A Play Without Actors, Part I

At the Uesugi clan family manor, a grand celebration is being held.

Representatives from all the major clans are gathered in the manor's central zen garden: A veritable who's who of Japan's most prominent elite, their wives and their families, dressed in elegant tuxedos and yukatas and evening dresses and cheongsams, scattered among the deliberately placed trees and stones and statues, koi fish ponds and waterfalls. They are strolling through the garden, tasting the offerings at the refreshment and buffet tables, making new connections or catching up and smoothing over tensions with old ones...

Though on some level, everyone who's gathered here already knows each other. The circle comprising the city's topmost elite is exceedingly thin, predominated by the same major clan families that have endured for all time, since the Sengoku era and even before that.

Kenshin Uesugi stands alone on a wooden upstairs balcony.

He is surveying the festivities with a grim countenance; his long, flowing, silk-like strands of snow white hair and pure white yukata with gray designs standing out starkly against the darkened sky.

Within his gentle blue eyes pervades an unflinching glare: He is plagued, as it were, by an unenviable condition which he has found to be common among those who strive for the highest echelons of society—a burden which never lessens no matter the growth of your enterprise…or the number of fine parties you host. A constant nagging sense of lonely solitude.

There is only one soul in this world that truly understands him.

He hears the doors open behind him, but doesn't look, as he can already sense their familiar presence…

"Norio Takeda," he says and then turns, coming face-to-face with his dark twin, and polar opposite: a darkly handsome man, with shortly trimmed black hair and a matching black tuxedo…possessed of an uncanny habit of wearing dark sunglasses no matter the time of day or setting.

He is the Yang to Kenshin's Ying: the long, dark shadow of the major clan families.

He is a crude—yet inescapable—component to the family's functioning.

"I didn't expect you to agree to my challenge," he says.

"Ours has always been an uneasy harmony," Kenshin muses, turning to face him. "It's only fate that it should come to this."

"Fate…" Takeda scoffs. "There is no such thing; we all must choose our own paths."

"Your 'path' would see this entire country burn, as so many tyrants that have come before you. And this…"—Kenshin makes a bold step toward him across the wide balcony, the elegant fingers of his right hand transforming into long and jagged claws—"I will not allow!"

"Showing me your claws already?" Takeda smirks. "How eager."

"No…I take no pleasure in what we are about to do.."

"Of course not: you wouldn't want to get blood all over your white kimono."

"Why must you chastise me at every turn, for simply trying to do what is good and honorable?" Kenshin lifts his head slowly, so that his chin is tilted upward, and he is 'looking down' on Takeda with a domineering stare. "A man with so many bad habits shouldn't still be alive, enjoying half the amount of luxury as you do."

Takeda bristles. "You have some nerve to talk about what's 'good and honorable,' after what you—"

"The same applies to you!" He quickly counters. "Does it not?'"

"I play my own game, by my own rules…and you play yours. That's how it is...how it's always been. But you're the one who went and changed the script."

"You've always been a disappointment to our people," Kenshin seethes, slicing his clawed hand through the air. "You're an Alpha, but only act according to your own interests—never taking into account what your actions could mean to the families as a whole! I've only tolerated you for so long because it was your enterprise that largely kept our finances afloat. But now, when even that has crumbled..."

He then adds, almost yelling: "So tell me, what other use do you serve to the clans?!"

It is an extreme outburst…most unusual for the gentle Uesugi Alpha.

And for a while, the ensuing tense silence between the two is palpably thick.

Until Takeda, remaining steady and calm, walks over to a section of the balcony railing to gaze out at the distant bright lights of Tokyo. "I see…."

Kenshin watches, repeatedly furling and unfurling his claws in anticipation.

Takeda faces him…

His stern gaze is peering out from above the rim of his sunglasses.

"I had to know," he growls through his teeth, "that even now…you still won't confess to the truth."

Kenshin snaps, "everything I've done is for the good of the families!"

Upon hearing this, Takeda's composure finally breaks.

"Bastard!" Discarding his sunglasses with an immense sweep of his arm, his eyes are revealed to have already become fully pitch black—signaling the onset of his demonic transformation.

Tonight…there will be blood.

…

Meanwhile…

Back at the gathering in the zen garden…

The presence of an unknown, among the tight circle of elite families, is causing quite the stir...

It is a young lady, garbed in a flowing red sequined dress, treading with a powerful swagger which meshes strangely with her glamorous appearance: her long, dark hair tied in a clean bun, held in place with a flower-adorned comb and protruding pins—in the traditional style—tiny strands flowing loosely down the front and sides of her smooth, freckled face. Her large brown eyes, brimming with a sort of restless, relentless animal vigour. Her noticeably strong, well-built shoulders: what some might call an exotic compliment to her otherwise thin, petite build.

All in all…she is a walking spectacle of contradictions. Albeit, one which somehow managed to unite together into a creature that could appear quite unmistakably lovely whenever it tried to be, or needed to disguise a danger that always lurked just beneath the surface in the way of a rose hiding its flesh-carving thorns beneath its beautiful petals.

Moriko Hanzo is not naive to the fact that she stands out from the crowd.

But she ignores their curious gazes and glances her way, solely intent on finding an optimal vantage point for the sake of her mission...

Drifting toward a table of refreshments, scanning the bountiful pleasure-garden...

Until, she finds it: situated at the epicenter of the garden:

A looming tall statue of the Buddhist deity Bishamonten—a God of war—spear in hand, presiding over all the partygoers with a fierce scowl.

A strange addition to a socalled "tranquility garden," Hanzo thinks to herself.

Nonetheless, it would be ideal for her present purposes.

"Good evening," one comely young bachelor says as he draws to her with a glowing smile: the first to emerge out of the swarm of Moriko's silent admirers, just as she's partaking in a glass of punch.

She turns to him, forcing an uneasy smile in reply, her cheeks bulging—

She spits out her entire mouthful of drink!

"W-woah!" The young gent exclaims, startled, as he is only fast enough to jump back slightly and watch it spray all over his fine black vest and white shirt.

"Oh, FUCK! I'm sorry!" Moriko gasps, eyes wide. She hurriedly plucks a napkin from the refreshment table—accidentally smearing her wrist across a plate of hors d'oeuvres in the process—then proceeds to furiously dab it against the increasingly flustered-looking bachelor's stained finery. "You scared the SHIT out of me!"

"It's…alright. I'm sorry I startled you. It's just I was watching you—"

Moriko stops paying attention to what he's saying, her inhuman senses pulling her focus elsewhere.

It was a twitch in the back of her skull. As well, a familiar scent…

Of faint charcoal.

The main event was soon to begin.

"Gotta go!" Moriko shoves the young gent aside—landing him in the punch bowl—and sets off at a sprint across the garden, toward the statue.

There has been a sudden, unnatural break in the relaxed mood of the partygoers. Moriko notices everyone turning their gazes forward, in the direction of a spacious interior verandah where a decorated sliding door connects to the main part of the house.

There, a monstrous figure stands, like it were his stage, an exceptional sight to behold: His face and arms dyed a ghostly pale white with eyes lined in bold strips of red and thick, drawn-on black eyebrows—imparting a fierce, eternally glaring visage—in the style of kabuki theatre actors.

Incredibly tall, like an oni behemoth of legend, he looms above the crowd of partygoers, theatrically posed with his arms extended outward above his head as if to embrace the whole entirety of his "audience." His bared, bronze-tanned chest lay fully exposed through his open, flowing pink furisode draped across his broad, powerful shoulders: patterned in gorgeous imagery of waterfalls, lilies and cherry blossom trees, long-whiskered dragon serpents and gold-scaled fish.

All around Moriko, there are gasps of awe from the majority of partygoers who presume this bizarre entity to be the night's entertainment.

However, the mood quickly shifts.

Some individuals scattered among their masses have donned theatre masks—outing themselves as agents of the man on the verandah.

They briskly set about, seizing their hostages…

There are screams and cries of confusion. Pleadings for mercy.

But Moriko Hanzo, undaunted by the unfolding chaos as she climbs to the top of the Bishamonten statue, remains solely focused on the leader…her sharp gaze narrowing with fiery intent.

"Gotcha now, you ugly motherfucker."

She watches as the villainous figure clings to a mandala necklace draped from his thick—almost horse-like—neck, further inflating as he then draws in a long breath, before erupting forth: in one grandiose, booming declaration, to send shockwaves of terror all throughout the main courtyard:

"FIVE FAMILIES, HEAR ME:

"THE TIME OF YOUR GLORIOUS EXTINCTION IS NOW AT HAND!"