10 December 2022

I felt pretty proud of this scene. This is where the shogun’s true nature as a gaslighter really comes out to the front. One of the revisions I’m considering is cut out the bit with Nakamura and the hearing, and just have him bring it up after the fact in this scene. I’d want to show Nakamura fleeing Chizu village more expicitly during that battle if I do that, though.

As always, they were lavish, from the vibrant colors of the rugs on the floor to the silk-covered pillows for guest to sit on. Suzune moved to prepare tea, and soon the scent filled the room, from the finest tea money could buy.

She used extreme caution as she placed the tea cups and poured from her father. From past experience, she knew the cups were incredibly fragile, at least in her hands, and even more expensive.

“Sit.” Father nodded across the table from where he sat.

Suzune’s blood chilled from the tone in his voice, and the joy she’d had on receiving the promotion to major evaporated. She kneeled on the cushion, placed her hands in her lap, and patiently waited for Father to begin speaking.

He finished his cup and gently set it on the table. “So. You were defeated. By a single oni, no less.”

Suzune’s heart curled in on itself, though she did her best to keep her expression neutral. “Yes Father.”

He looked up and met her eyes. “If you lack even the strength to defeat one oni, then what good are you?”

It felt like the floor fell out from underneath Suzune. She wanted to protest, remind him that Hanako was no ordinary oni, of all the things Ito had said earlier. But the words wouldn’t come out. At the end of the day, he was right, wasn’t he? She’d lost, and hundreds of her fellow soldiers had died for it.

The shogun stood, and began to walk slowly around the table. As he moved behind Suzune, he said, “Not only did this defeat cost us many good officers and soldiers, every loss leads to doubt. And doubt is unacceptable. Did you not hear Nakamura? The very fact you lost caused him to question your loyalty, and the honor of my line. I suspect it’s also related to Major Ito’s sudden leave of absence, don’t you think?”

If she could have, Suzune would have vanished into nothing. “Yes, Father.”

He moved back around in front of her. “I took you in as a child, despite the fact you are an oni. That is all anyone else will ever see. If you want them to accept you, such failures will not be permitted. Do you understand?”

Suzune nodded. She couldn’t bring herself to look up and meet his eyes.

“Fortunately, you have a chance to rectify this.” He sighed and sat down, and out of the corner of her eye Suzune was surprised to see him smile at her. “In spite of your failure in combat, your strategic thinking was excellent. You did achieve the goal in battle to remove a village of foul yokai sympathizers, and rescued many other soldiers, besides. This promotion will give you a chance to further prove your worth.”

Like someone finally seeing a light after weeks of darkness, Suzune clung to the hope the shogun dangled before her. “What would you have me do, Father?”

“Polish your mind. Use that strategic brilliance to gain advantage over the yokai army. And if you ever face that oni in battle again, do whatever it takes to kill her. Especially if she was trained by the traitorous swordmaster.”

She rose and saluted. “The will of the shogun be done, Father!”

He nodded. “That will be all.”

Suzune bowed and turned to leave. Then she thought of what Captain Takamoto had reported on Hanako’s description of the army, and the way Hanako herself had been so desperate to protect the village. That didn’t sound like the oni Father often described, or even the ones Suzune had met and killed in battle. She paused in the doorway, and almost asked Father about it. But something held her back. In the end, she just left.

She was probably mistaken, anyway. She was just an oni, after all; better to leave things like that to Father.

<-Hanako First

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Current Draft of Hanako’s story (including unposted content)

21 September 2022

As I mentioned in the previous post, thinking about what made the god-kings tyrants messed with my headspace. The Phoenix, which this short was about, was one of the most fascinating and sympathetic to me, but still very twisted in her own way.

I think one of the problems I had was I was both unwilling to let her and the others be anything other than tyrants, but I wasn’t fully willing to commit to how terrible they could be, either. And a lot of that was I didn’t want to have to imagine what they might do and the reasons behind it. There are certain lines I won’t cross because of my personal beliefs; however, there’s still plenty I could do within those limits.

I do plan on coming back to this story; I want find something to help balance the scales in my head, though, so I don’t get so focused on the negative I lose the point of the story or have it start impacting the rest of my life. I think it’s important to acknowledge evil exists, bad things happen, and even good people do things they regret, but it’s also important not to dwell so much on those things we can’t see the beauty in life.

Also, random fun fact for the day, in the “language of flowers”, dahlias represent commitment. Or so the Internet says.

This was part of my series inspired by a song called Godhunter by Aviators (link here). It’s also on Spotify.

Finally, WARNING! As you may have gathered from context, this post has scenes with implications of torture and abuse. Please DO NOT CONTINUE if you cannot, or do not want to, read such things. Thank you.

They were lovers, once, the Phoenix and the Conqueror, back when they were still human. Mortal. Back before everything around her burned, back when he was still capable of feeling. When they’d dared to dream of robbing death.

And then they did it. And everything went wrong.

No one, perhaps not even the man himself, know whether the Conqueror’s feelings for her were ever sincere, or if he’d just been playing her from the beginning for her skills. Whichever the case, only a few scant years passed after their transformation, he rejected her and ordered her to leave.

At first, she couldn’t believe it. She plead. She begged. She wheedled, and wailed, and bargained, until in rage he cut off her head and shoved her body into the moat before it could smoke up his castle when it burned.

Once she revived and crawled out, wet and pathetic, the Phoenix finally believed him, and she wept. Her tears turned to steam trailing from the corners of her eyes. Then, her sorrow turned to fury, and hell rained down on the lands. And thus the first of the God Wars began.

By the time the wars had ended, the Phoenix had claimed a kingdom of her own. Hers was a court of decadence; exotic foods, fine wines, and anything else one could desire. Every so often, some young man would catch her eye, and she would have him brought to her chambers. She couldn’t touch him, but she would order him to entertain her, leaving the question of what would happen if he couldn’t unanswered.

Some of her “partners” resented their forced servitude, and several managed to kill her once. One even made it outside the city before she revived and turned him to ash. Still, she tried to be kind to them, when she wasn’t in one of her fits; these men offered the closest thing to companionship she could get.

The women of her city were less lucky, however. And the more beautiful, the greater the danger. While most times the Phoenix maintained enough rationality to avoid harming her subjects, sometimes she would fly into a rage and attack. “Is it you?” she would scream, “Are the one who seduced him from me!?”

At other times, instead of rage, panic would cause the Phoenix to shake. She would slowly walk up to the woman while muttering, over and over, “No… no, can’t let him see you. You’ll take him away, like all the others. Mustn’t let him see you…”

Either way, she would grab the girl’s face, ignore her screams, and hold it long enough to leave a scar.

One day, however, a young man bowed before her and actually asked to be her servant. Shocked, she asked why. He said, “Because I want to see for myself who you truly are.”

The Phoenix eyed him appraisingly. “And what is your name?”

“Terrence, your Majesty.”

Despite feeling unsettled by the request, the Phoenix gave her permission.

And so he served her. He quickly learned her likes and dislikes, and when to prod for more information about a request or to leave her alone for a while. He painted her pictures and wove her stories, all while trying to glean what lay behind her mask of flames. In time, he came to see the hurt, lonely girl she’d hidden away.

“Who was he?” he asked one day.

The Phoenix froze. “Who?”

“The one the rest of us are meant to replace.”

For a long moment the Phoenix offered no reply. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He didn’t push the issue, but he didn’t fail to notice the glass in her hand begin to melt and mold to her fingers.

Several days passed, and again he asked, “Who was he?”

This time, she didn’t bother to lie. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Still, he noticed the steam streaming from the corners of her eyes, and for the first time, he recognized them as tears.

Two weeks passed before he was willing to try again. This time, they were strolling through a garden, the Phoenix carefully avoiding everything, but admiring its beauty all the same.

“Who was he?” he dared to ask.

For almost a minute, she didn’t move, didn’t speak. “He was a man, once. We decided to challenge fate itself together, along with our friends.” She scoffed, then let her finger rest on a dahlia. The flower immediately burned to ash. “Unfortunately, we succeeded. And I… I guess I didn’t matter anymore.”

Once more, whisps of steam rose from her face up towards the sky.