Raven Roads Raven Roads
Recommendations: 5

I love the way you described the women's death. I felt like I was watching it happen.

Raven Roads Raven Roads
Recommendations: 5

Again you put such emphasis on detailing the characters, I feel as if I'm looking down upon the scene. Good stuff!

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Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 47

The Ninja - A Murder Mystery


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She had a friend.

This writing contains explicit content and is only for adults. You have been warned.

A REPOST!


CHAPTER 1 Into The Darkness



    A single shadow appeared in the night, rushing forth along a hefty branch silent and unseen. The attack was fast, powerful and absolutely skilled. Before the young man could begin to reach for his blade, he was put through with a single deep thrust to the chest, seeming to slice his soul up the middle. Instantly his body went limp, his chest ravaged by a sharp agonizing stroke, the force of it clutching his chest like a cold claw stealing his breath to a sickening gurgle. Without knowing what hit him, he fell back dying instantly. And before she knew what was happening, before she could think to scream, a single movement cut her clean.


     And like that, her head – a quick whip of black fine hair – tumbled along its final descent, a seeming slow-motion feel as the ground rushed up to meet it, the grass caressing it, taking it up, as though to say, ‘Hush baby. Go to sleep. You’re just having a bad dream.’ Beautiful narrow eyes, bright and singing with joy, together with a tiny nose and perfect mouth, she was utterly breathtaking in life! She did not see her attacker, did not have time to be afraid; did not have time to scream, no, nothing so dramatic. Not at all like she imagined dying: old and comfortable in her sleep. Nothing of the sort.
  
     The truth was simple: in an instant, absolutely taken unaware, she was suddenly lost to an unbelievable set of circumstances; a whip of shock and surprise without any means to assess the situation or the damage; cut off from the world in an instant too quick to gauge and too unexpected to judge. A moment after her head tumbled off in the grass, her body followed like a tree, stiff and to the side, thudding sickly against hard stone, her hand still gripped in his. Like a mad artist painting the night with death, the killer disappeared back into the trees, branch to branch, swinging on down to the forest floor, startling no owls and causing no stir in the wildlife, simply vanishing! 1 comment


     The moon, (the only witness) was brightly lit, shining down upon stark pale walls of the palace, casting ominous shadows over far-reaching forests, rippling creeks and rugged hilly terrain. The figure, huddled off a worn path, silent and invisible against the night, looked on from the shadows, waiting for any sign of movement. Nothing stirred. All was quiet. The residents, oblivious to the night’s tragedy were fast asleep, taken up by the true comfort that the world inside the palace provided, set deep in their dreams by plush floor mats, stone hearths and roving sentries patrolling, swords every ready to end the life of any intruder.
  
     Leaving no evidence save that of a beheaded girl and the deep chest wound of her lover, the black-clad figure simply went off in the night like a ghost of the wilderness, as if the wild itself had come to life and disposed of the young pair before returning back into the thick foliage from whence it came. And like that, there was only silence and the moon, alone in a world of white palace walls, dreams, death and blood. And no one was the wiser, not the patrolling sentries – the bravest and most skilled Samurai, nor the Emperor Jido-san Tanaka his self, nor his brother Kimyo-san Tanaka, his General.



     The pair laid there til early morning, holding hands, the little garden terrace flooded over with the smell of blood as thick rivers of it trickled off, staining the soft grass, speckled about fresh flower beds, blending their love eternally. The usual colour of their skin, like warm buttermilk, had turned the pale, sickly blue-grey of death; a tragedy against freshly trimmed Banzai and burnt out paper lanterns, ruining fine carpets, staining their deep floral designs. A Hawk shrieked from high above like a bad sign while thick clouds drew forth over wandering hills in the distance, rolling forth to wash away what little evidence could be gathered. 1 comment


     Young and in love, the young couple met their end in the throes of passion, seduction and glory; kissing and touching, swept up together in wonder and bliss. Her teal flower-kimono, opened just slightly, revealed but a hint of perfectly round breasts, widening hips and a nice plump belly – a clear sign of a child. Her head lay not far off, pealed over with a sadly disappointed expression, grotesque in the early morning, leaving a bad air against the natural green of the garden terrace. The high white walls of the palace somehow shone less, as though washed by dirt and age, somehow somber, as if overthrown by a shade of grey, as if it’s very future, its power and glory, lie in peril and uncertainty.


     The young man’s black robe lie crumpled around his waist. He was a handsome one; chiseled to perfection by the ancestors themselves. Embraced by a forbidden love they made a beautiful couple, the young Lovers. He would have made a great Lord someday: charming, powerful, intelligent, handsome and fiercely-driven, but careless to the pandering of the sly hearts of young women, their wanting needs, their yearning passions: fiery and delicious to bear. He would be greatly missed; the Daimyo’s Heir, the Legacy of Shimoda, the future infiltrator of Koga. His death wounded them all in their hearts. Her death…unimportant. No one would miss her.


     The screams of Tetsuka Onamura, a lowly servant girl, filled the halls with alarm, “Daimyo! Daimyo! Your son…! He’s been…murdered!” Instantly the room was filled with scurrying feet as the Palace’s occupants: cooks, maids, servants, and members of the royal household themselves entered. A hard man and a great Lord, Jido-san Tanaka himself, looked down in grief, stricken with utter disappointment and shock. He wiped his eyes, took a breath, knelt in the grass and took up his son. He had not cried since childhood and now, like the release of a mighty storm, he wept full, “Ryu! My son…! My foolish, foolish son…!” And with all in attendance, he gazed over them all, helpless and deeply wounded in his heart.
  
     “Kenji!” he called out.


     Instantly a fierce-looking Samurai entered the room, hand on the hilt of his sword ready to deal out a severe form of punishment should the order present itself. “What are your orders my Lord?”


     With keen eyes, drawn forth by instinct and a calculating mind, Jido-san looked at those in attendance: two of his wives, three servants – one who had found the bodies – two maids, the cook, the kitchen duty (four men and two women) the gardener and the stableman. To Kenji, he said, “Secure the crime scene. Get everyone in here and lock down the Palace. Nobody leaves!” Immediately the steely-eyed Samurai gave the command and within moments a dozen more employees were led in and forced against the wall. Kenji and his top men drew their swords, holding them in, and with a look of complete shrewdness, it was clear he would cut them down if such an order was given.


     The Daimyo, careful to stay clear of the crime scene, infecting it no more than he already had, paced back and forth before them, a look of dread and mistrust stealing the usual wisdom from his face and replacing it with a seething rage; a stern darkness. With narrow slits for eyes, patient and deeply angered, he looked every one of them over, highly suspicious, an ominous voice offering a single final order through a grim mouth, “Kenji, send for Kashi Yokiro! We’ll get to the bottom of this soon enough.” And with his eyes becoming cold and filled with rage, he said, “And someone will pay dearly.”


     In his heart lie vengeance and danger; the slightest annoyance enough to draw his deepest wells of hostility and malice. And like that he recognized his own deep emotions, careful to remember patience – to seek the truth and allow for justice to happen of its own accord. And he thought of Kashi Yokiro, a brilliant mind whose simple fortune was designed simply by that which others could not see; those simple indiscernible clues that always led him to the truth; to justice.
    
     And out he went, leaving his son to the day, locking them all in, allowing them to fester in their angst. And like that, weakened and dismayed, troubled and deeply enraged Jido-san Tanaka went off to soothe his wounds with meditation and prayer. A force to reckon with, an enigma all his own, Jido-san Tanaka – his heart, mind and soul – went forth, deep into the basement temple; the only place where he could think clearly. The only place he could plot his revenge, his heart, mind and soul going back to the old days, the blood and death days, back into the darkness.


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