SAMURAI

Story by “one of the staff at Onpoint”

The night was wrapped in a chill.  The chill promised misfortune, ominous and foreboding.  Streaks of thin clouds interrupted the harmony of the deep dark night sky.  The moon was bright, silhouetting only the demon’s breath and illuminating the dusting of snow on the trees and ground.  Snow had come early this year.  From an outcropping overlooking the village the demon calculated a series of actions to come.

Intuition had led the search here.  The demon would find it’s prey, it always did.  Revenge, a dish best served cold, was the motivation.  Past transgression, betrayal and abandonment was the reasoning.  Here the Oni sat.  The actions to come would serve the demon’s purpose.  The demon would draw him out with violence.  Leverage his sense of honor against him.    

The demon’s body did not shiver with the chill or anticipation of the events to come.  Its armor, mute red in color, worn but sturdy, made no sound as the demon moved.  The armor’s condition betrayed it’s tailored and rich origins.  The demon’s weapons were pristine, deadly sharp and well tended.  Instruments of demonic will and unyielding malice.  The mind of the demon was focused, precise, without hesitation.  Fluid and smooth were its movements, reflecting a horrifying elegance.

Movement in the shadows would conceal the demon’s path and intention.  The mountain village homes were neatly aligned, orderly and clean.  The roofs of varying pitch formed the appearance of a tortoise shell.  The night, being cold, the  village was quiet, cook fires and candles illuminating the windows and cracks around the door frames.  Enough light to ward off the demons of legend, but not the one descending now.  A soon to be disrupted peace lay on the village like a warm blanket.

An old man walked the dirt paths between small houses, a self assigned keeper of the peace.  He plodded his course, a small torch in one hand and Ono tucked in his belt.  The light from his torch threatened the veiled corners holding the mundane objects ignored by day.  As the old man turned the final corner in his circuit around the village, the light exposed the position and unleashed the action of the demon.

No sound. No mercy.  A swift and precise stroke.  The torch and the old man fell, the Ono still in his belt.  The old man’s last breath escaped into the cold night air as the demon stepped over him.  Unsatiated, the demon unleashed a hungry wrath on the village.  Like a cold wind the demon moved in and out of the houses.  The spaces in between were filled with just as much violence.  The fury of the attack chased away the stillness and replaced the silence with screams, dread and woe…

Check back soon for part two!