Vescrutia: Legacy

The dawn was soon to set, the abstract twilight of the setting suns carved itself onto the Mek mountains, an unusually brisk color spectrum, as if the heavens and Edo itself knew it was soon to run red with the blood of war. These lands, which have tasted the spillage of many legacies, absorbed the cries of fallen warriors and were stained with the stench of betrayal, one death after another, have begun almost to crave it. As if avatars of the lands will, the Denkoushi plotted their advent against the Owaki clan, their long-term oppressors, beneath the mountain's crust. This was more than one petty quarrel, no mere disagreement over bread and wine.

This was history being rewritten, and though it was a tale of bloody vengeance nearly as old as Edo itself, this addition to the tapestry was woven with a pillar that the others did not have.

The Serpent's Heir

A being foretold in scattered prophecy, destined to either become Edo's savior

Or it's ruin

Which had yet to be seen.

For now, the Shi had been training; those who were once without light, the Sunless, regained their vision, mastering their lost arts. Under the newly revived fangs of Yin, the current head of the Shi. He was a vision reborn, the light returned to him not just his physical sight, but a restored vigor for the future of his people.

But it was not only the Shi he trained; in each battalion, a Sentinel existed as a training partner. In their sparring matches, the Artificially Intelligent Omnipotent Nanobound Sentinels, codenamed AIONS, learned, adapted, and grew, becoming as seasoned as the Shi they trained with; their mastery over Nestu, the ability to create blazing flames or incredible cold, and the various Shi arts was awe-inspiring. Though Yin was once married to the old ways of the Shi for what they were about to face, he knew without Evolution, they were poised for destruction.

"Sir, preparations are nearly complete."

A shinobi appeared at his side, kneeling respectfully.

"indeed. We are but hours away from achieving true history."

Yin said, slowly stroking his long white beard.

"And freedom at last."

Yang said as he walked over towards them. The shinobi excused himself as Yang folded his arms further, addressing his father.

"Though I... have some...Concerns..."

Yang leaned against the rail.

"You mean Jao..."

Yin said affirmingly

"He is.... how can I explain it? Different."

Yang said

"The boy has always been different...you mean his... augmentation. Do you have a slight against Eridan?"

Yin was referring to Eridn, the number 3 in the chain of command within the Shi—he who had thrust the Shi into the future of technology.

"While I am not exactly enthusiastic that he used my only child as a science experiment...no...it is not just that. The choice...was Jao's to make."

Yang responded. He had always been wary of giving his son too much access to his might. Though he had proven himself capable of controlling his vast ability, he had become something now. Yang wasn't sure if he had made the right call anymore.

"Surely you have noticed it...there is a callousness to him now. His aura...it's sharp, merciless."

Yang said to Yin, who locked his hands, resting them on his person.

"Is that not everything you raised him to be?"

Yin rebutted. Yang had spent the child's entire life refining him into the perfect attack dog. Now he was having a second thought?

"Once...but it is also everything he fought against becoming...Jao...found a way to become strong through his shinobi code...a passion that seems... skewed now."

Yang's tone sank, as it was true at one point; he felt that it was best for Jao, having witnessed his measured growth and nearly indomitable will. Even going so far as to teach him how to control his curse made manifest. Yang eventually consented to letting his son go about his own life his own way. Hoping Jao could keep himself grounded. But... merging with the AIONS becoming a one... and yet somehow even that wasn't the crux of his worry. It was the dread that seeped from him... otherwise.

"I have noticed a...shift in the boy since this....development. Yet, there is little to be done about it at present. We all have our part to play in this revolution, his...larger than any of us. None of this would have been possible without him."

Yin said, focused on the legion of warriors preparing for battle.

"Yes, but..." Yang said wearily, his voice dropping to a near whisper, heavy with the unspoken part of his fear. "What happens after? After the Owaki are dust and ash? What becomes of the weapon when the war is over?"

Yin turned his head slightly, his ancient eyes catching the flickering torchlight. He did not dismiss the question. He had asked it of himself in the dead of night, many times.

"A weapon is returned to its sheath," Yin stated, his tone level almost placid.

"He has no sheath!" Yang’s voice cracked with frustration, the sound echoing softly in their command alcove. "That's what you fail to see, Father. That's what Eridan, in his quest for progress, has burned away. The compassion, the hesitation, the code that kept the monster chained... that was his sheath. Now there is only the blade. Sharp, merciless, and thirsty."

Yang took a step closer, his aura flaring with paternal anxiety. "I fear in our desperation for a savior, we have willingly forged our own damnation."

Yin was silent for a long moment, his gaze distant, fixed on the sea of soldiers below.

The tapestry is not yet fully woven, son. The threads of prophecy are fickle." He turned to face Yang fully, his expression hardening.

"Your concern is a father's heart speaking. It is a good heart. But mine must be a leader's. Right now, that thirst you fear is the only thing that can shatter the chains the Owaki have bound us with for a century. We will deal with Jao's soul when his blade has bought our freedom."

He placed a hand on Yang's shoulder, the grip firm, unyielding.

"One war at a time. Find your resolve. The Shi need their commander, not just Jao's father."

Yin turned from him, prompting Yang to look down at the clans, united for one purpose.

"We will convene in the council room and discuss the plan...as Shinobi...and shinobi only."

It was then that Yin departed, leaving his son to contemplate alone. It was not that the Number 1 did not share his concerns or invalidate them. But when faced with the prospect of the ascenion of the Denkoushi, for them once again to taste the flavor of freedom...to live above the dirt of Edo once more...he could not forsake the hope of them all. Every plot, every ply, e[oc of oppression, and they were finally standing upon the precipice of vindication.

Yet Yang could not so easily dismiss his concerns.

His shoulders felt heavy, weighed down not by his armor but by a dread he couldn't articulate. His father's words, meant to be steadying, echoed as a hollow command. He walked through the cavernous corridors of their mountain fortress, Nestu, the stone humming with the energy of thousands of warriors and their Sentinel partners, a symphony of impending war.

He arrived at the traditional war room of the Shi leadership. The ancient chamber, carved by forgotten ancestors, was now a stark juxtaposition of old and new. The walls, etched with the Shi’s serpentine sigil, were bathed in the cool blue light of a holographic map of the Owaki capital floating in the center of the room.

Yin stood at the head of a stone table, his gaze fixed on the hologram. To his right stood Eridan, his thin frame alight with feverish excitement, his fingers tracing invisible patterns over the tactical display. Through the room, scattered but attentive, were the remainder of the "Shi Ten", the elite ninja of the Shi family. Now appropriately dubbed the "Slayers" after their augmentation with the AIONS. Uriko, Number Four, sat elegantly poised in a chair, her head tilted. Her cherry pink glare was like the looming gaze of a serpent sizing up its prey. Next to her was Number 7, Zanji. His locs lay down around him like a flood of black snakes, each seeming to writhe in the shifting light.

Vern, the number 6, was a few feet from him, his arms casually folded, his expression unreadable. Across the room was the enigmatic Number Eight, Merza, a shadow even in the bright holography. Beside her, as usual, was Alona, the bashful Number Nine, who seemed to shrink from the intensity of the room. Sitting across from Uriko was Cain, the arrogant artist and Number Ten, sharpening a kunai with a flourish that was more for show than effect.

And in the shadows, away from the table, stood Jao.

Yang’s heart clenched. It was the stance that struck him first. The casual slouch of his son, the restless energy of a young man eager for action, was gone. It was replaced by a rigid, predatory stillness, as if he were a cobra coiled to strike. His exosuit's sleek black material was threaded with a faint filigree of circuits that pulsed with a faint, grey light, mirroring the nanites within. When he finally turned his head to acknowledge his father’s arrival, Yang felt a chill that had nothing to do with Nestu. The mask seemed to pixilate before it vanished, revealing Jao's face.

His son’s eyes. They held a chilling emptiness, a serpentine void where the familiar fire of Jao's spirit used to burn. There was an intelligence there, yes—a sharp, piercing intellect—but it was cold, alien, like staring into the depths of a starless cyan cosmos.

“The council is assembled,” Yin announced, his voice cutting through the tension. He gestured to the hologram. “The plan remains as we discussed. Infiltration teams will disable the capital’s energy grid at these three substations. Under the cover of the blackout, our main force will breach the outer walls. The objective is to force Lord Owaki’s surrender with minimal bloodshed. We are liberators, not conquerors. Remember that.”

There was a mixed reaction amongst the gathered. Some felt it was letting the Owaki off too easily. It was not wholesale genocide, despite the vile ways the Owaki heads have been. Yin's focus was not the total eradication of the Owaki themselves, merely their place of power.

A low, resonant voice cut through the silence. “A flawed strategy.”

All heads turned to Jao.

Yang’s breath caught in his throat. It was his son’s voice, yet stripped of all warmth and inflection. It was a finely tuned instrument of pure statement.

Jao stepped forward into the light, his movements unnervingly fluid. “You seek to cut the limbs from a tree, grandfather, hoping it will die—a time-consuming and inefficient method. The Owaki is not a tree. They are birds of prey.” He lifted a hand and, with a flick of his fingers, the holographic display shimmered. A new target blazed in crimson: the central Keep, Lord Owaki’s fortress.

“We need to rip the wings of the hawk, and any hatchlings” Jao continued, his voice devoid of emotion, “and let the body meet oblivion. A single, overwhelming assault on the Keep. We eliminate their leadership in one swift stroke—the chain of command shatters. The army panics. Their will breaks. The battle is over before the sun rises again.”

A murmur of shock went through the others gathered. Uriko’s lips curled into a faint, intrigued smile. Cain stopped sharpening his blade.

“That is madness, mindless slaughter!” Yang finally exploded, his voice echoing in the cavern. “There are hundreds of non-combatants in that Keep! Servants, families...”

Jao turned his cold eyes on his father. For a fleeting second, Yang thought he saw a flicker of something else—a cruel amusement twisting the corner of his lips. “Casualties are a statistical inevitability in any conflict, Father. Sacrificing a few hundred to save thousands from a prolonged war is a simple equation. Or has your sentimentality dulled your grasp of mathematics? Besides...how many non-combat Shi did they use as materials? How many of us were born in captivity and harvested...killing them swiftly is as graceful as it should be...”

The words struck Yang harder than any physical blow. Mathematics. His son, who fought with such passion and righteous fury, who had once risked his life to mitigate needless casualties, was now talking about murder as a simple equation.

"These foolish mortals", a silent, ancient voice thought from within the prison of Jao's flesh. Aphosis watched the scene through his new eyes, a conductor savoring the discord he was introducing to their symphony. "They speak of freedom, of history. I speak of dominion. Their honor is a cage, their compassion a weakness. I will teach them the beauty of pure, unbridled power."

Aphosis let a sliver of his aura leak out, the 'dread' that Yang had sensed. It was the scent of the promise of chaos. "The Owaki are but the first harvest. Once they fall, the Shi, my Shi, will be the instrument of this world's true baptism: in chaos and shadow. Never fear, Jao....I will make you the god-king of the ashes."

Yin had remained silent throughout the exchange, his old eyes fixed on his grandson. He saw the cold logic. He saw the unsettling efficiency. And he saw the abyss that had opened up behind Jao's eyes. He had told Yang to still the waters of his consciousness, but now, his own were a raging tsunami. He had gambled on evolution to save his people, but he feared he had invited a plague into their very soul.

"Jao's point... has a grim merit," Yin said slowly, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. The commanders looked at him, stunned. "A prolonged siege risks greater loss of life on both sides."

"Yin Sa-"

Yin held up a single hand, prompting them to be silent

"However, be that as it may, we... we will not storm the Keep... but we will make Lord Owaki, as well as his remaining sons, our primary targets." He altered the hologram, marking a path for a small, elite team. "We will deploy the Slayers and a battalion of 300 AIONS to the front lines. Jao, you-"

"I will infiltrate the keep and deal with the Head and Heirs... alone," Jao stated, not as a request, but as a fact.

The finality in his tone sent a fresh wave of ice through Yang’s veins. He stepped forward, placing himself between Jao and the hologram, his own gaze locking onto the crimson-marked Keep.

"Not alone." The words were granite. Jao’s head tilted, a flicker of something—annoyance? Curiosity?—in those vacant eyes. Yang looked from his son to his father. “The plan has always been for you and me to work together on this. Jao, and I will be more than enough for the Keep itself, with minimal casualties..."

He was not just modifying the plan; he was issuing a challenge. A challenge to the thing wearing his son's face. He would not let Jao walk into that darkness by himself. He would walk beside him, into the very heart of the enemy stronghold, if it meant having a chance to pull him back from the brink.

The war with the Owaki was hours away, but Yang knew, with a certainty that froze his blood, that a far more terrible battle had already begun. And he was losing.

The silence that followed Yang’s declaration was heavier and more suffocating than the mountain above them. He had not intended to speak, had not planned to step forward, but the words had torn from his throat with the force of a final, desperate prayer. He felt the eyes of the Slayers on him, a collection of reactions ranging from Cain's sneering contempt to Uriko's clinical curiosity. Eridan, more so than any of them here, understood the fear that Yang expressed...and the guilt it brought along with it.

“Number 2,” Jao’s voice was a flat, smooth stone dropped into a placid pool, creating ripples of chilling indifference. “Your sentiment is noted. But your presence is suboptimal. Your combat style is… antiquated. You would be a liability.”

Each word was a precisely aimed dart, finding its mark in the softest parts of Yang’s pride and love. A liability. He, who had trained Jao, who had taught him every form, every feint, every secret of the Shi fighting arts. He looked at Yin for support, but his father’s face was a mask of granite, his mind clearly wrestling with the horrifying choice before him: trust the cold, alien logic of this new Jao, or trust the heart of his son?

“My ‘antiquated’ style has kept this family alive for fifty years,” Yang countered, his voice low and dangerous. He took a step closer to the holographic table, placing himself between Jao and their grandfather. “It is a style that remembers the difference between a warrior and a murderer. A distinction you seem to have forgotten. One you used to have pride in. You forget yourself, Jao-Den.”

A flicker of something that was not Jao danced in those cyan eyes—a cruel, ancient amusement. “The distinction is irrelevant. There is only the victor and the dead. The rest is… poetry.”

Aphosis tasted the father’s defiance through Jao’s senses. It was delicious. "Yes, fight. Struggle. Cling to your precious morality. It will make your eventual despair all the sweeter. This one, this ‘Yang,’ he will be the most difficult to break. And therefore, the most satisfying."

“Enough,” Yin’s voice boomed, cracking like a whip. The single word silenced the room. He looked from his son to his grandson, the weight of generations settling on his stooped shoulders. He had wanted a weapon to save his people. The AIONS, the augmentation… he had pushed them, he had sanctioned it. He had unleashed this. The dread Yang felt was no longer a vague premonition; it was a physical presence in the room, emanating from Jao, and Yin felt its icy tendrils wrap around his own heart.

“The plan is amended,” Yin stated, his voice regaining its authority, though it was strained. “Yang is correct. We do not abandon our principles on the eve of victory. We are the Shi. We strike with the precision of a serpent, not the blind rage of a beast.” He looked directly at Jao, his gaze as hard as diamond. “You will not go alone. You will go with your father. Your objective is Lord Owaki and his sons. But you will not touch a single non-combatant. That is an order, Jao. Do you understand me?”

For a long moment, Jao was still. The cerulian light in his suit pulsed, a slow, steady heartbeat. The room held its breath. Aphosis considered the options. Open defiance? No, too soon. It would shatter the fragile trust he still needed. A subtle compliance was the better path. Let the old man think he still held the reins.

“Understood… Grandfather,” Jao finally said. The word ‘grandfather’ was spoken with such perfect, hollow respect that it was more insulting than any curse. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible bow, a gesture of mockery disguised as etiquette. Then, his cold gaze slid back to Yang. “Try to keep up, Father.”

"We will deploy at Moonhigh...Dismissed"

Yin's final words were. His gaze lingered on Jao for but a moment longer before he took his leave for final preparations. As the council dispersed, a wave of grim determination washing over them, Yang grabbed Jao’s arm.

“What has happened to you?” he whispered, his voice cracking with a pain he could no longer conceal. “Annihilation? Jao, this isn’t strength, it’s butchery. It is everything you fought not to become.”

Jao looked down at his father’s hand on his arm, then back up, his haunting eyes unwavering. “You raised me to be a weapon to protect our people, Father. Yin-dono trained me to be the perfect blade. All Eridan did was finally remove the sheath. This is what is necessary to win. To ensure no Shi ever has to be ‘Sunless’ again. Passion is a liability in war. I have… skewed it towards a more effective purpose.”

Yang face befell a grimmace. The reality of it all crashing down on him...he had brought him to this place.

"What I have become," Jao countered, the mad glare in his eyes slowly being consumed by the nanite visor creating a solid black mask, " is what this family needed to survive what Edo needs to survive the coming age. You clung to tradition while our people starved under the Owaki yoke. Grandfather and Eridan saw the necessity of evolution. You see only what you have lost...what you stand to lose. I see only what we stand to gain. Your sentiment...yes...even my own...is a weight we can no longer afford to carry."

He pulled his arm free, the touch leaving Yang feeling cold and empty. “We have death to deal,” Jao said, echoing his grandfather’s earlier words but with a chilling finality. “Be ready.”

Yang watched with a still heart as his son left the council chambers. A myriad thoughts stuck out to him as if trying to pull a fog over the one he knew to be the truth.

That...was not Jao. Not all of him anyway.

Since the boy was born, Yang has taken every measure, even some that one might call drastic, to ensure that his child never became the plaything of the dark god within him. Yet despite his best efforts, it seemed that this was inevitable from the beginning. None had resited the Nether serpent's gaze before...perhaps he was a fool to think his son would have been able to.

"No...."

He whispered to himself, his fist tightened.

"I will not give up on him..."

He knew deep inside that Jao must have still been fighting for control. For no other reason could he ponder why the Nether serpent would choose not to subjugate the entirety of the Shi clan with an army of AIONS at its side. Then the evident truth was that as it was right now, it couldn't, for Jao's spirit still lived on. He went to his living quarters, a weapons rack, a small shrine with a single stick of incense for his departed wife. He lit it, the thin ribbon of smoke a fragile prayer in the oppressive silence. He had prayed she would watch over their son. He wondered if she could even recognize him now.

"Suzaku...I pray you forgive me for what I must do. But I will not let them do to him what was done to you. I will not lose you both."

Time bled away. Yang didn’t measure it in minutes, but in the slow, meticulous ritual of preparation. He ignored the high-frequency hum of the power conduits and the distant clang of the mag-lift. He focused on the familiar. The whisper of silk as he tied the sash of the Shi clan around his waist. He drew his blade, Kage-naki, the Shadowless. Forged by Yin’s father, its edge was as keen as the day it was quenched. It felt like an extension of his soul, a repository of his history. He practiced his forms, the slow, deliberate movements.

Each kata was a memory. The first, a lesson in balance, he remembered teaching a five-year-old Jao in their sun-drenched dojo. The seventh, the serpent’s coil, he recalled sparring with a teenage Jao, laughing as his son finally, finally disarmed him. The final form, the silent moon, was for killing. He had taught it to Jao with a heavy heart, explaining that the truest victory was the one that required no blood.

The distinction is irrelevant. Jao’s voice echoed in his mind. There is only the victor and the dead.

A cold fury, pure and sharp as his blade, cut through Yang’s grief. This thing, this Aphosis, had taken his son’s memories and twisted them into weapons of scorn. It had taken Jao’s pride and turned it into arrogance, his discipline into a cage for a monster.

The chime for Moonhigh sounded, a low, resonant tone that vibrated through the stone floor. It was time...

"I will save our son...Suzaku, watch over us"

With that, he left for the transport, the weight of his duty to his clan and to his child pressing down on his shoulders.