication for money while the masses bustled and bounced around like busy ants.

Soldiers were scattered about strategically, almost inconspicuously, watching the crowds and rooftops.

There were more on the buildings keeping watch like hawks.

She’d be fooling herself if she didn’t consider that some of the civilians were soldiers as well.

The girl shoved the book under her waist belt and joined the crowds at the curb until a taxi driver rolled by. She waved him down and jumped into puffy dark brown seats made of dragon leather, smelling of smoke much like the dragons themselves.

The driver was an older man with a flat cap covering his balding head.

The cigar in his mouth was strong with odor, filling the interior with hazy puffs. Naomi winced in the harsh air and rolled the window down.

“Where do you need to go?” The man grumbled.

“Uptown—District 88.” She coughed.

“I see, ye’ ain’t much of a smoker.” He chuckled.

The pedestrian-proof taxi pulled forward and launched off toward the greater conurbations of Skerratic in the high distance.

Hanzo was gone before the humvees pulled up to the inn.

Skeeter plopped down from the sky and flew off with the boy in tow.

If any soldier did see him, he was only left questioning his imagination.

The water spirit sailed over Skerratic like a meteorite and dived bombed into the faraway hills Hanzo had emerged from.

Almost at will, the spirit plunged through a gap in space time and crashed on the beach.

The young warrior tumbled across shore and almost went into the ocean but he fell just inches short of the waves.

The rough landing finally roused him and he groaned as he tried crawling to his feet.

When he realized where he was, he cursed and clutched the dull ache in his chest.

The stars in the sky and the beach waves calmed him a little and for once he couldn’t complain too much of his predicament.

But he quickly felt the absence of his sword like a lost arm.

He glanced around searchingly and expected at least one of his wretched antagonists to appear.

Skeeter was already gone before he could realize who had carried him back to the isolated sanctuary.

Naomi wouldn’t be of any trouble at this hour. Uzai was probably somewhere snoring like a lawnmower and Odyssey must have simply returned to nothingness.

Hanzo dragged his feet as he walked to the forest and leaned on a palm tree, watching the stars twinkle and the winds howl over the roaring waves until his tired eyelids slowly gave in to slumber.

“Hanzo!!”

Hanzo’s eyes popped open. The bright morning sun forced him to squint at a female form standing over him with her arms crossed.

“Huh?” He answered deliriously, trying to stave off the sparkling sun rays.

“Get up, idiot.” Naomi snapped. “How long are you going to sit here littering my beach with your existence?”

Hanzo started to get up but the girl tossed a book at his head.

“Gah!” He hollered. A flash of anger prompted him to chuck it right back at her but he stopped mid swing and glanced twice at the book.

The House of Swords.

The title took a moment to register in his maladjusted brain.

“Wait. How did you—” He squinted, holding the artifact to his face.

His mind spun with confusion.

“How did you get this??”

“Shut up and open it, you dummy.” She snapped.

Hanzo tried to open the book but he couldn’t.

Naomi started getting upset.

“Give it to me.” She demanded.

Hanzo shrank back. “Hell no.”

“Give it to me!” She yelled.

“No!” Hanzo said. “I’m the one who busted my ass trying to get this stupid thing!”

“Well, obviously you failed to get it at all, now give it to me.”

“No. I’m not giving you anything.”

Naomi lunged forward to grab it but he hugged it close to his body as she started punching him in the head.

He felt her fingers dig through his grip but he held on tight.

She punched him frequently and tossed a few hard slaps to loosen him up.

The boy kicked back, striking her in the leg and the stomach which only made her angier.

She planted both her feet on him and jerked the book until it popped up in the air. She jumped to grab it but Hanzo took her ankle and dragged her to the ground.

He leapt up in turn, grabbed it and started running.

The girl tackled him and started stabbing him with the knife on her braid.

He cried out in pain and knocked her off his back with an elbow.

She recovered quickly and drew her sword, charging in with a lethal thrust.

Hanzo blocked the ravishing blade with the book and dashed it away.

She went on swinging madly but the boy went on ducking and fleeing from the gleaming edge until he tripped over a large sea turtle and staggered to the ground.

He spun around in time to see Naomi soaring over him with a reverse handed grip ready to plunge the sword deep through his body.

He rolled away and she plunged through nothing but sand.

The boy ran and she taunted him.

“Is that all you know how to do? Run like a spineless cockroach?!”

Hanzo stopped and turned around.

Naomi started approaching fast, determined to get what she wanted.

He started to peel off his dragon leather jacket. The girl closed the distance and went to chop him but he squeezed the sleeve of his jacket and started whipping it around like a cattle prod.

The material was tough enough to withstand her blade but it would only a matter of time before it started stripping.

Old Man Uzai watched from a short distance away, eyes bulging with interest. “Always good to improvise.” He noted.

Hanzo managed to keep his adversary effectively subdued for a time as she was unable to land a proper blow with his heavy duty jacket flailing around in her face bashing her arms and knuckles.

She reached out and snatched it down, then leveled her sword at the young warrior with a powerful thrust.

Hanzo steered clear of the blade, then he dove in and knocked the girl to the ground.

They thrashed and wrestled but Hanzo proved to be the stronger foe. He pinned her sword down on her until the edge grazed her throat.

“You done yet?” He growled.

She tucked her legs in and blasted him with two feet to his chest.

He hit the ground sprawling on his back.

Luckily he still had the book.

He got up fast, expecting another assault but a loud whistle pierced his ears.

“Time’s up!” Uzai chirped.

Naomi kneeled in the sand like a predator, glaring at him with fumes in her eyes.

“Say, Naomi.” He said jovially. “Did Hanny boy open the book yet?”

“No he didn’t open the book, you idiot!” She screamed.

“Whoa, whoa, calm down missy!” Uzai replied. “There’s no need to get all mad.”

“You’re the one that said Hanzo was the only one who could open the book!” She protested.

The old man shook his head. “I never said that.”

Naomi rolled her eyes and let out a sigh of exasperation.

“You did say that.” She hissed.

“No I didn’t.” He insisted stubbornly.

“Just shut up!” The girl yelled. “I’m sick and tired of your stupid games!”

“Boy I tell ya,” the old man complained. “I oughta’ teach you young whippersnappers a lesson in manners.”

“You won’t teach anyone anything because you’re just an old fart who eats porridge like a pig!” The girl retorted. She finally rose to her feet, beating the sand off her clothes and started storming off.

She paused once and cut her sharp eyes at Hanzo with vicious intensity.

“Just so you know…I’m definitely going to kill you one day. Until then you’d better enjoy your little vacation.”

Hanzo glared back as she turned and strode off angrily.

He shook his head and for a moment, he thought he felt a speck of pity for her.

“Well, well…” Uzai said. “She’s a real tough one, that girl.”

“She’s a damn maniac.” Hanzo grumbled, massaging his bruised body.

He was once again reminded that his sword was nowhere to be found.

“I hope I didn’t leave it in Skeeratic!” He grimaced.

“Bummer!” Uzai exclaimed picking his nose. The boy glared at him. He had a sudden urge to beat him to death with the book.

And thinking thereof, he brought it to his attention.

Uzai recieved the leather binding from him and examined it for the second time.

“Well, Hanny, it seems someone must have done a seal on it to keep it from opening.”

“A seal?” Hanzo echoed. Suddenly, he flashed back to the foreign warrior from last night. His chest started aching just from the memory alone.

That was one hell of a blow. He thought. I could have sworn he’d stabbed me to death.

“It’s a complicated form of the spirit arts.” Uzai continued intellectually, “It takes a great amount of adrena to forge a seal and a greater if not equal amount to break one.”

“But how did Naomi get the book??” Hanzo asked, more puzzled about that than the seal.

“Whadya’ mean? You gave it to her as an early birthday gift.”

“No, I did not.” He remarked. “I didn’t even know she was in Skerratic. There was this guy…a samurai! He was the last one that had it!”

Uzai wrinkled his forehead. “A what?”

“A samurai. You know, those weird warrior guys from the farthern nations. He had it last. There’s no way Naomi could have got it back from him. He was way too skilled. He had to have been an elite.”

Uzai didn’t seem to know what a samurai was. But then a light bulb went off in his head.

“Aha! Sammy Rye!” He exclaimed happily. “I used to know a man named Sammy Rye. His real name was Samuel but we called him Sammy for short.”

Hanzo was confused by his conclusion. “No…that’s not—”

“Good ol’ Sam was sailor of the great seas. We went on many voyages, he and I. I remember we came up against a fleet of buccaneers on our way to the black mountains. We fought em’ off back to back but they kept-a-comin’!”

The old man cooked a punch to reenact his moments of glory.

“Our muskets were out of ammo and we had no other weapons but our fists. Boy I tell ya’, we gave those pirates a bruisin’. You see, Hanny, we were the only ones with the map to the treasure hidden in the black mountains and those pirates were mad so they tried to steal it from us.

If they were smart they would have just followed us all the way there before attacking the ship! But pirates where always a little slow in the head.

Me and Sammy reached shore, docked our vessels and went deep into the mountains and found a great palace that would hide the booty.

We fought off monsters and outsmarted the best traps until at last we found the great treasure!”

Hanzo blinked slowly as the old man reached the climax of his tale with a shocking revelation.

“Turns out it was just a dead body wearing some jewelry. Heh!”

Hanzo beat the sand out of his afro and gazed out into the refreshing seas.

Uzai went on rambling mostly to himself about his old friend Sam.

Hanzo realized that he needed to catch up with Odyssey but finding that man was like chasing ghosts.