"Akechi Mitsuhide." Nobunaga's voice cut through the din like a thunderclap. "I expected this from the others, but you? I thought you were a man of honor."
"I served the man, not whatever creature sits before me now." Mitsuhide pointed his sword at Nobunaga. "I know what you are."
"Do you, now?" Nobunaga's expression of placid indifference might as well have been carved from basalt for all the emotion it betrayed.
"And you've brought a hunter." Nobunaga stood, arms folded in front of him as he looked to Izō. Izō thought he saw a flash of surprise in the demon's eyes as it noticed the broken blade in his hand. "One of Hatano's dogs, I see. That old sorcerer might have proven troublesome. Which reminds me, I never properly thanked you for bringing him to me, Mitsuhide."
At this, the general leapt forward, katana transcribing a tight arc to Nobunaga's neck. The blow simply stopped, the sword neither rebounding nor shattering. Rather, it was as if Mitsuhide's blade had become mired in the air a hairsbreadth from the demon's neck. The general strained and tugged at the sword to no avail.
After watching Mitsuhide for a moment, Nobunaga brushed the blade away like a bothersome fly. The general stumbled back, only to be hurled flailing into one of the temple pillars by a casual flick of the Nobunaga's hand. Mitsuhide groaned and rolled to his side, gasping like a landed fish.
"Don't mistake me for a fool." Nobunaga turned to glare at Izō, who had been edging toward his back, blade held like an icepick. "I'm not some petty mountain lord, ready to sell his soul for a castle or a handful of rundown villages."
The fires dwindled, flames tumbling over and around each other like frightened rats trying to escape a locked room. The sounds of the battle outside grew faint, lost within a stifling curtain of silence. Glancing back, Izō saw that the shadows had spread to swallow the door, the featureless void beyond empty of even the memory of fighting men. A strange keening filled the air. High and tongueless, like the whine of a thousand, thousand insect wings it bored into Izō's head, spinning his thoughts into a tangled snarl.
Nobunaga spread his arms. "I am a king, a conqueror, a god. What man, what monster could be my equal? To find my peers I am forced to consult with the Lords of Jigoku!"
Izō walked as if into a high wind, head down, eyes closed. In his hubris, Nobunaga had summoned no mere demon but one of the Yama Kings, and in doing so opened a path. The buzzing void that had filled the temple was like an icy hand around Izō's heart.
Hell was coming to earth.
Nobunaga stepped forward to catch him by the throat, lifting him from the ground as if he were full of wind. Desperately, Izō looked to where Mitsuhide lay. The general was on his hands and knees, but didn't look in any shape to come to Izō's aid.
He could hear them now, voices on the demon wind, the low, hateful cries of those banished to Jigoku in the ancient days.
Nobunaga's face was close, the madness in his gaze like the eye of a swirling vortex. "Why settle for Japan when I could be a king of heaven and earth?"
Nobunaga tightened his grip and darkness threaded Izō's vision, black spots spreading like silkworms on a mulberry leaf. Pressure built behind his eyes even as the world seemed to slip away. Izō's arms felt as if they were made of stone, the strength to lift his sword almost more than he could manage.
The blade crept closer to Nobunaga's side, its jagged, rust-spattered tip trembling like a trapped blowfly.
"Ah, that won't do." Nobunaga glanced down, then grinning, slapped the sword from Izō's hand. "Steel is only as strong as its wielder."
A shadow moved behind Nobunaga, staggering, limping, little more than a blur in Izō's fading vision. It stooped to pick something from the ground.
"You murdered my lord," Izō whispered through lips that felt cold and wooden, desperate to keep Nobunaga's attention.
"I've murdered a lot of lords."
Izō grasped Nobunaga's wrists as General Mitsuhide rose up behind his lord, stabbing the Yamato blade deep into the demon’s neck. The pressure on Izō's throat relaxed, and he drew in a great shuddering breath. With a shriek of disbelieving rage, Nobunaga tried to turn, but Izō clung to the lord’s wrists, holding them fast with what little strength remained.
Nobunaga shrieked and strained, but the terrible vitality had abandoned him, and he stumbled to one knee, dragging Izō and Mitsuhide to the ground. Heat and sound rushed back into the chamber, fire crawling up the walls to the renewed sounds of combat from outside. The high wail stuttered and died even as Nobunaga slumped to the ground, eyes wide and disbelieving.
The ground trembled, a low and rhythmic vibration like the beating of a great, yet distant drum.
Izō tugged at Mitsuhide's shoulder. "We need to go."
The general blinked at him.
"Hurry, before the Yama Kings collect what is owed."
They staggered to their feet, kicking free of Nobunaga's robes. Censers and bits of mortar rained from the ceiling, the heat of the fire enough to tighten the skin on Izō's face and singe the edges of his robe. A thin wail came as they stepped through the door, and Izō glanced back to see Nobunaga, one pale, quivering hand extended, his eyes terrified and pleading.
There was the hint of dark shapes amidst the smoke, circling like carrion crows, then the flames rose up, and Oda Nobunaga was lost from sight.
Coughing, Izō and Mitsuhide stumbled into the courtyard. Fire had spread to the temple outbuildings and was already creeping along the walls. The battle had shrunk to a few small knots of struggling men, most having been driven out by the heat. At Mitsuhide's hoarse call the survivors of his strike force formed up around them to help push through the knot of gawkers at the gate and into the night beyond.
Shouts chased them down the street and into a nearby alley where they stood panting, hands on knees, the strange glow of the fire lighting up the night sky.
"Strange, I always end up with your sword." Mitsuhide held the blade out to Izō, who took it with a tired, but satisfied grin.
"What now?"
"I suppose I'll have my army move into the city. Nobunaga's death will cause a lot of unrest, many will be vying for his position. I could use a man who can think on his feet. Lord Hatano is avenged, perhaps you would consider—"
"I think I've had enough of high politics." Izō wiped the soot from his face. "I'm headed back to the mountains… things are simpler out there."
Mitsuhide bowed then clapped Izō on the shoulder. "Thank you."
"I never could have done it alone." Izō returned the bow.
"Nor I.”
"Two stones, one bird." Izō snorted, coughing for a moment before bursting into a full-throated laugh. Mitsuhide's confused smile only made him laugh all the louder.
Sometimes, proverbs made no sense.
Non-Zero Sum
R.P.L. Johnson
Sealed inside his suit and strapped inside a Stryker armored vehicle that was itself trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey in the belly of a C17 Globemaster transport plane, Adam Blake thanked his lucky stars he wasn’t claustrophobic. Then again, given he’d probably be coughing his lungs out onto the desert sand within forty-eight hours, maybe a little honest phobia wasn’t such a bad thing.
He passed the time reviewing their mission briefing, even though he’d had all the details memorized an hour ago. It helped to occupy his mind and stop his thoughts from wandering back to that image that had dominated every television channel for the past four hours — the mushroom cloud rising up over the Arizona horizon.
Sergeant Blake was part of the Marine’s Chemical, Biological Incident Response Force, as was every man in his team. Almost every man, he corrected himself. Even though his team was cobbled together from half a dozen squads — volunteers all, single men with no dependants — he had a nodding acquaintance with all of them. But the two new additions, he didn’t know them at all, not even in passing, and they weren’t the kind of guys you forgot in a hurry.