Story Blog! [East Meets West]

Al Khalim gestured for his last standing Assassin to delve into the cabin. Both Merlin and Galahad gave chase. Merlin managed to enter the hold but Galahad’s way was blocked by a murderous looking Al Khalim.

Galahad’s finely chiseled features screwed into a scowl as he chanted a prayer to his Lord, Jesus Christ, for strength.

Likewise, Al Khalim quoted a verse, invoking one of the most destructive names of Allah to vanquish his foe.

The two warriors of faith sprinted towards each other. Galahad’s Cruz Blade flashed dangerously at the speed of a shooting star, with Al Khalim’s throat as its target. Al Khalim drew several circles with his left dagger and managed to capture Galahad’s killing blow in one of them. With an upward thrust, Al Khalim deflected the Cruz Blade and, grasping his right dagger in backhand, aimed for Galahad’s eyes.

The deadly four-inch Damascus steel came dangerously close to Galahad’s face before he could pull up his Grail Shield in defense. The wicked-looking dagger punctured a small hole through the magically enhanced shield. Al Khalim used the dagger stuck on the shield as leverage and swung him self up. Like a serpent, Al Khalim caught hold of Galahad’s sword-arm with both legs.

Galahad staggered a few steps back, surprised at the weight of the lithe-looking Muslim. Taking advantage of Galahad’s momentary weakness, Al Khalim thrust his left dagger at Galahad’s temple.

In a split second, Galahad released his shield to free his left hand and used it to hold onto Al Khalim’s feet. The ensuing motion made Al Khalim fumble in his attack. Utilizing the strength bestowed by Christ, Galahad started spinning while still holding onto Al Khalim. After a few spins, the resulting centrifugal momentum was creating gusts of wind that could be felt yards away.

Finally, Galahad released his grip on Al Khalim and the Head Assassin shot out like David’s sling stone. Al Khalim somersaulted in mid-air so that his feet instead of his head would absorb the fatal impact. Nearing towards the wall of a warehouse, Al Khalim muttered one of Allah’s protective names to aid him. Like a spring, his calves bent just before his bones could be broken instantly thus dissipating most of the impact away onto the brick wall. A cobweb of hairline cracks spread out through the whole wall of the warehouse. Thanking Allah, Al Khalim cartwheeled off the wall just in time to see Merlin emerge from the cabin. His last Assassin had, no doubt, failed to finish the mission due to a slight case of death.

Gauging the rate of success in defeating two stalwart adventurers and slaying an entire ship crew before daybreak, Al Khalim gave an involuntary sigh. He would have to find an alternative way to get to London instead of disguising as a ship captain.

Speaking a few runic words, Merlin pointed his staff at Al Khalim and fired a bolt of blue-green energy. Taking this as a cue for escape, Al Khalim jumped and held onto the roof ledge of the warehouse. As the bolt collided onto the wall, Al Khalim performed a backflip and landed neatly on the roof. Taking a final look at the duo, Al Khalim retreated under the cover of twilight.

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“Are you alright?” Niklaus asked.

Hrelgor looked rather shaken after hearing Niklaus’ tale, “Yes. I think I am. I just need some time to change my whole life perspective, religious standing, social outlook, moral guidelines, working principles, quantum rationality and some other mind-melting matters. Nothing much.”

“Methinks the Fir Bolg needs time to digest interplanar universal truth and demolish entire belief structure which he built his entire life around on!” Wee Mac quipped loudly.

“Another thing, though... I’ve never seen Leprechauns but I heard from my Grandfather that they are supposed to be huge creatures... well... that’s what I heard anyway.” Hrelgor remarked.

Wee Mac puffed up his chest proudly, “We can be huge as mountains if we wish it so!” and deflated as he continued, “ But the world be dangerous place if we be spotted.”

Blinking in surprise as he imagined how Wee Mac would look like as a mountain-sized giant, Niklaus grinned stupidly for a while. Shaking away the comical image, Niklaus addressed Hrelgor, “Now that you know where Fragarach lies, what would you be doing now, Hrelgor? Would you be going back to Dublin? Are you going to sail again?”

Heaving a heavy breath, Hrelgor replied, “I don’t think so. Sailing is not exactly the best place to conquer my fear of water. I have heard tales of other Leviathans that lives in a lake instead of the ocean. I am going there to find it. If I can defeat it like you did, fishing out a sword should not be a problem.”

Wee Mac shouted, “Where you be going, Fir Bolg?!”

“I’m going to Loch Ness of Scotland.” Hrelgor said as he stood up, leaning his weight on Gae Bulga.

Wee Mac looked at Niklaus; who nodded his head, and yelled, “Can I come too?!”

Hrelgor stopped for a moment, thinking.

“Bring Wee Mac along. I have heard tales of how Leprechauns bring Irish Luck. Me still being able to stand here talking to you, would be a testament of Wee Mac’s power. You need his aid more than I do, my good friend.” Niklaus offered as he held out both hands in a cup-like manner, cradling Wee Mac in it.

“Are the both of you sure?” Hrelgor rasped, touched by Wee Mac’s and Niklaus’ gesture.

Glancing at each other, Niklaus and Wee Mac smiled. Both of them nodded at Hrelgor in absolute agreement.

With eyes tearing, Hrelgor received Wee Mac from Niklaus.

Waving his goodbye, Niklaus could still hear Wee Mac shouting at the top of his voice, “Hurrah! Me feel like a Pokemon!”

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The trumpets blared as the weary King Edward and his mighty entourage rode into London. Edward, a stately looking man in his prime, was garbed in his ceremonial armor. His squire, a young teen named Hugh, was wearing a red tabard; with a heraldic crest of three gold lion, draped over a suit of chainmail. Hugh was on foot and leading Edward’s black steed. Edward and his knights looked around at the fanfare with much appreciation. Most of their battle fatigue was forgotten. Celebrations must come first for their people. Rest can come tomorrow.

“Hugh!” Edward called out.

“Yes, milord?” Hugh answered as he moved nearer to Edward while straining his ears over the cheering crowd and the jubilating music.

Edward smiled at the freckled youth with dirty-blonde hair, “You have served me well, my good nephew. I think, the court would need someone brave enough to face bloodthirsty Turks and yet diligent enough to ensure that his master’s sword is well oiled and polished before dawn.”

Hugh smiled, revealing an empty space in his row of sparkling white teeth, where a molar that was knocked off by the pommel of a Turkish saber had been, “I would be truly honored, milord!”

As the King and his men waved at the people who were cheering and being pushed back by guardsmen, Edward saw a slight commotion down the procession lane.

Six guards were thrown to the middle of the lane in a heap as two figures walked out purposefully from the crowd. All the music and cheering stopped and was replaced by harsh whispering and suppressed murmurings.

Both Galahad and Merlin knelt on one knee before King Edward as he stopped right in front of them.

“What is the meaning of this?” Edward demanded.

Merlin arose. Several guardsmen rushed forward, in anticipation of a probable assassination, only to be held back by the stern glare of Galahad.

The magician beckoned Edward. His curiosity took hold and Edward climbed off his black stallion. When Edward is in earshot, Merlin whispered, “Listen well, O Tragic King of England... you may be strong, intelligent and charismatic. But you shall fall in the manner of the lowest convict. This is something I cannot and must not change. There is only one advice I could give to you: Trust the Hermit.”

Taken aback, Edward retreated a few steps. Hugh grasped the king’s shoulders, “Milord! Are you alright?”

The guardsman began to advance towards the duo yet again but was stopped with a wave of Edward’s hand, signaling to them to cease all actions. “Let them go. Ensure their safe passage.” Edward commanded.

Galahad stood up; an aura of holiness permeated from him, and led Merlin towards the city gate. As Merlin passed Hugh who was supporting the dazed King, the wizard stared at the young boy. A voice rang in Hugh’s head: You, whom will ensure that the powers of Britain be kept in check. Although I do not approve of your ways, nor do I like your character anymore than necessary for the events to come, I beseech you to serve your King well. Make all the times you both share be happy ones, for he is a good and noble man.
Their work here is done. When they are on the outskirts of London, Merlin asked, “I figure that you are going back to Heaven soon?”

Galahad nodded with a smile, “It was... eventful... this mission to escort thee.”

Merlin chuckled, “More exciting than your Grail Quest?”

Galahad looked up into the night sky. A beam of sunlight shone down from the clouds, even though there is no sun, and bathed Galahad in a golden glow; “The Grail showed me God, but all of thee; Niklaus, Hrelgor, each and everyone of thee, showed me Man. And I am glad that I shall have thy company when the Day comes.”

Merlin pulled on his beard, “Our company? Up there? After Judgment Day? Really? Including me?”

Galahad grinned knowingly as his cloak turned into a pair of golden white wings; whose feathers sparkled like the Morning Star. Stretching the wings out in a full twenty feet span, Galahad took off without a word. Stray angel feather wings floated down and burst into small clouds of iridescent moon dust as it came into contact with the ground; like rain drops.

Merlin watched as Galahad’s ascending figure shrunk further and further from view till he was nothing but a burning star in the sky. Merlin left for the forest, smiling contentedly as he said, “Yes, Galahad. That would truly be a fine Day indeed.”

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A streak of lightning flashed across the sky, carpeted with huge nimbuses. Hrelgor looked at the Loch from a small knoll. Wee Mac popped out from Hrelgor’s leather sling-bag, looked at his chagrinned expression and screamed, “You sure you want to do this?!”

Hrelgor’s eyes were focused on the seemingly calm waters of Loch Ness. So focused was he that Wee Mac was not sure if Hrelgor heard him screaming until he nodded and said in a hushed tone, “It is the only way left now. If I can defeat the Leviathan in its own grounds, I am sure that I would have found courage against the waters.”

Wee Mac followed suit to see where Hrelgor was looking. A shadowy black mass was moving under the dark waters, nearly invisible to the untrained eyes. Occasionally, humps would appear and cut the lake surface into a large rippling V-shape.

Closing his eyes to concentrate and forget his fears, Hrelgor took a deep breath and set his bag down, along with Wee Mac, on the ground.

With his spear in hand, Hrelgor gulped as much air as he could and jumped into the murky depths of Loch Ness.

Plunging down, Hrelgor felt a smooth scaly surface brushed against his body. The visibility within the Loch was terribly low. He could hardly make out the outline of his hand from an arm’s length. Fear started to crawl into Hrelgor’s stomach as he calculated the risks with the most grievous results he could obtain: the insane paranoia of suffocation, the inability to hold onto anything else other than his spear and the fear of unknown creatures from the deep.

Just when he felt the sense of utter hopelessness engulfing him completely, a small green object fluttered down before his eyes. It was a leaf from a shamrock, Hrelgor realized. The leaf started to disintegrate and explode into a ball of luminescent green light, bathing the entire lake with an eerie green glow. At that moment, Hrelgor saw hope and his quarry. Blinded and unaccustomed to the light, the Loch Ness Monster swam away. Hrelgor heaved and hurled Gae Bulga at the escaping serpent. The magical spear sped towards its target as swiftly it does on land and found its mark on the Leviathan’s tail.

While the creature thrashed around in pain, Hrelgor pursued it with renewed vigor, feeling the bloodlust of Cu Chulainn consume him...

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2 years later: 1281 A. D., Kyushu Island of Japan

Kamitani Zankimaru strapped on his helmet, a menacing headgear with a crest resembling the horns of a stag beetle, the strongest of all insects. He walked out of his tent and looked out at the sea.

Soon, the Mongols would arrive, disembark then commence to pillage, slaughter and rape his people. Nine years ago, on this very island, the Mongols invaded them for the first time. Many good men, including his father, were killed in that battle. The fight ended with the Japanese being victorious. Not because they were stronger in arms, smarter in strategy or larger in numbers. It was the Divine Wind. The Kamikaze. It rendered the Mongolian fleet immobile and utterly crushed them in His terrible path of holy destruction.

Many felt that, with the protection of their Gods, Japan could not fall. And there were some people, who felt otherwise, like Zankimaru.

Now, after many years of studies and martial training, Zankimaru is a Samurai in his own right. With bitter irony and a strange twist of fate, Amaterasu (Historical Myth: Amaterasu is the Sun God of Japan.) has placed Zankimaru at the same spot where his father had fallen. Judging by the size of the Mongolian fleet and Japan’s limited ammunition and supplies, Zankimaru deduced that they would be overrun within a span of two months.

Gripping tightly onto his one of his father’s katana, the Hikaru Murasame, Zankimaru knew that Death was beckoning him to an eager embrace into his skeletal arms.

“Kamitani-sama!” hollered his scout captain; “The Mongolian fleet is about to enter arbalest range with our navy! Your orders, sir!”

Zankimaru clenched his teeth and breathed in Zen-like rhythm, “Fire one salvo and circle them on starboard. Do not let the Mongolians come into arrow range.”

The scout captain nodded and left without another word. A shadowy figure, clad in dark velvet ninja gear, came out of Zankimaru’s tent, “It has begun?”

Zankimaru observed the horizons for the first flare of his naval cannons, “Yes, Hattori-san.”

The shadowy ninja figure, named Hattori Hanzo,turned around and looked up at the surrounding hilltops. Masses of flag-bearers were busy waving their flags to relay Zankimaru’s orders to each and every ship. Satisfied, the ninja moved purposefully and stood beside Zankimaru for a better look at the distant skyline. “Are you sure about this, Kamitani-san?” Hanzo said as the sky darkened momentarily by the rain of arbalest quarrels.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Zankimaru replied steadfastly. Unsheathing Murasame, he pointed the pearl-steel katana to the ocean battleground, “Those are old wives’ tale, Hattori-san. There is no such thing as a Kamikaze. Both the Kage Muramasa and the Hikaru Murasame are just katanas. What you have heard about my father are half-truths and fairy-tales to placate scared little children of ignorant parents.”

Hanzo smiled beneath his linen mask and resumed his assessment of the ongoing battle, “You are young, Kamitani-san. There are things that defy explanation and events that deny any logical reasoning. In my line of work, we eat, sleep and breathe darkness. In this darkness, we Shinobi see many things... very real things... hidden from the light... hidden from you.”

Zankimaru tore his gaze away from the battle and glanced at Hanzo questioningly, “You make it sound like you were there when my Father ‘summoned the Divine Wind with Murasame and Muramasa’.”

Hanzo did not make eye contact with Zankimaru but answered, “The Shinobi knows. It is our business to know. We thrive on knowledge that only we know.”

Zankimaru laughed, “How would I know if what you told me was the truth? How would I know if you are not sending me on a wild goose chase? And, most importantly, how would I know if you are not on the side of the Mongolians?”

Barely finishing his sentence, Zankimaru felt the cold kiss of a kunai at the side of his neck. Not wanting to display any sudden movements, Zankimaru moved his sight to the corner of his eyes and saw Hanzo glaring at him with unbridled anger, “You are lucky that your father had earned my respect, young pup. Next time, watch what you say to me or you will find just how painful and deadly a Ninja’s loyalty can be.”

The young samurai threw back his head and chuckled, “That makes the both of us, old Ninja Master.”

Alarmed, Hanzo looked down at his chest to find the tip of Murasame resting on his solar plexus. “This is a war. And I am a commander. Thousands of men live or die by my single command. You know something that I don’t. I do not like that. Be frank with me, Hattori Hanzo. We both know that you know a lot more than just the location of Muramasa. What else do you know about the katana?” demanded Zankimaru.

Both ninja and samurai withdrew their weapons as Hanzo started his tale, “This story was told to me by your father. There will live a weapon smith of great renown in the near future. You shall know him as Masamune Okazaki... His blades would be crafted with much conviction and dedication. During his time, our land would be plagued with iron shortage. Most of the ore shall be almost worthless and can hardly be forged into anything more fatal than a kettle.

All the smithies and forgeries shall face this daunting problem. All except for Masamune. He alone will find the secret to create an alloy so strong and beautiful that his blades are to be used only by royalties and those that they found worthy to carry a Masamune blade. This secret that would be handed down to him came from one of the Eight Inugami (Translation: Hound Deities). By means of your sword, the Hikaru Murasame.”

Zankimaru shook his head, “I do not understand. What has this Masamune have to do with both Murasame and Muramasa?”

“Simple. Masamune is the transition point. Murasame made Masamune. Masamune made Muramasa.” Hanzo said cryptically.

“Please, no more beating about the bush. Tell me what all this have to do with me and my father!”

“When Masamune Okazaki obtained the Hikaru Murasame from you in the future, he will learn the secret. Many years later, when Japan falls into inner strife and turmoil, the dark half of Masamune would be reborn in the form of Sengo Muramasa. His blades are so deadly that, upon unsheathing, blood must be spilled by it before returning to their scabbards or their bearers would have to commit seppuku just to feed the demons attracted to inhabit in the katanas. With the deadliest of the blades being the Kage Muramasa.

The Hikaru Murasame is the Light, the Past and the Beginning. Kage Muramasa is the Shadow, the Future and the End. They are the Yin and Yang. Your father knew and had held them in his hands before. How he knew about all this, I do not know. I only know that you need to obtain the Kage Muramasa in order to defeat the Mongolians once more. For Japan... For your father...”

Rubbing his temple, Zankimaru said, “If, and I mean ‘if’, I wish to get hold of Kage Muramasa, how do I get it? From what you have told me, I would be dead twice by the time this weapon is crafted. Unless you have a way to go forward and back in time.”

Zankimaru could have sworn that he saw the smirk behind Hanzo’s mask when Hanzo said, “As a matter of fact... I don’t. But there is a way to summon the quintessential spirit of the artifact through time and space. Your father had done it before. And so could you. It’s in your blood.”

Taken aback, Zankimaru said, “You mean, like, Tracing?”

Confused, Hanzo replied, “What, in the Nine Heavens, is Tracing? No, I mean that you are descended from the Inugamis. Your latent powers could rival that of the strongest Tengu (Translation: Heaven’s Hounds) and to obtain that latent power which would allow you to summon the Kage Muramasa, you must defeat one. This Tengu, I am speaking of, is named Senkibo. He resides on this very island. It might also be prudent to inform you that, it is Senkibo who had caused your father a grave injury that ultimately cost his life in battle.”

Zankimaru grinned in anticipation, “Ah... Three birds with one stone, then.”

Bemused by Zankimura’s reaction, Hanzo could only reply, “Saving Japan, avenging your father and obtaining greater strength... yes.”

Gripping Hanzo’s shoulder gratefully with an iron grip, Zankimaru remarked, “That is a very good piece of information, Hattori-san. Now, a final favour...”

With a nod of approval from Hanzo, Zankimaru continued, “I have drawn up a battle plan in my command tent. I will be leaving on a journey and return in a week. Make my presence here be felt during this period.”

Making a few mystic hand seals, a swirling miasma of purple energy cloud enveloped Hanzo. As the cloud dissipated, a mirror image of Kamitani Zankimaru had replaced Hattori Hanzo.

“Well done, Hattori-san. A worthy Kagemusha (Historical fact: Kagemusha; or Shadow Warriors, were ninjas hired by key figures in the political or military scene to replace them in their absence. This is to ensure the key figures’ safety from assassins or to uphold the morale of the people.), indeed!” exclaimed Zankimaru.

“It is my duty, Kamitani-san.” replied Hanzo, “Now, be off with you and Godspeed. Our victory lies with your success.”

Zankimaru smiled mischievously, removed his bulky splint mail, and plopped his helmet onto his double’s head as he cheered, “Finally, some fun!”
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Final thoughts: I know, the title of this chapter sounds pornographic but hey, it’s a living...